Things I didn’t know I’d have to explain more than once before I had boys

1. Always, always, always change your underwear everyday. Then, change them again for good measure.

2. Never, never, never put jeans with caked on mud into the hamper. When in doubt, leave them out (in the laundry room).

(Yes, I found them at the bottom of their full hamper.)

3. When heading to the bathroom, keep these steps in mind:

• First, lift the lid
• Second, lift the seat
• Then, look, aim and fire.

Strange things can happen if you skip a step.

( How?! Never mind. I don’t want to know!)

4. Snow boots were not meant to go through water. If it’s too cold for sandals, you should just stay in the snow. (No matter what your father does!)

5. And lastly, you don’t have to look, feel, or believe that you’re dirty to need a bath.

“But Mom, I just took a bath last week!”

****Warning: this post contained graphic displays of bodily fluids. It even grossed out Mr. French. It’s just too bad I put the warning at the bottom of the post.**** 🙂

The Post in which I don’t say what, exactly, it is that I said.

“The baby” comes up a lot in our conversations around here.

We look at pictures of babies in utero on the internet and in books. We’ve talked about placentas and umbilical cords and belly buttons and nursing and crying and how babies can’t really do much of anything when they first come out.

I even let them watch about 10 minutes of a very screened portion of The Miracle of Life. They’re always asking, how big is the baby now? How big will it be when it comes out? When is the baby coming out? etc.

Finally, at 21 weeks, we got around to the question I was wondering when they’d ask.

“How does it come out?” C asked one day after looking at this picture.

I told him, using the proper term, which he’d never heard before. (Well, he’d never asked that question.)

After I explained what that was, he said, “Oh.”

And then he said, “But it’s too small.” (I’ve thought the very same thing!)

“Well,” I said. “It stretches.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes, it hurts. But it’s O.K.” (I decided not to burden him with that now.)

“Hmm.” he said.

And that was that.

I’m just glad nobody asked the other question.

Proof that the original planners of this house did not have kids

This is the front door.

This is the back door.

This is the front and back doors in the same picture.

This is how the floor looks most of the time.

Spring Break: the week we spent doing laundry almost every day.

It’s spring break around here which is partially why the blog has been kind of quiet this week.

The other reason would be that my computer was out of commission and I couldn’t possibly have used our old PC to blog. (Can you say Mac Addict?)

So, we’ve just been laying around, hanging out, napping periodically.

Just how you’d suspect a house full of small males would spend their spring break.

Or not.

(Molly is such a girl, staying on the side and keeping her paws clean.)

I’m pretty sure my last words as they walked out the door were not, “Go play in the ditch! Be sure to get muddy, too!”

But the surprising thing is that they are shocked and completely baffled when I tell them they must also remove their pants before proceeding into the rest of the house.

I am such a mean Mom.

Ignorance is Bliss (though mostly just embarrassing)

I was born and raised Reformed Presbyterian.

My grandparents were all Reformed Presbyterian.

My parents are Reformed Presbyterian. As are many of my Aunts, Uncles and cousins.

So, naturally, I wasn’t especially cognizant of the different church practices of other types of Christianity. I knew what made us different from them. I knew the arguments and was aware that other Christians did things differently in their churches, but I wasn’t aware exactly of what those differences always entailed.

So, you can imagine my confusion when, at the age of 18, I was working in a small nursing home in a small, predominantly Catholic town on Ash Wednesday. My coworker showed up for work and had a very obvious black mark on her forehead. I doubted it was some kind of “make-up” accident, but I considered that if I had a huge black mark on my face, I would want someone to point it out to me. When we had a moment alone, I said,

“Did you know you have a…” pointing to my forehead, “a black mark on your forehead?”

“Yeees?” she said, looking a little dumbfounded.

“Well, did you want it to be there?” I continued, confused.

“It’s Ash Wednesday.”

“And that means?”

“You don’t know what Ash Wednesday is?!” she asked, again dumbfounded.

Of course, I’d seen the words Ash Wednesday on the calendar before, but I never paid much attention to what it meant. I thought it was something like Canadian Labor Day or Australian Mother’s Day. Obviously not pertaining to me, so why ask questions.

So, I got my first lesson in Catholic practices that day. And I never made that mistake again, although I’ve done a double take several times since, when, seemingly out of the blue, I’ll see people walking around with big black marks on their foreheads.

It was not to be the last of my “education” though.

A year later, I was attending a Christian College in PA. I got up early on a Saturday (!) to attend a review for my first chemistry test on Monday. When it was over, I walked back to my dorm with another guy who had also attended the review. I’d seen him around and he was a friend of another friend, but I hadn’t really spent much time getting to know him. We chatted as we walked, and when we had almost gotten to my dorm, I casually asked him what kind of church he attended.

He said something to the effect of, “a Charismatic church”.

I stopped mid-stride, dumbfounded.

“You call yourself a Charismatic?!” I exclaimed incredulously.

“Yeah.” he said confused.

“I thought that’s just what we called you. I thought it was a derogatory term.” I said, though I wish I’d realized at that moment I should probably not say everything that I think.

I don’t think he held it against me, thankfully, because he’s a very nice guy and I still consider him a friend.

I’d like to think I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut about things-I-know-nothing-about, but I really can’t be too sure.

I thought you’d like to know…

That these are the most disgusting little “fruit” flavored pellets of chalk I have ever felt compelled to consume.

Speaking of pregnancy…

I reached an all-time low last week.

I threw up while I was talking on the phone with someone.

And no, I didn’t hang up right away.

I was a little busy at that particular moment.

You know, vomiting and stuff.

When I called back later to explain, he said it was a first for him as well. Nice to know I can be so innovative.

(So what if it was just Mr. French. 🙂 )

And here’s a useful tip, in case you find yourself with a scorched esophagus one day.

Halls Fruit Breezers did wonders when it hurt too much to swallow.

They taste good too.

Which is far more than I can say about those little chalk pellets.

I couldn’t resist my favorite flower.

All about Mr. French (in answer to the third question)

(See the post below first)

I sort of regretted asking this question, because I got a very long list in return by e-mail.

However, if you don’t know that music is important to Mr. French, then you won’t know him very well.

With his permission, I reprinted the whole e-mail:

“O.k., here is a list of 13 albums instead of 5. Five was too difficult.
Plus, I thought maybe I can get away with 13 choices since the 13th is my
birthday. 🙂

Instead of thinking who my favorite artists or composers are, my
determining thought for this list was: Over the many years, which are
the albums I have come back to the most for listening? The music of each
one of these records echoes in my head from so many hearings. This selection
is quite eclectic (and esoteric), but then, that has always been my kind of
taste. (I added the album covers in case you think the visuals would be
more interesting on the blog.)”

Bach, Cello Suites

Bartók, String Quartets

Bartók, Bluebeard’s Castle

Beethoven, Late String Quartets

Charles Ives, Symphony no. 3

Penny Merriment, English Songs from the Time of the Pilgrims

John McLaughlin with Shakti, A Handful of Beauty

Terje Rypdal, Whenever I Seem To Be Far Away

Wes Montgomery, Smokin’ at the Half Note

Beatles, Magical Mystery Tour

Genesis, Nursery Cryme

Klaatu, Sir Army Suit

Traffic, Low Spark of High Heeled Boys

All about Mr. French (sort of)

Mr. French thinks he doesn’t get enough attention around here in blogland.

I’d like to take this moment to point out that he is the only one in this family that has his very own, custom-designed, category. (See Mr. French on the right.)

But in honor of his birthday this week, I decided to do an exclusive interview with him. (His comments will be in bleu.)

How old are you?

What size underwear do you wear?

Touché

What do you want to be when you grow up?

A grown-up

What are your top five favorite musicians or bands?

Whoa. That’s too hard. Can it just be my favorite albums?

Yes.

Oh, boy. This is going to take a long time.

Heavy sigh. Glancing at watch. *thinking* This is going to be much harder than I thought.

How about we skip that for now. Maybe you can e-mail it to me.

O.K.

On a scale of 1-10, 1 being hate from the bottom of your heart, and 10 being you wouldn’t want to live without it, how do you feel about e-mail?

negative 1

How fast would you go out and replace your iPod, if you lost it today?

*thinking* 45 minutes?

If you could live anywhere in the world, what would your top five choices be?

London, England

Geneva, Switzerland

Nantes, France

Amsterdam, Holland

Brussels, Belgium

But if you had to live in the States, what would your top five choices be?

Our home in Ohio

Providence, R.I.

Philadelphia, PA

Bangor, Maine

Anchorage, AL

On a scale of 1-10, (1=ugly and 10=no one is more beautiful), where would you rank your current wife?

101

How about your first wife?

Since she’s been decaying for over a decade, I’d say about a 1.

*Sigh.* That was a really hard time.

So, how does a guy who dislikes making smalltalk with people become a computer programmer in the language of Smalltalk?

I’d love to chat with you about that, but I don’t want to.

Which of your three sons takes after you the most?

Well, you’re always saying the oldest one does.

Does that make you secretly glad?

If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a secret.

What do you find most exasperating about your wife?

Asking me all these questions.

Will you ever get a facebook account?

The day I think snow is ugly, is the day I’ll get a facebook account.

Will you ever get your own blog?

Not unless my wife writes it for me.

I’d say it’s not going to happen.

On a scale of 1-10, (1=horrible, 10=superb) how would you rank your wife’s musical tastes?

NI for needs improvement

Hypothetically speaking, how much money in cold hard cash would you give you wife right now for the privilege of naming your next child, with no input from her whatsoever?

A cool million (if I had it)

Would you rather have a job you disliked but could live anywhere you wanted, or have your dream job but you had to live in the South?

I’d only live in the south if my job was working for the Abraham Lincoln Appreciation Society.

At what age did you finally feel like you were a grown-up?

When S was born and I got my pants soaked from all the birthing fluid. That’s when I felt like I was a grown-up.

That story deserves it’s own blog post.

Do you think your wife needs a new pair of shoes, or two?

Yes, and I’m still working on my next book order.

On a scale of 1-10, how would you rank yourself as a cook?

What I said about e-mail.

After hoping your last two sons would be girls, are you just saying that you want a boy this time to try to psych the baby out?

*Laughing* Do you think it will work?

Do you wish I had a sense of humor?

So do all your readers

Hypothetically speaking, would you say anything negative if your wife came home with a new pair of shoes?

No, but I’d be quick to show her my new book list

What three jobs have you held that you think people would be surprised to know that you’ve had?

Teacher’s aide at Perkin’s School for the Blind

Videographer for a legal reporting company

Selling balloons in Boston Common

If I was walking down the street, do you think the average person would guess that I’m almost halfway through this pregnancy?

Only if you had a sweatshirt stuffed under your shirt.

Do I look pregnant at all?

Only when you’re not wearing clothes

Does your life feel complete now that you have a dog?

Almost. I still need a piano.

What are your three favorite dishes that your wife makes?

Your chocolate chip, peanut butter chip, macadamia nut, oatmeal cookies,

your various cheesecakes,

and your chocolate pudding cake.

What do you wish she had made you for your birthday?

Chocolate soufflé with brandied cherries inside and raspberry sauce and whipped cream

Before we end, I’m going to give you some possible blog titles that I came up with for you, in case you ever decide to blog. I want you to give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear them.

Could’ve been a Rock Star but instead I’m a Computer Programmer

I like that.

The Armchair Theologian

Oooh. Quaint and sophisticated.

The I-could-do-that-I-just-chose-not-to-Cook

Change it to Chef and you’ve got it.

Wish I was a European

Très bien

And that’s why you’re Mr. French.

Pink socks and other things I wasn’t expecting…

J came in after playing outside in the snow and water. He pulled his boots off to discover that his previously white socks were…pink.

He decided that was possibly the funniest thing he had ever seen and proceeded to make sure every one had heard the story.

Twice.
________________________

Last week the temperatures outside hit 66 degrees. Mr. French came home from work and put shorts on to go walking in the woods with the dog.

It was so warm inside that the thermostat said a number I haven’t seen on it since November.

It was so warm, in fact, that I opened a window just to cool off.

The thermostat said 70 degrees.

(Oh, how I love to tease all you southerners!)

(Though I’m not making it up.) (She says defensively.)

Then two days later we had a snow day because of ice. Then two days after that we got snowed in.

But don’t cry for me Argentina.

This is our first real winter in three years and we’re thoroughly enjoying it.

I don’t know about the birds though.

________________________

J, like many three-year-olds, doesn’t always pronounce words correctly. Sometimes he drops a sound from the beginning of the word, more often though, he substitutes an easier sound for a harder-to-pronounce sound. For instance, “waffles” become “faffles”. It’s hard sometimes to know when to correct him and make him repeat the sound he missed (“Can you say ‘Wa’ w-w-w-affles”) and when to merely repeat what he’s saying correctly so he can hear the difference. And sometimes it takes so much effort just to understand what he’s saying that I let it go.

A few days ago we were in the kitchen and he said something that didn’t make much sense to me. So, I repeated what I thought he might have been trying to say. I don’t even remember what it was now. It started with a ‘P’. I said the word but substituted a different sound at the beginning, instead of the ‘P’, to see if it made more sense.

“No, Mom.” he sighed. “Like this. P-p-p-p. See?”

Wait. Did my three-year-old just correct my pronunciation? My pronunciation?

Man, I love having kids that make me laugh.

________________________

The other day I was putting the mayonnaise away.

Apparently the top was not screwed on all the way.

Either that or this mayonnaise has a mind of it’s own.

You think that’s far-fetched?

Notice, if you will, how the mayo ended up all the way to the pantry doorway. Clinging to it like only whipped eggs and oil with a little bit of lemon juice can.

It was only after I put the camera away and was on all fours cleaning it up that I noticed it made it into the pantry. The door wasn’t even opened very far!

Maybe it was trying to get to the tuna fish. It was almost there.

________________________

C was telling Mr. French about a friend of his at school.

He finished by saying, “He’s a little bit brown.”

“He is?” commented Mr. F.

“Yeah.”

“You know, C, people’s skin comes in all different colors. White, brown, red, blue. It’s all the same. It doesn’t really matter.”

“Yeah.” he agreed.

“Dad?” he asked seriously.

“Yes?”

“Is my skin red or blue?”