Open Letter to the Emergency Room Staff

To the Admitting Nurse: Now is not the time to tell me that my deductable for emergency services is the highest you have ever seen.

To the Triage Nurse: He is only five, and a child of the new millenium. He has never seen a thermometer that is meant to be held under his tongue. Please be patient.

To the Doctor who said, "I'll be right back." after examining Thing Two without sharing any thoughts about his condition or what the next step may be: "I'll be right back" does not mean the same thing as, "forty five minutes from now a nurse you have never seen will poke her head in and casually mention that the x-ray tech should be here any minute to take him down for a CAT scan."

To the X-Ray Tech: If you want him to stay completely still during the scan, perhaps you should warn him that the machine is going to make a godawful noise while he is in there.

To the Nurse Ginger and second doctor we saw (Dr. I'll Be Right Back, never came back.) you both rock! Thank you.


Thing Two went home with a huge bump on his head, a beautiful brain scan, a refillable ice pack and a great story about taking a ride on a bed with wheels.

Thing Two Makes a Movie

Lately, Thing Two has taken to setting up elaborate scenes with his blocks and toys and then telling stories as if he were making a movie. His latest is "filled with magic, entertain and Disney." Starring "Hunter Gravy, Serena Avenue, Bob Lincoln and Miranda Teapot." The "Baby Who Talks" is played by "Cheeky." And the "Girl Doing Yoga" (shown above) is played by "Mrs. Pottentail."

Kissing the Girls

Ladies, lock up your preschoolers.
Tonight, Thing Two told us he kisses all the girls at school. (He is 4.)
Us: All the girls?!
Him: Yup. All of them.
Us: Do they run away or kiss you back?
Him: No. I don't know what they do.
Us: Do you really kiss them, or do you just want to kiss them.
Him: Yeah. I want to kiss them.

Clearly, we are not going to get any real answers out of this one.

The Conversation

Daily, for the last seven years, basically since Thing One could speak, we have been having a variation on the following conversation:

Mommy?
Yes?
(long pause as Thing One stares absently into the middle distance.)
What?
Oh. Nothing.

Perhaps an hour passes:

Mommy?
Yes?
(long pause as Thing One stares...)
What?
Huh? Oh. I forget.

Later in the day:

Mommy?
Yes?
(long pause as Thing One stares...)
What?
Hmmm. Nevermind.
(short pause as I gather my inner resources.)
Are you sure you do not have something you need to talk about?
No. I just like to say your name.

You can imagine how annoyed one might become by this.

Well, today I called my mother and we had this interchange:

Hello?
Hi, Mom.
(long pause)
(I giggle self-consciously)
Um, I don't really have anything to say. I just wanted to say "hi."

:)

Thing Two

The highlight of my day today:

Sharing a companionable bowl of soup and some conversation with Thing Two.

It is so bittersweet, this little baby-faced boy on the brink of becoming bigger. On the brink of understanding the world well enough to stop crying when things don't go his way. On the brink of fewer cute misunderstanding of the language. On the brink of figuring out who Santa really is. The brink is so palpable to me right now. Everytime he lets me kiss that sweet spot at the corner of his jaw, where he still smells like a baby, I feel like if I just squeeze him a little tighter I might be able to keep him from toppling over that edge.....

I know, I know - it is his job to leap over that edge and it is my job to push him over if I must, ....but dang!

It just astounds me that in 8 years he will be hiding in his room all day, playing music I don't understand and emerging only long enough to grab some pizza and pretend to ignore me.

More Cuteness

Thing Two and I were trying to think of words that begin with "N".

Thing Two: nardjana

Me: nardjana?

Thing Two: Yes, it a knife that bad guys use to cut bread.

"Mommy, I Wrote A Song and It Is Called - Kings Do Things That Are Royal"

Oooooooooh, Kings do things
that are royal!
That are royal!
They eat royal food,
and they (mumble,mumble)-ood.

The knights fight the dragons
for the kings.
For the kings!

And the princesses dance
for the queens.
For the queens!
For the queens!
For the queens!

[Wanders away, chanting "For the queens!"
The wandering takes a little more shape and becomes a march back to me, still chanting.
The chanting stops abruptly when he reaches me.]

"So, Mommy? What was your favorite part of my song?"

They Inherit Our Bad Traits Too (or Why I Am In Love with the Montessori Teacher)

Geoff and I are both first born children: perfectionists, eager to please, not so interested in trying things that might lead to (gasp! horror of horrors!) failure. Growing up, if I wasn't guaranteed success on the first try at a new skill or activity, I was not all that interested in trying. Geoff was the same way.

It is not so surprising then, that we have two children who, though different in so many fabulous and interesting ways, are both completely paralyzed by a fear of failure in any new situation.

Thing Two turned four a month ago, still wearing pull-ups. He flat out refuses to get on a tricycle or anything with pedals. He won't draw more than straight lines and don't you even think of asking him if he wants to learn how to write his name. Most of his sentences start with "When I am bigger, I will ....."
Is this healthy? Of course not.
Does his fear of trying new things cause him anxiety and frustration that lead to angry outbursts? Yes.
Am I worried about him? Nope. Not a bit.

We had all these issues with his sister. And on her own time, she decided she could do all the things we feared she would never do.

So, when I got a note from Thing Two's preschool three weeks ago, stating that they were combining the younger and older four classrooms and adding a more academic focus, I called up the local Montessori School and asked for a tour. After the tour, I called up the old preschool and withdrew his enrollment.

In the Montessori school, he will direct his time, and no one will tell him what to draw or when. He will be engaged in activities that are as challenging as he wants them to be in an atmosphere of structured freedom that I know he will find comforting and reassuring.

I knew it was the right place for him when we went to meet the teachers last week and he had the following two encounters with Mr. Ben (yes! a male teacher! in preschool!):

Thing Two: What is this?
Mr. Ben explains the task and asks if Thing Two would like to try it.
Thing Two: I don't have that at home. I don't think I can do that.
Mr. Ben: But that's why we come to school, isn't it? To try new things?
Thing Two wanders away and Mr. Ben does not press the issue.

Thing Two, standing in front of the chalkboard easel: Can I draw here?
Mr. Ben: Sure.
Thing Two: I only know how to draw rain (he draws a vertical line) and grass (he draws a horizontal line).
Mr. Ben: I bet you can draw lots of other things.
Thing Two: Nope. I don't make them the right way.
Mr. Ben: But your way IS the right way, buddy.

Is it just a coincidence that today Thing Two brought me a drawing of a pig? Two circles! Connected! With a face! and legs!

Yes, Mr. Ben. Thing Two and I adore you now. And when you bring out your guitar on that first day, Thing Two's hero worship will be undeniable.