Once Upon a Pumpkin

Once there was a pumpkin, who was loved by a little boy.


The little boy asked his daddy if he could take the pumpkin home.


His daddy said yes.


The little boy was so excited, he invited his friends to come over and bring their pumpkins, too. Then he made pumpkin cookies with his mommy to share with his friends.


The little boy noticed that his pumpkin cookies were smiling. He wanted his pumpkin to smile too.


He asked his daddy to make his pumpkin smile. His daddy took out a large sharp knife. This scared the boy at first.


Then his daddy showed him how to cut the top off the pumpkin, like a lid. The little boy thought this was very exciting. What would they find inside?


The boy reached his hand inside the pumpkin. It felt slimy and wet. The pumpkin was filled with a gooey mess of seeds and pulp.


The pulp was orange, just like the outside of the pumpkin. The boy's daddy showed him how to scoop the seeds into a bowl.


His friends scooped their pumpkins too.


They all agreed that sometimes, sticking your hands in a gooey mess is very fun.


Next, everyone drew faces on their pumpkins. Some used markers. Others used special tools to poke tiny holes in the pumpkin's skin. The holes made a pattern, like stars in the sky.


Finally, they began to carve their pumpkins. The boy's daddy ran a knife along the lines he had drawn, revealing the pumpkin's two eyes. Next, he carved a nose.


The boy's mommy carved a smile with three teeth poking out. The little boy asked if he could help, but his mommy said he was too young to hold a knife.


So he went and watched Charlie Brown.


Finally, the pumpkin was finished! The boy's daddy took the pumpkin outside, where the night was dark and the air was cold. He pried off the pumpkin's lid and put a candle inside. When he lit the candle, the pumpkin burst into a bright smile.


The pumpkin glowed in the darkness, as though all the love and joy he felt for the little boy was shining out into the world. It made the little boy smile too.


His friends lit their pumpkins next. What a sight! There was a pirate pumpkin,


A scary pumpkin,


And a cheerful pumpkin with a raised eyebrow, who looked as if he had a joke to tell.


There they sat --- four little pumpkins shining in the night --- each of them different, each of them special. The boy and his friends smiled back, and for a moment, it felt like they too held candles inside, lighting up the night sky.

THE END

10 Minutes

They say in Colorado, "If you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes."

I'd say the same applies to motherhood.

At lunchtime, Noah was in that state of semi-delirium that inevitably follows a late night of pumpkin carving and cartoon specials. "I want my socks OFF, Mama!" he demanded, with all the gusto of a budding dictator.

"Keep your socks on, Noah, it's cold out," I said distractedly, raiding the refrigerator for the makings of an easy lunch. My eyes fell on a carton of strawberry yogurt and a stick of cheese. Perfect.

"NO, I want them OFF!" Clearly, this was not open to negotiation.

"Okay, Noah, just a minute," I said, halving a banana to add to his plate.

"I WANT MY SOCKS OFF NOW, MOM!" Mom. This is a new thing, as of two days ago. I refuse to answer to a two-year-old calling me "Mom" like a teenager. Last time I checked, it is way too early for prepubescent angst.

"Just a MINUTE," I insist, my own impatience rising. "And my name is not Mom, it's Mommy or Mama." I plunked the banana down on his placemat and reached for his socks, peeling them off with a "Zo-OOP!" sound effect, which won me a tiny smile.

The smile disappeared as soon as it came. "NO," he said, as I sat him in his booster seat. He shoved the yogurt container away from him, the spoon clattering after it. The cheese and banana were also deemed unacceptable and pushed aside. "I want a stem," he said, pointing to last night's pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies, their orange hue glowing through the clear plastic container.

"These?" I held up the container. Immediately his expression changed from rage to euphoria.

"Yes!"

As if I even needed to ask.

What transpired next was an unpleasant scene in which I insisted the yogurt come first and he unleased the full measure of his fury. I clicked through my multiple mom-personalities like a slideshow on ineffective parenting. Mean mommy. Cajoling mommy. Painfully enthusiastic mommy. Fed up mommy. YOU WILL EAT THIS OR YOU WILL GO IN TIME OUT mommy. KEEP IT UP AND I AM CALLING YOUR FATHER mommy. (Pete, be glad you didn't answer that call.) And finally, Settle-down mommy. The mommy who read him Curious George for the umpteenth time until he calmed his hiccuping cries long enough to shovel in a bite of yogurt. Then a bite of cheese. Then, the banana. The whole process resembled a person learning to drive stick: grinding the gears, jerking forward, stalling out, grinding again. When he finally cleaned his plate and I reached for the cookies, we both looked relieved, if a little sheepish.

Fast forward ten minutes. We are esconced in Noah's "story chair," a red cushy glider where I nursed and sang to him during all those months of infancy. Lately, Noah insists on sitting next to me rather than on my lap as we read, trying out his "big boy" persona. But today, we're done with books. "Mama, can I sing to you?" he asks, and I translate my toddler's mixed pronouns in my head. His grammar is a little muddled: I means you and you means me, just like when he says, "Mama, can I pick you up?" (Now that I would like to see.)

"Sure, Buddy," I say, and I hold him to my chest. He buries his head in my shoulder and tucks his arms around my middle.

Away in a manger, I sing.

I have always loved Christmas carols as lullabies. They are easy to remember, they are exquisite, and many recall a sleeping baby Jesus, which is about as serene an image as I can muster. Noah, whose breathing has begun to slow and deepen, seems to enjoy them too. I move on to Angels We Have Heard on High, then Silent Night. My toes knead the carpet as I ease the rocker back and forth, back and forth, the two of us sailing on our own little ship.

It has been a long time since I have held him like this, for this duration. With an infant, your arms are the cradle; with a toddler, your arms are the leash. I close my eyes and enjoy the moment, grateful to be needed for something besides sock removal or a sippy cup refill. The tyrant has disappeared --- his anger spent, his tummy full. Without the swagger, he is still my baby. I kiss his head and --- click --- the slideshow advances, revealing a much more peaceful mommy than the one clenching the yogurt spoon only moments before.

Some days, all we can expect is to get by in ten-minute increments. We can travel the entire emotional spectrum in the span of an hour, walking our children through the trials and glories of a world where the yogurt comes first. But when you finally make it to the cookie, and you taste that sweetness, you can say around a mouthful of crumbs, "It was worth it."

And it is.

Morning Glories

Three scenes from this morning, showing three of my great loves:


Sigh. Life is good.

Things I Swore I'd Never Do as a Mother #6

#6. Stand idly by (holding a camera, no less) while my son demonstrates unlawful crib evacuation procedures.

Since Noah has recently taken it upon himself to exit his crib --- and room --- upon waking up, without waiting for me, might I add, I decided I needed to witness just how he was accomplishing this acrobatic feat. Observe the following video, where he instructs me to "Watch your Noah" as he begins his climb. Apparently the toy box is key to the operation.

It's a sad day when you can no longer keep your child in a cozy wooden CAGE.

Feels like Fall

I can't believe I finally get to say this:

It's starting to feel like fall.

YAHOO!!!!!!!!!

I think every Floridian should get an "I survived another summer" T-shirt at the close of the season. That, and a "Get out of your August electric bill free" coupon. Who's with me?

Some fall scenes (and no, don't expect changing leaves or jackets... This is a swamp, remember):

(Below: Noah and Pete on the Dragon Express.
Pete is the one near the back with his arm up,
letting out a "Whoop!")

Man, I love this season.

Boy Wonder

I am continually amazed by Noah's powers of retention. He learns a word once, and it's in there. I, on the other hand, am losing brain cells daily. Just this morning, I spent ten minutes scouring the house for my car keys, which I knew I'd seen only moments before. The old retrace your steps method really worked, seeing as I finally located them in the top rack of my dishwasher.

Wow. I have lost my keys all over this house (and beyond), but that is a new one.

Is it the Cheerios? The 3-1/2 hour naps? The miracle of youth, that allows a two-year old to take giant intellectual strides in the course of a morning? Whatever it is, I need it.

Case in point: We recently read Curious George and the Hot Air Balloon, in which George "accidentally" takes a balloon ride over Mount Rushmore. (Tell me, is he really the "good little monkey" they always claim he is? Don't you think the Man with the Yellow Hat needs to step it up with the discipline already?) Anyway, Noah was so fascinated by the "statues in the mountain" that I showed him a picture of Mount Rushmore on Google. As you will note in the following video, he is just about ready to be the next winning contestant on Jeopardy! (presuming Dada Penguin can accompany him).

(The sound you hear at the end is Pete arriving home from work --- I would have been curious to see if Noah could name the other two Presidents.)

Remind me to up my Cheerio intake.

Has anyone seen my keys?

Dear Chiquita Banana...

Dear Chiquita Banana Co.:

I am writing to suggest a new face for the Chiquita Banana Company. As you will note in the photo above, this young boy demonstrates not only a high adorability factor but also a rare ability to balance objects on his head (in this case, a lady bug basket). We can certainly work our way up to fruit, beginning with kiwi and perhaps moving on to pomegranates by the end of the week.

It is my firm belief that his remarkable cuteness will capture the hearts of shoppers everywhere, and his age will likely inspire millions of toddlers worldwide to increase their banana intake. I can verify that this child speaks highly of your outstanding product, being that bananas and mac & cheese are his two major food groups. (We are also in talks with Kraft Food Co., so I advise you to snatch up this offer quickly.)

I look forward to hearing from you in the very near future, and am certain that we can negotiate a lucrative contract for this obvious budding talent.

Respectfully yours,

Lauren

P.S. He can also balance grapes and pineapples (for an additional fee).

Heroes

Our home is now peopled with the personalities of Noah's gang of superheroes. As one little boy's imagination comes to life, so does his collection of toys. Meet the Magnificent Seven:


(I have yet to break it to him that Darth Vader has gone over to the Dark Side.)

The heroes were kind enough to pause from saving the world long enough for me to take this portrait. Consider it my contribution to posterity.


This is Headless Orange Guy. Headless Orange Guy has no head, one leg, and no foot. I have yet to ascertain his super power. As of now, it is known only to Noah.


And this (quiet down, ladies) is Aqua Guy. Our latest import from Owen's toy collection across the street. Aqua Guy's super power is either flexing or transfixing you with his mesmerizing gaze. Observe the flexing:


Now the mesmerizing gaze:


I know. It's a toss-up.

With Aqua Guy's many features, it's easy to see why he has gained popularity with such relative ease.


In a two-year-old's eyes, at least.


Pete is not so easily won. In his words, "He's just a little too... pretty."

Now Pete, what's a Superhero without his good looks and charm?

You of all people should know.


And for the record ---


--- your mesmerizing gaze has him beat.

Now you just have to practice your flexing.

Happiness is...

So if my clothes are fuzzy and wrinkled, you'll know why.

Good Medicine

Problem: Injury sustained on playground when child bumped chin on climbing wall. Bloody lip. Teeth intact. Child retained consciousness. Mother retained consciousness with difficulty (mild hyperventilation).

Treatment: Bowl of vanilla ice cream before dinner to reduce swelling and staunch tears.

Outcome: Good humor restored. Appetite ruined. Happy child. Happy mama.

How to Survive Post-Vacation Stress Disorder

You all know how it is when you get home from vacation. The empty fridge. The dirty laundry. The piles of paperwork you blithely left behind on your departure, saying "I'll get to that later."

Guess what?

It's later.

Such a rude awakening, this Post-Vacation Stress Disorder. This time, however, I am attacking it head-on.

The Franklin-Covey Day Planner is out and back in action, baby. My freeform days of old are now zipped in a tight girdle of appointments and prioritized task lists. I have slept eight hours a night, three nights in a row. (Seriously, why didn't anyone tell me how good that feels?) I have attacked my workload like the Jackie Chan of bookkeeping. I am uber-productive. I am WOMAN. Hear me roar.

Or hear me snore, whichever your preference.

Because guess what? Right now, I am seizing 15 minutes ALL TO MYSELF. 900 seconds of me-time to eat Godiva chocolates, sip an ice-cold Diet Coke, and read a novel on the couch. It is an actual appointment in my Franklin-Covey Day Planner, sandwiched right between "Call boss" and "Pay bills." I am finding that if I give myself permission to rest in bite-size chunks, I will actually use the time --- and appreciate it --- without residual guilt or the temptation to overindulge. For us OCD types, this works. It may be pathetic, but it gets the job done.

Besides, how much happier would we all be if we took a little of the vacation home with us?

(Carol Beth, thanks for the birthday chocolates... I am actually closing my eyes when I chew, they are SO DIVINE!!!!)

Home again!

We made it! Finally rolled in just before midnight. Will spend today "digging out!"

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home...

Noah's Travel Diary: More Pictures (Because That's How I Roll)

Dear Everybuddy,

Mama says we can't stay here FOREVER because Leo would miss the way I chase him and hug his neck until he goes ROWR. And she says it would not be nice to ask Aunt Beki to scoop his DOO-DOO DUNE for all of his NINE LIVES.

So I am taking LOTS of pictures.

Love, Noah

Auntie Kim

Halle, Lydia, and Riley

Riley and Tate

Lydia

Tate's kite

Nana and Pop-Pop

Mama

Me and Mama (on the Ocracoke Ferry)