Smrt Lernins

[This should have been posted yesterday, but see previous entry -- I still say it counts]

I’m thankful for many people in my life: my children, my husband, my parents, my grandparents, my brother and his fiance, my mother-in-law (and I’m also thankful she’s so sane), my friends, the homeschool community that has embraced my family. I could write a post every day for a month and not run out of people. I think that’s the mark of a truly blessed life. It does make it difficult to choose who to write about for my final “I’m Thankful for…” post.

Instead of writing something really profound about the amazing people in my life, I’m writing about a little incident that happened a couple days earlier and scared the ever-loving-PANTS off of me:

Officer Daddyman typically works late nights and I’m often in the bath or even in bed before he gets home. The other night, I was taking a hot bath, drinking a glass of wine, and reading Beatrice and Virgil, when Badge, our dopey but lovable beagle, let out two little “alert” barks. The “alert” bark sounds like “brorf” and is the noise Badge makes to let us know someone or something is walking down the street past our house. He alerts for passing people, other dogs, cats, etc. This isn’t unusual. After the alert barks, however, he did something he never does — he started making a low, rumbling growl.

The growl went on and on, got deeper and louder, and had a tone I have never, ever heard him use. I got out of the bath and had started drying off to see if maybe a cat or possum was on the porch, bothering him, when he started making the biggest, loudest, fiercest bark I’ve ever heard him make. He sounded like a Rottweiler, and a particularly large and ferocious one, at that. I popped my head out of the bath and saw him standing, body rigid and hackles raised…

Right in front of our front door.

I tossed on my clothes and made my way quietly down stairs. Badge had stopped barking and laid down in front of the door, facing it, still on alert. He stayed there for another five to ten minutes, before he finally relaxed with a “wuff” and went to lie down in his bed (the super plushy one that officer Daddyman bought him).

I don’t know what was out there, but I have no doubt that if Badge viewed it as a big enough threat to his family to go all Big Bad Dog on it, that it was a threat to his family. He was rewarded with several treats, many pats, and lots of “GOOD DOG!” praises. About a half-hour later, I heard coyote howls outside and it set him off again. I have no idea if it was a coyote in our driveway or something (or someone) on our porch that had him upset earlier, but whatever it was, the sound of the world’s most terrifying beagle made it scamper good and quick.

So while I have many wonderful people in my life, for that moment where I was home alone late at night with my kids, I was incredibly grateful for my doofy, goofy, dumb-even-for-a-beagle, but braver than all get out beagle-boy, Badge.

I am thankful for Babypie, my only girlchild, my beautiful 20-month-old spitfire.

I have always wanted a daughter. I think it’s a testament to how close I am with my mother and how many wonderful memories I have of mother-daughter activities. I knew from the moment I got pregnant with Babypie that I was carrying the little girl I had hoped for; I felt it in my very soul. My pregnancy with Babypie was difficult — no complications, but constant exhaustion, nausea, no appetite. Her birth, even though my labor was only about 6 1/2 hours long (making it my second longest or second shortest, depending on how you look at it), was the hardest of my three children’s. Her right hand was up by her ear the whole time, a position we call “Babypie phoning it in” and which she still does when she is sleepy, and I had horrible back labor, my first experience with that particular hell. She finally came out, all 9lbs 4oz of her, and was so red and round and squishy that I dressed her in strawberry prints from that day forward, my little Strawberry Pie. Her nose was absolutely pug; she looked like Piglet from classic Winnie the Pooh, and in the video Daddyman took of us immediately afterbirth, I kept saying to her, completely thrilled, “You’re so funny-looking!”

Her nose is still a little pug, but she doesn’t look like Piglet any more.

I think, after Tank, God or the Universe sensed I needed an easy one. Babypie was the easiest baby. She was born sleeping at least 5-6 hours each night. She nursed like a champ. She was alert and interested in everyone, but not fussy or discontent. She enjoyed being held by all her family members, brothers included. She was smiling within moments of birth, usually in response to familiar voices. I had a hard recovery and it took me a while to feel “right” again, but Babypie was so sweet and snuggly and easy to care for that I didn’t have any additional stress or strain due to caring for her. She ate and grew and got ridiculously fat and developed three enormous dimples in her cheeks, plus a scrumptious cleft in her chin. I dressed her in lots of pink and strawberries, because she was all mine and I could do ridiculous things like that.

She kept on growing and growing. She started learning all manner of things in leaps and bounds. She didn’t talk quite as early as Captain Science, but was still saying a few words by seven months old. She sat a little later than Tank, crawled at roughly the same time, but learned to walk at nine months old, thanks to Patchfire’s daughter, Purple Child, who is (also an early walker) four months older and Babypie’s best friend. Babypie would pull up on PC and “cruise” along with her while she walked. Thanks, PC! I was not at all prepared for a baby of that size to be walking around, but Babypie is her own person and doesn’t really care if one is prepared for her accomplishments or not. She kept on walking, kept on talking, and her vocabulary expanded so quickly that I eventually stopped keeping track of all her words — she simply said too much.

One thing about Babypie: Babypie is fierce. A former friend once made a snide remark about certain people not realizing their children look mean in pictures. It wasn’t hard to figure out who she was talking about — I don’t think we had a picture of Babypie for months where she didn’t look like she was baring her teeth and possibly about to bite someone. It wasn’t hostile, though. Her smile was just as fierce as the rest of her. Her big white teeth and rather broad mouth made her huge smile into something of a savage smile. Nothing stops her. Nothing slows her down. No one is more determined than my Babypie. She’ll take a tumble and keep going. She can do anything the boys can do, whether she can actually do it or not. Her battle cry is, “And ME!”

She’s also a snuggler and loves her Mama (and especially her ninnies). One of her favorite people in this world is her great-great-Aunt Elaine. She loves going to visit Nana and Papa. She adores her brothers and her Daddy. We went through a bad couple of weeks where she refused to go to bed until Officer Daddyman was home from work, meaning midnight or later. She “calls” her Daddy on her play cell phone and has long conversation with him. She gives him commands that he usually follows. Babypie is the boss of everyone. She was born to be the boss of everyone and she doesn’t understand why everyone can’t understand that. “Yesh!” and “No!” are staples in her vocabulary, because they are words of command/direction. Despite her bossy fierceness, she’s also the prissiest little thing, with this funny little prance-walk-strut that she does when she’s feeling full of herself or wearing her pink princess dress with the giant fairy wings. She’ll run around in her fairy dress with a sword in one hand, a car in the other, and her water bottle and her baby doll stuffed down the front of her shirt. That’s just how Babypie rolls.

Nothing about this fierce girl has been a disappointment. She’s a delight and a joy nearly every moment of the day. Sure, she’ll run me ragged and exhausted, but she’s so funny and entertaining while she’s doing it, I hardly notice how tired I am until we both drop. She has the best sense of humor, tells little baby jokes, makes up funny stories (sometimes about Beasts that poop in her pants), wants to be involved with everything we’re doing. No baby could be more fun than Babypie. She is the perfect compliment to her brothers. They’re a perfect unit of three, even when they fuss and fight and squabble. She brought something to the dynamic that can’t be replaced. She’s Captain Science’s ally, Tank’s sometime-nemesis, and they are both her heroes.

She’s the daughter I always longer for and more, my amazing number three, my boisterous yet dainty Strawberry Girl. I am so grateful for the opportunity to be the mother of this child.

All my babies — I love them equally and in their own special ways. None of them is like the other, but they are all treasures to me. I have never done anything as meaningful and rewarding as being their mother. I can’t imagine I ever will do anything better than that.

I am thankful for Tank, my 4.5 year old boy made of one part sugar, one part sass, one part gunpowder, and one part kinetic energy.

Five and a half years after Captain Science was born, Tank rocketed into our family…and I do mean rocketed. I had just enough time between pregnancies to completely forget what to expect, which is good, because Tank’s was completely different from Captain Science’s. I had it so easy — almost no sickness, plenty of energy, no swelling, and all the weight gain going straight to my belly — that I think I was lulled into a false sense of security. I was certainly not prepared for Tank’s explosive entrance into the world. Good thing I was planning on a homebirth, because I never would have made it anywhere else! I went from “oh, I might be in labor” to Tank’s head popping out in its entirety as my water broke. Rocket man from the beginning, he’s lucky his Nana was able to baseball slide and catch him before he took flight.

No, he hasn’t slowed down since.

My Tank was not an easy baby. He took right to nursing, which as a relief, but the sleeping thing was another story. At a month old, he turned into the shrieking colic monster. At around four months old, he decided he could only be nursed lying down; I had to trick him by latching him on side-lying and then sitting up. I don’t think he was put down for more than a few minutes until he was nine months old. He was a funny baby with a huge, gap-toothed smile, but he also had a serious furrowing brow, which earned him the nickname “Dubious D.”

If Captain Science taught me flexibility, Tank taught me patience. Everything was on his time table and his time table was completely different from what Captain Science’s had been. He sat unassisted well at 3 1/2 months, crawled by around 5 months, but didn’t walk until 13 months old…at which point he took off running. He said just enough words by his second birthday for it to be “enough” words, then his vocabulary exploded overnight. He decided to use the potty at 19 months old, changed his mind after a week, then completely potty trained again at 22 months (this time, thankfully, for good). He demonstrated excellent gross and fine motor skills from an early age, draws beautiful and intricate pictures with an excellent sense of color, but still has only the vaguest interest in learning to read (though he really loves knowing how words are spelled). For Tank, the parts are so much more interesting than the whole.

Sometimes I think Tank is my maternal grandfather reincarnated. He has the same booming Ballard voice, the same dark good looks, the same roguish grin (often coupled with a “I know what I’m getting away with” wink), the same BIG stage-like presence. He’s not a large kid — tall enough, but with a slight build that makes him appear smaller than he actually is. I try to remind myself that my hoss of a younger brother (the original Tank, btw — Tank’s nickname is technically Tank Junior) started out that way, too, and could pick me up and carry me around by 14. Tank resembles his uncle quite a bit. He also looks a heckuvalot like Officer Daddyman, especially his mouth and those brows.

Tank wakes up early and hits the ground running. He goes non-stop until bed time, when it’s a struggle to get him to stay in bed long enough to actually fall asleep. Tank wakes up during the night to demand repositioning of his blankets, the hall light turned on, a drink of water, or an answer to any of a number of odd questions. Nothing in the world can convince him that 3am is a less-than-ideal time to ask about what ants eat or whether or not ghosts have their own planet (and what it looks like, and what they do there, and how we get there). He is full of questions, day and night, and he expects a serious and thorough answer. He’s highly observant, especially about the number/volume of things/people and their social relationships. From an early age, he could sort items into perfect even piles for people to share. He asks insightful questions about why people act how they do.

One of Tank’s greatest ambitions in life is to turn “hive” and “pay hootball.” He threw himself into soccer this year with abandon. He loves homeschool ice skating day, and even though he falls down, he gets right back up, because something as insignificant as a little gravity can’t stop him. He will run around the house when he gets excited until everyone watching him gets dizzy. He loves riding his bike. He will play hard until forced to stop. I can’t stop him from leaping onto and off of things, turning things over, dumping things out, scaling the cabinets to find a hidden piece of Halloween candy. He talks non-stop, even though most people can’t understand a word he’s saying. He is movement and energy in a boy shape. Sometimes he’s selectively deaf (two hearing tests have confirmed that any hearing problems he has are selective) and exceptionally naughty. Sometimes he’s the sweetest boy, wanting to sit in my lap and cuddle me.

Last year, when Captain Science start homeschooling, Tank wanted to badly to stay home with us. He enjoyed the little preschool he attended for a few days a week, with his best friend Dimhibbins, but what he really wanted was to be here with us. More than anything else, Tank loves us. More than anyone else, Tank adores and wants to be like Captain Science — so of course, he torments and annoys him endlessly. Tank waffles between devouring workbooks and snubbing anything resembling curriculum. He’s a Gemini, though, so duality is his way. He keeps me on my toes, which is something I probably needed to get better at, anyway.

He’s a delight and a joy, a handful and then some, a bull in a china shop, a little artist (sometimes of walls and his body, too), and an unbroken spirit. I wouldn’t trade him for anything else in the world, and I am so grateful for him.

I didn’t go all out and do a full month of thanks, but I think the days leading up to Thanksgiving are a good time to express my gratitude for some of the most awesome people in my life: my three children.

I am thankful for Captain Science, who is turning 10 on Sunday. Double-digits, as he has pointed out several times in the last few weeks. That’s a Big Damn Deal(tm).

My pregnancy with Captain Science took me by surprise and I wasn’t quite prepared to be a mom at 21. Luckily, after a loooong labor and a hard first few weeks, we got it together pretty quickly. I spent the first 4.5 years of his life as his only parent–my ex-husband left when Captain S. was 7 months old and his infrequent visits petered out to nothing and then into a request to give up parental rights–with the help of my own parents, until I remarried and Officer Daddyman adopted him.

Captain Science was a pretty easy baby, incredibly (almost frighteningly) quick to learn. I could usually reason with him, which (I learned w/ child #2) isn’t all that typical. When he was really set on something being a certain way, though, he dug in his heels and nothing could convince him otherwise. He spoiled me in the “parent as teacher” department, saying his first two words by six months (Mama and “NO!”, used correctly), learning his upper and lower case letters by 18 months, reading simple words by two, and able to read most of the young reader books in the house by three. He potty trained completely in two days. He did so well in his pre-K that his teachers encouraged me to put him somewhere more challenging, because, “He already know everything we teach.” He was always a little gentleman, introducing himself politely with a firm handshake. He loves his “women,” as he collectively referred to me, my mother, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother — yes, he was lucky enough to spend his first three years of life as the sole member of the 5th generation of five living generation.

When he got older and went to first a Montessori and then public school, things got harder for him. His nature was too sweet to understand the bullying nature of children under poor adult supervision…or the bullying nature of petty adults in positions of power. He was on an asthma-maintenance medication for several years that contributed to the anxiety and a growing depression; we immediately took him off the meds when we figured it out. He skipped a grade and could have skipped another, academically, but emotionally, he was still a little boy, not ready for the meanness he encountered. He continued to perform well in school, but he became withdrawn and unhappy. My happy and outgoing boy was slowly becoming sullen and introverted. We put him in therapy, only to discover that the terrible social dynamics at school were his only real source of unhappiness. Home was where he felt secure. We made the decision to start homeschooling.

Oh, my Captain Science! I never would have taken that leap if he weren’t exactly the kind of boy he is. I couldn’t let the public school system systematically destroy all his beautiful quirks and uniqueness. He needed more security and more academic challenge. It scared me to death to consider it, because it was big change, and I feared change, but Captain Science has been challenging my preference for stasis and pushing my beyond my boundaries since he got here. For him, I could do anything.

Now, a year and a half later, we’re so much happier. Though we have frustrating days, homeschooling has brought us closer and made both of us lightyears happier. I enjoy him. Captain Science is a remarkable boy, growing into an equally remarkable young man. He has his moments of moodiness, when I jokingly call him “Book 5 Harry Potter” (CAPSLOCK HARRY!!!) and moments of selflessness, like how he cares for his younger sister. He loves Legos and computers and science and reading…always, always reading. He can’t sit down at the table without reading the cracker box or pass by my desk without picking up any flier or magazine. He loves language, both written and spoken, and plays with it well. He writes creatively far above his age.

He is a truly delightful boy and I am so grateful that he came into my life.

He also just came over here and said, “What’s a parasite?” What? “Something you see in Paris.”

That’s my boy.