Burke Lake Park

Over the past few weeks, we've gone to Burke Lake Park a couple of times to ride the train and carousel. We knew Cody loved it; we thought fearless Cordelia would, too. We were wrong. She loved the idea of the train. She'd wave eagerly and shout "Choo choooo! Choo chooo! Hi!" but when that train began to move down the track, all she could do was bury her head in our necks and softly whimper, "All done? All done? All done choo choo?"

Cody (and Violet, too!) had a blast.

And by the way, happy birthday, Violet!

Cordelia was inconsolable. But tried to be a brave little toaster.

She fared better on the carousel.

But the second time around, she passed, preferring to wait behind the fence and wave joyously every time Cody rotated in her direction.

Here he comes!!

Where is he? Is he coming back! Yes! There he is!

Gnarley, dude!

(I didn't get her hand in the photo but she's doing "gnarley" back!)

She loves him so much. And she's so beautiful.

And so is he.

Abandonment Issues

All in all, Cody seems to be adjusting to preschool. He will often tell me, apropos of nothing, how much he loves his teacher and how kind she is; yesterday he sang a new song they had learned (about the seven continents; I'm glad to now have a mnemonic to help me remember not to forget Antarctica) and he doesn't have meltdowns when we drop him off. And then this.

Tonight, I read him one of his favorite stories, Lost and Found. Basic plot: penguin shows up on boy's doorstep, they become friends, boy decides he should help the penguin find his way home; they row companionably to the South Pole; he leaves the penguin, who for some reason looks despondent; on the way back, he realizes the penguin "hadn't been lost. It had just been lonely." Boy immediately turns and rows back to South Pole to retrieve penguin friend; they hug; they row home together.

We got to this page, and Cody said, "This part reminds me a little bit of preschool."

With a lump in my throat, I asked him what he meant. He replied, "Because the boy just drops the penguin off, and then the penguin watches him row far away from him."

I reminded him that the boy always, always, always goes back to get his best friend. He seemed reassured. And now I will have my good cry.

Fire Station 14

The big excitement this week was the trip we made to have our very own tour (with some fellow St. Elizabeth's moms and kids) of Fire Station 14 -- where, you might remember, Cody once met Firefighter Alex. Well, this time, he met Firefighter Chris, and he was quite possibly the happiest kid there. ("Hello Mr. Firefighter! My name is Cody! What's your name? Thank you for letting me come to your fire station! That was so kind of you!" and "My sister accidentally broke her hat! Would you mind giving me an extra hat? Thank you so much!")

Cordelia's a fan of fire engines. A future in pyrotechnics is well within the realm of possibilities. She spent the whole of the excursion shrieking, "TRUCK! O-KAY!" and making siren sounds. She loved her hat, even after she had broken it. By ripping it apart with her bare hands.

The two best moments, though, are classic Cody. First, we got to tour the firefighters' "very own kitchen." Most of the kids were unimpressed and keen to move on to the ambulance bay. You know, because they are normal. Cody, however, was fascinated, and took his time, asking Chris lots of questions. I had stopped watching when suddenly he sprinted across the kitchen and said, "Mom! You will never believe it! The firefighters have a Bissell canister vacuum! AND, a MIXER!"

Next came a peek the ambulance bay.

It was kind of a tight fit, and there were lots of small people. I lost track of Cody, and called out, "Cody...where are you, buddy?" One of the other moms peeked into the back of the ambulance and shouted, "He's on the gurney!"

Of course he was.

"Here Cordelia-birdie! I got you a replacement hat! Please do not rip this one apart, Birdie."

They drive me bonkers, a lot of the time. But boy, do I love my children.

Words, words, words!

Cordelia has decided to talk in earnest, having realized, I suspect, that speech brings both power and attention, and transforms her will into her way. All things she approves of. So now, instead of giving us derisive looks when we say "Use your words!" she is really trying to say everything -- Shoes! Socks! Sink! Truck! Train! Bus! Turtle! Birdie! Bubble! More! Down! Now! No! No WAY! CODY! COCO!!!!! LOVEYOU!!! Cracker! COOKIE! PLEASE! YUM! THANK YOU! TOOTH! TOES! COCO!! LOVEYOU!!! Shark! Nose! Poop! Uh-oh! ALL DONE!" (These are in no particular order.) She sings along with everything she knows, too, filling in a surprising amount of the words (particularly when listening to The Sound of Music or the theme song to Mr. Rogers's Neighborhood.)

It's lovely and amusing to watch her language develop. This morning on the way home from dropping Cody at school, I asked if she would like some music. "O-KAY!" Tired of the usual Julie Andrews or bluegrass, I put on the classical channel. She listened for a second to Mozart, head cocked, then started shaking her head vehemently and saying, "No WAY!" I said, "Well, what WOULD you like to hear?"

She grinned and said, "WORDS!"

Defend Me In Battle

If I don't write this down, I'll forget and regret. This has been one of Those Afternoons. And I've only been home two hours. And it's not yet dinnertime. But Cody has been rather a nightmare, and malicious toward his sister. It's killing me, and I have not figured out the best way around and through it, and am afraid this reveals bad character--God forbid he become a bully!--or portends a fractured, distant relationship between them, instead of the love and affection I so hope for (and sometimes do see). Anyway, the two of them were on the couch, and he was relentlessly pulling, pushing, tugging, and generally oppressing her. She finally got fed up and bit him--hard. He started screaming (understandably). Once we got everyone calm and gave them a break from each other, we had what I'm sure was a yet another completely ineffective conversation about actions and consequences. I suggested Cody play quietly in the playroom for awhile, which he did. About a minute later, she followed him in. He bravely said, "Hello Cordelia. I am playing in here. You may come in too..." and then, under his breath, I heard him mutter, "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend me in battle."

I kid you not. And it gets better, because a few minutes later, she threw a matchbox car. Just to see what I would do. I sternly reminded her that we don't throw toys. Cody looked at me appraisingly, then picked up another car and chucked it across the room. I gave him The Look and before I could say anything, he said, "Cordelia set a bad example for me. She is the snares of the devil."

I have no further comment, because I am actually speechless.

May God rebuke him, I humbly pray. But what do I do about all this?

Bailing Out

It seems like Cody had a little bit of a tough day at preschool today. Here are some snippets of our conversation.


Me: Who did you play with today?
CJP: Well, mostly I hanged out with Bailey.
Me: Hung.
CJP: Mostly I hung out with Bailey.
Me: What did you two talk about?
CJP: Actually, mostly I just followed her around. And Bailey was kind of rough on me at line time (when they sit in a circle to do activities).
Me: What happened?
CJP: Well, I accidentally got into her personal space a little bit. Actually a lot.
Me: What did she do?
CJP: She moved very far away from me.
Me: What did you do then?
CJP: I moved closer to her.


Poor Bailey. Anyone want to take odds on when the teacher will call?


And speaking of personal space, Jonathan witnessed a run-in with another kid, named Ike (clearly the name of a bad penny), in which Ike grabbed Cody's arm and started making Cody smack himself in the head with his own hand. (Yes, Ike is still alive, and clearly, he has a mean-spirited older sibling at home.) Later, he recounted another incident that must have happened earlier, in which Ike (who is smaller, the bastard) was beating up on him and Ms. Leavesley came and "was so stern to him and made him leave me alone and go sit over there with her; wasn't that so kind?" So the game plan for tomorrow, if Ike pulls that crap again, is for him to sternly--and loudly--defend himself. When brainstorming ideas, Cody came up with: "Ike, you MAY NOT be unacceptable to me! I will be SO stern to you if you try to hurt me!" What can I say; it was a rough draft.


The unfortunate side dish is that he apparently was horribly rude and aggressive toward Cordelia after this incident. (Now, correlation is not causation, but poor Birdie. It is hard to love your brother so much and be constantly rebuffed. He is the apple of her eye; she is fiercely devoted and more often than not, he is heartbreakingly dismissive of her. It's painful to watch her unrequited love play out sometimes. She's pretty resilient and cheerful about it, but still, we feel for her.) I happen to know that lunch was cut short and he went to bed early. Not knowing that I knew (does he never learn?) he confided in me,


CJP: I did not have the best lunch. Then, this afternoon, Bidi had a tantrum. She had such a huge tantrum! I had to be so stern with her because of that rude, aggressive behavior. Me: Oh dear. What was bothering her?
CJP: Well...actually...um...the tag of her shirt. That was bothering her. And then, she got hit in the head by a bucket wheel excavator!

Change of Season

"April showers bring May flowers." May: "In like a lion, out like a lamb." (Or is that March?) November: "Turkey." There should be one of those stupid monthly expressions for September--not "Christmas decorations appear at Hallmark" but more specifically, how everyone always gets sick when the season begins to change. Well, that's it, I guess. September: "Ropes of snot; healthy, you're not." (It's late. I'll do better tomorrow.) Anyway. Both of them have had miserable colds since last week. This is the "on the mend" Cordelia...but note the unhappy face and red eyes.

Cody, happily, is on the mend...so much so that he DID NOT WANT TO LEAVE PRESCHOOL TODAY! This, however, had everything to do with the fact that Bailey was sitting two chairs away when I picked him up. Looking coy. I don't care; I'm just glad he's not bawling when he sees me, and, with sobs wracking his body, wailing, "Thank you so much for coming back to get me, Mommy."

This is from this morning. Not pictured: Mr. Kermit and Mr. Rodney, Monday's Garbage Gentlemen Buddies, rounding the corner onto Sulky Court, hopper a-howlin'.

Built Ford Cute

Montessori Report, Day Seven: Mommy Spots Bailey, Cordelia's Feathers Get Ruffled

Today went better. Finally. Thank God. We did our crazy goodbye ritual (you don't want to know) and he was a little trembly, and a little lost, but okay on the whole. When I picked him up, it was recess. There's nothing quite like the moment when he spots you standing there, his eyes light up, he grins a huge, joyful smile and gallops over and jumps up into your arms. I keep telling myself to file the image away, because before too long, I'll be expected to wait in the shadows of a parking lot, not daring to show my Mom face or Mom jeans, when I pick him up from middle school, where he will likely not deign to even grunt a greeting. Anyway, I asked if he had been playing and he said, "Mostly I have just been following Bailey around." Gamely, I said, "Can I meet Bailey?" He got all dreamy-eyed and led me over to an area of the playground, where he stood, mute, staring, with a goofy smile on his face. I turned to see a tall, tanned, leggy girl, with chin-length, white-blond surfer-girl hair (incongruous with the red and blue plaid jumper). She looks like the kind of girl who could tie knots. She was toothy and giggly and, so far as I could divine, had no idea we were standing there, or that Cody was grinning like a fool, or that we even existed. As it should be, I suppose.

The only one who wasn't charmed by this scene was Cordelia. Her eyes narrowed, she squirmed down and ran to Cody, stood in front of him to block his view and shouted insistently, "COCO! COCO!!" She was holding Patches (it's her responsibility to bring him to school to give to him) and when Cody reached out absentmindedly to get him, eyes still searching out the depths of Bailey's soul, she pulled poor puppy back and clutched him close to her chest, refusing to hand him over until she commanded her brother's full attention.

I think that might be my favorite sibling moment ever. Cordelia is fierce. She will brook no competition and will not suffer fools. She will rule that playground someday. And I will get different sorts of calls of concern from the teacher.

Cordelia and Boo-Boo Bunny

When Cody was a baby, Grandma Robbie made him a special "boo-boo bunny" to keep in the freezer. You put an ice pack in and use it to soothe "owies." He loves Boo-Boo Bunny. The problem is, to quote Cody, now Cordelia does, too. Like, really loves her. Whenever she gets the slightest bump, she turns on the crocodile tears, runs to the freezer and wails, "Boo-boo! Buh-Buh! Boo-boo! Buh-buh!" The second the bunny is in hand, the tears magically disappear and she just bonds with Boo-Boo Bunny. She's quite attached, and now sometimes invents injuries just so she can cuddle her. : )

Note how not-wounded she is in the above. My favorite part of this little friendship is that when she really does have a boo-boo, no matter where it is--her toe, her knee, whatever--she always puts Boo-Boo Bunny on her forehead. : )

Costco, Construction, Contentment

So JVL hit the jackpot at Costco on Tuesday: excavator pajamas. Behold.

Aunt Kelly and her Godbabies

The snuggles are never long--so much to do!--but they sure are cute.

Bird among the birds

Visit to Old Town, Saturday 9/10/11

Montessori Report, Day 6: Courtesy Slack, Bailey

Cody continues to put a brave face on his obvious unhappiness with this new phase in his life. Today when I picked him up, he fought off tears as he ran into my arms before informing me, with stiff upper lip, that he had "a great day at pre-school."

His courage under duress reminds me of a great piece from Outside magazine by Mark Jenkins about his best friend, Mike. The two grew up in Wyoming climbing mountains and kayaking rivers and generally doing the most dangerous thing they could find. They encouraged bravado in each other by enforcing a no-complaining rule, which they called "Courtesy Slack":

We were 16 and just learning how to climb and we made a pact that whining was prohibited. No matter how freaked you were, you had to keep your mouth shut. To enforce this rule Mike came up with a penalty called "courtesy slack": The belayer fed out extra rope—so you'd take a longer fall—whenever even a whimper was heard. Over the years, this bred a black, Brit-like humor in Mike. The more desperate the situation, the more he made fun of it: "It's absolutely grand—no handholds whatsoever" or "If the ice were only a wee bit thinner and more rotten I could actually enjoy myself." We were ripe with hubris. As far as we could tell we were indestructible.

I'm heartened to see Cody bucking up so manfully.

On the way home from school I asked if he had any buddies at Montessori. "Oh, yes," he assured me. I asked who his best buddy at Montessori was and he instantly replied, "Bailey." He then informed me of the following, under gentle questioning:

Bailey, it turns out, is a girl.

She is a big person, and even taller than Cody.

She is almost 5.

She is very kind.

Cody always sits next to her in line time.

And finally:

"I almost gave Bailey a hug today. But I did not. I did not think she would like a hug, so I did not give it to her.

I feel a little sorry for Bailey, who I suspect, through no fault of her own, has acquired a talkative, affectionate little shadow and who--someday soon--is sure to get an unsolicited hug.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Cody, speaking earnestly to Cordelia before bed: Baby sister, sometimes I just have to be stern with you. And I have to use my stern voice. I still love you. But the problem is, you are still a baby, actually. And you still cry and have tantrums and scream. And so I have to be stern with you. Someday soon, you will be a big person like me and you will not be a baby anymore. And then, when you stop having those tantrums, I will not have to be stern with you anymore, baby sister. Do you understand me?

Cordelia, nodding her head vigorously and grinning toothily: O-kay! Buh-boo! O-kay!

Cody, telling me about his day at preschool: Well, I just enjoyed playing by myself, actually. Well, for a little while I played with Bailey. She can tie huge knots.

Me: She can?

CJP: Yes. She is excellent at knots. I do not know how to do knots, actually.

Me: How old is she?

Cody: I don't know. Probably five. She's a big person. She is tall like me. Logan is not a big person.

SLL: Did you play with someone named Logan today? How old is Logan?

Cody: Well, he is probably one, actually. He is not big like me.

Me: Well, they don't let one-year-olds go to preschool. Do you think he might also be three?

CJP: Probably. He could be three, actually. But he is just a child, Shannon.

Cody, on getting ready for bed: Actually, I am going to come lie down in Cordelia's room while you do prayers, Mom. I might decide to feel my feelings right there. That way I can get my feelings out tonight, and I will not be so upset when I go to preschool tomorrow. Maybe I will not be so anxious.

SLL: [sound of cracking heart]

Cordy Speaks

The Days Are Long, The Years Are Short

Cody starts preschool tomorrow. I am too verklempt to say much about this, but wanted to share these.

April 9, 2008.

Cody, January 2010.

September 2011.

Meanwhile, the princess continues to grow.

As does her hair.

As does her attitude. But that's another post for another day. Remind me to tell you about her 27-minute-long tantrum yesterday.

Yes. Two. Seven. Except when she paused for--no kidding--water breaks. I'd say, "Are you all done fussing and ready for hugs?" She'd take a long swig, shake her head vehemently and say, "NO!" and then resume screaming.

More on the Aggressive Hand

Ok, so when JVL says I criminalized it, it sounds pretty harsh. But I think it's warranted. Because you can't go through life essentially telling people to "talk to the hand" when you don't like what they have to say. Or even the fact of them. Especially people who are smaller than you--so it's really just a derivative of our cardinal rules: Always use your manners. And always protect people who are smaller than you. (Especially when those people are your siblings.) If some kid came up to one of my kids on the playground and put a hand in their faces like that, I'd be tempted to smack him. And I'd wonder what kind of parent didn't immediately address that behavior.

I admit it's possible I'm a crazy control freak, but my point is, it's rude. And, it's aggressive. And both those things are, as Cody will tell you ruefully, "unacceptable." Naturally, Cody doesn't like it when he gets busted for this particular gesture. I have one thing to add: In keeping with his pattern of transferring his transgressions to his furry friends ("I did not hit Cordelia! Patches hit Cordelia!"), mere moments after said action was banned, Cody ran up to Cordelia and smushed Patches into her cheek. (Cordelia giggled and tried to grab him.) I asked CJP what that was about and he said, "Oh Mommy. Patches just gave my sister the Aggressive Paw! That is against the law!"

Then Patches went to Puppy Time Out. Cody had a delighted grin and a twinkle in his eye. Patches looked forlorn and put-upon.

This parenting stuff is bizarre sometimes.

Kipsy and the Aggressive Hand

Last week Shannon passed a law criminalizing one of Cody's less charming poses. He likes to shove his hand out in a "stop" motion, close as possible to Cordelia. This doesn't have any specific meaning to him, it's just a catch-all, "Hey, I don't like you." Shannon has banned it, calling it "the aggressive hand."

This morning, Cody was playing in the tent in the living room with Patches, Tippy, and Baby Tippy. From the dining room I heard him exclaim, "Tippy just did the aggressive flipper!"

One of CJP's more charming pasttimes is something called "Kipsy." We frequently hear him talking about it in the mornings on the monitor after he wakes up. It is, we inferred, some sort of game he plays with his stuffed animals. For weeks I've been trying to get him to spill the beans on exactly what Kipsy is, but he always just grins like a fool and changes the subject when I ask.

This morning, however, he divulged the secret rules.

JVL: So how do you play Kipsy?
CJP: First, you go to the Kipsy field.
JVL: Okay.
CJP: Then, you say, "Am so gampsin."
JVL: All right. "I'm so gampsin."
CJP: No--not "I'm so gampsin." It's "Am so gampsin."
JVL: Oh, sorry. Okay. "Am so gampsin." What next?
CJP: Then, you give out the Kipsy lollipops to everyone.
JVL: Kipsy lollipops? That's pretty awesome. You give them to all of your buddies?
CJP: Yup-pa. [This is his stylized "yup." --ed.]
JVL: And then what?
CJP: Then we all eat the Kipsy lollipops!
JVL: And that's Kipsy?
CJP: That's how you play Kipsy!