My Son's Latest Bit of Wisdom

My son's latest school assignment instructions:

Now that we've discussed what an Active Listener is, write three sentences about how to be an Active Listener.


What my son wrote:

You listen with you're ears.
You listen with you're eyes.
You listen with you're heart.


I love that. To listen with love. I think I need to do more of this.

Road Trip! With My Son!

Last week, my son and I took a road trip to my parents for an overnight visit. It took us six hours to get there. Here's a taste of what traveling with my son is like:

[6:30 am, in a Dunkin' Donuts parking lot]
My son: That man walked in with swagger!

[9 am, somewhere on 95 South, listening to Sirius Radio Hits 1]
My son: They're playing the same songs all over again.
Me: Yeah, they only play about 10 songs.
My son: What's if they come in at 1 am, record [the show], then leave, and just let it play over and over?

[9:30 am, in a Chik-fil-A parking lot]
My son: Who eats chicken for breakfast?
Me: Um, you're eating it.

[10:30 am, somewhere on 95 South as my son plays a song, on repeat, on his iPad]
Me: That's the fifth time that song has played.
My son: Yeah, I wonder how many times it'll play.

[11:30 am, somewhere on 95 South]
My son: When are we there?
Me: In about an hour.
My son (crying): You said that an hour ago!

[12:30 pm, 30 to 45 minutes away]
My son: We're getting close! Those look like Virginia trees!

My Son, on Our Dog Bruno. And Peace.

My son wrote a piece at school on peace. And Bruno. I love it. My husband thinks we should frame it. I agree. Here it is.



Bruno with his stuffed animals. (And blankets!)

Peace is...

In my bed with my dog
relaxing watching my dog Going
to bed His stomach Moving
up and down his eyes starting
to close My dog is in his
crate He is snugleing [sic] against
his stuffed animals and I
AM TOO

The Terrors of Buying Baby Toys

I love gifts. They bring to mind the giver. A beautiful vase my husband and I received for our wedding makes me think of my husband's wonderful, funny, loving aunt. Our Irish made candlesticks make me think of my sister-in-law. 

Therefore, I try to put thought into the gifts we give. I, too, would love the recipients to think of us.

But with great gifts come great responsibility (thank you, Spider-Man). Even beyond the sentiment behind the gift.

Ever since it came to light that China has used lead paint, carcinogenic metals, and who knows what else in its manufactured goods, I make a point of checking the manufacturing country for products I buy. This includes travel mugs, dog food/treats, and, now, baby toys.

What I don't want our gift to be!
(Image by Kreld on deviant.art.com)

I have a new nephew who lives across the country. Yes, the same sister-in-law who gave us those thoughtful candlesticks is his mom.

In the past, I simply would have logged on to amazon, searched on bestselling baby toys, picked one that I thought was cool or fun or got great reviews, and had it shipped directly to my sister-in-law.

Today, however, there is research to be done.

First, I type in "baby toys made in the USA." This yields some toys with "Made in the USA" listed in Product Details. It also, to my distress, nets toys with no country listed.

I then dig deeper - look at the customer reviews - and find alarming comments such as, "cheaply made in China. Shame on you!" or "contacted manufacturer to find out if product was made with plastics containing BPA but received no response" or "parts came off in baby's mouth."

Ack!

So I decide to skip the toys and search on "baby cloth books." My son has two that I have kept because I loved them so much. To my horror, comments include headlines with "Safety Concern" and a description: "my son...is a chewer and the color from the beetle wings have faded making me wonder if he is ingesting the paint??? This concerns me greatly since another book by this company has been recalled due to possible problems with lead content."

Seriously? Isn't the thing supposed to be made of cloth?

I haven't even met my nephew yet. There's no way I want to cause his demise. Or worse, brain damage or loss of IQ. I could just imagine his parents' ire. All directed at me and our poisonous gift.

At this point, since he is already out of the womb, it's too late to learn a craft like knitting so I can whip out a handmade gift.

So now I punt. A gift card. Safe. Generic. Forgettable. But this doesn't mean I love my nephew any less, or have put any less thought into this gift. Rather, I think it demonstrates how much I already care for him.

Much Ado About To-Do Lists

I'm a list person.

I have lists for things I'd like to accomplish at home, at work, to my home, in my life, with my writing, for my shopping. Lists help me think, dream, brainstorm, order my thinking, set goals. Remember.

My journals are full of these lists. Sometimes I think of the journals kept by women in history -- and how much scholars learn from their journals about everyday life during the times they lived.

But I digress with my grandiose thoughts.

Anyway, I carry my journal everywhere with me. I'll often go back to entries from previous days or even weeks to check off items I complete.

At times, these lists get me down, as in, I'm not getting anything done. Other times these lists give me a feeling of satisfaction, of moving forward.

So it was with a jolt of surprise and, yes, pleasure, that I found a to-do list in my son's backpack. His first! 



My son's first ever to-do list. Isn't it beautiful?

It turns out that his teacher had my son and his classmates make to-do lists that day at school. Their assignment: to do all of the items on their lists and check them off as they did them.

I love his list. I love the items on his list. Such simple things. It makes me want to be a kid again. 

But, since I can't do that, maybe I can simplify my list-making. Or simply stop making them. But if I did that, would I remember what I need at the store? Would I remember all the things I want to do to our house? Would I remember the things I want to write about? Would I remember the things I want to do with my life? Would I remember that I want to discover my purpose in life? And, more important, would I continue to move toward that purpose if I didn't have my lists?

I don't know. And I don't think I'm ready to find out.

What's in a Name Change

Last month, we got a puppy. A small dog, he came with a big-dog name: Bruno.

At a little over a year old, he knows his name. He responds to his name.

So it was inconceivable to me when, over the weekend, my 9-year old son expressed a desire to rename our puppy Huxley.

Wha-wha-wha-what???

Huxley, AKA Bruno.

To prove it was no big deal, my son yelled, "Huxley!" Right in Bruno's ear. Well, Bruno suffers from a small-dog characteristic. He's nervous. So when my son screamed the puppy's new name, Huxley, AKA Bruno, jumped in fright, his eyes bugging out at my son.

"See?" my son said.

It reminds me of a couple of years ago, when my son was really into the names "Rex" and "Jaxin" (his spelling). He loved them so much that he asked me to register him for second grade as Rex Jaxin. As if that would be all we would need to do to give him this new name.

So unlike reality, when I had to go to the courthouse and Social Security and the DMV to legally change my name after I got married. Then had to make photocopies of our marriage license and send them to all the various places to get my name changed on my bills.

If only it were as easy as my son imagines.

Then I could be Mina one day, Milla the next. Or I could try out Violetta or Persphone or Maya or Anabel or Ludivinia or Anna Maria Christabel.

Nine-Year Old Passion

My son has become passionate about basketball.

What my son's heart must look like.

It's a beautiful and funny thing to see.

The Beautiful Parts

• My son playing imaginary basketball games for hours, complete with imaginary teammates and steady play-by-play announcing.
• The hoop that my husband and I spent a whole day putting together -- incorrectly -- then taking apart and doing again. That activity almost ended our marriage, I mean, made our marriage stronger.  
• My husband and son intensely playing Knock Out.
• My son and me playing Knock Out while I giggle the whole time from nerves, as I scurry to make a basket before my son can knock me out.
• Day after day, my son wearing his various Sixers (and one LeBron James) jerseys (a birthday gift from his generous grandparents), even as the temperature drops. He just sticks a short-sleeved or long-sleeved shirt underneath. 
• Watching the NBA post-season as a family and having a rooting interest in the Sixers.
• My son voluntarily reading books about basketball players.

The Funny Parts

• My son telling me that when he grows up, he's going to be 6'10", a point guard in the NBA, and that he'll dunk so many baskets, everyone will call him Dunkin' Donuts.
• My son learning about the all-time greats of the game and asking me if Michael Jordan is still alive.
• My son telling me about recess at school one day, when all the kids were cheering, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" every time it was his turn to shoot. (Yes, he's also a huge WWE fan.) 
• My son teaching me the following new vocabulary words:

  

Vocabulary Word	Definition
Ball Hog	‘Nuff said.
Swish	When you make a basket and all you get is pure net. As in, "Look, Dad, all I’m making are swishes!"
Air Ball	When you throw the ball at the basket, especially a free throw, and it doesn't even make it to the backboard or the basket. I hear this one all the time from my son when we play Knock Out. And he's not talking about his own attempts.

The Passion

His passion for basketball makes me think about my own passions -- and whether I feel that passionate about anything in my life. 

I know I did when I was younger.

But since I became a mom, a puppy owner, and a full-time corporate worker bee?

No.

But I really want to.

Now that my son is getting older, I think it's time for me to start rediscovering these things about myself.