Category: Boys

Don’t Answer That…A Lesson For Every Penis-Packing Person

The photo in question

This afternoon my boys and I were sitting on the couch watching a documentary film in air-conditioned comfort while the temps soared above 90 degrees outside. As we were watching frigate birds in the Galapagos, a new message popped into my email inbox on my laptop. It was a photo hubby had taken of my sisters and I at Kathy’s wedding rehearsal lunch today. I downloaded the photo onto my laptop and examined it. We look pretty good for a few old ladies, I thought. (Only one of us is under 40…and that one will be 40 in less than a year.)

Then, I got curious about something. I paused the movie, turned my computer so the boys could see it, and asked them a question.

“Who is the prettiest?” I inquired, showing them the photo.

They looked at me like I was crazy and said nothing. They were not interested in playing my reindeer game. I looked at Joe who is by far the more honest, less polished child.

“This isn’t a trick question. I promise,” I said.

He scanned my face but his expression said it all. He had no intention of touching my question with a 15 foot pole. He uttered not a single word. So, I turned to Luke. He smiled at me.

“What do YOU think?” I asked, staring into his cute little face.

With the ease of a future politician, he answered, “You’re all pretty.”

“Uh huh,” came my reply. I could see right through him, so I pressed a little harder. “You think we’re all equally pretty?”

“Yes,” he asserted, sounding 100% convinced. I had to give it to him. The kid is slick. I gave up on him and focused again on Joe. I was certain Joe would crack under the scrutiny. His honesty would betray him. I knew it.

“I promise I won’t get mad if you say it’s not me,” I pressed. “Really. I’m just curious what you think.”

He continued to look at me, saying nothing. He was glancing over my shoulder at Luke. I spun around quickly to see Luke pointing at me. He was prompting his brother, lest Joe should offer up what they assumed would be an incorrect response. I rolled my eyes and gave up. They clearly did not believe me when I said I was merely curious and that there would be no repercussions for admitting that I was not the prettiest girl in the photo.

And, you know what? Good for them. Although I truly wasn’t testing them and was simply curious about their opinions of their old mom and their aunts, had I been testing them they would have passed with flying colors. I was impressed by their ability to spot a potential land mine of feminine wiles and avoid all pitfalls. Joe is smart enough to keep his mouth shut when cornered. He’s definitely learned that it’s better not to say anything when you’re not sure. And Luke, with his textbook, female-friendly answers, will be very popular with the girls someday. Every once in a while I get the rare opportunity to see how staying home with my boys and talking openly and honestly with them, especially about how to deal with women, has influenced what kind of young men they are becoming. Today was one of those days, and today I got an A. Yay, me! Now, if I could just get them to put the toilet seat down, I’d finally earn that A+.

Posted on by Me 3

Our Son, The Science Experiment

Me and my science experiment

Our son, Joe, was just 8 years old when we took him to Children’s Hospital in Denver where several psychological professionals interviewed and observed him and told us they were certain he had moderate ADHD. He wasn’t the worst case they’d seen, but they felt he would improve the most quickly with medication. We discussed the benefits and side effects associated with this type of treatment with the doctors and decided to go ahead and start him on a low dose of Concerta, an extended release form of the drug Ritalin. We had hoped never to have to put our child on medication and had investigated other possible explanations for our son’s poor grades, non-existent attention span, nervous gestures, and total lack of impulse control before finally being able to admit that perhaps he truly did have attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.

One of the side effects the doctors discussed with us at length was the possibility of slowed growth due to the medication. They assured us that children on the medication do continue to grow but at a much slower rate. Born prematurely, Joe was on the small side to begin with. One suggestion the doctors had was to take him off the medication during breaks from school, especially long ones like summer vacation, to allow his body a bit of unrestricted time for growth. Up until now, we had elected not to do that because we were focused on using the medication to get him caught up in school and with his self-esteem issues. But, after seeing him with his classmates at Field Day this year, we finally decided it might help to take him off the Concerta for the summer. You see, Joe is the oldest boy in his class by nearly a year and yet he’s still the shortest. There’s nothing wrong with being short, but if we can help him catch up it seems like we should.

So, a week ago we took away Joe’s medication and asked him to try going two days without it. He was adamantly against the idea, but we persisted. We managed to turn two days off into four and then eventually into an entire week. On the plus side, we’ve seen a definite improvement in his eating and sleeping habits, an indication that he might just grow if we keep this up. But, I’m not going to lie. These past seven days have been tough. Our boys, who get along 95% of the time when Joe is on his medication, fought quite a bit more this week. I spent far more time than usual trying to solve disputes and suppress whining. Joe’s been more argumentative, impulsive, and distracted. He’s been on the medication for nearly three years now, so I had almost forgotten this side of him. If there’s been a silver lining to this little experiment, it’s that if we’d harbored any concerns about whether he truly had ADHD or whether the medication was honestly working, those concerns are gone.

Today Joe announced that he was going to take his medication again starting tomorrow. He told us that he’s tired of feeling out of control. I understand that. I do. But, I feel that Steve, Luke, and I are partly responsible for his feeling that way because we’re not used to his behavior off the medication and we’re acting differently toward him, expecting things of him that we expect from medicated Joe. That is simply not fair. Before he went to bed, we had a little family discussion. We asked Joe to forgive us for our impatience because as much as this is a period of readjustment for him it is also one for us. We promised we’d lower our expectations of him a bit if he would be willing to work a little harder to focus and try to meet us midway. Luke, exhausted from fending off Joe’s poking and prodding and teasing and belittling, told us he simply wants the “old Joe” back. Luke definitely bears the brunt of Joe’s ADHD symptoms, so we’re definitely taking that into consideration.

After the boys went to sleep, hubby and I decided that we’re going to give Joe’s medication-free trial run one more week…one week when we resolutely try to understand where he’s at and not where we expect him to be. Our biggest fear right now is our not being able to control our expectations and then making Joe feel bad about his behavior when it’s really not his fault. So, we’re going to try to rein ourselves in and let him be. If at the end of the next week we feel this time off is going to do more harm to him emotionally than good to him physically we’ll put him back on daily doses. I hate feeling like he’s a science experiment, but right now he kind of is. I would love to see him experience a growth spurt, but not at the expense of his self-confidence and self-esteem. Some parents, I’m sure, put their child on medication to save their sanity. We put Joe on it to save his. If taking him off for a couple weeks causes him to feel bad about himself again, the experiment ends. I’d much rather have a shorter-than-average happy kid than miserable child of average height. Science experiment be damned.

 

Posted on by Me 5

You Must Be This Tall To Ride

Tonight we took our boys to Lakeside Amusement Park and, as we walked around, I realized that it was their first amusement park visit. Well, we did take them to Disneyworld when they were 3 and 5, but since they were both so small we didn’t get to ride as many of the rides. Oh, sure. We’ve let them ride on coasters and log rides in the Mall of America and on those small, portable coasters they set up for fairs, but for the most part my boys have been devoid of amusement park memories. I started to feel a bit bad about it.

Then, as we were in line for the Wild Chipmunk, I got a reminder about why we haven’t been in a hurry to take them. Our boys are tiny. Both have late spring birthdays. Both have been under the 25th percentile in height from the very beginning. We gave both of them a chance to attend junior kindergarten so they could catch up in stature. Still, both boys are the oldest and the smallest in their classes. It doesn’t make much sense to me. Hubby and I are considered to be average height. And, yet, our children are borderline Oompah Loompah (they’re just missing the orange skin and white hair). As we were waiting for the Wild Chipmunk, the roller coaster Luke had been dying to ride, a park employee came by and delivered the disappointing news. Luke was 4 inches too short to ride. He cried. It broke my heart. And THIS is why we don’t take them to amusement parks, I thought.

Then, I thought about it again. Luke did get to ride quite a few other rides. He loved the Tilt-A-Whirl and had a blast in the Labyrinth Crystal Palace. He rode the Matterhorn and the Scrambler multiple times. He had a blast flying his own little plane on the Satellite. He even rode with Joe on Joe’s favorite ride, the Ferris Wheel. (Seriously. The Ferris Wheel. What 11 year old kid loves that ride?) And, he would have missed all of that if I’d kept him from going to the park tonight. Then I realized he would have missed more than that. He would have missed the opportunity to face disappointment and to work at getting beyond it.

I need to do a better job at giving my kids room for disappointment and freedom. They need to be able to deal with adversity and heartache, responsibility and reward. How are they going to do that if I don’t allow them small opportunities to build their skills? So, as hard as it was to watch his heart break, I’m glad I let my barely over 4 foot tall Luke attend this privately hosted night at Lakeside, courtesy of my college roommate Michelle who proffered the invitation. It was a good experience. Life is full of “you must be this tall to ride” experiences. Sometimes we don’t measure up. But, you can judge a person’s true stature by how they deal with their disappointment. In time, I hope Luke’s experiences on the short side prove that he’s actually 7 feet tall.

Posted on by Me

The Adventures of Cow Man and Big Muscle

Cow Man and Big Muscle…new superheroes.

“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world and all there ever will be to know and understand.” ~Albert Einstein

My boys finished school the other day, but it wasn’t until today that it was obvious that summer had at last begun for them. At 8:15 p.m., they were still outside, tearing around the neighbor’s yard with their neighbor buddies, chasing, yelling, and laughing incessantly. They were so loud I had to close the kitchen window so I could hear the television. I knew it then it was officially summer vacation.

Before they ran outside, they had gone into the basement and put on some ridiculous costumes. Their buddies were also at home donning crazy costumes for what Joe swore was going to be an “epic battle” between good and evil. They’ve been watching too much of The Avengers. Joe’s costume was comprised of pieces from two different Halloween costumes. His bottom half was a ninja and his top half was a knight. The best part was the fuzzy helmet from last year’s Warrior Dash, which gave him horns. He explained that his character was Cow Man. Cow man is half cow/half man and is not to be confused with a Minotaur, which is clearly half man/half cow. Luke’s character was Big Muscle. He was wearing part of a Star Wars costume for Darth Maul. Underneath that muscled costume were two other costumes added to give him the appearance of massive, bulky muscles. Luke’s outfit was completed by an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap, which somehow made him look like his two-year-old alter ego, Race Car Man, but I didn’t tell him that. Big Muscle, Luke informed me, is also known one day a year as Big Butt, but he told me that was a story for another time and they rushed out the door to rendezvous with their equally crazy superhero friends.

This morning the boys had their award ceremony at school. It’s one of my favorite events of the year because each child is given an award based on their character. Today Luke was, for the second time in three years, given an award for being “Delightful.” (No doubt in my mind that he wholeheartedly believes that award is well-deserved.) Joe was given an award for being “Tenderhearted,” which aptly describes my deep thinker. While I highly doubt either of my boys will ever earn the highly coveted Principal’s Award, which is given to students with straight A grades and flawless conduct, I like to think that their vast and unbridled imaginations will carry them far all the same. I appreciate their ability to think outside the box, to envision the seemingly impossible, and to dream beyond their reality. When I see Cow Man and Big Muscle, I recognize their potential. I have creative boys who take something like The Avengers and remake it into something all their own. They don’t simply parrot what they see; they improve upon it. My guys aren’t superheroes yet, but I imagine it could happen. When they do become Cow Man and Big Muscle someday and come to visit me, I know Cow Man will leave his cow patties in the backyard and Big Muscle will not discuss his Big Butt at the dinner table. After all, behind every great superhero is a supermom who taught him everything she knows.

 

 

Posted on by Me 1

Pregnant Pause

What the dress looked like in my head when I put it on for the party

Today, in honor of my son’s birthday party, from my newly set up summer closet I pulled out a cute dress that I’ve been dying to wear. It’s actually a tunic top that many women have to wear with leggings, but I get to wear it as a mini-dress because I’m height challenged. I love the dress because it’s soft and comfortable, the pattern is fun, and it’s green (I love green). At any rate, an hour before the party I threw the dress on and felt pretty good in it. So, I left it on.

I wore it for the entire party, never once feeling self-conscious in it. When the party was over, hubby downloaded the photos. That was when I freaked out. The dress was not nearly as flattering on me as I had imagined it was. I’d just spent 3 hours entertaining 20 people and, now that they were all gone, I could see what I looked like to them through the camera’s eye. Not good.

Depressed and disappointed in myself for being oblivious of the obvious, I stopped looking at the party photos and went to sit on the couch with my family. Finally, with the photos still reeling around my head, I asked my three boys what they thought about my outfit today. Steve, ever positive, said he loved it. Luke said he thought I looked pretty like I always do. (He’s a natural born politician.) I rolled my eyes. I knew they were being disingenuous. I asked for some honesty. Joe gave it to me.

“Well…when I first saw you in it, I did think you looked a tiny bit pregnant.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Not a lot. Just a little,” he hedged, sensing his brutal honesty might have been a tiny bit of a mistake.

My head was swimming. A tiny bit pregnant. As if looking a tiny bit pregnant when you’re not is better than looking a lot pregnant when you’re not. Looking any bit of pregnant when you’re about to turn 44 and are most certainly not pregnant is never a good thing. End of story.

In reality, what the dress looks like when you’re a tiny bit pregnant or merely like cupcakes a little bit too much.

“Joe,” Steve said, hoping to ameliorate the rapidly declining situation, “your mother does not look pregnant.”

“I didn’t say she looks pregnant,” he replied. “I said she looks a tiny bit pregnant. Besides, she told me to be honest.”

I reached down toward my chest, plucked the arrow from my heart, closed my hand over the gaping wound there, and tried desperately to keep from bleeding out all over our family room sofa. I know I am not at my lowest weight ever. I know I haven’t been to as many yoga classes recently as I should have been. But, pregnant? That was almost more than I could bear. I snuggled closer to my new favorite son, Luke, and tried to walk toward the light. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.

I realize that I am overly self-critical and my own worst enemy. I also realize that most people at the party probably did not think I looked as horrific as I felt when I saw the photos. I further understand that no one was paying that much attention to me in any case. Still, I can’t help but feel a bit scalded by the truth in Joe’s words. At the very least, I will never again feel the same way in that dress as I did before his comments.

He’s right. I did ask for it. I went seeking their honest opinions and I’m not sure I can fault Joe for offering his, especially when I know that he was right. Still, the entire situation left me with a tiny bit of a pregnant pause.

 

Posted on by Me 2

Every Age With My Boys Is A Good Age

Our little boys

One of my husband’s college roommates came to breakfast at our house today. Because Scott lives clear across the country near Philadelphia, this was only the second time he’s had the immense privilege of hanging out with our boys. The last time he saw them, they were roughly 4 and 6, and a bit more difficult to manage than they are now. Today, while we enjoyed steak and eggs and a few hours of conversation with Scott, our boys played quietly either upstairs or in the basement. They interrupted us only once to ask us to look at the whale that had appeared on Wii Sports Resort while Joe was jetskiing.

A couple times during his visit, Scott commented that our boys were so well-behaved. I had to laugh. While I know our boys are pretty good kids, I never truly think of them as being well-behaved. I suppose that’s because most of the time I’m with them they’re driving me insane with non-stop chatter, fart noises, and references to “gunships,” “hot lava,” and “Sector 4.” But, today, they were quite accommodating while we were with our friend. They didn’t stay in the room eavesdropping or run in and out being noisy or even bother us for snacks or drinks. They were inconspicuous and borderline polite. It was pleasant.

Lately I’ve been doing a bit of walking down memory lane, reviewing old videotapes I recently found of our boys when they were roughly 4 and 2. The videos tug at my heart. The boys were so cute with their speech impediments, their mischievous grins, and their funny dancing. I watch those videos and feel a bit sad that I didn’t enjoy that time in their lives more. When they were at that age, though, I was exhausted. I was simply too tired to be zen about the whole thing and live in the moment. And, every time a woman stopped me and told me to appreciate this time with my little boys, I wanted to scream, “I’m too tired to appreciate them. I’ll appreciate them later when they’re bigger and I have the energy.”

So, now that they are bigger, I am trying very hard to live with them in the present and pay attention to this time in their lives. After Scott left today, my well-behaved boys and I spent a perfect rainy day afternoon watching Iron Man and Iron Man 2 together, curled up on the couch discussing how much Luke wanted to be Tony Stark. Having the time and energy now to appreciate them has helped me understand that it’s okay that I wasn’t better about relishing the present with them when they were smaller and such a handful. I was doing the best I could at that time. And, I did enjoy them. If I hadn’t found them darling and interesting, if I hadn’t treasured the place they were at, if I hadn’t understood how ephemeral it all was, I wouldn’t have recorded hours upon hours of video of them dancing, celebrating birthdays, taking baths, and playing with Thomas the Tank Engine.

I’ve cherished every phase with my boys. I’m sure in the end I will think they all went by far too quickly. But, for now, I’m not focusing on that. I’m busy being here with my guys. They’re amazing. And me? Well, I’m doing the best I can, and that’s good too.

Posted on by Me

Rocking It Old School

Party favors for 14 classmates and one chocoholic brother.

Our youngest son will be turning 9 next week. It’s crazy. What’s crazier still is that late last week I decided we should host a surprise birthday party for him. Luke has been talking to us for five months about what type of birthday party he would like this year. Luke loves any sort of party, but a party where he gets to be the center of attention is the best kind of celebration on earth as far as he’s concerned. He offered us ideas about where we could host it, whom he would like to invite, and what type of food we should serve. He’s coached us on what type of gifts he would welcome (Legos, Legos, and more Legos) and what type of gifts would be eschewed (clothing, especially socks or underwear). His frenzied birthday party planning was heading toward a crescendo last week. I decided I could take it no longer. I told him that his father and I had decided that we simply could not spend money on a big birthday party for him or his brother this year. End of story. Being the resilient and optimistic child he is, with visions of a Lego avalanche persisting in his mind he simply replied, “But, I’ll still get a family birthday party, right?”

The longer I thought about it, the more I realized that denying Luke a party is tantamount to canceling Christmas. He’s been on honor roll all year at school. Last month, he was awarded Student of the Month, and we still haven’t celebrated that distinction yet. And, he’d been such an exceedingly good sport when I’d told him he couldn’t have a party. Honestly, the kid has earned a party, just not the kind of party he had envisioned. The pool Luke wanted to have his party at would charge us $185 for 15 kids to swim and for us to have use of a party room for one hour. Add to that, invitations, pizza, cake, soda, and paper goods and we’d easily surpass $250. Then there are the party favors. Don’t get me started on party favors. When did it become standard to give each party attendee a bag of treats? This blows my mind. We have to reward these children for getting free lunch and cake at a party? Still, it’s a common gesture now, so you have to add that to the party cost. Insanity.

Certainly a birthday party for a 9 year old doesn’t need to bring us to a second mortgage situation, I reasoned. So, I planned to do this surprise party in a way commensurate with the kind of party my parents would have thrown for me, back in the old days when people used to host parties at home with a cake mom made. I whipped up 15 invitations on the computer and mailed them with stamps we already had on hand. Then I ran to Target and bought the ingredients for cupcakes, got a couple plastic table cloths, some two-liters of soda, a few cans of Silly String, and plain, white paper plates and napkins. My spree at Target cost about $50. I then tackled the notion of gift bags. For that ridiculous overture I bought some recycled pencils and Hershey bars and packaged them together using curling ribbon I had on hand. We are going to splurge and order pizza for 15 kids, completely justifiable cost by my estimation because I have no desire to cook. When it’s all said and done, I expect this party to cost us approximately half what we might have spent otherwise, and we’ll still get the same result…an exceedingly happy birthday boy. Imagining Luke’s glee when he sees his friends gathered here for him when he least expected it makes it all well worth the reduced price tag. I’m not going to tell him that, though. I’m really good at keeping secrets. 😉

Posted on by Me 2

Looking For A Pay Raise Now

Luke in his self-imposed cleaning exile.

Being a parent is work. It’s work every day. Some days the work is difficult, and you need a drink before 5 p.m. Other days the work is less stressful, and it feels more like play. In either case, parenting is a job that you can’t escape. From the minute that child comes into your life, things are different. You are different.

Today, my little Luke came home from school with summer break fever and without his homework folders. The math homework he was supposed to be working on tonight was apparently left on his desk instead of making its way into his backpack for the ride home. Luke hasn’t forgotten his homework once all year. His oversight hit him hard.

“I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe I forgot it,” he said repeatedly.

“It’s okay, Luke. It happens. You’ll just have twice as much to do tomorrow, but it will all be fine,” I reassured him.

“I can still work on some other stuff,” he said, reaching for the memory verse he needed to work on. He took it in the living room and started practicing it. A few minutes later, he returned. I could tell he was still angry at himself. He’s a lot like his mother, proud and stubborn, but I want him to be better than his mother so I tried reasoning with him.

“You’re being too hard on yourself, Luke. You haven’t forgotten anything all year. It happens sometimes. It will be fine. No worries.”

He went upstairs, and I lost track of him while I started Joe on his book report, a game board about the historical fiction work he’d recently finished reading. (Have I mentioned how much I hate grade school book reports?) When I found a good stopping point to escape from the dreaded game board, I went in search of Luke. I found him in the basement. He was sitting in the middle of a big pile of Legos, cleaning up.

“Luke…what are you up to?” I inquired.

“Cleaning. Since I forgot my math homework I thought I should try to do something else good.” My little guy was punishing himself for his oversight.

“You realize, sweetie, that I’m not angry at you for forgetting your work. It’s the end of the school year and you’re excited. Sometimes people forget things. It’s not the end of the world,” I told him.

“I know,” he replied. “I still can’t believe I forgot it, though.” He was taking this much harder than I thought.

Damn. He is my kid. Poor thing.

Now, I’d like to say that I immediately stopped him from cleaning the basement because I didn’t want him torturing himself any further, but I can’t. He is me. I can completely relate to his need to be angry at himself a little bit longer for his error and to try to make up for his mistake in some small fashion. Not wanting to interrupt his process, I let him keep right on cleaning. Besides, a clean basement is a clean basement however you come by it, right?

Parenting is work. It’s a lot of work for something you volunteered to do and will never be paid for. But, there are days like today, when I look at my sons and truly understand that the investment of time I’m making in them right now is worthwhile. Yes. They’re learning some bad things from me (like how to be hypercritical of their mistakes, apparently), but they’re also learning some good things from me too, like how to take responsibility for their actions and how to turn a negative into something positive. Today I received the first positive performance review I’ve had in a while. It felt good too. Now, if I could just find the person who could give me a pay raise, I’d be all set.

Posted on by Me 1

Edward Scissorhands Meet Mommy iPhonehands

Keeping in touch with my son while I was away last weekend

I have a gazillion things to be doing right now. We’re leaving in 4 hours to head to the mountains for the weekend. I need to pack, figure out what food to bring to the cabin, finish two blogs, do a load of wash, and take a shower. Those are the A-list priorities. There are B-list priorities too. So, what am I doing? Watching video I just found of my boys when they were 2 and 4. The video is so old it’s actually on a camcorder that uses tapes. Seriously. Tapes. So, I am watching the videos on the camera while tearing the house apart looking for the one infernal USB cord out of the millions that we have that will allow me to transfer these precious memories to my MacBook. It’s maddening. I’m a woman obsessed.

Yesterday I read a blog article about how we’re tuning out our families in favor of games, texts, and other diversions on our mobile devices. I’m far more guilty of that transgression that I would care to admit, but anyone who knows me and sees me on a regular basis knows the dirty truth. I agreed with the article completely, noting that I do often sit with my boys but play Words With Friends rather than fully engaging with them. It’s not right. I’m sending them the wrong message. They clearly deserve more from me than to have me check out on them in person in favor of getting a good score in my tw0 minutes of game time on my Scramble app.

In light of this struggle I am having with this ancient camcorder from 2003, though, I was thinking today that while our mobile devices can be a distraction they can also keep us in touch with what’s important. I am helpless without my iPhone. It’s always within 10 feet of me. Is that sick? Probably. But, now I have a camera and video recorder with me at all times. I no longer record solely birthday parties and then miss the moment when we are at the park and Joe negotiates the monkey bars successfully for the first time because I didn’t have a camcorder on hand. Because of my iPhone, I can watch video of my kids while I’m sitting on a beach on vacation with my hubby. I use the Notes app to write down funny things they say that might have otherwise been lost in time. My sons and I FaceTime when I’m away and can’t be there in person to say their “angel prayers” at night. I use my phone to time them as they do their math facts, to track their appointments, and to answer their questions in a timely manner…like when we’re at the zoo and they ask me what places tapirs can be found other than South America.

I suppose, as with most things in life, it all comes down to moderation. I don’t want to go back to the days when I would realize my camera didn’t have film or that I forgot to bring the video recorder. I guess I won’t toss out my mobile phone just yet. But, I will make sure to put it down more often so my boys don’t grow up remembering me with one human hand and one iPhone hand.

Posted on by Me

Goslings I Love

Luke and a gaggle of goslings

I adore Ryan Gosling. In fact, I have serious Ryan Gosling issues. Ever since watching him in one of my favorite films, Lars and the Real Girl, I’ve been a fan. Okay. He is a bit easy on the eyes, but he’s also a legitimately good actor. So what if he’s roughly the age of a kid I would have babysat? Age only matters if you are a wine or a cheese anyway, right? Did you see him in Crazy, Stupid Love? There are exceptions that can be made in these type situations. I’m sure of it.

Today, the kids and I had a gosling sighting of another kind. As we were pulling into the neighborhood after I picked them up from school, we saw several Canada Geese with their flocks of young goslings. While I’m not a huge fan of the geese who permeate this neighborhood (trust me…they permeate…their poop is everywhere), their little goslings, all yellow and fuzzy every spring, are a delight.

So, we ran home, the boys did a bit of homework, and then we grabbed a couple half loaves of white bread that have been sitting on the counter too long to make it sandwich worthy and headed down to the lake in our park. When we got there, the geese did not seem to be anywhere nearby. I did see two adult geese without goslings, so I began to feed them while the boys stood at the dock waiting to see the babies. One of the geese I was feeding was limping terribly. When I got close enough to him, I noticed that his right foot was tangled in discarded fishing line. It was swollen to nearly twice the size of the other foot. I tried to get close enough to help free him but he was clearly in pain and did not understand that I meant to help him. I fed him some bread to ease my mind a bit, perturbed by human carelessness and wishing that geese had opposable thumbs so this one could free himself from his human entrapment.

Then I heard shouts from the dock. The boys had seen the baby geese. I rushed over to where they were. There were at least 17 of the little goslings, and the boys were beside themselves with glee. I’m grateful that my nearly 9 and 11 year old sons still find joy in little things like feeding geese and are not already cynical and disinterested like other boys their age. We spent at least a half an hour feeding those birds, sharing an occasional piece of bread with a couple toddlers who showed up too. It was 30 minutes of pure, in-the-moment happiness. Well worth the cost of a loaf of Wonder bread.

I like to think that when I take time to do little things like this with my boys I am making a difference in who they will become some day. I help them with their homework, I chauffeur them to and from tutoring and other lessons, and I make their lunches. All that is well and good. But, if something were to happen to me to take me from my sons, I kind of like thinking that what they would remember about me is that I could tell a merganser from a cormorant and that I did awesome voices for the characters in books I read aloud to them. I like to imagine that they might not remember that I barked at them too often and that they would instead remember that I would jump on their trampoline and get in spitball wars with them.

Lately I’ve been paying attention to how much the little things are the big things in life. A few minutes spent with those little geese today made a big difference to my boys. They talked about it all night long. When it comes to raising children, the little things we share with them are every bit as important as the big things we do to mold them. Keeping that in mind, I hope I always remember to make time for all goslings, not just the tall ones named Ryan.

Posted on by Me