There's a big dirt pile behind Aidan's school put there every summer so the kids can play in it - they dig, they find worms, they play with trucks - they're kids in it (I really love Aidan's school). When I picked him up, he'd clearly been playing in the dirt pile - black dirt head to toe - and as I drove home, he started talking to me from the back seat.
"I take my shoes off, Mommy."
"OK Aidan, just throw them on the floor."
"My feet are really dirty." (True - pretty well solid black)
"That's right; we'll take a bath when we get home."
"My feet are really, really dirty."
"I know - it's okay. That's why we have a bathtub."
(As I hear giggling and see a foot moving in the rear view mirror) "Let's lick it!"
He's definitely a boy!
Thursday, September 24, 2009
tgit
It's our Friday and time to begin the three-day weekend. Lest you be jealous of my three-day weekends, let me describe this one for you. It promises to be a delightful time filled with packing up boxes - and not even for moving. Not one bon-bon expected.
We're having our hardwood floors refinished next week. Sounds like a wonderful project until you realize that everything you own is on the floor or in or on something that's on the floor. It's the whole house except kitchen, bathrooms and finished basement. Getting every inch of stuff out is daunting, to say the least, especially when combined with sorting through masses of things accumulated through two single lives and one marriage. Eeee!
Tra la la - not thinking about it yet. Daddy's traveling for work, and I'm snuggling with Aidan on the couch watching (and answering many questions about) Dragon Tales--accent on the snuggling.
We're having our hardwood floors refinished next week. Sounds like a wonderful project until you realize that everything you own is on the floor or in or on something that's on the floor. It's the whole house except kitchen, bathrooms and finished basement. Getting every inch of stuff out is daunting, to say the least, especially when combined with sorting through masses of things accumulated through two single lives and one marriage. Eeee!
Tra la la - not thinking about it yet. Daddy's traveling for work, and I'm snuggling with Aidan on the couch watching (and answering many questions about) Dragon Tales--accent on the snuggling.
Friday, September 18, 2009
impromptu
Aidan and I went to pick up some recycling bins today (yes, I do live a fabulously glamorous life). When we got to City Hall we came across a jam session that, it turns out, happens every Friday near where we live. There were several banjos and guitars, a clarinet, a mouth harp and a trumpet.
When we arrived one gentleman dear to my heart stood up and sang his ABC's and then Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. He sang them with fervor. Another had some candy just in case a kid stopped by.
Seeing Aidan dance and yell, "More songs!" after each number, the guys said that everyone needed an instrument (that's his new friend Ben on guitar next to him) and lent Aidan a tambourine. As you can see, he's a gifted musician. The gentleman who lent it to him said that it's obvious what Aidan needs for Christmas. I'm not sure we can wait until Christmas.
Apparently, when it's cold out they meet in the cafe next door. Everyone's welcome. We'll definitely be taking them up on the invitation; they may regret it.
grateful
My friend got scary news.
I just want to remember to be grateful for my family and for every day. I feel so, so very grateful to have such a beautiful, loving, funny and supportive husband and the most gorgeous son on the planet (no offense to other mothers of sons, but he is).
I'm grateful that my parents are close by and that Aidan is always surrounded by family, love and laughter, and I'm especially grateful that he's going to have a little cousin to play with (the secret's out!) and that I get to be an aunt.
I'm grateful that the sun's shining today, and that I'm able to have this and other Fridays with Aidan. In fact, I'm grateful for the choices I'm afforded on a daily basis.
I just want to remember to be grateful.
I just want to remember to be grateful for my family and for every day. I feel so, so very grateful to have such a beautiful, loving, funny and supportive husband and the most gorgeous son on the planet (no offense to other mothers of sons, but he is).
I'm grateful that my parents are close by and that Aidan is always surrounded by family, love and laughter, and I'm especially grateful that he's going to have a little cousin to play with (the secret's out!) and that I get to be an aunt.
I'm grateful that the sun's shining today, and that I'm able to have this and other Fridays with Aidan. In fact, I'm grateful for the choices I'm afforded on a daily basis.
I just want to remember to be grateful.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
confusion
Here's a great story from my posting hiatus - probably from March or so, so a solid age two.
We were at a family pancake breakfast, and someone asked whether he knew this difference between boys and girls. I didn't know, so I said we should ask him.
"Aidan, are you a boy?"
"NNnope!"
"Are you a girl?"
"Nnnope!"
"What are you?"
"I a nutball!"
Apparently he does listen.
We were at a family pancake breakfast, and someone asked whether he knew this difference between boys and girls. I didn't know, so I said we should ask him.
"Aidan, are you a boy?"
"NNnope!"
"Are you a girl?"
"Nnnope!"
"What are you?"
"I a nutball!"
Apparently he does listen.
what goes around
I remember being extremely frustrated with my dad from probably age three or so (might be farther back, but that's as far as I remember specifically) and for longer than I care to admit because he would say things like, "I know you better than you know yourself," and "You think....." I hate to say that I'm starting to understand it now, so I won't.
I will say, though, that Aidan's starting to do things that I remember doing. There are family-famous stories about my arguments with my dad; I remember yelling that it wasn't my fault that I was the daughter and he was the dad, and maybe he was wrong and I was right, but he just wouldn't admit it. I remember the frustration of being certain that I was right or entitled and especially that I was misunderstood. If only I were able to express myself better, then all would come together for me (and to boot, I would be vindicated). These were, incidentally, the much more subdued arguments of ages two to four, not the angry teen ones. I haven't always been a walk in the park, but be reassured that I've mellowed considerably. Anyhoo..
This post actually does have to do with my son. The other day Aidan yelled at me, "YOU listen, Mommy; YOU not listening!" He was so angry and frustrated that he'd turned red and was physically shaking. I may be projecting it, but I think I know where he was right in that moment.
What hit me was not just remembering being in that moment, but also that I felt as grown up then as I do now, which other possible implications I'll set aside. It's so easy to think of a two-and-a-half year old as baby-like. It's important for me to remember that he doesn't feel he's baby-like. He's just him. (He tells me that all the time: "Are you gorgeous, Aidan?" "No, I'm just Aidan.") I'm not sure where this epiphany will lead, and I don't want to go so far on the pendulum that I let him do whatever he likes because he's entitled to express himself carte blanche. I do love seeing his evolution, though, and learning about who he is. Oh, who am I kidding? I love everything about being his mom, but especially seeing more and more of what he's thinking and who he is. I especially love when he nuzzles me and coos, "Mommy." That's another story.
I will say, though, that Aidan's starting to do things that I remember doing. There are family-famous stories about my arguments with my dad; I remember yelling that it wasn't my fault that I was the daughter and he was the dad, and maybe he was wrong and I was right, but he just wouldn't admit it. I remember the frustration of being certain that I was right or entitled and especially that I was misunderstood. If only I were able to express myself better, then all would come together for me (and to boot, I would be vindicated). These were, incidentally, the much more subdued arguments of ages two to four, not the angry teen ones. I haven't always been a walk in the park, but be reassured that I've mellowed considerably. Anyhoo..
This post actually does have to do with my son. The other day Aidan yelled at me, "YOU listen, Mommy; YOU not listening!" He was so angry and frustrated that he'd turned red and was physically shaking. I may be projecting it, but I think I know where he was right in that moment.
What hit me was not just remembering being in that moment, but also that I felt as grown up then as I do now, which other possible implications I'll set aside. It's so easy to think of a two-and-a-half year old as baby-like. It's important for me to remember that he doesn't feel he's baby-like. He's just him. (He tells me that all the time: "Are you gorgeous, Aidan?" "No, I'm just Aidan.") I'm not sure where this epiphany will lead, and I don't want to go so far on the pendulum that I let him do whatever he likes because he's entitled to express himself carte blanche. I do love seeing his evolution, though, and learning about who he is. Oh, who am I kidding? I love everything about being his mom, but especially seeing more and more of what he's thinking and who he is. I especially love when he nuzzles me and coos, "Mommy." That's another story.
Knock, knock
So, I may be horribly behind in posting, but today I heard that Aidan has told his first knock-knock joke, and I need to remember, not solely to taunt him with it later.
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Cats!
Cats who?
The cats don't live here anymore! (hysterical giggling)
Maybe the joke's so sophisticated that it's over all of our heads. Perhaps it's brilliant and we're too slow to catch on. Perhaps.
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Cats!
Cats who?
The cats don't live here anymore! (hysterical giggling)
Maybe the joke's so sophisticated that it's over all of our heads. Perhaps it's brilliant and we're too slow to catch on. Perhaps.
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