Charlyn’s Web

I was in the nursery at church during Sunday School. Normally, I am not there during that time but one of the helpers was gone so I was conscripted. I had to work on the Church’s bills and therefore wasn’t much help, per say, just another adult in the room. One has to be so careful these days. Sigh.

Anyway, I was busy working on things, trying to keep my papers from being stepped on and scattered about when I tuned into a conversation.

Pixie is addressing her future husband: “Please put the seat up when you go pee because if you don’t it gets wet and then I might sit in it.”

Oh my. The nagging begins.

Happy Birthday Pixie!

The Local Homeschool group is having a weekly sports time. Right now they are learning how to play soccer. This is for the older kids and The Boy just squeaks in. He has been enjoying it very much and it’s great for him to learn about various sports.

It’s at a local park and The Girls can play on the play structure with the other young children. Last week another Mom, Mrs. J, decided to take the younger ones- from about 5 up- and show them how to play too. Pixie decided she didn’t want to do that and played with the real young children. She likes to “mother” all the toddlers.

On the way home, Pixie asked-“Do the kids learning how to play soccer with Mrs. J have to wear the green thingys?”

Hmmm, green thingys? Oh yes, the green jerseys the kids on one team wear to distinguish the teams from each other.

No, the little kids don’t have to wear those.

“Oh, good! Then next week, I’ll go play with them!”

That’s my girl! Always got fashion on her mind.

A new boy has moved into our circle of friends.

Miss Sunshine calls him “My Friend”. She hardly ever uses his name.

“I want to sit by My Friend!” she proclaims at Sunday School.

“I am making this for My Friend.” she declares.

She is going to marry him.

The problem is that her sister also wants to marry him.

At least we are keeping it in the family.

Pixie calls him by his name and they are picking out houses together.

The Girls get into arguments about who is going to marry whom.

“I’m going to marry him!”

“No! I am going to marry him!”

Sigh.

I tell them that we’ll decide this in about 20 plus years. The longer the better.

The Brother, at dinner today, just to stir the pot, asked The Sisters if they loved this boy.

“I gave my heart in his heart.” Sunshine poetically proclaimed.

My heart sinks. What is a mother to do? I have been warned that he had a girl he was going to marry when he lived back East but now he has thrown her over because she is too far away.

I don’t know. A fickle, boy from the East. What could be worse??? What is a mother to do?

Well, we aren’t picking out wedding dresses yet but I’m keeping my eye on that boy.

There are times when raising children that one feels that the child will grow up to be the most selfish, inconsiderate, obnoxious person out there. It’s a challenge to tear the child away from selfish desires and teach them to think of others. It’s not a natural thing. I am dismayed to see my child go over to another and whack him for no apparent reason- or, I should say, no apparent reason that I can see. Then one refuses to let another have a toy even though she isn’t playing with it at that time. These things can trouble a mother’s heart.

When we were visiting The Grandparent’s this summer the kids partook of many treats. The freezer at Grandma’s is full of really good stuff- ice cream treats and Popsicles. She also bakes very well. After lunch the kids got to have Popsicles. I dolled them out, trying to avoid the arguments about what color every one wanted, and gave The Boy broken ones two days in a row. On the third day, I pulled out one that was broken but knowing that he had endured two flawed ones already, I handed it to his Baby Sister and gave him the whole one. Baby Sister stared at the broken pop in her hand and started the high pitched whine.

“I don’t want it! It’s broken!”

It’ll still taste the same.

“But it’s broken!” wailing in a higher pitch.

Your Brother has had two broken ones, he gets a whole one this time. You can still eat it.

Squirms in her seat and starts to cry. I am contemplating what action to take when I look at The Boy.

“She can have mine.”

Baby Sis calms down and makes the trade. After prodding she says “thank you”.

He smiles.

One definitely needs more work but the other shines a glimmer of hope into his Mother’s heart.

I was asked a question in the comments on this post and I thought I’d answer it in a blog post since it was going to be a fairly long, drawn out affair. I am good at making short stories long.

The question was:

“I’m curious… when Pixie refuses to wear the clothes she has vowed to wear, do you return them knowing that she will never cave in, or do you hang them in the closet to be “stashed” until you pass them on to someone else? I have often wondered the fate of Pixie’s rejects.”

I don’t take them back usually because it’s been too long before I realize that she has “issues” with it, or I’ve washed it first, or it was bought at a store far, far away in a another galaxy. In the case of the jeans, I had washed them in an attempt to set color and keep them from fading as quickly. I bought two skort outfits at the beginning of the summer that she swore she would wear- she’s worn one once or twice and the other not at all. I hope her sister likes them- which is usually my back up plan. There is also the chance, which does happen- see below story about the jeans, that she will change her mind.

Pixie just gets strange ideas in her head about things. She doesn’t want to wear some shirts because they are too long and cover up the waist band of her pants/skirt. I don’t want her having short shirts and flashing her belly ring to the world. (Just seeing if you are awake.) She finally wore her new jeans on Saturday, which is a long, drawn out story in itself but I am sure you are tired of hearing all the angst, she wanted them rolled up even though they are a great length. I don’t know what it is with her and short things- preparing for the flood that is bound to come, I guess. I refused and she some how managed to get through the day and now declares that she likes her jeans and has worn them everyday since. Heavy, heavy sigh.

Anyway, what should I do with the things she will not wear? One suggestion was to make her buy the clothes with her own money and return on her own what she doesn’t want. She is only 5- would that be a good idea? She tends to be very visual and I know we will have to work with her about “wanting” everything and blowing her money on all things pink. So would putting her on a clothing budget at this age be a good idea? Also, I often go alone to the great Mart here in town and pick things out of season from the sales rack at great discounts- she’d have to be with me on those occasions to help pick and pay for those items. Although, one could argue that even if bought very cheap, if she will not wear it then it’s of no value. There is a beautiful pink polka dot dress hanging in the closet that is just such an example.

What other suggestions do you have? Give her two choices daily of what she can wear instead of letting her pick? I’m open to suggestions.

I am getting tired of the whining and upset about what she is going to wear. I’m also getting sick of seeing her in her favorite outfit.

Even if she is pretty cute.

I know that many of you thought this was a nice, clean, wholesome site, but my next item may call our family friendliness into question.

After a recent grueling day at the office, I was mentally exhausted, nursing a headache, and “hearing” unpleasant things from some rather tight muscles in my shoulders. My family and I had just enjoyed a delightful meal prepared by a particularly lovely and capable chef, who just coincidently happens to be the official webmistress of this web site.

Before pushing back from the table, KJ generously offered to rub my aching back. I thought this sounded like a splendid idea, and proceeded to remove my shirt and stretch my tired carcass out on the floor, belly down, eager to feel the tension oozing away from my body.

Pixie climbed on, and began “rubbing” my back and neck.

Somewhat.

Kinda.

If you use your imagination.

A bit.

Ok, the word “rubbing” might be a stretch. Poking might be more accurate. Actually, she doesn’t do half bad at massaging tired backs sometimes, but this wasn’t one of those times. She was distracted, preoccupied, or perhaps just feeling more like the otter she is.

I felt her arranging a silk ribbon around one of my ears, fluffing it all up “just so.” She paused for a moment, then said something that I really didn’t pay much attention to. I was trying not to fight my body’s desire to lose consciousness, despite the abundance of child noises surrounding me, the ribbon tickling my face, the “rubbing,” and everything else going on. I must say, sometimes I am quite successful in succumbing to a power nap even in the midst of a chaotic environment. So, I wasn’t processing whatever was being said; that might mean that I would have to actually utilize valuable mental resources to distinguish noise and random words from attempts to make genuine conversation.

But there it was again. She repeated herself, and I had no choice but to hear it this time, for the phrase contained my name. She was talking to her brother.

“Papa’s being X-rated!”

Huh? *click!* *whir!* I’m being… what? At this point I verbalized nothing, but my mind was trying to get a handle on what my ears had apparently heard.

I guess the boy wasn’t paying sufficient attention either, for I felt Pix cup her hands on my back, and say, “See? Papa’s being X-rated!”

I’m being what?

“X-rated. So we can see what’s wrong with your shoulder!”

Pause… Ahhh! You’re wanting to see the bones inside my body?

She nods and smiles.

I smile back. I had no idea how pornographic our family massage parlor really was.

My baby is four. The last of the babies. She still says some pretty cute things- I know this too will pass. Here’s a few:

We saw a Chinook Helicopter flying around on the way to church Sunday. Sunshine saw it and got excited.

“We saw one of those at the, uh, uh, uh….”

“Airport?” her Papa offered helpfully.

“No! At the uh… uh….”

“Air show?” Asked in confusion because where else but the airport would the air show be held?

“Yeah! The air show! That’s where we saw the Chimook.”

***************

The kids have started the annoying game of copying each other- repeating back what the first one says. This, of course, causes great annoyance in the copyee. (I know, it’s not a word.) It’ll go something like this (and I am highly condensing- be thankful):

“I like it!” says Sunshine

“I like it!” repeats Pixie.

“Stop it!” says Sunshine with increasing shrillness.

“Stop it!” parrots the Otter.

“I said stop coughing me!” shrieks the four year old.

**************

She’s also a bat sleeper.

We were out driving around when the CD with songs from Vacation Bible School came on. The kids, especially the girls, really like it. TG kept murmuring something about the “Ashes” song. She asks me to turn up the music and then starts hemming and hawing and saying “Mom!”. So I turn the music down to actually hear her and then she doesn’t really have anything to say. It can be frustrating. But I did hear something about the ashes song again. I didn’t know what she was talking about.

We reached one of our stops and I waited to get out so we could finish up a song. She kept talking through it that she wanted to hear the rest of the song.

Gosh! If you’d be quiet then you’d hear the rest of the song! See me twitch?

So we get our errand done and start off again. One song has a chorus that goes something like this: “My actions meet my passion for what My God has done!” Then I heard that word again- ashes. Oh!

“My ashes meet my Passion!”

That puts a whole new spin on those lyrics.

I thought I would show you what my Mom looks like since she doesn’t post pictures of herself very often. See? She has long hair, mainly because she hasn’t gone to get it cut for a long, long time. Her nails are all grown out. I have nails, they need to be trimmed.

She wears dangley ear rings on her ears. See them? I want to be able to wear them too.

She has lots of teeth too.

The sun is shining! See all the letters I wrote?

Sorry about the foot being torn off- it was an accident.

Bye!

Pixie

P.S. Mom says I can’t show you the picture I drew of Papa. She used big words. Something about it being correct. Then comes the really big word- anatomically. I don’t know what that means.