zen.org Communal Weblog

Early spring this year. Thanks Phil!

Elana was going out for a while. I was in the kitchen and told her I’d be getting Patrick’s breakfast together and then feed Eoin with the recently-expressed bottle that was in the fridge. Patrick overheard the conversation from the livingroom.

“Dad, how can you feed him? We don’t have (some garbled words).”

“We don’t have what?” I asked, almost knowing the answer—almost.

“But we don’t have any lungs, so we can’t feed him; only moms can! They have lungs.”

“Lungs?”

He responded with his very declarative, “Yes!”

Ok, today we’re explaining breasts. What’s next?

P had a classmate over for the afternoon to play. During a bit of lunch, they had wide and varied conversation topics. At one point, the focus turned to an interesting debate.

“There was a spider in our bathroom, but now it’s gone,” P informed his friend.

“I don’t like spiders,” the friend responded.

“But your mom likes to eat spiders!” Patrick declared.

“No, I think it was your mom,” his friend replied.

“I’m serious. Your mom ate them, you told me.”

“Oh yeah,” his friend admitted. For only a moment. “No, actually, I think it was yours. But watch what this spoon can do!”

And they composed music with their bowls of chicken salad.

About a year ago we got a copy of Ten Little Dinosaurs by Pattie Schnetzler (and cool illustrations by Jim Harris). It flows really well, and gives some fun words to pronounce:

Ten little dinosaurs bouncing on the bed,
Pachycephalosaurus fell off and broke his head.
Mama called the doctor and the doctor said,
“No more boneheads bouncing on the bed.”

It’s been used as a bed-time story (or any-other-time story) quite a few times since we got it.

This morning as a way to pass time before leaving for school, he opened up a coloring book and his case of crayons, pencils, and markers. Looking for a page not yet completed, he stopped on one page and asked me, “Dad, why does the pterodactyl have tiny feet?”
Wow, he remembered it! I wonder if he’ll get his PhD and live in New York City with other 20–30 year-olds? 🙂

A classmate from school is over for the afternoon so his mom can take the younger brother to the doctor to look at an ear infection. E’s up into town with Eoin (did I mention we have a second boy now? 🙂 ) for his 6-week checkup. So today I get my initiation into letting two 5 year-olds play together for about 3 hours. hee hee.

Of course all I can think of is the sheer havoc my cousin Peter and I got into when we played together. At least P doesn’t know about melting sulfur yet…should be fun!

To, again, file under cute things children say. As far as I know Zoë has not read The Hobbit, but it is on the bookshelf so you never know.

I had just finished getting her dressed and I picked her up to take her downstairs for breakfast. She stuck her hand into my shirt pocket, is there something in my pocket? I asked. Her reply was My hand.

FADE IN:

INT.
CHILD’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

DAD is in a chair at the head of SON’s bed reading a bed-time story to SON, who has just dropped his pillow on the floor.

Fudge!

This is for Brendan…

10 years.  We’ve been married for 10 years.  Wow.  Thank you so much for such amazing times.  We’ve done so much together, and had so much fun.  Not just hanging out, geeking out, or going out, but travel, learning about ourselves, and growing as people.  Plus, we have this amazing kid who blows both of us away every day, and another one on the way (if he ever decides to come out).  

You are my everything.  There is no one else I’d rather be with, any time of day or night.  

All my love,
Your wife.

Being reminded by a recent comment by a Ms. Colleen of Tomahowk, WA to a a post I made about Wood Ducks, I was reminded of a happening last Sunday. Zoë and I where walking along the Delaware Cannel, we spent about an half hour just looking at one of the old locks, being soothed by the sound of the water gushing though. On the way back I was looking for wood ducks, but spotted three male mallards slowly swimming by.

“Look Zoë,” said I, “three ducks, mallards.” Zoë looked, and pointed and said “duck.” The first one swam over to the side, and out from under a rock hanging over the water he poked a female mallard out, and all three of them jumped on her back and starded duck humping! While one of the males quickly gave up and swam away the other two where rentless to this poor duck maiden. Quacks, water splashing, most of the time the lass was totally submerged. Zoë and I stared, am I to hide a nearly two year old of such things?

Everything worked out in the end. On of remaining two male ducks left, and the now consummated couple seemed very happy together. In all it took two or three minutes. Given the homosexual necrophilia tendencies of the male mallard, maybe such other actions should not be surprising.

While picking up a dropped toothbrush, he bonked his head on the sink. “Ow!!”
I tried to reassure him: “Aww, sorry you bumped your head Patrick.”
“Oh it’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

“You really should drink water. It’s good for you—it’s healthy.”

On the toilet, he asked me to wipe for him (as he seems to request frequently, never with any success). Handing him the toilet paper, I replied, “No, Patrick, you go ahead and do it—it’s your butt.”
“No, Dad, it’s your son’s butt.”