4.0 in Buttology

Dylan's parent/teacher meetings have not been scheduled yet for kindergarten. (Perhaps I should learn how to read a newsletter.) Instead, I spoke with his teacher this morning on the phone.

He's very smart, kind, cooperative, and does his school work well. He is also immature, and hasn't reached the refusal level yet. (The refusal level is when you see your friend doing something reeeealllly bad, and you say- no, I think my mother would kill me if I did that.) She explains that his maturity will come along on its own through this year- it's not something that we can really teach.

Am I on a murderous spree? Nope. I agree with his teacher. (Although I still laugh at farts.)

He's doing just fine in school. He makes the same stupid mistakes that I did. He's five years old, and he's progressing at just the right rate.

This means only one thing- next year, once he's reached maturity and a refusal level, the teacher should acknowledge that yes- he is the second coming of Jesus.

The B.G.'s are genetic

We have a power-packed couple of weeks ahead of us in the house, and everyone is acting like their hair is on fire.

This week Mark and I are going to the elementary school to have parent/teacher conferences. Dylan's bowels are all in a twist at the thought of his beloved teacher ratting him out over the few times he colored outside of the lines. I'm not all that concerned with what she will say.

I remember hating the times when my parents would go to the school for the meetings. I was always so sure that they would come home and realize that I was the devil reincarnated.

"Calm and cooperative" is what the teachers told my parents. I don't know if it was my guilty conscience that made me believe that my teachers were lying to my parents to keep me alive, or if I was really "calm and cooperative."

The look on Dylan's face when we talk about going to the conference shows me that I was not alone in feeling this way. He's been cleaning his room without me asking first; he's offering to clear the table after dinner; he has been spending and extraordinary amount of time cleaning up his toys....

I feel for him.

Look Out, Mat Hoffman

Dylan has been begging for Mark to build him a jump for his bike. He did. It was about 12" off the ground, and Dylan has been practicing riding over it. Last night, Mark suggested that we go to the nationally accredited BMX track very close to our home. The first time around the track, Dylan barely made it over the small jumps, and didn't even come close to going over any of the bigger ones. This came to no surprise since the track is pretty difficult, and some of the jumps were bigger than he is.

After the first run, we weren't sure that he'd want to try it again. After some encouragement, Dylan said that he would try it on his own. Oh Boy.

This video is a collection of his second and third tries at it. It is probably boring to watch for those of you who don't want to see a five year old ride a bike, but my family may want to see it. Some of the video is grainy- I had the settings all wrong on the camera, but you can get the general idea.



In addition, I will leave you with some memorable quotes from the kids from this past week:

Dylan: Mom, I was watching that show on baby giraffes, and did you know that baby giraffes come out of their mom's butts? And orange pee too. I've never seen orange pee before.

(Dylan was out in the field trying to catch something.)
Dylan: The bunnies are mad at you for cutting their flowers.

Jordan: Go for a ride on the wagons, mom?
Sarah: No, Jordan.
Jordan: Wagons need new batteries?

Look Ma, No Hands!

One of Mark's best friends used to race dirt bikes. He was insanely good at it, and entered into (and won) many national titles. We've even seen him a couple of times on ESPN's reruns of some races.

This friend gave up racing after a string of bad accidents, and decided that he needed to find a career which he could prosper in, without the constant fear of losing a limb. Years after he sold most of his racing things, he bought a new dirt bike to ride with some of his other dirt-bike-fanatic-friends.

Mark took Dylan to watch the guys as they raced. Dylan came home that night begging to be a motorcycle racer. I told him that the first step is to take the training wheels off of the bicycle, and learn how to ride it first without any motor assistance.

The problem? His bike just so happened to break the day before. We went to Wal Mart and got a small bike so that he would feel more comfortable knowing that there was a smaller distance to the ground if he should fall.

The next morning I took the training wheels off, and took him down by the barn to practice. I held onto the back of the seat and the handlebars, and he started to peddle. Ten feet away, he stops the bike, turns his head to look at me, and tells me it's "time to let go." (Sob.)

I said, "okay, Dylan," as I rolled my eyes in a you-don't-know-how-difficult-this-is-going-to-be-but-whatever-you-say kind of way. He put his feet on the peddles and took off. His little feet moving at the speed of light, and his giant black helmet looking like it would pull him over- he rode circles around me. Jordan and I were yelling so loud that the neighbors came out to see what was going on, and eventually joined in with the yelling and hollering.

After a whole 24 hours after his maiden voyage, Dylan asked his father to build him a jump because he needs to get ready for the big race.

Shit.

03/12/2006-05/16/2007

"Mama, I think something's wrong with Golden."

Yesterday was a very tough day for Dylan. It was the very first thing in the morning when Dylan discovered Golden at the top of his bowl. He was the very first living being in Dylan's life which had died.

Dylan spent the majority of the day sitting next to me, attempting to choke back his tears. He understood what the meaning of "dead" was. He said that Golden made him happy, and he was the greatest pet ever.

The only problem I had was trying to find something on tv which wouldn't remind him of his loss. While we watched some kid's show, guess what the brave children were "trying to eat?" Sushi. Okay, let's watch cartoons instead. Oh great, it's the show "The Wonder Pets!" The episode? "The Wonder Pets Save the Dolphin." I ended up letting Dylan play Nintendo.

We waited for Mark to come home from work. Dylan knew that we would have to bury him, but he didn't want to let go of him. Dylan wanted to keep him in the house forever, but when he resigned to burying him, he chose a spot in my garden, underneath the living room window. He liked knowing that Golden was near to where Dylan was.

Mark scooped Golden out (we had put a lovely yellow and white cloth over his bowl until then), wrapped him in paper towels, and gently placed Golden in a tiny box that he made. Dylan and I decided to draw pictures to put in the box with him. Tiny crayon pictures of little red fish with smiles surrounded by hearts brought on a fresh set of new tears.

Dylan put on his sneakers and my raincoat, flipped the hood onto his head, and stood in the garden with only his little legs showing. As the day's rain stopped for five minutes, we gathered around a tiny hole in the garden, placed Golden's box in, said our good-byes, covered him up, and placed a nice stone on top so we would always know where Golden was.

Yes, I know this seems all so dramatic. I was crying by the time we were done. Mark sarcastically asked if I thought I was going to "pull through" on this one. Asshole.

In true burial traditions, we went out to eat and celebrate Golden's life, and remember our favorite things about him....at McDonald's. On Friday we will go out to get a new fish. I think two days of bereavement is sufficient for little Golden. Dylan wants to get the new fish a new castle, because "that castle is Golden's house."

Bye, little buddy.

Family Portrait

I need a haircut. I think... or a shave.

Repost: Smile, and scream cheese!

Today is picture day at Dylan's school, and all I can think about is the trauma of last year's picture day. So I am going to repost so that I will have time to iron some clothes for the kid. Oh Lord, wish me luck.

Today was picture day at Dylan's school. So, we made sure that he has a bath, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, all that good stuff, all before school started this morning. Dylan was a bit more tired this morning than on other days because he has not been feeling well the past few days. His sleep has been disturbed, he's not eating normal, you get the point.

Anyway, this morning he was looking forward to smiling for the camera. He looked fantastic (ahem, as usual). When we arrived at the school, I saw that all of the other kids were dressed up. Really dressed up. Dylan was the only boy there without a collared shirt. All of the girls had dresses and skirts on. Dylan didn't look frumpy, but I had only put a nice, clean red striped shirt on him from Target, along with his new jeans, which are his "faborite." Who cares, right? I mean, it's just head shots of the kids, and then a picture of the whole class together in the gym.

Nope. I forgot what kind of area we live in. The school had hired a professional photographer who brought along a white back drop, white blocks for kids to sit on, as well as (yep) white chairs, rocking horses, and all of the other ridiculous props that they use.

Dylan has never had his picture taken "professionally" before. Gasp! A four year old who has never sat on sand mound in front of a fake summer beach scene? Never once laid down next to a ginormous number signifying what age he reached? You mean, never once had his picture taken sitting on his mother's lap, holding a bunch of plastic daisies that he is pretending to give to her, while he gazes adoringly at his baby brother, who is sitting in an old fashioned wash bin? What kind of monster raised this kid?!

As of right now, I do not know how the pictures came out. Dylan told me that he sat on the block because he was afraid of the rocking horse. Beyond that, I can only speculate.

At the end of the day, I went to pick Dylan up. He was crying because he missed me, so his nose was running all over the place, and his eyes were all red. This is not like him. Obviously, he was not feeling well. He started to say goodbye to his friends and teachers, and he turned around and freaked out on some kid. He just started screaming and crying, and yelling at the kid because it was "clean-up, bye-bye time" and he wasn't helping. Holy shit. All of the other moms stared at me like I was cracked out. I had Dylan apologize to the poor kid who was now in trauma. I grabbed Dylan's hand, and we left the school.

After his nap I am sure he will be feeling better, but I think we will take it easy for the rest of the day. Posing with stupid props when I have a runny nose would make me a bit nutty. I love my crazy children.

X Mom

My mom has a nice, long driveway. Perfect for bike riding. I would know.

This great driveway also leads to a pretty busy road. Perfect for squished children. I've heard.

To prevent Dylan from going too close to the road, subsequentially becomming squished, we write "Stop," or "Road Closed" for a fun way to tell him to not go any further. Normally, we park a car there as well...just as another preventative measure.

Dylan was unhappy with this restriction last week, and "missappeared" my signs, and made signs of his own. Later on, he added an "X Mom" to make sure I knew that I was not allowed to touch his signs.

Slowly

I made chicken and sweet potatoes last night for dinner. I used a whole chicken to save a couple bucks, and Dylan was thrilled to be able to watch and learn as I cut the chicken into the 8 typical pieces. Today, he recreated the scene for me in his very own cooking show. As you may guess, he has added a few new steps which were obviously lacking yesterday. For your enjoyment and education. Drum roll please...

A Conversation VII:

Dylan's pediatrician tells all of the parents that using real words to describe parts of the body is the right thing to do. We are very open and honest with Dylan, hoping that it makes for less confusing and/or damaging serious talks later on. Example: the good touch/bad touch talk. So, I ignored the advice this week:

Dylan: Mama, I want to be a baby.

Sarah: Why would you want to be a baby again, Dylan? They poop in their diapers and eat mashed up food. (Two things he hates, thinking it would discourage him)

Dylan: No, like a very small baby. Like in your belly.

Sarah: Why do you want to be in my belly, Dylan?

Dylan: Well, I want to look around and see your bones and stuff.

Sarah: Dylan, honey, babies don't open their eyes in their mama's bellies. (I know, I know...Looking back, I should have stopped talking and said how interesting that was.)

Dylan: Why not?

Sarah: Because they don't want to get food in their eyes. Hurry up and finish your Rice Krispies before they get soggy.



I could have posted the picture that he drew of himself handing me a pink flower under the sun, but I thought this one was more interesting for today.

Very Miscellaneous

Dylan starts soccer this month. His practices will take place each Saturday at 11:0am. At his age, they don't really have games against other teams yet. This year they teach the kids the basics of soccer; it's strictly non-competitive.

Any family interested in attending any of his practices, starting September 2nd, can call me to find out which field they play at. Like I said, they are only practices, and family isn't expected to show up, but I wanted to extend the invitation just in case anyone feels like watching 20 four-year-olds standing in the middle of a field, while the coach begs them to kick the ball.

In other news, I am happy to report that Mark finally gave in to my tantrum for new shoes. (I make him sound like the budget Nazi, but truly all I had to do was ask...twice...and throw in a batch of cinnamon rolls.)

An explanation of my picture. This picture makes me so happy that I had boys. We went to WalMart to get something for Mark's hunting something or another, and Dylan was adamant about wearing his Super cape and Spidey glove into the store. He didn't seem to mind the giggling of people passing by (normally he's very sensitive about it), but of course I was shooting "the look" at people, warning them of grave danger and serious physical harm if they attempted to point and laugh. I asked Dylan, excuse me, Super Spidey, if I could take his picture. He granted me this stoic pose. Ah! I love that kid!

A Hundred Million

Mark and I love to camp, and we camped a few times when Dylan was a baby. We stuffed his travel crib into one of the side "rooms" of our fairly large tent, and were able to enjoy a bit of a vacation. As one may guess, since Jordan's arrival, we haven't been able to go camping at all. Mark was afraid that if he didn't start taking him while he is still young, Dylan might grow to not like camping. So, the two of them went on a trial run in our back yard this weekend. (Just in case)

Storms threatened to ruin their plans on Friday night, but stayed far enough away to continue with their excursion. (The thunder scares Dylan since our lightning strike) Dylan threw some odd combination of pajamas on. They packed up the red wagon with pillows, woobies, books, bug spray, and two way radios, and headed for the hill. As the sun set, I was able to see their silhouettes on the top of the hill. The lantern cast a faint glow, while Dylan's sparklers bounced around until finally burning out.

While I had strict orders to stay away from the boy's camp, I was given the second half of the two way radios. This came in handy for their emergency:

"Uh, Mama? Um, well... we really need some snacks up here."

Luckily for them, I had popcorn and blueberry muffins. I was able to snap a couple pictures before being completely banished to the house.

Mark told me that Dylan read each of his books, and then said that it was time to sleep.

Apparently it was a success. The next morning, Dylan proudly announced that they would be camping again that night, and "a hundred million more times."

No I didn't

In Dylan's school, there are two "classes." The one class is for toddlers, ages 2-3; the second is for preschoolers, ages 4-5. In addition, each class is separated into two groups. For the preschoolers, it was the blue group (ages 4) and red group (ages 5). The red group has graduated preschool and will be entering kindergarten this fall.

Dylan was in the blue group this past school year, so will continue with preschool this fall in the red group.

Unfortunately, most of Dylan's friends were in the red group and are not with him in camp this summer. His only saving grace? His best friend is still with him.

His camp (and come this fall) is now overflowing with "babies, " says Dylan. They are the kids from the toddler class who are moving up to preschool this fall. Some of the teachers from the toddler class have moved along with them into Dylan's camp class.

Dylan has decided to distance himself from the other kids. In fairness, his teachers included him into the older kids' activities during the school year because he is a bit advanced for his age. Now, it is clear to see- he is obviously bored.

His favorite teacher, Miss Sherry, has been moved into the big kids' class, and some of the toddler teachers have taken her place. None of the new teachers have the same spark as his Miss Sherry did; they don't light up at the sight of him. None of them really "get" him. Dylan has a very sharp sense of humor, and it seems that nobody else understands it.

There are a lot of kids in the class (30+) and so I understand that the teachers are unable to spend as much quality time as usual with the kids. However, one of the teachers lied to me on Tuesday, and I politely called her out on it.

Dylan came into the class, excitedly recounting for the teachers the states we drove through to get to the beach, the different sights and sounds when we were there, and how we got home. Now, if I forgot to tell you, the trip was completely spur of the moment for Dylan, and he didn't even know he was going until the night before.

Now, when Dylan was done babbling on to his teachers, one of the looked at Dylan, smiling, and said, " I know you were excited, Dylan. It's all you talked about all last week!"

To which the following conversation occured:

Dylan: No I didn't.

Me (to teacher): Oh, you must be thinking of someone else, we didn't tell him until the night before.

Dylan: I didn't talk about the beach.

Me: Either that, or you have ESP.

Teacher: (nervously laughing) yes, that must be it. It think it was that Noah that....yes, it probably was another child I was thinking of.

Dylan: Mama, I didn't talk about the beach.


So, this morning, my car battery was dead. I had left the key turned forward. Smart, I know. Bracing myself for a meltdown when I had to tell Dylan we weren't going anywhere, he surprised me by not caring. He has two more weeks of camp, and I've already paid for them, so he will finish up. I will now have to figure out if I should be sending him to a Montessori school this fall. I don't want him to be bored. Blech.

Happiness = pruney fingers and toes

Dylan and I went to the beach on Sunday. It was the first time he had ever seen it. He could barely contain his excitement as he ran down to the ocean's edge. Although he was tenative at first, he squealed with delight when the first wave of water ran over his toes. He told me that he loved playing in "the sea."

Here are the very first moments of Dylan stepping into his sea where he remained for the rest of the day. (You may have to click on the pictures to enlarge them to see his face well)




There are a few more of the pictures in the photoshow above.

Analyze That

His teachers asked him to draw a picture of "what he looks like on the inside."

Video

I have taken Monty's instructions on how to post videos. I asked Dylan to show me something cool that I could tape. Here's the genius at work. My favorite part? Him looking for my reaction.

Coming to your neighborhood

Dylan has a new computer game that teaches him about all of the different animals found in each of the major climates on the Earth. He has been particularly interested in the African savanna. Many of the big, exotic, well-known animals live there: elephants, tigers, lions, cheetahs.

Due to his new interest in animals, and a need to decorate the walls of his room, I asked Dylan which posters of animals he would like. (National Geographic has printable posters online)

He told me that he definitely did not want a lion. "They have scary teeth, and eat Aunt Paula, " he informed me.

Now, to my knowledge, no lion has ever even nibbled at Mark's Aunt Paula. I couldn't figure out what he was talking about.

Until I watched him play his computer game again. The description of the female lion and her roles in the pride included hunting for the cubs. One of their prey is the impala.

Bunnies love their bubbles.

Whew. I've been gone for longer than I thought. Well, I did have valid reasons, but I don't remember half of them, and the other half I don't feel like getting into... just not interesting enough.

Since I last updated, Dylan has gone through a rough patch in school. For a while, he was hanging out with the wrong kids, making bad choices, not listening, and "acting like a crazy bunny." I didn't know that this school trouble started at such a young age. I had tried convincing him to play with the good kids more. I tried reinforcing the rewards of good choices. Nothing seemed to work. Everyday, I would be approached by a teacher telling me that my brilliant child was under the spell of the trouble makers.

Horrified, I did what any good, well-minded parent would do.

I bribed him.

So, there! I said it! I don't know/care if that was the right thing to do. I bribed him with a new bottle of bubbles. I hope Dr. Phil is listening, because I am happy to report that the behavior has done a complete 180. (Just the really bad behavior- I don't want to turn him into a robot)

Dylan is sitting during circle time, listening to his teachers when it's time to clean up, and hanging out with the good kids at school again. At this point, he's making good choices at school because it makes him feel "happy."

In the grand scheme, his actions weren't horrible. It's preschool. He's only 4. Acting like a crazy bunny is fun. I still do it when I bored.

I realized that watching your children make bad choices when you know, (and THEY know) that they know better is a truly horrible feeling. It feels like your trying to stop a runaway freight train. The scariest part of the whole ordeal was knowing that it has only just begun.

Big Tex

One thing that I love about Dylan, is that he is so classic. A few days ago, Dylan informed me that he would like to be a cowboy when he is big. But, in order to do that, he will need me to get some boots, a lasso, and a horse for him, since he has no monies. He settled for snow boots, an old ribbon, and an imaginary horse, who he has named Petty.

I dream in color, Dylan dreams in smell

Dylan hasn't been feeling well lately. He has that snotty, coughing, tired thing that "is going around." I'm so sick of hearing that. Anyway, he was running a light temp the other night. I gave him a fever reducer, and put him in bed, knowing that when he's sick, he always manages to sleep in my bed at some point in the night.

I woke up at 3 in the morning to find Dylan sleeping on the floor of my bedroom. Why did I wake up? I was freezing. Somehow Dylan managed to take my pillow, blanket, and body pillow from under, above, and on side of me, and set went to sleep (comfortably and warm) on my floor-all without waking me. As I placed him (completely alseep) back into his own bed, he said in a hungry,excited voice, "Mmmm, it smells like pancakes in here!"