F@#K

Tonight my husband and I overheard our six-year-old happily singing in the bathtub.
The catchy little tune went like this:

"The F word is fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck".

I won't lie.  He's heard the word "fuck" from me on more than one occasion.  But I have never referred to it as "the F word" so clearly tonight's diddy was learned on the playground and was no fault of mine.

Daily Life with Toddler

Just a short email from our nanny, which sums up a typical afternoon:

Hi,

I left Alf to air his bottom for a few minutes and he pooped on the carpet.

sorry about this!!!

the book i left by the sink needs to be disinfected, i forgot to do so,

pls leave it in a plastic bag and i will take care of it tomorrow.

Thanks

 

 

Parental Tip #6

NEVER feed spaghetti to toddlers. 

 

Parental Confession #13

Alfie drank some rain water today.  I didn't see him do it but the empty flower pot and the silt mustache gave him away. 

DIY Angry Bird Pinata

Dip strips of newspaper in a mixture of flour and water.  Cover a balloon with the wet strips like you're creating a mummy.

When the newspaper is dry, make another solution of water and Elmer's glue.  Dip strips of tissue paper in the mixture and apply them to the pinata. 

Cut features out of construction paper and use glue and tape to adhere to pinata.  Cut a hole in the top and fill with goodies.  Use a wire coat hanger to hang.

Now that the work of art is complete, let kids beat the crap out of it with a stick.

The carnage.

Letters to Grandma

When I was a kid, one of the most famous people in my life was my Grandma Bea.  I lived for the week each summer that my sister and I spent at her house.  She made us peanut butter and butter sandwiches, took us to the park, played UNO like a champ, and let us watch cable TV.  It was Grandma Bea who taught me to sew and knit.  She also instilled in me the value of a clutter-free home (partly why Grandma's house felt like a spa to us grandchildren.)

In between my visits with Grandma Bea, we wrote letters.  I began each letter with "Dear Grandma, How are you?  I am fine", a salutation that I find myself using to this day.  For each letter I wrote to Grandma, I eagerly looked forward to receiving one in return, on time, within the week.

These days, letter writing is becoming a thing of the past.  In fact, just this week I spoke to Grandma Bea via Facetime on my iPhone  (no, Grandma does not have an iPhone.  In fact, she loathes her answering machine.  However, she does seem to believe in science fiction so she allowed my dad to share his technology the other day).  In an attempt to educate children about systems of the past, my son's school is studying the postal service.  The students are enjoying writing letters and mailing them to one another via the inter-school postal system.  Seizing the opportunity, I asked Joe Frank if he would like to write a letter to Great Grandma Bea.  And so, I pass the torch:

The Carol

Music can be a powerful force.  Certain songs stop us in our tracks, cause intense flashbacks that are more physical than thoughtful, fill our bodies with overwhelming emotion that threatens to betray our most intimate memories. 

For me that song is a particular Christmas carol, the title of which I will not reveal out of respect for my heart.  I have an almost allergic reaction to this song, meaning that I have no mental control over the feelings it evokes.  If it pops up on the radio while I'm playing with the kids or engaged in a conversation I stand a chance of distracting myself from its power.  But if I hear the song in any venue in which I am obliged to pay attention - a holiday concert, for instance - I'm totally screwed. 

My reaction to said Christmas carol first appeared three years ago.  I had had a pregnancy that year but miscarried at twelve weeks.  I had carried the baby long enough to feel like a mother and to look like a mother-to-be.  My due date was Christmas day. 

Any woman who has lost an unborn child carries in her heart the imprint of a soul only she knew.  
 The experience made me stronger and more fragile and certainly more vulnerable.  Now a Christmas carol triggers an explosion of emotions. 

This year it happened at Symphony Hall at the holiday family concert.  I took my oldest son and we had a grand time and at the end of the show was a sing-a-long - the worst case scenario for surviving my Christmas carol.  As hundreds of families began to sing together, I felt the familiar surge of grief.  But, as my eyes filled with tears, I noticed a second emotion creeping in.  I thought of my son curled by my side who was finally old enough to attend this wonderful concert.  I thought of  my fat, healthy twin toddlers who weighed under five pounds just a year ago.  The song still provoked overwhelming feeling but for the first time the old grief was balanced with simple, powerful gratitude.

happy holidays from our family to yours