Spirituality. Or something.

While jokingly discussing past lives in the car today:

Her: I was a piece of hair in my last life that got pulled out.

Me: Wait. That GOT pulled out? Or that GOD pulled out?

Her: GOT.

Me: Oh I thought you meant God. Like, maybe God is this guy with really amazing hair, but he has an anxiety disorder so he pulls out his hairs and every time he pulls one out, it falls to earth and becomes a human.

*pause*

Her: I think every time I pull out a hair, I’m actually killing a person.

Me: Wait. Are we the gods? Or are we god’s hairs?

Her: We’re the gods.

Me: Maybe it’s like the Neverending Story. We’re the hairs of God and we’re the gods of hairs.

Her: WHAT.

Me: Remind me to blog this conversation when we get to Starbucks.

A Conversation With a Ten-Year-Old

Me: One year, when I worked on base at the exchange, I got Melissa a postcard featuring Marines doing water training. I used it as a birthday card because I knew she’d find the randomness funny.

Margie: That’s weird.

Me: Well, we were weird.

Margie: No. I mean, it’s weird that they’d even put that on a post card. Why would anyone buy that? I mean. Unless they were Marines.

Me: Um. Well. They were Marines. I bought it on base.

Margie: OH! Haha! I thought you meant a spy base.

Me: Nope. Just Ma- Wait. You thought I worked on a spy base? I am so blogging this conversation.

Margie: No! Who’s going to read it! People I know?

Me: Of course. I think pretty much most of the people who read it know you. Like Bethany and Sonja.

…Lull in the conversation…

Margie: They should make a band.

Me: What? Who? Bethany and Sonja?

Margie: Haha! No!

Me: Ah. And this is why specifying your noun is important.

Margie: They should make a band, though. They could be called The Mustaches. Or The Actually Mustaches.

I had this conversation with my kids today.

Me: Hey, Margie! Elliott! Guess who I love!
Kids: Us!
Me: Oh. Well. Um. Yes! Of course. But I was going to say the Doctor.*
Margie: Mo-om.
Me: But you know I’d probably choose you over him.
Margie: Oh, mom! I love you!**
Me: Hey. I just said probably. Don’t get too excited yet.
Margie: “Probably” is pretty much “yes.”

*What? I’m a loving mom in all other scenarios.
**See? She understands what a complement that was.

Cold Winter’s Tweets

ZebraBelly is watching the Twin Peaks episode of Psych. I’ve not yet seen Twin Peaks, so this is all going way over my head. “Dual Spires” -I get that.
1 Dec

Margie: Today’s a ripass, kickass day!
2 Dec

ZebraBelly is camping out for the parade, knittin’ an orca.
4 Dec

I really feel that motorcycles racing down the road full of pedestrians at or above the speed limit is just not safe. Even if they are cops.
4 Dec

A car with a spaceship just went by. Airbrushed on the side: WELCOME YOUR SPACE BROTHERS. I think that wins this year’s parade.
4 Dec

Ok. Low rider just broke down in front of us. Perhaps THIS wins?
4 Dec

Oh. Now a truck just drove by and handed out canned food. In the parade.
4 Dec

Stormtroopers!!!! Darth Vader!!
4 Dec

Guess who needs a new tranny!
7 Dec

Different kind of tranny. Way less fun. MUCH rather have Tim Curry than a transmission.
7 Dec

Well to be honest, I don’t have a diagnosis yet. We take it in tomorrow to the trans place. Mostly I just wanted to say “tranny”
7 Dec

OK, I know a CSA is a wonderful way to enjoy natural stuff, but does that have to include hitchhiker spiders?
7 Dec

While I am sad to say goodbye to the prospect of Tim Curry, I am THRILLED to say my current tranny is totally FINE.
8 Dec

Margie: It’s so hot outside I was feeling frisky like a Labrador pup!
8 Dec

Why yes I did just cuss out my son’s car seat. It deserved it.
16 Dec

(Watching TV) Alex: Oh wow! Me: Non-Newtonian fluids! Alex: I know! Right? #Nerds
19 Dec

Margie: I like purses. They’re fun. And it’s easier than hauling all my stuff in a hat.
20 Dec

Let 2010 be known as the year my kids finally made an attractive gingerbread house!
20 Dec

I realize I washed my debit card, but everyone besides my own bank can still read it. Chase, just another reason you suck.
21 Dec

Holy crap. Onion Sprouts, where have you been all my life?Can we get married??
21 Dec

Dear Me, just because you can handle SOME milk chocolate doesn’t mean you can handle holiday amounts. Kindly remember this next year. Thanks
24 Dec

FYI: Gravy jelly beans are, sadly, not as wonderful as you would expect.
25 Dec

OMFG, you can get some Harry Potter books in Latin, Welsh, Ancient Greek and Irish. #nerdgasm
25 Dec

Elliott, watching the bad guy scene in A Christmas Story: “Oh, the mimes are dead.” Mimes are bad guys, too, so I didn’t correct him.
25 Dec

Elliott last week, when I wore lipstick for the first time in his memory, apparently: “Mommy? What’s WRONG with your mouth?”
25 Dec

ZebraBelly is standing in line behind a woman who clearly forgot her pants.
27 Dec

Guess who can totally honk again? Also roll up her window?and all for $700 less than expected! Woo!
28 Dec

ZebraBelly is teaching her children about the world that is The Brady Bunch. Because I am just that great of a mommy.
28 Dec

Santa Claus Isn’t Coming to Town, and Neither is Indiana Jones

Growing up I never believed in Santa because my mother felt it was wrong to lie to children (irony!) and while I don’t think allowing children to believe in such things necessarily amounts to lies (although, in some cases, I have seen that happen when parents push the issue too far), I also didn’t feel my childhood’s holidays were any less magical knowing that Santa was pretend. Not really knowing how to handle it, I sort of took a back seat and let my children decide for themselves. For one year my daughter decided that Santa was real, but after that she’s been adamant that he’s pretend and she’s not falling for that. This is very true of her personality – she does not tolerate silliness well, desperately needing to hear solid facts. For her Santa has been fun only so long as we are clear that he is pretend. My son, who was not born awake like his sister, does not yet understand reality from fantasy and this year, that’s creating some issues.

Many months ago, my son announced that instead of Santa, Indiana Jones would be bringing the presents this year. I jumped right on that bandwagon and stayed there even though Elliott grew bored with the idea. I really wanted Indy, dammit.

Over the last few weeks, we’ve had many conversations on the subject.

Me: Is Indiana Jones bringing us presents this year?
E: No. He’s not real.
Me: Oh, but Santa’s real?
E: Yes. Well, Indiana Jones is real, just not on this earth.
Me: And Santa is real on this earth?
E: Yes.
Me: So you want Santa to bring you presents?
E: Yes. But he’s scary. So tell him to be very quiet and not wake me up. Or else I’ll be scared and I’ll run around and scream.
Me: OK. I promise. I’ll make Santa be quiet.

Me: Hey, Elliott, you know you don’t have to believe in Santa. You can choose to have someone less scary bring you presents, or Daddy and I can bring them all.
E: No. I want Santa to bring them. Just tell him not to wake me up.
Me: But did you know that some people believe in Santa, and some people don’t – they just like to pretend about Santa.
E: Oh. But I know he’s real. So I can’t pretend.

E: Mommy, I don’t want Santa to bring our presents. I want you and daddy to fill our stockings.
Me: Do you want to not believe in Santa?
E: No. I just don’t want him to come.

While I find these conversations amusing on many levels (especially the bit about how he knows Santa is real, leaving me to assume that everyone else is stupid for not knowing this basic truth), I also find them disturbing and somewhat confusing. He’s clearly torn between wanting to find Santa fun, and being just damn scared of the guy, and I wish I could help ease his mind somehow. I think my next step is to just tell him that Santa is definitely not real, but in all honesty, I am not sure he’ll believe me since he clearly accepts this the same way he accepts that food will end his hunger and that he sleeps with his eyes open (he doesn’t – he just has an interesting dogma). But I hope that, however this ends, it ends the anxiety in his little heart.

On a somewhat related note, I recently asked him, “Do you know what God is?” “No,” he told me in his little voice, “Can you tell me about it?”

Kid Interview, The Sequel

I did this about a year and a half ago and figured it would be a good time to update it. This time in video!

How Blessed I Am, Part One

A few weeks ago we met some friends at our favorite sprinkler park. I’m not sure if it’s because we were there longer than usual, or if the sun was somehow closer to the Earth that day, but my daughter ended up with a fantastic sunburn. I was pretty angry with myself for not being more careful about reapplying the sunscreen and I referred to myself as a bad mommy. I was joking, but I guess all jokes have that grain (or barrel of grains) of truth in them and she picked up on that.

“Mommy,” she told me, “You won’t allow me to talk bad about myself, so please don’t talk bad about you.”

And how could I argue with that wisdom?

She has always had a strong mind of her own, but I see more and more how receptive she is to hearing my thoughts on things. Not only does she listen, but she applies it to her own world in ways that surprise me for a girl so young.

Recently, she has also been embracing her inner feminist. She decries all Disneyesque princesses and tries very hard to not like pink (although she is visibly torn). The whole thing is terribly cute, but my goodness it makes me proud of her.

I’m blessed to have her in my life. I can see already how much I have to learn from her, how much I already have.

Sprayground!

This week our friends were in town on vacation so we made a date to meet at a local sprinkler playground with them and our mutual friend, Sandy. It’s been a couple of years since Sara and her family have been here so the kids weren’t too familiar, but it didn’t take them long to become fast friends. We spent several hours there, the kids running in the sprinklers, off to the playground, back to us for snacks, and then repeating the cycle. After the sprayground, we all hit Trader Joe’s, naturally. This was particularly exciting for our Utah friends since they don’t have such luxuries in their state. While driving from one place to the other, Margie asked me, “Is their last name really Skywalker?” I could not stop giggling. When I relayed this to Sara and Jay, their oldest daughter brought her hands to her mouth and confessed, “I was just kidding!” Sweet kid. I told her that, frankly, I thought it was awesome. Sandy and her two younger kids didn’t get to stay as long which was sad, but at least they live in the county so maybe we can make it up soon.

Oblivious

Last week Threadless announced this cool shirt and I bought it that instant. It arrived Friday night, just in time for me to wear on my son’s birthday – to his party and out to dinner afterward. Apparently, he was too busy thinking about Legos all day to notice because this morning when I put it on again we had this conversation:

E: Mommy! When did you buy that shirt from the computer?!
Me: Last week, silly. Don’t you remember I wore it on your birthday?
E: *thinks* No, Mommy. You must have had your back turned to me.

My Son is Funny

He’s really into Indiana Jones lately, despite the fact that he hasn’t seen the movies. He’s also into Star Wars, but not as much (despite the fact that he has seen the original three movies). Yesterday the kids were playing after our Camp Fire meeting, running around the tree claiming various Star Wars characters for themselves (technically, my daughter claimed at least three). My son chose the character of “Giant Boulder” – the one from the first scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Yes. My son does pretend to be a rock. At one point my little boulder was running after Darth Vadar with guns sticks in his hands, because who says Boulders can’t carry weapons?

Today my family and I spent some time in Old Town and at some point my son decided he had to poo. So we hiked all the way there, waited a bit for the chance to go and as soon as I got him in the stall he informs me, “I was just kidding. I don’t have to poop.” HAH. So I made him try anyway. Because that’s what he gets for all that effort. Shortly after, his eye open wide and he tells me, “Oh! I fink someone pooped!”
“Who pooped? Did you poop?”
“I fink I pooped!”

Speaking of “finking,” last week while playing with some friends, one of the boys came running over complaining that my son hit him. So I asked E what his story was.
“Did you hit him?”
“I fink…. maybe… I didn’t…”
“But maybe you did?”
“Maybe…”