Delicious disease

Today I went to the eye doctor for my regular glaucoma screening -- ahhh, genetics.  When I was finished my appointment, I picked the boys up from camp.  "I thought you'd be here earlier," said Cameron.

"Oh," I replied, "remember?  I had to go to the eye doctor?"

"Oh yeah," piped up Matthew.  "So, do you have guacamola?"

Guacamola = a delicious Italian twist on a classic Mexican dip

Glaucoma = an insidious eye disease that slowly steals your vision.

I'll take the guacamola, please!

Incentives

Matthew's birthday is quickly approaching and he has been thinking BIG in terms of presents.  He has suggested that a moped would be a great gift for a 7-year-old.  I disagree.  He feels that seven is plenty old enough for his own cell phone.  I disagree.  He then proposed that a pet rabbit would be fun.  "Yes," I said, "a rabbit would be fun.  But I can't even get anybody to help take care of the aquarium snails.  So, who would take care of this rabbit?"

"ME!" shouted Matthew.  "Except the poop.  Cameron could take care of the poop.  But I would hold it and feed it carrots and take it for walks!"

At this point, Cameron broke in, "I'm not taking care of the poop.  And rabbits don't go on walks."

Matthew rolled his eyes at Cameron and replied, "Uhhh, they do if you show them the carrot!"

Random assortment of pictures/commentary

People, moving is tough.  I mean, TOUGH.  But we are coming up on our one year anniversary of The Move, and it is getting easier.  One habit I've developed is noticing that we are having fun and then saying to myself, "Hey!  This is fun!"  And more specifically, I try to notice when we are having fun doing something that we are only doing BECAUSE we moved and saying, "Hey!  This is fun!  This is one of the reasons we moved!"  It doesn't take away the missing-our-friends-and-everything-we-left-behind.  But it helps me to realize that with all the missing, there is new wonderfulness that we are experiencing every day.

 

We went to a Detroit Tigers game with my parents.  We see our families ALOT more know, and the boys are getting to know and be so much more comfortable with their grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.

We love our house and the weather has been soooo beautiful lately.  We eat outside almost every night.  Earlier this week, I surprised the boys with a rootbeer tasting on the deck, which made me feel like Mom Of The Year.

Speaking of Mom Of The Year . . . the boys are both very busy with sports right now.  Matthew is playing hockey -- which he has dreamed of for practically always.  He's amazing and scored 12 -- TWELVE -- goals at his last game.  Cameron is playing baseball and pitched today, which about gave me a heart attack but he did great!  And Matthew is anxiously awaiting the start of his baseball season.  We live just a short walk from a ballpark and every afternoon this week, Matthew has begged me to go there and practice.  Matthew is not one to do anything halfway, so when he goes to practice, he goes in full gear.  He can go for HOURS.  I had ten miles on my pedometer on Thursday just from playing with him.   You guys, I'm so tired.  And still, he wants to play.

But in between the "I'm so tired" thoughts I try to think, "This is awesome.  This is fun.  I'm at the ballpark, playing with my kid." 

American

A friend of mine recently encouraged me to start blogging again and I was reminded of what a handy way this is to keep track of stories that I all too soon forget.  So, here goes.

The other day, Matthew was singing a song he learned at school.  "We are American, every DAY. Living the American, American WAY!"  he belted out.  Then he stopped and looked at me very seriously.  "I am American," he said.

"Yes," I agreed.  "You are."

"But not you," he said.  "I'm the only American in our family."

"What?" I replied.  "I'm American!  Matthew, our whole family is American!  We LIVE in America!"

"Uh, Mooommmm," Matthew said, "you're NOT black."

"Ohhhhhhhh, African American!  Matthew, you mean that I'm not African American."

"Oh.  Right," he said.  "I forgot that African part."

Vocabulary

The other day, another car cut me off as I was driving with the boys.  "What a jerk!" I fumed.

"What's a jerk?" asked Matthew from the back.

"Ohhhh," I said.  "Uh, I shouldn't have said that.  A 'jerk' means somebody who made a bad decision or did something that they shouldn't have.  But it really isn't a nice word.  I didn't like how that man was driving but I shouldn't have called him a jerk."


The next day, Matthew was sitting at the table when he said, "Man, I just peed my pants.  I feel like such a jerk."

Prepared

The other day, I took Cameron to the orthodontist -- again.  I think this year is pretty much going to be spent driving to and from school and driving to and from the orthodontist.  That, and paying the bills.  *sigh*

Anyhoo, there is a free coffee machine at the orthodontist.  Not just coffee, but a small version of the hospital coffee machine where you can select "mochaccino" and press start.  Except that hospital machines drop the cup down and fill it.  This little version has you put the cup down and it fills it.  As I did, I thought, "Hmmm, it isn't very clear where you should put the cup . . ." and then the assistant called, "Cameron," and I turned for a moment just as the scalding hot coffee came shooting out of the machine and all over my hand.  (Hazardous!  I mean, shouldn't there be a label or something? 'Warning:  Coffee is Hot?')  So Cameron went back for his appointment and by the time I had mopped up the coffee I'd spilled all over and run my hand under cool water he was nearly done. 

As we left I said, "Oh, Cameron, I really burned my hand!  It really hurts!"

And Cameron pulled out a first aid kit and said, "Would you like some burn ointment for it?"

Yes.  Yes, I would, and if mothering involved merit badges you would have just earned one.

Relations

A few days ago, Matthew asked if Uncle Zack had a mom.  "Yes," I answered a bit incredulously.  "Uncle Zack is my brother!  He has the same mom as me!" 

"Who's your mom?" Matthew responded.

"Grandma Linda!  Grandma Linda is my mom and Uncle Zack's mom and Aunt Stephanie's mom!"

"Oh.  Who was Uncle Zack's mom when he was little?"
"Grandma  Linda!  Who do you think your mom will be when you're a grown up?" I asked, thinking that this would finally get through and Matthew would realize, oh, OF COURSE, but . . .

Matthew looked at me completely seriously and said, "I have no idea."

No one or two

Cameron and Matthew's new school is really diverse which is really, really super awesome.  But also leads to discussions like this:

Me:  Matthew, who did you play with today?
Matthew:  Me here.
Me:  ???  Uh, who did you play with?
Matthew:  I SAID, me and Me Here played!  We played tag!
Me:  Your friend is named Me Here?
Matthew:  Yeah.  But Guy Three kept trying to play with us.
Me:  His name is Guy Three?
Matthew:  Nooooo!  Don't be ridiculous!  Guy Three is a GIRL!  And Guy Three always wants to play with me.  I'm like, "Geeezzz, Guy Three!  I just want to play with Me Here right now!"

Barbra Streisand

Last week, Matthew was attempting to tell me something by silently mouthing it.  Only, he does this just by moving his mouth randomly while looking at you intently.  Then, with no hope of success, I try to interpret.

For some reason, this time, I widened my eyes and said, "What?  What's that you're saying, Matthew?  You're in LOVE with BARBRA STREISAND??!?"

Why Barbra Streisand?  I have no idea.  Matthew doesn't even know who she is, it just struck me as funny.  And, it turns out, Matthew thought it was funny, too. 

Now, all you have to do is say, "Barbra Streisand," and we're both hysterical.  It's our own little inside joke (except now you are in on it). 

When we met Matthew's teacher, she asked him what his brother's name was.  He stared at the floor silently instead of answering so I prompted, "Matthew?  What's your brother's name?  Do you want me to tell your teacher?"  He nodded and I looked seriously at the teacher and said, "His brother's name is Barbra Streisand."  And then Matthew and I cracked up and the teacher looked . . . concerned.

Another day, I said to the boys, "Who's the best mom in the world?"

And without missing a beat, they both chorused, "Barbra Streisand!"

And then yesterday, Matthew said to me, "Knock, knock."

Of course, I responsded, "Who's there?"

And Matthew, brilliantly, answered, "Barbra Streisand."

Hilarious.

Not identical

This past Tuesday, I took Matthew to his new school for his "meet-the-teacher."

Then, on Wednesday, I took Cameron for his "meet-the-teacher."  As we entered the school, a staff member said to Cameron, "Hi there, Matthew!  Oh, wait!  You're not Matthew, you're Cameron!"

"It's okay," I said, "I call them by the wrong name all the time."

At which point a father standing nearby said, "Oh, are they twins?" 

The staff member, who has met both Cameron and Matthew, looked slighly uncomfortable until I laughed and replied, "No, they aren't twins.  Actually, they don't look anything alike!"

I am enjoying imagining the first time that this dad sees me with both of the boys.

Mouth guards and Multiplication

Matthew's aunt gave him twenty dollars for his birthday.  "I've always wanted money!" he cried.  Talk soon turned to what he could buy with twenty dollars and, as always, Matthew has pretty clear interests.  "Can I get a real hockey stick with twenty dollars?" he asked.

"No," I answered.

"Can I get a mouth guard?"  This has been Matthew's dream for about a year now.  A mouth guard. 

"I'm not sure how much a mouth guard costs," I told him.

"Get your computer!  Look it up!" he insisted.

A few keystrokes later, "Looks like a mouth guard is about ten dollars," I said.

"Oh NO!" Matthew moaned.  "I wish I had ten dollars!"

At this point Cameron broke in.  "Matthew.  You DO have ten dollars.  Twenty dollars is like ten dollars TWO times.  You have TWO ten dollars!"

Matthew's eyes widened and he dropped his voice, leaning in to Cameron.  "Hey.  You want me to buy you a mouth guard too?"

Cameron kindly suggested that Matthew could use the extra ten dollars to buy something else.  And now Matthew is the proud owner of his very own mouth guard and Froggy Rides a Bike by Jonathan London.

Home?

So, this living in a new city is weird.  Especially when it is a new city that, actually, you grew up in so everyone is all, "Welcome home!" but you've been gone so long that it doesn't feel like home, it feels . . . weird.

Like, you're driving along a road saying to your kids, "Look!  That's where I used to buy candy!  And look!  That's where I used to go swimming!  And, what???  What is THAT?  Holy cow, since when is there a California Pizza Kitchen [or a mall or a coffee shop you've never even HEARD of or a roundabout, which is super confusing and you don't understand who is yielding] here?"

Like, you keep spotting people who look familiar and you think, "Is that Kerry?  Oh.  No.  It's not.  Kerry lives in another state now."  And then you meet your next door neighbor and you went to high school with her. High school? How can that be, since this next door neighbor appears to be an approaching-middle-age woman with a KID? 

Like, you go to the library and nobody says hi to you.  Which makes you all, "What up?" because at your old library everyone knew you and your kids by name.  (BUT, if you are THIS family, you go back to the new library a week later and the librarian says, "Oh!  Hi!  You were here last week on Tuesday!"  Because your family is sort of memorable.  I know.  We're awesome like that.)

Like, you want to take your kids to the rocket ship park that you used to love to play at.  But you need to use your GPS to get there because nothing looks the same and there are all these roundabouts. But, don't worry!  GPS can still get you there!  Except the rocket ship park HAS NO ROCKET SHIP.

Weird. 

Hello from the North

Did you miss me?
If you are my Cincinnati friend, please post a comment saying, "Yes!  We miss you terribly!  Some of the light has gone out of the city now that you are gone!"  Or something like that.  Because I miss you like crazy.

I am currently enjoying a front row seat at a little known stage show called "The Great Luigi."  I kind of had a backstage pass and, as the stars of the show rehearsed, I made a dinner of Indian Samosas and a dessert of strawberry sorbet.  We all ate together and then I assisted the smallest star (Luigi) put on his Halloween costume from last year.  Moments later, I handed in my ticket, which read "1 rOw."  The larger star of the show (Mario) then said, "Would you like to buy a commerorative Mario or Luigi hat?"

"How much are they?"

"They are twenty dollars."

"Oh, I'm not interested then."

"Wait!  I meant five!  One!  I meant one!  Thirty cents!  Fine, they're free!"

"Oh," I replied, "free? Well, I'll take one if they're free."

At which point Mario made a sorrowful face and said, "Oh, so sorry, ma'am.  I've just checked and these are our last two and they are on hold for someone else!"

Things are good here.

And yet upon closer inspection . . .

Today, Matthew noticed a man getting into a car parked next to us.  "Mom!  I just saw a guy who is blind!" he said.

"What?"  I looked around, thinking maybe he was talking about someone else.  Someone with a cane?  A seeing eye dog?

Matthew pointed as the man backed his car out of his parking space.  "See?  That guy!  He's blind!"

"Matthew, how do you know he is blind?" I asked.

"I can tell!  I can SEE that he's blind!"

"What do you see?"

"I can SEE that he has NO HAIR!  He's BLIND!"

Long absence, explained

Perhaps you have noticed I haven't posted anything in, oh, two months.  (Or perhaps you have stopped checking my blog entirely.  Sorry.)  The past two months have been . . . chaotic.  Briefly, we are moving!  If you have ever moved, and particularly if you have moved out of state as we are doing, you may understand the simultaneous excitement, sadness and stress that comes with a move.  If I ever thought I was busy before?  I sooooo wasn't.  Every spare moment is taken up with boxing and cleaning and organizing and researching.  And it so happens that I love organizing and researching.  Cleaning?  Not so much but you win some, you lose some.  So, I can't promise that I'll be posting on any kind of predictable basis until we actually are moved and settled but I'll try! 

A summary:

-- Christmas.  Awesome. Matthew was hard core into Santa this year, inspecting the chimney and experiencing great distress at its narrow diameter.  Fortunately, Santa somehow made it and much rejoicing ensued the next morning.

-- New Years.  Had a party with our transracial adoption friends.  Fantastic.  They are without a doubt one of the top reasons I am sad to move.

--Writing.  Another reason I am sad.  I have the best writing circle evvvver.  Can't even stand the thought of not being with them weekly.

-- Sickness.  Constant, unrelenting sickness here.  My purse is a pharmacy, stuffed with multiple inhalers and medications.  Home today with a sick boy.  Can't remember the last week when I didn't have at least one boy home sick.  Sick of sick.

-- School.  The internship is incredible -- tons of fun (most days!) to work with kids.  My boys are also thriving at school.  Matthew is bringing home lists of words he wrote with the movable alphabet and is doing the short chains, which blows my mind.  Cameron is measuring angles and reading all the H.G. Wells he can get his hands on.  They are fantastic!

So, that's life for us right now.  Back to the boxes . . .

I

The other day, Cameron and I were driving to school, just the two of us.  "You know what?"  Cameron said from the backseat.  "When I was in preprimary, everyone knew Matthew was my brother.  But in elementary, some of the kids haven't seen Matthew before.  Lots of times, when they do see him, they say, 'Who's that kid?'"
"What do you say to them?" I asked. 

"I say, 'That's my little brother, Matthew.'  And then they usually say, 'How is he your brother?' I think because Matthew's black and I'm white."

"I think you're right," I said.  "Lots of kids aren't used to seeing brothers that have different skin colors.  What do you say when kids say that?"

"Well," said Cameron, "I just tell them!  He's my brother because I adopted him!"

The Beginning, revisited

Last week, we had an amazing experience.  We took Matthew back to the hospital he was born at, so he could see where he was before he came home with us.  He's seen the photos and he always has questions -- where's that room?  where's that tiny bottle?  who took care of me? 

So I contacted a social worker at the hospital and told her what I wanted to do.  She came through in a BIG way!  Matthew was able to see the very room where we took our first family photo, the very nursery where Cameron first saw him, the very rocking chair that we first held him in.  The nurse who had taken care of him remembered him and wrote him a beautiful letter.  The social worker gave him a tiny baby bottle and a knit hat like the one he came home in.  Matthew was fascinated by it all and it brought back so many happy memories for the rest of our family.  And as soon as we got home, Matthew stretched the little hat over his great big head, filled the tiny bottle with water and requested that I rock and feed him like a tiny baby.  Which I did, but I will resist the urge to post the photo here, lest he be embarassed by it when he's a teenager!

Hockey

For a Thanksgiving treat, we took the boys to their first University of Michigan hockey home game.  They were so excited to see the action up close and we enjoyed reliving our college days.  But outings with children are a little different than those in college.

As we walked to the game, I reached in the pocket of my Michigan sweatshirt and found a piece of paper on which Cameron had written "Weapons for sale, 2 for $1000."  "Oh," he said, "that was for Lego weapons."

"Uh oh," I joked, "if they find this on me I'm going to get arrested."

Surreptitiously, Cameron slid his hand towards me and whispered, "Give it to me.  They won't arrest a kid."

Thankfully, neither of us was arrested.
-----------

 After the end of the first period, we watched the Zamboni clearing the ice.  Up on the scoreboard, the timer ticked down.  Finally, Cameron turned to me and said, "So, there are three periods in hockey right?" 

"Right," I answered.

He pointed at the time and said, "Sooooo is the second period just with the Zamboni?"

------------

When the real second period started, I was cheering for the Wolverines when Cameron said, "Oh no!  Oh no!  Mom!  My shoe!"  Cameron had slipped off one of his shoes and it was now . . . gone.  It slid down to no man's land.  We waited until the end of the game and David approached an usher who immediately said, "Whaddya drop?"  Turns out Cameron is not the first child to lose a shoe at the ice arena and it was quickly retrieved, saving him  a long hop to the car.

----------

Before the third period, Matthew needed to use the bathroom.  David took him but the line was long and I guess men don't let small children cut to the front.  The line turned out to be too long.

---------

At the end of the game, we had lost.  A man a few rows in front of us was . . . unhappy . . . with the outcome and shared his displeasure vocally.  Cameron leaned over and whispered, "I feel like I should go say, 'Calm down.  It's just a game.'"

Reach for the stars

Cameron brings his spelling list home on Thursday and we quiz him on the words a few times before his spelling test the following Thurday.  This week he brought home his list and I began.  "Cameron, spell straight." 

"S-t-r-a-i-g-h-t."

"Spell laid." 

"L-a-i-d."

"Spell waitress."  At this point, I started to think it was a little funny that these three words were on his list. 

Then, as Cameron said, "W-a-i-t-r-e-s-s," I glanced down the list to see "disease" and "cheater!"

Concerned parent that I am, I e-mailed his teacher immediately.  "I am appalled by the words on this week's spelling list.  Apparently, you don't think Cameron is capable of spelling 'philanderer.'"

Book boys

There was recently a book fair at the boys' school and each had a chance to visit it and make a "wish list."

I love books. Good books.  And I want my boys to love good books, too.  Cameron is an avid reader and Matthew loves to be read to, so I am hopeful.  But when you are four years old, sometimes there are things you care about more than good literature.

Cameron's list included a book about algebra and geometry, Shel Silverstein's Everything on It, and reference book about rocks and minerals and National Geographic's Treasury of Greek Mythology.  Matthew's list?  Star Wars Villains, Star Wars Darth Maul's Mission, Star Wars The Hunt for Grievous and Star Wars 3D.