So most of my family lives in Texas near Houston, and I grew up a fan of the Astros. They hold a soft spot in my heart. Living here just outside of DC, we've been going to the Nationals games since they were in RFK. We go every year. We've had partial season tickets for years with a group of friends, and not missed a season. One daughter goes to the opening day with her dad every year.
We have at last count, twenty Nat's hats, with about ten variations in the house. So the Nats beat the Cardinals in 4, to be the NLCS Champions. The Astros are battling the Yankees, and we always root against the Yankees. I also root for the Astros.
My sister sent a message that if we weren't rooting for the Astros in the World Series, she would fly up here, kidnap her Godson, and send him to reconditioning camp, complete with servings of BBQ, queso, Robert Earl Keen on Repeat and our Uncle Mike teaching the abbreviated history of the Independence of Texas.
I told my son her threat. He laughed and said, "Let's Go Nats."
Showing posts with label sibling rivalry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sibling rivalry. Show all posts
Saturday, October 19, 2019
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Quick Resolutions to Siblings Milking a Joke
Twenty years of parenting, one would presume I've seen almost everything, except these new people keep coming up with ways to surprise me. Like the two year old fighting with her non verbal five year old brother, where he "wins" by humming and holding a small plastic elephant which he points in her direction. Suffering an emotional mortal wound from the blast, she wails and clenches my arms, explaining, "Paul's being mean to me." Sure enough, for a guy with only 25 words, he knows how to milk the ones he has. "Heh heh heh." he says, and once again begins pointing with the traumatizing pachyderm. She screams and sobs.
How do I break up this fight? It's not like I can appeal to reason, nor can I really discern motivation other than, she feels it, he's feeding off it, we need a distraction.
Fortunately, the two super allies against the axis of older children normally collaborate their tastes. The younger one knows where the chocolate syrup is, the older one can carry the milk and syrup to me. The result is, both get chocolate milk. This method of persuasion works through erosion of will. With me or one of their siblings making multiple trips back to put the necessary ingredients away until someone either desiring the same snack themselves, or unaware of the chain of "No's," thus forged, gives in and voila, persistence beats resistance every time.
So I opt to provide them with their favorite snack. "Guys! Look! I'm getting out the milk and syrup and the spoon!" There is a brief lull as the two of them scramble to the table. Alas, I only have one last straw, but a quick scissors snip makes two and I'm thinking, all is right with the world as I serve up cold chocolately liquid goodness.
Except I neglected to disarm the older brother of his means of torment. Now I have to wonder, do I talk about the elephant in the room or hope a few sips of the drink of peace brings about its desired effect. He pounds the plastic beastie on the table, (more in a Thor like gesture of celebration than aggression), but peace and the drinks spill out of my grasp and onto the floor as the caterwauling of my daughter returns. "He spilled my drink! He hurt my straw." and my son, upon seeing her dismay and putting two and two together, comes to the joke late but with decisive "Heh heh heh."
Cleaning it up, I declare a universal disarmament, salvage what I can of the snack, explain I've repaired and recovered the straws and there is rapture at the return of joy at the table. Five minutes later, all the fight forgotten, she comes to him, takes his wrist and says, "Let's go play." and they turn horses and hotwheels into a train. We have trains, but just as an elephant is a phaser or taser or teaser in my opinion, so these creatures with horsepower can become an iron horse. Such is the power of the two of them in tandem. Until I here him wailing. It was a bait and switch as she's running with the horses, and I hear as she runs, "Heh heh heh Paul."
All's fair weather in sibling love and war, but before I break this one up, I'm fixing own myself a glass of chocolate milk.
How do I break up this fight? It's not like I can appeal to reason, nor can I really discern motivation other than, she feels it, he's feeding off it, we need a distraction.
Fortunately, the two super allies against the axis of older children normally collaborate their tastes. The younger one knows where the chocolate syrup is, the older one can carry the milk and syrup to me. The result is, both get chocolate milk. This method of persuasion works through erosion of will. With me or one of their siblings making multiple trips back to put the necessary ingredients away until someone either desiring the same snack themselves, or unaware of the chain of "No's," thus forged, gives in and voila, persistence beats resistance every time.
So I opt to provide them with their favorite snack. "Guys! Look! I'm getting out the milk and syrup and the spoon!" There is a brief lull as the two of them scramble to the table. Alas, I only have one last straw, but a quick scissors snip makes two and I'm thinking, all is right with the world as I serve up cold chocolately liquid goodness.
Except I neglected to disarm the older brother of his means of torment. Now I have to wonder, do I talk about the elephant in the room or hope a few sips of the drink of peace brings about its desired effect. He pounds the plastic beastie on the table, (more in a Thor like gesture of celebration than aggression), but peace and the drinks spill out of my grasp and onto the floor as the caterwauling of my daughter returns. "He spilled my drink! He hurt my straw." and my son, upon seeing her dismay and putting two and two together, comes to the joke late but with decisive "Heh heh heh."
Cleaning it up, I declare a universal disarmament, salvage what I can of the snack, explain I've repaired and recovered the straws and there is rapture at the return of joy at the table. Five minutes later, all the fight forgotten, she comes to him, takes his wrist and says, "Let's go play." and they turn horses and hotwheels into a train. We have trains, but just as an elephant is a phaser or taser or teaser in my opinion, so these creatures with horsepower can become an iron horse. Such is the power of the two of them in tandem. Until I here him wailing. It was a bait and switch as she's running with the horses, and I hear as she runs, "Heh heh heh Paul."
All's fair weather in sibling love and war, but before I break this one up, I'm fixing own myself a glass of chocolate milk.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Spambot Saturday
Today's Saturday Spambot selection is Cupcake Wars, originally run on 4/29/2012. You can join in too by scrolling through all those lovely spam comments you delete and selecting an old blog post to rejuvinate on Saturday --frozen leftovers microwaved and refreshed all for you, today.
I've been working on being more present to my children. I've read stories individually, forced myself to stop working after 9:00 am to sit with my daughter and play whatever she wants until 10 and in the evening, to try and involve one or two with making dinner and let it be fun. It's not always easy. I keep discovering all the ways in which I've tried to be efficient and as such, closed myself off. Opening up those closed efficient ways is not painful, but it is an act of the will. With a triple birthday party in the works, it was very tempting to return to my ordinary ways.
To have enough cupcakes when one wanted strawberry, another chocolate and a third vanilla, meant four boxes of cake. I made one of lemon just to add variety. We made 77 cupcakes in about 4 hours. But the issue was frosting.
Now my kids watch Cupcake Wars. It's one of their favorites.
So presentation mattered. It was like having Florian in the kitchen.
"You should put butterflies."
"Flowers."
"Sprinkles."
"Strawberries."
But they also wanted to help.
So I told myself to let it happen.
I even walked away to let them be about the business of frosting. It was not easy. Eventually it was my turn, and I got to show off my skills with the frosting tube. But the strawberries with their acid started melting the frosting. I could hear judge Candace Nelson explaining that I should have coated the cakes with more frosting to give a cushion between the cake and the berries. The sprinkles didn't stick to the cake and I found myself pushing the jimmies into the white cream. I'd be out before the first round.
But that was a minor skirmish. One of my children, I suspect just to be contrary, does not like frosting. Not a lick. Ergo, his cupcakes must be naked. This was not his birthday, so I opted to only designate one or two that would fit his desires. But of course, he took pink ones and this upset the girl whose party it is, and who wanted pink cupcakes. She felt her birthday allotment of joy was being infringed upon because she only had 16 cakes, not 18. The plain upon thars cake eater grinned in triumph. Out in the second round too for presentation.
How do you parent a child to stop wilfully seeking to tork off his sister when you're reduced to stop grinning evilly and don't take only your sister's cupcakes? You distract and delegate to help move the volatile situation along. "Go outside. Ride your bike." or you divert. "Go play the wii." or you delegate, "Have you finished your homework?" "Did you make your bed?" anything to come up with something either necessary or more enticing than the golden glow of seeing one's sister miserable. I can see him thinking about it, but not making a move away. Sibling rivalry is hard. It is a shiny red apple, as compelling as sin.
But since we had cupcakes, I handed him a chocolate and a vanilla. We'd made 77. So what's two less?
"Take these two. Now shoo."
The cupcakes survived the party survived and the siblings survived and I survived. I'm keeping a stash of unfrosted cupcakes in reserve for future distractions. I may create a display to represent the peace I'm seeking, a monument to the no fight zone I'd like to make my home.
Now where are my 10,000 dollars?
I've been working on being more present to my children. I've read stories individually, forced myself to stop working after 9:00 am to sit with my daughter and play whatever she wants until 10 and in the evening, to try and involve one or two with making dinner and let it be fun. It's not always easy. I keep discovering all the ways in which I've tried to be efficient and as such, closed myself off. Opening up those closed efficient ways is not painful, but it is an act of the will. With a triple birthday party in the works, it was very tempting to return to my ordinary ways.
To have enough cupcakes when one wanted strawberry, another chocolate and a third vanilla, meant four boxes of cake. I made one of lemon just to add variety. We made 77 cupcakes in about 4 hours. But the issue was frosting.
Now my kids watch Cupcake Wars. It's one of their favorites.
So presentation mattered. It was like having Florian in the kitchen.
"You should put butterflies."
"Flowers."
"Sprinkles."
"Strawberries."
But they also wanted to help.
So I told myself to let it happen.
I even walked away to let them be about the business of frosting. It was not easy. Eventually it was my turn, and I got to show off my skills with the frosting tube. But the strawberries with their acid started melting the frosting. I could hear judge Candace Nelson explaining that I should have coated the cakes with more frosting to give a cushion between the cake and the berries. The sprinkles didn't stick to the cake and I found myself pushing the jimmies into the white cream. I'd be out before the first round.
But that was a minor skirmish. One of my children, I suspect just to be contrary, does not like frosting. Not a lick. Ergo, his cupcakes must be naked. This was not his birthday, so I opted to only designate one or two that would fit his desires. But of course, he took pink ones and this upset the girl whose party it is, and who wanted pink cupcakes. She felt her birthday allotment of joy was being infringed upon because she only had 16 cakes, not 18. The plain upon thars cake eater grinned in triumph. Out in the second round too for presentation.
How do you parent a child to stop wilfully seeking to tork off his sister when you're reduced to stop grinning evilly and don't take only your sister's cupcakes? You distract and delegate to help move the volatile situation along. "Go outside. Ride your bike." or you divert. "Go play the wii." or you delegate, "Have you finished your homework?" "Did you make your bed?" anything to come up with something either necessary or more enticing than the golden glow of seeing one's sister miserable. I can see him thinking about it, but not making a move away. Sibling rivalry is hard. It is a shiny red apple, as compelling as sin.
But since we had cupcakes, I handed him a chocolate and a vanilla. We'd made 77. So what's two less?
"Take these two. Now shoo."
The cupcakes survived the party survived and the siblings survived and I survived. I'm keeping a stash of unfrosted cupcakes in reserve for future distractions. I may create a display to represent the peace I'm seeking, a monument to the no fight zone I'd like to make my home.
Now where are my 10,000 dollars?
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Cupcake Wars
I've been working on being more present to my children. I've read stories individually, forced myself to stop working after 9:00 am to sit with my daughter and play whatever she wants until 10 and in the evening, to try and involve one or two with making dinner and let it be fun. It's not always easy. I keep discovering all the ways in which I've tried to be efficient and as such, closed myself off. Opening up those closed efficient ways is not painful, but it is an act of the will. With a triple birthday party in the works, it was very tempting to return to my ordinary ways.
To have enough cupcakes when one wanted strawberry, another chocolate and a third vanilla, meant four boxes of cake. I made one of lemon just to add variety. We made 77 cupcakes in about 4 hours. But the issue was frosting.
Now my kids watch Cupcake Wars. It's one of their favorites.
So presentation mattered. It was like having Florian in the kitchen.
"You should put butterflies."
"Flowers."
"Sprinkles."
"Strawberries."
But they also wanted to help.
So I told myself to let it happen.
I even walked away to let them be about the business of frosting. It was not easy. Eventually it was my turn, and I got to show off my skills with the frosting tube. But the strawberries with their acid started melting the frosting. I could hear judge Candace Nelson explaining that I should have coated the cakes with more frosting to give a cushion between the cake and the berries. The sprinkles didn't stick to the cake and I found myself pushing the jimmies into the white cream. I'd be out before the first round.
But that was a minor skirmish. One of my children, I suspect just to be contrary, does not like frosting. Not a lick. Ergo, his cupcakes must be naked. This was not his birthday, so I opted to only designate one or two that would fit his desires. But of course, he took pink ones and this upset the girl whose party it is, and who wanted pink cupcakes. She felt her birthday allotment of joy was being infringed upon because she only had 16 cakes, not 18. The plain upon thars cake eater grinned in triumph. Out in the second round too for presentation.
How do you parent a child to stop wilfully seeking to tork off his sister when you're reduced to stop grinning evilly and don't take only your sister's cupcakes? You distract and delegate to help move the volatile situation along. "Go outside. Ride your bike." or you divert. "Go play the wii." or you delegate, "Have you finished your homework?" "Did you make your bed?" anything to come up with something either necessary or more enticing than the golden glow of seeing one's sister miserable. I can see him thinking about it, but not making a move away. Sibling rivalry is hard. It is a shiny red apple, as compelling as sin.
But since we had cupcakes, I handed him a chocolate and a vanilla. We'd made 77. So what's two less?
"Take these two. Now shoo."
The cupcakes survived the party survived and the siblings survived and I survived. I'm keeping a stash of unfrosted cupcakes in reserve for future distractions. I may create a display to represent the peace I'm seeking, a monument to the no fight zone I'd like to make my home.
Now where are my 10,000 dollars?
To have enough cupcakes when one wanted strawberry, another chocolate and a third vanilla, meant four boxes of cake. I made one of lemon just to add variety. We made 77 cupcakes in about 4 hours. But the issue was frosting.
Now my kids watch Cupcake Wars. It's one of their favorites.
So presentation mattered. It was like having Florian in the kitchen.
"You should put butterflies."
"Flowers."
"Sprinkles."
"Strawberries."
But they also wanted to help.
So I told myself to let it happen.
I even walked away to let them be about the business of frosting. It was not easy. Eventually it was my turn, and I got to show off my skills with the frosting tube. But the strawberries with their acid started melting the frosting. I could hear judge Candace Nelson explaining that I should have coated the cakes with more frosting to give a cushion between the cake and the berries. The sprinkles didn't stick to the cake and I found myself pushing the jimmies into the white cream. I'd be out before the first round.
But that was a minor skirmish. One of my children, I suspect just to be contrary, does not like frosting. Not a lick. Ergo, his cupcakes must be naked. This was not his birthday, so I opted to only designate one or two that would fit his desires. But of course, he took pink ones and this upset the girl whose party it is, and who wanted pink cupcakes. She felt her birthday allotment of joy was being infringed upon because she only had 16 cakes, not 18. The plain upon thars cake eater grinned in triumph. Out in the second round too for presentation.
How do you parent a child to stop wilfully seeking to tork off his sister when you're reduced to stop grinning evilly and don't take only your sister's cupcakes? You distract and delegate to help move the volatile situation along. "Go outside. Ride your bike." or you divert. "Go play the wii." or you delegate, "Have you finished your homework?" "Did you make your bed?" anything to come up with something either necessary or more enticing than the golden glow of seeing one's sister miserable. I can see him thinking about it, but not making a move away. Sibling rivalry is hard. It is a shiny red apple, as compelling as sin.
But since we had cupcakes, I handed him a chocolate and a vanilla. We'd made 77. So what's two less?
"Take these two. Now shoo."
The cupcakes survived the party survived and the siblings survived and I survived. I'm keeping a stash of unfrosted cupcakes in reserve for future distractions. I may create a display to represent the peace I'm seeking, a monument to the no fight zone I'd like to make my home.
Now where are my 10,000 dollars?
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Shoeless Joe and Blog Action
When I was a mere junior in high school, I went to prom with a guy who wore polished white shoes with gold buckles and a powder blue tux. My brother Joe opened the door, took one look and said, "Nice shoes."
If it hadn't been for my desire to simultaneously bust a gut laughing and bust his chops for insulting my date, I'd have asked him to change into a tux and brought my brother instead.
Ever since then, the word "Nice" has been...a loaded term for me, fraught with meaning because of it's vagueness.
Today I got an email saying...Nice blog. The email author disclosed that he would like to link my site to his in return for his being linked on mine.
I clicked on the site. It sells athletic sneakers.
Most of the free world spends many a sleepless night in wonder of what an online shoe salesman likes to read during the sports void that takes place after the Superbowl and before Opening day. Now, the mystery will be solved.
CHOCOLATE FOR YOUR BRAIN would be one of a mere fifty listed sites considered link worthy in the "Other" category, along with 15 other categories with fifty blogs each listed. The email assured me that thousands of people visit this site daily, and it would increase my traffic. My guess is they're the saps that link to the guy's blog in hopes of driving traffic to their own, coming to see if the links have been put up and if they actually work.
Since I can't find a counter on the site, I cannot know the verasity of this claim. The "About Us" section of the website indicates it's been in business since 2003 but the write up on the decision to provide extrodinary customer service to those needing to find out the finer points about buying a sneaker (think Air Jordan), posted in December of 2007.
So maybe they're just updating the website and have found me to be an up and commer. My gut says to let this opportunity pass but I'm still a newbie, only providing quality blog entertainment since October of 2007 with a mere 19 visiting on a good day, so I just don't know. It's just a link and I'm pleased that someone noticed, but given the fact that there's never an indication of what the reader actually liked in my blog, I'm left to wonder.
Still, the email said "Nice blog."
So I'll return the favor.
"Nice" shoes.
If it hadn't been for my desire to simultaneously bust a gut laughing and bust his chops for insulting my date, I'd have asked him to change into a tux and brought my brother instead.
Ever since then, the word "Nice" has been...a loaded term for me, fraught with meaning because of it's vagueness.
Today I got an email saying...Nice blog. The email author disclosed that he would like to link my site to his in return for his being linked on mine.
I clicked on the site. It sells athletic sneakers.
Most of the free world spends many a sleepless night in wonder of what an online shoe salesman likes to read during the sports void that takes place after the Superbowl and before Opening day. Now, the mystery will be solved.
CHOCOLATE FOR YOUR BRAIN would be one of a mere fifty listed sites considered link worthy in the "Other" category, along with 15 other categories with fifty blogs each listed. The email assured me that thousands of people visit this site daily, and it would increase my traffic. My guess is they're the saps that link to the guy's blog in hopes of driving traffic to their own, coming to see if the links have been put up and if they actually work.
Since I can't find a counter on the site, I cannot know the verasity of this claim. The "About Us" section of the website indicates it's been in business since 2003 but the write up on the decision to provide extrodinary customer service to those needing to find out the finer points about buying a sneaker (think Air Jordan), posted in December of 2007.
So maybe they're just updating the website and have found me to be an up and commer. My gut says to let this opportunity pass but I'm still a newbie, only providing quality blog entertainment since October of 2007 with a mere 19 visiting on a good day, so I just don't know. It's just a link and I'm pleased that someone noticed, but given the fact that there's never an indication of what the reader actually liked in my blog, I'm left to wonder.
Still, the email said "Nice blog."
So I'll return the favor.
"Nice" shoes.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Debug System Failure
My son, being nine, has honed driving his older sister absolutely crazy into an art form. Button pushing isn’t a choice for him, it’s a way of life.
“Ignore him.” I explained when her brother was playing Safari and kept shooting her with his fake gun and saying, “I bagged a hippo, I got bonus points…I got an elephant…extra bonus points…you know why you get bonus points don’t you?”
She sighed, “Mom? Don't I get credit for not punching him?”
"Yes." But this was insufficient praise for not having the satisfying smack of hitting her brother, so I tried diversion. “Help me make breakfast.” I was making muffins. She considered the prospect and agreed. There was a momentary cease fire in the fight.
Teasing only works if the victim is being actively tormented. His other older sister simply put on her MP3 player. His younger sister wasn't outside and his younger brother wasn't a big enough target, so the safari king came in to hunt his favorite quarry.
I tried a preemptive disarmament strategy. Handing him breakfast with the added point, “Your sister made it.” Didn’t garner a positive response, simply an affirmative grunt, but the teasing had been momentarily suspended by the presence of food.
Now it was lecture time. Mom spoke in her Mom lecture tone…and I saw the brains tune out. I felt like the UN. I needed a more effective model for obedience than my home persona so I pulled out the teacher voice and became Mrs. Antonetti.
“What do they teach you at school about teasing?” I asked my son.
“The Debug system. We need to ignore the teasing. Then we need to walk away. Then if it continues, we say in a nice firm voice, “Please stop.” If that doesn’t work, we get a teacher.”
“Okay. I want you two to Debug each other from now on, instead of running straight to me. Pretend I'm a teacher. I used to be. I have the degree.”
“Can’t.”
“Won’t work.” My daughter added. Both of them were agreeing.
“Why not? You both know it. You both understand it. I could give detentions if that would help.”
“Mom! You can't give detentions. If they're done at home, they're just time outs."
"Fine, I'll drive to school. You can stand in a corner there."
"Mom, you're not going to load up the car to drive us to school to stand in time out. Besides, if it happens after 7pm..."
"Then you'll just go to bed."
"Teachers don't do that."
"Look, just don't listen to him when he's being rude...and you....Stop Being Rude!"
"I can’t ignore him.”
“Yeah, and she bugs me.”
“Look,” I said, giving them both my undivided attention, “Just pretend it’s me talking. Pretend it’s me saying, “Clean your room. Hang up your coat. Put away your shoes, clear the table. Read. Do your homework.”
“But those are boring things to do.”
“Exactly. Whenever your brother teases you, pretend it’s me. Whenever your sister annoys you, pretend it’s me.”
They blinked, as if they hadn’t heard. One was digging his elbow into the other’s as they stood at the kitchen island not hearing my lecture. “Just like that.” I explained.
At this point, my husband walked by, “I’m not sure that’s the lesson we want taught.”
“Don’t worry love,” I answered, “they weren’t listening.”
“Ignore him.” I explained when her brother was playing Safari and kept shooting her with his fake gun and saying, “I bagged a hippo, I got bonus points…I got an elephant…extra bonus points…you know why you get bonus points don’t you?”
She sighed, “Mom? Don't I get credit for not punching him?”
"Yes." But this was insufficient praise for not having the satisfying smack of hitting her brother, so I tried diversion. “Help me make breakfast.” I was making muffins. She considered the prospect and agreed. There was a momentary cease fire in the fight.
Teasing only works if the victim is being actively tormented. His other older sister simply put on her MP3 player. His younger sister wasn't outside and his younger brother wasn't a big enough target, so the safari king came in to hunt his favorite quarry.
I tried a preemptive disarmament strategy. Handing him breakfast with the added point, “Your sister made it.” Didn’t garner a positive response, simply an affirmative grunt, but the teasing had been momentarily suspended by the presence of food.
Now it was lecture time. Mom spoke in her Mom lecture tone…and I saw the brains tune out. I felt like the UN. I needed a more effective model for obedience than my home persona so I pulled out the teacher voice and became Mrs. Antonetti.
“What do they teach you at school about teasing?” I asked my son.
“The Debug system. We need to ignore the teasing. Then we need to walk away. Then if it continues, we say in a nice firm voice, “Please stop.” If that doesn’t work, we get a teacher.”
“Okay. I want you two to Debug each other from now on, instead of running straight to me. Pretend I'm a teacher. I used to be. I have the degree.”
“Can’t.”
“Won’t work.” My daughter added. Both of them were agreeing.
“Why not? You both know it. You both understand it. I could give detentions if that would help.”
“Mom! You can't give detentions. If they're done at home, they're just time outs."
"Fine, I'll drive to school. You can stand in a corner there."
"Mom, you're not going to load up the car to drive us to school to stand in time out. Besides, if it happens after 7pm..."
"Then you'll just go to bed."
"Teachers don't do that."
"Look, just don't listen to him when he's being rude...and you....Stop Being Rude!"
"I can’t ignore him.”
“Yeah, and she bugs me.”
“Look,” I said, giving them both my undivided attention, “Just pretend it’s me talking. Pretend it’s me saying, “Clean your room. Hang up your coat. Put away your shoes, clear the table. Read. Do your homework.”
“But those are boring things to do.”
“Exactly. Whenever your brother teases you, pretend it’s me. Whenever your sister annoys you, pretend it’s me.”
They blinked, as if they hadn’t heard. One was digging his elbow into the other’s as they stood at the kitchen island not hearing my lecture. “Just like that.” I explained.
At this point, my husband walked by, “I’m not sure that’s the lesson we want taught.”
“Don’t worry love,” I answered, “they weren’t listening.”
Monday, March 17, 2008
Olympus as you never knew it...
When we only had two, of course we spent a lot of time inventing nick names for our young prodigy. They were wonderful, these two, Apollo and Athena. Why Greek gods? We thought them that promising and enjoyed the compare and contrast of their temperaments that such names allowed. And besides, we were comic book collecting, RPG playing, LOTR loving star trek watching geeks –this is what geeks do.
Apollo, god of music and light and reason, of course fit our gentle son’s personality. He was not a fighter, at least not with his fists.
Athena, pensive, tempermental and seemingly low maintenance until displeased, helped us to create our favorite phrase for describing her, like a goddess, easily amused, but also like a goddess, more easily perturbed. She also had her father’s heart wrapped around his finger.
Then Artemis showed up, and a cloud shadowed Athena’s face for a time. I have to share Dad? This is so wrong. While Apollo shined on…benevolently looking after his two sisters and indulging their daily competitions with each other –you know…girls. Artemis was also inscrutable, she'd be sweet and easy going one minute, and shut down another. She loved Athena but also loved driving her nuts by squirreling away time with Zeus. How come I never get fought over? Apollo remained unbothered by this sisterly rivalry. He’d roll his eyes with the smug knowledge of understanding that only a five year old could muster.
Then Hermes showed up. From the get go, he lived up to his Greek namesake, driving his older brother quite mad. He disassembled Lego models that had stood for years, made deals with his brother to not touch magic card decks in return for additional allowance, (yes a two year old can run an extortion racket, or at least this one did). He ran around the house at lightning speed, screaming to the point of inducing panic, causing his mother to ponder whether he was in fact the god of Nature rather than the swift footed glib brother of Apollo.
Alas, such were the golden days of Olympus
Hermes’ next sister showed up and he didn’t forgive us until a brother showed up two years later. Apollo actually thought this was great and regularly pointed out that “the replacement baby” had shown up because Hermes was so uncooperative. Zeus and I had to intervene. With her endless love of all things sparkly, pink, girlish and pretty, no one had any doubt who this blonde blue eyed goddess was. She got a glimpse of the ocean at the tender age of 1. The money quote sealed her as having been born of the water. “Mine.” Arms outstretched in a sign of hugging the whole Atlantic. Aphrodite claimed her title.
The next son, we struggled to name to continue the template. We hadn’t thought this far. Ares, Poseidon, and Hades, none of them seemed appropriate or terribly desirable. Bacchus also struck a wrong note. Fortunately, our son solved the problem for us by becoming addicted to the Disney video that became his Greek god name. The only problem was, when I read him the actual story of Hercules, he demanded to know “Where Pegasus was?” and telling him that Pegasus belonged to a different Greek hero of mythology didn’t satisfy.
With the birth of our next two daughters, the structure began to break down. We were out of goddesses that fit our daughter’s temperaments. Demeter? No, she’s mine. Hestia? No, that was mine too. Hera? Also mine. (Trust me, I need the harvest, hearth and wrath of three goddesses to get through the day), and the left over demi-goddesses were limited in appeal. Eris –goddess of discord? Thanks, no. Nike, spirit of Victory –debatable as to the gender. Persephone –raped and carried to the underground …ew…no. Helen of Troy, Penelope? What to do…and then…as before, the children solved it for us.
The two year old cupie doll came to discover her inner goddess name –the other day, in the early hours of the morning, she awakened. She went downstairs to the kitchen. After emptying the Cinnamon toast crunch and dancing the flakes into the floor, she channeled other artistic muses and scribbled on four walls using red marker, and filled in the window pane on the front door with black. Hungry from her artistic endeavors, she opened the freezer and got out the ice cream and had that for an early breakfast all before waking us up by pushing the panic button on my car keys.
Loki anyone?
The baby still needs to discover her moniker, but honestly, I’m not in any real hurry.
P.S. sorry this is a day late, but yesterday I did taxes, so by the end of the day, nothing was funny. For less taxing humor, try www.humor-blogs.com!
Apollo, god of music and light and reason, of course fit our gentle son’s personality. He was not a fighter, at least not with his fists.
Athena, pensive, tempermental and seemingly low maintenance until displeased, helped us to create our favorite phrase for describing her, like a goddess, easily amused, but also like a goddess, more easily perturbed. She also had her father’s heart wrapped around his finger.
Then Artemis showed up, and a cloud shadowed Athena’s face for a time. I have to share Dad? This is so wrong. While Apollo shined on…benevolently looking after his two sisters and indulging their daily competitions with each other –you know…girls. Artemis was also inscrutable, she'd be sweet and easy going one minute, and shut down another. She loved Athena but also loved driving her nuts by squirreling away time with Zeus. How come I never get fought over? Apollo remained unbothered by this sisterly rivalry. He’d roll his eyes with the smug knowledge of understanding that only a five year old could muster.
Then Hermes showed up. From the get go, he lived up to his Greek namesake, driving his older brother quite mad. He disassembled Lego models that had stood for years, made deals with his brother to not touch magic card decks in return for additional allowance, (yes a two year old can run an extortion racket, or at least this one did). He ran around the house at lightning speed, screaming to the point of inducing panic, causing his mother to ponder whether he was in fact the god of Nature rather than the swift footed glib brother of Apollo.
Alas, such were the golden days of Olympus
Hermes’ next sister showed up and he didn’t forgive us until a brother showed up two years later. Apollo actually thought this was great and regularly pointed out that “the replacement baby” had shown up because Hermes was so uncooperative. Zeus and I had to intervene. With her endless love of all things sparkly, pink, girlish and pretty, no one had any doubt who this blonde blue eyed goddess was. She got a glimpse of the ocean at the tender age of 1. The money quote sealed her as having been born of the water. “Mine.” Arms outstretched in a sign of hugging the whole Atlantic. Aphrodite claimed her title.
The next son, we struggled to name to continue the template. We hadn’t thought this far. Ares, Poseidon, and Hades, none of them seemed appropriate or terribly desirable. Bacchus also struck a wrong note. Fortunately, our son solved the problem for us by becoming addicted to the Disney video that became his Greek god name. The only problem was, when I read him the actual story of Hercules, he demanded to know “Where Pegasus was?” and telling him that Pegasus belonged to a different Greek hero of mythology didn’t satisfy.
With the birth of our next two daughters, the structure began to break down. We were out of goddesses that fit our daughter’s temperaments. Demeter? No, she’s mine. Hestia? No, that was mine too. Hera? Also mine. (Trust me, I need the harvest, hearth and wrath of three goddesses to get through the day), and the left over demi-goddesses were limited in appeal. Eris –goddess of discord? Thanks, no. Nike, spirit of Victory –debatable as to the gender. Persephone –raped and carried to the underground …ew…no. Helen of Troy, Penelope? What to do…and then…as before, the children solved it for us.
The two year old cupie doll came to discover her inner goddess name –the other day, in the early hours of the morning, she awakened. She went downstairs to the kitchen. After emptying the Cinnamon toast crunch and dancing the flakes into the floor, she channeled other artistic muses and scribbled on four walls using red marker, and filled in the window pane on the front door with black. Hungry from her artistic endeavors, she opened the freezer and got out the ice cream and had that for an early breakfast all before waking us up by pushing the panic button on my car keys.
Loki anyone?
The baby still needs to discover her moniker, but honestly, I’m not in any real hurry.
P.S. sorry this is a day late, but yesterday I did taxes, so by the end of the day, nothing was funny. For less taxing humor, try www.humor-blogs.com!
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