Ring Around the Rosy (or Cheddar in our case)

ringaround.jpg

Our daughter’s name is Ashlyn. We call her Ashes for short. Which brings to mind a familiar nursery rhyme; one that she loves. In fact, tonight, before putting her to bed, all four of us (well actually five, one vicariously through my pregnant wife) circled up in the living room, grabbed hands, spun around and sung that awful song about the bubonic plague, Ring Around the Rosy.

You see, some contend that this famous nursery rhyme has its roots in English history, dating back to the Great Plague of London in 1665 (bubonic plague). The symptoms of the plague included a rosy red rash in the shape of a ring on the skin (Ring around the rosy). Pockets and pouches were filled with sweet smelling herbs (or posies) which were carried due to the belief that the disease was transmitted by bad smells. The term “Ashes Ashes” refers to the cremation of the dead bodies! Not everyone buys into this, but regardless, it makes for a good story…and you should have seen my kids faces as I sat them down to explain the dark historical origins of the song we were dancing to.

OK, so I didn’t really share its origins. But as we were dancing and falling, dancing and falling, dancing and falling…the words and actions of “ashes, ashes” and “we all fall down” felt a bit odd to me, knowing its history. But despite its dark and morbid origins (who writes these kid’s songs anyway?), our family laughed and sang and fell and did it over, and over, and over again. We were loving life.

Here’s the clincher. As we were circling, our 85 pound dog, Cheddar, wormed his way into the middle and circled with us! When we fell, he would attack, lick, and paw us.

So I challenge all who read this to submit your original lyrics for, “Ring Around Cheddar”…you can post them as comments…

When it Feels Good Leaving

pict0116.jpg

So to make up for Ashlyn commanding me to sit down and not leave (see previous post), my son went and totally redeemed my prodigy. This morning I woke up to a dark house, quietly got ready, typed a few blog comments, grabbed my jacket, headed out to the garage, opened the garage door and snuck into my Jeep. I fired it up, turned on my lights, put it into reverse and began pulling away out of the garage. As I did, I looked out the windshield and saw the house-garage door swing open. My son Caleb came barreling out, barefoot and in his sweats (he refuses to wear pajamas), running through puddles of water, waving. “Bye Dad!!!!” he shouted over and over; his face was gleaming with joy over the fact he woke up and made it outside before I left.

I said goodbye, my face gleaming with joy and heart melting to mush. Talk about those 5-second moments that make your day……actually, my week. Love ya bud!!

Hey! That’s our blanket!

Caleb woke up really early this morning, came into our room, walked over to Jennifer’s side of the bed and said, “Mom, Mom, remember?”  To which Jennifer replied, “Uuuuuuh….yea honey….give me a sec.”  She got up and they disappeared.

Twenty minutes later after I rolled out of bed, shaved, got dressed and went into the living room.  There I saw my son with scissors and permanent marker in hand.  He was sitting next to our green micro-fleece blanket…well, part of it anyhow.  The other parts were spread all over the floor.  I gave Jennifer a knowing nod with my eyebrows raised in a question.  She looked back at me with the look that said, “Don’t say a word.”  Though our nice warm blanket was shredded, I listened and kept my mouth shut.

It was then that I saw our blanket’s new shape.  On the carpet in our living room was a giant green heart.  In the middle sat Caleb, leaning over writing.  I read his words.  He was writing messages of thanks and love to his first-grade teacher, Mrs. Hoffmore, on the green heart-blanket that used to keep us warm.  Today was his teacher’s last day in his classroom and they were having a party for her.  This was his gift.  The cool thing is, he thought of the idea himself.

So, we are short one blanket.

But Mrs. Hoffmore now has a gift that will warm her in more than one way.

Horrible Parents

Ok, so in a nutshell––we suck as parents. No, no, honestly…we do. We are horrible parents. You may not agree now, but you will…

My son, Caleb, had a Thanksgiving performance today at his school. You know, the kind where all the kids dress up like pilgrims or turkeys (didn’t the pilgrims eat the turkeys? Anyway…) and then sing some silly songs. If you’ve been to one of these things than you realize what the kids tend to do. They all stand up there performing for an audience of one––their parents. Their eyes are locked onto each and every expression their parents make, and likewise. So our son is up there singing away, proud as can be, looking for his parents (us) in the crowd. He looks, and looks, and looks…and looks……and looks. But he cannot find them. Why? Because we suck as parents, that’s why. We forgot!!!! Crap! (I could use another explicative, but I’ll choose this one). His poor little heart. Just sitting up there; the two people dearest to him are not there. Crap.

So when I go to pick up Caleb from school this afternoon he asks, “Dad, did you see my play?”

“Ughhhh…….no bud, I’m sorry, I didn’t even know about it.” Which I didn’t. So I suppose that gets me off the hook, a little.

“But mom knew,” he said.

“I’m really sorry, bud,” trying to change the subject, “Did you sing good?” Crap.

We came home. Jen saw his pilgrim hat and just crumbled. Then to rub salt on the wounds, Caleb began to sing some of his songs from the performance. Open the floodgates of tears. “Mom, why are you crying?” Because we suck as parents, that’s why!

But, I take comfort––all be it twisted––in the fact that we are not the only parents who suck. Two of our friends forgot too. But at least they had the wisdom, unlike me, to lie to their kids: “Um, yea honey, I saw it. I was in the back where you couldn’t see me.”

Crap. Why didn’t I think of that?

P.S. I hope you picked up on the sarcasm and tongue-in-cheekness! ;-)

Can You Say That?

So Caleb (7) just got Guitar Hero 3 and he has already mastered it (on easy). Last night, his Grandma was over watching him while Jen and I were at an adoption meeting. When we came home we asked if he and Grandma played Guitar Hero. He said, “Well I did, but Grandma didn’t. My Grandma sucks.”

Can you say that?

A Quiet (sorta) Moment

Tonight was one of those moments in a father’s heart that transcends the normal. I am sitting on the couch. My son is playing Guitar Hero III rocking out to the tune of “My Name is Jonas“, by Weezer. So now that the peaceful stage is set, enter my 2 year old daughter. I have her blanky draped across my chest as she snuggles in tightly, laying there still and quiet. For almost ten minutes she layed there––motionless, except her breathing; at peace. Time stood still. My heart, transcendent. Life does not get any better than these still, quiet moments…Weezer or no Weezer.

Controlled Chaos – Happy B-Day Caleb

So my son just turned 7 years old this last Friday. We are not the family who gives their kids a bigger-and-better birthday party each year. We try to do something different each year, but every 3-4 years, we’ll do the big party thing. This was that year. We began with a list of 7 kids and ended up with 14, six and seven year olds. Insane, I know. But between the water guns, the inflatable punching bag, our tree fort, a pirate ship craft, hot dogs, cake, games, a pin’ata, the hurt feelings, grass stains, random shouts of anger, dog piles (yes, both kinds), tears (both the male and female variety), presents, tons of laughter, and more energy than a small thermonuclear device, we managed to fill an entire two hours. Our house and backyard were destroyed, but our son has a memory…and he BETTER remember it for a long, long time.

P.S. Does anyone have a good remedy for blazing headaches? I am hoping mine goes away before our next party in 2011.