Morning At The Monkey Ranch

Our new camera arrived this week to replace its worn and weary predecessor who has opted to no longer point nor shoot. As soon as my new toy was out of the box I took these photos. I love how they reflect the peaceful (albeit rare) moments around here when the boys are engrossed in their world and I in mine.

February: So Short, Yet Soooo Loooong

Dark, gloomy and cold February has never been one of my favorite months. She's bleak and boring and seems to drag on forever, despite her fewer than normal days on the calendar.

I'm guessing even the Romans were a bit tired of February's drearyness and figured that by shortening it up to a tiny little 28 days (with the bonus "leap!" every four years), we'd be able to move on with Spring so much faster. Oh, if only we could just hit the "fast foreman" button, as our kids like to call it, on the entire month of February and start the revival of Spring and her beauty of new growth and rebirth that comes in March.

Poor Max is really not digging this particular February. We just returned from urgent care where they confirmed his second ear infection of the month and he is now on his third round of antibiotics with a prescription date beginning in month 2/2009. He's a fevery, whiny and cranky little guy who needs lots of cuddles and loves and assurances. Right now he is snuggled up on our bed napping. Yes, you read that correctly. Max is NAPPING! Napping! For the second day in a row, the child who never ever would nap as a baby without a Barnum and Bailey type production involving the entire four-book volume set of Curious George stories, a giant burrito wrap to house his flailing arms and legs, and 6 disc concert medley of lullabies and yoga music, has gently fallen asleep on his own.

Maybe those hibernating bears are onto something. Next year I might recommend just sleeping through the 28 days.

Giggle, Giggle, Read

I especially enjoy reading books to the boys that does not involve things that (a) destroy the earth, (b) eat other members of their species, or (c) make me queasy trying to sound out the 45 syllables that only a paleontologist would find pronounceable.

Aside from its obvious developmental and "intellectual" benefits, reading gives me that fleetingly rare opportunity to snuggle and cuddle my very busy boys, while also getting me in close proximity to gently pull their fingers out of their noses without having to actually say the most oft repeated words of motherhood..."fingers out of noses".

Much to our collective delight, Santa brought some great books this year. This one is a huge hit:



We've been huge fans of they whacky antics of Duck since we first laughed together in Click Clack Moo: Cows That Type. Other than by enjoying an ice cream cone or being hungry for change, the boys have learned almost everything that they know about the US electoral process -- other than that Mommy and Daddy disagree about it a lot -- from Duck For President.

Thump, Quack, Moo hit the nail on the head again and had the boys giggling and begging for me to read it again. And again. And again. When we read this book together they lean forward, one on each side of me, and look at each other to share the joy of hysterical laughter. Sammy won't do it until he gets the cue from Max, and then he's a mess of lumpy laughter. Max just giggles until he can't hear a word without laughing.

Of course it's contagious, and since laughter is the one thing I will never complain about catching from my kids, I love this book.

"You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose...

But you can't pick your friend's nose."

A little wisdom passed down from Grampa Tom. Not really all that enlightening, but it was a guaranteed giggle or groan inducer when I was seven. At thirty seven, I still find myself thinking it and mentally smacking my head back and forth to make the rhyme go away.

And yet.
Still.
It's there.

Max and I had a rough bout before bed last week that involved a re-occuring toileting issue that just grosses me out. I'll spare details, but the boy got to learn how to clean a toilet seat. Enough said.

Needless to say, I think he got pretty down on himself and he felt ashamed and I felt badly. So for a bedtime story I read a favorite book of his and then picked "I Like Me!" by Nancy Carlson. Generally not a favorite of his since it involves a pig in cute tu-tu outfits and frilly dresses and absolutely no excavators, but the theme is sweet and I thought offered the right "tone" after our little feud.

The theme of the book is the pig is her own best friend, takes good care of herself, and has a healthy body image. I asked Max a few questions and got something like this in response:

Me: Do you have a best friend, Max?
Max: Sammy. Sammy's my best friend.

Quick, grab a bowl, a towel, something! I need to collect this melting pool of my heart off the floor. I'm wrenching from the tenderness, the love, the blatant and effective attempt to bring me back into his camp.

Me: Look, (pointing to a picture in the book), She's brushing her teeth and taking good care of herself. You do that!
Max: But... you do the best job of taking care of me, Mom.

Okaaaaay, um melting, tender, and feeling really sad that I upset him earlier. Yes, fiddle, I am being played like you by a 4 year-old maestro.

Me: Piggy likes her curly tail and round tummy. What do you like about your body?
Max: How my finger fits right in my nose. (Demo follows)

I am now a giggling seven year old. A giggling seven year-old being played like a fiddle and loving the sound of our song.

Pick your nose, pick your seat, pick your battles.

But I just couldn't pick a better kid.

The Need to Read

Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend.
Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.
~ Groucho Marx

Our little guys can spiral into whiny, argumentative, territorial little beasts at the drop of a matchbox car. The pecking order is established at every meal, portions are reviewed and even the color of a cereal bowl can bring down peace negotiations faster than a tv camera on a North Korean nuclear reactor.

Imagine my delight to find them in the early morning this way: not arguing, not hitting or biting, nor crying or whining. Not two little forces of tears and mucus and accusation.

They are readers. Readers reading together.

Diggers and Cranes, bringing the world together one morning at a time. Thank you, Usborne and authors/illustrators Caroline Young, Chris Lyon, Teri Gower and Nick Hawker.

And thank you, Bubbi, for knowing that your little diggers needed this book. And so did their mommy.