A Very Belated Birthday Post

My precious seven-year-old Little Dog,
I usually post these right around the time you age up, but this year, as you well know, has been a bit of an ass-kicker.  I'm running behind because this year I never seem to stop running.

I am sick of saying that I can't believe you are a year older already, but honestly I can't.  When you were decorating the Christmas tree in December I remember being struck by how tall you were and each day I watch your beautiful face continue on its transformation from adorable chubby baby face to handsome big kid. Only when you are asleep do you still resemble the infant I brought home seven years ago, and it is all I can to to see that sleeping face and not lean over to immediately kiss your cheek.

We've had our share of challenges this year as your worries continue to hijack that sweet kid spirit at times when you feel stressed or overwhelmed, but we keep working our way down the path to finding a lasting solution.  It hasn't been easy for you, or for us, but I sincerely believe that this year will end on a much happier, calmer note than it began.  Just hold my hand and keep moving forward with me, sweetie.

And even with the challenges you continue to grow and amaze.  Your vocabulary continues to flourish, you seem to collect words the way Big Dog collects Bey Blades or Pokemon cards.  You cherish them, polish them and use them expertly.  It is a love I recognize in myself as well as in your grandma and I couldn't be more proud. 

While you are loathe to show it, you can read and do math, but you'd rather not.  Your love is video games.  Skylanders to be precise.  I think you love the possibility of the characters as much as the game, but you do immerse yourself in that world. 

You have an great sense of humor that constantly catches me off guard.  You turn phrases in ways that make me giggle and frequently post your observations or retorts in my Facebook status.  In fact, you have gained quite a reputation in my social circle as a smart and funny guy with a sharp wit and a keen eye.  My pride in you shines through as I write or talk about you every day.

Through the year we are going try to work through some problems for you, and I imagine at times it will be tough for all of us.  We may cry, we may argue, we may wallow in our frustration, but at the heart of it all please know I love you more than you could ever imagine.  As we grow together I promise I will try to offset the aggravation with joy, balance the struggle with fun and naturally fill in the bumps with chocolate.

I love you, Little Dog. You are your own original creation.

Scenes from a Starbucks

"It's too bad you're a girl," Little Dog said after we'd placed our order at the counter.
"Really?  Why's that.  I'm pretty happy being a girl," I replied.
"Well, because you're not lucky enough to be a boy.  Boys can do everything.  Girls can't.  Too bad you don't get to be a boy."
From his tone, I could tell he wasn't really feeling sorry for me, he was trying to lord his supposed gender superiority over me.  I'm not sure where he gets this from, but I find it obnoxious if not entirely age appropriate.
"Girls can do pretty much everything boys can do, you know," I reminded him. "In fact, we can do some things boys can never do!"
"No you can't!" he protested, then overcome by curiosity he just had to ask, "Like what?"
"I can make a baby.  In fact, I made you!" I said, "Boys can't do that."
"Nope, she's right," the man behind the counter agree, grinning at this whole exchange.
Little Dog looked up at me, eyes wide.  Then he collapsed.  His back against the espresso counter, he slid down to a seated position as he howled, "Don't mock me." Then his eyes filled with tears and he cried, big fat very real tears.  And I felt terrible despite having only told him the truth.
"Sweetie, come on now.  You're amazing," he silently let me move him away from the counter where I could try again to cheer him.
"You know," I said "Girls aren't better than boys because we can do special things.  Boys and girls each bring something special to the party.  There are things boys can do that girls can't."
"Really?" he asked, his voice brightening only slightly.
"Yes.  I promise."
"Like what?" he asked.
"Well, boys can pee standing up.  Girls can't do that." I offered, thinking this might strike the right tone for this little boy.
"Really?" he said, his cloud immediately lifting.
"Yep.  I mean, we could, but we'd mostly end up peeing all over our feet.  No aim."
"But it's so easy!" he said, eyes clear and sparkling again, that smugness of his earlier line of talk returning.  And then, as if on cue, "It's so sad you're not a boy.  Boys can do everything!"

If Wishes Were Horses

"It's too bad kids can't have drivers licenses," Little Dog says in the back seat as we drive from his after school program to pick Big Dog up from his after school program.
"Yeah, it's a tragedy," I say thinking of just what kind of insurance that would require and the rather terrifying idea of Little Dog piloting a vehicle.
"I wish I had a horse," he says abruptly.
"A horse?" I ask, pretty sure I've misunderstood.
"A horse," he says firmly.
"You want to ride a horse?  We could do that sometime," I say.
"I'd ride it to school."
"Well, I'm pretty sure we don't have enough space for a horse in our yard, but it's a nice idea," I say.
"We should check.  I'd like to ride a horse to school.  I could do it every day."
"Well there would be things we'd need to think about other than just the space, which I'm pretty sure we don't have.  What would the horse do while you were in school?" I ask.
"Poop. It would probably poop."
"Yeah," I say, "And that's not all."
"It would have to wait.  But it could also poop," he says, more sure this time.
"Don't you think it would get bored?  It would just have to stand there and wait for you all day.  Wouldn't it want to do something else?" I ask.
"It could poop," he says again, obviously something he's quite committed to.  Then after a pause, "Would it want to run around in circles?  It could probably do that too."
"I think it might be in the way.  I'm not sure your school would be too happy about having a horse just hanging around."
"You're right.  Probably because of all of the poop," he says as though he's figured it out.  Again he is quiet.  "It's too bad kids can't have drivers licenses."
Uh yeah.  Sure it is.  But apart from the obvious drawbacks, we'd also miss out on quality conversations like these.

Preparation

This morning I spent an hour in Little Dog's classroom as a guest for "Show and Share"  the modern, more inclusive version of "Show and Tell."  This month, Little Dog's class assignment was to tell the story of how they got the children got their names.  Children were allowed to bring a parent to tell the story if they wanted, and Little Dog did.  He is not much of a public speaker apparently.  The idea of retelling the story himself made him anxious, and since I also dislike speaking in front of groups of my peers, I agreed to come help him out.

Show and Share is run a bit like the Donahue show (yes, I'm dating myself).  A speaker is introduced, they tell their story and then they are peppered with questions from the students in the class.  Apart from the running of the microphone to questioning audience members (the speaker keeps the microphone in this class) and the maturity level of the program content,  this could be a rehashing of Phil's better days.

When the time came, I was handed the wireless mic, I explained the origin of his name and why Mr. Dog and I opted for a name that was not very common.  I told the class a little bit about the person he is named after and why he was important to us.  The class listened quietly while Little Dog beamed with pride.

After the "showing"part of the exercise, we moved on to the "sharing."  This is where the kids get to raise their hands and ask questions about the presentation.  Little Dog took the mic and called on his classmates one by one, passing the mic back to me after calling on each name and taking it back once I had answered.
"Did you fight over the names?" asked one little girl who seemed at least a little disappointed when I said we did not.
"What is his middle and last name?" another child asked, and I answered.
"What is his brother's middle name?" yet another child asked.
"Do you like his name?" another boy asked, as though I had been forced to name him against my better judgement.

As we worked our way through the sea of little hands raised patiently to ask questions, we hit more than one who forgot what they were going to ask.  Some of the kids were prepared, asking sensible questions, others were not.  We got many duplicate questions and a few who asked things that I'd explained when I told the original story or had just been answered.  In fact, several of the kids seemed to ask questions just to hear themselves speak.  As I looked around the room, I realized that in many ways, this was much like the meetings I attend all day at work.  I guess schools really are preparing kids for the modern workplace.

Don't Stop Believing (They're trying to drive you crazy!)

Anyone who hates Journey, as I do, should be given the opportunity to listen to your kids belt out "Don't Stop Believing" in the back seat of the car on a sunny day in Seattle.  It won't make you love Steve Perry, but the little voices singing about the "small town girl, living in a lonely world" is overwhelmingly sweet and the sunshine is making you giddy as you drive near the water watching the boats.  It might even make you comply with their demands to turn it up.  And if it is a summer day in Seattle, you'll probably have the windows down.  You might turn it up a bit to appease your tiny singers, but soon they'll demand again, "Turn it up, mama!" and maybe, if you're like me, you'll say something like, "Hey, the windows are down and I don't want people to get the wrong idea.  I'm way too cool for Journey.  This is your thing."  But they'll persist and maybe you'll be sucked into turning it up a bit more.  And then that last demand will come, in my case, from Little Dog, "Turn it up, really crank it up, mama!"  And you'll ask, "Why?  Do you really love Journey so much?"  to which he'll reply, "No!  I want to humiliate you!  They'll all think you love it!"  followed by a wicked cackle.  Or maybe that's just my kids.  Hard to know.

Six Years

I'm posting this a few days after your birthday this year, not for any lack of love or admiration, but really because this seems to be the kind of year it has been.  Nothing coming right on time, an extra helping of chaos and not enough time to do the things we want or need to do, no matter how important they are.


Well, Little Dog, another year has passed and once again I'm wishing you yet another happy birthday.  As I type this I realized pretty soon I'm going to need to quit calling you "Little Dog" except maybe in the ironic way the biggest guy at school gets nicknamed "Tiny."  You are growing by leaps and bounds, long and lanky already, I see visions of the future where your frame dwarfs papa and me. Most people react with surprised when they hear you are just now six.  Not only are you tall for your age, you are very verbal, your vocabulary and ability to turn a phrase is not like other kindergartners I've met.  Paired with your cynical humor, it can be hard to believe you are as young as you are.  It's pretty amazing.  And yet, this is not without a downside.  You often get mistaken for being older and the expectations of that more advanced age are imposed upon you even as you work through the milestones appropriate for your own age.  It must be so frustrating for you.

And I've seen this frustration in action.  Not just with the unfair expectations, but with your inability to control the world around you.  You seem to have a little steam in your system at all time that just waits for the right circumstance to boil over.  Stress or disappointment can turn your cheerful self into a tornado of chaos that can be hard to manage.  You've worked hard on coping skills, and at times you manage it so gracefully, even to the point of helping others cope with their own frustrations, but if too much is up in the air those skills seem to elude you.  It is hard to watch at times, but I've been assured it is completely normal and as you learn more about yourself you'll gain more control.  I know, I remember being there myself as a kid, and perhaps that is why it pains me to watch you navigate that same course.

But let's not let the bumpy parts eclipse the amazing.  And button, you are certainly that.  Amazing.  Your are naturally athletic, managing to jump and leap and twist with such fluidity that even just taking a walk can seem like a display of gymnastic skill. While you may not love team sports, or at least not the losing part of competitions, you seem to pick up the basic skills quickly and with such grace.  As an ungainly and clumsy person, I often just watch and smile.

You are not always excited about traditional learning, practice repetitions of basic skills are perhaps a bit too slow, but any kind of experiment turns your mind on.  Science, art, even cooking lights you up as you make combinations and test your theories.  You've decided against a career as a spy and now want to be a scientist.  Though when I explained that becoming a scientist takes many years of schools on a day you told me you had more or less already had enough of the daily school routine, you balked.  In fact, your response was, "I don't want to be a regular scientist!  I want to be a mad scientist!" as though there were different qualifications for that chosen profession.

You have a strong sense of justice. Playing fair is important to you, well, unless you are the one taking the unfair advantage.  You want rules applied evenly and will probably struggle with this for a long time to come as the world is an unfair place. As much as people should do the right thing, they often don't and you can't take the responsibility for bringing them all in line.  It is too big a job for one kid.

No matter how big you get, you have not yet lost your love of cuddling.   You melt right into my arms, head against my shoulder in a way that just fills my heart with warmth.  It defies words. As you grow it gets harder to hold you on my lap, but that doesn't deter us from trying. You are my baby no matter how your physical size may try to contradict it.

Six years ago I took my first look into your dreamy blue eyes and fell so deeply in love with you.  I've been crazy for you ever since.  Happy birthday, big guy. I love you always.

Life on a treadmill

Lately the boys have both been mildly obsessed with fitness.  While sitting in a waiting room, Little Dog picked up a copy of Men's Health and told me he wanted to look like one of the guys photographed shirtless to show off his bulging muscles.  "I want to be a muscle man.  I'm going to need some weights," he told me.  And this has been mentioned several times since.  Big Dog has been similarly interested in hitting the gym and getting in his exercise as part of a new fitness points system his gym teacher introduced.  It is all kind of amusing, and I hope that if they express this interest now they'll be better at establishing more lasting fitness practices than I have as grew up.  Setting new healthier lifestyle practices gets a lot harder as you get older.  Or so I have discovered.

See, recently I've been trying to get myself on a better track.  While I was on sabbatical this fall, I doing Pilates at a local studio.  It has become an obsession.  At the same time, I reintroduced running to my routine.  I've made several attempts to get back into running over the past year, but have never been 100% successful.  The thing is that I don't like to run outside.  I prefer a treadmill.  And if I restrict myself to a treadmill, I have to find time to hit the gym.  That isn't quite as easy as it should be.  If I try to use the gym at work, I have to shower and get dressed before returning to work, and that paired with my busy meeting schedule and the fact that some of my co-workers don't have any issues with scheduling meetings right over the traditional lunch hour makes it pretty easy to put off.  If I try to use the treadmills at the YMCA, I have to go when the kids can go the the childcare area and depending on the mood of my more tempestuous younger son, that doesn't always work out.  It also means that we are limited to weekends since trying to get to and from the gym after work makes for a crazy day.  And let's not forget that I don't actually love running.  It is just an efficient method to get some exercise.  I don't get the runner's high and I don't run for the pure joy of running, so if it isn't convenient, I don't find myself properly motivated to make it happen. 

The solution was easy.  Get a treadmill at home.  If it is right here more or less staring at me, I'll be more likely to use it.  And it has been true more or less.  What I didn't bank on was the boys catching treadmill fever.  Last weekend as the boys watched TV, I slipped downstairs for a run.  I had almost finished when Little Dog came into the bedroom.  
"Can I have a turn?" he asked.
"Sure, just let me finish," I said, expecting that he'd give it a minute, get bored and that would be that.

I was wrong.  He got on and ran. And ran and ran.  He'd occasionally switch from running into a glee-filled skipping and hopping pattern.  He worked up a little sweat and when he finally decided to stop, I told him he could Big Dog and let him have a turn if he wanted.  And boy did he ever. 
Big Dog chose a more traditional running gait, but he kept demanding that I push up the speed.  Then it became competitive.  They wanted to be the faster runner of the two.  They wanted to run longer than the other.  They were loving it.

Last night after listening to the boys beat each other senseless as brothers often do, Mr. Dog suggested they go for a run on the treadmill.  They were giddy.  Again, the joyful running and brotherly competition kept they busy and tired them right out.  They may have the goal of getting "super fit" and having "lots and lots of muscles" but my goal is simply to tire them out.  If they happen to get all muscled up in the process, I'll count that as a happy byproduct.  And maybe a tiny bit of their excited running enthusiasm can rub off on their old mom.

Family, our way

This time of year my Facebook feed is filled with photos of families doing holiday appropriate activities.  Children dressed up for the annual trip to the ballet, in mud boots for the great Christmas tree hunt, in aprons baking up holiday cookies and bundled up in the snow or on ice skates savoring the winter sports.  A lot of family portraits are being posted with everyone spiffed up and smiling.  Some are professionally taken, other are snapshots of everyone gathered around the tree wishing us all a Merry Christmas.  Seeing this constant stream of holiday perfection can make me feel like maybe I don't take this whole family thing seriously enough.  Maybe we aren't really making an effort to have all of those picture perfect family moments or maybe it's just that frequently our moments are more frenzied and less photo ready.

Sometimes I look at these photos and start to worry that we aren't doing enough, then I stop and remember that I actually know the people in these photos and for every Christmas card quality photo they post, there was probably at least one child meltdown or sibling battle that wasn't documented for mass consumption.  I can pretty safely assume the trip to the ballet was preceded by a long period of maternal nagging to brush hair or put on shoes and there is a good chance there was a fair amount of cussing as the family, immortalized as perfect in the photo, cruised the parking lot looking for a place to stow the car in time to rush to the performance before the curtain went up.  This smiling child on skis was probably up at the crack of dawn disturbing the parents' slumber long before any sane person is ready to rise and possibly refused to eat any of the breakfast that they requested but then rejected because the edges of the pancakes were too brown or the egg yolks were too runny.

As deceptive as the photos can be, there are no perfect families. Trust me.  That revelation is liberating. As soon as I let that go, I can more easily appreciate the oddness and chaos of my own kith and kin. We may have some photo perfect moments, but those are frequently surrounded by Little Dog decorating his body with bold designs drawn in marker probably predicting some future disposition to tattoos.  The best smiles in our snapshots were often achieved not by saying "cheese" but "underpants," the word that seems to constantly amuse these little men.  There is no trip to the ballet for our boys, yet, but the exuberant dancing to grandpa's choice of Christmas music is really more our speed, even if we are told "Don't look at us!"as soon as we start watching the performance, (but we do, just more covertly).

Some of our best family bonding may be centered around the new batch of apps grandpa downloaded for the boys, including the one that makes giant fart noises that were followed by the squealing laughter of my small monsters.  We may not have made holiday cookies, but the boys did have some sort of competitive crafting event going in the kitchen at grandma's house. Each time a family member was given a finished item from one boy, the other would rush back to the work table to furiously create another item for the same person. By the end of the first evening, I was the proud owner of about a half dozen book marks and a small zoo of pom pom animals with a varying number of eyes.

We have Santa photos, but how many other families have the special holiday memory of their 5 year-old poking Santa's belly to "see how jolly he was".  Well we do.  And trust me, I'll cherish that memory for years to come, even is Santa was somewhat less enthusiastic about the event.  We'll also remember Big Dog's impassioned lobbying that perhaps this year, instead of opening presents on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, we could open all of the presents on Christmas Eve morning.  Though he was unsuccessful in attaining his goal, we may well have a future lawyer on our hands. Let's just hope he uses his powers for good, not evil.

We'll weather the sibling battles, the potty talk, the occasional yelling and in the end the memories that float to the top, the ones that persist, will be nearly as picture perfect as those in my Facebook feed.

What passes for romance these days

Tonight I had my Pilates class and made it home a few minutes before Mr. Dog walked in with the boys.  As we all took off our shoes and coats we kind of gathered up in the entryway.  Big Dog, free of his shoes, bolted upstairs to play and Little Dog was still working on his freeing his feet from his sneakers.  As Mr. Dog brushed past me in the narrow space, I said, "What's up, yo?" because, yes, I'm street like that.  And he replied, "What up with you, you?"
His voice thick with distaste, Little Dog piped in, "Why do you guys have to always be so lovey-dovey?" and took off up the stairs, leaving us laughing in his wake.
"Really?  That's lovey-dovey now?" I asked Mr. Dog.
And as soon as it was out of my mouth, our small critic's voice drifted down from the stairwell, "Ug. You disgust me." And he stomped away.
I didn't realize that my faux urban posturing could be mistaken as the language of love.  I guess you really do learn something new every day.

Indoctrination

If you start planting the seeds when the kids are young, you can control their minds.  Ok, not often, but sometimes it works out.  Either that or I am simply taking credit for my child's excellent taste.  Let me explain.

Today I took the boys to get their hair cut at Rudy's.  While waiting for Big Dog to finish up, they started playing The Clash.  Should I Stay or Should I Go to be precise.  At which point Little Dog demanded my attention.  "It's my favorite song!" he said enthusiastically, then started singing along.  Next up was Rock the Casbah which he mistakenly called "Rock the Jazz bah" but still enthusiastically approved.  He's been a fan of the Clash for a while now, so I'm not really surprised. 

The other day on the way home from school, I asked Little Dog if he wanted to listen to some music.  He did.  He asked for a specific song, Blitzkrieg Bop by the Ramones.  As we talked about the music and and listened to a few other songs, Little Dog told me that was his favorite band.  Who can blame him?  The Ramones are awesome.  But thinking back I believe I may have laid the early groundwork for his very classic punk taste in music with his first Halloween costume.   You decide.

My very own, punk rock baby circa 2006

The show must go on

Little Dog has always been a bit of a showman.  He embellishes his everyday speech with vocabulary beyond his tender age.  When he cries, he makes careful use of any nearby mirrors to monitor the quality and sincerity of his expression.  If he has something to show you, he will make sure the items he displays is shown with exaggerated hand gestures and usually sound effects.  For a while now, when his grandmother comes to visit, he makes a big production about hanging quilts from the upper bunk to make a stage curtain that covers the lower bunk to put on a production of some kind, usually involving stuffed animals being thrown out from the hidden bunk.

With this general atmosphere surrounding Little Dog, I'm never surprised when he requires an audience.  I was however surprised the other night when he demanded I join him in the guest bedroom, lined up some chairs, demanded that Mr. Dog and I be seated and climbed onto the bed.  Before he started to jump on the bed, he stripped off his clothes. And then the bouncing began.  After a minute or two I asked if this was "The Naked Bouncing Show" to which he happily replied "YES!"  and the real show started. 

Gleefully he would jump and bounce then ask "Have you ever seen a guy bouncing on a bed do this?" then perform some kind of bellyflop or butt bounce or even a mid-air toe touch.  He bounced and jumped, completely unclothed, for the better part of a half hour.  At one point he jumped off the bed, ran to the piano and composed an impromptu theme song, hammering out notes while he sang "The NAKED. BOUNCING. SHOOOOOOOW!" then ran back to the bed to perform more amazing naked bouncing feats.  Eventually bedtime rolled around and we had to call curtains on the show.  Little Dog was not amused, but we assured him he could continue the show tomorrow night.  And by God he did.

The second night of The Naked Bouncing Show was less attended.  Mr. Dog opted out and Big Dog, immediately barred from providing a piano accompaniment to the performance, left after the first amazing bounces.  The show was however altered to provide added interest.  Our performer decided to don a cape.  And thus the show was renamed, "The Naked, With a Cape, Bouncing Show" and the theme song was similarly revised.

The third night the show got a late start.  We went into the bedroom just minutes before bedtime.  "I think you might want to keep your clothes on this time, you'll be heading off to bed soon," I suggested.  He thought about this for a moment, but still climbed onto the bed.  A moment later he announced the night's performance as he stripped off his socks, "The Without Socks Bouncing Show!" he sang loudly, then started with the bouncing anew.

Rude Awakenings or The Case Against Bunk Beds

Yesterday was pretty action packed, so that might have been the cause.  We started with Big Dog's soccer match, then a trip to Toys R Us where Grandma bought Big Dog his birthday present and Little Dog got a microphone (not sure this was a great idea in retrospect, but he seems to be enjoying it...a bit too much perhaps).  After that it was off to Costco where we stocked up on pajamas and the boys had hot dogs for a late lunch.  By the time we got home, there was a little time to play with the new toys before we headed off to the Seattle Sounders match.    That's a lot for two little men, and for their mom.

We made it through the game and back home.  When got back home they were even tired enough to fall asleep quickly.  Or at least that's why we thought they fell asleep.  We were proven wrong about 45 minutes later when Little Dog woke up crying.  And then we heard the splash sound.  And another.  Yep, he was awake and vomiting.

Mr. Dog and I sprung into action, I got Little Dog out of his dirty shirt and into the bathroom, poised near the toilet just in case there were more stomach contents that were waiting to escape.  I started to strip the sheets while trying not to lose any of the already lost chunks.  If you've ever tried to change the sheets on an upper bunk in the dark without waking a sleeping child on the lower bunk, you'll understand the acrobatics involved.  I was just getting the first sick-spattered pillow off the bed and into the washer when Mr. Dog was working on cleaning the splatter up off the floor.  That's when he discovered the mess was worse than expected. 

Not only had he filled his sheets and dosed the floor in vomit, he'd also given his brother a vomit hat.  We're still not sure how he managed to vomit so precisely on his brother's head and pillow on the lower bunk, but there are larger questions here to ponder.  How did his brother manage to sleep through it?

Hitting the showers

Last night I had decided the boys needed to bathe.  Unfortunately on the way home from our sushi dinner, the battle in the backseat got so annoying I didn't feel comfortable letting them share the tub.  I feared that if they continued to harass each other with the same ferocity I witnessed in the car, I'd be called in every 2 minutes to referee and there goes my quiet wine drinking time.  So I suggested they bathe separately.  Better yet, I suggested they try showering.

They were suspicious at first, they'd never showered at home and I guess the showers at the swimming pool didn't quite register as bathing in their minds.  After a moment of discussion, Little Dog agreed.
"So, you guys are going to take a shower instead of a bath," I said more than asked.
"That'll be manly!" replied Little Dog.
"Really?  Manly?" I asked. 
"Yes, showers are manly," he agreed. "I'm going to be a manly man."
"Um, ok," I said, "You know I take showers too, right?"
"Baths are girly."

I'm not quite sure where he gets this stuff, but it comes in such a constant stream it's hard not to quote him.

Taking a quiet stand

I was recently told that Washington state law requires public school teachers to "recognize the flag" once a day.  And while this gives me amusing mental images of a teacher walking into the room, looking at the flag, a flash of confusion followed by that once daily recognition, in most classroom this recognition takes the form of the pledge of allegiance. This has become an issue for Little Dog.

I personally think this is kind of a silly practice for a number of reasons.  First, this is just a little pledge that was in a children's magazine at one point that took hold and now is a piece of our national tradition.  Something about that origin makes it difficult for me to take it seriously.  Second, the addition of "under God" bothers me to no end.  For a country that claims to adore our separation of church and state, this line seems out of step.  Sure it doesn't specify any one god, but we know who it assumes to mean and as an agnostic American who is also highly sensitive to issues of other cultures, I find this offensive.  Third, and probably most importantly, they are asking 5 year old children to pledge allegiance to a flag.  They don't know what a pledge is or what allegiance is, and even if they did, how useful is the allegiance of a group of 5-year olds?  I can hardly count on mine to put his own shoes on and he's pretty committed to me. But this post isn't about me.  It's about Little Dog.

Last night as I lay crashed out in our bed, listening to Mr. Dog put the boys to bed in the next room, I caught snippets of a serious conversation.  It turns out Little Dog does not like that he is asked to say the pledge of allegiance each day.  He does not want to do it. I had a sudden swelling of pride in my little man.  I loved his not wanting to blindly pledge allegiance to things he doesn't understand and having his own visceral reaction to group oaths of any sort.  Mr. Dog tried to explain that while it is ok not to like saying it, the pledge itself is not bad.  It doesn't hurt anyone and it just basically uses the flag as a symbol of our country. It isn't asking you to do anything bad or harmful.  It is more or less benign.

That didn't change Little Dog's mind at all.  He doesn't like saying it.  He doesn't want to say it but he has to.  Mr. Dog told him he could tell his teacher he didn't want to say it, and that it probably wouldn't be a big deal.  Not good enough.  He said that Mr. Z told them they had to say it.  The whole class does.  So Mr. Dog suggested Little Dog ask Mr. Z why they said the pledge.  Mr. Z is a really great guy and I think he would have had a good discussion with the kids about this, but Little Dog again declined.

Another interesting point in the conversation revolved around the "under God" part that bothers me so. Big Dog asked "Is God real?" to which Mr. Dog apparently answered "I don't know."  This is completely in keeping with our own beliefs, though I think Mr. Dog really is more atheist than agnostic. I think we're giving the kids some space to come up with their own beliefs and enough ambiguity to help them give others room to believe what they choose to believe.

But back to the pledge.  Today I tried to coach Little Dog into having a little conversation with his teacher about not wanting to say the pledge.  Not so much because I thought he needed to talk it out, but mostly because I played his teacher's reaction back in my mind and it made me giggle.  My plan was to teach him to say, "I am uncomfortable with the pledge.  I am too young to pledge allegiance to anything.  I need more life experience before I make this kind of commitment," but true to form, he refused to learn my little line of chatter and demanded that I talk to his teacher.

You may wonder why such a small child has such an oppositional reaction to the pledge.  It's simple.  They say the pledge to the flag.  Flags are not people.  Talking to flags is weird.  Only crazy people do that.  At least you can't fault his logic.

Note: Today as the kids lined up for class I told Mr. Z that Little Dog was uncomfortable talking to the flag, he didn't think it was rational behavior and so he would rather not say the pledge.  Mr. Z chuckled and told me that while he was required to recognize the flag each day, he also tells the kids they don't have to say it if they don't want to.  If they opt out, they just need to stand quietly as the others say the pledge.  I guess Little Dog just chose to ignore that part of the lesson and instead stir up a little controversy.  I guess he really is my kid.

Just to be clear, he DOES NOT have to say the pledge.  He can stand quietly while the children who wish say the pledge do so.

First days

Wednesday marked the first day of Seattle Public Schools for the 2011-12 school year.  We'd been counting down for a while, but those last couple of weeks seemed to fly by at an accelerated rate leaving me running around the house looking for the school supplies I'd purchased over the summer early that morning instead of my more usually uptight routine of getting everything prepared and organized the night before.  Despite my lack of order, I did start the morning with the tradition of homemade cinnamon rolls, so the boys awoke to a house that smelled of yeast and spices instead of the sound of an alarm.  I figure that's always a good way to start a new adventure.

Big Dog was up and dressed first.  He loves school and his countdown to the first day was more of an excited exercise in patience.  He looks forward to returning to the classroom the way most kids look forward to the first day of summer, and while I may not have had the same experience in my education, it is a joy as a parent to have your child up, dressed and geared up to go with plenty of extra time with no coercion or nagging required.  Granted, he didn't decide to dress himself in the picture-ready outfit I'd selected, opting instead for his KEXP t-shirt with the "I power KEXP" engine drawing and a pair of grey shorts, so he could look like his favorite Mario Karts character, Robotio.  But I guess when they get old enough to care about what they wear you have to let them choose, even if it isn't quite what you'd choose for them.

Little Dog was not quite as excited.  Despite spending the previous morning at the school volunteering with the PTSA to help him warm up, he was nervous.  He did get up and dressed once the time came, but it was with some apprehension that he prepared for his day.  The night before we'd had a talk about school and he once again told me emphatically that he hated school.  I tried to remind him that kindergarten was very different from his preschool, that kindergarten was a place for big kids to learn and grow and that his preschool just wasn't ready for a kid who wanted to learn so much.  I asked him to keep an open mind and try to think of kindergarten as a new thing, something exciting and fun.  He promised he would after his brother piped in reminding him that his teacher, Mr. Z was "really cool and funny". 

I packed the boys and their bags of school supplies, their lunches and their backpacks into the station wagon and Mr. Dog followed us in his car.  Once we arrived we decided to head to the classrooms and drop off the heavy loads of supplies straightaway then hit the playground before first bell rang.  When the bell rang, it was time to drop the kids at their classrooms.  Since one classroom was on the 1st floor and the other on the 3rd, this was a situation that required us to divide and conquer.  Mr. Dog asked Little Dog which parent he'd like to have drop him at his classroom and to both of our surprise he opted for Mr. Dog.  I handed the camera to Mr. Dog and took Big Dog upstairs where after getting into his seat and allowing me to take a couple of photos with my phone, Big Dog told me it was time for me to go.  He was all settled and I should leave.  Talk about feeling useless. 

I got one more peek at Little Dog in his classroom before I headed off, feeling slightly sad that I was now a mother of two school aged boys.  There was something more substantial about the drop off for my baby than I remember about Big Dog starting school, but I can't really say why.

At lunch I volunteered in the lunchroom.  Those first weeks for kindergartners are challenging.  Even just opening all of the things found in a typical lunch can be a struggle, so I opened juice boxes, string cheese and fruit leather packages.  I took lids off of lunch containers that were tricky for little hands and I fetched forks, spoons and napkins for those who needed them.  Little Dog only asked once to go home with me, but after I explained the he still had more school he accepted it and I left as he headed out to the playground.  On my way out of the building, I crossed paths with his teacher who told me that Little Dog had been testing the rules a little, not always listening and sometimes doing just the opposite of what he was asked to do.  I told him that sounded a lot like Little Dog and gave him some suggestions on what works best for our little challenge.  I also crossed paths with Big Dog's teacher who gave him a glowing review.  He's so cooperative and works very hard!  Not surprising there either.  Teachers love Big Dog, he's a teacher-pleaser by nature, but it is still nice to hear.

When I picked the boys up from their after-school program I talked to the director who I have grown to know pretty well over the past few years.  He told me that Little Dog had a bit of a meltdown when he first arrived, but it passed quickly.  They weren't really sure what had caused it but he was fine now.

I collected him up and told him we were going home and that he could just sit quietly and watch a cartoon if he wanted.  He gave me a GIANT hug and told me I was the best mommy ever (something that always makes my heart swell- in a good way, not a needs-antibiotics way).

On the way home I asked how he liked school, half expecting a poor report, a lack of desire to return and a plea to stay home with me instead.  You can imagine my surprise when he said, "Best day ever.  I'm happy this is my new school!"  Just as Big Dog did, he talked a lot about Mr. D, the PE teacher (remind me to do something nice for this man who has made both of my boys so happy on their first day of kindergarten!) but when pressed for specifics of the day in his classroom also couldn't remember the details.  Apparently the drinking water at this school contains some sort of powerful amnestic that causes children to be unable to provide satisfying color commentary on their days away from their parents.  Or at least that's my theory.

We had two more days this week, each day received a similar rating, though there was a bit more of a fight getting out of the car for morning drop off on Friday.  It has been refreshing considering my assumptions that this would be a similar battle to our old preschool days.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the new challenges and more structured learning will continue to keep him engaged and happy.  I've also decided to make a change in my approach to school.  I'm not going to be the mom who digs for insight from their teachers.  I'll be there to support the boys, I'll volunteer and if asked, I'll help solve issues that arise for either boy, but I'm not going to be the mom who is constantly mining for issues either.  I'm going to assume that Little Dog is somewhere in the range of normal when it comes to adapting to kindergarten and also assume that his teacher is skilled in managing that adjustment.  I won't let myself worry that he is going to be difficult or be traumatized by his experiences.  In other words, I'm going to stop looking for trouble.  I think it might be the healthiest thing I've decided in ages.

Different

Tomorrow I'll be taking Little Dog to start kindergarten.
We'll wake up in the morning, just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll eat first-day-of-school cinnamon rolls in our jammies, just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll get dressed in the first day of school outfit, just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll collect up the required school supplies, just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll get the specially packed lunch complete with a little note to tell him I love him, just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll get into the car and drive to school, just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll take lots of photos before we even get to the classroom, just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll find his seat and get him settled, just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll take so many more photos his eyes will roll and he'll wish me out of the room to start his day, just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll go to the library for the PTSA coffee while still trying to get my head around how it is possible I have a child old enough to be attending public school (much less two!), just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll collect ourselves, dry our eyes and head to work, just like I did with Big Dog.
We'll agonize all day about how he is doing, how his day is unfolding and how much of a fight it will be to go back or come home (depending on how that unfolding went), just like I did with Big Dog.
But even if it is exactly the same in action, it is completely different.  Because Big Dog is my older boy, my first to do everything, my big kid, the one I expect to grow up. And Little Dog, no matter how old he gets, no matter how tall he grows, will always be my baby and for some reason that makes this all completely different.

(I'm also agonizing about Big Dog starting 2nd grade with his two best friends no longer at his school, but because he is who he is, I'm fairly certain he'll be just fine.  He's a trooper who fills my heart with sunshine.  Well at least when he's not making me completely nuts.  Aaaah, kids.)

Anxious

I'm counting down the days to the first day of school.  Next Wednesday Little Dog starts kindergarten and Big Dog starts 2nd grade.  And while this is stressful enough on its own, I'm also starting an adventure of my own.  My sabbatical, during which I plan on finally writing the book I've been talking about for a few years now.  Not for any reason other than I want to do it, but it's still anxiety inducing.  See, I'm not always good at finishing what I start and in this case I'm a little worried that I might give up in favor of laying around enjoying the freedom to do nothing.  To ensure I don't choose the path of ultimate slack, I've been telling people my plans.  I figure if everyone who knows I'm taking a sabbatical also knows that I'm supposed to be writing a book on this sabbatical, I'll feel the pressure to produce a book.
So I'm counting down.  And next week, next Wednesday I'll be dusting off my long abandoned first chapters and getting down to work.  Wish me luck.  Oh, and wish me a little luck with the first day of school stuff too.  Little Dog has a tendency to make this sort of thing a little more "interesting" for me.

Consider my mind blown

Some background is probably necessary for this to make any sense, so here we go.  Over the Memorial Day weekend we went to San Francisco to see the preview of the new Tales of the City musical at ACT with our dear friends.  Well the grown ups went to see it, the kids were left at home with an amazing and very brave sitter who took on all four children at once! The weekend was a nostalgic escape from our daily lives and a time to commune with our friends as a group who don't usually get to be all in one place at one time.  It would have been near perfect but the last day, just hours before we had to pack up and head home, we got a call from our pet sitter.

NE had agreed to house sit and watch the dogs, fish and chickens while we were away.  She had agreed to sit, but expressed some anxiety over dealing with the chickens.  They freaked her out a bit.  I assured her they were low maintenance, just opening and shutting the run at the right times of day and night, everything else would be set up and good for the weekend. In doing this I may have cursed myself because the experience ended up being the kind of thing that can traumatize you.  She had to inform us that one of the chickens had died.  And it couldn't just die in the yard, oh no, it died in the hen house with her legs sticking out of the door blocking the ramp the chickens use to enter and exit their little home.  And it just happened to be the biggest hen.  And she just happened to die, trapping another chicken in the house.  And NE had to deal with it.  She had to maneuver the dead chicken out of the way and pull her out of the house.  She dealt with it like a pro, but she was shaken.  She felt responsible, though she did absolutely nothing wrong. As much as I tried to calm her, I very much doubt she'll ever house sit for us again.

Anyhow, after the dust settled the fact was that we were down one hen.  I wanted to add another to the flock.  When I started to look at this, I found it is generally recommended to add at least two chickens to a flock at a time.  So I did.  I got two 4 month old pullets who would start laying in a month or so and did the work to integrate them into the flock.

Fast forward about a month.  The new girls, Ms. Fluffypants and Wishbone, have become a part of the flock and are staring to lay.  Like other pullets, they start by laying these adorable little pullet eggs.  They're about half the size of a normal egg, perfectly formed and just plain cute.  Now I already obsess over the chickens with a level of fascination that Mr. Dog finds incomprehensible.  I delight in collecting the eggs each day the way a child might delight in looking under the tree on Christmas.  I gleefully report the egg count almost every day to Mr. Dog who more or less rolls his eyes at my unbridled enthusiasm for our poultry.  So just imagine how giddy I was when the new girls' first tiny egg appeared.

I rushed in to show Mr. Dog who may have mumbled "nice" or something equally unsatisfying.  So I decided to ratchet things up with my announcements.  Each time they produced an egg, I'd bring it in and build it up.  My favorite, and the one that has stuck, is to promise to show him something that will "blow his mind"  after I repeat this several times I hold up the egg and say "Pullet egg!"  Then I make a little hand to head gesture designed to compliment my next recitation of, "Did it blow you mind?"
And now I do this a lot.  I personally find it hilarious even if no on else does.
The other evening, we got two pullet eggs in one day.  After explaining this to Mr. Dog and the boys and doing all of the "blow your mind" nonsense, I did the "Did it blow your mind?" closer complete with hand gesture.
Little Dog, in a completely flat voice answers, "No.  You know what would blow my mind?  Some water."  And he turns my own little joke against me to ask for a glass of water.  He is a future master.

Fame and fortune

Little Dog had a fortune cookie today.  When I picked him up from camp this afternoon he was excited to tell me about it.
"My fortune said I'm going to find fame!" he says happily.
"Really, that's awesome.  Do you know what that means?"
"Yeah!  I'm going to be rich and famous!"
"That's awesome.  Will you buy me a house?  Or a car?  Or some fancy pants?" I ask.
"It's not going to be until I'm a grown up."
"That's ok, I'll wait.  It'll be cool when you're famous," I say.
"Yep, and there will be hot ladies there."
Um, what? "Great.  Hot ladies, you say?"
"Yep, lots of them.  And I'll buy you some fancy pants.  And a new car.  And I'll build you a house."
"That's great.  Thanks!" then I think a moment, "Wait, are you going to want to bring all of these hot ladies to my house?"
"Maybe.  Why?" he asks.
"Because that'll be a lot of extra cooking," I say.
"Do you want lots of hot ladies at your house?" he asks.
"I don't know.  Maybe just one or two."
"Ok, I'll just bring one or maybe two.  Just the best ones," he assures me.
Well I'm glad we got that cleared up.

Awesome

Yeah, I use awesome too much.  I'm a child of the 80s and this term seems to be my go to for expressing my pleasure when things go well, or with a more sarcastic tone, my displeasure when things do not.  Humor me, ok?  I've tried to switch it up and I've failed so I'm just going to use it.

But do you know what's awesome?  When someone sees your kid.  When someone really sees your kid and gets them.  I have the extreme pleasure of watching that happen right now.  And truly it is AWESOME.

Little Dog is not always an easy kid.  He has big emotions, big fears and problems with keeping himself in check.  Some of it is anxiety.  Some of it is his act first, think about it later lifestyle. Some of it is that his actions are often very big because he feels pressure and judgement and instant regret.  And some of it is just not being seen.

At his last school he was not seen by his teacher.  There was much headbutting and little appreciation of his amazing and complex nature.  While he may not be an easy kid, he is a creative kid, a funny kid, a loving kid and a smart kid.  He has boundless energy and a wild imagination.  He wants to be a good kid and he wants to fit in, but sometimes those things get forgotten when he is seen only for his surface actions.

We started summer camps a few weeks ago, and I will be the first to admit it was rough.  He was nervous and excited.  This combination can be deadly.  He gets ahead of himself and he can forget that no one is out to get him.  They started the week with a trip to the zoo which was exciting and overwhelming.  By the time they were heading back he'd lost control. They called me to come pick him up.  I was beside myself.  If Little Dog can't go to camp this summer, I have to work fast to make alternate arrangements, but on a scarier note, it made me wonder if kindergarten was going to be too much for him as well.

I had a talk with him and a few talks with the assistant director of the program and by the end of the week, Little Dog was having good days.  He was finding his way and beginning to enjoy it.  This past week has been a continuation of that.  And a big part of this is that he is being seen.  The assistant director has talked to me daily about how great Little Dog is doing.  He's identified his silly side and his love of reading.  He commented on his intense concentration and passion for words.  The assistant director sees the good side of Little Dog and tells me and Little Dog that he is doing great.  He goes out of his way to let me know what funny or fantastic things he's done during the day making sure that Little Dog hears when he is praised.  He lets Little Dog know that he's being seen.  And I am breathing a big sigh of relief.

In return Little Dog is letting the assistant director know that he has been seen and is showing more of the traits that often get hidden or lost in his chaos.  The other day when the campers were less cooperative than they needed to be, the assistant director told them, "Listen up or I'm going to have to raise my voice!  And I don't like to raise my voice!"  He explained that they were not following the rules and the club was a mess.  It was frustrating him.  Little Dog replied by tugging on his hand and saying, "I'm going to help clean up," and started putting away toys that were adding to the disorder without even being asked.

He's also started including him in little jokes.  Like yesterday when I asked if he had a good day or a bad day at pick up time.  Little Dog said, "Well mostly awesome, but I may have rubbed eggs all over my face."
I was confused, and asked, "You rubbed eggs all over your face?  When?"
He changed his story, "No, I rubbed goldfish all over my face."
"When did this happen?" I asked seeing that little glint of mischief in his eye.
"At lunch.  You should ask," he suggested taking my hand and leading me to the assistant director.
"So did Little Dog rub goldfish all over his face at lunch?" I asked.
Looking very confused the assistant director looked at Little Dog and asked "What?" Clearly looking for clarification at which point Little Dog busted up laughing at his own strange little joke.  Apparently that is high humor for a 5-year-old boy.  And in our world it is also a sign that Little Dog has decided someone is on his side and he feels more secure.  And for that reason, it is awesome.