No Pants Dance

Sometimes you just gotta dance. 

It's times like these I'm thankful to have a friend in the TV biz who can put a black bar on my kid to make it blog appropriate.

A Goat Note

There's a house at the front of our neighborhood that has a metal yard art goat in the front yard. Every day they move the goat somewhere else in the yard, so it looks like he's grazing and exploring all over. We love it. The neighbors love it. He's become our unofficial neighborhood mascot. The Boy wants to slow down so we can spot him every time we come and go.

Then, at the end of the school year the goat looked like this:

And THEN, one day when we drove by the goat had had BABIES:

We don't know the owners of the goat, but The Boy loves them. So one day last week he decided to write the goat a note. Never being one to shy away from shenanigans, I was all too happy to help. He told me what to say and I wrote his words. 

It says 

"Dear Goat, 

Do you like super heroes? I like super heroes. Are you a boy or a girl? What are your babies' names? Do you want one of my capes? Do you like gorillas too? Do you know the muffin man? Is your favorite animal a spider or a ghost or anything?"

We delivered the goat note, along with one of his spare capes. He was very clear that we wouldn't give the goats all his capes, because one day his brother might want to wear one. The Boy was pleased. I was pleased. I figured this was the end of the story. 

Then the next morning I was tagged in a post in our neighborhood Facebook page. It was from the goat owners. It included a picture of the goat in the cape, as well as a message: 

"Please tell The Boy we got his note and thanks for the cape for the goat and yes he likes Super Heroes....Batman and Superman and Spider-Man are his favorites. The goat is a boy named Billy. Have not named the babies yet...could you help us with that? The goat does know the muffin man.....he lives on Drury Lane......been there. Billy's favorite animal is a rabbit....you may even see a brown one in our yard running around. Have a great summer!" 

The Boy asked me to write back and submit the following names for the baby goats: My-oh, Tio, Sandman, and Goat. 

The world is really filled with some wonderful people. And goats. 

An Almost 4 Year Old

The Boy will be four tomorrow.

Four.

In human years.

He is inquisitive and energetic and exhausting. He is reflective and funny and smart. He is outgoing and determined and friendly and independent.

When he gets nervous he gets silly, and when he gets silly he uses made up words. He brings home leaves in his pockets and says they are special because his friend gave them to him. He is a great big brother and every night he thanks God for BeYoYo and no one else. He's obsessive about them wearing matching clothes and is disappointed when they can't.

He calls tank tops "tick tocks", and he knows the names of all the ninja turtles: Michaewangewo, Weonardo, Donatewwo, and Wafeal. He says he weawwy, weawwy woves us, and that he loves his brother the most. That's okay with me.

He makes increasingly more valid arguments about why he should or shouldn't do things. He pees outside. He appreciates a good meal. He's good at soccer, but sometimes he runs into the refrigerator at home. He eats at least two breakfasts every day.

His favorite movie is "Hoy Story." He still lets me rock him before bed while we read a book.  He asks big, big questions about the world and God and life, some that I don't know the answer to.

His favorite toys are Super Heroes and he loves to wear a cape. He plays dress up and makes up wild imaginary scenarios with many, many sound effects. He gets in trouble for playing too rough at school. He watches Curious George, The Wot Wots, and bizarre shows he's found on Netflix. He's mastered the ipad. He knows how to take a selfie. His favorite songs are Queen's Flash and We Will Rock You.

Tonight I continued our tradition of asking him some questions on his birthday, like I did last year. Here is what he said.

                                                                How old are you? 

"Free and a half, almost four"

What’s your favorite thing to do? 

"say 'SORRY' (in a monster voice) with Henry"

What do you want to be when you grow up? 

"I don't want to grow up"

What’s your favorite food? 

"butter noodles"

What’s something you’re good at? 

"riding my scooter"

What makes you laugh? 

"tickle my foot"

What’s something scary?

"I'm gonna die"

Who’s your best friend? 

"Henry. And Nate."

What do you like to do with your family? 

"pway with them"

Where do you like to go? 

"I wove to spend the night at the cabin."

What do you like to learn about? 

"how do people die"

This morning we were talking about his birthday and he said "I'm going to be four when I wake up tomorrow. Do you think I'll be too heavy for my wittle bed?"

He has challenged me in ways I could never have imagined, and expanded my heart in ways I didn't know possible. I'm so thankful for the energy and the joy and the life lessons he's brought in the last four years.

Adventures at the Square Mall

Our local mall is....sad. A few small anchor stores, a lonely food court, several cheap clothing choices. If Jesus were born in modern times he might be born at our mall instead of a stable. It's basic. It's called Georgia Square Mall, but my Columbian college roommate called it just "the square mall."

There was a parade welcoming Santa to the Square Mall today. The ads said there would be local marching bands, dancers, costumed characters, and "great fanfare." What fun! The Boy and I went early to make sure we didn't miss it. When we got to Santa's workshop nothing was going on. We waited. And waited. And waited. Slowly a crowd began to gather and gossip about who would be in the parade and where they heard it would start. This was also the first day for pictures with Santa, so lots of tots were dressed in their finest. The longer the waited the more kids melted down. Puddles of sobbing red velour and white faux fur dotted the floor. We continued to be on the lookout for Santa and friends, and luckily someone brought binoculars.

The Boy was content to sit on the nearby mall rides, and chase the remote control helicopter display around and around the middle kiosks. After 30 minutes I was ready to give up, but he was happy and he asked nicely if we could continue to wait. A mother clucked under their breath "this is SO unorganized!" while she scraped her velour puddle off the floor. I gave them my best "been there, done that" smile.

After 30 minutes a mall employee came out with a walkie-talkie and a Santa hat. Her name was Bernice, probably. She directed the line to move over to the side and several parents asked her questions. She was drunk with power, and told everyone everything she knew.

After waiting almost an hour The Boy and I went to check out a store. I was confident I'd hear a marching band when it was time. When we came out, I saw a crowd of people walking in Santa hats. Maybe they were here for the parade. We followed them, and it turns out they WERE the parade.

The parade consisted of Santa, Mrs. Santa, a cop, and a step team. Good thing we were on the lookout. We followed the "parade" to Santa's workshop. Everyone perked up and waved to Santa. The Boy was thrilled. "Mrs. Cwause waved at me!" he said. I was relieved he wasn't disappointed. 

Once we got to the workshop mass pandaemonium ensued. Someone came out with about a dozen helium balloons, and there were now about a hundred people. I thought a riot would break out. A group of kids dressed all the same started chanting "WOW! Word! Outreach! Worship! Wow!" Santa and Mrs. Cwause took their places inside the gates of the workshop and waved like celebrities on the red carpet. The step team started stepping, right in the middle of the crowd. Suddenly there was a single clogger in the crowd: an elderly lady with an eye patch and a name tag that said Edna. She had a handler with her. 

I was hoping Edna would clog for us.  She even had on clogging shoes that went clog, clog, clack when she walked. I asked The Boy if he'd like to get a picture with her. He declined. 

As far as I could tell, the show was over. Santa was caged inside his enclosure, and the step team and the WOW kids had disbursed. I told The Boy we could walk upstairs and take a look and then we were leaving.  On our way upstairs, a WoW kid gave us a gospel tract with a piece of candy taped to it that said something about Jes+us. We sat upstairs and spied below for a bit before leaving. 

As we were leaving we saw Jake the Pirate, and went to go say hello to him. But before we could get there, he turned and took off up the escalators, running from a group of kids. The Boy asked indignantly "Why are those kids chasing Jacob the Pirate?!" I had no answer. 

On our way out we saw Bernice appear with another bundle of balloons. She pushed quickly through the crowd like Beyonce through the paparazzi, stopping only to hand balloons to those she deemed worthy. She slowed momentarily in front of us, yanked a string from her bunch and thrust it at The Boy. "Here you go, honey, tell your mama to tie that to you" she said, over her shoulder.  Then, in the single most perfect moment of the morning, she came face to face with Edna and said, with all seriousness and a hint of irritation "Morning Edna. I can't talk. I've got balloons!" 

The Boy was happy to go home with a balloon. There was no marching band, and no Dora or Elmo, but we saw some characters all right. The Square Mall did not disappoint. 

Fire station field trip

Today I went with The Boy's class on a field trip to the fire station. There is a special place in heaven for pre-school teachers.

First, they lined up outside with their backs against the wall, as is protocol. Ten kids went, and no fewer than 8 parents.  Kids left the wall, parents sent them back.  Parents took pictures. I had BeYoYo in a carrier and kids came over to touch him cautiously like he was a rare species of monkey. These guys did a happy dance:

A bike cop came to escort us on our trek to the fire department. The kids were IMPRESSED already. Everyone grabbed a tiny hand and we crossed the street and started our journey. As we walked, the kids started getting fatigued. They said they were tired. They said they wanted to be carried. They said they couldn't go on. They said they couldn't walk another step. It was a two block trip.

We arrived at the fire station and some cute fire fighters welcomed us and let us in. We passed fire trucks, fire equipment, fire men, and the kitchen. All very impressive, really. Naturally, the kids ran right for.......... the candy machines.

We got a tour of the building. The cute fire fighters started by addressing the parents. "If we get a call when the group is here, maybe everyone can just grab a kid and get them out of the way so we can get ready?"  Maybe we will.  

They sounded the siren and every single child covered their ears. 

The kids got to see their gear and climb in a fire truck. Parents said "don't jump on that", "get your hand out of your mouth", "get your hand out of your nose", "don't run", "stay with me", "take turns" and "no hitting".  

We watched a cute fire fighter put on his gear and the children were invited to touch him. The mamas were not. 

We got to see the sleeping quarters and might as well have taken the kids to Snow White's house they were so excited. It was less that they were excited to see where real fire men sleep and more that they saw a big open space and a beautiful opportunity. The girls stood nicely with their moms while the boys ran in circles around the room. Someone yelled "no jumping on the beds!" and the boys laughed. They ran. They were firemen and ninjas and super heroes and villains. They did 700 laps, complete with jumps and kicks and pushes and screams. We had been there 3 minutes. 

Parents corralled the kids together and the cute fireman asked if we had any questions. I did. "Do firemen hit?" I asked. He stared at me, blankly, searching my face for how he could help answer my question. "So, there's no hitting here?" I asked. "OH!" He said, his face lighting with recognition. "No. We do not hit. We don't hit or kick or pick our noses. And we always, always listen to our chief." Smart man. 

We corralled the kids for one more picture and headed back to school. 

If they were tired on the way there, they spent all their energy running around the fire bedroom and were SPENT on the way back. Kids stopped walking, forcing parents to stop and coerce them to continue. One dropped limp to the ground, refusing to continue. "Wet noodle" her mom said to the rest of us, as if we wouldn't understand. No judgement here. 

They said they were tired. They said they wanted to be carried. They said they couldn't go on. They said they couldn't walk another step. You'll remember these were the very kids who had energy to run like ninjas 5 minutes ago. They complained that they weren't in the front. They complained that they weren't in the back. One fell into a deep slumber one block in. When we were in view of the school, The Boy called out "I see my school!" like it was a desert oasis. 

Tonight when we were doing bedtime routine, we talked about going to the fire station and all the cool things we saw. I asked him what was his favorite part. "Playing outside" he said. That's right. Going back to school and playing on the playground just like he does every other day. There's a special place in heaven for pre-school teachers. 

Six Under Six

We are Wednesday into the annual Saturday to Saturday family beach trip. I have been coming to the beach with The Husband's family for 14 years now, since we first started dating. If you're trying to do math, we were 10.

When I started coming, it was two parents, three boys, three girlfriends. My hair was bleached from the sun and even though I was sometimes unsure about it, my body sported a bikini. The other two girls and I laid around reading People magazines and getting our sun on. We took just a towel and book to the beach with us. We did flips in the pool and talked about how amazing and annoying the boys could be.

We went to dinner all together every night. I washed and dried my hair and put on nice clothes. Girls slept in one room, boys in another. Once people started marrying off, The Husband and I were allowed to sleep in a room with twin beds. We said things like "Is this People magazine old? I thought they broke up." "I think I forgot an extra refill of my razor. What if I get razor burn?!" and once we were old enough "we should stop for drinks after dinner." We stayed up late eating good food, playing games and hanging out. We were free. We didn't know it, but it was QUIET.

Now my roots betray my neglected salon-highlighted hair. I have no business in a bikini, and have not for some time. We are bigger and smarter, both a result from being on the other side of a college degree. But the biggest difference is now there are six (6!) kids under six.

It started off with just two. Wasn't that cute? Our adult-child ratio was far in our favor, and (bonus!) I could pose the kids any way I wanted for precious little pictures.

Then there were four. And you'll remember that was a little harder (and louder). 

And last year there were five, and that was a little harder (and louder) still.  

But now.....now there are six. They are starting to outnumber us. There are meltdowns, and sword fights and running away and screaming and injuries and refusals to eat and every picture I try to take looks like spring break senior year:

There are no People magazines. There was one magazine here, but it was some artsy fartsy magazine and the baby ripped it up this morning. There are no concerns about razor burn. We are instead making sure that each person has bathed once since we got here. We go out to eat in shifts, or eat at the house. We all made it out to the same restaurant at the same time once. Lord help our waitress. 

Instead of getting our sun on, we lather everyone up in thick, non-toxic, non-spray SPF 50 until they are all pasty white because their skin cannot absorb anymore. We take snacks and towels and toys and drinks and umbrellas and chairs and phones and games down to the beach. We say things like "you're going to need to find a better way to communicate" and "don't jump on your cousin" and "use your words please" and "no karate in the house" and "where is your father?" and "stop screaming" and "I SAID STOP SCREAMING!" The good food has turned into juice boxes and fruit snacks and "who wants apple slices and green bean chips?" 

Instead of boys rooms and girls rooms, children are splayed around everywhere. Some sleep with their parents, some sleep with grandparents, one is in a pack and play. Ours sleeps on a shelf in a closet like Harry Potter. He couldn't be happier. 

And let me tell you about Wednesday of a week long beach trip with six under six. Wednesday is the day that everyone forgets that you paid perfectly good money and took off work for a week to bring them on VACATION where they get to have fun and be at the beach and swim and play and have the time of their lives. They are exhausted and delirious and Wednesday is the day they think they have been at Guantanamo Bay for 5 days and they are suddenly MISERABLE. And this trip is INTOLERABLE. And would you believe it but they are suffering atrocities like the wrong toothpaste and the wrong lunch choices and someone is wearing their shoes and "SHE BROKE MY TOY!" and "I BROKE YOUR TRUCK JUST LIKE YOU!" We have ignored a lot today. 

This morning all the kids declared they did not want to go to the beach or the pool or any other fun thing. They did not want sunscreen or bathing suits or fresh breath, or all the other dreadful things us adults were trying to impose on them. The other kids eventually went. My child  wanted to stay inside in his pajamas and watch the beach house's box set of PeeWee's Playhouse until noon. Who am I (100 weeks pregnant, swollen and exhausted) to impede upon a child's goals? 

We are exhausted. This vacation is not relaxing. There are moments I miss the quiet we didn't know to appreciate years ago. I miss the not having to do anything for anyone relaxing on the beach or going in whenever I dang well felt like it, instead of strategizing when someone needs to nap or eat, or tag teaming who is watching who. But this vacation is exciting. It's exciting to see the kids loving being with each other. It's exciting to see them running in the sand and laughing with joy and staying up late. They are making memories, and hopefully those memories do not include how exhausted the adults are.  These are the days that I'm sure I will miss one day, and I won't remember how hard it was sometimes with six under six. 

As I am reflecting on the differences in our vacations then and now, I am reminded of three things. 

1. We are so lucky to get to do this year after year. 

2. We still talk about how amazing and annoying The Husbands can be. 

3. Next year we will have seven under seven! God help us.