The Graduate

He made it. We made it. (More surprisingly, Ms. Heather made it.) That's right, this handsome kid has officially graduated from preschool.

Tonight was his Preschool Graduation. Ms. Heather had an incredible program. Curtis had been reluctant (I should say unwilling) to practice during class the week or two before. (I found out that other kids from his class were actually praying that Curtis would "be happy" and do his parts at graduation. Yikes!) So, I spent an exhausting day trying to make sure I delivered a happy, well-fed, un-moody boy. Mission accomplished!

The tie? Well, it was a nice touch that lasted up until the program started. But he went up on stage without a fuss...so who am I to argue about a little tie?

He had three lines: "Yellow duck, yellow duck, what do you see?", "My favorite part of preschool was playing on Ms. Heather's swing set", and "I know that purple stands for grapes." I sat in the audience, holding my breath, as he perfectly delivered all three. A miracle.

A quick back-stage change and they walked out in full graduate regalia. He was beside himself with joy. (Mostly because he was convinced that he was dressed up as an angel...and kept flapping his "wings".)

A quick thumbs up to the audience!

Delivering his final line: (His favorite part of the evening was talking into the microphone.)

Ms. Heather gave them all a candy-lei (perfect!) and a book that chronicled their year. Curtis LOVES that book. It made me cry. Then laugh. A lot.

I can't say enough wonderful things about Ms. Heather. She is a kind and patient woman. Seriously. Somehow she managed to survive the strong-willed antics of my boy and teach him a myriad of things I'm surprised he sat still enough to learn. Miracle.

Now we're on to kindergarten!!

The Question Was Leading...

"If I get dessert tonight, I will be happy. If I don't get dessert tonight, I just won't be happy...pause...You want me to be happy, right?"

Intelligence and Facial Hair

A conversation:

Curtis: "Mom, do you know who is the smartest person in the whole entire universe?"

Mom: "No, who?"

Curtis: "Heavenly Father...and Jesus is super smart too."

Mom: "Yup, I think you're right."

Pause

Curtis: "I think it's the beards."

Booby Traps

This is my front door:

And this is the reason there's a bench in front of it:

Last night I tucked him into bed with prayers, stories, and kisses. It was a typical night with the typical "I love you, I love you too" routine.

Ten minutes later my mom-ears picked up on some suspicious movement. I quietly snuck up to his room and opened his door. I found him fully dressed (including socks, shoes, and jacket) with his backpack on his shoulders looking like someone going somewhere.

"What are you doing?" I queried.

"I don't live here anymore!" was the reply. (Seriously?) 

After assuring him that he does, in fact, still live here (and that he is loved, to boot) I helped him change back into PJ's and tucked him into bed. Again.

Shaking my head, I walked back downstairs as my phone started to ring. I answered it and began telling Amy what had just occurred.

Minutes later I heard the familiar beep-beep-beep of the front door lock being activated. I rushed to the door, pulled it open, and found the little nightmare standing on the front steps, fully dressed (again), with flashlight in hand.

I quickly sent him back up to his room. He grudgingly obeyed (and made sure to slam his door to let me know how much I was overreacting). For a few minutes I parked myself on the stairs thinking I'd deter him from any further foolishness. But...I couldn't stay there forever. What if he woke up in the middle of the night and decided to try it again?

Thus...the bench. Cunningly littered with toys that would potentially alert us if he tried to move it.

And that's what I've been reduced to. Trapping my child in our nice warm house instead of letting him wander willy-nilly through the neighborhood...in the freezing weather...in the middle of the night.

For my over-protective mothering I was treated to the stink eye bright and early this morning. All because I "put that black thing in front of the door".

Shame on me.

Details, Details

Lindy is working on a Hidden Picture drawing for Curtis. She was asking for ideas for items to include in her drawing.

Lindy: What should I put in the picture?

Curtis: A dog.

Lindy: Not an animal.

Curtis: A cat.

Lindy: That's an animal. Not an animal.

Curtis: A fish.

Lindy: NOT an animal.

Mom: (helping) Something that isn't alive, Curtis.

Curtis: A dead fish.

Problems

Curtis: "Dad, I have a problem. My problem is -- I don't know how to do karate."

"F" is for Family (or Freaky)

Today was "F" day at preschool.

Ms. Heather has a daily routine for her students. They walk in, find their spot at a table, and write their name on a slip of paper. Once finished, they bring their names to the front of the class and choose whether to put their name in the Yes column or the No column....depending on their answer to the Question of the Day.

Today's question: "Do you have a little brother or sister?"

The correct answer: No

Curtis' answer: Yes

Ms. Heather kindly tried to reassure the lad that he did not have any little siblings. To which he replied (quite forcefully), "Marble Joe is very, very small!"

Wow. I thought he'd forgotten about Marble Joe. Apparently not. To make things more interesting, Marble Joe had stowed away to preschool in Curtis' backpack as well. And...Curtis was fairly intent on showing Marble Joe to everyone at Show-and-Tell that very day. Oh dear.

I departed and left Ms. Heather on her own to deal with my child's delusions. Fair? Perhaps not. She later told me that she was slightly concerned that the other children would force Curtis to defend his belief about his "little brother" (which could be bad for all involved) but was surprised when all 10 of them nodded along with Curtis' presentation of his "F"amily.

Go figure.

The Other Brother

So...we've had this problem. Not a big problem...just sort of a creepy, slightly morbid, problem.

You see, Curtis has spent the last few months telling everyone about his brother.

His dead brother.

Who died.

(I know, creepy, right?)

He has embellished this story for many people. He has added details and descriptions that continue to astound and amaze us. (His brother used to pester him at night with his pokey fingers. His brother is up in Heaven watching Curtis to make sure no bad guys get him. His brother doesn't like macaroni and cheese.) But the basis of the story has remained unchanged: He had a brother who is no longer with us. I've argued with him, trying to convince him that I truly never gave birth to another boy. His answer to that was that his brother had another mom. Who, of course, died.

(Remind me, when my son is in therapy years from now, that I should have seen it coming.)

Today the story changed in a bizarre and unexpected manner. Today we found a broken marble.

Meet Joe. Marble Joe.

He is, apparently, Curtis' brother. And we have been regaled with new stories about his brother Joe who, as you can see, is no longer dead.

(Good grief, the therapist bills are going to be astronomical.)

Thank You?

Curtis: "When you guys turn old and die you can be up in heaven looking at me."

Starting Early

We all piled in the van following church today. I asked my typical question, "How was primary today?" and received a non-typical response from The Boy.

"I kissed a girl."

(Um...what?) "Who was it?"

"What?"

"What was her name?"

"I don't know."

And that was that. As we tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle the laughter we tried to tell him that it might not be a great idea to kiss girls in Primary.

According to him, however, "boys kiss girls". 

So, what's he gonna do?

A Laugh Before Dying

He has a fever. And a slight cough. So he lays, pathetic, on the couch.

He beckons to me to come closer and whispers, "I'm dying...I'm trying to hang on, though."

As I stifle my laughter he continues to explain, "When you're super, super sick...you die."

I tried, to no avail, to explain that he is not "super, super sick". 

We've agreed to disagree.

Tooting His Own Horn

So. We've talked about The Boy before. 

He's seriously going to kill me. Or himself...I'm not sure which will come first.

Last night we were all sitting around the house, minding our own business, when the (relative) peace was broken by a sudden blood-curdling shriek. I've been around the parenting block enough to know the difference between a sympathy-fishing scream and a real-life-I-just-got-hurt-badly scream. This was the latter.

Turns out, our son was walking up the stairs blowing on small PVC pipe (he was calling it his musical instrument) when he suddenly tripped...stabbing himself in the back of the mouth! By the time I got there he had blood bubbling out of his mouth and his nose. Not pretty. After a rocky few moments we were able to get the bleeding, and the screaming, stopped. And he seemed okay.

This morning I called my pediatricians office, just to make sure I shouldn't be more concerned than I was...it was still looking pretty grotesque. The nurse asked a couple questions then suggested that we follow up with an ENT to make sure he hadn't "done any damage to his palette". I asked her which ENT she would recommend only to be told that I should take him to whoever could see him immediately. (Red flag?)

So, we found someone.

Curtis was sufficiently prepared for a doctor visit with his gun/holster and a pair of Cars bandaids on each shin (covering his other blood-letting fall down some stairs). The doctor came in, looked at his injured mouth, then excused himself to "make a phone call". (Red flag?)

He came back in, the picture of calm, to inform me that he had called the emergency room at Primary Children's and that they were expecting us.

(Um...huge, bright, crimson-red flag!)

This is what I learned: Apparently the carotid artery lies dangerously close to the location of his injury. They were concerned that any blunt force to the area may have damaged the artery and created a risk of it rupturing. It was possible that the ER doctors might choose to inject a dye into his bloodstream and do a CT scan to see how the artery was faring. (Oh, crap.)

Off we went. I numbly called to try and find my husband at work, made sure my girls were okay with Ivana, and called my sister to freak out a little bit.

Meanwhile, Curtis was having the time of his life. He shot all the "bad guys" on the freeway. At the hospital he threw coins in the fountain and wished "that his mom could be so happy" (awww!). He flirted with all the nurses. And he was so very, very excited to watch Spongebob Squarepants. (We don't have cable.)

The highlight of the experience, however, was his "very own room at the hospital place". He has since asked to return to "his room" many, multiple, times. Go figure.

He patiently allowed 8 different doctors and nurses to look in his mouth. They consulted, we waited. They called others in to look, and we waited. Then, as an answer to some fervent prayers, we were given leave to go. No injection. No CT scan. Nothing besides a reminder to make sure he doesn't walk around with stuff in his mouth. (Thanks. I'm fairly certain I knew that. I'm sure I will continue to help my son know that...and I'm also pretty convinced Curtis will do whatever he feels like doing. But, thanks.) 

For now? Well, we are simply thrilled to have him safe and sound and fatal-injury free. Thank heavens!

Literally.

The Holy Ghost and Other Good Guys

Curtis has developed a recent fascination with the Holy Ghost. The up side to this is that he has total faith and belief that the Holy Ghost is a "good guy". Good.

Unfortunately he is also convinced that a good guy's responsibilities include the termination of all bad guys. And when I say termination...

Let me 'splain.

The other day his oldest sister decided to tell him about the boogeyman. (Thanks, kiddo.) His three year-old brain then burst into action and so, for the last few days, he's been informing most people he talks to that "the Holy Ghost killed and ate the bogey man" at our house.

Problem solved. At least for him.

The other "good guy" we've heard a lot about is Jesus. From his power over the Egyptians to this latest epiphany on the way into Costco:

Curtis: "Mom, if Jesus didn't make cars for us we would be SO tired from walking all the time."

Power

The kids were watching Prince of Egypt this afternoon while Ian and I continued to unpack. After the Angel of Death visited the Egyptians, Curtis decided to fill me in on the story. He excitedly told me that "the mean people's kids died from Jesus' power".

I love television.

Batman

Thanks, Becca. He just loves it.

Preferred Apparel

On any given day...okay, on every given day...this is what you will find my son wearing: shorts and a t-shirt. These two items do not necessarily have to match, either. In fact, it seems he is partial to the most mind-boggling combinations possible.

This is acceptable in the house only, mind you. (I do have standards of parenting when we venture out in the winter wonderland.) Which also means that on every given day you can find a path of pants, socks, shoes, and shirts strewn from the van to his room as he races to change back into his favored garb. What a nut.

Our Little Luchador

He calls them "mas-kes". Two syllables. And he loves them.

The Boy

School Pictures - Fall 2011

So, he wasn't exactly cooperative with the photographer. I stood on the sidelines, less than surprised as he refused to respond to her many, kind attempts to produce a smile. But, I do know she did much better than I could have...he actually held still for her!

The haircut is courtesy of the Jones Family Clippers. That's what happens when our stylist is out of town...so don't judge, Kim. It could have been worse. Trust me.

He has kept us laughing, which is par for the course, this week. There were a couple things that stood out, however, and I knew I wanted to document.

As we were driving down the street the other day Curtis randomly asks, "Mom, do you like nuts?" Ignoring the oddity of the question, I responded, "Yes, I like nuts." He pondered this for a moment then added, "Hmmm. Only bad mommy's like nuts."

Last night he sidled up to me, gave me the sweetest, kindest smile he can produce and quietly asked, "Mommy, may I pleeeeeaaase have a yogurt to eat? Please?" With that he tipped his head ever so slightly to the side and batted his beautiful blue eyes. What could I do? I opened the fridge and told him, "Well, of course you can have a yogurt. You asked me so nicely!" He then grabbed the yogurt, let out a less-than-sweet chuckle, and said, "I was just pretending."

Oh dear.

The Early Years

Once upon a time there were two friends. Obi Wan Kenobi was a Jedi with a penchant for mischief. His friend, Darth Vader was a brooding soul who often forgot his light saber when he left his house in the morning.

Sometimes they would get in fights over little things. Like when Obi Wan accidentally hit Darth in the head with his light saber.

Or when Obi Wan non-accidentally shoved Darth out of his way.

In spite of Obi Wan's continued bullying, Darth was a forgiving sort and their friendship survived.

Until.....

Curtis Did His Own Hair Today