Corndogs and Aliens

The Alien-Corn Dog FIre Brigade

Two Sweet Little Lies

Felix found a penny on the floor at the Work House.

In the way of small children, it turned into a talisman. He’s got pennies in his bank, has some pennies for his pirate ship treasure, but this penny became special.

And then he lost it.

He and Betty searched for it all over the Work House, but to no avail. It was gone. Every few days, he would remember it and have a sad moment–no other penny would suffice.  And then my last week of work came around; he went off to spend the week with various friends and family, while I spent the week training the new au pair.

Then, on Thursday, Betty found his penny.

“Cam! It’s Felix’s penny!” she cried, brandishing the tarnished coin like a doubloon.

I pocketed it gratefully. That afternoon, Felix came over for his last “playdate” with Betty. They were going to watch Betty’s favorite movie, which they were not normally allowed to do. I gave him his penny, giving Betty the credit for the rediscovery.

“Mama! My penny!” So easily pleased.

By the time we got home that evening, it was gone again.

Tears welled up in his tired eyes. His nose and ears turned pink and his lips trembled.

I told him the first of the two lies. “I’m sure it just fell out in the car. I’ll find it for you, baby.” I am reasonably sure that his actual penny is still in the folds of the big sectional at the Work House.

This morning, while switching the laundry, a stray penny tumbled out of the dryer, hitting the tile floor in the laundry room with a metallic clatter and jingle.

“What’s that, Mama?” Felix called from the kitchen.

“It’s your penny, baby,” the second lie poured out like maternal honey. “I found it over the weekend. Looks like it ran through the laundry in my pants’ pocket.”

“My penny!” he laughed, taking the coin and running off for his treasure box.

What Happened at School

Felix started school today. Two mornings a week, about 5 hours total, 7 if you count the hour he spends in “Morning Care” before going to his regular classroom.

He had breakfast in Morning Care with a cute little blonde named Lucy. (ack! they start so young!) She told me before I left that the teachers would show them what was open for play.

He tells me he used the walking-rope, read a book about school buses, had a little fight with his teacher because he wasn’t listening, learned that he needs to listen in the future, and ate some of his pretzels and all of his drinking yogurt.

He tells me there’s a kid-sized urinal in the boy’s room and that there’s a boy named Tonmay in his class. (I know the latter to be true.)

The see-saw in the school playground is the same as the one at a nearby playground. He learned about not running to your grownup at the end of the day.

It may not seem like much, but I’m pretty stinking proud of him.

Six Word Story: At the Fair

Holding chicks. Racing pigs. Midway rides.

Six Word Sunday: Birth

Water broke 4am. 8:40pm: Hello, you.

Saturday Morning Cartoons… I Mean Parenting.

The television is babysitting this morning, and I’m unapologetic.

When Felix woke up this morning, he wanted to watch Chuggington, so I called it up on the DVR. After the episode ended, the cable box defaulted to Disney Junior, and he got interested in Super Why.

It’s reading people. Super Reading.

Then, due to the recording schedule, it the DVR switched to PBS to record Dinosaur Train and Curious George. So he stayed on to watch.

He’s been puttering around, playing with his model airplanes and helping us make coffee and eating his breakfast, but I’ve had time to read and drink coffee and blog and plan for my godson’s birthday cake.

And he’s been watching more or less educational programming, Chuggington excepted. That show is just dumb. But he loves it.

If I’m going to hire my television to babysit, at least I can be confident it’s going to make good choices.

The Packet

I have been raising children for the privileged classes for too long.

We enrolled Felix in the local preschool program. The soft start date was the week after Labor Day.

All summer I have been waiting for the Packet. Every other child I’ve sent off to preschool has gotten the Packet. A handbook, a parent directory, 42 pages of mission statements, disclosures, policies, carpool procedures, sample snack menus, curriculum breakdowns, teacher biographies, the Silmarillion, and instructions for the automatic door of your shiny new minivan.

It occurred to me yesterday, as August rolled in, that I had no real idea about any of the preschool details.

Where in Hades was my Packet?!

And then, this morning, in the mail: a slim envelope addressed To the Parents of…

Four simple pieces of info: start date, parent orientation date/time, child’s orientation date/time, early drop off/late pick up information session date/time.

I think public preschool and I are going to get along just fine.

Hampton Beach

Like A Seahorse

“Mama?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m a  good Daddy.”

“Oh yeah? Whose Daddy are you?”

“My babies’.”

“Which babies?”

“The ones in my belly.”

O_O <– my reaction

“I will have babies in my pouch in my belly, Mama. Like a Daddy seahorse. And I will take care of them.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a great Daddy, baby.”

Just not for a solid twenty-five years.

At Daddy Runs A Lot Today!

Every once in a while, a commenter drops out of the sky and not too long after, you’re lucky enough to call him a friend. John is funny, wickedly inappropriate, and has way too much energy. That we can talk musical theater in addition? Well… somebody grab my smelling salts.

So, when he asked me to guest post, I actually started writing almost immediately. I knew exactly what I wanted to say over at The Adventures of Daddy Runs A Lot.

So, click on over, and while you’re there, stick around to read.