Deployment Ahead

So, it’s coming. Of course we knew there would be deployment. But now it is here. And there is no going back.

It’s like a lot of things in life that once you know, you can’t go back to not knowing and the process of preparing takes on a life of it’s own. I find myself making multiple lists in my head. Soon I’ll need to start transferring them to paper–I’m running out of mental hard-drive to store so many different lists. There is the How to Tailor Our School Year Around Deployment list. There are the List of Jobs I Need to Relearn How to Do That Patrick Normally Does, the Trips the Boys and I Will Take While P is Gone, and the Things That Need to Be Done Before He Leaves lists. I haven’t added much to the Things We Will Need to Buy Patrick Before He Leaves list, because it’s not really my list. But I’ve saved a space for it just the same.

I’ve begun the game of Next Year Patrick Won’t Be Here for This. It’s not a great game, and I’m debating whether or not I should just quit it. It seems somewhat reasonable to think that it will be easier later if I think these things now. But I’m not convinced it’s so. I’m very tempted to leave it alone and focus on other things. There is a very good chance that this game is what led to our first pre-deployment fight yesterday. At least I assume that is what it was. It was pretty non-sensical, overly dramatic, and nearly immediately followed my recognition that, conceivably, this could be Our Very Last Fourth of July Together.

Do you see how that may not be a very productive tally to keep? Let’s face it. Any July 4th could be any family’s last one together. We don’t know what the future holds, right? And if that did turn out to be the case for us, would it really have prepared my heart any to dwell on it now? It seems, at the time you are thinking it, that it will make the moment stick better, be a little closer to perfect, and motivate you to be sunnier and sweeter. I’m going out on that old limb and say, based on my experience yesterday, sunnier and sweeter  is not the temperament you display after thinking about your husband missing the rest of the holidays his children will celebrate.

First deployment lesson: I already acknowledge that combat can kill my husband and that that would stink. Maybe not a hot idea to live in that place.

(Please excuse the obnoxious capitals. That’s how it all presents in my head, everything of annoyingly equal importance. It IS obnoxious, isn’t it?)

Garden!

Emerson has been “longing for a garden” for some time. We weren’t able to have one last year, living in an apartment. There wasn’t even a porch. In fact, all our windows only faced one direction and it wasn’t a good one for growing anything. (Boy am I glad that was a short-term location!)

So for Christmas we got him a garden. Well, we got him a $50 gift card to Home Depot, and a gorgeous book on beginning gardening. He’s been poring over it since the day after Christmas. 

Last weekend we went shopping for the materials for his raised garden bed. Surprisingly, we are allowed to put a garden in on-post housing. However, that doesn’t mean we want to! Call me paranoid, but I’m not interested in feeding my children vegetables grown in soil on an Army post. At the post where dh was in training last year, a friend who lived on-post told me that they weren’t authorized to grow food in housing, because the soil was too contaminated. I kind of don’t need to even ask if that is the case here…I would not take the chance regardless of what they told me.

Earlier this winter, my mother and step-dad visited Montecello and bought a lovely gift for Emerson’s birthday. It is a children’s historical garden kit, with seeds from Montecello’s gardens and an informational book.

So today was the big day. Patrick and the boys built the bed from 2×6’s. We stapled plastic sheeting to the bottom of the frame to prevent any of the plants from coming in contact with the evil, potentially radioactive, poison soil. Much rather have BPAs leaching into the garden soil  from the plastic, right?

We put in a few seedlings tonight, because the forecast called for rain. In the next few days, we’ll have to figure out how many of the thousands of seeds Emerson is hoarding will actually fit in a 4×6 bed.  He’s made about 10 different lists of what he wants to grow. I’m trying to convince him to choose things we will actually eat.

We don’t want to spend the money to build a second raised bed for me and the things I’d like to grow. We are really just dabblers and I’d like to see how Emerson’s goes first, before investing in building another bed. But I have so missed my tiny little herb garden that I had at the house we sold.

The only thing to do was to make my own topsy-turvy. I cut a hole in the bottom of a hanging basket and put a tomato plant plug in the hole. After filling the basket with potting soil, I planted oregano, dill, basil and cilantro in the top. I have no clue how that part will work out! If nothing else, it looks pretty hanging over my front porch!

Elfing Along Toward Christmas

We are busy here getting all our shopping and baking done and, of course, watching for elfin shenanigans. Sir Peppermint has been up to his tricks, and the boys are enjoying the mischievous scenes each morning. And Patrick and I are enjoying coming up with new ideas.

It’s a bit of a surprise that we’ve not yet forgotten to set him up. One night I forgot, but Patrick took care of it before he left in the morning. Last week I babysat while the neighbors went on a much-needed date. When they got home my friend and I got to talking, so it was late when I ran home across the stretch of grass between our carports.

I hurriedly jumped into the warm bed with my warm husband and got all snuggled in, when I remembered Elferd. I jumped up and zipped to the living room, racking my brain for an idea for setting him up. I got to the living room and he wasn’t on his shelf! It took me a moment while I was looking around to realize this meant he was already set up. (Hey, it was late!) My thoughtful husband had sat Sir E. Peppermint in the Christmas tree, where he looked very much at home, for the record.

Sir Elferd in his element

One morning the children woke to find Elferd sacked out on an ottoman, arm thrown over his eyes, and with mysterious bits of scotch tape stuck all over him. They were intrigued, and then delighted as, later in the morning when I went to raise the blinds, they discovered that the tape was from E.P. hanging all our paper snowflakes in the windows.

A crafty elf

But last night was one of my favorites. As we were gearing up for bed, I remembered aloud that I needed to set Elferd up. Before I could come up with an idea, Patrick was halfway done setting him up. So clever this one was!

Late night photo session

As for the Santa aspect, we have watched a few Christmas movies featuring Santa. We’ve not really much of anything against such movies, besides the tendency to portray those who disbelieve as cold, stuffy or even evil. But we’ve pretty much stayed away from them, as they seemed to be more trouble then they were worth in terms of confusion or upset for the children. We have been perhaps gun shy since the Polar Express Incident of ‘05, in which Aidan was already struggling with the idea that many adults pretend to think Santa is real, and we watched the Polar Express not knowing at all what the movie was about, beyond that it was a Christmas movie. Bad parenting in action. Lots of clean-up, and for several weeks.

But somehow, agreeing to pretend seems to be freeing them up to enjoy the myth, rather then to be burdened by it. Not what I expected. But I can see Aidan, especially, giving rein to some of the fantasy that he finds so threatening most of the time. We had a “sick day” here today, as Emerson has a nasty, wet cough, and we watched The Santa Clause. I’d seen it once and though it was cute enough. The boys really enjoyed it…and I enjoyed watching it with them. As the action climaxed with a team of S.W.A.T. elves rescuing Santa, Aidan was rolling on the sofa, laughing and shaking his head with delight as he repeated his favorite lines. What a far cry from the tears and questions and confusion and anger we’ve seen before. He is really letting himself enjoy this! I am pleased.

We did have to have a discussion, Emerson and I, about divorce, during the movie. That was okay, though. It turns out he has been wondering where his cousins’ dad is. He’s never met him as he and my sister have been divorced since before he was born.

Emerson seems to be fully immersed. He is having a great time. Yet I do not pick up on any alarming clues that he is getting too invested or is headed in an unhealthy direction with all this. Nevertheless, Emerson is a cagey one so I am still on sharp lookout. (Funny: I asked Emerson this evening if he hides that he is smart. He laughed and said, “Yes!” I asked him why he does that. He laughed harder and said, gleefully, “Because it gives people a little mystery to figure out!” Nice.)

So we shall see how it all pans out, but so far, this little experiment is going well, and yielding lots of interesting results, to boot.

Another Army Ball

Patrick and I recently attended his unit’s ball. Our third ball in just over a year!

This one was a bit different from the first two balls. Those took place in a TRADOC environment. Patrick was in training, and not yet with a regular unit, so there was a slightly different feel to them. Attending a function with people you are in class with is not the same thing as partying with people you work with daily, and will be working with for a while to come. It’s not the same thing as socializing with people who’ve been to war together.

It was fun to meet some of Patrick’s coworkers I hadn’t met yet, and socialize with those I have have met. We made some new friends…a couple we were seated with were super nice and we had some things in common.

On our way to the festivities

I particularly enjoy the Army rituals. I love the inter-Army rivalries and the ceremonies that are all in fun, but clearly taken rather seriously. I felt like I was living in the pages of The Great Santini when colonels started coming to the front, one by one, to dump bottles of liquor into a huge wooden bucket. I won’t tell the rest of what went into the “grog”, because I believe I may have been sworn to secrecy at some point in the proceedings, though I can confirm that not all of it was edible. I can also tell you I am eternally thankful that I was not expected to drink any of the foul stuff.

The Army and alcohol…I am still forming my opinions on this volatile partnership. I’ve never been a big drinker, though I’m not a teetotaler, either. But, as someone old enough to be a grandmother, biologically speaking, I am pretty firm in my belief that heavy or binge drinking is nearly always a really, really bad idea. Yet, I can not find it in my heart to judge this close companionship between soldiers and alcohol. Already I have seen just a bit of the heavy burden many (most?) military families are under. Perhaps I will have more insight as I lose my newbie status as an Army wife.

A Santa Experiment Update

So far we are having a lot of fun with pretending Santa, and mostly, with Sir Elferd Peppermint.

Our elf is a bit mischievous, and the children have loved finding him in some silly activity each morning. They talk about him as though he is real, which is fascinating to me. Even Aidan has delighted in joining in the fiction, though I know that he is not drawn in to partly believing it. Emerson does seem to believe it just a little. I won’t lie…that concerns me a bit. I don’t want to be a part of him genuinely believing something that isn’t true. On the other hand, I think this endeavor could possible help in that regard. I think he believed a bit before we started. In doing this experiment, I anticipate that, if we feel like he needs a dose of reality (and maybe we will NOT think that, when all the dust has settled), we will be able to show him someday that it WAS us.

Generally, though, our compulsion to make sure our children aren’t believing things that aren’t true does not extend to things that they will figure out for themselves at some point. So if Emerson wants to believe that the elf flies to the North Pole every night and then spends some time before we get up cutting out paper snowflakes, so be it. Besides, the fact that he makes up bits to add to the fantasy makes me think that he has at least some handle on the fact that this is fantasy.

Patrick and I have had great fun finding a cute set-up for Sir Elferd every night. Only once have we forgotten. I realized it as I was falling asleep and woke myself up as Patrick was getting ready for PT the next morning and asking him to set Elferd up. One night Patrick put him on an ottoman with some Uno cards in his hand, and some scattered around him. It was cuter then it had any right to be. He’s been found digging in a candy stash and playing army men on the floor.

Friday morning Emerson discovered Elferd in the refrigerator with a box of reindeer cookie dough. I told them that the elf knew how great their behavior had been the night before when Mommy and Daddy went to the ball and Miss Kelly (our neighbor and friend) stayed with them. Later that day, Emerson told me something good he’d done, and said, “I want that elf to bring me another surprise for being good!” Uh…YEAH, Dude. Still, comments like that really do make me uncomfortable. It’s not that I don’t think that it’s okay for children to have external motivation while learning to internalize the rules. I just don’t want his focus to be in the wrong place.

But later he offered to help me with something, and when I thanked him, I asked him if he was doing it for the elf to see. He said, “Naw. I just want to help you, Mommy.” Aww, okay, then.

We haven’t had much discussion of Santa, but I imagine that will come more now that we are going to have the house decorated (we’re doing that tonight) and as we get closer to Christmas. I did have the boys write letters to Santa and stamp and put them out in the mail. I couldn’t believe that Aidan whole-heartedly participated without any hint of having to make sure we all, especially him, knew for sure that it was just for fun and not real. Perhaps he really does think that the mail carrier took his letter? He asked his dad later if the letters were still there, and seemed totally satisfied with Patrick telling him, no, they were gone. (Gone to on top of the refrigerator!) Normally he would want to discuss exactly where the post man would take it, where would it go, would they be confused because there was no real address, on and on.

So now some pictures of Sir Elferd’s shenanigans.

Fongie is intrigued by a joy-riding elf.

Sir Peppermint roasts a few marshmallows over the fire. Open flame is NOT authorized!

Dancing with a friend.

An unauthroized international call to the North Pole.

The Great Santa Experiment

We don’t “do” Santa. Yes, we are one of those families. We don’t care if anyone else participates in that tradition…we couldn’t care less. I will leave analysis of why this is a problem for OTHER people…that we don’t do Santa…for another post.

I grew up in a family that didn’t do Santa, and I have always felt like that was the right choice for all of my parents’ children. I’ve never been regretted that my parents were always forthcoming about the reality of Santa, and as far as I know, neither have my brother or sister. My sister has reared all 4 of her children Kris Kringle-less.

My husband did believe in Santa as a child, but his family did not make a big deal of it. We considered finding ways to include the tradition, but decided before having children not to rear them to believe in Santa. The more we’ve come to know Aidan, the more confident we are that we made the right decision. Aidan is very concrete and literal. Not only would he never buy that we hadn’t been lying to him to perpetuate the myth, it would have been miserable trying to come up with answers to his millions of questions. Even when he was littler and even though he has always known that his presents come from Mom and Dad, he STILL had questions about how others were able to swallow this improbable tale.

Emerson, however, is another story.

Once we started to get to know Emerson, we briefly reconsidered our decision. Emerson loves to pretend–something that used to make Aidan intensely uncomfortable. Having Emerson for a brother has really stretched Aidan in that way, and he now enjoys it, even if he doesn’t always understand how it works for others. Emerson is a fantasy lover and story teller.

Emerson wants to believe in Santa Claus.

We did decide to stick with our original decision. Emerson is still rather concrete and frankly, I just didn’t want to do it. I know that lots of people consider it very different from lying and it works fine for their families. But honesty has always been extremely important to me. And I would just feel dishonest to teach my children that there was a Santa Claus who came every year with goodies.

But we have always left open a different possibility. We have always agreed that we might someday decide to pretend WITH the children that Santa exists.

Now that Emerson is old enough to really get a read on his personality and both boys are old enough to be sure that Santa isn’t real, and now that Aidan is old enough to handle pretending an elaborate pretense without it sending him over the edge into mayhem…we are having The Great Santa Experiment.

I can’t get past the feeling that Emerson needs this, somehow. We are pretty hardcore around here. We don’t brook any nonsense. We cowboy up. We face facts. Not that we don’t play and have lots of fun together, but we are fairly reality-based. And Emerson…well, he really wants someone to have a really good pretend with him. It is not his fault he was born into a family that doesn’t do much pretending.

So Patrick and I talked it over and we decided to try, this year, pretending together that we all believe in Santa Claus. From today…Thanksgiving…until Christmas, we are all in agreement to pretend with Emerson. We are even going to do “Elf on the Shelf”…though not the $30 version you buy at Barnes & Noble. For those not familiar with this old tradition that has found new life due to an enterprising author, Santa is said to send out elves to live at children’s houses during the holiday season. The elf sits on a shelf and watches the behavior of the children. Each night he flies back to the North Pole and gives SC the daily report. When the children awake, they have to find where the elf has landed upon returning from his nightly northern visit. Here is the fun part (the previous was the slightly sick part! I can’t imagine telling my children for real that we had a little spy in the house. I know it works for some people, but I could not do that). Every morning the children find the elf in a fun scene or in the midst of some elfish (elvish? no…I think that would only be for Lord of the Rings elves) adventures. This is the part that sounds really fun to Patrick and me. We already enjoy that kind of activity with our family friend, Mr. Peabottom.

Mr. Peabottom enjoys a cup of coffe with the sports page.

So our elf arrived this afternoon. Upon returning from our Thanksgiving meal at the D FAC (dining facility…the Army has a tradition of it’s leaders serving the troops on this day), the boys spotted Aidan’s small parachute hanging from the roof of the front porch. Our elf had HALO (high altitude, low opening) jumped and arrived by air. The boys were excited and intrigued. We have agreed to name our elf Sir Elferd Peppermint.

I am very interested to discover how this all works out. Already we have noticed that Emerson is struggling with the idea that to play by Santa’s rules, he only gets presents if he is good. This is fraught with pitfalls. For instance, how good is good? And does that include how you treat the cats? Emerson knows that he isn’t always perfectly good, so he has expressed some anxiety that he will be able to perform to Santa’s standards.

Interesting, isn’t it? With Mommy and Daddy, there is grace. Our boys know that they will get presents from us as an expression of love, regardless of their behavior. Since they don’t have a history of getting presents from an inconsistent Santa who tells them that they won’t get gifts without a good record, but brings the presents regardless of the reality of goodness, Emerson truly thinks that playing by the Santa rules means that he is in genuine danger of not measuring up.

We didn’t plan to highlight the difference between how the world does things and how God does, but there it is.

I hope to continue to report how our endeavor is progressing over the course of the month, or at least a post-mortum following the holidays. Look for pictures of Sir Elferd as well.

Costumes

Everyone who knows me knows that I love so many things about homeschooling. One of the things that I love is that my children have the opportunity to fully be themselves, without feeling as though there is something wrong with who they are.

But every once in a while, I bump up against the reality that the rest of the world doesn’t work so much that way. That, if everyone was fully themselves, we’d see a heck of a lot more variety in this world. That my children are not subject to peer pressure yet, and that they don’t know what children their age think is cool.

And I’m down with all that. But sometimes…let’s just say that sometimes I wouldn’t mind a little less individuality.

A good example of this is the story of Aidan’s fourth birthday. We discussed many possible ideas for a theme for his party–baseball, animals, army. I told him that he could choose the theme. (This was before I was in the habit of issuing caveats along with promises.) He informed me that he wanted his party theme to be “ice”.

Ice.

ICE, people.

Oh, sure, it sounds clever. But you can’t exactly run to Party City for the full range of “Ice Party”–themed party supplies. And did I mention that I’m not exactly great at party themes anyway? You try coming up with ice-themed games for 4 year olds!

At the moment this rabid non-comformity is manifested in my children’s choice of this year’s Halloween costumes. I don’t like Halloween, but I do it because my husband loves it. Because I don’t like it, I’m not interested in putting a lot of time and effort into costumes. I am willing to make them a cape or cowboy vest, but it’s hard for me to get into it for Halloween.

But…this year circumstances converged to make me willing. Patrick’s new unit needed volunteers for a Halloween event on post. I want to be available to support the unit, so I planned to participate. And then we discovered that there was to be a costume contest. And my children each have been wanting costumes that would make fair entries in a costume contest. And they’d both use them again. And I also realized that I haven’t had as many opportunities to make fun things for Emerson…he has Aidan’s castoffs. And Aidan could do much of the extensive work that kept me from waning to make his. And and and…

…and so we made the costumes.

And, as it turned out, Aidan was the only sniper, in an authentic ghillie suit (the camouflage snipers where) and Emerson was the only four year old British Redcoat…wait…the only British Redcoat of any age…that we saw this Halloween. What was that? You say you aren’t surprised?

I will say that, if you are going to dress as a sniper, an Army post is the place to do it, because no one has to ask what you are. They will just holler out the car window as they drive past you trick-or-treating to “Look at that ghillie suit! I want HIM downrange with ME!”

Patrick took the boys trick-or-treating and he reported that several ladies who answered their doors made them wait while they got their husbands to see our boys’ costumes. He also told me that Emerson marched the entire trip, and kept his musket cradled in his palm, leaning against his shoulder, for the whole night.

The official costume contest results: we went to a big neighborhood fair where the boys each won third place in their respective age categories. And as for the big contest? We thought when Halloween rolled around and we had not heard results, that someone else had taken the prize. But it turned out that the judges were just a little behind on contacting the winners. Emerson won for cutest kid and Aidan won for most creative. Wow!

Oh, and a piece of advice…if you want to have some fun, take a 4 year old Redcoat with you to Colonial Williamsburg. What could be more fun then to see him scowl at a costumed gate-keeper who called him a “bloody lobsterback”?

I had to distract him frequently to keep my pint-sized curmudgeon from noticing that people were snapping pictures of him.

Ahh, that’s the way of my children. “Don’t notice what I am doing over here, keep moving, nothing to see!” It would sure be a lot easier for them to blend in, if they weren’t wearing the Most Creative costume.

Emerson’s Morning Project

The boys have finally figured out how to play outside. It’s been a while since we’ve had a yard, and they were too little to play with minimal supervision when we did. So it’s taken them a bit to figure out all the fun things they can do in a big, empty yard.

Last week they came running in to excitedly tell me that they found CLAY! REAL CLAY! in the back yard! They spent the better part of the day, well, playing in the dirt. It warmed my heart to put two grubby, happy boys in the tub before dinner, clothes straight into the washer. Boys are supposed to get dirty.

This morning Emerson came in and cryptically requested a piece of blue fabric. We couldn’t find blue, but we did rustle up a suitable remnant. There were one or two more forays back into the house for supplies. I love to anticipate what marvelous project is being created when I hear, “Mom! Can I have a piece of yarn?” and see someone traipsing through with a fist full of sharpened pencils.

At first I thought it was a circus tent, but Emerson informed me that it was a tent for his imaginary mouse, and one of his many imaginary friends, Taco.

You know, Aidan had one imaginary friend…a spider monkey named Dolini. We didn’t hear much about him, and what we did hear made us kind of glad that we didn’t know more. Aidan has never been prone to wild storytelling so it took us off guard to hear about Dolini. It seemed so out of character for Aidan in some ways.

Emerson, on the other hand, can name 10 imaginary friends off the top of his head. He does like to spin a fanciful yarn so we’ve heard a few of their exploits. Like the time Taco won the ginger-ale drinking contest. “You wouldn’t think one man could drink that much. But one man could. And one man did.”

Come to think of it, I’m not so sure I want Taco living in a circus tent in my back yard.

Emerson, Part II

Sometimes our children bring challenges that we don’t expect when we dream of sweet, soft babies and sloppy kisses. Who ever dreams of having to put restrictions on the two year old they have come to call the Smack-Talking Baby? Sweet…check. Soft…check. Sloppy kisses…check. Smack-talk? I mean, really?

Aidan is a literalist. Though he gets jokes now, for a long time we had to explain exactly why jokes were funny. Not easy, by the way, and we are thankful that we had a professor in college who was semi-obsessed about deconstructing funny.

So when Emerson came along, his grandfather was thrilled to have a grandson he could tease in a way that Aidan did not like. Aidan was good for building and getting really excited about projects, but he was frequently bewildered by some of his granddad’s colloquialisms. As a grandfather, Patrick’s father is somewhat boisterous and full of bon amie. “Emerson Boy,” he might say, “If you don’t stop tickling me, I’m gonna skin you alive and make a wallet out of you!”

And Emerson eats it up.

Emerson was an early talker and it soon became apparent that he had inherited the gene that allowed him to give as good as he got from Granddaddy. He would be silent in the car, as we approached my in-laws’ house. Upon arrival he would run in and gleefully rip off whatever charming little gem he’d been working up in the car. “Granddaddy, I’m going to cut you up in pieces and put you in the crock pot and EAT YOU!”

Did I say charming, or disturbing?

“REALLY!” we would gasp, completely scandalized but somehow laughing all the same.

It was the laughing that did us in, of course. You can’t laugh at a child like Emerson and then expect that his shocking behavior will do anything but continue. But it was so clever! And how hysterical to hear such things come out of such a little boy! We knew we shouldn’t laugh, but we were nearly helpless to stop.

We would be at Wendy’s and Emerson would cheerfully offer to run Wendy through with a sword because the counter girl had forgotten the sour cream for my baked potato. The poor, harmless geriatric couple at the next table would look our way in horror. What in heavens are they teaching that child?

Sometimes I wanted to look back at them, with the same horrified expression mirrored on my face, and whisper, “Did YOU teach my child to say that??” I wished they had. I could have spanked them and been done with it.

Though, in fairness, his gruesome commentary was not just for the people around him. Sometimes it was simply a part of his narrative.

One afternoon, I took the boys to the bank to make their monthly savings deposit. They got the obligatory rummage in the bank “treasure chest” to pick out a prize. This particular month they had little, toddler-hand sized tote bags emblazoned with the bank’s logo. The boys were enchanted and spent the better part of a day plotting what they might put in their bags.

After a bit of grocery shopping at the Aldi, Emerson told Aidan and I the following plan he had devised.

“I will go to Aldi and buy a rabbit. I will put the rabbit in my bag and carry it home. When I get home, I will kill the rabbit and skin it and put it in the oven and cook it. Then I will eat it and hang the skull on my skull hook on my special shelf.”

Now, before you ask, yes, we did have a “special shelf” for each boy to place cherished belongings on, but NO, they were NOT equipped with “skull hooks”!

Skull hooks!?!!

Finally, Patrick and I decided that the looks of disapproval on strangers’ faces were more distressing then Emreson’s bon mots were funny. I mean, we agreed that it wasn’t at all appropriate for a not-quite-two year old to be speaking so disturbingly and disrespectfully. So Patrick engineered one the best rules that he, who is an excellent rule-maker, has made to date. “Emerson,” he declared, “You must stop smack-talking everyone and everything. It just isn’t appropriate for a little boy to say such things all the time. From now on, you may only smack-talk Granddaddy and bonafide enemies of the USA.”

It was brilliant! We still got to enjoy the gruesome creativity that only an Emerson can exhibit, but could avoid convincing other parents that they needed to keep an eye on our son, lest he get too close to one of their children. This would seriously restrict his opportunity to shock and horrify. Honestly, Emerson wasn’t even aware that the US HAD enemies!

Until his father joined the Army. “Why does Daddy have to be away from us?” he asked me, the night we dropped Patrick off at the hotel, from where he would ship out to Basic Training the next morning. There had been lots of Army talk at our house in the past weeks, as one might imagine. Aidan had even determined to start his own private army, the American Sharks.

I reminded Emerson that Daddy was learning how to fight bad people who wanted to fight our country. Enemies, if you will, of the US. Emerson thought about for a moment, and then announced the plan that would render the need for Daddy to fight, obsolete. “I will cook them in the oven like chicken nuggets and feed them to the American Sharks for a snack,” he declared.

An excellent idea, I agreed.

Do Not Complain to Me!

Have you noticed as a parent that there are some things your children do that really push your buttons, despite your best wish that they didn’t? Of course you have. That’s covered in Intro to Parenting.

I realize that my children have never been subjected to the tiresome practices of institutionalized learning. They’ve never gotten smacked around on the bus. No one has even ever called them mean names. (No, wait…last year an aquaintence on the playground called him, rather obscurely, “stinky pinky”. Yes, he was quite disturbed. Mainly because he could not figure out what it was supposed to mean.) But somehow I still expect them to appreciate the fabulous educational utopia we have created for them in our home.

And this is where the Button-Pushing Fest ‘O8 comes into play. When I tell my 7 y.o. that it is time to do some school work, to work on math, which he adores, let the record show, and he says to me, “I HATE doing schoolwork!” my head starts to spin around.

When he does this, I just want to yell at him. “Are you KIDDING ME? Do you have any idea how much less you could like schoolwork? Do you understand at ALL how good you have it?” But that’s just it. He doesn’t have any real understanding of how very bored he would be in school. We’ve explained to him what he would be doing in a typical second grade classroom, but it sounds so unlikely to him that he barely believes us.

When my knee-jerk emotional reaction simmers down, I remind myself that when he says he hates school work, it isn’t really a challenge to the choices we have made regarding his education. What he is really saying is that he, as a 7 year old boy, wishes, in that moment, that he was the director of his own fate. He is speaking in the now. “I hate schoolwork at THIS MOMENT, because I perceive it as something keeping me from doing something else I had in mind to do.”

Nonetheless, I am not into the idea of 10 more years of complaining from him, no matter how intermittent. Besides that, I believe that complaining about something regularly often prevents us from accepting the reality of our obligations. I can complain about washing dishes every single day of my life, but that does not make facing a full sink any easier. Accentuate the positive, as they say.

Thus I have newly instituted a repercussion to be associated with complaining about schoolwork. When Aidan complains, I now require him to sit for half an hour and work diligently on memorizing his addition and subtraction tables. I enforced this rule for the first time a few days ago. There was a good bit of silent recrimination at first, of course. No point in him slinging verbal accusations. He knows I am hardcore and that that would make it go far worse for him.

Aidan did bravely point out, because he was certain I must be making a mistake, that he already KNOWS how to add and subtract, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. True. But it is a very good idea to have some math facts memorized and standing at the ready so that you don’t have to waste your time, every time, adding everything up. He was skeptical but grudgingly willing to try it. As if he had a choice.

Fifteen minutes later he was bouncing up and down, “Mom…this is FUN!” What? I’m sorry, what was that? Could you speak up a little? Because I THINK you just said that memorizing addition facts was FUN. Hmmm. So mom knows how to make memorizing numbers…fun? Who would have guessed it?

A winning outcome for everyone.