Every now and then I get some pretty weird looks in the grocery store, at the mall etc.
One day I was out with someone else and it happened. Everyone stopped, looked at me, rolled their eyes.
M:"I hate it when they do that."
Whoever it was said: "Do you always call him that?"
M: "What?"
W: "Monster."
Ohhh - you see, when Simon needs to be called back I'd been yelling, "Hey Monster, come back here." And even though it was a sing song "reminder" call - not a harsh yelling yell - I'm still calling my kid Monster. Though never "a monster."
I'm going to do it again. I often do. But there is a reason. My father.
My dad is the kid that would have resulted if Bill Murray, Steve Martin, Robin Williams and Fred G. Sanford (yes I know he's fictional) had participated in some crazy genetic splicing experiment. He is forever making up a nickname, saying or doing something crazy, packing his family in the car to go and get a "cold drink." They come back home six hours later after having visited the Kansas border "just for fun." (There's another post right there)
First, he went through the B phase. My stepmonster's maiden name started with a B and is difficult to spell or pronounce. It is a Norwegian mess. So, he called her Ms. B. That lead to JilB, JakB everything with a B.
Several years ago, we were in the -ster phase. Jil-ster, Joe-ster, Jake-ster, etc. Well, you CANNOT get Simon-ster to come out of your mouth. It sounds like Si-monster. Viola. The evolution of a nickname.
I blame Bill Murray.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Chemistry Problem
This morning - outside Simon's bathroom:
S: "Mom, I have a 'chemistry problem'."
M: What's a 'chemistry problem'?
S: "Well, my stomach hurts and I've been in the bathroom alot. You know, what your body does to your food? That's Chemistry."
Indeed it is!
Simon's been coming to the Boys & Girls Club with me this summer. He spends Mondays with Gorgeous (his grandmother) and goes to the movies on Wednesdays with my sister and her boys. But the rest of the week, he comes with me. It is not his favorite place.
He did, once, famously say: "Kids at the Boys & Girls Club don't play the way kids at school play." And, living in a middle class suburb with plenty to eat and a nice big yard, and an extended family that includes lake houses, plenty of gaming systems, kids-only computers and the like - I know that my kid can't even fathom the home lives of the kids he meets here on a daily basis. And, while that's okay with me, we've made a decision to expose him to situations and people that he might not otherwise meet in our neighborhood or at school.
Add that in with being an only child and you have what we'll call an "adjustment period." The first several days were hard. He cried. A lot. But I knew that learning to wait his turn, not always getting his way and being appriciative of what he had are things that I wanted for him. And so, it has gotten better. Until today.
The last couple of weeks, either Monday, or Wednesday - or both, he hasn't gotten his days off. And, it's beginning to show. He is coming to my office for "check ins" more often. He is signing up for all the field trips and get out of here things he can. He wants to know precisely when we are leaving each day. Most days, I throw him right back in with the other 6 to 9 year olds. One or two times a week, I let him quietly color in my office, or sit in the conference room. And, my used-to-playing-by-himself-only-child has done great; playing with others some, getting a time out when he needs it.
So, at lunch time, on our check in, he told me again that his stomach ached and he needed to go home "right now." I checked with the staff, verified that he had had an apetite at lunch, and been playing with gusto all morning. I took deep breaths through the tears, told him to be tough, and sent him right back to his group. By our 4 p.m. check in, he was all smiles.
M: "How's your tummy?"
S: "It's one centimeter better."
M: "How many centimeters bad was it?"
S: "101 centimeters at lunchtime, so only 100 now."
Well, that's not a Chemistry Problem. That's progress.
S: "Mom, I have a 'chemistry problem'."
M: What's a 'chemistry problem'?
S: "Well, my stomach hurts and I've been in the bathroom alot. You know, what your body does to your food? That's Chemistry."
Indeed it is!
Simon's been coming to the Boys & Girls Club with me this summer. He spends Mondays with Gorgeous (his grandmother) and goes to the movies on Wednesdays with my sister and her boys. But the rest of the week, he comes with me. It is not his favorite place.
He did, once, famously say: "Kids at the Boys & Girls Club don't play the way kids at school play." And, living in a middle class suburb with plenty to eat and a nice big yard, and an extended family that includes lake houses, plenty of gaming systems, kids-only computers and the like - I know that my kid can't even fathom the home lives of the kids he meets here on a daily basis. And, while that's okay with me, we've made a decision to expose him to situations and people that he might not otherwise meet in our neighborhood or at school.
Add that in with being an only child and you have what we'll call an "adjustment period." The first several days were hard. He cried. A lot. But I knew that learning to wait his turn, not always getting his way and being appriciative of what he had are things that I wanted for him. And so, it has gotten better. Until today.
The last couple of weeks, either Monday, or Wednesday - or both, he hasn't gotten his days off. And, it's beginning to show. He is coming to my office for "check ins" more often. He is signing up for all the field trips and get out of here things he can. He wants to know precisely when we are leaving each day. Most days, I throw him right back in with the other 6 to 9 year olds. One or two times a week, I let him quietly color in my office, or sit in the conference room. And, my used-to-playing-by-himself-only-child has done great; playing with others some, getting a time out when he needs it.
So, at lunch time, on our check in, he told me again that his stomach ached and he needed to go home "right now." I checked with the staff, verified that he had had an apetite at lunch, and been playing with gusto all morning. I took deep breaths through the tears, told him to be tough, and sent him right back to his group. By our 4 p.m. check in, he was all smiles.
M: "How's your tummy?"
S: "It's one centimeter better."
M: "How many centimeters bad was it?"
S: "101 centimeters at lunchtime, so only 100 now."
Well, that's not a Chemistry Problem. That's progress.
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