Notes

The following story is a recipe for feeling like utter dog shit.

Last night I  made dinner for Ike and Harry with a sad Levi on my hip. Rachel was trying to catch a quick nap before her overnight. I value her rest nearly as much as she does, so when she's sleeping I get uptight about keeping a quiet house. I set the kids up with paper and pens, hoping to stave off a cage match. All was going well until I heard a scream and then Harry was crying.

Turns out, Harry had written Isaac a note that said, "Isaac smell like a woman," or something just as pithy and poorly edited. Isaac read it, got angry and slugged Harry. All three of Ike's actions I was proud of. Harry whined about getting hit, I told him he had it coming, he said he insulted Ike because he doesn't like when Ike hits him, I said Ike hit him because he insulted him not the other way around, he said Ike always hits him (which is true), Ike denied this and started to cry, the discussion rapidly degenerated into a chicken and the egg thing, the pasta timer went off and, stressed as I was about trying to keep things quiet to begin with, I yelled for everyone to shut up. Then Levi cried.

Things settled down, but I wanted Harry to know that I was angry. There's nothing wrong with that in my book. He was acting like a jerk and one way to prevent him from not becoming a full time jerk is to let him know that when he acts like one it pisses me off for more than a few seconds. This upset him, but hey, we don't learn from the shit that doesn't upset us.

Ultimately the night mellowed. Rach went to work. All the boys went to sleep without incident. All was well. Cut to two in the morning when Ike crawls into myt bed. Followed by Harry. Followed by Levi waking up. Everyone was up for awhile. We all got back to sleep though. Until 5:30. Then it started all over.

I managed to sleep another hour when Rach came home at 6:00 (poor girl, I love her so), but it's not difficult to imagine that I woke with frayed nerves. Rach had fallen asleep, so again, I wanted a quiet house. Harry wasn't cooperating in this endeavor so he had the top spot on my shit list. While making his breakfast and lunch, unbeknownst to me, he started with the notes again. I discovered this when I heard Ike scream, start to cry and try to tear the notebook from Harry's hands.

I said in my scariest quiet voice, "Harry Sey, when are you going to understand that you're the older brother?! You need to help me, not make things harder and when you provoke Ike, I want him to slug you!" Harry had this jerky grin on his face, like "I know, but it's funny!" He tried to show me the note. I said, "Why would I want to see it!? I'm sick of you insulting him! You can write, you can read, and you use it to hurt his feelings!" (With great power comes great responsibility and all that). He kept smiling and I wanted to knock the dimples off his little face. He said, "Just look!" And I said "I don't ever want to see one of your stupid notes again! Go and eat your breakfast!" "FINE!" He said, with wounded, teary eyes, and went to the table to eat his Rice Krispies. As far as I was concerned he should be sad. He hadn't learned the simple lesson I apparently did such a shitty job of teaching him the very night before.

Ike wandered over and looked at the pad. Then he read the note: "Isaac is the best brother ever."

The End.

F Words

The F word is a big deal around here these days and it's infuriating. Where do they learn it? At first, I wasn't sure they actually knew what it was. I heard Harry and Ike whispering and snickering over lots of different F words: fart, fat, fart. Mostly just fart. Then a mother at school came up to me and said one boy (not Harry) taught her boy "the F word." She didn't say the boy taught her son "fuck." She actually said "the F word." Now I understood. She was the Typhoid Mary of the F word. 

The F word is the problem of course, not the word fuck. The F word is lame. It's just a thing to get everyone giddy with little boy boners. It's useless. You can't say, "F word this," or "F word you," or "Bad Ass Mother F word-er." It's just a place holder for an obscenity, not a real one. It conjures the curse, without inflicting any of the delectable damage.

And the real issue is there's no turning back now. I can't get them to unlearn "the F word."The taboo is too bonerific. The only way to rob the F word of its power is to diminish it by comparison. My only choice is to teach them how to properly use the word Fuck. 

Ike will be easy. When he says, "I want some juice!" it rings like "I want some fuckin' juice!" "I have to poop, Daddy" is already "I gotta take a fuckin' dump, bro."

Harry will be tougher. He's not really an expletive kind of kid. I'll have to work it in as a way to amplify his feelings. For instance, I think he could manage, "Levi's the cutest fuckin' baby in the world, Mama." Or maybe, "I love you so so so fuckin' much, Daddy."

S-m-a-r-t-y-p-a-n-t-s

Ike's a tough kid. I have no idea where he gets it from. But he's not all brawn. He was inspired to write a note to his teacher while on holiday break:

I'm so grateful. I so miss you Sadye

He's a lover too. 

I'd like to brag about his brains for a bit. He's in Preschool. Penmanship aside, that's pretty rad up there. I remember my first day of Kindergarten I forgot how to spell my name. After winter break in 4th Grade I forgot how to spell "of."

He's tough with a big heart and brains. Now that I think of it, he's all Rach.

So is Harry though (all he got from me are the fear, whining and chicken legs). Lately, he's been on a spelling jag. He spells his sentences now. As in, "I-w-a-n-t-c-h-i-c-k-e-n-n-u-g-g-e-t-s-f-o-r-d-i-n-n-e-r." He never spells, "p-l-e-a-s-e" though, which pisses me off to no end. Honestly, it's amazing to literally hear your kid's brain in action, but the truth is, I barely listened to him before. Now he might as well be using morse code to communicate with me.

The topper came the other day when he spelled "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." I'm serious. But then again, so did I just now, so fuck him.

Actually, I googled it.
Then had to cut and paste it.

Once they learn to cook I'll be obsolete.

Make it Work

A girl at school thinks Harry's cute. Now Harry thinks he's cute. When he gets dressed in the morning, he checks himself out in the mirror and says "I think I look cute." He's so conceited.

Ike is developing an interesting personal style. For one thing, he only wears athletic shorts, often al fresca. He usually wears an unbuttoned plaid flannel or pajama shirt, sometimes with a t shirt underneath, sometimes not. Lastly, he wears non-matching socks and non-matching shoes. As much as I want him to express himself, I think he's actually expressing a colorblind high school coach who thinks he's Hugh Hefner. 

Harry's style is no less odd. Very colorful. His favorite shorts are purple madras. He went to the mall with his Grandmother and selected pants in turquoise and emerald green. He also likes to match, and goes to great lengths to find shirts of the same color, close to the same color, or ones that have a bit of the pant color in them somewhere. With his red shoes, he looks like an Ellsworth Kelly painting. Very special. Yes, I meant it that way. 

You Talk Too Much

Harry is afraid to be alone. He won't get dressed in his room by himself. He forces me to follow him around the house looking for miniscule but indispensable lego pieces. It's an enormous pain but I try to be sympathetic. He also never stops talking. Not ever. If he has nothing on his mind he'll just describe what's going on around him. Like color-commentary on his own life. Herein lies the rub. In order to take a dump (for which he needs privacy, of course) he has to talk to me in the other room (so as not to get scared). However, he can't think of anything besides taking said dump when he's on the can. I think I'm going to start him on Twitter.

One day Harry got a sore throat. He talked a lot about it naturally. Ike and I listened to him talk about when it hurts, how long he thought it would last, what medicine Mommy said he should take, et al.  At one point, he wondered where his sore throat came from, to which Ike responded, "Maybe it's because you talk too much."

Ike's four and a half now. He's never taken karate or anything like it. The other day he executed a brutal takedown on his nine-year old cousin, followed by one of those arm-lock-in-the-leg things. Like he was trying to get his cousin to tap out. He's like the Mozart of MMA.

There Will Be Blood

Been a long time since I wrote about my dudes. Now there's a third. Which reminds me. Before Levi arrived and he was in Mommy's tummy, both boys did much speculating on how, and from where, the baby would come out. Ike was adamant that the baby wasn't coming out of Mommy's penis because Mommy doesn't have a penis. I wanted to say, "not anymore," just to be a dick. But then I thought of all the traumatic images he might conjure and decided against it. Harry clarified: Mommy has a hole in her that's not a penis. It's a bagina. Better this than the real word. The real word makes me uneasy.

Harry also wondered if when the baby comes out, "will there be blood?" Yes, Harry. There Will Be Blood.

The boys are very good with Levi. They don't fully grasp the notion of infant development, though. When Harry asks Levi if he's happy and Levi's head bobs up and down in an effort solely to hold it up, Harry thinks Levi answered yes. And Ike is always telling Levi not to do things, like grab his hair. When Levi then grabs his hair, Ike gets upset that Levi isn't listening to him. In other words, Harry thinks Levi is much smarter than he actually is and Ike thinks he's much dumber. Sort of a glass half full, half empty distinction in my older guys I guess.

Maybe Ike's right, though. Levi isn't exactly a genius.

Talk vs. Action

Harry made fast friends with a boy at school. At recess though, this friend plays and doesn't listen to him when he tries to converse. Harry talks a lot so I can't blame his friend, but it I'm glad I don't have to watch this. I hope he doesn't become that conspiratorial know-it-all at the coffee shop everyone avoids.

Time passed. We asked Harry how recess was going. He said it was fine, even though his friend runs around a lot. We asked if the girls run around just as much. He said, "No." Then he paused and thought.
"Girls talk a lot." A smile curled across his lips. Atta boy. Turn your weakness into a strength.

Ike was in the bath the other day and happened upon his penis. He pulled it away from his body, making it as long as he could and said, "Daddy! My penis is big!" I wanted to say something about how long and skinny doesn't really mean big, but then he pushed it back in and said, "Daddy! My penis is small!" That's when I realized he had no interest in having a large penis. Thank god for him.

Today I make a prediction. Ike will be an Ultimate Fighter. And 20 years from now, against my better instincts, I will root for him on the outside of a cage to nearly kill some tattooed giant with a criminal record. Mozart wrote his first composition at 5. Is 3 1/2 too young to start Gracie Jujitsu?