Tomorrow is Sloan's birthday, "March forth." He would be 43, and it seems incredibly unfair to me that he won't be. It also seems incredibly unfair that he suffered so and so long, physically, before he passed. He is beautiful and thoughtful and kind and funny and talented and generous and selfless and brave. He has celebrated my brother endlessly; sadly, he found it hard to celebrate himself. He always felt a little unworthy, which seems unfathomable to me.
I'd like to kick a few people who contributed to his notion, for example, his "original" family. He was removed from them, a bad situation, and placed in foster care for many years, which turned out to be some worse situations. One year, his birth grandparents actually sent him a bakery-made birthday cake, from what I understand, his first birthday cake. I think he was 10. He was so thrilled - they remembered him, they made an effort! He took a bite and choked - they'd had the baker overdose it with pepper to make it inedible because somehow a beautiful ten-year-old not only wasn't worthy of a cake but was worthy of that? Unthinkable.
I am proud that Sloan knows that I celebrate and have celebrated him. He knows how special he is to my brother, too - right up until he was no longer conscious and able to talk, Brett was in constant contact despite their distance (Sloan lived in NC). I'm grateful that Sloan found, finally, a family who did love and celebrate him. My heart's broken for his dad, who lost his wife in May and his son in August - also unthinkable.
I can't find reason in it. I can only take the lesson to let those I love know that I love them and not to waste time on things that aren't important. and be grateful.
Sloan, I'm celebrating you, and I hope that you know it. I hope you know that you're missed and so very loved. I hope you are no longer feeling pain, and that you're at peace. We all love you.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Brothers
My friend Jeri had a son the other day, and so now Annelise has a brother. We went to visit, and Aidan had a fabulous time with AE, basically ignoring the baby. No problem.
While we were leaving, he asked me, "Mommy, who can be my brother?" There is no forthcoming brother, but I don't want Aidan to feel left out. He's got Audrey, his little cousin, but she's a girl. I mentioned Conner, my husband's best friend's son, who's 5 months younger than Aidan and lives about an hour away, and who he's called his brother for years (as many years as he's been able to talk, that is - admittedly not many). He perked up and said, "Yes! Conner is my brother."
Then he did what he's been doing lately - expounding upon a principle he's just worked out in his head. "Sometimes, Mommy, even if you're almost the same age or the same size, or if you live close or far away, it doesn't matter. Someone can still be your brother. Even if they're far away, they can still be your brother. Sometimes."
That's right, Baby - sometimes.
While we were leaving, he asked me, "Mommy, who can be my brother?" There is no forthcoming brother, but I don't want Aidan to feel left out. He's got Audrey, his little cousin, but she's a girl. I mentioned Conner, my husband's best friend's son, who's 5 months younger than Aidan and lives about an hour away, and who he's called his brother for years (as many years as he's been able to talk, that is - admittedly not many). He perked up and said, "Yes! Conner is my brother."
Then he did what he's been doing lately - expounding upon a principle he's just worked out in his head. "Sometimes, Mommy, even if you're almost the same age or the same size, or if you live close or far away, it doesn't matter. Someone can still be your brother. Even if they're far away, they can still be your brother. Sometimes."
That's right, Baby - sometimes.
Sometimes
"Sometimes, Mommy, when you're almost four, you make the rules and grown-ups have to listen."
ROCK N ROLL!!!
I put it in all caps because he says it like that - deliberately, and with the gruffness of a 65-year-old smoker. He's digging classic rock right now (which isn't what I learned to be classic rock, but is now mysteriously stuff that I grew up listening to - a thoughtstream for another day), most especially Seger's "Old Time Rock n Roll" and Billy Idol's "White Wedding." Apparently, those were the first two songs that came on when Daddy put the classic rock station the other day, and they're now the bar against which all other rock is measured.
Anywhoo, he somehow learned about air guitar. He gets a really pained look on his face and scrunches his hands into claw-like forms, then plays, sometimes sitting, sometimes laying on the floor. There's a little of everything. He's got a new move in which he puts one hand behind his head and points with the other. I asked him what it was the other day, and he says it means, "That's the truth!" Others have asked the same, and he's pretty consistent in his story, so clearly he's got the soul of a Baptist preacher in addition to the sensitivity of an artist.
Sometimes it's not a full dance and air guitar; sometimes it's just a scrunched up face and head nodding. He's also started yelling, "Bomp, bomp, bomp," like imitating the guitar or bass line. He doesn't seem really to get that that's what that means, though, so he kind of yells it out at random times.
He also has informed me that, while he does like ROCK N ROLL!, he doesn't really like when girls sing it. Pat Benetar was singing on the station I use to try and find his classic rock, and he was not pleased about it.
"I'm better than that, Mommy."
"Better than that?"
"Yes. I'm really, really good at singing rock and roll. She's not. I'm better."
He also gets frustrated when boys sing who sound (to him) like girls. "I don't like that either, Mommy." Fair enough; point taken.
I've got to go now; I've purchased his two faves from iTunes and am about to entice him into entertaining me for as long as my stomach can take the laughter. I'm wondering, does this count as burning calories?
Anywhoo, he somehow learned about air guitar. He gets a really pained look on his face and scrunches his hands into claw-like forms, then plays, sometimes sitting, sometimes laying on the floor. There's a little of everything. He's got a new move in which he puts one hand behind his head and points with the other. I asked him what it was the other day, and he says it means, "That's the truth!" Others have asked the same, and he's pretty consistent in his story, so clearly he's got the soul of a Baptist preacher in addition to the sensitivity of an artist.
Sometimes it's not a full dance and air guitar; sometimes it's just a scrunched up face and head nodding. He's also started yelling, "Bomp, bomp, bomp," like imitating the guitar or bass line. He doesn't seem really to get that that's what that means, though, so he kind of yells it out at random times.
He also has informed me that, while he does like ROCK N ROLL!, he doesn't really like when girls sing it. Pat Benetar was singing on the station I use to try and find his classic rock, and he was not pleased about it.
"I'm better than that, Mommy."
"Better than that?"
"Yes. I'm really, really good at singing rock and roll. She's not. I'm better."
He also gets frustrated when boys sing who sound (to him) like girls. "I don't like that either, Mommy." Fair enough; point taken.
I've got to go now; I've purchased his two faves from iTunes and am about to entice him into entertaining me for as long as my stomach can take the laughter. I'm wondering, does this count as burning calories?
Saturday, February 12, 2011
a rough patch here and there
My uncle is fond of telling me, when I'm in a rough patch, "without its stones, the brook would lose its song." Hmm.
We've gotten stitches recently - unfortunately for Aidan's later telling when he's impressing girls who see the scar on his chin (that will, inevitably, be there due to the obvious mediocre stitching job done) ask what happened, he fell coming in the door during a snowstorm. That's a little rough patch - you can't take the gorgeous out of Aidan, and it's really under his chin anyway; you can't see it unless he's looking up.
A more rough, rough patch is what I'm hoping is a phase. I keep thinking of the poem my dad used to say when I was little (and had curlier hair)
There was a little girl, and she had a little curl
right in the middle of her forehead,
and when she was good, she was very, very good,
but when she was bad, she was horrid.
I think the poor kid's me. You either got one or the other from me, and that's about what you get from him. This morning OSU cheerleaders and Brutus came to his gym class. He loves them, knows some of their cheers, and was saying he hoped that Brutus would be there when he saw the cheerleaders. Auspicious beginning, and we should've just left then. He wouldn't participate; he didn't feel like doing the things they wanted to do. He elaborately yawned, said he was tired, and draped himself across the floor or me. He wouldn't interact, and when they'd try to talk to him, he was poopy, for lack of a better word. I think at the beginning he might've thought he was being cute/shy, but it got worse and worse, and we eventually had to take him out of the class. Really?
Last night we went out to dinner, and he was delightful. The waiter even commented that they have lots of kids there, and his behavior had been exceptional. We were so proud; I think it made us cocky.
If he gets in a mood, he makes angry faces, he tries to hit my face, he's just awful. Last weekend we left his friend's house when he wanted to stay (which would've been a nonending condition), and he was poopy for hours. It could be something small - once I "broke his rule" by getting him new socks (because his feet grew), and he was awful for hours. He doesn't like new things or change; wants everything to stay the way it is. Sometimes he snaps right out, and sometimes it's like he's determined that everyone should be miserable.
Wish I had the solution. I've tried about every approach I can think of, and almost nothing works. All I can do is hold on to the "very, very good" portions. He is the most snuggly, loving, sweetheart boy. Every night when I ask him what he'll dream that night, he says something about me. He and I will make cookies in his dreams or some other fun thing. He's effusive in his affection. He just needs to work out how to be disappointed without falling apart.
We've gotten stitches recently - unfortunately for Aidan's later telling when he's impressing girls who see the scar on his chin (that will, inevitably, be there due to the obvious mediocre stitching job done) ask what happened, he fell coming in the door during a snowstorm. That's a little rough patch - you can't take the gorgeous out of Aidan, and it's really under his chin anyway; you can't see it unless he's looking up.
A more rough, rough patch is what I'm hoping is a phase. I keep thinking of the poem my dad used to say when I was little (and had curlier hair)
There was a little girl, and she had a little curl
right in the middle of her forehead,
and when she was good, she was very, very good,
but when she was bad, she was horrid.
I think the poor kid's me. You either got one or the other from me, and that's about what you get from him. This morning OSU cheerleaders and Brutus came to his gym class. He loves them, knows some of their cheers, and was saying he hoped that Brutus would be there when he saw the cheerleaders. Auspicious beginning, and we should've just left then. He wouldn't participate; he didn't feel like doing the things they wanted to do. He elaborately yawned, said he was tired, and draped himself across the floor or me. He wouldn't interact, and when they'd try to talk to him, he was poopy, for lack of a better word. I think at the beginning he might've thought he was being cute/shy, but it got worse and worse, and we eventually had to take him out of the class. Really?
Last night we went out to dinner, and he was delightful. The waiter even commented that they have lots of kids there, and his behavior had been exceptional. We were so proud; I think it made us cocky.
If he gets in a mood, he makes angry faces, he tries to hit my face, he's just awful. Last weekend we left his friend's house when he wanted to stay (which would've been a nonending condition), and he was poopy for hours. It could be something small - once I "broke his rule" by getting him new socks (because his feet grew), and he was awful for hours. He doesn't like new things or change; wants everything to stay the way it is. Sometimes he snaps right out, and sometimes it's like he's determined that everyone should be miserable.
Wish I had the solution. I've tried about every approach I can think of, and almost nothing works. All I can do is hold on to the "very, very good" portions. He is the most snuggly, loving, sweetheart boy. Every night when I ask him what he'll dream that night, he says something about me. He and I will make cookies in his dreams or some other fun thing. He's effusive in his affection. He just needs to work out how to be disappointed without falling apart.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
what must I look like normally?
This morning Aidan needed something while I was getting ready, so I ran downstairs, one towel around my neck covering what needed covering (never sure which windows might be open in the morning) with another around my waist. He pointed at the "skirtish" towel and said, "Mommy, your towel looks pretty."
Sunday, January 2, 2011
It's official
Aidan's in full pretending mode. It's been coming on for awhile, but we're there now full stop, as they say. He's been having a blast with his Batcave (the only thing he wanted from Santa) this weekend--the only characters he has for it are Batman and Robin, but he has more than one of those, so the extras play other parts. He'll tell me, "Santa didn't bring me the Joker, so this Batman is the Joker today," or "This Batman is Batgirl now." Important that I, while working in another room, am clear about who's who.
He's also been playing Santa quite a bit, donning his Santa hat (which is too small and barely hangs on to the back of his head), building a sleigh out of footstools and ordering around the reindeer in Santa's very authoritative voice ("ON Dasher....ON Dancer....ON Cupid"), checking his list (which happens, it seems, to be housed in the text for the class I'm preparing to teach this quarter; unfortunately for me this causes some challenges in preparation), and bringing different presents to those who deserve it. Oftentimes Santa will ask what we'd like to get. When I reply, for instance, "an airplane" knowing full well he has a dozen toy airplanes at hand, he'll say, "I'm so, so sorry that I have no airplanes." Then one will appear.
This brings me to a wonderful story about Christmas that, I promise, ends well. As I mentioned, he only wanted a Batcave. He told Santa in person, he told the Elf on the Shelf repeatedly, he offered to give up other presents so that Santa would know what he really wanted. In fact, he dictated a letter to Santa to ensure a Batcave, despite telling him 4-5 times on his lap, I'm digressing for a moment to transcribe it here (tried to attach for added value of baby voice and interesting pronunciation, but was unable due to technical difficulties):
Dear Santa,
How are your reindeer? I want my; I, I, I LOVE you! Thank you for coming, and for taking pictures (I believe this refers to having his picture taken with Santa), and don't forget to know I want...a Batcave. a BATCAVE. I want...a Batcave. Don't forget, I want, to know, I want...a Batcave. (Then, an aside to his uncle who's writing the note for him,) "Are you drawing a Batcave?"
I find it hilarious for several reasons:
He's also been playing Santa quite a bit, donning his Santa hat (which is too small and barely hangs on to the back of his head), building a sleigh out of footstools and ordering around the reindeer in Santa's very authoritative voice ("ON Dasher....ON Dancer....ON Cupid"), checking his list (which happens, it seems, to be housed in the text for the class I'm preparing to teach this quarter; unfortunately for me this causes some challenges in preparation), and bringing different presents to those who deserve it. Oftentimes Santa will ask what we'd like to get. When I reply, for instance, "an airplane" knowing full well he has a dozen toy airplanes at hand, he'll say, "I'm so, so sorry that I have no airplanes." Then one will appear.
This brings me to a wonderful story about Christmas that, I promise, ends well. As I mentioned, he only wanted a Batcave. He told Santa in person, he told the Elf on the Shelf repeatedly, he offered to give up other presents so that Santa would know what he really wanted. In fact, he dictated a letter to Santa to ensure a Batcave, despite telling him 4-5 times on his lap, I'm digressing for a moment to transcribe it here (tried to attach for added value of baby voice and interesting pronunciation, but was unable due to technical difficulties):
Dear Santa,
How are your reindeer? I want my; I, I, I LOVE you! Thank you for coming, and for taking pictures (I believe this refers to having his picture taken with Santa), and don't forget to know I want...a Batcave. a BATCAVE. I want...a Batcave. Don't forget, I want, to know, I want...a Batcave. (Then, an aside to his uncle who's writing the note for him,) "Are you drawing a Batcave?"
I find it hilarious for several reasons:
- I love the change from, "I want" to "I love you!" Hey - put in a good word before you go for what you want. Approach is everything.
- I love that he asked for the Batcave, what, 4 times in 20 seconds?
- I love at the end, where he asks his uncle whether he's drawing a Batcave? See, it's hard to get good help these days. It's important to follow up in case your instructions weren't clear.
Back to our story - jump to Christmas morning. Aidan gets about halfway through his multitude of presents, looks around, and doesn't see a package large enough to be the Batcave. He becomes visibly upset, almost welling up and says something along the lines of, "I don't see a Batcave." We'd been having him "read" the tags to us - he recognizes an S, D, M and A and could tell whether things were to or from Santa, Daddy, Mommy or Aidan. We asked him to read the tag on the next present from Santa (you could tell it was from Santa because of the wrapping paper), and this is what he "read:"
Dear Aidan,
I know you've been a really good boy and I'm so, so sorry but I forgot your Batcave. I'm sorry.
Love, Santa
Later, of course, there was another present we hadn't seen way behind the tree. Wouldn't you know it was a Batcave from Santa?! When Daddy asked him how there could be a Batcave when Santa wrote a note apologizing that he forgot it, A told us, "I think I was just messing with you about the note." Ya think? My hunch is that this "not having" whatever we ask for from Santa goes back to the Batcave experience.
I love that kid.
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