All Things Kyler

I've noticed all my blogs have been about Beckett. I mean no disrespect to my baby, Kyler. It's just that Beckett, by virtue of his age, has a lot more to say. But, that doesn't mean he holds the title to silliness. So, here's a list of Kyler-isms:

1) He likes shoes. No, he LOVES shoes. He got his first pair a real sandals about 6 weeks ago, and he's been enthralled with them ever since. He brings them to me throughout the day so he can wear them around the house. His attire is often a diaper and sandals. I think he prefers shoes to bare feet. If he hears one of us say we're going outside or getting in the car, the first thing he does is bring us his shoes. He also likes to bring shoes to the rest of the family, though sometimes they don't match. He's very helpful.

2) He's a monkey, quite literally. Except for the "hoo-hoo-hee-hee-ha-ha" and the tail I'm not sure we could tell the difference. He climbs everything. EVERYTHING. I once found him sitting in the middle of the kitchen table trying to eat an apple I keep in a bowl there. I swear, I only turned my back for 5 minutes!

3) He's always happy, except when he's not. He laughs and smiles constantly. The littlest thing brings him to hysterics, like when Beckett swirls a dish towel around. This is serious amusement for Kyler! His mouth knows two positions: agape in awe and laughter or stretched in a huge smile. He does throw tantrums, though, which are pretty funny. He throws himself on the floor face down and screams. In 45 sec. he'll be smiling and laughing again.

4) He loves food. My kid with the allergies loves to eat everything. He wants to eat scrambled eggs so bad it hurts. And pizza. He'd get so upset when the family would eat pizza and he was served some cheeseless concoction that he'd reach as far as he could to get to the cheesy goodness. He'd even try to climb out of his booster chair, onto the table of course! I finally decided making pizza from scratch couldn't be that hard, and, you know, it really isn't. I made him his very first pizza with no milk in the crust and no cheese on top. He was in HEAVEN!.

5) He loves giving hugs and kisses. He'll walk all the way across the room just to give me, Beckett, or Mommy a big hug. He'll grab our faces and turn them towards him so he can give us kisses. And not just one kiss will do, kisses come in packages of 10-20 at a time. Sometimes they're mouth open, sometimes a full pucker. Bliss!

6) He's a fish. If nature was ever to perfect the fish-monkey combination, it was manifested in Kyler. If I don't keep the bathroom door shut, I'll find he's turned on the tub faucet just so he can run his hands under the water. Bathtime is his favorite part of the day. When we say "it's time for a bath," he runs to the tub in glee. Poor Zoe (our dog) is in constant competition with Kyler for her water bowl. Kyler loves to step in it and pour it over his head. Going to our community pool has been the highlight of his summer. He'd stay in there until he turned into a raisin if I let him.

7) He looks cute in a headband. Really, really cute. I have a good idea what my daughter would look like. He loves to grab Mommy's headbands from the drawer and put them on his head. He gets such a kick out of putting them on and off. Yesterday at the shoe store, there was a wall display of headbands. Kyler picked out a black and white polka-dotted one with long ribbons that went all the way down to the floor (no idea what those were for). He proudly wore the headband and swung the ribbons around. A store with shoes and headbands, what more could a little boy want?!

Well, this list could go on and on with Kyler's cuteness. I'll have to add more later!

Road Trip, Beckett Style

This is how my lunch conversation with Beckett went today:

Beckett: "Mama, I'm gonna get a big, big van like yours with big sparkly wheels, and I'm gonna get in front and drive it all by myself."

Me: "Big sparkly wheels, huh?"

B: "Yeah, cuz it's really, really clean. Your van is dirty."

Me: Yep. It's been raining.

B: "And rain makes your tires flat. My tires won't be flat. (yesterday I put air in my tires and it's been raining, so I guess that's the connection). My friend Joseph's gonna sit in the back by the window and then Kyler in the center."

Me: "What about your other friends? Where will they sit?"

B: "Mama, there's only 3 windows."

Me: "yeah, but there are lots of seats. You said it was a really big van."

B: "Oh. Then Ryan, and Avery, and Alex can sit by windows, too."

Me: "What about Ashley?"

B: "No, there are no more windows."

Me: "Okay. Is it going to be a short trip or a long trip?"

B: "A really, really long trip. Joseph, and Kyler and Avery can watch my dvd player. But not Ryan."

Me: "Why can't Ryan watch a movie?"

B: "Silly, Mama! Ryan's in the front. You can't see the dvd player in the front!"

Me: "Oh, I didn't realize. Where are you going to go on this really long trip?"

B: "To the grocery store. I'm gonna buy lots of food. Yeah. Like pea-ut butter jelly and mac-roni and cheese. And I'll buy you little trees, cuz you like little trees (aka, broccoli)."

Me: "Thanks, Beckett. I do like little trees. Why are you going to the grocery store."

B: "Well, cuz baby lizards need their mamas to get them food. I'm gonna get my own food and my friends' food. I don't need you to do it."

Me: "You don't?"

B: "No. I can do it myself."

I think the conversation speaks for itself!

School Daze

Sorry I haven't blogged in a while. I'd love to say it's been an unusually busy week, but it's really been just normal busy.

Even though just a few days ago it was still in the 100s, summer is winding down. (for those keeping track, it's rained since Saturday and been in the 80s since. though, it's been so muggy you'd never know it). This means Beckett will be starting preschool in 2 weeks. I never thought I'd be one of those moms who would get sad and sappy when her kids started school. Rather, I thought I'd relish the new-found free time where I could get mani/pedis and massages. Or, I could mop the kitchen floor without little feet running across it and comments about how cool the wet footprints are. A girl can dream, right?! Well, as the first day of school approaches, I find myself a little sad at the transition our lives are taking. It's not just that Beckett is going to preschool this year, he's going to school for the next 15 yrs. I realize it's not exactly rational to look at it like that, but that's me, Miss Irrationality (if only I could draw Sandra Bullock's salary!) Beckett's school is just 2 days a week, and he'll go 3 hours one day and 4 hours the other. If you think about it, this is approximately the amount of time most 3 yr. olds nap in a day, so I guess I can look at it as Beckett's nap (since he hasn't taken a nap since last summer). Nonetheless, I can't help but get choked up when I think of him not being here with me every second of the day. Even those knock-down tantrums when he can't have ice cream for breakfast!

What's in a Name?

Recently "some people" have inquired what my children's names mean. Quite honestly, we didn't put any thought into the meaning of our sons' names. Not an ounce. Their names could mean stinky barf bag, and I would not like them any less. I do not understand why it matters what a name means. Who is ever going to know the actual meaning? Do you introduce yourself as "Abira" and mention that it means "strong and brave?" (And, frankly, you'd better hope you are strong and brave with a name like that to defend) Now, I realize some religions put a lot of emphasis on name meaning, but since we really have no religion, this wasn't an issue for us. And, if you choose a name whose meaning is obvious, like Hope or Faith, I totally get that. If your name is Sunday (ala Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban) it makes me wonder if you were conceived or born on a Sunday. It's the supposed importance of the underlying, cryptic meanings that baffle me. For us, it was more important that our boys' names, while uncommon, sounded strong and wouldn't get them beaten up on the playground. We also wanted names with an element of prestige because statistically that matters in adulthood, even though fundamentally it shouldn't. And, we didn't want our kids to carry anyone else's names, like family members or close friends, because we want our kids to be unadorned with expectations of "living up to" their names. And, because, most of the names in our families are not really all that jazzy! They have our surnames, and that's enough.

But, I felt I should research the meaning of their names, nonetheless. What I found is there's little consistency on a given name's meaning. Here are the results:

Beckett Reese: winding stream/small body of water; enthusiastic beekeeper (perhaps this explains his love of bugs!)

Kyler Slade: church in the valley; church in the child of the valley; combination of kyle and tyler in the valley

I also researched Dana's and my names:
Chelssya Mariah: bitter chalk landing place (anyone know what a chalk landing place is?); bitter seaport; seaport mount/peak

Dana Marie: bitter aribiter (doesn't that sound lovely?!)

Now, personally, I think our family has quite nice names. I also think those names have bizarre if not awful meanings. Knowing these meanings, does it change the way I perceive any of us? Nope, and I'm not bitter about it a bit!

Gates Can be Such Nuisances

I have nothing really new to write about today, so I thought I'd dip into the archives of my brain and tell and cute (?!)

Beckett story. A few months back, Beckett and I were sitting on the couch pontificating on the meaning of life and existence in general. Okay, we were watching Diego, but that's really the same thing, isn't it? I look over, and Beckett has pulled his penis out of his shorts, and is flicking it with his finger. Now, I consider myself a hip parent who doesn't want to impose Puritanical strictures on appropriateness and wants her kids to feel comfortable with and unashamed of their bodies. I also don't want my boys to play penis jockey in the family room when the neighbors come over for dinner. Ah, the tight ropes we walk! So, I calmly, without judgment, tell Beckett that's it's fine to play with his penis, but it's something he should do in his bedroom, not on the couch. And not with me sitting next to him. (If the house fires and tornadoes weren't enough, just imagine what this will do to the kid!). He stops and looks over at me. "Mama," he asks, "can you open the gate so I can go to my room and play with my penis?" I'll just leave it at that.

I'm not sure if I adequately hid my hysterics that came from that question. (oh, and if you're wondering, his room isn't shielded by some gitmo-style security gate. there's just a baby gate in the hallway to keep Kyler in the living spaces and out of the bedrooms.)

Iron Irony

Yesterday, I was putting away my 37,654th basket of laundry for the day when Beckett reminded me my 37,655th basket was still in the family room. He's helpful that way. I told him that was the ironing pile. Because he's so helpful, he said he wanted to iron for me. Except he doesn't say "iron," he says "i-ron." I have no idea why he says it this way. Dana and I pronounce it "i-yearn," but we say it fast, not like in a slow, longing, yearning way. Beckett pronounces it like it's written. Only, I'm pretty sure he's never seen the actual word. Oh, and, he can't read, anyway. So, why he says "i-ron" like some caveman declaring his name to be "Ron" totally baffles me.

Nevertheless, he still wanted to "i-ron." When I explained the potential burning hazards of ironing, he became concerned that our house was on fire, you know, with the burning and all. He's been a bit obsessed with our house catching on fire ever since he saw a house fire on the local news. This is concerning to say the least. We've now managed to make the kid scared of birthday candles and pressed clothing. I can just picture the therapy bills. I finally was able to convince him that our house would not burn down because I was ironing clothes. So, that solved the fire concern, but now the yearning for ironing has been resurrected. And, honestly, I'm not sure why the boy wants to iron so much. It's not like he's learning from example, because I iron maybe once a month, begrudgingly. Mainly, I just have a basket of clothes to-be-ironed that's taken on a life of it's own. But, for whatever reason, ironing is the wanted pasttime of the moment. I could start using this to my advantage. Maybe tomorrow he'll ask me if he can clean toilets!

The Great Utensil Debate

Yesterday at breakfast, Beckett was eating what he's eaten for breakfast pretty much every day for the past 2 years, eggs and yogurt. I've tried varying it. Sometimes there'll be fruit, sometimes the eggs are poached, other times scrambled. Occasionally there's toast. Every now and then on the weekends we'll have pancakes, waffles, or French toast. On a cold day, we'll have oatmeal, but not the instant kind. At times, he'll request cereal, but I'm vehemently (some might say ridiculously) opposed to cereal for breakfast, or any time, really. (I begrudgingly buy it for Dana, but even then I put my foot down on the sugary sweetness of Fruity Pebbles and get her something she likes much less with nuts and whole grains, and very little sugar.) But Beckett always reverts to the standard fare of eggs and yogurt when given the choice.

That morning in particular, Beckett was having difficulty getting his eggs to stay on the fork, in part because of the quirky animal shaped fork he insisted on using and in part because the eggs were ever-so-slightly undercooked. As I watched him persistently try to stab his eggs with his fork, he finally allowed the defeat and asked, "Mama, can you help me 'fork' these eggs?" "Sure," I replied, "but you don't 'fork' food, you put food on your fork." He looks at me, perplexed, and I can tell something thoughtful is about to come out of his mouth. Something I probably can't answer. Here it comes. . . "But, Mama, you can 'spoon' yogurt." Gotcha!

You can indeed 'spoon' yogurt and other foods. Why, then, can't you 'fork' eggs? How come 'spoon' gets the privilege of noun and verb status and 'fork' only gets to be a noun? The English language is often non-sensical. And how on earth do you explain this to a 3 yr. old who knows nothing of nouns and verbs, only associations and parallel applications? It seems completely logical that if you can spoon something you should also be able to fork something. And maybe if I looked in the dictionary, fork can also be a verb, it's just not used in practice.

So, my answer was pathetically, "Yes, you can 'spoon' food. But people just don't say you can 'fork' food." Lame? Yes. Satisfactory? No.

Now, I have a hunch most 3 yr. olds would do one of two things after receiving this answer from their all-knowing parent: 1) get distracted with something much more interesting and forget altogether about the fork/spoon/verb conundrum, or 2) take the answer for what it is and call it a day. Not Beckett. Persistence is his middle name. The kid does not quit until he gets the answer he thinks is right (or gets to do something the way he wants to do it.) Some people say it's because he's smart. I say it's because he wants to cause me tremendous annoyance. For example, on more occasions than I can count, he's thrown a tantrum in the car because I put him in his car seat instead of letting him climb in himself (it only happens this way when he refuses to actually get into his car seat, opting instead to run around the back of the van. I know. I'm cruel.). The tantrums consist of screaming broken record requests to "do it myself" until he falls asleep. Silence for awhile. But if you think that's the end of it, you would be very, very wrong. When we pull into the driveway and he wakes up, the tantrum starts all over again. He will only be satisfied, he tells me, if we go back to the parking lot from whence we came and let him climb into the car seat on his own. That never happens, and yet every car seat tantrum is the same. See what I mean. . . PERSISTENCE!

So, of course, the fork/spoon question lasted most of the day. We revisited them at lunch and dinner, and even while playing "parking lot." By the end of the day, I felt I had engaged in a game of brain Olympics, with my 3 yr. old. I've determined two things from all this: I must either get smarter or learn how to BS better. Either way, there's a lot of work to be done!