It’s a June, Bug!

Welcome to June, the month that ushers in summer’s vibrance. I’m delighted to share another desktop wallpaper design, complete with June’s calendar. Please click to download a full size copy and add some sunshine to your cyber companion.

This month’s art is inspired by my favorite bug! No, it’s not a fat little, brown, hard-shelled “june bug” as we call them down here in the deep South. No, it’s not that crazy bumble bee with a “banjo buckled on its knee” I first shared in my Spring Junkspiration.  This Bug is much closer to home–home where my heart is. In fact, he sleeps in the room right next to mine–which is one of the rare times he’s actually stationary. My favorite “Bug” is the nickname for Squiggle I coined some months/years back [though I only have 2 1/2 years to choose from], and his love of life and magic markers inspired the theme for June’s wallpaper foray. Don’t ask me why “Bug” came to mind. It just happened. And, it stuck. It’s a special Mommy-word I share with Squig.

If you haven’t been formally introduced, Squiggle is my 2 1/2 year-old son, and subtlety is not in his vocabulary.  Admittedly, we can’t always completely understand his vocabulary, but we understand enough to know that subtlety isn’t part of it. As you can see from the wallpaper background “squiggles,” when construction paper and markers come together, no square centimeter is left out. And, it’s not some random concoction of lines. Squiggle always has a purpose.

When he created this impromptu art show at G-Mo & Paw-T’s house, he was very specific about how many marks were on each “work” in the catalog and had a specific location that Daddy should place each piece in the exhibit. Despite his meticulous tendencies, his exhilaration and love of life always shine through, whether in the constant motion of a single purple marker on “lellow” paper or the color explosion of emptying the box on a clean, white sheet.

Early summer tends to bring out that kind of carefree joy, before the heat becomes tiresome. It’s a time for freedom, for running barefoot, for running fast, for running–partly because of how long the days are. Since we have so much daylight left after the work and preschool days are done, we are reluctant to waste it. The Summer Solstice this month marks the year’s longest “day.” And, although “solstice” signifies the day when (according to my handy dictionary.com) the sun seems to “stand still,” I am hard-pressed to encourage Bug to do the same. But, such is the joy of summer.  What can I say? In answer to his perpetual question of “whass aaat?”… It’s a June, Bug! will have to suffice.

For the Love of a Boy

I’d do almost anything.
Happy Birthday, Little Drummer Boy!

you opened my heart and laid it bare to be loved on May 2, 2005

Tues Ten 042809: Drummer-isms

My first-born is turning 4 YEARS OLD at the end of the week! [My heart is simultaneously splitting its buttons with pride and joy and skipping a few beats with disbelief and denial.] In honor of my precious Little Drummer Boy, I give you my top ten Drummer-isms [at least this moment's top ten].  Some you may have seen or heard in other EyeJunkie ramblings, but they bear repeating.  Read ‘em and weep with me in laughter and astonishing cuteness–spoken like the Mommy in love I am.

1. “Look for the bear necessities, the simple bear necessities, forget about your worries and your stripe”
LDB’s version of the classic from The Jungle Book.  I’m glad “strife” didn’t factor into his equation, and I suppose it’s ok to forget about stripes, too.

2. “Look, Mommy, I can see my smoke!”
Winter mornings.

3. “Why they have to stitch your skin up?”
In response to Daddy’s story of the scar over his left eyebrow. Closely followed by “and then his skin came open and blood came out” in the retelling of the episode to Mommy.  Boys and their blood and guts–an endless source of Mommy pondering.

4. “Lord Jesus, bless the moonlight”

5. “That sounds like a big drum. I think God is playing drums.”
LDB’s reason not to worry about a bedtime thunderstorm.

6. “If we go too far we will surely, surely get lost. We need to hurry on through this lost place.”
Agreed. It’s a good thing I know the way to G-Mo and Paw-T’s house.

7. “Please stop giving the beast sugar“
In response to Mommy’s incessant kissing while the Beast absolutely ignores Beauty in favor of practicing his roar. Yes, note to all preschool teachers and smitten Mommies: please stop giving the beast sugar.

8. “And, I pray that You would not let Mommy get lost as work.”
Indeed.

9. “You bring me so much joy.”
Right back atcha, love.

10. “Yes I am.“

Kids Are Baby Goats & Other Boy Musings

Yesterday morning I watched Squiggle, my 2 1/2 year old, relieve the patio of a significant portion of the ever-present pecan tree blossoms one handful at a time. “Blossoms” implies soft petals, lingering fragrance, and lovely hues. So, realistically, pecan tree “blossoms” might be a stretch.  Think an overwhelming volume of wispy things that dry up, die, and quickly resemble dirt.  Now you know why they so enamored Squiggle.  He spent the better part of our backyard visit methodically collecting them in various pots, buckets and dumptrucks. After apparently gathering a satisfactory amount, he alternated between creating very interesting pecan blossom sculptures atop the smaller garden pots and cooking up some pecan blossom soup. When it was time to go inside, amid the swoon of rare just-Squiggle-and-Mommy time and the joy of watching toddler imagination at work, one thought took root: WHAT is this fascination with dirt and dirt-like substances that permeates the hearts and minds of my kids? And while I have no reason to believe Baby Girl won’t soon follow closely in big brothers’ footsteps, at the moment when it comes to dirt and its fascination, “kids” mean BOYS–two of them.  Make that two little ones and one grown-up one to serve as instigator.

My MeMa would be scolding me right now.  She doesn’t like to hear children referred to as “kids.”  I suppose it goes a little too far toward slang for her no-nonsense tastes.  “Kids are baby goats,” she would say under her breath while shaking her head.  I don’t know how the term came to refer to baby people, but I’m convinced it began with a mother of boys.

We don’t have many goats here in Starkville (at least I don’t think we do,) but, ironically, my husband lived next door to one for a few years–rather he lived next door to an older man who owned a goat.  It was just after we started dating, and I have vague recollections of the goat standing on top of a huge pile of debris across the fence looking down at Hub’s white german shepherd/blond lab mix.  Yes, it’s a surreal picture–the goat holding court right there on Highway 25 between Skate Odyssey and the Wash Depot.  Hub tells me that the goat was quite rambunctious, bleating to the wind at all hours, putting anything lying around on the ground in its mouth, and hopping or climbing on everything it could find.  Hmmm.  It doesn’t sound that much different than our household.  Come to think of it, the goat scene probably wasn’t that much different than the Hub/college roommates scene next door.  Apparently, neither goats nor boys grow out of their baby goat ways.

Now–just like yesterday morning–on a weekly, sometimes daily (and yes hourly) basis, I find myself pondering the unusual phenomenon of boys.  And their love affairs with noise and movement and hopping.  And sticks and stones.  And other goat-like behavior.  And lions.  Frankly, it bewilders the adult mommy mind.  And, I am left to interchangeably wring my hands, scratch my head or be struck silent in confusion — not an easy task for a wordy girl such as myself.  Consider…

Bad guys. And all the really cool stuff they get to do and say. Captain Hook’s sword is always so much cooler than Peter Pan’s.  And, he gets to say Aaargh.  My mother still gets a chuckle out of Little Drummer Boy’s reaction to David and Goliath.  We were delighted to teach him the story of God’s little warrior felling the big, bad giant.  Only, LDB always wanted to BE Goliath.  After all, he gets to fall down and die.  Not to rewrite divine inspiration or anything, but the dude with the spear wins out over a few stones. This time.  Which brings me to…

Stickes and stones. And the affinity for all things related to rocks in the traditional sense.  You see, the modern rock vernacular–as in “Look, Daddy brought us milk.  Daddy rocks!”–is lost on boys at this stage of the game.  Little Drummer Boy’s response: “Rocks. I want to see the rocks.”  You see, in kid-land, don’t even bring it, unless you bring it with rocks.  And, boy can my boys bring it.  I recently counted 37 [that was 37, and yes, I counted] rocks left in the washing machine after a load of Squiggle and LDB’s clothes.  Not long after the discovery of pockets, Squiggle asked for my help one morning to get a hand in his.  It turns out the problem was a lovely, smooth and VERY clean stick that had been stored there last week and had subsequently weathered the spin cycle.  When putting jackets away, I’m regularly confronted with pockets full of sticks and stones and dirt.  A reminder of…

Secret hideaways. And the stuff stored there.  It’s not just pockets and rocks.  Squiggle doesn’t sleep in socks anymore because we went through a period when they kept disappearing.  On a rare pull-out-the-bed-on-a-dust-hunt moment, behind Squig’s bed I discovered two pacifiers poppies and twenty pairs of slightly dingy socks. [that was 20, and yes, I counted]. We lost Eyeore for a while–quite a gloomy mystery. I looked in every bag, on every shelf, in every corner, under every bed.  When my mother noticed a slight dip in the circus tent canopy over Squiggle’s bed, I realized that “under the bed” is for Mommy amateurs.  If you want to snuff out the secret hideaway, you have to set your sights higher.  Sure enough, there was Eyeore.  I’m sure his resting place was the inevitable product of some giggle-fueled, toy-slinging battle waged early or late when the lights were out. Ushering in…

Lions. And their roars.  Dueling roars, to be exact.  Little Drummer Boy and Squiggle practice theirs early on Saturday mornings, perfecting the art of just the right volume and ferocity.  It’s a familiar alarm clock which sometimes signals our approach into kid-land at the supper table, in the car, during bathtime, etc.  Last month, LDB’s preschool class put on an “art show” complete with museum signage, visitor guest logs and artist profiles.  I was shocked to read his profile under the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?”  I think it’s the first time he’s ever been asked that question, and naturally, the answer was “a hunter.”  WHAT? No offense to my tree-pattern clad Southernites out there, but I don’t know if I want my boys to get into the hunting thing.  And, I have the guns-are-yucky speech to prove it.  So, I quizzed LDB with a “what do you want to hunt?”  The answer: Lions. At the zoo. That’s my boy kid!

I can hear you.  You parents of mostly girls laugh in disbelief and mommy mockery, but just you wait.  You see, I’m a girl, married to a man who was once a boy, but has never quite shed the skin of his goat-like qualities. Shower and shave aside, he remains a connoisseur of hopping, only with a louder thud.  He continues his ways of coveting sticks and stones, only in larger quantities to fit in larger hands to share with smaller goats in training.  And, he has quite eloquently expanded his repertoire of lion roars to include all manner of sound effects from bats hitting balls out of the imaginary park, to tiny trucks and trailers catapulting off furniture with metal-crunching crashes, to unsuspecting plastic boats transforming themselves into submarines with a deafening bloosh.  It baffles me.  But, just you wait.  Before you know it, your little girl will bring home one of these grown-up baby goats like mine to muddy up your sugar and spice world.  No mommy is insulated from the universal truth that “kids boys are baby goats.”

A Mommy’s fate is to give in.  And to quickly learn to wield her trusty SuperGlue.

Sugar Has No Daily Value?

A week or so ago, I read an article at MomSpark about Lucky Charms — the cereal, not the amulets.  Amy was discussing their nutritional value and all after having received a free box to try from General Mills.  Happily, I did not need to petition General Mills for my own box. I simply had to grab the almost empty one from my cabinet.  I’ve chosen to ignore the (I’m sure) exorbitant amount of sugar present and go with the good-for-you whole grain and host of other vitamins that are showcased on the side of the box corresponding to great percentages of DVs. Yep, the Charms have long been a favorite in my house.  And, frankly, I like sugar.

After reading, I decided to take a closer look at my box and enjoy a nice pat on the back at my nutritional accumen while scarfing some pink diamonds and green clover.  As I scanned the handy nutritional panel, one phrase stopped me in my tracks.  There it was in the bright blue “Nutritional Highlights” box, like some kind of universal cosmic disclaimer.

Did you catch it there?  Like me, I’m sure you tried to deny it’s existence or at the very least ignore it.  But, still it’s right there in the last line:

“Sugar does not have a daily value.”

GenMills and the USDA clearly don’t reside in the deep South.  Granted, in my corner of the kitchen table, sugar may have a slightly different meaning than the chrystaline white stuff we generally load up our iced tea with.  For the unindoctrinated, “sugar” is synonymous with “kisses” down here.  Circle that one in your Southern for Dummies Handbook.  “Sugar” is something you get off your children–usually accompanied by an “I’m gonna get me some,” as if there were a finite amount laying right there on their plump cheeks for the taking.  “Sugar” is also something it’s polite to request–as in, “Gimme some sugar,” or sometimes while referring to yourself in third person like “Give Mama some sugar,” as if there were an endless supply of the good stuff just waiting to be doled out.

For boys, I’ve noticed, sugar giving is one of those situations where spitting is optional.  Now, in defiance of my Southern roots, if it’s up to me, spitting is hardly ever an option.  So, to include it as some sort of souped up, tricked out sugar accessory is a pretty big step for me.  That said, given the option, my little guys tend to vote with the slobbery sugar side of the issue. I don’t know if that’s a Southern version of high fructose corn syrup, or what.

Yep, I’m guilty as charged.  I tend to try to “get me” and “gimme” some sugar off Little Drummer Boy, Squiggle and Baby Girl as much as Mommyly possible.  I suppose that’s what prompted LDB to invent the “Hug Store” and the “Kiss Store” to allow himself some legitimate control over the distribution of sugar, thereby getting Mommy off his back, or cheek as the case may be.  So, I am now subject to random sugar rations as the mood and trips to the Kiss Store strike.  Woe is Mommy.

It was during one such rationing that I got into a discussion with LDB about wisdom, which of course, should naturally be a part of any honest dialogue on the giving and getting of sugar.  Since the early Fall, Little Drummer Boy has been involved in his first little extra-curricular activity (yes, his preschool life does have a curriculum, be it ever so fluid).  He’s been a part of the AWANA program at the church where he goes to daycare.  If you don’t know much about the program, check it out here.  I highly recommend it as a fun way for children as young as 2 or 3 to begin learning Bible verses.  LDB has really enjoyed it, and we’ve been amazed at how quickly he can learn the verses and retain them.  Look into this and take advantage of the sponge years to fill your baby’s mind with some truth!  That was for free.  Now, back to sugar.  And wisdom.

So, I breezed by the breakfast table as LDB and Hub were finishing work on one of his AWANA verses.  I can’t quite remember the status of the plates, but I’m sure there was probably some remnant of poptart and a pile of Lucky Charms–heavy on the charms, not so much lucky.  Little Drummer Boy recited the verse for me:

“Jesus grew in wisdom” [Hark! 252 fans]

Mommy: “Good job! Mommy wants you to grow in wisdom, too.”
LDB: Quizzical look.
Mommy: “Wisdom is learning to do good things, the best things.” (Ok, maybe not the most astute explanation in the world, but give me a break.  I was thinking on my feet while hopped up on purple horseshoes.)
LDB: “Yes, good things.”
Mommy: “Good things are like using our kind words, sharing, taking care of Squiggle…”
LDB: “Well… (pause here for effect) I think a good thing is… (additional pause for effect)
KISSES.”

Well, I’ll be.  It seems he has grown in wisdom just like Mommy wanted–at least where kisses are concerned.
Sugar has no daily value?  Harumph. I beg to differ, people.