Sorry, Daniel Tiger

I overheard Sam yelling at Daniel Tiger the other day:

"No, I am not your friend! I am not!"

Perhaps it's not such a beautiful day in the neighborhood after all.

Hold on... Nothing.

"I like myself," Sam said.

"You like yourself?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm," he said.

"I LOVE yourself," I said.

"I'm talking to myself," he said. "Hold on. I'm talking to myself. Hold on. Um. Nothing."

Say Something

Some of the most beautiful songs are so, so sad. And sometimes I play them just because they are so sad. I'm not sad, but there are times when a sad song feels just right.

"Say Something" by Great Big World is one of those heart-wrenching songs, and I get lost in it. It makes me cry, which my son has seen happen. Whenever he hears any part of the song, he says "This is a very sad song."

Today "All of Me" by John Legend was playing and Sam said "This is a sad song." I said it was not - it is a love song. 

"Say everything I'm giving up on you," Sam said. "That is a very sad song. It is playing when you cry."

The kid has an astounding memory. He's also very interested in feelings.

And don't worry. Sometimes I play Frank Mills' "The Happy Song" on repeat. Life has room for both.

This one time...

One time, while I was working in the kitchen, sister said "Ye tap dap." I looked over at her and replied "Ye tap dap."

She paused. She thought. She frowned. Then she began to cry her tiny heart out! Poor baby. I was only agreeing with her, but apparently I should not have.

Another time, I was laying on the couch under a blanket. Sam walked up. "There's room here," he said softly, patting a spot in front of my tummy. "There's room for a kid to lay." 

Heart pangs.

Then there was the monologue the other day while I was driving.

"Sister nurses from your boobies," he said. "She sure does nurse from your boobies. I have boobies. But my boobies are little. Yours are so biiiiiiiig. Your boobies are SOO BIG! Does daddy have boobies?"

I'm thankful he couldn't see my face, because it was contorted with strangled laughter.

How about it!

Sam: "How about you draw your name - uh - Carol! With a W and a R and a S and - uh - with a 4 and a 5!"

Trauma in the coffee aisle

Oh dear. Today was disastrous.

It started poorly, with Steve having to get up early to pick up a cat from the vet. "Sam's up," he told me, while I blinked at him from bed. "But he's watching cartoons. He's ok."

I was so tired, my face hurt. I stayed in bed 20 minutes longer until sister poked and guilted me awake. She loves waking up next to me and is content to smack and bang me even if I don't open my eyes. She's ready with a smile whenever I do.

I brought sister downstairs and ground beans to make coffee - surely the only way I going to survive. Then I turned the grinder upside down to send the fresh grinds into the measuring cup. The cup and the coffee grinds dropped to the floor instead, spreading fragrant darkness on the tile with a rippling effect. The cup also cracked beyond repair.

There was just a bit left in the cup where it lay on the floor, and I not too proudly scooped up some of the coffee from any pile more than four coffee grounds high to brew enough for two cups of coffee. Then I determined we'd go to Trader Joe's today to buy more coffee (and grind it there, due to obvious necessity).

We made it to TJ's a few hours later. I put sister in her car seat in the bottom of the shopping cart, filling the entire basket. With no room for Sam in the cart, he climbed on and off the front - standing on the lower shelf beneath the basket - as we strolled through the store. I stacked groceries on sister. Yogurt. Soup. Crackers. Greeting cards. When we got to the coffee aisle, I instructed Sam to stand behind me by the cart. He fidgeted and wiggled and I turned my back to grind the coffee. After pouring my beans in and pressing start, I heard a terrible crash. I spun around.

My eyes could not comprehend what I saw. There was my son, trapped under the red shopping cart. The cart was laying on its side, my baby still in it. Contents had fallen out. A shriek began escaping from my son's mouth. I screamed. Before I could figure out that it was time to let go of the coffee canister, a crew of Trader Joe's employees surrounded us.

They righted my shopping cart, lifting it off Sam. I picked up the wailing boy and one of them checked on sister, who had not batted an eye. Another picked up my cracked yogurt container and said "I'm going to need a new yogurt." He disappeared. A third woman said "Can I get you anything? Can I bring him some suckers?" She returned with two suckers - "One for each hand," she said. By this point, I'd moved past shock into tears. A fourth TJ's employee brought a bottle of cold water for the still-sobbing Sam and returned again with a soft cloth to dry my tears. The lady who'd checked on sister gave me a hug. Water boy offered to finish the shopping for me - as if I could even remember what I was there for in the first place.

Then I remembered. Coffee. I looked at the grinder, which was still grinding away. A pile of freshly ground coffee peaked in a mountain over my coffee can, spilling each way. I noticed the off button. Right under the start button. Whatever. 

Wishing we were invisible, we limped around the store a bit longer, until our tears were dried and we'd bought enough self-indulgent treats to feel a bit better. We won't go back for as long as possible. The Trader Joe's crew was so gentle with us - perhaps that is what made it so hard to stop crying. We are humbled, thankful, and touched. And we are spooked. And we will never allow our young ones to ride on the front of the cart again.

Maybe our best grocery shopping is done online.

Let me in on the secret

Months ago, when Sam's talking skills were less refined, he would say something was "on a beekah". Or "ana beekah". I never had any idea what it was but I was sure I'd figure it out someday.

I have not.

I know that Sam wants to "see the flickering lights" (see the fitking lights) and "eat vanilla ice cream" (eat manila ice cream)... And there's almost nothing he says that I can't quickly figure out.

Except on a beekah.

I've launched a campaign. I ask him, "Hey, is dog on a beekah?" No, he says. "Are we having on a beekah for lunch?" No, he says. "Are you actually saying 'on a police car'?" No, he says. 

"No!" he finally exclaims in wise annoyance. "Nothing is on a beekah! Nothing is never on a beekah!"

That's what I thought. Except. It's not at all what I thought. Ugh, whatever.