Earthmovers and Sandcastles

I promise that I don’t sit around comparing my boys to each other all day long, regardless of how recent entries are carrying that theme. Today, too, though, I once again found myself recalling Sam as I worked with Gabe and found that things are really different this time around.

We went over to Sam’s school with a bag of canned food in hand, ready to join the students on a trek down the street to a local church’s food bank. It was quite an impressive sight: the entire student body of his elementary school, strung out in a line over several blocks, each with a small bag of food in hand to deposit in the cardboard boxes inside the church. I heard some of the kids talking about what they were doing, obviously parroting what they’d been told: “This is so people don’t have to be hungry for Thanksgiving.” Gabe trotted next to me, mittened hands waving in the wind and tiny reddened nose poking out over the fabric covering the lower half of his face. He had no idea what we were doing, despite my efforts to explain.

On the way home, I tried again. “There are people in our town who don’t have any food to eat.”

GABE: “Not in their refrigerators?”
ME: “They might not have refrigerators at all. Maybe not a house.”
GABE: “Oh. They should get one.”
ME: “But they don’t have the money, sweetheart.”
GABE: “…”
ME: “Can you imagine if you didn’t have any food in your fridge?”
GABE: “Did they steal our food?!”

Now, see, even at this age, Sam would have been practically in tears at the thought of people being hungry. Gabe is a more typical four years old, self-centered as a rule. I’m not sure how to explain charity to him effectively, or even if I can do so. I’ll keep modeling it to him, hoping osmosis will work, but words are failing me right now. At least he didn’t try to grab boxes of mac ‘n cheese from the display shelves of the food bank; I saw his eyes light up at the sight of them.

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I made a baked pumpkin today (so yummy!), and I had to search through my old journal archives to find the recipe. Doing that, I came across a toddler Sam, telling me out of the blue that “‘a’ is for airplane, and ‘c’ is for cat.” I remember how amazed I was by that, reveling in the novelty that is an eldest child’s mental development. It’s the unfortunate lot of a second child, often, to not be able to amaze his parents in quite the same jaw-dropping way as those who went before him, yet I still marvel at Gabe’s growing abilities - and, even more, at his determination. Sam always took his skills casually, just as a matter of course, as natural as his hair growing. Gabe is focused.

We spent a good portion of today over at Starfall, where Gabe at first enjoyed the letter identification exercises but quickly found that he liked the matching games best. He then moved on to the higher level matching games, which involved matching short words to their pictures. He can’t really read independently yet, but he was doggedly trying. After a bit, I could see that he was getting tired of it, and he started to insist, “This is the last game! Then I’m done!” I told him that was fine, that nobody would make him play, and he muttered, “The computer will!” He couldn’t give up so long as the computer continued to challenge him. Eventually, I had to step in and declare him the winner over the computer.

This is a blessing of having two children with such very different personalities: even though we’ve gone through all this before, it’s still a new experience to watch this child learn. He’s coming up the hill from the other side from where Sam started, and while Sam wanders in zig-zags, examining bushes and animal tracks along the way, Gabe is clearing a wide and firmly-packed path, aiming for the crest like an arrow to a target. It’ll be interesting to see how this plays out the farther both of them get along the way.

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I never knew that Seasonal Affective Disorder can involve sugar cravings. I just thought it was the constant enticements of “holiday goodies” making me go all “COOKIE MONSTER AAAAAAAA-NOM-NOM-NOM” around this time of the year. That, perhaps, and some sort of pre-evolutionary throwback need to pack on fat for the long winter of scarcity. Huh. Might need to revisit South Beach - not to lose weight, but to have some sort of codified rule system for eating to consult while in the midst of the bad chemical juju.

Hey, Mom: I got down in the dumps the other day, so I opened one of the presents in the surprise box. I love the earrings and necklace. Gabe does, too, as he sits in my lap and names the colors with a deep and intense air of seriousness. That’s how he does things like that lately. Sam was in a play in church this week, and apparently Gabe’s Sunday School teacher decided to take the kids in the class up to the balcony to watch (I was in the nursery, but I got to see the play during the dress rehearsal); I later got reports from youth group members who were up there with him, saying that he had been quite, er, stentorian with his reading of the letters on the screen over the actors’ heads. “Peeeeee! Arrrrrrr! Ohhhhh!” etc. It took him time to get to the end of the word “promise,” but the teenagers didn’t get a bit tired of it, rolling on the floor with laughter as they were.

I’m glad others find him amusing. Everybody who knows him keeps coming to me to tell me how much they enjoy him, but he’s definitely a person who’s easier to enjoy in small doses, so to speak. I return to the word “intense,” as it’s probably the most descriptive of who Gabe is these days.

Sam is, too, though in different ways. He’s like me, in that we both tend to flare quickly with strong emotions, and then we swing back the other direction just as fast, forgetting what had us upset as we move onward. Last night, we had an awful violin practice experience, ending with me giving up and sending him to the shower, intending to put him to bed early (he was a bit overtired). His anger turned into tears of angst, and he insisted that he was stupid and that I hated him. But it took about five or ten minutes to reassure him…after which he was loving, cheerful, and full of displays of affection. That’s Sam, never down for long. (Check with me again after tonight’s violin time…)

Tonight: haircuts for the boys, hopefully, and a quick dinner, before heading out for a book exchange with friends. My bookshelves will sigh in relief as I unload them, if only for a while.

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Some days, I have absolutely nothing to say - nothing worth saying, nothing worth the effort of opening my mouth to utter. Frequently, on these days, I actually get annoyed with having to speak at all, or at least with having to come up with original words. Gabe just sat on my lap for a good ten minutes, guffawing while I read him knock-knock jokes (that he almost certainly didn’t understand, but inflection is everything), and that was fine, but ask me if we have any orange juice, and I can’t be bothered to even get to the point of “yes” or “no.” I’d rather just get up and pour.

I got myself an electric blanket a few days ago. Twin-sized, since Eric has diabetes and isn’t supposed to use them, so it only covers my half of the bed. From one angle, it was a very good buy, since I’m almost always freezing and the blanket make me feel toasty and warm and (strangely) loved and cuddled. On the other hand, I really don’t want to do anything except stay there under it all the time now. I’m sitting here in front of the computer, wishing like heck for evening and bedtime to get here now. And it’s not even as though I could do any daytime work from my bed, either, since once that heat starts working, I go all beautifully semi-comatose.

I’d have made a good bear. Mmmmm, hibernation.

Took the boys to the cheap theater this weekend to see Wall-E; Sam had already seen it, but Gabe has been afraid of theaters (the darkness and noise, I think) for a while now and could only just be cajoled into going there this time. He spent the first segment of the movie asking, “Is it going to be scary now?” over and over, and the second segment was full of, “Hey! This isn’t scary at all!” The ending confused him a little bit, and he keeps asking the same questions over and over (and over) as he processes it, but I think his theater phobia might be over. Of course, the large popcorn didn’t hurt that at all; he ate most of the tub himself, double-handing it as fast as he could, despite Eric’s efforts to slow him down.

Hmm, popcorn. Might be time to make some popcorn balls again!

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So, I’m jealous. I’m really, really jealous of people who are currently training for marathons, especially people for whom the race is just over the horizon. If you’re doing twenty-plus-mile runs, or are in your taper after the last of those long runs, I’m watching you with envious eyes. There are a few people in my running club who are gearing up for Vegas in a few weeks, and they were out well before most of us today so they could fit in all their miles; a Facebook friend mentioned that Honolulu is only a month away for her, and I turned green.

Sick? Perhaps. But hardly unusual. I’m just antsy because most pre-designed marathon training programs run a max of eighteen weeks, which would have me starting after Christmas to train up for my race in May. It sort of feels like the summer after high school, when all my plans for college were pretty much finalized - all I had to do was count the days until I could actually, finally, go there.

I still need to pick a good schedule, though. Right now, I’m running Tuesdays and Thursdays (when Gabe’s in school), and then Saturdays and Sundays. That works well, since it means I usually don’t have to worry about Eric being at work or pushing a stroller. (Also, having “ideal” days to run means that I’m less tempted to start running every day and risk injury again.) Finding a pre-made schedule that fits that is challenging, though, so I may wind up needing to suck it up and run early in the morning again or use the gym some days. Probably ought to do that latter bit anyway; strength training has been noticeably lacking lately.

Planning is fun. Sticking to the plan is the less fun part…but I can’t wait to have that worry.

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I need threats, or a (figurative) gun held to my head, to get me moving today. Coffee alone’s not doing it. Dishes need to be washed, clothes need to be laundered, floors need to be vacuumed…and I’m just sitting here in a little ball, shivering and wanting to curl up under my electric blanket for a few more hours. It’s not even really that cold outside, but it’s very grey and damp, and my fingers feel numb.

I was grumpy all last evening with the kids, who suffer no such issues of idleness. About the tenth time somebody jumped on top of somebody else and caused loud and sudden squealing, I snapped and packed everybody into bed early. It was probably for the best, as Sam still fell asleep not long after hitting the pillow (not night owl Gabe, but he always has a hard time going to sleep at night), but still. Eric’s been in Missouri all week, but he’s coming home tonight, and not a moment too soon. In the meantime, Sam and I are learning the value in “do-over”; a few times, I’ve caught myself being terribly unfairly angry with him for the transgression of being seven years old, and I’ve made myself apologize and ask for a do-over, with a hug to seal the deal. It seems to work well for us. Now, if I could eliminate the need, or at least lessen the frequency of the need…

It’s possible I’m feeling the first tenuous strains of seasonal funk. Grandma’s death is probably a big part of my recent malaise, but it feels so familiar - the whole world is cloaked in fog and dimness that feels permanent.

Mental note: check into full-spectrum light bulbs. Also, may want to actually use the lights, rather than sitting here in the darkness, complaining. Should probably just invest in a darn Happy Light, or else get the heck out of Wisconsin. It’s bad for my brain here.

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If there’s somebody out there right now with whom you’re actively not speaking, for any reason at all - whether it’s their fault, your fault, everybody’s fault, nobody’s fault - go to them and make amends. Do your best, anyway; don’t let it fester by inaction (or misaction) on your part. Life is too short, and there are darn few excuses or reasons to let grudges turn into canyons between people.

Not to get into specifics, as I’m not personally involved, but the family skeletons that lurked behind curtains while my grandma was alive have now come out to dance. I find it pretty darn disgusting and inexcusable.

I’m not a grudge-holder, personally, and that’s probably due to an attention span too short to be one. Hours after a fight, I’ve frequently forgotten that I was mad in the first place. The fact that Gabe can hold a grudge for years sort of stuns me. I mean, he’s only been alive for four years, total, but when I told him that snow was coming, his first reaction was a very miffed, “I hope [neighborhood kid] doesn’t throw a snowball in my face again!” Dude, that happened at the beginning of last winter. Gabe also bears hard feelings toward the child in Sam’s old first-grade class who was a bit of a bully; even now, when Sam says that he got into an argument in school, Gabe jumps in with, “Was it with [old bully]?” This child’s memory is long.

People have done rotten things to me in my life; I’m sure people would be able to say the same of me. If I let those actions sit in my heart, making me angry and hurt, I don’t know that I’d ever be able to feel truly happy. Some of the people who hurt me have apologized, and some haven’t. Forgiveness isn’t based on that, though. Forgiveness isn’t for them; it’s for me.

Go hug somebody who hurt you. Go hug somebody you hurt. Do it for me and for yourself.

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Go here and take a look at the picture. I’ll wait.

Okay, done? Now, tell me, especially those of you who have kids or spend a lot of time around them: what is that?

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Truthfully, I’d never even heard of a splash fountain before we moved here, but apparently they’re the perfect and popular solution for a community that doesn’t want to maintain and staff a public pool. No standing water means far less risk of drowning, so lifeguards aren’t needed. (EDIT: Apparently, this has changed (PDF file), and it’s now also part of the problem, though it wasn’t mentioned in the article above.) The first time we drove past our fountain in the summer and I saw hordes of kids cavorting in the spray, I was initially surprised (again, never having seen one before), but I quickly saw the appeal.

Apparently, though, the city somehow didn’t foresee it, and now they’re going to put a big chain-link fence around the thing to keep kids out. Now, won’t that be attractive? I get that it wasn’t designed to deal with treated water, but I don’t get how they didn’t anticipate the result of putting up something that is virtually indistinguishable from recreational splash pads around the country. It was obvious to children, at least, from the very beginning, when the son of Laurel Clark, for whom the fountain was named, dashed into the water at the dedication ceremony.

Perhaps it’s not feasible for the city to pay the cost to maintain the system as it deals with chemicals for which it wasn’t designed. It seems sort of gauche to have let it be used that way for five years, only to surround it with an ugly fence and tell the children, “Go pound pavement; no fun for you.” There are no public pools in town. We’ll be using the quarry a lot more in coming summers, but there’s a fee for that; other folks will use the lake or have nothing at all. Somehow, this doesn’t strike me as a great move toward keeping kids busy and out of trouble.

Boy, am I not looking forward to the whining when it gets hot again. I’m not just talking about my children, either.

Sam, at the fountain this summer

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Thank you, everybody, for the kind words from yesterday. They were very much needed and appreciated.

There isn’t going to be any sort of service for Grandma; she asked that there not be, and her body was donated to science. Everybody back home kept insisting that we didn’t need to come back east, but I was hesitating, and I decided to do whatever Cory did. He was as torn as I was, since after having the same phone conversation a few hours later that I had had with them, it seemed apparent that our small family had gathered, mourned, talked, and were moving on already. What could we do, other than comfort ourselves?

I still want to get back east soon, but it won’t be a mad dash; I have a little breathing room.

While we still thought I might need to get home for a funeral, we pushed forward hard on getting everything squared away for the minivan. (I would much rather drive than get on an airplane.) Just about everything has been done, now, other than a few items that are coming in the mail, and the van is in our driveway! One piece of good news, anyway.

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Grandma died last night around three in the morning.

Taken in 1993, at my high school graduation

Taken this summer by my mother

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