Goings-on of those super cute Swint boys...and girl! Former home of the O Files....the journal of cute or noteworthy Owen doings, in place of a baby book (which I completely neglected to compile). Attempt to remedy the shame I feel for having let so many adorable moments slip into the abyss of forgetfulness.
When Nunu asked Owen what he wanted for Christmas a while back he apparently said, "I just want to be like my Daddy." So Nunu got him a sport coat. Asher, however, was the most interested in trying it on.
When Owen realized he had opened up a box of costumes, he started shedding his pj's immediately!
Whipped cream: taste it again, for the very first time.
Christmas dinner crowd
Snow! And lots of it! In North Carolina, of all things! And we're getting a blizzard back home, too, apparently. Owen was SO upset we didn't have his snow pants and boots. Plastic bags and saran wrap to the rescue.
We're in NC! Yippee! The sunlight here is yellow, not blue-gray-white...kind of nice :) Wonderful to see mom and Deb and kick back and play, play, play with the kids with no agenda.
Before we left town, we had a family Christmas back at home, which was awesome! Owen was spectacularly excited and has not stopped talking about his 'two wheel scooter' for big boys...at least until we got here and he found a new Carolina-side scooter from Nunu too! Yesterday I went on a walk with him around the neighborhood while he scooted along, and I could not keep up with him. He can really whizz around! I also got the boys an indoor trampoline with handle; there was no learning curve for them whatsoever. I'm hoping that takes the edge off the long indoor winter afternoons with two rambunctious boys back home.
Tomorrow Daddy arrives! Looking forward to it, we need a man around here! Just 'cause I don't mention my Dad much here doesn't mean we're not thinking about him. He's conspicuously missing from this party, and he would have thoroughly enjoyed hosting his grandkids and watching them enjoy themselves at his place. He's not really missing out though, is he? Last week in Sunday school one of the other teachers was asking the kids about their Christmas preparations at home, and if anyone was taking a trip, etc. A few kids were piping up and then I heard Owen say, "My gwampa died away and he lives in heaven with Jesus now." It's true!
Yesterday we took a little outing to a country pet store. Great! There was an emu, llamas, donkeys, chickens, goats, parrot, a lemur(!), ferrets, a marmoset, hedgehog, a ton of lizards, and the more normal assortment of pets, all really accessible for the kids to look at. Well, it wasn't busy and we asked if Owen could hold one of the puppies (I selfishly asked the clerk for the one *I* loved, despite the fact that Asher was fixated on a chihuahua puppy). She brought out the sweetest jack russell terrier puppy. He was so mild-tempered! He just saw in Owen's lap and enjoyed being petted, no nips or anything. Owen said, "Mommy I LOVE dis puppy. I weally, weally love him, and I don't like dat puppy over dere. He is TOO squeaky." (referring to the chihuahua yipping away) Folks, I am an emotional thinker when in the presence of young animals. (Ask Reuel how we acquired our pet rabbit.) I REALLY wanted to bring home that dog. It was only knowing my already-severe homemaking shortcomings (can I really add more chaos to my life right now? No, it is clear I cannot.) Do I know anything about this breed? (No, but how can a puppy this sweet not be a fit?) Will my husband possibly divorce me if I buy him right now? (No, but the disapproval might be worse to live with than that.) By an extremely tiny margin, my rational side won. And now the next day I can see clearly how close to the precipice I was. Too bad, because probably some wonderful boy-and-his-dog relationships were born of less-than-rational parental choices on the spur of the moment :) At least Owen and Asher will have a less insane mother this way and Reuel won't take away my credit card.
I don't think Asher's run on diapers yesterday (pun intended) was a virus. It ended yesterday, and he just wasn't miserable like all the other folks I've heard complaining. Here's the hypothesis that hit me today: molasses. I was mixing up some gingerbread man dough early yesterday morning so that we could make cookies with friends who came for a playdate, and when I went to answer the door and finally made it back to the kitchen Asher had pushed the stepstool over to the mixer and showed me a brown mouth full of dough, and he was covered...who knows how much he ingested. Just an idea.
Today's one of those days...a GREAT one, and I just mull over the fact that there's no way I can preserve the joy exactly as it is. I suppose there will always be new joy, but I liked today's wonderfulness so much. Not just today, but every day, Asher is the sweetest thing on two legs. He is SO JOYFUL and loves life. OK, he whines with the best of them, but under that is a very flexible and giggly fellow...finally, I know what 'they' mean when they say ignore a tantrum. Asher gets over 'em fast. He is a food hound. I have rarely seen the like of his homing beacon on all things caloric (except perhaps my own...hmm). But bedtime is my favorite. He babbles away while we read some books and pray and sing, and then he happily lays down in his crib and babbles away up at me. His current routine is to say baba (blanket) and I drape it over him, he pats it on his tummy and giggles. Then he wants high fives. Lots of them. He holds up his hands and says, 'Hi!' and bats at mine as many times as I let him, laughing all the while. Then we blow kisses for a while, I snuggle up Mr. Moo Cow next to him, and as I walk away saying 'Night-night Asher' he is babbling about something and chuckling lightly about his jokes, or he mimics me and says 'Ni-ni' all the way til I close the door. What bliss! All the pains of parenthood are worth these moments (and even the mommy belly).
On another note, tonight as I was putting Owen to bed he was putting up various fusses and didn't want to be left alone. I had to get a little tough to gain compliance with the bedtime plan. As I'm trying to get out the door and saying, "Owen, that's enough. Let's have bedtime the easy way" with a stern-ish voice, Owen says, "Mommy, don't get short with me." Then, there is silence and an awkward grin on his lips and he waits and sees how that's going to go over. A pause from me as well, as I consider where on earth he has heard this (not from me...that's not one of my phrases). Then I say, "Where did you hear THAT??" and he just breaks up laughing and I do too. As I now head out the door for good he says, "But mommy, I really mean that. You shouldn't have a mean voice like that!" From the mouths of babes!
Off to make Christmas cookies for a party tomorrow.
I'm not exactly sure what norovirus is or how it works, but I hear it's going around, and the symptoms seem to be 24-36 hours of misery involving major bodily entrance and exit points. And a whole lot of folks seem to have it right now. I altered playdate plans today at Reuel's urging so we wouldn't go to the mall and have a better chance of picking something up before traveling on Monday (me and two little boys flying alone, even on a short flight, with any of the three of us having even one extra bathroom or change-of-clothes need is more than I'd like to deal with, ideally). Well, I won't spell it out, but let's just say that Asher went through about 10 diapers today. He was otherwise in fine spirits and nothing else going on. Hopefully it's not a full-blown case and the story will not continue to unfold throughout the night :P
In other news, I have just returned from the mall, and there is no hospital lego set*** in the store where Owen claimed to have seen it. I don't know what he was looking at and had his eye on. So, Santa acquired an adequate substitute and will attempt to explain to Owen via accompanying note why the elves were not making hospital legos this year. I am fairly confident the child will be unaffected by the substitution.
***Note to a certain grandmother named Janice: please do not go and search for a hospital lego set upon reading this :)
Before I get too much feedback about being a grinch, as I fear I might after that last post, let me take a moment to share the fast evolution of Christmas practice in our house as of today.
It went like this...
Owen: [wailing suddenly] Oh NOOOO! Mommy and Daddy I forGOT! I forgot to tell Santa what I wanted him to GIVE me! He doesn't know to bring me a PRESENT! [continuing to be most distraught]
Mommy and Daddy: [flailing]
Mommy: It's OK, Owen, Santa was so busy today that I guess he forgot to ask you what you wanted, and I thought you told me you were too shy to want to talk to him.
Owen: But I WASN'T too shy after I got near him. I FORGOT!!
Daddy: Well, I'm sure he knows what you want! What did you want to tell him you wanted?
Owen: I needed to tell him I wanted a block set! [block set=legos that he saw his friend Nathan get for his 4th birthday last month] But can Santa get a block set? Will he go to the mall to the block store?
Mommy: Oh, I don't know if Santa goes to the mall. But I bet you will get a block set..no need to worry!
Daddy: How does Santa get toys?
Owen: He makes them. Can Santa make blocks?
Mommy: [realizing that the point of no return seems to have flown by a few miles back] Yes. I'm sure Santa can make legos. [shocked at the fact that despite having only ever referred to the 'story' of Santa, her child has quickly assimilated a trusting belief in his reality. Also considering that he must be quite muddled on the matter as evidenced by statements such as, "I don't like the mall Santa. I only like the Santa we just saw."]
Owen: But I forgot to tell him!!
[While conversation and reading with Daddy continues, softhearted mother goes to write a note to Santa on Owen's behalf with connect-the-dots letters for the words LEGO BLOCKS and OWEN, so that he can trace them. Stickers, addressed envelope and stamp are taken to child.]
Owen: [much relieved, completing letter to Santa] I will go put this in the mailbox by MYSELF in the morning! [pause] But how will Santa know that I want the blocks that make the hospital?
Mommy: He will know, don't worry about that!
[Daddy takes picture]
And so, don't consider me cruel. I still don't like living with this dishonesty. I don't like imagining Owen looking at me in a few more years saying, 'You LIED to me??' Ask Reuel, he calls me the compulsive confessor. I don't like the lie, even if it's for fun!! But I'm also softhearted, and Owen made his own conclusions...so, Christmas has been Santa'd. But the minute Owen asks me if he's real, you probably won't find me fibbing any more! ;)
Also of note for my record-keeping (brought to mind because of Owen's comment about putting the letter in the mailbox by himself tomorrow morning), this week was a very significant one...the first time Owen has come out of his room by himself in the morning :} I know that's shocking to many, but the kid has stayed in his bed every morning and waited for us to retrieve him. He also never gets out of his bed at bedtime. Some may think that he is an abnormally compliant child, but no! I think we are abnormally enforcing of rules surrounding sleep times :P But 3.5 was the magic age where he wondered to himself what would happen if he left the bed, and he tried it. Two mornings ago he came downstairs to the living room to find Asher and Reuel playing together, and this morning he came to our bed and woke us up. That felt very bizarre, but sweet. I quickly made a new rule...when you come down to our bed, the rule is that you have to snuggle with us for a few minutes until we wake up, not stand at the foot of the bed demanding breakfast!
A couple of other weekend pix:
Owen insisted that Daddy decorate the gingerbread house with him. This may be because as I was initially 'helping' him put the walls and roof together yesterday he commented at one point, "Mommy, this is supposed to be fun for kids! You need to stop doing all the parts and let me have fun!" Ah, too true. Owen and I compete for control of crafts :}
I swore I would not be one of those parents who pushes their kid to sit on Santa's lap. I mean, the whole Santa thing is *for* the kids...supposedly...right? So why in the name of a joyous season would I put a nervous child onto a strange man's lap when, let's face it, he's dressed bizarrely and to a toddler/preschooler, looks as likely to snack on him as to grant his wish for a present. I asked Owen if he wanted to sit on Santa's lap at the mall, and it was a firm NO WAY. Fine with me. But then I found out there was a wonderfully quaint, free, community-supported Santa picture session at the very beautifully restored Victorian original library building. I'd never been in there and wanted to see it, and I'd heard it was really a nice event. So....off we went to see what it was. It was lovely! But Owen still wanted no part of sitting in Santa's lap. I told him we'd just wait in line and watch the other kids and see how he felt when we got to the front. Eventually I could tell he really did want to do it, and would feel sad if he chickened out, but didn't want to, if you know what I mean. So I bribed him, and he did great and loved it. The member of our party who I thought would be no problem, ahem, the social one, thought he was being adopted by a monster and might never see his family again. So, I was *that* parent. Sigh. When we left the building, there were some dressed up cartoon characters outside where the line had formed, and Asher began crying on sight, thinking we were going to give him to one of them! How awful.
At this point it may be no surprise that I'm not big on the whole believing-in-Santa thing. I think it's nice as a story, and am not of the mind to ban Santa from Christmas, but why lie to kids to the extent that adults do? Why not just explain it as a fun seasonal tradition and leave out the intentional deception. Reuel is a bit more sentimental about the experience than that, so I feel I am treading always a shaky tightrope of trying not to offend Reuel's Christmas sensibilities, while not feeling totally disgusting with myself and parenting against my own. Ugh! So far, I just choose my words very carefully and let Owen draw his own conclusions. I've decided the most sensible answer is probably not getting too concerned about it either way as long as we focus on keeping the real meaning of Christmas at the center of our celebration.
Post-haircut:
(Yes, those are chicken nuggets from McDs...guilty as charged :P )
p.s. seem to have been successful at kicking the round-the-mouth eczema so far with a 2x/day for 5 days treatment with 2.5% cortisone, then keeping his chin lubricated with aquaphor to prevent re-chapping. So far so good!
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