Oh La La...Where in the world ARE you?

There are times when a mother hears the words coming out of her mouth and knows, even before those words fall into little ears, that they are words that she will regret. Sometimes the regret is so instant as to make me wonder why I didn't just stop speaking mid-sentence and play off a "silly Mom moment." A silly mom moment is my get out of jail free card. I use it often and, in times of desperation, I use it in conjunction with my other necessary tool: "Because God made it that way."

A week ago (or so) I was very excited to hear Laura had finalized plans for her March trip. I let my enthusiasm take over my mouth and told Turner. As his face lit up with glee I knew I had opened a door that I would not be able to shut again until March. Every morning, every night, every afternoon when I get him from school, everytime he is tired or hungry or cranky, every time the phone rings or I pick up the phone to call someone, every moment that there is a bit of silence when he takes a moment to turn over his rapidly moving brain Turner interjects a whiny, lip pouting out, eyes downcast, "Can we go get La La now?" I feel so guilty. I told a little boy who has no reference to time (much less the passage of a month's worth of time) that his La La is coming to visit, and in so doing I set him up for disappointment every single day that La La is not here.

This morning was the breaking point (I think Andy hit his mid-week last week). Now, let me clarify what I mean by breaking point. I am not mad at Turner for worrying me to death. Yes, it can be frustrating, but I know that this is all my fault. I knew as soon as I said "La La" that I should have stopped my mouth. No one made me finish that sentence. No one made me reveal the secret. Yet, I finished the sentence and made Turner the most disappointed (yet equally hopeful) little boy in all of Tucson. So, this morning he rolls over in bed (yes he's still coming to our bed about 6 AM every morning to breath sweetness in our face and remind us that we are loved parents). "Mommy..." he is groggy with sleep and I am freshly showered and capable of some conversation.
"Good morning Turner."
"Good morning Mommy." He rubs his eyes and sits up.
"Is La La here yet?"
"No."
"Where's my Daddy?"
"He's at work."
"No he's not."
"Yes he is."
"Why?"
"Because he has a certain time he has to be there and that time is now."
"Oh. Can we go get La La now?"
"No. La La's plane is not at the airport yet. It won't be there until March. It is still February."
"I think it is there now."
"No. I promise that La La is coming as quickly as she can."
He cries. "But I want my La La now." He throws his La La bear onto the floor and kicks his feet in the bed. I ignore him. I don't know if that is textbook or not, but I'm not really sure I'd want people rationalizing with me before 8 AM even if I've had my shower and bagel. So, we call La La and leave her a message. Then we are able to move on to oatmeal and matching socks.

Sunday or Monday (another story occurs to me), we are coming down Speedway headed home. Turner asks if we are going to the gym and I say we are tomorrow. He asks if we can ride the airplane. He tells me that girls can't drive airplanes because only boys can. I correct him. Then I ask why he wants to ride in an airplane when the gym is closer than the airport. He says because "Maybe we'll bump into La La there. She might be waiting for us."
"I promise she isn't at the airport. We just talked to her on the phone, remember?"
"Yeah, but she's waiting for us."
"No she isn't. She is so excited to see you, and she is in Nashville waiting for March to hurry up and get here."

Poor kid. March seems forever away. A bright spot, however, is the weather here. We are avid park goers again (2 hours today), and the flowers are in bloom ALL over the desert. It is really beautiful. I had no idea to expect this. La La, bring warm clothes and, please, bring them fast.

"And those Mommies who..."

Turner's nighttime prayer was particularly entertaining tonight, not that his prayers are not normally enlightening (to how his brain works) or engaging (to see what he valued most from his day) or sweet (when he remembers the one person we forgot to call that day).

It is Saturday and Andy is at work. Turner and I venture to Sarah's party (a fellow RCTE-er; she had a in-rebellion-of-Valentine's Day Party). Sarah is well known, at least by people under four feet, to always have candy in bowls on short tables EVERYWHERE in her house. Oh, and she has a cat. What more could Turner possible want? Wait, I can't forget the room full of women who are kid-less and more than happy to compliment every hair on his head. Yeah so were are there and Turner comes into the kitchen with a chew. He sees me and grins, some kind of sticky something dripping out of his mouth. That's foreshadowing...

Turner wakes up from his nap to find me in the kitchen with a spoon and half a red velvet cake on a large cake plate; it was left over from Valentine's day and there are only so many people in this house to eat it. I can't deny hi;m a bite, so I make a deal with him. When we get to his party (b/c all parties are really for him and he ALWAYS asks where his balloon is), I tell him he can have one small treat only since he's stuffing red velvet cake in his mouth now. He agrees. I make the same deal with myself; we both cheat.

We pull into the parking lot at Sarah's. We have this new thing about going over the expectations in the car before we goin into some place. Two rules: Use manners. Ask before you put anything in your mouth. When we saunter into Sarah's apartment, Turner yells for everyone to check out his new tattoos. He spots a bowl of hearts and rushes to the table. "Can I have one?"
Sarah: "Of course!"
Me: "Turner...let's wait."
Turner: "Okay Mom." Wow.

Thirty minutes later I am in the kitchen eating pesto and bread while talking shop. Turner comes into the kitchen to report the latest cat activity from the living room (a step and a half away). He catches my eye and grins, stops talking, and looks at Sarah.
"What do you have in your mouth?"
"Ummm" the sticky something slips between the grin.
A female voice says Turner got some candy. He runs out of the kitchen and goes to the candy bowl. He spits the little heart into the bowl.
Six women cackle.
"Mom, can I put this in my mouth?"

In bed an hour later. I say "my prayer" (which I learned from Janice when I was a little girl): Good night dear Lord it is time to sleep. I pray that you will watch and keep your child all through the night. For Jesus' sake please wash away whatever has been wrong today and grant that 'till he wakes, he may be safe within Your sight.

Turner says his prayer, which is normally a mixture of "my prayer" and "Daddy's prayer" and whatever else he can think of to delay sleep. Tonight he says:
Good night Lord...sleep...and then keep...now I lay me down...and wash away...I wake...he's safe...keep...and wash away and um those guys and all those girls and we um where D [whom we had discussed on the way home when I told Turner we forgot to call CiCi]...and thank you...thank you for all those Mommies who let babies have mouths with candy. Amen.

Gotta Get Kangaroos

You'll notice in these pictures that our backdoor is open. It was THAT warm here today to require the opening and airing out of the house. Sandals, shorts, short sleeves, and still a little sweat - that kind of gorgeous welcome into February. Sorry, just rubbing it in a little bit :)

I have a ton of work to get accomplished today (writing this is my mental break). I worked all day yesterday and most of the night last night reading and writing. For those who don't know, the department is in the middle of candidate visits and the first-years hosted a party this week in addition to the extra course-work and business of Rhetoric Review (which was more this week than others) - all of this added up to a lot of time away from home fulfilling other obligations than family and homework. Two more weeks and we'll go back to our regular busy-ness of school and work.

I am seeing the effects of my week's preoccupation with work in Turner, most especially the past two days. He is vying for my attention in all the wrong ways, and I've been reacting in equally incorrect ways (i.e. impatience with the talking back and disregard for requests). So I sat down and considered his perspective and realized it wasn't fair to go from being me - the mom I like - to crazy busy, impatient, not cooking lady - the mom I've been this week - without really offering him a warning or explanation. He gets in trouble and I take that opportunity to explain to him why I've been disengaged and to ask him what would he like to do with Mommy. He wanted to do puzzles. He chose two. I took them downstairs to the table and we worked and switched and worked. I was able to read from the open book beside a little as long as I answered most of his questions and acted impressed when he needed me to do so. We had not been outside yet, but I saw his ball on the floor and the sun in the sky and inquired. He obliged and went upstairs to secure his sunglasses. He was gone for about thirty minutes, in which time I finished one chapter and was just starting the next when he came downstairs with a new plan.

"I built a house."

"Wow. Can I see?" I go look at it. I tell him that if he'll pick up his blocks we'll take them outside and build on the patio. He is excited and starts demolition on his house. Once outside I sit in the beach chair and pick up a block to help him. He admonishes me to stop and to just watch. He wants to build a house special for me. Super! I grab my book and get some more reading done. I look over the top of it occasionally and compliment his work (which, as you can see in the picture is really cool). He places each block with strategy and often moves one block to multiple spaces before deciding which is perfect. He narrates his building process and I fall into the disengaged, but pretending to be engaged, mom routine where I say "Uh huh" a lot and "wow" with much enthusiasm. He buys it becuase everytime he looks at me he sees me looking at him (I know about that eyes in the back of the head now; I can sense the moment he looks at me and I am always ready with a smile for him). He gets the first house constructed and I ask to take his picture. He was jubilant to say cheese and show off his workmanship.

"We need to get the kangaroos now."

"What kangaroos?" We've not watched anything with kangaroos. We've not talked about the hoppy animals. Where did mention of them originate?

"You know," he smiles at me. "The KANGAROOS." perhaps saying it louder will make me understand. It works for people who don't speak English, right? If we just talk louder and slower they'll get it.

"Okay. So where do we get the kangaroos?"

He sits back down at his project and looks at it more closely. He moves a block or two. He looks at me as I put the camera away. "We get them at the store."
"What store?"

"The one down the street."

"Really. Have we been there before?"
"Yeah but you'll need to look it up on your tumputer."

"Oh," I laugh, "is that what Mommy does when I don't know where to go?"

"Yeah. And we find it in the list."

"We sure do." I google directions a lot.
"So we'll get the kangaroos?"

"I don't know. We'll see."

He starts to put some blocks in the bag. "Where should all the udder animals go?"

"What animals?"

"The ones we'll get at the store."

"I don't know. Why don't you build them a barn?"

"Ok. And a house."

"Yeah. Make a farm. Just ensure that the house is far enough away from the barn so that we don't have to smell the barn smells."

"Yeah cuz kangaroos poop a lot." They sure do!

He constructs the barn, but with twice the dialogue and consideration of block placement. I am really impressed because he is matching the pictures on the blocks to those around them. That is probably what he was doing earlier, I just didn't notice in my very well scripted act of engaged mom reading theory. His barn is below. Notice the stick (probably too small to see but it is there) in the tower. This is the flag pole.

After de-construction of the barn and lunch, Turner and I go out to enjoy the day with a little walk. I grab a bag and his hand and we set out for our adventure. His mission is to pick up interesting things along the way to share with Daddy tomorrow. This way Daddy will know what the neighborhood has to offer even though he hasn't been able to go for a walk around the block yet. I offer him the mission as we stand in front of our door on the sidewalk.

"Do you accept the mission Turner?"

"It starts when we say rocket. ROCKET!" He takes off running toward the street pulling me behind. We make it around the block and fill our bag with flowers, sticks, cool rocks that look like glass (I promise they really are not glass), pine cones (yes we have those here too), and leaves. the bag gets heavy just as Turner gets tired. His lungs are so weak and the constantly runny nose and cough he gets from school or wherever just makes it worse. I hate hearing the rasp and I hate even more that I forgot his inhaler. I carry him home. He gets in the front door and puts his head to the floor. "I'm tired." I put our treasures by the front door and I lay down beside him. He rolls over, smiles at me, and says, "I love you Mommy." Whew! I'm glad he so easily forgives me for being too busy sometimes to do the things I REALLY want to do. What a beautiful day it is in every letter of the word. When he awakens from his nap we are on the search for animals and kangaroos. He has a whole list of them. It seems my mission may be larger than I had hoped.