"I just don't like tea sometimes."

It started out like any other day. I woke Turner up around 7:30 am (trying to cut sleep short hoping he would take a nap at school). He is groggy and, surprisingly, willing to go to the bathroom. I shower while Turner has breakfast. Before he leaves for school I pull him to my nose and begin the series of propositions that I hope will lead to a nap at school.

"Would you like to have a tea party today?" We had discussed this during the weekend, but never got the chance to execute it (did I mention he refused to nap on Sunday).

His face lights up in that way I absolutely cannot describe. Thankfully, you all have seen it before so description is unnecessary. "Yes. Yes I want to have a tea party with you. Yes I want to have a tea party with you today."

"Okay. If you take a nap today, Mommy will come and pick you up from school early so we can have a tea party."

Turner goes to school. I go about my day. I spend an hour setting the table and preparing for our tea party. I pick

 him up a little before 3.  He is in the cafeteria having pineapple, milk, and oranges beside his girlfriend Ginger (who proudly showed me her pink fingernails and told me her mommy did them. Turner shrugged his shoulders and said, "Her toes are still white." His, of course, have pink remnants from being at Nanny's). I ask if he took a nap and without hesitation (that is a good thing) he says, "No. I didn't want to take a nap. I tried to rest but it was real hard." Now, Turner has refused to nap at school for about two weeks now (starting our third). It makes me want to scream out for La La, who never has problems getting him to nap. I think he doesn't want to disappoint her :)

Ms. Carolyn tells me that Turner, who normally lays quietly while the other children sleep, was not so quiet today. In fact, he took La La Bear and threw her into the air while trying to whistle. La La Bear must now stay at home.

On the way home I tell Turner he must go to bed for 30 minutes since he didn't nap at school. I get into bed with him, content to nap as well, and Turner wants a story. I tell him about something about a little boy who didn't always know what was best for him so he had to trust his parents (trying, desperately, to convince him to nap). He tells me the story about Aunt Amy's cat who crawled into the wall of the ski boat and had kittens and how "Pa Pa was just trying to help those kittens and that Momma was so so mad about it" in the exact tone and structure that I told it to him four nights prior. 

I wake him up almost two hours later and we go to the gym, talk to Ci Ci, and return home to our cups and saucer

s, small goat sandwiches (our new name for grilled cheese), "special" crackers (the Graham kind), and "napkins that won't stay on a big boy's lap." 

I pour the tea. 

Turner smells of it.

"Mmmm. Your Nanny tea smells so good Mommy." (I had told him during the weekend we would drink tea, like the kind at Nanny's house. Now, however, as I type this I remember he has only had tea at Ci Ci's house).

"Thank you." I take a sip of my tea. I tell him that some people stick their pinky out to make tea drinking seem like something it really isn't. He says, "I don't like that." 

I assure him, "You don't have to drink it that way." 

He says, "Good." He takes a sip of his tea. He eats around the crust of the bread ("just like Uncle Pat Pat"; a story Andy told him last week).

He eats broccoli. I eat broccoli. I sip my tea. He sips his tea. He eats all the "soft, special crackers." He eats his sandwich. I sip my tea.

 He sips his tea. We talk about what we should call my sand

wich (bean sprouts and pepper jack cheese). Turner decides it should be called "sprouting goat" and I can't think of anything more perfect. He talks to me about what was fun at school. About J

osh's trip to the ballgame. About the name of the scorpions on his cup and how one of them

 is a mommy and one is a daddy and one is the baby and how we can know they are babies because they poop in their pants. We talk about the scorpions for a good ten minutes. We give them real names and draft out their life stories. Turner has about three sips of his tea left. He has said more than once that it smells good. I've poured myself another cup. 

Sandwiches are gone. French fries (by special request) are untouched. I start to clean up the kitchen and Turner is drawing a picture on his easel. On one side is Nemo, a picture he colored at the gym weeks ago. On the other side Turner tells me that he is drawing food for Nemo because, "he said he was hungry for some tea party food."

"Should we have another tea party sometime and invite Nemo?"

"Yeah, but I don't like tea sometimes."

"Oh. I thought you liked it. You drank almost all of it."

"Yeah, I know. I just don't like it sometimes." Large emphasis on the some.

Show and Tell

Turner is learning his days of the week based upon what special event happens on that day. Tuesdays are library day. Wednesdays are gym day. Thursdays are water day. Fridays are show and tell, movie days. 

The first show and tell day, I was unaware of the special event. Turner shared that which he found in his cubby: Lightning McQueen car and Flo. 

The second week, I got around to picking up the living room floor and found Dr. Patrick's stethoscope. Friday morning Turner insisted on taking Lightning McQueen to share with his friends. I stuffed the stethoscope and Turner's picture with Patrick into a small bag. At school, Ms. Carolyn said he proudly shared his stethoscope with his classmates only after he showed them each how to properly listen to a heartbeat. He explains to the listeners the Dr. Patrick uses his stethoscope all day and that there are germs on it. Hmmm.....

The third week Turner starts the not-taking-nap problem that persists. In hopes that more individual attention will encourage the sweet-tempered, obedient little boy who takes naps to return, Turner and I spend an hour painting before dinner on Thursday. We created images all over a large poster board. On Friday, Turner took it to school as his show and tell. He pointed out all of the major images he could remember: a hummingbird, a spider web, a spider man, a flower, a "smushed flower",  an airplane, and a few other things I can't recall. When I picked him up from school and inquired about his presentation he said, "I needed help telling the story." I asked why. He said, "I just couldn't remember everything." It was a dense piece of art.

This past Friday, Turner took the framed picture that rests next to his bed each night. In it, Turner is proudly gripping a bluegill with his Pa Pa. At school, Turner told the story of fishing with his Pa Pa, getting to drive the boat fast, putting a hook on his line, and watching intently the bobber. The amount of detail to his story mesmerized his classmates and, no doubt, impressed Ms. Carolyn. 

The Ineffective Moments of Spelling Parents

Last night was the weekly date night with our "guests": Marissa, Todd, and Kilan. We go to the pool. We eat snacks and play until it is dark. We come back to the house and clean out the refrigerator. The adults chat. The boys watch a movie and settle down for sleepy time. Kilan has a much looser bedtime than Turner so when our guests leave, he is fairly eager to crawl in bed (his body is anyway; his mouth doesn't stop protesting until his head hits the pillow and his eyes snap shut). Our weekly date makes me really enjoy the more laid-back possibilities of summer life.

Around 10:00 pm I took Turner to bed. I snuggle up to one side of him and start telling him a story. He is complaining about having to go to bed and digging for reassurance that Kilan will be going to bed promptly at his home. Andy was there last night so he came upstairs to check in on us. Turner's eyes are closed and I am gently removing myself from his bed. 

"I wish I had some of that C-A-K-E."

Andy laughs. "Yeah, well it isn't really good anymore."

"Why?"

"It melted."

"Oh."

"Yeah the refrigerator wasn't good to it and there wasn't room in the freezer."

"Oh."

Turner, eyes still closed, chimes in, "I'm sad to hear that our cookie dough ice cream cake is melted."

Andy and I look to one another and smile.

He continues, "Yeah Daddy. I'm really sad that our cake didn't have room in the freezer."

"Me too buddy. I was thinking about cake all day." I say.

Andy offers another apology.

Turner says, "That's OK Daddy. We can buy another one."

Turner's morning conversation

Turner has had several, actually many many, blog-worthy moments in the past few weeks, but my Internet connection is no longer working at home. I should have it re-connected next week. Until then, I offer the following conversations of Turner from this morning because it is so diverse in nature and is fresh in my mind while I sit in the library terminal with a lady breathing heavily behind ready for her turn on the computer.


This morning I open my eyes to Turner's La La Bear, who had his/her butt splashed across my face. I push La La Bear away and Turner says, "I'm still sleeping Mommy." He rolls over, pulls the prized bear under his chin, and lets out an elongated sigh. I was not trying to wake him up so I didn't argue. I watched his back rise and fall with breath for awhile and just as my eyes drift closed Turner rolls over.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Is today Friday?"
"No."
He pulls La La Bear back to his chest, puts his feet on my knees, and watches me for a minute or so.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"What is today?"
"Wednesday."
"Oh." He is quiet again. He makes faces at me. I try to return them.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
He smiles.
"Turner?"
"Yes?"
"Will you tell me a story?"
"Sure." with delight.
"Once upon a time," I start it for him. He tells me a story that contains: fishing, crackers, water, dolphins, a shiny star with glitter, Mrs. Carolyn (his teacher), La La Bear, and Daddy. In the middle of the story - before the La La Bear and after the shiny star - Turner says the word "time." Then he repeats it with a different accent. First, he says it like those here. The second time he says it more like I'm accustomed to hearing it, where the "i" is a bit nasalized and drug out. He gets lost in the dual-pronunciation for awhile and keeps repeating the word, murmuring quietly different sentences that contain the word. "Once there was a time...and then there was a time...time to...time...tiIme...time to...and then time was...Mom? What time is it?"
The clock rolls over 7:50 a.m. "Is there a 'The End' in there anywhere?"
"Yeah, but I don't want to get clean." Oh, I see. He remembers that he didn't have a bath last night and that he must take a shower this morning.
"Why not?"
"I love you."
"Can I watch three PBSes?"
"You can't watch anything until you get clean." I get out of bed and begin the negotiation process of getting him into clean water and slapping as much soap as possible in his direction. Once he is out and smelling better, we head to breakfast.
He sits at the table while I pour granola and retrieve boiled eggs from the never, neverland of our fridge. He starts to crack one while I work on the other. I pour juice, clean up the oven top, and piddle about while he continues to work on the egg. I am almost to the point of offering my help and he says, "Mom, I need your help."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Watch me." Easy enough. A few minutes later he gets the shell off. "See. I finished it. Where is yours?" I point to it on the counter. "Have you washed it yet?"
"Yes."
"Oh. You were faster than me."
"I have longer fingers."
"Yeah, you're right. It is because you have longer fingers."

At the table, "Turner, good morning."
"Good morning Mommy. Didn't I say that already?"
"Yeah, but I just wanted to say it again."
"You forgot. Stop repeating yourself Mommy." I smile.

On the way to school we wait for traffic to pass so we can make a left turn. "Mommy, why are there so many cars everywhere?"
"Because it is the time of day for there to be many cars."
"Do you miss your car?" (He means the Saturn).
"Yes, sometimes. Do you?"
"Yes, sometimes. Is today Friday?"
"No."
"Yeah, I know. It is Wednesday. I remember."
"What happens on Wednesday?"
"Nothing much good." Hmmm, Southern phonetics and slang all in one morning. It makes me want to thicken up my accent to preserve the roots he is trying to drive down through his.