This morning, while Bear and I were in the car:

Bear (this is a common question): Mommy, what is this song mean?

Me: This is a song named "Amazed" by a man named Paul to his wife, Linda

Bear: Do you like this song?

Me: Yes. It is a good song.

Bear: (a few minutes later) What about this song?

Me: About a boy who is asking his Daddy for help because he's in trouble.

Bear: Lawyers, Guns and Money?

Me: Uh.. yes. He is asking for those things.

Bear: What's a Lawyer?

Me: Someone who can go in front of the judge and help you if you have been arrested.

Bear: OK. And guns?

Me: You know what guns are.

Bear: Well, that's naughty, right? Is he a bad guy?

Me: I think he is just saying he wants help.

Bear: Well, guns aren't help, silly! He just wants his daddy. He should say he's sorry and then his daddy can come. And the lawyers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This evening, Bear and CD playing & chatting after dinner:

Bear: Daddy, what did you do today?

CD: I helped people with computers.

Bear: Good Job!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later:

CD: What are you doing?

Bear: Playing pretend. This is my store.

CD: What are you selling?

Bear: Potties. For girls.

CD: Uh. OK.

(wait for it....)

CD: Uh, Bear?

Bear: Yes?

CD: Why?

Bear: Just because!

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:05 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Picture by Elizabeth: Into the Pumpkin Farm, 10/2004

Today was the annual trek to the pumpkin farm.

Since he was born, we've used a picture of Bear atop pumpkins as our Christmas Card. Yes, the hair. Right. So off we went, in eleventy-degree freezing weather. But clear as a bell, with colors aglow.

This place is nearly an amusement park. With food stands and a gift shop and pig races (yes, Arnold Schwartzenpigger won!) and a maze through the corn fields. Bear petted everything at the petting zoo, including some animals that would surprise you. Baby Water Buffalos, as it turns out, have warm tongues. In case you were wondering.

We got our pictures, and even a pumpkin. Bear threw himself atop a large misshapen thing that he hugged and rolled towards us, pleading with his big blue eyes. We gave in. We're suckers. CD carried the beast for a quarter mile back to the car, a sleepy and grateful Bear tagging behind happily.

Picture by Elizabeth: Pumpkin Field, 10/2004

I'm wind-burnt, full-up, happy, and not entirely de-stressed. I head off to dreams of John Crichton and caramel apples. Good night.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 05:23 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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It is a cold and dark and blustery day in Chicagoland. The three of us burrowed under the down comforter this morning until the last possible minute. Reluctantly Bear and I dropped CD off at work.

"Where are we going to go now?" Bear asked me as I turned onto Lake Shore Drive.

Good question.

Picture by Elizabeth: Runner on Lake Michigan, 10/2004

The lake was deep green and almost deserted. Navy Pier was lit up like a neon sign. So I swung into the $19 parking lot and in we trundled - over, over, around the strange singing people, and up the escalator to the Children's Museum.

Bear liked everything: the dinosaur dig, the water works, the construction zone, the ambulance and safety display, but his absolute favorite thing was Clifford's world.

He strapped on an official mail bag and delivered and picked up letters from the mailboxes scattered throughout the display. Then he would sort them at the 'Birdwell Post Office'. Giggle, concentrate, triumphantly match, rinse, repeat.

Picture by Elizabeth: Bear in Birdwell Post Office, 10/2004

I was struck by how many Dads were there. Usually, Bear and I hit the Children's Museums (we have a national membership) during the week when, and not to be sexist but reality is what it is, there is hardly a dad to be found.

Today, though, it was Dads-aplenty. All ages, sizes, colors, and shapes. And wedding rings galore. Big yellow gold numbers, thin silvery ones, and all kinds in between.

As Bear did his rounds back and forth, I watched families sifting around us. I smiled as one man gently tucked a strand of hair behind his wife's ear, the engraving of his ring catching the light. Another man, handsome and leather jacketed, enwined his fingers with his wife's and then pulled them up so he could kiss the back of her hand.

I laughed as one dad with gold practically down to his knuckle laid down in submission on the floor while his 3 boys (THREE!) pounced all over him. His wife held their pile of coats and tried to stifle a laugh as her man caught an accidental knee to the groin. His "oof!" had 20 of us, nearby, in a compassionate group groan.

I missed CD, and thought about how much fun he'd have with us. I thought about how his ring would join the tonnage of husbands' rings in the room. I thought about how profound and sacred it is to push a ring on someone's finger and claim them as your mate.

It's that moment. That intimate, vulnerable moment when the question is asked - "will you? me?". A wedding ring shouts "yes"!

In my religion we call it 'an outward symbol of an inward grace'.

I know not all cultures use them. My parents never wore wedding rings in the 22 years they were married. So I have no idea how I come by this... conviction. But there is something about them that resonates deep in my soul.

On an autumn night a long time ago, I once danced on a sidewalk under a streetlight to Anita Baker's Giving you the Best That I got as it echoed out to us from a party. I remember getting choked up at the line "I bet everything on my wedding ring".

I still get choked up when I hear that line.

Shaking off my thoughts, I saw that the big dog himself had showed up for an interview with a television crew. Bear informed me that the “guy in the Clifford costumeâ€� gave him "a bad feeling" so we put away the postal tools and moved on.

Picture by Elizabeth: Clifford, 10/2004

Bear held my hand, and twirled my ring.

I smiled to myself.

Back on the road, the hard winds rocking the van at the stoplight, dang if that Anita Baker song didn't come on the radio. Guess I was in synch with somebody out in radioland.

I sang loudly and badly as we looped out of Navy Pier. I got choked up at the end like I always do. The streets felt almost deserted. The wind was pushing aginst the few people out on the sidewalks. The threatening sky was a dark ceiling overhead, and I wondered if we'd make it hom before the rain hit.

Picture by Elizabeth: Leaving Navy Pier, 10/2004

“Mommy?â€� Bear asked, puffy-eyed and tired in the back seat.

“Yes, Bear?â€� I answered, turning down the music.

“Next time, we should bring Daddy. OK? Does that sound like a good idea?â€�

“That sounds like an excellent idea,â€� I agreed.

And I thought of CD, wearing my ring as he worked. A physical, visible, unspoken announcement that he is a part of me, wherever he is. And me, a part of him.

And we... a part of him.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:19 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I sat down with Bear yesterday and explained to him that we were going back to see his Nana in Boston. That we would be spending Halloween with Uncle and Aunt and not, as originally planned, here at home.

Bear: But I'm still going to be a Blue Power Ranger?

Me: Yes, honey. You're still going to be the Blue Power Ranger. With your sword AND your shield. That will be just the same. I just have to hem the costume to make it fit

Bear: But not cut it

Me: Yes, a little bit. We talked about this. The one we got is too big

Bear: No, it's not

Me: Yes, it is

Bear: Is not

Me: Yes, it is

Bear: Banana Farts!

Me: No Banana Farts! Bear, I still need to hem your Power Ranger outfit. It's dangerous to have you tripping on it

Bear: NO YOU CAN'T OR ELSE YOU WILL TAKE ITS POWER LIKE SAMPSON!

Me: Power Rangers do NOT have hair, they have helmets and this is not the same thing

Bear: Yes IT IS

Me: No, it's not

Bear: YES IT IS BANANA FARTS INFINITY. And Power Rangers DO have hair under their helmets. Especially the Blue one. And the Black one

Me: Bear, yes I understand that you are the leading authority in the Power Ranger field and that is very cool. But Daddy and I are responsible for your safety and tripping on that suit in the dark is NOT safe. If you don't let me hem it up for you, then you can't go out trick or treating with it. Do you understand?

Bear: Fine. I only want it for bad guys anyway. I don't even LIKE trick or treating!

Me: Fine

Bear: Fine!

Yeah, I'm a bad mommy. Cuz you know what I did? While he was napping? Yes. I CUT THAT SUIT. I did. And? He didn't notice! So. There.

Meanwhile, in adult-land... Dee bought us tickets to our (hers and mine together) 8th Lyle Lovett concert as an early birthday gift! Lyle's coming to town with John Hiatt in February.

Heavens, just get past that hair, which is some kind of freak of nature, because you have got to LOVE a man who writes a lyric having Tonto finally say "Kiss my ass Kimosabe" to the old Lone Ranger. Yes, baby, if I had a pony - you know I'd be riding him on my boat; and if I had a boat I would ride out on the ocean...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:01 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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1 My favorite Lyle song is, She was Ugly from the front. Cracks me up every time. Now I need some Lyle. fyi... Remember personal info isn't working.

Posted by: Jazzy at October 12, 2004 05:46 AM (H2JDL)

2 Banana farts? Really? Ugh, I just don't understand the lingo kids are using these days.

Posted by: Terri at October 13, 2004 06:26 AM (LRR15)

3 Way to sneak in a hem job! Banana Farts Infinity!

Posted by: Jenny at October 13, 2004 02:40 PM (fcvxR)

4 ok, I'm going to fall over laughing. that conversation was hilarious. I'm both looking forward to and completely dreading the day when Jake finally figures out how to speak in sentances and not just 2 word demands. Jen

Posted by: Jen_Jake'smom at October 14, 2004 06:08 AM (2/T1v)

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This boy is SERIOUS about his daily half-hour of Rescue Heroes.

Bear (holding himself and bouncing up and down in front of the TV): I got to go potty!

CD: Then GO, don't just dance!

Bear (bouncing and pointing at the TV): But it's Rescue Heroes! Pause it!

CD (Lurching towards the TiVO): OK! Go! GO!

Bear (From the bathroom): OK! I made it!

CD (To me): What happens if he has to go somewhere where there is Rescue Heroes and no "Pausing"?

Me (Shuddering): There are places without TiVo?

Posted by: Elizabeth at 10:36 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Me: Bear?

Bear (looking up from empty Cheerio bowl): Yes, Mommy?

Me: Please put your bowl in the sink if you're finished.

Bear: But I'm stil hungry, Mommy. Very very hungry.

Me: Oh, I didn't realize. OK, I'll pour you some more Cheerios.

Bear: No, my tummy wants bacon and pancakes. Hear it grumbling?

Me: Oh, no. I'm not in a cooking mood this morning, Bear. Let's stick to Cheerios. Or there's yoghurt.

Bear (heaving a big sigh and reaching for his little apron): No, thanks. I'll just cook it myself.

P.S. Well, of course I ended up helping.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:15 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Tales from the Mommy-front ~

Bear (bending down and wiggling to look): Wow, Mommy! That's the most biggest poopy I EVER SAW!

Me (averting my eyes): Mmhmmm, hold steady now while I finish wiping.

Bear (excitedly): And it's GREEN! Mommy, my poopy is green goblin!

Me (glancing quickly as I throw in the TP): Well, honey, it's really mostly just brown...

Bear: No! It's green and it's FLOATY! My POOPY IS FLOATING! MOMMY! GET THE CAMERA!

Me: No... honey, now...

Bear: I think we need to take a picture! RIGHT NOW! OF MY POOPY!!

Me (reaching over and flushing): No, honey. No, now we're just going to wash...

Bear: MOMMY! You flushed my poopy! It was MY POOPY! I wanted to flush my poopy! I wanted to take a picture!

Me: OK, I'm -

Bear (throwing himself unconsolably on the bathroom floor and wailing): You FLUSHED MY POOPY! That was naughty!

Me: Next time you can flush -

Bear (sniffing): I miss my poopy. It was my favorite poopy ever.

Me: Well, poopies are waste, Bear. They are meant to go back into the ground and -

Bear: And it wasn't yours. It was mine. I flush my poopies, Mommy.

Me: Well, from now on -

Bear (sighing, last BIG sniffle, standing): It's OK, Mommy. Everyone makes mistakes. Now I have to wash my hands. You stand over there, OK? You just watch.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 10:30 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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1 Love it!! Ha, ha, my daughter has not fallen in love with poop yet, but I don't put it passed her.

Posted by: Chica at October 07, 2004 10:39 AM (5taea)

2 That's priceless.

Posted by: Soccamom at October 07, 2004 10:49 AM (GiDkl)

3 So you get to still do the wonderful wiping business? I can relate to the fascination with poopy. I'm just glad my daughter is doing it in the toilet now!

Posted by: Grace at October 07, 2004 11:01 AM (UdgWp)

4 And someday he's going to grow up and discover you posted stories about his poop on the internet...and wonder why you didn't take the picture!

Posted by: Cheryl at October 07, 2004 11:46 AM (PxEPZ)

5 LOLOL. I love that kid. My son still isn't into potty training (He says, "No thanks!"), but that doesn't stop him from admiring his own poopies. Whenever I change one, he says "Good poopy?" And I say "That was a great poopy! (if you like horrible smells that make your eyes water...)"

Posted by: NotDonnaReed at October 07, 2004 03:53 PM (bHNZD)

6 okay, that was hilarious. I am in love with your son!! What a character. (:

Posted by: Anna at October 07, 2004 05:40 PM (WCueR)

7 He's too funny!

Posted by: AGK at October 08, 2004 02:31 AM (wlx9i)

8 I had to share this story with like 3 people. I thought it was hilarious!!! Can't wait to have kids, so I get entertainment like this.

Posted by: Jazzy at October 11, 2004 08:15 AM (H2JDL)

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Twice a year, I wake up at Freezing Forsaken Crack O'Dawn and drive 45 minutes to a county fairground. There, I stand in line for about 90 minutes, hopping up and down, and drinking the last of my very-bad no-good McD's coffee (with about 100 sugars). And finally, at 8AM, I pay my dollar and get the 30 seconds all that effort bought me.

30 seconds as the first (FIRST!) one at the piles of boy's clothes at the worlds nicest and best-run rummage sale you will ever find.

Here, gender stereotypes are proven. Because the piles of girl clothing actually teeter; pastel towers that reach up to eye level. Adults smoothly sort through them, chatting to each other. Chatting!!

By comparison, the little piles at the boys' tables are scraps. They are grabbed up indiscriminately by snarling, territorial parents. Sweat pants and pajamas are pounced on in rabid packs. It's not all 'Lord of the Flies' though - some civility remains as we growl "Excuse me" to each other while ripping windbreakers off hangars.

There are "sorting tables" at the back, where you can surreptitiously flip through your booty. My piles of blue and red give me away as a “boy” parent, and anything I discard into the "return to tables" box is immediately grabbed up by a pack of wild adults, who've been eyeing me and drooling.

This is a 'good' resale - all the clothes are good quality. No visible stains, rips, loose hems or anything like that. The clothes I bring home are a mix of Tar-jay and Old Navy labels as well as Gap, Children's Place, and Gymboree.

But it's getting harder and harder. Boys' clothing past 4T gets worn out, not outgrown. There was less to choose from at this recent sale and I was hard-pressed this time to find even half of what Bear will need for the next 6 months.

Plus, the women who have been my partners and advisors in this twice-annual pilgrimage have all dropped out, one by one. I was alone in the crowd.

So it was a uniquely poignant frustration that followed Bear's accident on the bathroom floor last night.

He was wearing a pair of his "new" pants for the first time and I hadn't realized when I bought them that the snap was very tight. Bear couldn't undo it in time, as he bounced around doing the "potty dance" while I was running his tub.

By the time we got him free, there was a small puddle. He looked so sad, as I quickly wiped it up.

"IÂ’m sorry," he said, from atop his throne and using an entire roll of Charmin on that which was about to be in a sudsy bath.

"No worries, sweetie. IÂ’m sorry that thereÂ’s a bad snap on the pants," I said, pulling on the fastener to make it a little looser. "But now it should be fixed. All better."

And even though I knew that I could have just as randomly spent $25 on a new pair of pants and had them be just as stupidly designed, suddenly I was just overwhelmed. I love our life. The sacrifices that we make are negligible, when weighed against the reward of bringing up Bear ourselves, at home. So I donÂ’t mind, that heÂ’s wearing used pants with a stupid snap.

But sometimes? I do.

Bear flushed the toilet a couple of times just to be sure and clambered past me into his tub. Then he clambered out again and hugged me. “I like my blue pants,” he whispered in my ear. My chest hurt so bad with love, that I almost started crying.

When he was back in his tub, he looked down and said “Oops, puddle!”

I threw down a towel on it and smiled. “This was a good puddle,” I said, doing the “twist” to wipe it up with my feet.

And he laughed. And it made me laugh, too.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:15 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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