Cold Spaghetti

… a family of four actually enjoyed a morning in The Big Park (as Will calls it) playing amongst Fairy-Tale characters. A pictorial representation follows:

In Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage (hence the color).
It wasn’t that Kate didn’t try to do the slide by herself. It’s that we were afraid to let her.


Watch out for that Ole’ King Cole.

In the rocket below, Will flew us to the Moon (“here you have to bounce like they do on the Moon”), to Mars (“wait, that’s too far, let’s go back”) and back to Earth (“watch out, Katey, you pressed the wrong one… auuuugggghhhhh”).

Feeble attempts at photograph with two children looking in the same direction.
“Watch, Mommy. THIS is how mountain climbers get off of TALL MOUNTAINS.”

Favorite fashion trend: Wearing clothes backwards. He’s been doing this for months, we’re just surprised it’s still en la moda. Today, he upped it a notch by putting on his shirt not only backwards, but inside out.
Favorite past-time: Singing. Will now sings almost non-stop all day. In fact, there are times when he insists we ONLY sing in conversation: NO TALKING ALLOWED.
Favorite show: Wonder Pets. (Haven’t heard of it? Just ask Will. He’ll sing it all to you. Really.)

On Colors: “Brown and Black are my favorite colors because they so beautiful.”
On Shoes: “My brown shoes are the fastest because they are brown and they make me run fast.”
On Star Wars: “Mommy, you and Daddy are adults so you are old enough for Star Wars toys. So YOU should buy some Star Wars toys. And then, you can share them with me.”
On Waking Up: “I need an alarm clock so I know when to get out of bed.”
On Kate: “She’s our Sweet Girl.”
On Kate’s diapers: “ANOTHER diaper?!? She’s a Super Pooper.”
On Being a Big Brother: “(audible sigh) Yeah, it’s really tough sometimes.”
On Scout: “He really loves me.”
On Mommy: “I love you more than the loudest rocket ship ever blasted!”

If you’ve spent anytime with Kate over the past month, you’ve noticed her favorite past-time. It goes something like this: she demands for you to pick her up, then directs you around with her finger and Klingon-grunts, imploring you to identify each and every object in sight. Apparently, she was studying. She is coming out with new words — like, out of left field — everyday.

Unless the object is in sight (i.e.: the picture of an octopus in a book), chances are you won’t hear her say the word. She sees no reason to say “butterfly” unless one is in plain view. Although she can be cajoled into a game of word repetition (usually with Paul) who can get out a few special ones before she realizes she’s been had.

Words include the standards: gato, agua, water (it comes out wa-wa right now), Dada, Mama, Binky (sounds like “Bay” with an “n” on the end), apple, ball, Elmo, and duck (ducks are just about her favorite things in the world, in a close tie with Elmo). These standards have been joined by “MINE” (think: seagulls in Finding Nemo), “octopus,” “fish,” “cow,” “cheese” (this one is still a stretch vocally for her, but she says “chhhhhssssss” over and over when she sees or is asking for a cheese stick), “dog,” “helicopter,” and “baby.” All of these are in modified forms of Kate-speak and are currently being perfected.

“No” is a favorite. It comes out when you aren’t expecting it. Like when I turned to Paul this evening and said, “I think Kate is making another poop.” And Kate, who apparently was listening, turned to us and said, “no.”

Kate gave us a brand new word this afternoon. Will was watching the 1969 lunar landing (a current youtube favorite) on my computer, and Kate came along and decided she wanted in on the action. With one problem: when Kate sees the computer, all she wants are clips of Elmo. So she started in on her demands, pointing to the screen and declaring “ELMO!” I corrected her, “Elmo, PLEASE” as if to say she could only have Elmo if she asked politely. She called my bluff. “Please,” she said, as sweetly and perfectly as she could.

The commercial is a little cheesy, but the second half is totally Kate. We figure someone must have been hanging around the house during one of her Baby ‘Zilla routines, ’cause several of those moves are 100% Our Daughter. Cue the Rocky theme.

Early last week, Will began telling us all about “My Boy,” a young tot whose true name “was a secret” and who possessed a staggering array of goodies including a rocket ship and a dinosaur, all of which he eagerly shares with Will. We made note of the new friend and life went on.

Over the weekend, two more friends appeared in his lexicon. “My Girls,” named “Alicia” and “Johnnie,” jumped into his conversation. In fact, he told us this morning that he was going to go play at “My Girls” house this afternoon with the “whole lot of toys” they have at home. He also told us that “My Boy” is named “Frank.”

There are a few clues to the details of his collection of imaginary friends (how he misses the girls next door, now moved back to their old neighborhood, as an example), but as a whole, we’re intrigued at this new development. It does tickle me a little bit that Will has not invented just one imaginary friend, but THREE.

Anyone have leads on developmental/educational literature (academic and other) related to the creation of imaginary friends?

Although most of the neighborhood is in firm belief of it, Paul is actually not a spy. But close.

Still, he is a pretty in-demand guy. Remember that post about the mystique of The Wombat? Apparently, this is not too far from what actually happened (I picture some MacArthur-like General, a big stoogie in the corner of his mouth, bellowing out, “Who is this Wombat!? Get him up here!”) On Tuesday, his work called him up suddenly (Paul’s boss: “What do we have to do to get you here in the next 12 hours?” Paul’s answer: “Talk to my wife.“) So on Wednesday, Paul left in the wee hours of the morning to fly to DC. They offered to fly him back for the three-day holiday weekend. Instead, we opted for me to fly up with the kids and spend the weekend in Fredericksburg, Virginia, with his sister Amy, brother-in-law Kevin, our nephew Brayden, and Paul’s Mom (who was coming up from her home in North Carolina for the weekend.) The week started out normal; but ended up in a spontaneous family reunion 1000 miles from home.

Paul worked for most of our trip, but we still enjoyed the family time in Fredericksburg and a day on the National Mall taking in the some of the fabulous Smithsonian museums with friends Randy and Katherine. Pictures and details to follow.

All through the Memphis airport was the headline: Katrina + 2. Not that the Memphis news needed to give a reminder. I having been looking back to August 2005 for weeks, reading about the things were doing then… Will’s exploration of our neighborhood, Paul’s refinishing a hanging door, my intense summer of MLE and hierarchal models. The days seem innocent and disconnected, so different from the gritty realities that we so causally discuss now (“maybe we should keep the back door without stairs since so many break-ins are occurring from back doors being kicked in?”) I’d wanted to write something, not necessarily of great significance, but just something to remember that day, two years ago, when everything changed.

But this year, a slew of things came unexpectedly and blew us all over the Eastern seaboard in under 24 hours… so writing about It didn’t happen yesterday.

Years ago, I worked in crisis counseling (sexual assault and violence). A call coming in at anytime to meet someone of just about any age and be the calm in the midst of disaster. Despite the horrific situations and details beyond the scope of what a normal person can even stand to hear; I could hear it, keep it together and be there professionally and on some level, personally. Ultimately, it wasn’t the details I wanted… the important stuff was the work of emotions. Later, these things would affect me. I would fall apart during the 30 minute ride home through the mountains, listening to irresistibly happy music (Sesame Street, They Might Be Giants) to help brush it off. After less than a year of work, I stopped crying during the drive home — which is when I knew I needed a new profession.

It took me months to understand that our lives had been changed by Katrina. Months. I problem solved and worked in crisis mode and shaped our lives accordingly. After bouncing around in the immediate weeks, we settled in at my parents house and Paul continued to work; his profession became a magic source of stability. I found out I was pregnant with Kate the day we evacuated and became fixated on completing my timetable of requirements, passing my comprehensive exams, and keeping up with all pre-Katrina plans. Remaining solid with the program was an obsession. Maybe I was worried that any lag time would be attributed to my being a Mother? (Feelings which are not unwarranted.) It didn’t occur to me that everyone’s lives were now different, that everything was different.

Nothing else crossed my mind. Life was an overwhelming combination of studying and raising Will. Then around April of 2006, I was driving through the then familiar blinking stoplights, when it hit me. REALLY hit me. It took that long for the logical and emotional reactions to meet in reality. There wasn’t an epiphany, just a realization that it was okay for me to be feeling lost and misdirected. It was okay to abandon pre-Katrina plans, and to let myself be changed by the new, post-Katrina world around me. Just like that, previous plans were forgotten and we opened ourselves to the true possibilities of our lives here.

And that’s where we are in + 2.

“Godzilla is a really big alligator.”
“It is not time for bed. I am not going to bed right now BECAUSE.”
“Sometimes I’m 14, but really I’m 3 1/2.”
“If I drink my milk ALL UP, I get a treat.” (no, Will… you have to finish your peas and chicken first.) “NO MOMMY. Those are GREEN DROPS and SHARK BITES.”
“I didn’t paint at school today because I really needed just to run because.”
“Sometimes I don’t listen to my body fast enough and I have an accident. People have accidents sometimes.”
“Stories are very important.”
“Sometimes Katey doesn’t listen because she is a baby.”

“In outer space, you have to be careful because there are lots of COLD COMLETS. They FLY through the air and will BURN YOU UP.”

(Paul): “Will, don’t you mean COM-ET?”

“No Daddy! I said COM-LET.”

(Me): “Yeah, you tell him, Will.” (To Paul) “Let it go, this one is too good to fix.”

“Okay. It just makes me want to vom-let.”