NOT ready for a license

This morning, Matthew was riding his tricycle down the sidewalk when he spotted an ant.  He did the traditional drag-your-shoes-until-you-stop braking, screeching to a halt a few inches from the ant.  "Look!  An ant!" he announced.  He honked his horn.  The ant, inexplicably, continued along the sidewalk.  Matthew honked again, then more insistently, Honk honk honkhonkhonk.  The ant meandered along, ignoring the warning. "Well," said Matthew as he began pedaling again, "I guess I have to run him over."

By invitation only

Matthew has been a wee bit challenging lately.  Last Monday he was . . . a whole lot challenging and I was despairing.  I think there are a lot of factors at play -- sleep, food, getting dragged to big brother's activities, general being-three-ness.  But I decided that there were a few things I could do to make things a little better.

One of those things was creating a space for Matthew.  Cameron has a small room we call the Lego room, which has a desk for working at and floor space for impressive Lego construction.  But Matthew didn't really have any place to call his own.  So on Tuesday I announced that Matthew would have an area of the living room all to himself.  With great fanfare, I brought up a small table and chairs from the basement and Matthew helped me scrub it off.  Matthew selected a corner and, with a bit of rearranging, his spot was established.  "This is where I do my homework," he announced quite pompously.  "Where's my Scooby Doo coloring book?"

When Cameron got home from school, Matthew and I showed him Matthew's area.  "Cameron," I said, "this is MATTHEW'S area.  You are not allowed in this area unless Matthew invites you."

Cameron said, "What?  The whole living room?"

"No," I said, sweeping a hand in a broad circle around the little table.  "This is Matthew's area."

"Soooo," said Cameron, "can I do this?"  He stuck a toe inside the imaginary circle.

"Not unless Matthew invites you," I replied.

"Matthew," said Cameron, "I would like to work with you at your table.  Can I come in your area?"

"Hmmm," answered Matthew.  "No, I don't think so."

Matthew has taken great pleasure over the last few days in going to his own area.  And then, tonight, I was making dinner when Cameron and Matthew came running into the kitchen.  "Matthew invited me to his area!" shouted Cameron.

"We're going to eat dinner at my table," announced Matthew.  "I told Cameron, he can eat at my table with me."

So the boys took their dinner to Matthew's table and David and I enjoyed our Aloo Partha just the two of us.

Loving Matthew's area.

I've got a few good years left in me . . .

Cameron: I think when you're a kid, you keep on getting wiser and wiser. And then, when you're a grown-up, you get wiser and wiser until eventually you stop getting wiser. And then you start to decline.


Me: What age do you think you start declining?

Cameron: I'm gonna say 40.

Well, this should work out quite nicely if Cameron's predictions are correct.  When Cameron is in his teenage years, he will be getting ever closer to knowing everything.  And I will be quickly growing clueless.  Just the way it's supposed to be.

Who would think to look in the dresser?

Last week, Cameron came to the breakfast table wearing no shirt and a red, faux-fur trimmed cape.  "Well, what an honor to have you join us, Your Royal Highness," I quipped.  "We don't often have kings partake of our oatmeal!"

Cameron gave me a derisive glare.  "I'm not a king."

"Oh, well, my mistake.  Who are you then?"

"I'm just a cold boy," he answered, "who couldn't find a t-shirt."

Mother's Day

On Friday, I was invited to Cameron's school for a Mother's Day celebration.  Cameron was very excited and informed me as we stood in line for our fruit salad and cucumber sandwiches that the kids "were supposed to be like the moms' servants for the afternoon."  Luckily, I am not power hungry. 

He handed me a plate, noted that his class had prepared the fruit salad and raised an eyebrow as he pointed out enticingly, "It has green grapes in it."  Best of all, he shared with me a little essay he had written. 

My Mom, by Cameron

This is about my mom.  She is fun.  She plays with me.  She is exciting and happy mostly, except when Matthew gets mad.  She cooks with me on Friday.  She helps me with homework, but not too much.  She is very funny.  This is all about my mom.

I love the honesty -- it is the fact that he includes "except when Matthew gets mad" that makes me believe the "She is very funny."

It was also quite a treat to see the essays other kids had written about their mothers, my favorite being the one that included the line, "I cannot escape her!"  Again, so honest. 

Hard to think about

Earlier this week, I was driving home with Cameron when he said, "You know, there are some things that are hard to think about."

"That's true," I said.

"Like the Big Bang," he continued.  This, I must confess, took me a bit by surprise.  I guess I had been thinking "hard to think about" like "death is hard to think about," not hard to think about like . . . the origins of the universe?

"Like, I try to picture it and it's like, there was nothing, but what is nothing?  I picture all this blackness and then all of a sudden I see a big N.  You know, the symbol for nitrogen?  And the N explodes into stars and galaxies.  Maybe not our galaxy, I'm not sure, but maybe other galaxies at first."

Hard to think about indeed.

The Stanford Peep Experiment

The boys were up bright and early, searching for their Easter baskets.  E.B. is pretty conservative with the candy at this house, preferring to leave Legos and baseballs.  But he's not an Easter candy grinch either, so there were some jelly beans and Peeps to be found.  You've no doubt heard of the famous marshmallow test, and if Peeps count as marshmallows, Matthew is in big trouble. 

As if the boys were lacking for sugar, I made a batch of Vegan YumYum cinnamon buns for breakfast which were 1) delicious and 2) served to demonstrate that I, too, am lacking in self-control.

Now the boys are out in the pouring rain playing baseball with their new bat and balls and their very kind father.  It's been raining pretty much for forever here and the forecast suggests that the rain will stop never.  The other day, Matthew asked, "Who makes the rain?"

To which Cameron promptly replied, "Depends who you ask.  The Greeks would say Zeus."

Zeus really has it out for us, but as Matthew says, "Nothing will stop me from playing baseball.  Not rain.  Not even if a baseball bonks me on the head!"

I'm not much for baseball, much less baseballs bonking me on the head in the rain, so instead I'm inside, prepping the roasted asparagus lasagna for our Easter dinner.  And maybe sneaking a Peep when no one is looking.