Thank You, Calvin

“He’s probably the worst case I’ve seen in 20 years.”

That’s what his reading specialist said. Nine year old Jonah has extremely profound dyslexia.  He sees everything, wood grain, water stains, even burned toast, in 3-D pictures. That includes letters. They levitate and spin on the page. Words create patterns and pictures before his eyes. The word “bed” actually looks like a bed to him (do you see it? The headboard and the footboard sticking up?).  In his brain, it’s like the letters are cut out of thick pieces of wood, rotating in front of him, revealing their sides and back, upside down, sideways, and diagonally. He doesn’t have the luxury of print that stays in one place.

It would be pretty hard for you and I to read if we had to chase the words around in the air above the page, don’t you think?

A few years ago, I was struck with a sudden awareness that the reason I had been prompted, before Jonah was even crawling, to homeschool our kids was  for this little boy.  The feeling was powerful, an instant paradigm shift. In one moment, I became suddenly aware that this child, with his very unique temperament and astounding creativity, would have been destroyed in an environment of arbitrary assignments and communal expectations made with no regard to his interests and talents.  And this came before we even knew he had a learning challenge, which is part of the blessing. Whenever I doubt myself as a homeschool mom, I have that moment to look back on. 

In the process of learning how to teach Jonah, I’ve been learning so much about dyslexia. I’ve even learned that besides Ellie, who we already knew had it, that Ethan and I both have it too. Mine is a story for another post, and I only wish I had known about Ethan’s back when he was in school.

The other kids might have done well enough in public school. Tessa grows beautifully wherever she is planted, and Ellie’s sweetness gets her through a lot of tough situations.  Nano is a spaz, but super smart and quick to learn. She’d do well, as long as the teacher didn’t mind having a singing grasshopper in class. 

But sweet Jonah is a different story. He is perhaps my most sensitive child. If he is feeling shame or embarrassment for any reason, the whole factory shuts down, rendering him unable to function. Rage can loom just beneath the surface, and it doesn’t take much for it to break through.  He has a tender soul, which can attract bullies. Being given multiple of directions confuses him, and he doesn’t do well with several adults to focus on. 

Learning how to be the best mom for Jonah has been an exercise in balancing my own emotions. He’s a barometer, and feels everything around him. He’s an investigator of facial expressions and body language, and studies people’s emotional state (dyslexics are masters of pattern recognition), reacting strongly to any negativity. If my voice elevates, if my expression shows even slight distain for his behavior, he crumbles.  I have become an expert poker player, learning to read his tells -which are very subtle- and reshuffling the cards before he shuts down.  

On top of it all, Jonah has a profound creativity. I have never seen a child so artistically inclined. His artwork is amazing, his engineering clever and sophisticated, and his problem-solving, eloquent.  He is a brilliant collector of knowledge about all wildlife and nature.  He studies biology for hours on end.  There’s just one problem…

His brain was not built to read. You have never seen a child work so hard to achieve so little on a daily basis. I have held him in my arms as he wept in frustration, learning the same letter or the same tiny word over and over again, only to forget it again the next day. And the next. And the next.

I started with the usual things that had worked with my other kids, moved on to the brain training that Ellie had found success with, and then found a kind woman, that reading specialist, at church who worked with him for a year out of the goodness of her heart. He progressed some, but true reading was still an elusive goal.  We got additional resources from the charter school, and have worked with several different reading programs, each offering its own tools and helps along the way.  We are finally seeing progress, albeit very slow. 

One of the hardest things about having a child with dyslexia is that their reading abilities are far below their intellectual ones. Books that are easy enough for them to read are “baby books” in their eyes.

All but one. Well, one collection, I should say. Calvin and Hobbes.

Thank heaven above for Bill Watterson, the cartoon creator, over whom I have literally prayed with gratitude.  Somehow he took a little boy who is smart and funny and wild and who struggles, and wrangled him into the pages of those blessed books.  He gave that boy a companion; a conscience, who is wise and noble, and a little bit naughty, with a sophisticated sense of humor. They are everything Jonah needs right now.  

Jonah and I read Calvin and Hobbes every day, jumping from strip to strip based on how Jonah feels in the moment, which you can do, because every strip is it’s own tiny story. The font is easy for him to read, and having it all in capital letters somehow helps him. We even find ourselves talking about things like science and politics as I explain why a certain strip that he’s not understanding was funny. Calvin is a pretty awesome little boy.

In the past few weeks, Jonah has finally begun to blossom. He’s reading words like, people and snowball and feathers, which is huge considering a few months ago he still couldn’t consistently read him or and.  He calls the word the, “that stupid little word”. 

He’s come such a long, hard way. 

Jonah has recognized that if spaceman spiff is in the pictures, he probably won’t be able to read those frames. Words like despicable, adversary, and mertilizer-laser are a little complex still. 

But I’m not worried anymore. When he’s ready, I know Calvin will be waiting for us.

(If you are worried about the bean bag being too close to the stove, don’t be. It’s an optical illusion. It was two feet away.)   

Resources we have used:

Other Traits of dyslexia:

https://www.dyslexia.com/about-dyslexia/signs-of-dyslexia/test-for-dyslexia-37-signs/

Book: The Gift of Dyslexia by Ronald Davis

Linda Mood Bell reading program

Brain Training by Diane Kraft 

All About Reading program by Marie Rippel

And of course, Calvin and Hobbes, by the wonderful Bill Watterson. 

The Little Boy with the Cupboard

Jonah boy is an amazing little kid.  He is what I would love to have been at his age but probably wasn't.  He is gentle and kind, the type of boy who would give you the best seat or his last gummy worm.  He asks delightful questions, like "how long would it take if you could walk to the moon?" and "who invented bubblegum?".  He will try new foods, pack lunch for his little sister, and go along with it when you try to make a game out of cleaning his room, even though he knows what you are up to.  I don't even know about half of the times little Nano has cried about a hurt or disappointment, because he comforts her himself (only moments ago, they both came in crying.  She was sad about not watching a movie with grandpa, and Jonah had called her to him to comfort her, whereupon she accidentally bonked his lip with her melon head, and given him a bloody lip).  He is a tender and artistic child.  Every night he draws scads and scads of amazing pictures before bed with the discipline of an Olympian.  The boy inspires me.

Also, he still likes to cuddle.  He's the whole package.

Jonah and I have been reading books together, but up until recently he seemed only vaguely interested.  Then we began the book The Indian in the Cupboard, the tale of a young boy who is given a magic cupboard that would make small plastic toys come to life.  Suddenly, my own boy came alive.  He couldn't wait for us to read each night.  Every evening he would get himself and his sissy ready for bed quickly so that we could read together.

As Christmas approached, I got the idea to create a cupboard for him like the one in the book, complete with a little bronze key. Of his three gifts, Needful, Joyful and Meaningful, this would certainly be his Meaningful gift.  I put the word out on Facebook and in just one day, had the offer of a perfect little cabinet, free.  "I just put it out by the trash last night.  I'll go bring it back in," the poster said.  One night while reading our book, I asked Jonah what he would do if he had a magic cabinet like the one in the story.  He thoughtfully told me about the different things he would bring to life, and those he would not, because it would not be kind or safe.  Next, I asked him my most important question... "what color do you think the cupboard was?"

"White!" he said, as though it was a fact.

In the evenings after the Littles went to bed, I worked on the cupboard, sanding, painting and then distressing it to make it look old and well loved.  I ordered a sweet little bronze lock with a skeleton key, because as anyone who has read the book will know, the key is almost another character in the story.

 Next, I set out on a quest to find a little plastic Indian for "Little Bear", hopefully like the one in our story.  I looked high and low online and in stores, but had no luck.   They don't make cowboy and Indian toys anymore, because of the disrespect it implies.  But having read the book, that treats the Native American culture with great care, I knew Jonah would play lovingly and respectfully with the little toy, if one could be found.

On the night I waited for the family to arrive to the Christmas light parade route, I had wandered the shops, enjoying the hustle and bustle of Christmas shoppers, and the carols that were the perfect sound track for the moment.  I wandered into an antique shop with toys crowding the the shelves and  sought out the shop keeper.

"I'm looking for a little plastic Indian figure, like they made in the 70's."  He glanced off into space at some memory of a hiding place, held up one finger, and then with a nod of the head that told me to follow, turned and dashed off toward the back of the store, weaving between the shoppers.  I followed and arrived to the stairs where he stopped and stooped down over a little set of wooden drawers.  He pulled open a small, ancient drawer and retrieved a plastic bag, promptly dumping its contents out onto the bottom step of the wooden staircase.  "Ten dollars for the bag," He called as he buzzed around looking in other corners for other possible options as I sorted out the little figures.

There I found him, cast in shiny red plastic, a bow and arrow poised at the ready; the Little Bear I had been searching for.  I examined the other figures in the bag and chose a well worn horse to go along with him.  "I'll give you twice what they're worth if you'll let me just buy these two," I said, smiling.

"How 'bout three bucks?" he nodded, returning the smile.

"It's a deal!" I said, feeling ridiculously proud over my little accomplishment.  I layed $3 on the pile of antique books on the desk by the register and tucked my treasures into my sweater pocket.

Wanting this cupboard to be about far more than the one book we were reading together, I thought back to our last book, Charlotte's Web.  A pig.  I needed a sweet little pig.  You would think a pig would be a much easier acquisition, but without dropping ten bucks on a whole barnyard cast, with a fat sow, her teats heavy with milk, no pig could be found.

Asking around, a fellow at church gave me a ray of hope.  "Go to Tractor Supply," he said confidently (as though I would know what and where the heck that was!), "Up at the front, by the register.  They'll have one."

So I did.

And they did.

I was so tickled!  I held my little pink pig, admiring the carefully painted face and teat-less belly, as one would hold a little bird fallen from a nest.  I had to tell the cashier of my conquest.  In typical Amador Counrty fashion, she beamed and shared my cheer.

The lock finally came in the mail, and I worked away on Christmas eve to drill out and install the lock, but heartbreakingly both screwheads broke off before they were completely in, leaving the posts jutting out from the wood.  Having no other screws to use, I grabbed glue and tried to fix the lock in place, at least temporarily for Christmas morning, until I could get new screws.  I kicked myself for not having finished the cupboard sooner, feeling heavy with failure.

The next morning I rushed ahead of the children to the living-room, feigning that I needed to put on the tree lights and light the fire.  I knelt down by the cupboard which I had hidden beside the couch, and tried the key in the lock.  It was stuck.  I fought with the lock for a moment, and then opened the cupboard to find the hasty glue job still wet.  The lock fell off in my hand.  Defeated, but knowing that Christmas must go on, I hid the cupboard again and called the children to come see their stockings.

Christmas unfolded (or unwrapped) as most do, until the moment we gave the "Meaningful" gifts to each child.  Ellie loved her new recipe book, and Tessa her horse sculpture, but I worried that Jonah's gift would be a disappointment.  I brought out his gift, set in a large bag under tissue, and sat it in front of him.  His eyes were huge as he only half-listened to me explain that I would need to fix something on his gift.  He pulled away the tissue and I helped him lift the cupboard out of the bag.  After a little moment of confusion, his face melted into a huge smile of surprise! "It's from our book!"  He beamed, opening the door to reveal three little bundles on the top shelf.  Carefully, he unwrapped the first.

"Little Bear!"  He glowed, reaching for the second tissue bundle.  "I know who this is!" he proclaimed, only to stop short as he opened the horse.  "Oh, I thought it would be Boone." he hesitated  (Oh, no!  I hadn't thought like a 7 year old!  Of course he would expect the other character in the book to be there!).  "It's Little Bear's horse.  So that means this is..." his little hands worked on the tissue of the last small bundle.

"Whaaa...?!  A pig?" he blurted.

"Not A pig.  Wilber." I said, then jokingly added, "He's Some Pig!"

A look of realization came across his face as I put words to what he was beginning to understand.  "This is a special place to put a little memory from each book we read together."

He didn't miss a beat.  "We need a Dribble!" he said, naming the turtle in the book we had just begun, having finished The Indian in the Cupboard only days before.

He got it.  And he loves it.  And it was indeed Meaningful,  for both of us.

 ****

We went back to the antique store after Christmas.  Jonah couldn't let go of the idea of having a Boone to keep Little Bear company.  Luckily, he agreed that the trapper we found amongst the little plastic figures would have to do, as no cowboys could be found.

I am sculpting him a little green turtle for Dribble.  Who knew it would be so hard to buy just one pond turtle?

 (but if you want to know where to get sea turtles by the dozen, gim'me a call)

We are reading Where the Red Fern Grows now, and I am now on the prowl for a pair of Redbone Coonhounds.  

I think I may have started something here.

A Bottle of Mud

See, Jonah-boy likes to make potions.  

Well, sometimes they're science experiments.

He calls it school.  

There is always water,  

There are usually a variety of botanicals;

 leaves, grass clippings, flower petals. 

Far too often,

  illicit food coloring is involved.

  Always, the concoction is carefully brewed in a plastic water bottle.

When it's a science experiment, I'll often find it on a table top, a bookshelf, or in a cupboard.   Now, potions on the other hand, they might be in a drawer, a treasure chest... under a pillow. 

Cuz, you know, 

mysterious.

This time it involved a boy's best friend; dirt.

(you do the math: dirt + water = ____ )  

I don't know if it was molecular or mystical, because I never saw it this particular fusion first hand.

 I only saw the aftermath...

A seriously clogged drain. 

 I called Jonah in and showed him the cistern of slop.  

His mouth dropped open when he realized the mechanics of mud in pipes. 

 "Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry."

And he really was.

And he figured that was the end of it, 

so he turned to walk away.

"Hey, buddy, guess what?

"What?"

"Today, you get to learn how to unclog a drain."

Talk about natural consequences, baby!

(fast forward past the extraction of the six inch girl-hair plug that turned out to be the real problem, cuz' EWW!  I gotta say, though, Jonah was really proud of how he wrangled the tangled tresses out of the drain with a shish-kebab skewer. 

Re-spect.)

But, as any home-plumber knows, the end of the clog does not mean the end of the job.  As I was putting the plug assembly back together, the tired old plastic pivot nut snapped.

Hence, on to...

...the internet (to learn that it's called a pivot nut, because the guys at Lowe's look at me funny when I call things Doo-Hickies).

...the hardware store (to learn that they don't sell pivot nuts by themselves.  Of course. Because that would be too simple).

...home, with my new drain assembly (to learn that the new pipe is an inch too short).

...the hardware store (sigh.  Seriously.  It's a conspiracy)

....home and under the sink...

with another little helper.

So Jonah learned how to unstop a drain, and also that the magic leaks out of the potion once you dump it in the sink.  I learned that Guy is right.  Plumbing is stupid.  And expensive.  And a conspiracy.  And, I hope, Nano learned somewhere in her little brain that girls can fix things.

All that learning from one little bottle of mud.

Not bad.

I guess Jonah-boy is right.  It really was school.

The Littles

Jonah was "the caboose".  That's what we called him.  We knew he was supposed to be in our family, and though it would have been nice to have a sibling nearer his age than is Tessa, we accepted the fact that it had taken 4 years and 3 miscarriages to get him.  We were blessed and content.

Then came, as you all know, the "bonus baby".  It has been one of the many unexpected blessings that she is here to grow up with her brother.  Jonah is often left out because his age precludes him from playing car-crashing video games with The Bigs, and his DNA (predisposed as it is for smashing things), is a hindrance in him playing sweet little pink-lego games with The Middles.

Nanobot can talk a bit now.  It sounds like drunk-monkey-chatter, but somehow Jonah knows what she is saying.  She is able to play puzzles and look at books with J-boy, and they play in the sand pit in the corner of the yard together for hours on end.  Yesterday they squealed and giggled in the bath and soaked the floor.

I'm so glad she has him.

They feed each other from one another's plates.  They sit in the hammock together, and tumble on the trampoline.  They find mischief and enjoy it together.

I'm so glad he has her.

Together they destroy my house, 

crowd my lap,

 and steal all my yummy bites of food. 

I'm so glad they have each other, and so glad that I have them.

Dem' bones, dem' bones

One day recently I walked into the living room to this:

Adam and Jonah sitting almost motionless.  I thought they were snuggling, but then I noticed the pen in Adam's hand.  He was drawing on Jonah.

Oh, awesome, I thought.  

But not all snarky and sarcastic-like.  I was truly glad.  I get a crazy high when I get to see my kids in the act of making art.

Adam is very artistic. And frequently bored at school when he is done with work early.  This combination has led to a new pass time: Body art.  Okay, left-arm-art, really.  He regularly embellishes his left arm with interesting designs; zombie flesh, gears and pulleys, and of course, skeleton bones.

Jonah found his old PJs/Halloween costume of skeleton bones and wanted Adam to complete the look for him.

Big brothers are so cool.

Can you believe Adam is getting a meh sort of grade in art class?

I guess I can. They say an artist is never truly appreciated in his own time.  Apparently, Adam doesn't like some of the parameters of his teacher's assignments, and sometimes refuses to change his work when his teacher tells him to.   Also, it is very hard to turn your project in when it's on your little brother.

I was once told by my art teacher I should switch to home economics.  "You wouldn't be a good artist.  You don't know how to follow directions."

Because, as you well know, all of the greats obeyed tradition, fell in line and above all, followed directions.  

Date Nite with a Fugitive

I had a hot date last week.

He is gorgeous, and very youthful.

I love his sense of humor.

We went to the movies together.  He held my hand!

At one point he even climbed up into my lap, declaring into my ear his favorite sweet-nothing "I nevoh let you out my ahrms."

We shared Skittles and stayed till the credits were over and the lights came back up.

I don't usually go for younger men, but I just couldn't resist his boyish charm.  I hope he goes out with me again sometime.

*****

As we left the theater, Jonah-boy saw an arcade-style photo booth out in the mall.  He wanted to know all about it, and then, of course, he wanted to DO it.

Funny, this from the boy who hides from my camera every time I try to capture his little round face. Stinker.

I refused to pay $5 a pop, but then I had an idea.  We got into the booth and went through the motions.  And except for the little thrill of watching the strip of pictures drop out of the machine into the tray, it was just about the same experience as the funny photo booth.  Of course, there was no merciless countdown that pops a bright flash in your face whether you are ready for it or not, which was very helpful with this camera-shy boy.

This off-duty superhero is a real challenge lately.  He torments his sisters, annoys his big brothers, and throws cloud-burst-like fits many, many times a day.  He refuses to pick up his toys, and changes clothes 4-8 times a day, always opting for a fresh outfit and leaving the others on the floor like abandoned snake sheds.

And I think he is my youngest to try his hand at lying.  Today he said, "I'm full!" to avoid eating the rest of his dinner, but then when he heard there was pie, he sang out, "I want pie!"

"But you just said you were too full to finish dinner.  If you are too full for dinner, you're too full for pie."

His reply was very straight forward:

"I lied!" he said frankly.

*Sigh*.  Of the many phases of childhood, this one I could do without.  This, and booger eating.  Oh! and the "fart-laugh-fart-some-more-because-you-laughed" phase. Followed by - you guessed it - laughing.

I read an article the other day about a study determining that time-outs are ineffective because the offending child views them as punishment.  Uh, hellloooooo, duh.  That's the whole point, isn't it?  Wow, my bad-momma-flag is flyin' high now.

The article says that you need to take the mis-behaving child, the mini-miscreant, and snuggle them and love all over them.  Well, not exactly that, but it did read a little like "reward the criminal by slobbing him with kisses, thus reinforcing all future wooden-block-throwing".  Rubber stamp of approval.  Sounds like a great way to create a monster to me.

A little voice in my frontal lobe reminded me that the single way to get Jonah to mellow out when he is in that Thelma-and-Louise, I'm-drivin'-this-trike-off-a-cliff-and-taking-y'all-with-me rage is if I coax him into my arms and love away the grumpies.  I don't see using this for our pint-sized hooligan as the first resort post-malfeasance, but maybe when holding down the linoleum in the entry-way at our board-approved time-out spot proves futile, it wouldn't hurt to try.

We'll let you know how it goes.

*****

A Wake-up Story in Pictures

  

Good morning.

Go snuggle someone you love.

Every Square Inch

We prayed hard to get this boy here.

We didn't know what he would be like,

we just knew he was supposed to join our family.

Well, he's here.

He is soooo here.

He is felt in every minute of the day.  He is seen in every room of the house.

From the peach syrup that he dumped and slurped off of the kitchen table an hour ago, to the playdough crumbs that decorate my studio floor like a dirty cupcake.  From the hand prints on my mirrors, to the piles of books in front of my bookcases.  From the dog food floating in the dog's water bowl to the gouge marks in my eyeshadow.  

He has permeated, literally, every square inch of our lives

(and hearts).

***

Jonah Jabber

A warning, gentle reader.  My son's pronunciations are rated PG-13.  

I blame the parents.

YaeSH! -yes (always said emphatically)

Deay-choo - Thank you

piss - please

sh** - sit

**** - truck 

(yes, that word)

 tream - train

moon - cow

ah yah you! - I love you!

Magic Roads

 Adam has been announcing 

the countdown to his pending teen-hood at regular intervals lately.  He will be 13 in a month, or by his reckoning, one month, three days and 8 hours.  I feel like I am watching his childhood fade away behind him, like a dusty road he'll never travel again.  He is sprouting so fast.  He is certainly not my little boy anymore.

On Friday we took the hour drive to Wheatland where there is a pumpkin patch that thinks it is Disneyland.  We had gone last year and had a real ball, particularly Adam.  He jumped and ran an played, and all the way home he declared, "That was awesome!".  This year we went as part of the homeschool, so we got to do all of the extra fun stuff that I am too cheap to pay for, like train rides and hay rides.  But there was a strange difference this year.  Adam was subdued.  I asked him if he was having fun. 

He shrugged and said, "Kinda."

It turns out that he has rounded that bend in the road.  The one that made mining for marbles on Coyote Mountain something for the little kids to do.  The bend that means the giant slide was too small and the corn maze was, "Kinda lame."  The boy is still losing teeth, and yet there is that other part of him that has left childhood behind.

I remember the heartache I felt when I realized that I really didn't want my stuffed animals anymore.  That maybe this would be my last trick-or-treat.  That I was growing up, like it or lump it.  It felt sad.

I think that a new magic eventually replaced the old, outgrown one.  I now love witnessing the wonder of childhood, knowing what discoveries are waiting for my little ones just around the next bend.  I look so forward to trick-or-treating this year.  Jonah won't remember last year, so this year when that first door opens and that first piece of sugary bliss lands in his sack, I will delight in the baffled look on his face. 

"Is this for me?  Is that lady crazy?"

He will look into his bag, get the candy out, and want to eat it immediately.  Then we will tell him he can go get more candy.  The look will be priceless;

 "So you are telling me if I go up to all these doors here, 

I'm gonna get candy and I don't have to ask you if it's okay???"

Then the light will come on. 

"Nandy!?"  

He will declare, and he will waddle down that driveway into a world 

that has forever been changed in his eyes.

I love this part of being a mom.  I love witnessing them as they discover the world.  I guess being with little ones is so familiar to me after all these years, I will have to learn as they move into their teens how to enjoy a whole new kind of magic.

And there is still magic out there for Adam to discover, too.

It's called

girls.

Story Time (or) How to Get Thrown Out of a Thrift Store

Come away with me, boys and girls to a magical place called DI, which is short for Deseret Industries, and also for Downright Insanity, depending.  DI is a thrift store on steroids, quite like a Super Walmart, but cleaner and with less swearing.

Our mission: To get clothing for Ellie.  She was once the tiniest of our children for her particular age, but she has since "outgrown" that illustrious distinction, and lately she has been outgrowing everything else.  The fountain of hand-me-downs that once kept her from going naked has dried up, and so, in a moment of deluded over-self-estimation, I thought, "Hey!  Let's go to DI!  Just Ellie, Tessa, Jonah and me!"

(This, boys and girls, is where the music gets all foreboding, and you shake your head, knowing that only bad things can happen if our characters continue on their chosen path).

We had been in the store about 15 minutes, and had collected a pile of "try-it-ons" that was draped over the mini-shopping cart seat and handle, leaving the cart empty for Jonah.  In a flash - a literal flash of cloth and hangers - I witnessed the shopping cart fly up into the air and completely invert itself, Jonah inside, over the top of Tessa, who had just mounted the front end.  The cart landed on Tessa and thankfully, so did Jonah.  Nothing breaks the fall of a child like another child, that's what I always say.  The chorus of wails that burst from those two small humans was detected by seismographs at NASA three states over.

You know, there is nothing that calls the attention of store employees quite like a good old-fashioned cart flipping.  In a pair of seconds we were surrounded by extremely concerned onlookers, who chose to speak all at once offering assistance and asking what we might need.  Silence, I thought, a few ice packs, a couple of gags and a bag to put over my head, that's what.  Some chocolate might be nice, too.  Thank you.

I sat on the floor with a mostly-startled Jonah and a hurt Tessa both huddled impossibly in my one lap.  Ellie, for once, made herself quite useful picking up the clothing explosion that lay around us like the aftermath of a party at a nude beach.  I probed Tessa's ankle for a possible broken bone, and quickly assessed that she was bruised, embarrassed and otherwise fine.  I had arnica on hand (someday I will write an entire post on arnica.  You will run out and buy many tubes for you and your loved ones, I promise), so we globed some on, picked our selves off the floor and tried to act natural.  Nothing to see here folks.  Move along, move along.  

A moment later a worker materialized beside me and handed my kids stuffed bears.  Used, scary looking stuffed bears.  We all smiled and I assured him the kids were fine.

Now, I know you were thinking that this was my story.  But noooo, boys and girls, because now we get to cram a cranky toddler, a wounded-but-still-lively ballerina, a clothing diva and a half-spent mama into a handicapped fitting room stall for 45 minutes.  You see, Ellie has to bow, shake her booty, kick up her heal and spin in every stinkin' outfit.  Apparently, that is the proper way to try on clothing.  Jonah lasted about 10 minutes before he discovered the 12" gap under the stall door. 

You could almost hear his little brain say "Woo-hoo!  I'm free!"  Every time he got halfway out of the stall, I grabbed his heals and dragged him back under.  It was super fun for him for about 10 pulls, because about 1 in 5 tries he was successful.  By now Tessa had decided that she too, needed to try on clothing, so each time he escaped I would have to open the door to run him down while -not one, but two- girls squealed that I was "showing the world their bums".  Meanwhile Jonah giggled hysterically and dodged in and out of clothing racks like a rabbit with me in hot pursuit.

We did this about 5 times, till I got smart (well, let's say less-stupid) and sat on the floor in front of the door.

(Begin the screaming-toddler soundtrack here.  Continue on a loop, increasing the volume every 4 minutes). 

At a certain point, one of the store's many Oh-so-helpful employees called to me from outside the door, "Is everything alright in there?"

Are you kidding me?  No, everything is not alright in here!  I am at war with Attilla-the-Baby while battling with Miss Ballet who would like for me to buy her 5 skirts-she-doesn't-need, please, and Miss Can-I-skip-ages-10-through-12-and-go-straight-to-obnoxious-teenager?... I have burst a vein in my left eye, I am developing a bruise from a recent unintentional toddler head-butt, and we still have 8 more things to try on... NO...DECIDEDLY NOT ALRIGHT!

I wanted to say all that, but a little voice inside my head (the one that belongs to the mom who discourages me from dolling out pieces of my mind all willy-nilly to telemarketers) tapped the freaky-mom-voice on the shoulder and suggested that maybe we would not like to have Child Protective Services called on us today, especially when we are so close to being done.

"Oh, he's just really, really tired."  I call from my sumo-match on the dirty blue indoor-outdoor carpet in the stall.  Really, he has all the energy in the world, it's me who's really, really tired.  There is no answer.  Good, I think, I don't need another audience.  Was he really thinking he would somehow help?  Did he plan to offer to hold Jonah while I helped with zippers and buttons?  Perhaps he would like to give me a foot massage as well!  Yes, Sir, please.  I'd love your help.  And when you are done here, will you follow me home and clean up my disastrous house while I nap?

We spent $32.  That bought 3 pairs of pants, 2 dresses, 5 tops, a skirt, and a claw toy.  We also staggered for the exit with two very ugly bears and a headache, all free.

As we stepped through the giant sliding glass doors, I heard a sound quite like an enormous sigh.  It could have just been the whoosh of air as the doors slid closed behind us, but I swear it sounded like a store full of people breathing a sigh of relief.

OK, so we didn't get thrown out, but I don't imagine we'll be going back any time soon, either.

Beware the Silence!

When you have a two year old, 

silence is never a good thing unless it is well supervised.

I didn't mean to scream when I saw Jonah with the purple marker.  He lay in quiet repose in his cradle (yes, he is in a cradle on my bedroom floor.  If you have a problem with that, come build me another bedroom), and as I swished into the room (I swish.  Don't judge), I was, for just an instant, caught up in pleasant wonder at a toddler laying so still at 11 AM, and in his bed of all places.  

Then I saw the marker.

He was also swishing, in lazy, happy circles, all over my wall.  The funny thing was how very relaxed the whole thing looked.  He looked like the fat cherubs in those Greek paintings, laying on their backs, holding a cluster of grapes in one hand.  Purple grapes, no doubt.  His leg was even crossed over his bent knee, his foot held aloft and bobbing gently to the rhythm of the marker dance.

Like I said, I didn't mean to scream, but I did.

"Jonah!!!"

He burst into tears from both the startle and the scold.  I felt bad for a moment, but that part of my mommy-brain that cuddles away nightmares and kisses owies was suddenly shoved into a corner by the part that finds crayons in the dryer and bowl-fulls of uneaten cereal in the sink.

I lowered the volume and continued the scold, in very clear baby babble:

"No...color... walls!"

He sobered up, said "Tay", and pitched in to help clean up.

It was a learning experience had by all.

And in case you ever need to get Expo marker off a wall, forget what their website says.  Go straight for the Scrub Free toilet cleaner with bleach and a stiff brush.

 FYI - He is only using soap and water, not the noxious toilet cleaner.
 I am not THAT bad of a mom.

Catching up

There are about five posts 

backed up on the conveyor belt in my brain 

like chocolates in an I Love Lucy Episode.  

Where to begin?

How about with a few chuckles.

The other day Jonah boy was enjoying a bit of time A'natural. 
He tooted.  Loud.

Suddenly, he spun around to look behind him on the floor,

searching for what he assumed must have 

been deposited there, and asked,

" Ah poot?"

(Where's the poop?)

Lost

 Jonah disappeared.

 Heidi and her family had come for a visit.  The kids flocked outside as Dad was taking Adam to soccer.    Jonah had followed.  I noticed he was not with the kids as they flowed back into the house, and I began looking for him; in the house, in the yard...house...yard.  No where.

Front yard.

No.

Maybe down the sidewalk.

Not in either direction.

I ran passed the neighbor's house and saw that not only was the garage door open,

so was the door inside the garage...

the one that leads 

- to the pool.

I ran hard.

I looked into the bottom of the pool.

I suddenly came into my body and realized 

I was looking for my toddler at the bottom of a pool.

I freaked on the inside as I ran harder.

My bare feet tore on the sidewalk as I blasted from yard to yard,
 up and down the street,

joined by neighbors, friends, children, and even friend Jeff
from church who was driving by.

I ran back into the house and combed every room,

then again the back yard.

He had to be here.  The alternative was becoming unthinkable.

I prayed

"Lord, please, where is he?!"

 I saw the broken fence.

Maybe he was in the next yard over.

No.

But maybe (I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before) inside their house?

Maybe he had walked in and they didn't know.

I sent Heidi running to ask, while I headed for the phone to call 911.

"He's here!!!!"

a voice called.

I collapsed onto the brick wall in sobs.

It was learned later that Jonah had been invited in to play with little Max, 

and it was thought Ellie had seen him go in, but she didn't know, 

and had headed off to soccer with Adam and Dad.

I held him in my arms and kissed him.  

To him, he was never missing.

To me, he was gone forever.

Thank you, everyone, for looking for Jonah.

I'm still shaking and it's been two days.