a mummy's brew

This year Davyn said he wanted to be something "pooky" for Halloween.  And the big brother quickly agreed.  And the mom was well-pleased. 

Until the horrifying experience of looking at price tags. One child-sized mummy costume at the Halloween store: $50. Ya, it was cool. But, $50??! A vampire came with a much lighter $20 tag. But my dander was up after the first, and I decided to make & make do.  

Plus, it was well past time to get over my first homemade Halloween costume fiasco.  Aidan was one, and  I had zero sewing experience (unless you count 8th grade Home Ec, which I don't), complete & unfounded confidence (a dangerous combo), and visions of a turtle shell dancing in my head.

This is what happened:Yes, he had a cute little body.  But the costume screamed "homemade", and not in the good way. 

So I've stuck to the store bought in shame and am finally ready to change my spendy ways (okay, Jim is definitely rolling his eyes right now). 

Vampire costume: $4 for make-up, fake blood & fangs; tuxedo pants and black bow tiefrom Jenna's wedding; white button up shirt from Sunday wardrobe; black cape borrowed from Mandi; bloodsucking stances provided by D.

Mummy costume: $8 long johns (which I can probably claim as free since I've yet to repay Cyn for buying them in Utah...have you ever tried to buy long johns in the valley in the fall?); one king sized tattered white sheet from Kay.

I'm thinking $12 beats $70.  And how.

As I write, the mummy rags are steeping in a tea bath.  Because I have a boy who insists that the wraps "needs to look old".  And I'm wondering about their attaching...pretty positive it won't involve a sewing machine.  My own sewing surety may be shattered, but he has complete confidence in my costuming capacity. 

We'll see how it all wraps up tomorrow.  

first time to school as a parent volunteer

I've been looking forward to today as a Parenting First. And was even more anxious when a grinning Aidan said this yesterday on the ride home from school: "I'm so excited you get to come to my class with me tomorrow." He and Savannah then spilled the beans about a boy who was not so excited when his mom came to class. In fact, "he put his head down and wouldn't even talk to her." I hadn't thought of that possibility, so A's evident disapproval of that friend's mother-angst made me happy.  My boy isn't embarrassed of his mother.

But worry did wrinkle Aidan's brow when I walked downstairs this morning mid-hairstyling with a cascading topknot of not-yet-flat-ironed hair.

"Please don't be silly at school today, Mom."

"I'm not done fixing my hair yet, A."

 "I know. But just don't be silly."

{with more than a hint of mother-angst}

Because Kindergarten is a serious affair.

To this guy.

I'm happy to report that I had no urges to silliness during class time.  But I also must confess that beaming at my boy was a far more difficult urge to curb.  When they filed back to the desks after recess, our eyes connected and I automatically blew him a kiss...because, well,  that's what we do.  His quick head turn, however, made me curse the unplanned gesture, worrying that I had forever doomed our public relationship.  But as quickly as I doubted, his head turned back my way.  And his love outpaced his angst...evidenced by mouth corners failing to suppress an erupting smile.  A quick and secret smile.  And his eyes sparkled momentarily with the same secret.  We're connected.  Even in this room brim-full of teacher, aid and 29 peers, I am his.

And he is Mine.

fall break: day five

Imagine you are a small boy.  It's Friday, late morning, and your dad has taken the day off work.  A giant dump truck appears on your street, stopping directly in front of YOUR house.  Your parents scurry you out of the way as the truck "beep beep"'s its way into your driveway, and then drops an enormous pile of dirt.  Brother beats you to the top, and by the time you catch up he reaches to wrestle you down the dirt. THIS is the high life.

One huge pile of dirt from Dad outdoes an entire week of planned fun from Mom.  Irrevocably confirming Papa's longheld theory about the best toy in the world.  I'm definitely a believer.

Tomorrow's agenda:  500 wheelbarrow loads to the backyard.  And lots of cursing.  The little boys may be excited about the pile, but the big boy only sees work.

The big girl?  Well, she sees a garden.  

Special thanks to SDC for dirt.  Super special thanks to Jim for labor.  As he was carving away at the pile tonight, I yelled out a "do you love me?", half expecting him to simply flip me off (just keeping it real).  He didn't smile, but did reply with:  "a ton"...then smartly corrected himself:  "many yards".  Because that's how you measure dirt.  And I'm proud to be an Eight Yard Wife. 

and so it begins

I remember the first time I dropped Aidan off at Nursery when he was 18-months-old.  It felt surreal.  My boy, my shadow, my firstborn, my child was going to have conversations, relationships, laughter, pain in which I had no part. 

Well, this morning a similar flood of emotions overtook me when we met his Kindergarten teacher.  I surveyed the room, craning to take in the maps, posters, books, blackboard that will come to fill his days...hoping desperately that he'll come home spilling stories and details.  Because I want to know who sits next to him, what he laughs at, what makes him sad, what makes him sigh.  Forever. 

Of course I won't.  We can't always own each other entirely.  But, still..

He sat at his desk today with surprising ease.  Surprising because last week's school shopping was witness to all too many worries ( "Can't I wait one more year?"). 

Luckily, his dad has a knack for assuaging trauma in us half-Hendrix humans.  I caught them mid-chat this morning.  And saw Jim's soothing words take effect.  He always tells his boys that they are powerful.  And it's true.  Tonight he gave each of them their first father's blessing.  Tonight is also the five year anniversary of our temple sealing.  I've never felt more grateful to be a part of this family..to be surrounded by these men..to have them now & Always. 

Even if the first bits of earthly separation start with Mrs. Cammack's a.m. Kindergarten tomorrow.

to Aidan at 5

and nine days. Because I'm counting. Because there's this surreal feeling that comes when I think of your age. And how time speeds by so. so. quickly. You're still my baby, yet I have no doubt I've known you far beyond the story of a mere five years. Eons, perhaps.

Last week we sat together looking at baby pictures.

I showed you the video from the hospital. We listened to your first screams. And told how I sobbed when informed I had just given birth to a 9 lb. 14 oz. boy. You somehow seemed beyond newborn from the start - bigger, stronger...your eyes knew, watched, probed. From the first day. And they still do.

We laughed remembering your first tattoo…a surprise for me from Dad. And a surprise that really did surprise when I unfolded your onesie for a midnight diaper change, thinking a tarantula had somehow landed on your belly. Cringe to curse to calm.

I cringed again (and you laughed) at baby feeding pictures, remembering the horror of the insatiable alien invader that you first seemed. You were drinking 60+ ounces of formula a day. Unsatisfied.  At 2 months old.  Even the doctor was awe-struck.  So we started solids.

Your first time rolling over is one of my favorite memories. We had gone to the zoo that morning. And it was hot. So – in the afternoon living room floor recover zone - Dad decided it was time to teach you to roll. You were three months old. He plopped down beside you on the rug. And proceeded to instruct. A three month old. With detailed word-only instructions. I rolled my eyes, thinking obviously this man has no experience with babies. Yet. He had experience with you (eons, perhaps). His instructions ended with a bodily demonstration. You watched and listened. And when he finished, you rolled.

I told how Grandma Kay watched you every afternoon. And secretly taught you English.  Eight months old, you’d sneakily stun me with words like “clock” or “bird” in our alone at home time.

 
I suppose it's no secret that you still stun me. Your life-love, your dad-likeness, your earnest understanding of wrong & right.

Yesterday morning disaster struck in the form of a freezer meltdown. Teethgrinding for me. Winning lotto ticket for you. An hour and five full garbage bags later, you grinned up with an artless, “I love cleaning with you, Mom” (winning lotto ticket for me). You would gladly spend sun-up to sun-down doing "jobs" with me or Dad. About two months ago you ran upstairs to proclaim: "I took the garbage out by myself." My heart leapt between the potential joy of sharing this dreaded duty and the potential mess of a full kitchen garbage drug out and hefted into a giant dumpster by tiny hands. But your hands aren't so tiny, I suppose. And the job was done perfectly. And if it hadn't been, you would have found a way to make it so.  Because you're really not my baby anymore. 

 

I love you, Aidan Michael.  And I'll forever anxiously watch your story unfold.  Never doubting it will Amaze.