The Revelation Continues

Since last year's "aha" moment when Owen came face to face with his own mortality, Owen and Stewart's knowledge of death has grown in leaps and bounds.

They were discussing Michael Jackson's heart attack at the kitchen table on Thursday. Let's listen in:

Owen: He had a heart attack. That's when your heart stops working. Everybody dies. Everybody in the whole Earth. What will you do with me when I die Stewie? (Thinking). Ugh, what if you just put me in the dump?

Me: No! We'd put you in a nice grave and bring you flowers every day.

Stewart: (wanting to be nice, knowing as only a 5 year old boy can that flowers are a crap offering for a 7 year old) I would bring you toys, Owen. I would throw toys at you (the desire to be nice slowly being eclipsed by the desire to be funny)... I would dig you up and throw toys at your bones.

Great Green Gobs of Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts

A short one today:

I made the boys some fish filets for dinner the other day.

"Is this the fish's guts?" Stewart asked.

"It's a fish and it's delicious," I said, immediately getting defensive, as Stewart is an extremely picky eater and I didn't like where this was headed.

"Yes, but are these the GUTS?" he insisted.

"Yes, I suppose so. But they're good," I replied grumpily.

To my surprise, he was THRILLED. "WHOA! Cool! We get to eat the fish's GUTS!!!" he exclaimed.

I must've had a weird expression on my face, because Owen explained helpfully; "He always wanted to eat the guts out of something."

He has been a little obsessed with "guts" every since we read "Runaway Ralph" and the children sing the song about "greasy, grimy gopher guts." But I had no idea we were dealing with a lifetime ambition, here.

Kyle Robert

Two hilarious Kyle stories:

Kyle swears there's a Room of Requirement, a la Harry Potter, in the Cardinal Hotel (this second-rate establishment he stays at whenever he goes to Palo Alto due to its proximity to Ning headquarters).

When I asked him what that meant, he said it's a room with a mini-fridge and microwave, which none of the other rooms have.

"So why don't you look at the room number and request that one?" I asked.

"I can't. It moves. You never know when you're going to get it. Sometimes it's at one end of the hotel, sometimes at the other. And then when I go back to the same room, it's gone."

I am skeptical at this point, knowing that Kyle's sense of direction isn't exactly accurate. This is, after all, the man who was willing to bet his LIFE that UCLA was west of the 405 (not that he phrased it that way b/c he doesn't usually know which way is east or west- it was more like "I swear it's that way!").

"Well, why don't you look at the room number next time if you like having a fridge," I suggested.

But even as I was saying these words, they sounded wrong to me. Kyle is not a fan of leftovers, even at home, let alone when he is staying in a hotel. I'm cheap and would totally bag my food and 'fridge it. But I knew, without the slightest doubt, that Kyle would NEVER use a fridge or microwave at any hotel, ever. But I asked anyway. "Do you even USE the fridge or microwave?"

"No. But it just puts a little spring into my step, knowing it's there."

Amazing. Kyle Ford, ladies and gentlemen.

The next story is about a candy bag that Kyle swears gained sentience.

After Halloween last year, I let the kids pick out their favorite candies to eat and then put all the rest into a large paper gift bag to dispense on special occasions or to give away.

I never did give away any of that candy because Kyle ate most of it.

Every night, he'd sit down, and shake the bag, then paw around in it, looking for his favorites.

Things went well for about a week- he happily ate all the Snickers, Baby Ruths and Butterfingers.

But by week 2, things were getting bleaker. He had to dig a little harder and a little longer to get to worthwhile treats- the candy that floated to the surface always seemed second-rate- you know, little hard candies, plain caramels, dime-store lollipops, Tootsie rolls of various disgusting non-chocolate flavors- just general second-raters.

His forays into the bag began to last longer and be more frustrating.

"There's nothing but crap in this bag," he'd say frequently, and then dive back into it, scratching and scrambling like a raccoon.
He'd surface several minutes later with a tube of mini M&M's, or a Reese's peanut butter cup and be all pleased with himself. "I swear, this wasn't there before!" he'd say, with wonder and glee.

Finally, it got to the point where he began to flat out state that the bag was "giving" him things. "Let's see what the bag will give me tonight," he'd say, getting it down from its place atop the fridge.

"It's not giving you anything," I'd say. "Dump it out and take what you want and throw the rest away."

"I've done that before and there's nothing good in there. But when I put everything back in, something always appears. Like, last night I dug through this entire bag looking for these," he said, holding up a mini-Snickers. "Weren't there. But tonight, here they are! It depends on its mood. You never know what you'll get."

And the really crazy thing is... he was kind of RIGHT. Like, one night I dumped out the entire bag and ate all the Laffy Taffys out of it. Or so I thought. But it seemed like every time I peered into the bag, for weeks afterward, there would be one or two hovering about. Never enough to satisfy, of course, but enough to keep me peering into the bag, as if it were a crystal ball offering me a tantalizing glimpse of future riches.

I know Kyle felt the same way because one night, near the end of the bag's lifetime, Kyle exclaimed in frustration- "This bag will NEVER give me what I want! Like, say I want just three tootsie rolls. It will give me two. But never three. And if I go back tomorrow the third will be there!"

I wish I could say the bag met a glamorous end- but the sad truth is that we ate every piece of candy in there except the broken lollipops, at which point I finally tossed the mystical bag into the trash.

The Game of Life

We had our traditional New Year's Eve "cheers and game night" last night. That means we play games and drink sparkling juice (the kids call it "cheers").

Kyle suggested that we play Life, which was quite an experience.

Wilbur was keen to play once he saw the little cars and he and Stewart instantly started driving them all over the game board. We should probably have just let Wilbur drive his car around but for some reason we tried to help him play. Every time he spun the wheel every piece would fall off the board, and at one point I found myself asking him if he wanted to pay $10,000 for life insurance.

Kyle just looked at me, and then over at Wilbur, who was gleefully handing out $5,000 bills from his pile of money, and said, "I don't think he wants life insurance."

Meanwhile, Stewart, who had just gotten married, flipped his car and the pieces scattered. "Ooops, I knocked my wife out. I punched her out of the car."

Lovely.

I don't think Wilbur understood the concept of marriage- though he latched onto the word, calling his little pink piece "Mary." "Will you put this Mary back in for me?" he asked continually, as every time he so much as looked at his car, he and his wife and daughter exploded out of it.

Owen did well with the gameplay and was definitely fired up over his salary and his wife and twin boys. However, he was a little bitter because, as he said, "I don't get to spend my money!"

I tried to remedy that by suing him for $200,000, but that didn't go over well.

I explained that, like real Life, this game wasn't so much about making choices to spend your money, but about various fees and charges coming your way.

We decided he might prefer Monopoly.

Maybe we'll do that in 2010.

Wilbur James

It's been awhile since I've posted so I have to share some cute stories about Wilbur.

He is the most hilarious little guy. He seems way older than 2, as he has two older brothers to watch, and he seems to have a handle on everything a lot earlier.

For example, we took the kids to Chuck E. Cheese's last month, and as we were inserting tickets into the ticket cruncher to redeem them for crappy, useless prizes, Wilbur drifted over to the prize counter and peered through the glass.

"Wilbur?! What is he doing?" Kyle asked, concerned we'd lose him in the crowd.

But he came back a minute later and informed us of the following: "I need a chocwate wowipop."

Just like that. Like, "Uh, guys, I'm gonna need a chocolate lollipop now, so make that happen!" I was wondering where he thought I was going to pull a lollipop from when I realized they had Tootsie Pops at the prize counter!

So not only did the kid (who, by the way, can't possibly REMEMBER his last trip to Chuck E. Cheese) figure out the entire ticket system and go over on purpose to pick his prize, he also knew that Tootsie Pops have "chocwate" in them. I mean, wow. I think Owen might still have been screaming in terror at the sight of Churck E. at that age.

Another example of his initiative is the day he put himself down for a nap. We had been running errands all morning and he was super tired. I was hauling groceries in from the garage, and noticed he was missing. Then I heard that his white noise machine was on and his door was shut, and sure enough, when I peeked in, there he was, snuggled up with his blankie and sucking his thumb.

He tells hilarious knock-knock jokes, of his own devising. Here are a couple:

Knock Knock.
Who's there?
Awesome.
Awesome who?
Awesome me.

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Upside down.
Upside down who?
Upside down poop.

With such a knack for out-of-the-box comedy, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that his little potty, the one I had such great hopes of him using to put me out of the diaper buying game, is only used as a stage for his performances of Wiggles tunes, sung and played on his "ta-guitar."

"Well," my mom said philosophically, as Wilbur took the potty like a rock star and blared "play your tatair with Murray!" in the background, "He is performing on the potty, though it isn't quite the performance you were hoping for."

Of course, the ONE THING he doesn't pick up on early is potty training!!! Arggh!!! Really, Wilbur, I would've taken the potty training over any of your other quirky precocities! I could've lived without your knowing what a beer bottle looks like and liking-nay, LOVING- the taste of beer! Or your freakish knowledge of what Scooby Doo said and in which episode he said it! Or your ability to sing along with every song on the radio, even if it's the first time you've heard it! All this I could've lived without, if only you were potty trained. Or close. Or interested. Or had gone on the potty even one time by accident. But, alas.

However, he is a sweet little guy- and although far from perfect, he is FAR more obedient than my others were at that age. He will sit still for nail cleanings and tooth brushings, and even sat very still when I had to pull a million tiny barbs out of his hand on Halloween after he grabbed a cactus. "Mommy," he said, very seriously. "That flower hurt me."

"I know, baby. That was a cactus," I said, my eyes suddenly welling up because he is so precious- and he just keeps changing. The pain in his hand had taught him another lesson- the meaning of "cactus"- and he will never confuse one with a flower again.

Sensation by sensation, word by word, he is growing up- and as grateful as I am for that, I can't help but want to hold on to him NOW.

I guess that's why I wrote this.

Stew 2008

Stew 2007