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Posts Tagged ‘littler j’

a bum tale

While prepping dinner yesterday evening, I heard my three-year-old mumble something to himself. I heard only the words “Mr. Finger” and “bum.”

I called from the kitchen, “Please tell me Mr. Finger and Mr. Bum aren’t visiting each other!”

He burst into laughter. “Silly Mommy,” he scolded, running to join me in the kitchen. “It’s not ‘Mr. Bum.’ It’s just ‘bum.'”

“Oh, okay,” I said, chuckling as he ran off again.

When I relayed the story to my husband later, he laughed, too. “Please tell me you’re writing this stuff down!” 

Our three-year-old joined us and began scratching himself. I seized the opportunity to see if his earlier comment was a fleeting notion or part of a framework. “Don’t scratch Mr. Bum!” I cautioned.

He laughed. “I already told you! It’s not Mr. Bum, just ‘bum.'” I’m not sure what all qualifies for the honorific “Mr.” in his world, but “bum” doesn’t meet the criteria.

I watched my husband stifle his giggles. Recalling his earlier statement, I thought, “I should be writing some of this down.” Which I am, starting now.

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Categories: Family, Parenting Tags: ,

soul-level sighs of satisfaction

Yesterday mid-morning, my three-year-old son and I went to meet up with some friends at a family event in Newport Beach. Littler J, who usually naps in the early afternoon, was so beat that he ended up falling asleep ten minutes into our drive.

By the time he’d finished napping, our friends were on their way home. The event was nevertheless a joy. It was full of small, sweet moments, individual and collective.

Individually, I especially enjoyed watching Littler eat his pizza. First, he strips off the cheese. After he’s eaten all the cheese, he plants his face directly in the center of the triangle and begins gnawing down. As if watching him savor a piece of pizza in this way weren’t adorable enough, this inefficiency leaves him with a greasy orange beard that makes me giggle. Read more…

little boys laughing

I awaken at 3:30 each weekday morning, do an hour of work, and then spend one rushed hour getting ready with my kids. I’m then in traffic for an hour or so before beginning my full workday.

Yesterday, I had an early doctor appointment. Instead of rushing out the door, I spent two and a half hours hanging out with my kids. I helped my older son, Li’l D, scramble an egg before snuggling with him on the couch and reading Charlotte’s Web aloud. I walked him through homework corrections and then, after my three-year-old (Littler J) was really awake, laughed at the sounds of my little boys racing through the house while hollering their mirth.

I grinned the whole way to the doctor’s office. It was just such a perfect morning!

After my appointment, I called my husband to tell him how it’d gone. It turned out he was at the grocery store on the same block as the doctor’s office, so I met him in the store. I savored the weight of Littler’s hand in mine as my husband pushed the shopping cart. Littler made an adventure of even a shopping trip, so that I beamed the whole way through the trip. 

As we parted ways in the parking lot, I told my husband that the morning had been absolutely perfect. I said I’d have to make a point to do this more often on the weekday. Once a month, maybe?!

I grinned as I began my late drive to the office.

Nine years ago, before I had an inkling I was on the verge of parenthood, my perfect morning involved a couple of hours of World of Warcraft and then a six- or seven-shot latte en route to work. On the very best mornings, I’d spend a little time staring at the ceiling and daydreaming about the weekend, too. 

My perfect morning is so much different now than it was then. It’s busier and louder by far now, but, oh! It is ever so much more full of love, and–best of all–little boys’ peals of laughter.

the j-blockade

This morning, my three-year-old son awakened mere minutes before I left for work. I heard Littler J whining the moment I stepped out of the shower.

“What’s up with the little guy?” I called to my husband.

“He doesn’t want you to go to work.”

A few minutes later, I put on my shoes and headed toward the front door. There, blockading the exit, was Littler J.

“Don’t go!” he howled. “I don’t want you to go!”

Leaving against his wishes made me more than a little sad. Still, I’ve grinned every time I remember that image: one little boy trying to block his mama from leaving through one big door.

His body may still be small; his will is anything but. I hope he keeps that … and also that his older brother will never be too far away to end any J-blockade with a well-timed question or two:

“Wanna play trains? They’re in the bedroom!”

Categories: Family, Parenting Tags: , ,

we will

On Thursday, I had an experience that kinda changed everything for me. I’m not able to write about it in detail, but the core of it was me asking:

Can you change any of what happened yesterday? No? Then what do we do about making tomorrow better?!

Yes, I wrote a sad post yesterday. Yes, it was about how much yesterday influences today, especially for people who grew up in chaos.

But, you know what? That was already the remnants of something that had to be let go, for me to move on.

Because in that moment of arguing for tomorrow (and someone going, the next morning, “DEB FOR PRESIDENT!!!”), I saw: 

This is what it means, to show care for what happens next, for everyone’s children.

My own littlest is snuggled next to me as I type this and think,

Fuck, yeah. The future’s gonna be okay.

We can–and will!–make it that way!

Categories: Reflections Tags: , , ,

my island

Last weekend,
I wrote about how much
(and why) I love
the movie
Moana

Yesterday,
I bought
the soundtrack
for commute
brightening
purposes,
but:

The best
part of yesterday,
easily, was the Moana
bedtime dance party
I had with my three-year-old

On a 4×6 rug,
we went
away, away,
laughing and
twirling
together;

on our own little
rug-island
in space and time;

Like Moana and her
(granted, fictional) villagers,
having been there once,
I will now, always
be able to find
my way
back
(home)

Categories: Movies, Music, Parenting Tags: , , ,

“I’m obnoxious.”

My little boys love racing each other down a ramp near our house. Yesterday, much to my two-year-old’s chagrin, my seven-year-old, Li’l D, only wanted to run down twice.

“Could you please run down one more time with him?” I asked D. D, seizing the opportunity, said he’d run down it one more time … if I said I was obnoxious.

I weighed his proposal for a moment before mumbling, “I’m obnoxious.”

“What? I couldn’t hear you,” he teased.

“I’m obnoxious!” I said, much louder.

He grinned before racing down the ramp with Littler J. 

“Again?!” D asked. 

“I’m obnoxious,” I replied. 

Both my boys laughed as they raced down the ramp one more time, and I? I laughed, too.

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