houpley

As a new parent, I am always learning from Jack, his teachers, fellow classmates, doctors etc. But I learn even more from fellow mothers. Particularly those who have much more experience rearing children than I. One thing I have learned is that Other Mothers don't like to give out the names of their babysitters. It is so difficult to find a quality babysitter when you don't have family nearby. So once you've found one you want to lock them in the attic and keep them all to yourself. They are precious and rare. They are 17-year-old diamonds. They are old enough to drive themselves home and young enough to still be free on a Friday night. It's a tiny window of opportunity and everyone wins. We need a night out. They need the cash. Our sitter, who I will refer to here as Prez, is an all-around great kid. Last night we attended a birthday party. Nearly everyone had a child that needed babysitting so the sitter stand-off began early. Like owners comparing the race stats of o...

While Garp had the Under Toad, we have what I have referred to as The Mammoths. For some reason whenever there is an unexplained fever or frightful cry in the middle of the night, I think of these large furry beasts quietly lurking in the nursery. They shuffle their feet behind the closet door, swaying, and poking Jackson with their long, curving trunks forcing him to wake with whatever ailment has arrived. I doubt that mammoths were quiet creatures, yet since they resemble elephants I guess I think of them as potentially menacing yet hushed about it. Maybe even respectful. They don't destroy us but they do spark fear and refuse to leave even after I have fed them Tylenol and validated their parking. They are scary, need to be dealt with and are the bearer of bad news. They may also come to mind because whenever we have to deal with something regarding our child we get quite primal. Like cavemen retreating from the woolly thing at the edge of the cave, we shriek and pound our chest...

This afternoon, after I had scooped Jackson up and was about to leave his school, he thrust his arm in my face and said "Bite." I checked his sheet, and sure enough there was note: Jackson was bitten on right arm. It wasn't a terrible wound, but it did leave a mark. I asked his teachers what happened and they mentioned that a girl had bitten him and another boy today. "She's very aggressive," they said. I asked who had been nibbling on my baby and they shuffled their feet and looked down saying they aren't really at liberty to divulge names. Trust me, this policy has worked in Jackson's favor a time or two before when we were dealing with first-year molars. I guess their witness-protection program eliminates any dirty looks between parents the next morning. Either way, I had a suspect in mind. It occurred to me that Jackson is becoming quite the conversationalist, so on the way home I glanced in the rear view mirror and asked him point blank to rat o...

My little yogi. http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=80727550684&h=JuDzZ&u=vWA0P&ref=nf

While Jackson works on developing his enunciation, sometimes it is a challenge to figure out what he is trying to tell you. Eric and I rarely have trouble interpreting and understanding him. However, this weekend we went to visit Nonnie and Paw-Paw and they were not quite tuned in to some parts of Jackson's language. Keeping that in mind, sometimes things can get a bit...uncomfortable. For example, when Jackson was pushing around a firetruck, his Aunt Emily asked: "Whatcha got there?" "Cock." Awkward. "A What? "Cock." "Uh...a truck?" "Yeah. Biiiig Cock." "Uh...ok." "Paw-paw's Cock." Unfortunately, this also occurs when we are discussing "socks" and when something is "stuck." I try to avoid these touchy topics when in public. Eric brings them up at all times.

It's like whoever invented Easter knew exactly what little children were all about: finding things and putting things in things. It is his second Easter, but during the first one he was merely in training for the event. This time around he was ready for Easter-Olympics and the boy did not disappoint. We were worried. "Would he know what to do with the eggs? The basket?" We predicted. "Surely, he'll just enjoy being around the other kids." We were concerned. "We'll just have to wait and see." Little did we know the kid has honed egg-finding skills. We didn't know we had an Easter machine in our home. He was born to collect pastels and stuff them in baskets of any kind: totes, plastic bags, etc. However, he does have only a mild competitive streak. After finding each egg, he would then plop down to inspect the new treasure and see what was inside. Once he was completely satisfied with its contents, he would then rise to continue the hunt. Thi...

I thinks free boots are in order. Wanna see?? http://www.currentland.com/Portals/0/archives/The%20Current%20-%20April%202009.pdf Go to page 15 and scroll to the bottom. Jack is building his portfolio.

Your book reports are past due.

I really like the husband. Kinda why I married him. Who would you like to be stuck in an elevator with? When it comes to selecting a mate, a best friend, etc the no. 1 rule is to pick a person you love hanging out with for hours, days, week, months, and years at a time. Not just someone you can tolerate for expanses of time - but choose someone you know will lean back in a mauve naugahyde waiting-room chair to tell you how much the receptionist looks like Jerry Seinfeld. Choose someone who will not only enjoy it when you decide to make a Broadway musical out of the grocery list but will offer up a chorus for the program as well. Choose someone who will dance with you in an empty lobby where there no music at all. Choose someone who can make a tedious time hilarious. That is to say the husband and I have a good time anywhere. We have had some of the best times in waiting rooms, grocery lines, boring parties, church services - you get my point. If I were stuck in an elevator with him......

The Giving Tree continues to shapeshift into different stages of my life. As a child, it broke my heart - such a undeserving boy. As a teenager, it disappointed me - surely, I would never be like that, Shel! As a parent, it understands me - I'm grateful for the giving. Even as a child reading this classic, I knew this kid was trouble. How could he? How dare he? What a user. So cold. So completely unaware of the incredible life force bending, begging, willing itself to be a part of his every move. Tortured by his lack of attention. Dismayed and alone as his heart, his boy, tromps past each milestone of life without nary a glance. And yet it still gives. Still loves. Still straightens its weary stump. Desperate to give to this shriveled old man looking for a place of rest a comfortable spot in the woods. Like a mother. Like a father. We'll take the hits. We'll gladly watch from the kitchen window, yellow curtains pulled slightly to the left, just so we can get a tiny glimpse...