Tag: Children

Just an average evening in the life of budding geniuses

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

“How long were you under there?”

It was cat herding time once again at the Potts household also known as the half hour before bedtime. I was attempted to get a few last-minute chores in while simultaneously getting the boys ready for nighttime. I ignored Kiddo’s question, focusing instead on the task at hand.

“How long were you under there?” Kiddo repeated.

Kiddo’s voice broke through my concentration. What an odd question, I thought. I hadn’t been under anything that I could recall that evening unless you take into consideration pending deadlines, a cycle of never-ending dish washing, and self-imposed writing goals. But Kiddo has rarely, if ever, asked me how my work is going, so that couldn’t be it. “Under where?” I asked.

“You said underwear!” Kiddo threw back his head in laughter.

I sat there, stunned as the punch line sunk in. Kiddo had gotten me. I marveled at his maturing sense of humor, at the genius of the joke’s simplicity as well as Kiddo’s execution. It was a long way from his very first joke, “Once upon a time, there was a joke named joke and he was a joke!” (*da dum dum da* he’ll be here all week folks) I joined his laughter. “Very clever,” I said as I returned to my chores. “I made you said underwear!” Kiddo repeated, delighted with himself. “I got Daddy to say it too!” (word of caution to Kiddo’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, and assorted other caregivers – he’s really proud of this one, expect to hear it, over and over and over again)

Tears of laughter were welling up in Kiddo’s eyes as he turned to his brother and asked once again, “LT, how long were you under there.”

Without missing a beat, LT answers, “three minutes,” effectively beating his brother at his own game. I don’t know what exactly LT was supposedly under for three minutes (I mean I thought he was in my line of sight all this time, but with LT you never really know for sure) or how he knew the precise time, because he didn’t elaborate. Instead, LT immediately returned to plotting whatever nefarious plan to rule the world he is attempting next. This is also why I think he might just succeed.

So clearly I recognize that I am living with a budding evil genius, but maybe you don’t yet recognize the signs. If you are afraid you too may be raising the next crop of megalomaniacs intent on world domination, you may want to be on the lookout for a few of the following:

  1. Do they frequently use your best of intentions for their own gain?
    • You said the first day of summer is the longest day of the year. It was supposed to be a fun little fact to amuse and educate your offspring with. Instead you get, “If Mr. Sun isn’t going to bed, why do I have to?”
  2. Have you picked up an alarming “minion” vibe from their closest friends?

    • monkey toys
      exhibit A: The usual suspects
  3. Do you find yourself struggling to maintain your game face when they turn up the charm?
    • Because it is bedtime.
    • But why?
    • Because it is a school night and you have to go to bed now.
    • I no wanna go to school anyyyyyy mo.
    • You like school. All your friends will be at school. Don’t you want to play with your friends?
    • But I love you, momma. I wan to stay with you. Five mo minutes? (cue quivering lip)
    • (As little arms encircle your neck in best snuggle hug ever, feel your will break… Again.) Okay honey, five more minutes, but then it is bedtime. I mean it.
  4. Do they have an unusually intense obsession with potential lairs

    • volcano
      Exhibit B : Depiction of an erupting volcano. Note the artist’s use of broad strokes and bold colors to convey violence – one of many examples lining our walls
  5. Are they entirely too smart for their own good?
    • Reference story above

On the plus side, the children have decided to grace me with more than a couple of nights in a row of sleep. Obviously, they are up to something, but I’ve been taking advantage of it while I can. I’ve made significant gains in my manuscript (even though this current draft is pretty terrible, even by first draft standards) and have been taking a stab at some shorter fiction (I may even try to find homes for some of them). I’d better take advantage. Who knows when this opportunity might come again.

Step one in the plan to take over the world

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it
Pinky and the Brain
image quote courtesy of flickr

What’s this? Mom left her computer screen open. How convenient… It is I, the one and only LT and first of my name. You are also welcome to address me as your Future Supreme Leader of the World or the Exalted Captain Volcano Thunderclap as it is now only a matter of time before I assume my rightful place at the top of the world order. Let it not be said that I don’t offer choices. I am magnanimous that way.

Don’t listen to my brother. He is cray-cray. I also know he’s not supposed to be on the computer. I’m allowed to though because I’m the responsible one.

Kiddo? How? No, that doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m not cray-cray! The world is better off under my rule. I am serious! Picture it. Books and stuffed animals stacked as high as you could reach. More chocolate, ice cream, and all the milk you can drink. There will be mandatory bubble breaks for all and a swing set in every yard. It will be glorious. And those are just a few examples of the benefits of having me in charge. It will be the dawn of a new age of peace and prosperity.

Mom says you aren’t supposed to play on her computer. It’s one of the rules.

I don’t need mom’s permission to address the public. She writes about us all the time and never once asked my permission. Besides, they are my future subjects and they love me.

But I like it when mom writes about us. She’s making us famous. I think I should tell.

I see. You want to do this the hard way… Okay. If you tattle, I’ll tell her all about how you were playing Minecraft when you were supposed to be doing your homework or how you were the one to leave the LEGOs out last where mom and dad could step on them. Again. When I am done you will be lucky to ever leave the time-out chair.

You wouldn’t!

I would, and you know it.

I take your silence to mean we have an understanding. Now, since you are here, I could use your help.

I’m not sure. I don’t want to get in trouble.

You won’t get in trouble. Really, I only need you to do a small thing, a trifle even.

What’s a trifle?

It’s a small cake. You like cake.

Yeah, but obviously not as much as you do. I prefer healthy foods like proteins and fruit. We are learning all about making healthy food choices at school. You’ll learn about it too next year when you are finally big enough to come to my school. Mom says they used to call it a food pyramid when she was a kid, but it is a healthy plate now.

The only pyramids I am interested in are the ones they are going to build in my honor. Now back to the plan. I have decided it is time to initiate the next phase of my plan for global conquest, but in order to do so, I am going to need to reduce mom and dad’s overall ability to form a united resistance. That’s one of the first things I thought I’d taught you. That’s where you come in. For the next several nights, you and I will need to wake them up at random points in the early morning for whatever reason we can think of.

Like saying I heard a ghost opening my bedroom door or something scratching in the walls?

That’s perfect. Even better, wait until three am to tell her so that her imagination is just awake enough to run with it after you go back to bed. Then a night or so later, I’ll hear a thunderstorm and go into complete freak out mode even though the skies are completely clear.

Won’t that wake me up too?

It’s not like I just started planning my world takeover yesterday. I’ve been conditioning you against that since my infancy. Trust me. You will sleep right through it, but mom and dad won’t. A few more nights and they’ll be too exhausted to see straight, let alone pay attention to the next steps in the plan. It’s foolproof!

Do you really think that will work?

It’s already working. Do you really think I could have gotten this far if mom was really paying attention? Remember that whole thing with the cloud and the lost writing?

That was you? Oohhhhhhh…you are so getting into trrrrrooooubleeee…

I am neither denying or confirming I had anything to do with that incident. Besides – I’m cute. Even if I had something to do with it, and I am not saying I did, it’s not like I would be in trouble long. “I don’t know any better.” But that’s not the point. The point is that mom is distracted right now. You could probably tell her that she promised you a new dinosaur toy weeks ago for getting good grades and she’s probably tired enough to wonder if she actually did, and then just forgot.

Hmm, I would like more dinosaur toys, but…I still don’t know…

I’ll be your best brother…

Oh, alright then, but if mom or dad figures it out, you are on your own.

Excellent. We’ll talk again soon.

Very soon…

Monsoons, Moments, and Mars

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it, Personal Favorites

It was just me and LT over the weekend. Lamont and Kiddo had embarked on a father-son overnight camping and fishing trip, a trip they go on at least once a year. While they had been gone, there had been heavy rain showers at the coast resulting in texts like “It was a monsoon” and “it turns out that our tent is only 95% waterproof,” messages that amuse me to no end, especially as I sip my wine, comfortably on my couch, while watching a chick flick, foreign film or similar typically vetoed movie selection.

kid's tea party
A four-year-old and a porcelain tea cup – also known as a terrified parent’s near heart attack with every sip.

I certainly felt that we’d gotten the better end of the deal as the weekend progressed. LT and I attended a tea party where he’d pulled on an over-sized straw hat, proclaimed himself a cowboy, and then shouted “Yee-Haw” to other guests (“use your inside voice, LT” x 100). LT had gone in search of waterfalls with his Nana and to a friend’s birthday party. I just knew Kiddo would envy the fun (and dry weather) we’d had.

I was wrong. When Kiddo and Lamont returned, I asked my boys if they would like to swap roles the next time. Did Kiddo want to stay with mom while LT went with dad? Kiddo looked at me like I was speaking another language. LT, misinterpreting the question and his brother’s answer into meaning that only one kid could go and Kiddo was it, practically threatened to secede from the family in protest. “Wait a minute, LT, didn’t you have fun?”

Even though I am happy enough to have some me time, the sound rejection stung and a little hurt must have shown in my face. “It’s not you. He is just afraid of missing out,” Lamont consoled me.

Later, after the kids were in bed, (or at least should have been bed – LT has been rather,… shall we say,… bedtime adverse over the last several days so it is hard to say for sure) Lamont stood outside waiting for Her Royal Highness to finish her evening’s business (by all means, Ms., please take your time). A bright, full moon shone overhead, illuminating exactly how little HRH cared about our impatience.

“We’re supposed to be able to see Mars,” I commented to Lamont as I joined him on the porch.

“Yeah, it’s by the moon.”

Mars Hubble
Image courtesy of the Hubble Telescope and Wikipedia Commons,  and not at all representative of what I could see from my porch.
I looked where he pointed. Sure enough, there was a large brilliant orange dot in the sky. I ran inside (I’m a bit of a space enthusiast) and collected Kiddo’s telescope, a basic children’s starter model. I was able to locate the spot in the telescope’s view finder, but no matter how much I adjusted dials or re-positioned the lens, I was never quite able to capture a clear shot of the planet in full with all its peaks and valleys. I would have to be content instead with what I could see with my naked eye.

“It was even brighter at the beach.” Lamont informed me as HRH finally deigned to make her way back inside.

As I returned the telescope to its regular resting place it occurred to me that if the sky cleared long enough for Lamont to get a clear view of Mars, the trip hadn’t been the total washout his early texts would lead one to believe. Those texts were only snap shots from their weekend together, mere grains in the hourglass of their time. I also knew I’d only miss more as there were more journeys away from mom.

And that’s okay.

I could insist on joining them at the beach, but instead, I am looking forward to the excitement in the air, second only to Christmas, prior to their trip and the joy on their sun-browned faces as they tumble out of the car on their way to greet me on their return. I am looking forward to hearing the stories they collectively are suitable for mom’s ears and confronting Lamont with a smile when one of the boys accidentally shares something mom doesn’t need to know. But, as much as I love and will miss them, I am also seriously looking forward to a few moments to myself (like the occasional bathroom break).

I don’t need to see all the moments to be content. I am not afraid of missing out. I just want a clear sight when it comes to the moments that matter.

 

In the wilds, or the zoo, one should never settle

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

“Children are smarter than any of us. Know how I know that? I don’t know one child with a full-time job and children.” – Bill Hicks

Kiddo was on spring break and was spending the working hours with my mom. “I was thinking about taking the boys to the zoo. LT too,” my mom offered. “You are welcome to join us.” Kiddo has been to the zoo before, but LT hadn’t, and considering his 4-year-old/life-long obsession with monkeys (really, any simian), I couldn’t help but imagine the expression on his face when he saw the living creatures. I knew I had to come along.

That morning, there was a slight chill in the air, but the skies were clear and blue. Well, at least mostly blue. Occasionally clouds of yellow-green-death dust could be seen billowing down from the trees (we really have six seasons: Summer, Fall, Summer’s Revenge, Winter, Spring, and Pollen), but otherwise it was a good day to be outside.

“Are we going to see monkeys, mommy?” LT asked just before I loaded my offspring into the car.

“I am pretty sure we will.” Two hours later we only had ten miles left to go when traffic came to a stop. I am not quite sure what happened as the roads were clear, perhaps the pollen had taken another victim, in any event, a car had taken a detour into a ditch. We stopped and started and stopped again. The meeting with monkeys would have to wait.

Somehow we made it to the final turn lane before the zoo’s entrance, but we weren’t alone. Apparently, we weren’t the only one to decide that a day trip was in order. Cars filled the parking lot and a line of other families crammed together on a narrow bridge way that fed into the ticketing lanes. I plopped LT into a stroller and did my best to navigate through the masses. It was slow going. It’s going to be worth it though, I thought to myself.

Eventually, we made it through the crowd and into the park. And then there were animals. Graceful giraffes grazed as zebras sunned themselves on a hillside next to a small water feature. They weren’t monkeys, but I thought they’d do. My youngest would be impressed all the same. Here it is, the big moment. It’s going to be worth it. I escorted LT up as close to the creatures as possible. He stood, pulling himself up on the wall as high as his arms would allow.

“What do you think?”

“I see . . . I see . . . I see A WATERFALL!” He pointed. Sure enough, a trickle of water poured down the hill into the water feature, but it wasn’t exactly Niagara falls.

“Yes, honey, I see a waterfall too, but what do you think of the animals?”

“WATERFALL!” (Have I mentioned he is also obsessed with waterfalls?)

My mom, overhearing this last remark, joked that perhaps instead of the zoo we should have planned a trip to Iceland instead.

dang.

“The children of the revolution are always ungrateful, and the revolution must be grateful that it is so.” – Ursula K. Le Guin

I loaded LT back into the stroller and made our way to the next exhibit – again, not monkeys. I leaned down and once again asked, “what do you think?”

“Where is the waterfall?”

Sigh…

Finally after walking what felt like miles, we found ourselves on the last stretch of path to the chimpanzee enclosure. Crowds of people surrounded us. I ditched the stroller and carried LT the rest of the way. The glass was blocked by children and parents alike. Then one family looked back and pulled their children to the side so that LT could squeeze in between them. There walked not one, but several chimpanzees.

One of the younger chimps, ignoring the crowd, decided to roll down the hill on its side. LT wasn’t the only child in the crowd to squeal with delight. Another chimp climbed into a hammock.

“Mommy . . . Mommy . . .” LT shook in excitement as he tried force the words through an ear to ear grin. “MONKEYS!”

One day, I’ll explain the difference between a monkey and a chimpanzee, but I decided to save that argument for another day. It was finally here. It was the big moment and it was even better than I imagined. To think I’d been prepared to accept something less just because it was easier.

“Let us not be content to wait and see what will happen, but give us the determination to make the right things happen.” – Horace Mann

LT hadn’t settled, nor had he let me, and as a result, we both achieved our goal for the day.

May tomorrow be just as successful.

quotes courtesy of http://www.brainyquote.com

One flu over the cuckoo’s nest

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

What I originally thought was just a minor sniffle turned out to be a case of the full-blown flu.

Mess up the hair more, swap out the stylish clothes, add more blankets and used tissues and this is so me when I am sick image courtesy of Unsplash)
Mess up the hair so that it looks like an animal’s nest and make it brown, replace the stylish clothes with mismatched sweats, add more blankets and used tissues scattered among kid toys and do away with this whole suffering in silence thing she has going on and this image really captures how I look when I am sick. (Image courtesy of Unsplash)

I do not handle being sick well. While I am mostly better now, I’d spent the last few days either in bed or under a blanket on the couch. The effort of getting marginally presentable each day was exhausting. I wanted my mommy to magically appear and make it all better, but my mommy is busy taking care of her mommy right now. I coughed, and sneezed, and resigned myself to be miserable.

One of those days, as I lay there envying the liveliness of extras on the Walking Dead, my door opened and in walked my eldest son. In his hand was a yellow flower, the first of our daffodils of the season. “Here mom, this is to make you feel better.” It was lovely, except my sinuses, thoroughly blocked, would not allow me to breathe in its scent, and its bright color caused my eyes to water.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, baby.” Although it probably sounded more like I wuv get, baby. Achoo! Snort. Snort. Ack! I hate being sick!

“Dad asked me to help him more in the garage, but I’ll be back to check on you.”

“Dad did?” Bless him. “Okay honey, have fun.” I pulled the blanket back over my shoulders as Kiddo returned to play in a great outside world I couldn’t currently enjoy, thankful that my hubby was on point. I assumed LT was out there somewhere too, but I couldn’t dreg up the energy to be sure.

It could be worse. I could still be traveling for work or I could be doing this all alone.

A few days earlier, I had been trapped on a plane, forced to make small talk for hours when it should have been a mere forty minute flight. One the poor unfortunate souls stuck in that tin can with me had asked innocently enough, “so who’s watching your kids while you are gone?”

“Their dad.”

“Oh,” the older man responded as his face became the picture of sympathy, “and are you okay with that?”

“Of course.” Um….Why shouldn’t I be?

The comment still bothered me, days later buried under blankets on the couch, even though I could barely remember what it was like to breathe.

Tuesday was International Women’s Day and the internet was full of images and writings of strong woman. It was a day to celebrate how very far we’ve come in terms of empowerment, but I believe there are still a few gaps in the modern-day feminist narrative, keeping true gender equality just out of reach. One is our perception of what makes a good father.

What does fatherhood have to do with feminism? I am able to pursue my dreams, my own sense of self, and be all I can be because I know someone else has my back at home.

When I travel as part of my day job, I don’t typically worry that I’ll return to find my backyard now serves as an arena for an underground cock-fighting ring, or that I’ll trip over a stack of random Polaroids detailing a night that will never be remembered or evidence of a hundred other bad decisions. Nor do I worry that homework will be excused, bedtimes avoided, or that ice cream and candy will be served exclusively for breakfast. I don’t worry because my other half is a parent and not a babysitter.

And yet, this simple fact may read like praise, as if my husband keeping the household from descending into chaos while I am otherwise indisposed is somehow above and beyond what all fathers and husbands should do for their families. I understand that not every father is as engaged with their children or as willing to pick up mom’s slack (especially after several days of solo-parenting before mom started to complain about feeling like death warmed over), but I’d like to think that the default assumption about the role should be slightly higher than the slacker / man-boy / comic-relief dad so favored on sitcoms.

When someone tells me my husband is a good father, I want them to say that because they saw the half-dozen kids use him like a swing-set during a school field trip, or because they overheard one of the hundreds of super-secret one-on-one talks he and one of the boys share about an individual child’s worries. I want them to say it because he is a great father and not because he simply shows up when there isn’t any other option.

Continuing to accept that men are somehow less capable of caring for a family is much the same as continuing to accept that women are any less capable of running a business or more and can be just as damaging to the next generation.

And so, during this Women’s History Month, I will rejoice in the accomplishments of brave women who fought for my right to vote, celebrate those who broke through the glass ceiling, invented Kevlar, fire escapes, and computer compilers. I will drink to those ancient women who created beer and to those more modern women who redefined math and physics.

But at the same time, while I am proud to be a STEM woman by day and a writer mom by night, I am so very grateful to be partnered with a man who isn’t afraid to make breakfast, who isn’t too manly to fold laundry, and whose very machoness isn’t threatened by agreeing to play with colored blocks. I may hold his parenting skills to a higher standard than the sitcoms, but then again, I don’t find the alternative very funny.