Tag Archives: adventures in normality

Lunar love

The snowy skies cooperated and cleared to crystal, so naturally, we spent much of evening admiring the lunar eclipse. We crunched down the icy street but soon found there was no better view than the one through the bare Black Locust branches from our back deck.

Dan’s cell phone rang over and over with friends calling to make sure that Declan wouldn’t miss the orange-red sight in the sky. Dec helped me stir hot chocolate on the stove while his dad hooted at and applauded the moon. I ladeled some of the warm mixture into Dec’s orange mug, and he sipped it as he stood on his stepstool, looking up at me. Then, in a moment that was both celestial and Beatles-esque, he said “this world is the one thing money can’t buy.”

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The boy who is the man

For the past several days, Dec has been playing with a bathtub basketball hoop my mother gave him, replete with a ball from every major sport in the U.S. It is currently stuck to the side of the television armoire in our living room. (Thankfully, the net is sealed at the bottom, so we aren’t swimming in balls.)

He watched some of a slam dunk competition with his dad over the weekend, a prelude to the NBA All-Star game. It included one player who put a cupcake with a lit candle between the backboard and the hoop, then extinguished the flame with the force of his dunk. Since then, Dec’s been “taking it to the cupcake” (a.k.a. sinking balls into the armoire net), yelling “YES!” in his biggest he-man voice.

If you were to ask Declan how he is doing in the past few weeks, he would have answered instead with his full name, followed by the daddy-induced tag line, “the boy who is the man.” He’s declared this to strangers in elevators, check-out clerks and anyone he’s talked to on the phone.

Since Sunday, he’s been referring to himself as his full name, followed by “the boy who is the man, LeBron Declan.”

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The dawn of compassion

“Hold Mars,” Declan told me, pressing a plastic ball into my hands.

“Now tell it you won’t hit it, push it or hurt it,” he said.

“I promise I won’t hit you, push you or hurt you,” I told the red planet replica. “You are my friend, and I will be kind and gentle with you.”

I stood up and handed it back to Declan.

“Do you understand me?” He asked. I nodded.

I may have to rename the dog Mars.

Last night, “Monster House” came on one of the family movie channels. Absentmindedly thinking it was fine for him to watch because it was animated, I left it on.

In the first moments, a scary old man grabs a tricycle away from a little girl, then breaks it and confiscates it. Declan’s face fell and his eyes welled with tears.

“He… he broke it!” He said, turned to me, his bottom lip was quivering.

“I know. That was mean, wasn’t it?” I replied.

“But what if she needs it?” He shook his head, clearly still stung by the cruelty of the scene.

The plot shifted to another character. I convinced Declan that the new boy on the screen was going to help the girl get her bike back, then I distracted him into hugs and storybooks and turned the TV off.

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Perils and benefits of letting your two year old listen to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band daily

1) Upon listening to “She’s Leaving Home” with his dad, he comes looking for mom, a crushed expression on his face. “It’s so sad!” He says, shaking his head. “The baby is gone. She’s just gone!”

2) When you’re sitting together and “For the Benefit of Mr. Kite” comes on, he looks at you and says “Oh, this is a really good psychedelic one.”

3) It’s indescribably awesome to hear him sing “With a Little Help From My Friends” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” at the top of his lungs while doing a full-body toddler dance.

4) Every song he hears that he likes on the radio, television, elevator, grocery store speakers, he asks “Is this the Beatles?”

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Evidence that his daddy worked in the entertainment industry far too long…

As Declan adjusted letter magnets on the refrigerator this evening, he shook his head and muttered to himself, for no discernible reason:

“Jesus, what a business!”

(If you know my husband at all, you know how appropriate – and hilarious – this is.)

P.S. Dan responds to the newspaper and TV news out loud quite often.

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A really big dream

I went to bed chilled with a fever last night. I took a little Tylenol, drank a lot of juice (I don’t do cold medicine) and crawled under a heap of blankets.

Then I dreamed that I became a cosmic string. I extended from the earth. I saw Heath Ledger on the way. I heard Eric Idle singing The Galaxy Song. I grew longer than the solar system, the Milky Way, past Andromeda and other galaxies. I became the length of the entire universe.

And as all of this was happening, I was thoroughly convinced that I was getting very important information that I had to bring back to share with Earth’s astrophysicists. The things I saw were going to change the world. I can’t remember the last time I had a dream that vivid, or was so thoroughly hoodwinked that everything about it was real.

I certainly never dreamed on this scale before. Thank you again, my son, for making me aware of how much of the universe I had been missing.

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House key

In this case, I mean this definition of “key”:

A systematic explanation of abbreviations, symbols, etc., used in a dictionary, map, etc.

Having a toddler means that you likely have a few words or phrases that have meaning around your own home, but would completely confound strangers. Here are a few of ours:

Pop bottles = Children who are acting silly

Monkeypuppy = Meerkat

String theory music = classical music

Planets noodles = Israeli couscous

Have any of your own house language to share, either from your kids or from your own childhood?

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Momufacturing

Declan snuggled his head up against my stomach last night.

“I used to live in here, I used to live in your belly,” he told me.

“That’s true,” I replied. “You were so tiny, and then you grew and grew until you were just too big to live in there anymore. ”

He hugged my midsection again, then put his hand on it, a bit of realization striking his face. Then he asked a question.

“What else can you make in your belly?”

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