Never stuck in neutral

I don't know why it has taken me nearly 7 years to figure this out- it's been fairly obvious since day one- Theo William has no neutral. The little vehichle that is Theo goes full speed, or gets four flats simultaneously. And the clutch goes out. And the engine knocks. I promise that is the end of my car metaphors- I've exhausted my knowledge base. He is not cold but freezing! Not hungry, but STARVING. Not just a little tired, but piled in a sloshy heap on his floor, feet from his comfy bed but unable to make it the final distance. Luckily for us, most of the time he is stuck on the other side of this continuum- his engine running high, but smoothly- no whining or clanks and crashes- just pure unadulterated love for his dinner, his legos, his owl, his wand, his babysitter, his brother. And he lets us know constantly that things are going well for him and that he is pleased with his surroundings. Last night he snuggled up to me, professed his love, then proceed to go so far as to call me his one and only "loobity lobbity fat piece of chicken". Like I said- he does nothing halfway. Pet names included. I have been invited, if I wish, to go ahead and call him my "loobity lobbity obese piece of chicken". And since it wraps up exactly my sentiments toward this bright and shiny boy I share a life with, I think I will.

Mr. Vocab

I was helping the boys with valentine construction the other night and Eli was talking talking talking away. Theo and I were dismissing him, occasionally slinging over an "Ok, Bob's wife." (Have you seen Open Season? Eli often channels Bob's wife.) And then a word caught my ear. "What did you just say Eli?" "Oh, that I think some of the kids in my class have a rather Philistine-y sense of humor." "Philistine-y????" "Yea...you know they laugh really hard at things like someone bumping their head, or falling on the ice." He went on to give more examples of what would be included under the new adjective philistine-y. I had quit listening however because I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that Eli seemed to have a better grasp of using bibilically-tinged insults than, well, me. In fact I was forced to sneak upstairs and look up the word Philistine. I had a feeling he was indeed on the right track, but when I read the definition- a person smugly conventional, narrow, lacking culture- I thought that he had nailed it. That kid has always had a penchant for using not just any word, but one that illuminates his message perfectly. I have fear of what words are going to be used to describe me as soon as the moon of good favor that I currently am enjoying wanes in Eli's eyes.

And here's a secret I better keep from Eli. I did chuckle a little when I heard about the boys and the tongues and the flagpole. Of course I didn't laugh until I found out the boys were essentially ok, and I did wait until I was turned away from Eli. But it did cause a little philistine-y smile.

Details

Today after I walked the boys to school I returned home and in a whirlwind made out a grocery list, checked my work email, found a receipt and the piece of flooring I needed to return, and packed my gym bag. Then I rushed out the door for my tour of duty as a sometimes stay-at-home mom. By the time I reached the gym I was a little behind my self-imposed schedule. I rushed down to the locker room, threw my clothes into a locker and started changing into my workout clothes. I reached into my duffle, grabbed my well-worn gymshorts and bent down to put them on. Only to realize that I was struggling into my son Eli's t-shirt of the same color. Dang. But here's the kicker: I honestly contemplated how to make this t-shirt work as a pair of shorts. I had this vision of putting my legs through the armholes and then somehow cinching it up around my waist. I think everyone at the old Midway Y this morning is very thankful that I could not find a proper cinching device. Luckily a further examination into the depths of my gymbag produced a pair of sweats that were really much more appropriate.

Yo-yos

So, when the boys went to ArtScraps- a local little gem that resells other people's waste and overstock for minimal prices- to buy valentine card makings, they somehow also came home with yo-yos. These are NOT the Pro-yo's you could buy after school from Mr. Yeager, the coolest teacher at Bel Air Elementary. Remember those? They came in all colors, some see-through, some glow-in-the-dark...and that one that Mr. Yeager only sold to kids who had mastered certain tricks- the solid black pearly one. I never got that. I did have a sweet little red number that I remember well. The ArtScraps yo-yo's are some marketing scheme gone wrong from Greater Minnesota Dakotas CDC -these cheap knock-offs would have never been allowed in Mr. Yeager's little after school store. But the boys love them. Love them. They have both finally mastered rolling the string up on the yo-yo and I am sure that someday soon they are going to successfully complete one yo-yo. Up and down. Once. It's coming. I keep trying to tell them that the strings are too long and me and my trusty scissors can fix that. But they will not let me near the yo-yo. Instead they have figured out that the yo-yo's work better (and don't crack into the floor quite as often) if the boys stand on chairs.
This morning I was still lying in bed when I heard first one boy then the other jostle out of bed and head to the bathroom. I patiently awaited their arrival by my bedside, asking for breakfast, or for permission to get on the computer, or help getting down the legos. But they didn't arrive. And they weren't making any noise. What were they doing? I rustled myself up and padded out to the hallway- and there I spotted Theo, perched precariously on the cushy chair in their bedroom, and Eli, proudly atop the office chair. Both of them silently yo-yoing, quiet smiles playing across their lips as they successfully negotiate a yo-yo. Sometimes they even manage a yo-yo-yo. I am sure they were yo-yoing all night in their dreams. Remember those days? When you learned some new thing, some new trick, and you practiced in every minute of your spare time, then went to bed relunctantly, only to spring from the covers at the crack of dawn, already reaching for your new ball, or recorder, or pogo stick, or skateboard, or hula hoop, or yo-yo? Miss them.

I await the rebellion

I thought that this was going to be the year- the year of the Valentine Rebellion. A couple months ago I was listening to Kevin Kling's essay about Valentines and the politics involved in divying up the pre-made cards amongst your classmates. I remember that- how there were only about 4 different sayings and you had to choose where those all-powerful 'Be My Valentines' would go. The decisions were tough and I remember intense feelings of regret as I dropped a few cards through the slots of the boxes lined up on the radiator at school. But at least I had store bought cards!! Those poor kids who had to make their own!!
I was sure that this year as the calendar swung closer to Feb. 14 the boys would put in a push to get store bought cards. But no, once again they were eager to go to ArtScraps, buy random materials and then get the assembly line going. What I love about my boys is that they have set the bar very low for what a homemade valentine needs to look like. In years past I have pulled homemade numbers out of their shoeboxes that obviously come from homes where someone is a scrapbook-er. They are intense and surely involved hot glue guns, steam presses, and 3 figure budgets. Not so the cards that originate from this kitchen table. After trying to control the process for 37 seconds, I took a deep breath, let go, and then sat back and thoroughly enjoyed the evening. Both boys were in high spirits and the fun loving banter kept me chuckling. Our cards lack 'luster', but certainly have some home grown charm. At least in their mother's eyes.

Boys

Today I went down to Expo at the end of the day to collect Eli and Theo and their friends, the twins Benjamin and Daniel. By the time we crossed the street to head home we also had good old Sam DG in our crew. The boys were tussling around, whipping snowballs, sliding on the ice, knocking each other down, all of it done to the soundtrack of high decibel yelling. I was walking along behind, out of snowball range, thinking some thoughts about boys and their dang energy and general propensity toward pummeling each other. And then above the battle cries I heard a sweet little, "Hi Eli!" and looked across the street to see Janey, a girl from their class who is dealing with some physical and mental challenges. At first I didn't think the boys heard. Then I thought maybe they heard but they were going to ignore her. Another "Hi Eli!!" and then they stop, look up, and one by one call out a hearty "Hi Janey!!". They remain there, frozen mid-brawl for one more second while they give her a wave. She waves back delightedly. And then it's over- the break in the chaos- and they are back pummeling, throwing, screaming.

The artist formerly know as Eli

Eli came home from school about a couple weeks ago and said, causal like, "Oh Mom, I didn't say anything earlier because I didn't know what would happen, but I guess my picture was chosen to be in the Winter Carnival art show." Then, with downcast eyes he sidles past me. But he is not so sly that I miss that super pleased smile playing around the corner of his lips. He is trying so hard not to look excited about this. When the invite came to go to the opening of the artshow where the work was to be displayed he shrugged it off. And when the hour came round for us to head out one evening, old Eli was curled up in a chair reading. He asked if we could just please stay home so he could read. But he slogged over to put on his boots and coat. In the car he was extremely non-committal. Even kind of shuffled his way up to the gallery door. But then we walked inside, and there, right inside the door, was a display with his picture. And right in front of his picture is a stranger, leaning in for a closer look at Eli's sweet little details, smiling at the piece. And it was then that the smile cracked out for real on Eli's own face. What a gift, to see something you created up on a wall out there in the world, and better yet, someone paying attention to it- and pleased by it! I asked Eli about some detail up in the corner of his drawing and the stranger turned to Eli. "Are you the artist?" Eli shyly nodded in assent. The person had a few questions for Eli about intent and technique and inspiration. Eli's answers got more assured as he went along and by the time the fabulous stranger walked away Eli was standing tall and not denying us the chance to take his picture. And that quietly proud little glow he had will be with me for a long time. I imagine with him as well. Go Eli.