Tuesday, April 26, 2011

always shaking my head. . .

And you. . .

This morning you just started counting by nines at the kitchen table. Nines.

9. . . 18. . . 27. . . 36. . . .


Where was I?


36. . . 46 [pause. . . Mama interjects 45]

54. . . 63. . . 72. . . 81. . .

I'm standing at the sink mouth open. He's a Kindergarten boy. A boy that everyone warned me (for the second time) to hold him home just one year. This is the boy who can't get dressed by himself. When you tell him to do two things at a time, he just stares at you. Sits for five minutes rolling all over the floor while he's supposed to be getting his shoes on to go outside for the bus.

Did your teacher teach you that at school?


I'm always shaking my head with this boy. In shock and awe. Or frustration and ambiguity. Never quite sure what is going on in that little brain of his.

And now, I'm completely confounded.

today. . .

He sat outside while waiting for the bus. Right on the sidewalk. I found him there when Luke and I finally made it outside.

Hey. What's up?

He didn't turn around. Do you hear the birds? That one right now. He sings two times. And then changes his song. Like a pattern. Why does he do that?

Love that. Love that he takes time to listen. To be in touch with the outdoors. Loving nature. And birds.

And today he goes to the Sports Center in Pittsburgh for his first field trip since Kindergarten. And he is so very excited.

And his tooth fell out yesterday. Twisted it right out during the spelling pretest. [Too cute.] His "special tooth", he told the tooth fairy in a note. His "meat eating tooth". Told her to be careful with it. Love that. It's the tooth that had his first cavity (first and only. . .). The one I agonized with as they gave him a shot in the mouth. That he was so very brave with. Only to have that filling fall out six months later. Ugh. And the dentist wanted to have me take him to a surgeon to have it pulled. Really? I know the agony I went through having a tooth pulled. And I waverd, wanting to spare him that fear and pain. So I waited. Knowing it was just a baby tooth; that it would fall out soon. And it did. Yesterday. And I breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

You are such a joy.

Monday, April 4, 2011

at the bus stop. . .

I awoke to the furnace buzzing downstairs. A glance at the thermometer told me it was 68 indoors. . . and 63 outside. Maybe I should open the windows?. . .It's almost as warm outside as it is in . . . Woke up the boys. Usual breakfast. Usual Monday morning. . . Ethan still snoozing. Luke unhappy that his eyes are leaking. Jaxon awake, sort of. Outside we wait. Listening to the birds. Friday at the bus stop it snowed. We wore winter coats and the boys tried to catch the tiny bits on their tongues. This morning, however, we are outside without coats. Ready for spring. [It's 65 degrees farenheit, Luke informs us before we head out the door.] A squirrel scampers across the telephone wires down the hill from us. We watch him. Amazed. He marvel at his skill. Thinking him a circus performer. A tightrope walker. Wondering where he learned these secret, mystifying skills. We wonder how he got up so high. And where he might be headed. We muse that maybe the telephone pole has a squirrel-sized elevator to help him get to that very tippy top. And that the "can" at the top of the pole hides his secret squirrel clubhouse. Sweet imaginings before the bus arrived. A wonderful way to start an ordinary Monday.