Friday, February 20, 2009

Pauses, Pranks, Partus, and Pets

Jonathan came to me the other day to tattle on his brother. "James paused me and I did. not. like it!"

"He paused you?"

"With the remote."

"You mean a pretend remote?" (Like the Upside Down Show.)

"No, he used the REAL remote!"

"You mean he pointed the real remote at you and told you to pause?"

"Yes. And I did. not. like it!"

"Jonathan, you don't have to play James's game. You don't have to pause yourself just because he wants you to."

"I didn't pause myself. James paused me."


The boys are always sad that they don't have a little sister. We're done having kids, so the closest sisters they'll ever have are their five girl cousins, whom they dearly love with sweet kid affection. Nevertheless, they mourn the loss of having a sister with surprising frequency.

Today, I finally found out why. James and Jonathan looked at each other, and Jonathan said, "Oh, I wish we had a little sister..."

James replied, "I know! That would be so cool."

Jonathan continued, "Then we could pour water on her head..."

And James finished for him, "Yeah...and watch her scream and yell 'I'm telling!'"

Then they both collapsed into giggles.


The other night, I showed the boys my c-section scar. They're aware that if I hadn't had a c-section, Jonathan would still be stuck in there. We're grateful for modern medicine, because mom and son would both be dead without it.

The following day, while watching VeggieTales' Mo and the Big Exit (the story of Moses), James, currently disgusted with the new knowledge of just exactly what part of me he came out of ("Ew! Sick, Mom!") said, "Hey, Mom. Wouldn't it be cool if I didn't come out of you, but you just found me floating in a basket in the river?"

"Ummm...sure...that would be cool," I affirmed.

Jonathan echoed, "Yeah. If you found me floating in the river, then you wouldn't have that big scar on your tummy."

I hugged him and replied reassuringly with a full heart, "That's true, but I'm very thankful for the big scar on my tummy because it gave me you. I don't mind my scar at all. I'm thankful for it every day because I'm thankful for you every day."

Jonathan wriggled out of my hug and said, unceremoniously, "Or, you could just find me in the river."


I recently made a pictorial family tree for the boys. They get confused about who's who, especially for my side of the family, on which they have five uncles, five aunties, and eight cousins. As they watched me make it, I came across a picture of one of my brother's cats. The boys said hopefully, "Don't forget to include all of the pets."

"No," I replied automatically, having just spent an hour searching Facebook for pictures of my siblings and their children, and trying fruitlessly to fit all twenty-four of us on one 8.5x11 page, "I'm not doing a pet family tree." A preposterous idea to me. Our pets alone would fill an entire page, and Jeff's mom has a hobby farm with something like a hundred animals on it. The thought of trying to catalog all those animals, pictorially, overwhelmed me completely.

Well. Both of my sons burst into tears. Yes. Tears. Because I said I wouldn't make a pet family tree page. Why? Because I was perfunctorily and heartlessly declaring, apparently, that our beloved dogs, cats, hamster, turtles, fishies, and bearded dragon are not really a part of our family after all.

Good grief. Who knew?

Daddy explained that our pets are a part of our family, but they aren't blood-related, so they don't go on the family tree. "Casper has blood!" James wailed. (Casper is one of our dogs.)

I pointed out that family trees were meant to include only the *people* in a family--the ones who came out of their mom's tummies or were adopted. Jonathan sobbed, "But Jack came out of his mom's tummy!" (Jack is one of our cats, and his mom is my brother's cat. Just more evidence in favor of the pet family tree.)

After several attempts by mom and dad to explain what family trees were all about, James crossed his arms resolutely and declared, "Rosy's last name is [our last name]. That means she's a part of this family."

Who can argue with that?

So guess what I'm doing tomorrow? Yep. Emailing all of our relatives to request pictures of their pets.