So taunting! A week with Lyle.

Lyle has been on a roll this week.

First, I bring you his birthday card for Baxter, on which he taped a penny and wrote the words you see below:

And, now, tonight’s “weather forecast” homework. Translation below:

Today it is a sunny day. It is 35 degrees, so wear a coat, hat, mittens, and maby a scarf.

Wear your sunglasses!!

(So taunting!)

[arrow pointing to the line about the sunglasses]

Father’s Day in Review

It’s been quite a weekend! Friday was the kids’ last school day hour (thanks, strange CPS schedule) and this was followed by two class picnics at the park and a beach party we host every year for 6 other families who, like us, live on the far northeast side of the city and appreciate a serious NO MORE CARPOOLING celebration. Good times, for sure!

We “relaxed” yesterday by switching our kids’ bedroom (now upstairs) and our guest room (now downstairs), thanks to some major help from Matt’s parents. Nothing like moving huge beds and transferring two people’s clothing to a new room, not to mention the organizing required to make space in the big upstairs closet. Ugh. But now the kids sleep in their own bunk bed in the room next to ours, rather on the big guest room bed together, as they have done for some months, and our guests will have complete privacy downstairs with their own full bath. Plus also, I recycled 3 trash bags of school work that the boys have accumulated over the years. I call that a win-win-win. We took a nice break to enjoy a Father’s Day lunch with Matt’s parents.

Today we gave Matt a combination of lots o’ attention and lots o’ peace and quiet. First, the boys and I made an early pilgrimage to Metropolis Coffee and Flourish Bakery to put together a really nice breakfast in bed for him.

See?

The kids presented him with homemade cards, clay artifacts, and gift certificates for meals they intend to make for him. Soon afterward, I swooped them off to the YMCA camp in Wisconsin that Baxter’s going to attend in August. We enjoyed exploring the camp Open House. Surprisingly, we were one of only 6 families there midday, probably because it’s Father’s Day, yo. This is the trip wherein I discovered that driving your kids 7 hours to Minnesota once a year has the added bonus of turning a 1.5 hour trip into what feels like a trip to the grocery store. “That’s it?” we asked each other incredulously when we arrived. The camp was awesome and Baxter can’t wait to go. It’s possible, however, that he won’t get to go because I might actually impersonate him and go in his place. What? I forgot to take archery when I went to camp.

I love that my kids both politely took off their shoes before trying out the beds.

Baxter spent an inordinate amount of time wondering which cabin will be his.

Running to the waterfront

Exploring the pier. 

Lyle packed a few cookbooks for the drive and decided to make Matt some muffins when we got home. He was determined to make them independently, but allowed me to be nearby to help him reach certain ingredients and move his step stool when he was, say, carrying a bowl of melted butter to the counter. Other than that, he was totally independent. It was pretty cool to see him measuring and following the recipe so well. We do a lot of baking together and he’s obviously been paying attention. At one point he said, “This is troubling.” [Yes, "troubling".] “Now I see how hard you and Daddy work to make dinner!” But, damn, that kid cracked two eggs without getting one tiny bit of eggshell in the bowl, and took the whole task very seriously. I was proud of myself for not saying anything about his poor mixing skills and, you know, it didn’t really make much difference in the end, anyway. We ate them with dinner and he couldn’t have been prouder. He said many times, “Now Daddy doesn’t have to work so hard to make dinner tonight!” Which might give one the idea that Daddy just about kills himself slaving over a dinner of muffins every night, but since it’s Father’s Day we’ll let that stand because the thought behind it was so. damn. cute.

While we ate dinner we engaged in our usual antics. Baxter suddenly laughed and said, “This is better than a sitcom family ‘cuz I’m actually in it!”

Happy Father’s Day, Matt, from your family. It may not always be like a sitcom, but that’s probably a good thing.

Trying to Move On

When I went downstairs to turn off the boys’ light and forcefully pry their books out of their hands, seeing as how it’s nearly 9 o’clock, Baxter appeared quite tired. “Just reading about all these world records has tuckered me out!” he declared, rubbing his eyes, and handing over the 2010 Guinness Book of World Records.

While I found that humorous — that simply reading about “the tallest and the fastest”, as he put it, would exhaust my child — that’s kind of the way we roll over here. Sometimes I fear we are more likely to “get tuckered” from reading about other people’s adventures than from actually having them ourselves. My kids are the ones who start out running through the snowy street when I encourage a pre-breakfast, post-blizzard adventure, and then collapse from the effort or cry about the snow in their boots 2/3 of the way down the block so that we don’t actually see the snowy beach and I have to take a solo trip later to see it for myself. They’d rather go home and eat those blueberry waffles they picked out at Trader Joe’s.

This makes us the perfect candidates for a big blizzard with two feet of snow and a couple of lazy snow days without school. It has to be a “historic snow event” for Chicago to close its public schools, and it was: this was the third biggest snowstorm on city record. We listened to lots of music, I finally made the old-fashioned peanut butter cookies I’ve been dying to make with the kids, we played in the snow a lot, and they watched a great many Star Wars movies. We really did have an incredible time, and lived our small, snowbound life to its fullest. I had a blast, personally, taking in the sight of huge mountains of snow and neighbors banded together to clear alleyways that the city doesn’t plow. In fact, three days later, our own street has yet to be plowed, but I assume they’ll find their way here soon. People here have a lot of spirit and character. “Flinty toughness” indeed, President Obama. I’m totally impressed.

As is often the case for me when I turn away from work completely for a few days, I am having an incredibly hard time getting focused again. I could be using these days to catch up on paperwork that sorely needs doing, and yet it’s as if my brain itself were filled with two feet of snow. But today I was able to leave the alley behind my house in my car, and the boys went to school (Matt took them there on the El), and reality is coming around again as surely as those vehicles are being dug out of every street. Unfortunately, with Baxter’s tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy scheduled for next Wednesday, I will only be re-immersed in work for two days next week before I’m pulled back into family time all over again.

I believe that I should claw my way to the surface of reality and be a responsible clinician and business owner, at least to catch up a bit before Baxter’s surgery, but instead I edit and organize my Flickr set from the blizzard and spend too much time creating a video montage that expresses what these few days have been like for me. Then I watch it too many times, even though so much visual quality has been lost from the original photos. When I do some laundry or wash a few dishes I feel I’ve accomplished something.

Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be ready to move on. I wouldn’t put money on it, though.

Magical Years

I love Christmas.

Love. it.

The lights, the tree, candles in the window. I love listening to great Christmas music in the house and the cheesy stuff in the car on Lite FM radio. I couldn’t be happier to be living again in a place where winter means piles of snow and dangerously dangling icicles and seeing our breath outside. Driving through falling snow to be with family on Christmas Eve. I fully embrace the Elf on the Shelf and prolonging the belief in Santa just as long as we can, reading the Christmas books that come out just once a year along with the decorations, sitting by the fire, and hot cocoa with lots and lots of marshmallows.  I get on a baking jag and can’t stop.  One day in December I made a double batch of sugar cookies, a double batch of butternut squash soup, and my Mom’s spaghetti sauce. It made me so happy to have delicious things to pull out of the freezer at a moment’s notice.  During the first snow I took the boys to the local garden shop and bought the most fragrant wreath I could find.

Seasons mark the passage of time in a way that is important to me, and holidays punctuate it. I piece together my memories of recent years by knowing where we were for Christmas that year, or who hosted Thanksgiving. As the kids grow older, our traditions become more important to us all. Listening to music, lighting candles at dinner, decorating the tree, making a million bajillion cookies and then giving away most of them. Christmas Eve with all of the cousins, the kiddie table set for eight, and the White Elephant Bingo game they love, singing carols all together and then opening gifts from that enormous pile 20 generous family members manage to bring for each other. Receiving actual presents in the midst of this season is truly an embarrassment of riches.

Matt and I, people who tend to prefer living in a less cluttered, more spare house, happily haul in boxes of decorations from storage in early December. Christmas is everywhere in this house, from the place mats and napkins to the hand towels in the bathroom. There are special throw rugs that come out, and certain photos of siblings (some now grown) with Santa and some of old friends in Christmas frames that are only seen during this season. Every snowfall is magical to me in the month of December and I love watching the beach down the street fill with snow while I wait for the lake to freeze over.  Heavy snow on trees and a sunrise over the frozen tundra of beach make me catch my breath with wonder early in the morning when I take the dog out.

Christmas changes over time, like everything else in life, and I believe we are in an especially magical period. I have no scars from Christmas past that open up each year; it is not a mixed experience for me like I know it is for many others.  We’re surrounded by kind, generous family on both sides, people who genuinely like one another and enjoy spending time together. A couple years ago, I thought we had THE magical Christmas and there could be no other like it. This year I realize I am feeling that way for the third year in a row.

The kids are old enough to anticipate it without being completely bonkers (most of the time). They can be up until midnight having fun with the family on Christmas Eve and sleep until almost 9 on Christmas morning, unlike their younger days when they’d be up at 6am NO MATTER WHAT. Even though Baxter and I had a frank conversation about Santa last summer, he clearly suspended reality for the season, choosing to believe (and therefore not questioning us about it or threatening to “trap” Santa) for a while longer. Both of them were on their best behavior, just in case that Elf they looked for every morning was real.

I don’t have a clue what Christmas with teenagers will be like someday, but I have no doubt it will be wonderful in its own completely unexpected way, just as every stage with these boys has been. However, I am fairly certain that when the kids are all grown up and I wax nostalgic about Christmases with the kids, it’ll be this stretch of their middle childhood that my mind will return to.  I can’t believe my great good fortune and need to preserve these memories by writing them down because I fear that someday I will laugh a self-deprecating laugh, accusing myself of sugar-coating these years with the false glow of nostalgia.

But, no: they really are beautiful.

Wondermama’s Week in Review

Hello? Anybody there?

I know, it’s been a while. Again.

What’s going on over here, you ask? Well, hmmm…

Fall has come, in all its midwestern glory, and we are soaking up days that fluctuate between warm and crisp with cool nights and gorgeous trees everywhere we look. Sadly for me, the mold count is off the charts this fall, which is a significant allergy trigger of mine. This has meant that my allergies have been out of control for about 10 days now, only slightly mitigated by a regimen that includes (but is not limited to): Benadryl, Claritin, sinus rinses (yes, the Neti pot), a full bag of cough drops every 24 hours, gallons of water and lemon tea with honey, and multiple doses of Robitussin at night. I have finally slept through the night without coughing for the last two nights, which is a huge relief. My voice was hoarse from coughing for eight days, but finally today sounds closer to normal.

During this period of time, Matt had two of his many trips this month and so was away most of last week. I survived a solo 3-day weekend with the kids and the dog last week while feeling ill and having no voice. Thanks to some awesome neighbors who took the kids to their house to play one afternoon and brought over some excellent soup another night, I had bright spots in my week that got me through. I took one day off work but couldn’t afford to take more than that. The lack of paid sick and vacation days is one significant downside in working for oneself. (It’s right up there with spending many hours of the weekend resubmitting claims to an insurance company that has been holding onto a lot of my income without any communication as to why.) I was grateful to have a competent intern who could do a lot of talking for me last week and a business manager who could team up with me to get the insurance claims in again as quickly as possible.

But today I find myself coughing much less and with about 80% of my voice intact, just in time to take a day at home with Baxter, who has signs of strep throat and needs to see the doctor.  Luckily it was one of my work-from-home days, and I can get a lot done while he snoozes and watches TV.

All is not lost here, Wonderfriends, I promise.

On Friday night, despite my raspy voice, I bravely joined a group of talented actors in an informal living room reading of the play You Can’t Take it With You, reading the part of Mrs. Kirby in addition to stage directions. I am by no means an actor, not having been on a stage since 1991, but my friend who hosted the reading needed extra people as the cast was so large, and I was happy to come help out. It was a lot of fun, and really interesting to see how relevant this 75-year old play was to the current economic climate. And funny. Damn, is it funny. I’m not gonna lie, it probably set my voice recovery back a few notches, but it was worth it to have some fun and be in the company of such talent.

And over the weekend, although I didn’t participate in too much, it was fun to hear about the strides the boys made in their swimming and rock-climbing classes, and the fun Lyle had at a birthday party and Baxter had at a book club meeting with friends yesterday. Baxter and I spent a lot of time together with his school supplies, organizing and labeling everything to help him keep track of all those folders, notebooks, and pencils on his own. (Clue: one big, organized binder.) This was satisfying to us both in a nerdly way.

Last night we played musical beds. Baxter had taken up residence in the master bedroom during the afternoon, and was deeply asleep all evening, so I took the guest room with Lyle, whose primary dream in life is to be with me all the time. Since he didn’t want to sleep in the lower level without his brother, I took him with me. He told me it was his “dream come true”. I don’t know why that child wasn’t born into an attachment parenting household with a stay-at-home parent. Matt ended up on the couch in the living room instead of sleeping with Captain Germy in our room. The dog was very, very confused.

Before bed, Lyle and I cuddled on the couch to read (with a few amusing visits from Gus) and then snuggled up in the guest room bed together. We took a few silly, blurry photos of ourselves. It was a lovely way to end the weekend.

First Day of (Stupid, Stinky) School

Our end-of-summer was a lazy one. No last-minute trips out of town and very little on the calendar. Just long days to play at home and at the beach, with neighbors and each other. It was pretty restful. Over the weekend, Matt and I focused on getting the house organized and ready for a new school year. I’m a big believer in various “systems” to keep us all organized, mainly because I’d rather have everyone aware of their responsibilites and in a rhythm so that we’re not constantly telling the kids what to do and repeating ourselves again…and again…and again… It leaves us with a lot more time for fun. And so by last night we were ready. Responsibility lists were posted for each child for various parts of the day, our meal plan was tacked to the fridge, today’s lunches were made by the kids, and their backpacks were packed.

Baxter, who had been ambivalent about going back to school (the boy loves him some unstructured reading time!), started to look forward to it when we went in last week to meet his new teacher and drop off school supplies. He was excited to see his friends and find out what fifth grade is all about. He told Lyle today that he wasn’t nervous about school, because he reminds himself that there’s nothing to be worried about: “Every year, the teacher is really nice on the first day,” he told Lyle. I asked him if the same held true for the second day and even the last day of school and he agreed that it always had. When we got to school I had to yell for him to come back to us to get a photo taken with Lyle before he tore out into the masses to find his friends. Luckily, we were able to see him off as he walked in with his signature grin.

For his part, Lyle was nervous. He loved his classroom when he saw it last week and his teacher was wonderful and warm. He was very shy and hid behind me, but he was smiling. Unsurprisingly, he was full of bluster this morning (typical when he’s nervous) and declared many times in a variety of ways, “I hate stupid, stinky school!” As I pointed out to him, however, he was saying this in a very cheery voice. I think he was nervous but also a bit excited. He has forgotten how much he loves school, but I trust that won’t last long. It helped a lot for me to tell him repeatedly that every child is at least a little nervous, and even his teacher might be a bit anxious about how the first day would go. Then I popped in a Nate the Great book on CD in the car to change the subject on our drive in.

This sums the morning up pretty well!

There goes my first grader, into stupid, stinky school!

Ready to go!

…and off goes my fifth grader!

I canceled my afternoon clients in order to be there to pick them up. I can’t wait to hear about their day!

Pool Party Success!

We had a sunny, warm end-of-summer day; perfect for Lyle’s 6th birthday party at a local Park District pool and playground! I chose an outdoor venue this year since Lyle wanted to invite more kids than ever before (he invited 18, we were so happy that quite a few of them could make it!). You may recall what happened when we hosted last year’s party at our house. I knew we had to move beyond these four walls this year!

I decided that rather than focusing too much on the venue or providing a full meal for everyone, this year’s centerpiece would be the cake. As many of you know, I have historically either made a box cake or bought something simple from Costco or Dominick’s. I’m not opposed to those options, but this summer I became aware of a new cake-baking genius who had opened up shop (in her lovely kitchen) right here in the neighborhood. Her name is Michele McAtee and she is the brilliant mind and hand behind Maddiebird Bakery. I “liked” her page on Facebook (you can, too: http://bit.ly/cOq6ce – or view her photos on Flickr!) and have been taunted by the sight of her incredible creations all summer, so I knew we needed one of those cakes this year! The cakes are highly individualized and after weeks of debate Lyle decided on a swimming pool cake. The second runner-up was a Toy Story 3 green alien cake, so Michele incorporated the cute little guys on the pool floatie she put her adorable replica of Lyle in! It was awesome (and incredibly delicious!). Take a look at the details: the ladder rails running into the realistic-looking water, the incredible beach towel on the edge, the tiny pair of goggles, the pool tiles on the sides and the depth numbers! Michele spent a lot of time on the phone with me discussing what would be meaningful and fun for Lyle and she pulled it off with style.

The party moved from the playground to the pool and then back to the playground. Lyle was incredibly happy to be racing around with his brother, a few friends from school, lots of neighbors, and his cousins. It was a very happy afternoon and when I asked him at bedtime what the best part was, he couldn’t begin to say.

“All of it,” he smiled.

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Now You are Six.

Dear Lyle,

Once upon a time, you were a little baby. An extremely cute one, at that. See over there to the left? There’s some proof.

But sweetheart, that was a long time ago. Because today you are six. Six is an age that sounds old. That’s because it is.

Yes, you’re starting first grade soon and maybe someday when you’re all grown up and reading this you’ll laugh about your silly mama thinking first grade was old and mature. In order to think so, you’d have to have been there right from the start.

But let me tell you a little about who you are at age six. Because, you see, you’re already shaping up to be a very interesting person.  When I was about to turn six, I wandered around my street in Hartford and told all the neighbors. On my birthday, a mortifying number of them showed up with gifts for me, according to my mother. I was interesting, too. Thanks for not being interesting in that exact same way, kiddo, I do appreciate it.

You are funny.

Oh, boy, are you funny. Your impressions are spot on and you have comedic timing that frightens me. When your humor turns mouthy it simultaneously scares me for your future and reminds me of myself and your Uncle Josh when we were kids. I had this coming. Last winter your violin teacher watched you performing for yourself in the mirror in your own special way and commented that you’re “the next Jim Carrey”. I’m not sure I’d have paid attention had not Daddy and I said the same exact thing the week before. More than one person has suggested you should have your own reality TV show. You’d bring in high ratings.

You are, apparently, an “angel”.

At school you only show your quiet side. We’re told you are a “rule follower” and you never get in trouble. Yeah, except I was that way too when I was in grade school and I know this won’t last forever. My behavior at school never reflected my “home” self in these years, either. Please keep it that way as long as you can, and I do thank you for not doing the PeeWee Herman dance on your desk in school like your Auntie Sarahjane did.

You’re thoughtful.

Last weekend you “helped” me at the grocery store by following me around and discussing what to give Baxter on your birthday* for at least forty-five minutes. We debated whether he likes books better than toys. (For the record we decided he might get more excited about opening toys, but he doesn’t really play with them.) I ordered him a book and forgot to tell you about it, so tonight you greeted me after work – the night before your birthday – by immediately whispering in my ear, “When are we gonna get Baxter’s present??” and you were greatly relieved that I’d taken care of it. This morning you stopped short as you were running past me and asked, “How are you today, Mommy?”

You love your family beyond the moon.

You’re smart as a whip.

Dude, you are always thinking. Always. Sometimes you come into the room where I’m working and just pace: “I need to figure something out,” you tell me, so I keep my trap shut.

You keep track of everything and everybody. When we’re on a walk and I ask which direction we’re walking, you know we’re headed north. You also know we need to walk east to get home. I couldn’t do that until I was 35. Baxter stares at you and wants to know how you figure it out. I do, too. You also have an amazing sense of time. You are constantly talking about what date it is, how many days until some event or other, and exactly what time you got up (“6:38″) and when you ate lunch (“12:42″). It’s impressive to me.

Last week in the car I mentioned to Daddy that we had a pool schedule on our fridge back at home and I didn’t know if it was the schedule for the city pool or my gym’s pool. “It’s for the gym,” you piped up from the backseat, then told us exactly what the gym’s acronym stands for and when the pool was available for family swim. And you were right.

“It must be nice for you to have someone else in the house who’s paying attention to details,” Daddy suggested thoughtfully. I agreed with him.

Although you learned to read last summer, you were very shy about it. It was a while before they realized at school you were reading years above your grade level. You told me you were trying to hide it. But, finally, this summer you are owning it. One night you asked for a turn reading a chapter book aloud and you’ve done it every night ever since. Your favorite series right now is Junie B. Jones; we fall down laughing over those books every night.

You hate attention.

For a kid who’s funny and so “out there” at home, you sure hate attention.  And as much as you love your birthday – I wasn’t sure you’d make it until today to turn 6 – you get very anxious about the attention on you. Two nights ago at dinner I smiled at you and you yelled at me (I believe you called me “Missy” and showed me your claws), and you told me not to pay attention to you. When I asked if this was because of your birthday coming, you burst into tears and sobbed on my lap. For the third year running, we will not sing “Happy Birthday” to you because you can’t stand it; it’s overwhelming, all that attention. And I promised you that at your party on Saturday everyone will be busy in the pool and on the playground and they won’t sit there staring at you. You were relieved. You’re learning to tell us how you feel and you’re figuring out what you need. I’m pretty sure that’s more than half the battle in life.

Six-year-old Lyle, I love your wacky sense of humor, your crooked smile, loose teeth, and twinkly eyes. I love you when you’re lighting up the room with happiness and when you’re growling at me in anger. I love you when you’re learning to climb to new heights on climbing walls and when you’re swimming in the pool. I love listening to your little voice reading with such expression. I love your confidence just as much as I love watching you overcome your fears.

I love that you’re turning six because I believe that at six you’ll be more YOU than ever before. And that is something I welcome.

Love,
Mommy

*Thanks to our friends Cara and Michael, we follow the “corner birthday” tradition, in which the sibling receives a small gift as well each year.

To Bike…or…Not to Bike

On Memorial Day two years ago, I wrote a post about the way we taught Baxter to ride his bike without training wheels.  It worked great and he was able to do it in a single afternoon.  The process involves removing both the training wheels and the pedals and essentially creating your own balance bike (these little pedal-less bikes that have become so popular) because the idea is that once the child learns to balance himself you can then add steering and then pedaling and voila! We wished we’d known to do that earlier and vowed to try it sooner with Lyle.

Last summer we were prepared to try it with him, but he was so freaked out about the upcoming kindergarten year that he declared on an almost daily basis that he wanted to be a baby again, NOT a big boy. (Here’s some proof of that.)  Therefore, instead of taking his training wheels off he went back to using his tricycle, tear-assing on that thing around the bike path like it was his job.

Fast forward to this weekend. Lyle was desperate to take his bike out to the park and learn to ride without training wheels. (Yes, he really has come a LONG way; he is also super-pumped about first grade!) And so, Matt took off the training wheels and pedals and once some massive thunderstorms had moved through, we all went to the park.

It started out pretty well.

Getting ready…

The send-off… Look! Feet are off the ground!

He was a little unsure of the landing in the grass but only his pride was hurt.

But then things started to go downhill – and not just his bike. We saw the look on his face and knew things were taking a turn for the worse. After only a few tries we had to take a break on a bench to collect ourselves.  And by “ourselves” I mean “our child”.  We were kind, we were understanding, we tried to figure out what we could do differently to help him. Then we were cheerleaders, letting him know HE COULD DO IT! and YAY HOORAH HOORAY! as we walked back to the top of the rise.

He staged a sit-in.

If you listen hard enough, you can hear the loud wailing. I’m sure of it.

I really wanted Lyle to try again, not because I care if he learns to ride his bike without training wheels this summer but because I know him – and I was pretty sure that if he left the park without some sense of success it would be a very long time before he would attempt it again. But he would not try again. The training wheels went back on.

On the walk home he and I talked about it. I praised him for trying and being so brave, and reminded him of all the times he picked his feet up off the ground.  Lyle confessed that he thought it was going to be easy – I’m sure it looks that way when other people do it.  His expectations were too high. I explained to him that when Baxter did it he learned so quickly because he was 7 1/2 – a full two years older than Lyle is.  That seemed to help a bit.

We’ll see if he’ll try anytime soon but we made sure he knew that anytime he wants to attempt it again we’ll take the training wheels off.  In the meantime I’m focusing on how many ways Lyle has come out of his shell this past year and moved out of his comfort zone.  Only he can control that, and that’s the way it should be. The rest of us just need to sit tight and enjoy the ride.

Surprises

Kids are full of surprises.  Our inspiration for getting a dog came from Baxter, who is a big-time dog lover and has been for years.  Dogs and toddlers: Baxter’s two loves. But somehow, although he loves Gus and cuddles with him whenever he gets a chance, he hasn’t bonded with him as much as one might expect.  Perhaps it is because Gus is hopelessly devoted to me and this bums Baxter out; he calls the dog to him and the dog just looks at him and runs after me.  I try to invite Baxter to come snuggle with us and take him for walks, but it’s probably not what Baxter dreamed of.  I understand that and I think it’ll come in time.

On the other hand, Lyle – who could take or leave other people’s dogs for the most part and expressed some ambivalence about getting a dog, saying, “I’ll be jealous of the attention you’ll give the dog!” – has bonded more firmly with Gus in the first month than I’d ever thought possible.  He plays with him, offers to feed him, and when looking for things to do will spend quite a bit of time training the dog. Surprisingly, he’s good at the training.  At age 5 he commands the dog’s full attention and gets him to do everything we do.  It’s uncanny.

This evening, just before bedtime, Lyle came into the kitchen in his pajamas and asked if he could take the dog out to pee.  I loved that he remembered I always do that before I leave Gus for a while to put the kids to bed.  I agreed that we could do that together, so he threw on some flip flops with his winter snowman pajamas on this warm spring night, and out we went.

It’s a good reminder that we truly don’t know who our kids are until we see them actually move through life, encountering new experiences as they go.  Surprises can be very, very good.