Kindergarten blues?

Two weeks from tomorrow my boy heads off to Kindergarten. Fellow parents have asked if we are sad about the upcoming occasion, to which my darling husband replied, "No way! Why would we be sad?!?!" I will admit that tears have been shed at least once on my end. Back in May when he was given his preliminary entrance test, I decided to take the day off and spend it with my boy. We had a great day just the two of us, and as we were driving to a local museum he requested the Tarzan soundtrack. The very same soundtrack that I listened to over and over while waiting for him to come home. Something about the gorilla mother/human son adoption story spoke to me, and I love "You Will be in my Heart" by Phil Collins (it was the song my father and I danced to at my wedding). The soundtrack is a popular choice at Paul's daycare and he also loves that song. Something must have spoken to his subconscious because he also loves the drums. So there we were, driving along and listening to the drumbeats, when the tears started to sneak out of my eyes. I looked in my review mirror and saw my boy all grown up and ready to start a new adventure, and it felt as if mere moments had passed since he was in the back seat of the Civic crying his eyes out on that long drive home from the airport. It wasn't so much the whole separating from mom and going off to school thing that got to me - we have been going through that for years now. It was the thought that the next time I glance in that mirror he is going to be a teenager, begging me to let him take a turn at the wheel. Cliche, I know. But I never expected time to speed up the way it has. To quote Phil: "Son of man - a man in time you'll be".

The big question

What exactly makes someone your sibling? Is sharing a womb required? Shouldn't it be about growing up in the same household? I am often asked (usually by the older generation) if my boys are brothers. I'm sure that what they want to know is if they were born from the same woman. But they never come out and ask that, and the answer to their direct question is yes. They are brothers. They live in the same household, have the same mother and father and torture each other as only brothers can. Yesterday at the grocery store an elderly man started following me around the produce section, waving at my boys who were happily driving the car at the front of our cart. As I was checking out the potatoes he began talking to them, encouraging them to honk their steering wheel horns and asking them how old they were. Then he looked at me and said, "Are they brothers?" "Yes." I replied simply. Because they are. Moments later his wife appeared and asked the very same question. "Oh how nice" was her response. To someone paying attention, my children do not look like each other AT ALL. They have completely different skin tones, facial features and body types. But that is not the point. Why should their biological origin matter to strangers? And if they really want to know, these strangers should just come out and ask. If someone said, "Do they share the same birth parents?" then I would respond with a polite no. But older folks don't talk that way. I know that is what they want to know, but unless the question is made obvious I don't respond with specifics.
This past weekend we were approached by an older couple while at lunch (once again it was the man who came over to the table first & I often wonder in the back of my mind if that is because these men served in Korea - I once had a guy at the library start talking to my son in Korean). The man said that our boys were very cute and observed that they do not look alike. I responded that they were not biologically related. He said, "Oh I know." Which left me a little perplexed. My husband thought perhaps the man meant to point out that our sons do not look like us, but I clearly heard him say, "They do not look alike" not, "They do not look like you". Once again the wife joined in on the cooing and I was left with another thought. Does the general population of parents have strangers regularly approach them, commenting on the cuteness of their children and asking mildly invasive questions? Or is this unique to those with racially diverse families? I always try to be polite and educate those who seek to know more about adoption. Both of my children love attention and will generally put on a show for strangers, but I wonder if it will bother them some day. Knowing Paul, I imagine when people ask him if John is his brother he will respond with a resounding Yes. No, I mean is he your brother? YES! He is the one who steals my toys, divides mom's attention and worships me. He drives me crazy but I love him fiercely. He is my BROTHER.
Enough said.

A love affair with cake

John loves cake. I mean he REALLY loves cake. Loves to shove it into his mouth so fast that he often wears most of the frosting on his face. Which makes for quality entertainment when we go to birthday parties. In May we attended a superhero party for a friend's son and John made quick work of the frosting laden cupcake. My friend took oodles of pics while nearby family members had a hearty chuckle. At another party in June, after devouring the cupcake, John gave his best "cheeeeeeese" face to an amused audience complete with blue frosting goatee. There is no denying that I feed into (no pun intended) John's love of cake. For his birthday I designed a choo-choo train cake complete with blue frosting and a wide range of candies (which the party goers devoured in seconds). It thrilled my youngest who is, as most two year old boys, obsessed with Thomas. (The cake is actually a replica of Edward as he is the #2 engine.) Not only did it earn points for coolness, it also tasted pretty darn good. John approved. And devoured every last bite.

Update on the van clan

Deep apologies to the handful of faithful followers... it has been two months since my last confession, I mean blog post. A few significant updates:

• John turned two. His choo-choo train cake was... wait for it... LEGENDARY. The party was fun and he enjoyed being the center of attention. He continues to talk up a storm and there is rarely silence in the van. "Big truck. Mommy, big truck! Big truck going? Paul, big truck. See? Big truck. Paul!! Mommy!! Big Truck!!! See? See?" You get the idea. I felt bad for the poor man sitting next to us on a recent bus trip out of NYC. John narrated the entire event. "Bus ride. Tunnel. Bus tunnel. Mommy? Bus go? Bus go tunnel? Big tunnel." etcetera..



• My six month maternity position came to an end and June was wrought with worry and stress. Thankfully another teacher is due in August, and after an intense interview on the second to last day of school I was able to secure employment for a few more months. I will be teaching English this time around and am very excited to try something new and to be able to stay in the same building. Hopefully things will begin to slope upwards in education and I can secure something permanent in 2012. For now I am happy to continue doing what I love in somewhat continuous spurts.



• The van family of four took our first vacation. Nothing major - a trip to the Jersey Shore and NYC. It was a lot of fun, but a bit too screaming hot for my taste. Paul chose the venue in part after learning about the huge toy stores in the City. After spending time on/near the beach for a few days we ventured up to the City to spend an entire day in giant toy stores and decided we were not coming back to the City until the boys were completely over the whole stroller thing. Poor hubby had to push 70+ pounds around in 95 degree heat. (I tried to help but kept getting stuck on the curbs and lacked the enthusiasm to bust through large crowds of people and roll over their toes if they refused to make a path for us.) The one advantage was our "rock star" arrival at Hard Rock Cafe: We were escorted down the elevator, bypassed all the other people waiting in line and got a spot at the bar right away. Sweet.



• Paul has been on the mad race to grow up way too fast. He is now nearly able to ride a bike without training wheels (still needs help getting started) and will soon be swimming unassisted. He starts Kindergarten in the fall and appears very ready to fly the nest. More on all of that in later posts.



• No major projects on the house recently - hubby is waiting for me to take the kids somewhere for a few days so he can tackle our bathroom. In the meantime he has been fixing up things here and there and we have been trying to continue the outdoor beautification. The garden is struggling but I refuse to stray off the organic path no matter how many hours I need to invest pulling out weeds.

You are now up to speed with our happy little lives. Provided I can keep the children occupied with cereal and television, I promise to post more exciting adventures and witty opinions in the near future.

The Land of No

My youngest is about to turn two and we are headed full steam ahead into the land of No. It is one of John’s favorite things to say, second only to “I want more” a phrase he says on endless repeat until the desire he is seeking is filled. But he takes much more pleasure in uttering the word no, exercising his defiance like only a two year old can. Sometimes it is funny, like when I asked for a bite of his cannoli on Easter and he quickly pulled it away from me with a firm, “No!” Generally open to sharing, the boy is secure in his passion for sweets and will rarely allow anyone else to partake. Sometimes he tries too hard to be funny, saying no simply for the reaction it gets. Sometimes he contradicts himself and will say no to two opposing choices. Desperate to be like his older brother, he will respond in the affirmative when asked if he wants to wear underwear but loudly announce his refusal to use the potty. Even when I try to eliminate the opportunity for choice, he still responds with the favored word. “John, hold my hand when we go into the parking lot.” “No!” Cold hard stare given by mommy. Not too cold or too hard however, or he launches into hysterics. Somehow I don’t remember this with Paul. He exercised his right to an opinion, there is no doubt about that (he was doing so the minute he came out of the womb), but we did not endure the level of tantrum that John has displayed. The giant tears. The flinging of oneself onto the floor. Ah, two. On the plus side, his language has exploded over the past several months. God was definitely thinking of parents when he accompanied the pain of tantrums with the thrill of hearing your child uncover the complexities of language. John repeats everything and has starting to string words together. This morning on the way to school he was pointing out all of the buses we passed. “Bus! More bus! Here come bus!” It is sweet to hear him repeat words, often with complete clarity but sometimes in a mumble of sounds only he understands. Part of me wants to freeze this time in his life; the innocence of his discoveries will never be matched. But then I remember the NO ringing in my ears and I know why we pass through each stage so quickly. When it gets to the point when you can’t take another minute, they move on to something else. Ah, childhood.

The new and improved basement

I love my handy husband. He has recently transformed our large, junk filled basement into a glorious playroom/workout room with oodles of storage. Here are some early project pictures. He converted the front part of the basement into two rooms on either side of the stairs. To the left would become the boys new play area. As you can see, Paul was anxious to have some space away from his brother and we allowed him to play with Legos and other small toys in the back corner. Please excuse the pile of food - the pantry was in progress when I snapped this photo. To the right of the stairs would be a workout space and would close off CJ's wood shop in the back corner. Under the stairs he planned to incorporate storage - yipee! At the bottom of the stairs he built a giant pantry. Behind the playroom he put in a cedar closet and extra shelves for storing the kids' clothes. (I didn't include an after picture because I am still working on the organization as we switch over to summer wear.) On the other side of the cedar is the cat box - no more stinky smell in the basement!! Here are some shots of the final product. Paul now spends hours down there building elaborate battle scenes and John enjoys the extra space to use his ride on toys while we wait for the weather to improve.

Our days in court

Paul: At 18 months old he became an official member of our family and entertained the courtroom with his, as daddy calls them, parlor tricks. We taught him to say "YES!" while pulling his arm down (you know the move I am talking about) when asked if he wanted to join our family forever. He did it right on cue. Everyone laughed. He high-fived the bailiff. It was classic Paul.John: At 22 months old he behaved much differently in court. He nervously chewed his cheek while waiting. He was completely mute in front of the judge, despite being taught "AWESOME" and practicing many times. When she tried to high-five him, he buried his face in my shirt. John is an incredibly friendly little boy once he trusts someone, but until then he is very wary. Not Paul. He is not afraid of anything. I'll never forget the time he offered some of his granola bites to a random man sitting on a park bench. It amazes me every day how different my boys are. And how perfectly they fit into our family.