hello, gorgeous

My son is checking himself out. I don't know if it's because he sees me watching him or because he's almost four and old enough to feel slightly embarrassed about his behavior, but he's definitely being sly about the posing. He spins, then stops, cocks his head and his hip, glances over his shoulder to view his backside. Then, he quickly releases the pose, shreds his imaginary guitar and falls on the floor. He jumps up, spins again, points his toe and gazes down his arm with an oddly self-conscious half smile. Again, he quickly releases the pose and does some tae kwon do punches. He's in love with his outfit. Weirdly enough, it has to be the ugliest thing in his closet -- a teal and powder blue tie-dyed, screen-printed soccer ball shirt and matching capri-length, elastic-waistband shorts that are also tie dyed in the same awful shades of blue.

The shorts set, plucked from a bag of hand-me-downs a cousin kindly sent our way, was headed for Salvation Army when Liam spied it in the donation pile and immediately began disrobing.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm wearing that," he said.

"No, honey, it's the middle of winter and that's a summer outfit," I said. "Plus, it's ugly."

Aghast, he grabed the outfit and clutched it to his chest. "No, it's not," he cried. "It's cool, mom, and I want to wear it right now."

"Fine, be my guest."

I figured the crush would wear off quickly. He's a boy, afterall. Boys aren't interested in clothes. But nearly every day, Liam disappears into his closet and comes out in an outfit of his choosing. Most days, it's the tie dye or an Ireland soccer jersey that's two sizes too big or the halloween pajamas that are two sizes too small. I tell him, "Fine, for an hour you can wear that, BUT we are changing into an outfit I pick before you go to school or see any human outside this house."

My mom says, store the summer stuff and the clothes that don't fit. Out of sight, out of mind. She's probably right, but I can never remember or find the energy to do it. Plus, he'll just fall in love with something equally bizarre or hideous.

For instance, one day a bag of cast-offs arrived for Elliott and before I knew it Liam had pillaged a pair of 6-12 month jeans out of the bag, slipped them on and snapped and zipped them! They came to his knees but actually fit pretty well otherwise. He insisted on wearing them the rest of the day. We had no plans. Who was I to rain on his parade?

My husband gives me a hard time. Who made you the fashion police? He doesn't even have to say it. I know what he's thinking. The kid is three. He's experimenting. He's having fun. He actually has his own opinions and preferences. And, when he's in teal and powder blue tie dye, he thinks he's a rock star. He bursts into the room with a full-on grin, spinning and swaggering and posing.

I might not think much of the outfit, but you're looking good, Liam. Looking good.

favorite things

When I'm having a blah day (like today) and get easily riled by small annoyances (like today), I try to focus on the little things that make me smile. Here are a few that come to mind:

-This colored-in drawing. Liam drew it and he and Andrew colored it in together. We hung it in the kitchen (it's big -- 2 1/2 ft x 3 ft) and now it's my favorite thing to look at.

-A new bag. My good friend and talented fabric/sewer girl Ann made an awesome one for me and it makes me happy just to sling it over my shoulder. Check it out.

-An issue of Brain, Child magazine in my mailbox. I'm waiting.

-Gorgeous framed photos of Liam and Elliott. Courtesy of my talented photographer friend Vanessa.

-A cup of tea. And five minutes of peace to sip it.

-A totally clean house. And, yes, when one works, mothers and does one million other things in a day, a cleaning lady is the only way to achieve this. It's one small gift I buy for myself every other week. And, I swear, it nearly makes me cry.

-Andrew's CD. I have probably listened to this intrumental CD, Andrew Bordoni & Friends, 100 times, and I makes me smile every time. (Liam, as well as his 3-year-old neighbor friend Henry, are very big fans as well. Henry's mom, Heather, told me that he sat back on the couch to listen to it the other day and said, "Mom, I love Andrew Bordoni.")

-Big smiles from Elliott. The best ones come playing peek-a-boo in the mirror and drying off after a bath. The smiles I get when I tuck him into bed are pretty adorable, too. Almost makes me want to sweep him up and rock him to sleep. But not quite.

-Kind words from Liam. The absolute best is the unprompted, unexpected, "Mom, I love you." The funny things that come out of his mouth also give me a great lift. Today, as he parted from his "best friend" Ava after preschool, they gave each other a big hug. Then, Liam called after her in a "yo, Adrian"-style voice, "Ava, I'm going to marry you!" It still makes me laugh.

(so long) winter haikus

put on your socks and long sleeves
you may not wear shorts
since when is zero "warm out"?

is your guy wearing glasses?
does he have white hair?
still playing guess who, round twenty

low-guilt video watching
cuddles on the couch
another day shut indoors

get lost winter, just beat it
where are your manners?
show's over, it's time to go

another day, another snowfall

It may have been the prettiest morning of the winter season, but the grownups can't help but ask, when will it end? The kids, well, it's clear what they think.

party time

This is a photo of Liam almost exactly one year ago. I don't know what I was doing, but while my back was turned he cleaned out the silverware drawer. Ever since he could grab and move, he's had an odd attachment to cutlery and napkins. Nearly every day now I find a "party" set up in some random spot in our house. Some days I take it well and play along. I pause for a couple minutes and say, hey, what do you have going on here? Usually it's a party with Matt and Banjo and Simmy and Corny and Sour (his loyal "friends" or, shall we say, fall guys). I ask what they're celebrating and what they're eating, the usual thing one would inquire about when one finds yarn tied to drawer handles and spoons, forks, floral napkins, twist ties, straws and little hors d'oeuvre knives covering the coffee table or forming a big circle on the floor. But, honestly, most days I am frustrated... crazy clean up lady. And he sees me coming. He practically throws himself over the "party," a human shield. "No, mom," he shouts. "This is my party!" Usually I acquiesce. But occasionally, the party's over.

Today was one of those days. The house had gone too long without tidying and I was going under. After a while the clutter kills me and I've got to get it under control immediately. I know this is happening when Andrew stands by and asks, "Are you mad?" I always assume he means angry but maybe he's concerned I'm crazy. I bark, "No! I'm cleaning up!" This is the only way I know how to do it... as the crazy clean up lady. So, today, after I had tidied the remnants of a several-days-old party and organized various books and board games, etc., etc., I passed by Liam's room and saw that all of his little Playschool knights (and their various swords, horses, shields, etc.) were out jousting or whatever it is they were doing.

I found Liam and said in my sweetest crazy clean up lady voice, "Honey, you're going to need to clean up your room today."

As if he had utterly forgotten his room and its contents existed, he excitedly said, running from the hall to his door, "I'm going to play with my knights!"

I smartly called after him, "Okay, for a little bit, but as you finish playing with them, put them away in their bin."

"That's a really good idea, mom," he enthusiastically called out. Then he paused and added, "But, no."

The knights did end up in their bin (with a little help from dad), but at bedtime I saw that Mr. Smartypants had them all out swordfighting again. Really, what's the point of cleaning up? So, okay, here's to fascinating, free-form cutlery sculptures and parties, parties, parties. Mom's trying, Liam. She really is.

sleeping patterns

We have good sleepers in this house. I don't claim credit for this, but our boys actually like to go to bed and they crash early. Because of Andrew's schedule, he is never home at bedtime except on the weekends. On these rare nights I try to convince Liam to let Daddy put him to bed, but I guess because he's a creature of habit, he wants mom to do it. I should be flattered, I know. Tonight, however, after Andrew read stories, Liam came in the kitchen and said "hug and kiss," which meant he was going up with Andrew. I was pleased to have the break so I could, um, empty the dishwasher and clean the kitchen. (What has happened to me?) Anyway, after about one minute, I heard Andrew coming down the stairs. He appeared in the kitchen door looking kind of sheepish, "Liam said 'Sorry dad, but I really need mom up here.'"

Now, when Andrew's not home, the late afternoon consists of very mellow play -- drawing, playing board games, a little video watching -- as we wind down for dinner and, immediately after, our bedtime ritual. This makes going to bed a very calm experience. I like this, but that's just me, apparently. When Andrew is home, there is sword fighting, rock and roll playing, wrestling and loud farting up until the bedtime hour. Hmmm, I wonder who's the funner parent? But (as I have been told I used to say as a child), if we're going to play house, someone has to be the mother.

No suprise that I found a wound up child tangled in the covers, hiding. In a few seconds, we got sorted out - head on the pillow, blanket straightened, thumb in mouth. And then in one swoop, Liam kicked off the covers, threw his arms down to his sides, let out an exasperated sigh and said, "I am not a fan of lying down."

The comment took me so off guard and sounded so funny, I burst out laughing. Soon Liam and I were both in tears laughing. I guess I can be a fun parent, too. And the boy who's not a fan of lying down . . . sound asleep in two minutes.

partial reading list

Some people are serial readers; they finish one book before they start another. That definitely does not describe me. Tonight I counted 15 books beside my bed that are in various stages of "being read," including just started, pick up from time to time, taking a break from, dip into randomly, very slowly finishing, may never finish, forcing myself to skim for a book group, will probably start over someday. Occasionally, I actually do finish a book and sometimes, very rarely, I read one book straight through, forsaking all others. A few of these "couldn't put it down" books in recent memory include The Kite Runner (a two-night read), Expecting Adam (downed on one airplane flight, crying all the way) and Peace Like a River. Here is my current partial reading list, in no particular order:

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini (I thought this was going to be another read-straight-through book, but with about 50 pages left, I haven't been able to muster the courage to finish.)
Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
Last Child in the Woods by Richard Louv
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Raising Cain: Protecting the Emotional Life of Boys
Captivating by Staci Eldredge
Sinners Welcome by Mary Karr (poetry)
Winter Morning Walks by Ted Kooser (poetry)
Dreams from My Father by Barack Obama
Writing to Change the World by Mary Pipher
For the Time Being by Annie Dillard (dipping in for the second time)
Saving Fish from Drowning by Amy Tan
The Impossible Will Take a Little While (essays)
Baby Signs: How to Talk with Your Baby Before Your Baby Can Talk
Water for Elephants by Sarah Gruen (I started this book last night and I already know that it will be one of the rare books I read straight through.)

So what does this say about me? High intelligence? Poor attention span? Open minded? Scattered? I have come to terms with the fact that wrong or right, it's just the way I read! So, if there's a book in your pile you think I should add to mine, please let me know. The bigger the pile, the better.

brothers

I wasn't even in the room when this drawing was made today. Liam copied Elliott's name off of a valentine card he had made last week and the words "Good Boy" off the cover of a book. Then he brought me the drawing and said, "Hey, mom, show this to Elliott. I think he'll like it."

why I like mr. rogers

1. He's kind. For years we've had this handwritten quote taped to our fridge: "Always be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle. -Philo of Alexandria." Mr. Rogers embodies kindness better than most.

2. He's a uniter. Before it was cool or politically correct. Mr. Rogers hung out with people of different races, backgrounds and cultures. Considering when it was produced, it's a pretty colorful show.

3. He's not afraid to look foolish. This morning Mr. Rogers sang along with a gospel singer who had a beautiful, bluesy voice. Fred's performance really suffered in comparison, but he didn't care. He was having a great time.

4. He believes in me. Okay, that sounds a little corny. But I get nostalgic watching his show because I remember how much his encouragement and unconditional love meant to me as a child. It's nice to see a show that builds kids up when so much of our culture and programming is designed to subtly (or not so subtly) tell them how they don't measure up.

5. He makes 6 a.m. a reasonable hour to rise. Well, almost.

cookies for Elliott

Well, not really. That's a carrot he's munching on. But the boy is 9 months old today and we're celebrating with a batch of our favorite cookies. It's good for us that Elliott can't eat them yet because the recipe only makes three dozen. Two people can easily demolish the whole batch in one night. We'll probably restrain ourselves and make them last at least 24 hours and share a couple with Liam (who will surely say, "Mom, these are delicious," which is how, delightfully, he has been describing all of his eating experiences lately). But it will be tough to wait. They are that good.

Brick Oven Ginger Cookies

1 1/2 sticks of butter
1/4 cup molasses
1 cup sugar
1 egg
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon salt

Cream butter, molasses and sugar. Beat in egg. Sift together dry ingredients and add to batter. Chill at least an hour. (Or one minute outside in a Chicago winter.) Form into balls and roll in sugar. Bake at 350 for 10 minutes. Try not to eat all in one sitting. They are even better the next day.

on the fridge

This weekend our fridge stopped cooling, so I emptied it and turned it off in anticipation of the repairman visit today. And, considering it was disgustingly filthy inside (amazing how much worse things look when they are bare!), I also cleaned it. This gave me lots of time to study the white monstrosity in our kitchen and all of the accummulated junk/treasures stuck on it. Here's a snapshot.

Magnetic Poetry

A snowy barn in black and white

as you show me spring

Two African children we have never met

a thousand whispers
never easy
always with me
aches

Day-old Liam hung by a dusty bunch of plastic cherries

true beauty trudges through
void

A wedding, a boy and magnetic Betty dressed in a skirt and one shoe

petals fall like honey
languid ly

keeping the sabbath

This afternoon I had the opportunity to leave the kids with Andrew and do my own thing. What to do? Dive into the pile of books by my bed? Browse magazines? Tackle the bills? Write emails? Fold laundry? Clean up the house? In the end, I hung out with my guys. I lounged on the couch and watched Liam crush Andrew in Superhero Scrabble and the Ladybug Game. I curled up on the rocking chair in the basement playroom and babbled with Elliott while Liam and Andrew pretended the tent was their spaceship. Every few minutes my productivity monitor tried to convince me that I was wasting precious time. How could I just be sitting there doing nothing? I could be sorting receipts for taxes. I could be cleaning the too-small clothes out of Liam's closet. I could be taking a much-needed nap. Somehow I kept that urgency at bay and enjoyed every minute of those precious two hours, including the moment that Liam was playing his guitar and I said, "Liam, you are inspired." He stopped and gave me the weirdest look and said, "Mom, I am not a spider."

As afternoons go, it was one of the best. And as reluctant as I am to do it, I believe that there is life-giving reason behind keeping the Sabbath holy. I recently read on a website of faith practices some thoughts about keeping the Sabbath. Here's what the authors suggested as Sabbath "rules":

- Rest from commerce.
- Rest from work.
- Rest from worry.
- Rest for creation.

When I read this list, I thought, this is what I was made for. A simple life. No shopping, no working, no worrying... just creating and enjoying creation. Sounds like heaven. Sounds like this afternoon. May I have the courage to embrace this kind of essential Sabbath lifestyle every Sunday.

playing inside, day 83

When you're 3 1/2 you never run out of things to do inside, as long as mom throws caution to the wind and closes her eyes to the disaster that once was a tidy house. After a dozen semi-reckless runs head first down the self-engineered couch slide, Liam paused and pronounced, "Hey mom, I think dad can play this with me someday when he gets a little smaller."

my funny valentine

This morning we hosted our neighborhood Valentine's day party, with 25 kids between 4 years and one month. That's a lot of sticky cupcake fingers and not-sharing meltdowns. But it was actually quite fun. Liam amazingly handwrote all his cards, without any help from mom (other than my dictating the spelling of his friends' names). He has even mastered the word "love" and his name. It was kind of sad to give them away. Liam had no problem with it as it meant he'd get candy from all his friends in return. (It's almost as good as Halloween!)

I love how the decorations turned out. Nothing but construction paper and yarn, but it made the whole house look warm and happy.

what's for dinner?

Lately I've been adapting and embellishing recipes to make up for the fact that I don't have all the ingredients and it's too cold outside (as in minus degrees) to go out and get them. Last night my improvisation turned out pretty fabulous, humble gal that I am. And, let me tell you, the pantry was pretty bare.

Greens Go Better with Bacon

8 oz. pasta (I used penne)
4 slices bacon (I used frozen/pre-cooked)
2-3 cloves garlic, sliced
1/4 t. crushed red pepper
2-3 c. chopped greens (I used bok choy)
couple big splashes of white wine
1 can white beans, rinced and drained
lots of fresh grated parmesan

Cook pasta till al dente; drain and set aside. Cook bacon in big saute pan. Remove and drain drippings from pan (not necessary if using pre-cooked). Saute garlic and red pepper flakes for a couple minutes; add greens and a big splash of white wine. Cook until greens are wilted (adding more wine as needed). Crumble bacon and add to greens with beans and pasta. Top with lots of parmesan. Bon appetit!!

teaching poetry

Tomorrow I teach my second of three poetry workshops for a local elementary school's after-school program. I love to watch the reluctant eagerness of a fourth or fifth grader emerge during the hour of writing and sharing. Maybe I am drawn to kids this age because they are still young enough to be silly and open; or maybe it's because they're a dichotomy of vulnerable and worldly-wise; or maybe it's simply because it was at that age my life was thrown into upheaval when my parents split up. Whatever the reason, every time I get some kid a little more psyched about poetry so they feel a little less alone in the world, I sigh. It's like this...

Teaching Poetry in the Fifth Grade

Camilla hugs you.
She doesn’t ask permission or even hesitate.
You are reviewing metaphor,
preparing a poetry workshop
for the fifth grade.
She swoops over, and in one gentle motion
takes you in her bird-leg arms,
nuzzles into your waist
and sighs.
Hi, she breathes.
She smells of cold air, static electricity and sleep.
Her turtleneck is on backwards.
Hi, you smile.
I am wondering what you’ll teach us today, she says,
carefully, eagerly,
and with the smallest sadness, as if
one of her downy feathers has been plucked
and is floating to the ground.
You long to thrust out your hand,
to return the feather
and prevent the scales from forming.
You want this love to endure.
The world knows too little of it.
Instead,
you answer
while you lay your hand on her precious little wings
and pray for a new feather to grow.

(c) 2003 Amy Wolgemuth Bordoni

a guitar hero

making use-kick
the monster eats the kid
strings
play
rock on, use-kick

love
liam

(Dictated by Liam -- including the title of the post -- when asked to comment on today's guitar playing experience, which occurred shortly after a long session on the drums. "Use-kick" is my best interpretation of the pronunciation of "music.")

old friends and new

Lately Liam has been cutting little bits of paper and drawing people on them. Today he was carrying these pieces around and I asked him who they were.

Liam (pointing to the "girl" on the left): That's my new friend, Lisa.
Me: Who are the other two?
Liam: Oh, that's Matt and Banjo. They died.

Matt and Banjo have been constant, albeit invisible, companions of Liam's for months (along with Simmy, Corny and Sour -- all his original creations) so I was a little taken aback.

Me: Really, why did they die?
Liam: Because, mom, they're old. They're my old friends. I only have new friends now.
Me: So are Matt and Banjo gone for good?
Liam: No, they're coming back. They'll be back for Halloween.

No surprise there. Every day Liam asks if it is Halloween yet. He is dying to be a mummy. (No pun intended.) Last week he asked me, "Mom, are you excited for Christmas." I said, in my best June Cleaver, "Why, yes, honey, it'll be nice to celebrate christmas again." Nonchalantly he shot back, "Not me. I just like Halloween." Costumes, candy, staying up late to run around the neighborhood. What's not to like?

one for the packsack

Poetry is just a packsack of invisible keepsakes. -Carl Sandburg

It all started with a cry. I was doing my million things at the same time when Elliott, who had been playing contentedly on my lap, yowled. With a quick turn of my head, I saw that Liam was stamping Elliott's hand with his Halloween ink stamps. Five black "Boo" stamps covered Elliott's sweet tiny hand. In my sternest, don't-mess-with me tone, I yelled, "Liam, we don't stamp the baby!" Stamp the baby? Did I really say that? After a good laugh (much to Liam's relief), I decided it was time to get these moments down somewhere because they won't come again, and in my sleep-deprived state, they won't be remembered tomorrow.

So, today seems as good a day as any to start this blog. Actually, it is a very good day as my favorite little sister left us today pulling a trailer with all her worldly possesions to a new job in Washington DC. (We miss you already, aunt Liz.) Check back here often and I'll throw you little pieces of our poetry...hilarious, profound, mundane or bizarre as they may be. Maybe some original free verse, recipes and artwork, too. Makes 6 a.m. tomorrow seem not so bad. Although, with these two cuties -- mad stamper and sad stampee -- how could it ever be bad?