Esme's Club: The Plan

Esme has this recurring idea about a neighborhood club. She's done some intermittent planning, but this week she actually put something on paper. Here it is, hanging on our front door like Luther's 95 Theses. (Since Thursday morning. As of this post, it's still there, for the enjoyment of all passersby.)

Sounds like a pretty fun club, right? Ahh, it's so cute it tickles me every time I read it. She did it all by herself, with no help that I know of. A few specific things I love:

• how she follows the Wilcox school week, Tuesday through Saturday
• the lapse into Gollumese: "On Wednesday we sing songs and we dances."
• how she covered her bases with the male sex. Just to preempt all possible masculine inquiries.

Spider[underwear]Man

A Miserable Day in Eczema Land

Graham's calves, ankles, and feet have been lousy lately, but this week there was a particularly itchy, red, and raw day. Staring down at his legs as he scratched, Graham aptly summarized: "My skin is grumpy."

And at a different moment, showing me his flaky, red-flecked feet, quoth he: "I have blood. I need a blood sticker." I thought that was a pretty cute way of saying band-aid.

Graham to God

I don't remember anymore what had just happened, but recently, God helped us through something at home, and I said out loud as I walked through the hall, "Praise the Lord!"

And Graham, following behind me a few paces, added his own words of worship:

"I love you so much, God. And I enjoy you in your heart."

(Pause.)

"I mean, in my heart."

A (Brief) Tale of Woe

Esme wrote this short story last week, completely on her own. The illustrations kill me. She really manages to convey dismay and distress in the body language of her characters!

I'm including her captions below with punctuation added, but the spelling and capitalization are hers.

I have a Flat tier

(I think this is the title page.)

One day My tier was Flat. My Daddy had a Flat tier too. it is hot tobay.

Then Momy cam in. "I have a Flat tier too!"

That's it. That's the whole story. Gritty, sweaty, bleak--a stark portrayal of the times when life just dogpiles on top of you. That's the kind of story teller Esme is.

Or it could just be that "flat" was one of her spelling words last week.

Late Night Conversation

On Friday my husband blessed my heart tremendously by posting a very kind birthday message on Facebook and here. His words, perhaps, gave you one perspective of our marriage. Now here's a completely different angle.

Last night as we were supposed to be heading to bed, I somehow stumbled on a video for the Buttercup, a little jar that (as advertised) allows you to make your own butter quickly and easily. Dave meandered around, tidying up while I watched, entranced. When the video ended...

Dave: All right, to bed.

Me: A Buttercup! That's so cute!

Dave: A buttercup is a flower.

Me: But you can make your own butter!

Dave: It's just... butter. Who cares?*

Me: No, you don't understand! I've always wanted to make my own butter, ever since I was little and first read about Laura doing it!

Dave: That's not how Laura did it.

Me: (Laughing) I am a romantic. I have to romanticize these things.

Dave: (Grinning) And I'm here to balance you out.

Me: You're not balancing me out; you're squelching me!

(Mutual chuckling.)

Dave: (Mockingly) Ever since I read about Henry Ford I wanted to make my own car!

Me: You used to read?**

Dave: Touché.


*I tend toward the foodie end of the spectrum, whereas Dave's more of a Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese guy.

**Married to a passionate reader, my husband again serves as my foil by generally doing no hobby-reading at all.

His Last Carol

This evening while in the car, Esme, Graham and I were listening to Christmas tunes on the radio. A modern rendition of an old hymn came on, featuring a singer who was not familiar to me but who seemed like... well, like he might have benefitted from a bit more vocal training before he hit the recording studio. As I noted this, a sweeter voice came from my back seat.

"Mommy," said Esme, her tone thoughtful. "I think the man who's singing dis song is about to be dying, but he's still trying his best."

Overheard

At our small-group family Christmas party last night, a dark-haired cutie armed with a plastic weapon hollered to my son:

"Matthew, come on! Our next mission is to kill the 'popolypse! No! The zomblies!"

Graham's Jammies (and Other Minor Malfunctions)

I can't remember exactly what was going on with Graham's pajamas in this picture, but whatever it was, it kind of reminds me of M.C. Escher's artwork. You know, where you look at it, and then realize you should take a second look, and you keep looking, and you're still not quite sure you've figured it out...

I do know that he put them on that way by himself.

And while we're on nightwear, do you know that Graham's word for blanket is? It's "blantem." As in, "Mommy, I need my blantem." This was a source of great puzzlement to us when he first started saying it. Even now it bemuses me--he has such a strong vocabulary and says many things so clearly, but... blantem.

But my favorite Graham speech-mystery is how he pronounces "taekwondo." It's "kaka-tuno." When he first began saying this, all I could think was that somehow he was trying to say "carpal tunnel." And then I would ask him if he was saying carpal tunnel, and he would get very upset and frustrated with me and say, "NO! Kaka-TUNo!" which really didn't help me at all except to make me laugh, which in turn made him even angrier...

"But that's all settled now. Now we all live in simple peace and harmony." (Name that musical.)

I hope he never grows up.

Best Advent Quote Since 'Caesar Disgustus'

Only someone who's been tracking with the Wilcoxes for a loooong time will remember this story, but it shines on brightly in Dave's and my memories. Now there's a new candle burning in our Hall of Christmas Funnies.

Matthew, on December 1st: "Aren't we going to set up the Negativity Calendar today?"

(Erm, we think you meant "Nativity Calendar," which actually should have been "Advent Calendar," but... you know, given the atmosphere in our home that day and all of the bickering and arguing [children] and snapping and rebuking [parents], "Negativity Calendar" was probably just right, in an unintentionally ironic kind of way.)

Found on Dave's Phone: His and Hers Road Trip Pictures

A couple of days after the service for Dave's dad, we strapped the kids into our jam-packed car and headed toward the beach. Day was barely breaking when we left Louisville, and it was raining. We drove right into the approaching storm and eventually passed through it. On the other side of the deluge, a great bank of cloud was slipping away, and silver beams of sunlight punctured the haze in the distance. I had to take a picture, even knowing that the foreground would be ugly, Jersey-walled highway.

A few minutes later, Dave asked me to take another picture. Our minivan, fondly known as Janie the Silver Apple, was about to reach a noteworthy numerical milestone.

It didn't strike me at the time, but when I looked back a month later and saw the juxtaposition of the two pictures, it seemed funny. My picture. Dave's picture. Classic, in so many ways.

A Meg Quote

Given my theater love and background, I'm a pretty animated reader. I do voices, accents, lots of expression, and generally get pretty into it when I'm reading to my kids. My mom was always a lively reader too. I guess what you grow up with becomes your standard... Meg drove this home to me recently when I asked her if she enjoyed listening to the audio recording of our history text, which I purchased this year to spice up our school routine. The reader is a well-respected story teller with many, many recordings to his name. Meg's response?

"I think he is a pretty good reader... for a man."

"Mommy, I have a bowf!"

I don't know if "bowf" is some confusion-born hybrid of bow and both, or if Graham just thinks that bow has an f at the end. Either way, he was very proud of his bowf.

A Lunar Adventure

As usual, I read Graham one of his "things that go" books before his nap yesterday.  This book is one of his long-time favorites, and it has the vehicles broken down by category. So there's a spread called "In the Park" (roller skates, bikes, scooters), there's a spread called "Trains" (steam engine, freight train, monorail), there are pages of airplanes and boats and trucks. There's even a spread called "Into Space," which includes the larger object in this picture:

Now usually I just read the captions to Graham, but recently I've been asking him to name some of the objects himself. He knows many, including stretch limousine, taxi, and hot air balloon. I didn't think he would know this one, which is supposed to be moon landing craft, but I thought I would try. So I pointed to it and said, "What's that?"

Graham was silent for a moment, then he breathed in and whispered, as if overawed, "Space... turtle."

Needless to say, I cracked up, asked him if I'd heard him right, received confirmation, and laughed some more. I swear he made that up just to sound like he knew what he was talking about. He's only two, but I would not put it past him. Space turtle. I wonder if NASA ever considered calling it that? It's not as informative a title, but it's way more memorable. Especially if you whisper it.

Super Zero

(I'm posting some pre-vacation pictures now, even though we're still on our trip and I'm sure there are more vacation pics to come.)

It used to be that Graham called super heroes "super models." I'm not sure why--I can't think how he would even know that phrase. But anyway, for a while, seeing a picture of the Avengers or Superman would prompt Graham to point and say excitedly, "Super Model!" Close enough.

Now he calls them "super zeros." More to the point, he likes to be the super zero. Being Super Zero involves wearing costumes (preferably with masks), racing around the house (often with Matthew), and yelling "to the rekue!" at the top of his lungs, which makes Dave and me shake our heads over the intensity of the cuteness.

Here are some pictures of our Super Zero.

To the rekue!!!

On Language

I love the way my kids use and abuse the English language. Their misunderstandings and malapropisms are so revealing of the way their minds work.

For example, for the longest time, Graham insisted on having "canoe water" every time he wanted to drink. We understood this meant that he wanted fresh, cold water, and not what had been sitting in his blue, aluminum water bottle for the last hour or more. Somewhere in his little brain he must have had the "new" sound filed away, but the similar word canoe, reinforced by our daily reading of one of his favorite Things That Go books, was more familiar. The book spread that features the canoe is even titled "On the Water," so the semantic link was firmly established. Canoe water. Makes perfect sense!

Another really funny one happened one morning as we drove around town doing errands. "Mommy," Esme suddenly piped, "I hope we don't get one of dem tomato storms Daddy was talking about last night."

I was baffled. "What did you say?" I probably had her repeat her statement three or four times just to make sure I'd understood. Then I remembered. The night before at dinner, the weather had been threatening, and I think Dave had gotten a notification that there were tornado warnings somewhere in our area. We spent a few minutes talking about tornados and why they're so dangerous and what we would do if one touched down nearby. And all the while, our Esme thought we were discussing a storm of tomatoes. It's a vivid picture, isn't it?

Sometimes we have a kid who intentionally misunderstands someone's words. This is usually Matthew, and it's often for the sake of humor. Meg and I recently discovered the outstanding children's author Meindert deJong and devoured a couple of his books. (If you're a lit lover and you've never read The Wheel on the School, you really must do so.) "I just finished The House of Sixty Fathers," Meg told me one afternoon. "What did you say?" squawked Matthew. "The Horse of Stinky Feathers?"

(When Dave heard this story, he had both Meg and Matthew illustrate their own Horse of Stinky Feathers. I wish I still had their sketches and could show them to you here. They were quite amusing.)

Graham also has a trick of creating new words by blending old ones. "Dootagain" is fairly obvious; it's what he says when he wants us to repeat something fun or funny. And his special name for his sleeping buddy--a certain stuffed Big Red Dog--is "Cliffruff." This, of course, is Clifford combined with ruff, the sound that a dog makes. We had always called him Clifford, but Graham just started saying Cliffruff one day, and it stuck.

I feel like there is one more Graham-made compound word that I've been meaning to include in this post, and I cannot for the life of me think what it is... gah! Maybe I'll come back and add it when I remember it. In the meantime, we'll keep having fun with language here at the Wilcox home.

Pretty in Pink?

These are old pictures from several months back, but they're too classic not to share.

This was the day Graham decided to try out my pink nail polish. On his face. It might appear from this first shot that Graham recognized his mistake and regretted his decision, but no. In reality, this shot is more indicative of his attitude:

See the tongue in the cheek there, the little smirk? Uh-huh. That's more like it. "Like what I've done here, Ma? Oh, you don't? Gee, imagine that. Hmmmm." Of course, he didn't smirk quite so much when I scrubbed his face with acetone. And his dad didn't smirk when he came home hours later and his son still smelled like a nail salon. Yech.

(Actually, just to set the record straight, I recall Graham looking totally innocent and perplexed when I stumbled on his mischief and set him straight. He only smirked for the picture. Maybe it sends a mixed message when I tell him "No, never again, not ever" and then turn around to whip out the camera?)

The Tale of Sleepy

Matthew with Sleepy, before the release

A few weeks ago, Matthew found and adopted a gypsy moth caterpillar. To say that I was not thrilled with his choice of species would be an understatement. I have a deep, shuddering hatred of this particular creepy-crawly, rooted in my love of oak trees and the memory of the nastiest chore of my farm-girl days.* However, Matthew lovingly built a little home for "Sleepy" in one of my disposable food-storage containers, and when he wanted to bring it inside and install it in his bedroom as a temporary pet, I acquiesced.

The neighborhood kids had been playing with several of these caterpillars on the day when my son was smitten. Matthew, observing the lot of them, noticed that his particular caterpillar seemed sluggish compared with the others--hence his somnolent name. Coincidentally, I had just read or heard something about how caterpillars stop eating and slow down when they are about ready to build their cocoons. Sure enough, within two days of Sleepy's adoption, the caterpillar had disappeared into a shiny, white cylinder. Matthew proudly showed off his transfigured friend to the neighbors; their caterpillars hadn't yet started cocooning. There were many oohs and ahhs.

Days went by, then weeks. Every now and then, when I was in the boys' room, I glanced at Sleepy's home on the top shelf and wondered what would become of him. One time a few days ago, I even picked the container up and squinted through the plastic, trying to see if there was any sign of life.

Today at lunch time, Matthew came to me with an anxious face. "Mommy, Sleepy moved."

"Well," I replied, "I picked his home up a couple of days ago. Maybe I accidentally moved him."

"His cocoon moved, and there's a brown triangle thing in there," Matthew said, still worried.

"Uhh, Buddy, I think the brown thing is Sleepy. He's turned into a gypsy moth."

"Oh," Matthew replied, his face clearing. He ran to get Sleepy's container. There he was, the long, slender, hairy, black caterpillar, mysteriously transformed into a stubby, white-bodied moth with beige wings. I nudged him with one of the leaves in his home. He responded by flickering his antennae. Still sleepy. Or... hmmm.

"Matthew, I'm not sure if he's going to make it. There might be something wrong."

To condense the rest of the story: we took Sleepy outside into the beautiful, mild June sunshine and tried setting him free. And Sleepy flapped his wings like crazy and buzzed and whirred and went like 60 in circles on our front stoop. But he couldn't get off the ground. I don't know what was wrong with him, but it was fairly obvious that our moth was never going to be able to make it to a tree that would provide sustenance for him. So I tried to encourage Matthew with the reality that, at best, Sleepy would only have lived until the end of the summer, and I told him to set his pet free in the grass. He did it. Then he came inside and was sad for a while, which made my Mama-heart sad, even though I can't help rejoice over one less gypsy moth on the planet.

And that's the short, unhappy tale of Sleepy the gypsy moth, our first (and only) family pet.

* Growing up on a farm with beautiful, old, oak woods, we considered gypsy moths to be more than pests. I remember my parents pointing out to me trees that had been ravaged by those buggers, and even to young eyes, the damage was apparent. Dying, 50-foot oaks surrounding your home are something no one really wants, even if you're not an inherent tree-lover, as my family certainly was. To combat the gypsy moths, we "skirted" our oak trees, tying a strip of burlap around each trunk. The gypsy moths, crawling up the trunks on their way to wreak destruction, would get trapped in the burlap skirts, and then we would come around every morning to gather them up and end their lives. We used two different methods to do this, neither of them very humane: one was to pluck them off the trees and drop them in a jar of turpentine, the other (my mom's preferred method) was to simply snip them in half with a pair of scissors. Take it from one who knows: gypsy moths squirt green juice when you snip them in half. And this was how we started our summer mornings on the farm! Any questions on why I hate and detest gypsy moths?

Except Sleepy. For Matthew's sake. RIP, Sleepy.

What He Already Knows

So Dave was walking the kids through the store the other day, with Graham in the front of the grocery cart. As they moved through the beverage aisle, Graham happened to glance up and catch sight of some familiar-looking neon green liquid. "Daddy water," he said casually, pointing to the Mountain Dew.

Now keep in mind that although Dave pretty much lives off of Mountain Dew at work, he never drinks it at home. The only places Graham would ever have seen him consuming it are at restaurants and in the car on long trips. And yet he obviously knows that this drink of suspiciously radioactive color is his father's tonic. I guess you really can't hide stuff from your kids--not even the two-year old.

Latest Sample of Grahamese

One morning last week, I went into Graham's room to get him out of bed. (He is a super-sleeper now, and will usually stay happily in his crib as long as we choose to leave him there--a huge blessing on a Monday morning when we want to sleep in a little!) On the morning in question, he was wet through--I mean, drenched. Jammies, sheets--very wet, and cold. Poor guy.

Me: Oh, buddy, are you wet?

Graham: Yeeup.

Me: You're very wet! I'm so sorry!

Graham: I nee baftub.

Me: Do you need to take a bath? Probably so.

Graham: I nee towel.

Me: And then we'll wrap you up in a warm towel. Sounds good.

Graham: Yeeup. I deegusting.