Miss You in a Heartbeat

I am excited because today marks my 100^th post to this blog.  I couldn’t believe it myself, but I went back and checked in my archives, and sure enough there were 99 other posts.  I’m practically a pillar of the internet, now!  Take me away, and I’m sure the whole thing would come crashing down.

That being said, I don’t have an earth shattering post that I’ve been saving up for this grand occasion.  I’m simply going to reach back into our short history as parents and pull out a significant story to share with you.  This could be titled That Time We Lost Griffin.  Yes, I’m sure you’re surprised that parents as incredible as us could do such a thing, but it happens.

First, let it be known that we do not make it a policy to lose track of our children, but as any parent can attest, once they start walking and developing a little mind of their own it gets more difficult to ensure that they stay where they’re supposed to.  Secondly, this has only begun to happen since Haven’s birth and in situations where we are both present.  So, it could be due to inadequate communication and the fact that we’re outnumbered.  Regardless…

The first time this happened was on a trip to Silver Dollar City earlier in the year.  The kids had done really well up until the point where we wondered into Geyser Gulch.  Their eyes widened as they took in the various water sprayers and the three story playhouse complete with slides and air cannons for shooting foam balls.  Tamara found a seat at the far end of the play area and set to taking care of Haven.  I took the boys and headed up the playhouse.  We did the slides and shot the cannons for a long time.  At one point, Gage wanted to go do another slide, so I told Griffin exactly where we were going.  I expected him to follow.  He didn’t.

This was the beginning of a terrifying 15 minute search of the area.  When we got off the slide and he wasn’t behind us, I checked where I had left him.  He wasn’t there.  Gage and I sat still and scanned the area to see if we could see Griffin.  Once that failed, I headed back to Tamara and dropped the younger kid with her.  Taking the stairs of the playhouse two and three at a time, I went to the top and worked my way back down…three times.  Panic was beginning to creep in at the edges of my mind.  Somewhere in my head, a timer was incrementing, and with each tick of the clock I knew the search area was widening.  What if someone took him?  What if he was looking for us and wondered out of Geyser Gulch?  I may not even be looking in the right place!  What was he even wearing?

I went to the area entrance and scanned the crowd, hoping to see a little blond haired boy playing in the sprinklers.  I worked my way back toward the rest of the family, stopping once to pop my head in the bottom floor of the playhouse and look around.  Ducking back outside, I walked slowly, scanning the faces of each child, all the while hoping he somehow made it back to his mother.  When I got within eyesight of Tamara, I could tell by the look on her face that he wasn’t there.  “Have you looked at the water cannons,” she asked.  “He was talking about those when we came in.”  I didn’t know where they were at, so I stayed with the two youngest kids while she went and checked them out.

Moments later, a water soaked little towhead came bounding around the corner with a thundercloud of a mother in close pursuit.  Desperate worry changed to instant relief, which was immediately evaporated by red-hot anger.  The boy got a good chewing on by both parents, and then was relegated to holding a hand for the rest of the visit.

In a moment of freedom, the little guy made a bad choice.  He didn’t even know it until he was being ‘read the Riot Act’.  You can teach and remind and practice all you want, but there are inevitably times when it is up to them to make the right decision.  I guess it’s true what they say, “You can lead a horse to spilled milk, but you can’t make him cry.”  Or something like that…

Devil's Den

Monday marked the boys’ very first hiking trip at a state park.  We woke up to a clear blue sky and a temperature in the mid-eighties, so it was a perfect day to get outside.  Gage actually complained about it being too cold!  After a long drive to the park, Tamara dumped us out by the Devil’s Den self-guided trail and off we went.

The older one immediately assailed me with questions about how long it would take to get to the cave, but those were quickly silenced once we reached our first rock formation.  Griffin was all over the place, climbing and poking around the many crevices that lined the hillside.  Gage enjoyed his fair share of climbing too, but was more enthralled with the oversized acorns that dotted the ground.  After the first four, I declined to carry anymore, so he made due with stuffing them in the waistband of his shorts.  I’m certain that if he had pockets, his pants would’ve been dragging the ground by the end of the day.  EVERY acorn he came across got added to his collection.

At times, it was a nerve-wracking experience for me, watching a six year-old and a three year-old, with so many sheer drops and steep slopes.  I was constantly herding them by hand and by voice as we traveled through some of the more dangerous areas.  It was during one of those times that the following conversation ensued:

Griffin:  Did you see that big hole up there?

Me:  Yes, that’s really high up, isn’t it?

Griffin:  Yeah!  I know what this is called.

Me:  What’s that?

Griffin:  It’s a buffalo.

Me:  I think you mean a bluff.

Griffin:  Yeah, that’s it.

Then a little further down the trail, with Gage in the lead:

Me:  Gage, be careful.  Those stairs are steep.

Griffin:  Yeah, it’s a buff.

Gage (with all the indignation a 3 year-old can muster):  I KNOW WHAT A BUFFALO IS!!

Me:  It’s ‘b-luff’.  The word is ‘bluff’.

Griffin:  Yeah, that’s it.

Griffin next to his 'buffalo'

By the end of the trail, my boys were starting to get a little hungry.  We crossed the street and found a nice shaded picnic table to enjoy our meal on.  While we ate, we watched kids playing in the water and throwing rocks.  This proved to cause an insurmountable setback with the boys finishing their food, so I packed it all back up while they shed their socks and shoes and hit the water. 

It didn’t take way too long for the kids to find a snake happily making its way through the shallows, with a minnow in its mouth.  I came over and knelt down as we watched it struggle through the water, desperately looking for a place to make shore that wasn’t covered with people.  Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a large rock hurdled over my shoulder and slammed into the small reptile.  The fish was jolted loose, and the snake disappeared.  I looked to see who the assailant was, only to find my oldest son standing there.  “Griffin,” I said, “I know that Mammy doesn’t like snakes and kills every one she sees, but I don’t want you killing them unless they are trying to hurt you.”  He thought about this for a moment, then replied, “OK.  But it was hurting that fish.” 

“Yes,” I said, “But that snake has to eat something, and as long as it’s not you, I don’t want you trying to kill them.”  Then I added, “That was a really accurate shot, by the way.”

His reply:  “Of course it was.”

We walked to the store, had some ice cream, and then the boys wanted to hit the trail again.  So off we went to scramble about the hills until it was nearly time for Tamara to pick us up.  With nothing else to do, we found our way back to the picnic table and then down to the water for more rock throwing fun.  Griffin and Gage immediately went over and introduced themselves to two college guys and tried skipping rocks with them.  At one point I looked up to see my youngest pointing over at me and announcing, “That’s my daddy over there.  His name’s ‘Daddy’.”

Being thusly introduced, I made my way over and helped them skip rocks until our ride showed up.  It turned out to be a wonderful day!

Tired, Dirty, and Happy!

Moooooo!!

Well, the school nurse called.  Nothing really serious this time, no scuffle in the bathroom, no chair ripped from underneath him while he sat down.  No, this time he was simply eating weeds on the playground and she thought we ought to know, in case he got sick.

The entire story is that my son’s class went to the playground at snack time and found a group of plants that bore a small resemblance to broccoli.  As a game, they thought it would be fun to play like they were eating it.  Somewhere in Griffin’s brain, two neurons fired and he decided, “Hey, it would probably be cool if I actually ate this!”  So, that’s exactly what he did.

This is somewhat of a recurring theme with my eldest.  For all his caution at physical activities, he’s completely reckless when it comes to stuffing green leafy things in his mouth.  From a young age he’s always enjoyed salads, and it was never uncommon for us to bribe him with a second serving of salad if he would just clean the rest of his plate up at dinner time. 

Fresh garden vegetables are quite literally his favorite thing to eat.  However, he doesn’t seem to confine himself to the makings of a spring mix.  A short list of things we know he’s grazed on include grass, liriope berries, honey suckle (though instead of simply eating the drop of nectar, he chewed the whole flower), and this, as of yet, unidentified schoolyard weed.  Only God knows what he’s eaten and we haven’t found out about.

It doesn’t take a far stretch of the imagination to see him getting a hold of something poisonous if he continues down this path.  It seems like every spring some incident requires that we have to have the same conversation, “Don’t eat anything out here unless daddy tells you it’s OK, and don’t even touch the mushrooms.”

“OK, Daddy.  I won’t.”

“I’m serious; some of this stuff can kill you.”

“OK, Daddy.”

In spite of what he says, I’m not really comforted by the fact that he agrees with me.  I know the dangerous chance he takes when he eats something out in the wild.  I know that the consequences of eating stuff in our backyard can range from a mild tummy ache to seizures to death.  I do my best to destroy polk salad and mushrooms every time they crop up, but they both grow fast, and are extremely dangerous.

I wish he would just listen.  I’m not trying to keep him from having fun; there are plenty of fun activities that won’t end up hurting him.  I’m not trying to keep him from eating something yummy.  We have all the good food he needs or could want.  I’m only trying to keep him safe.

As I write this, it makes me stop and think that God, himself, might have the same thoughts about me sometimes.  “I wish he would just listen…I know what dangers are ahead…I’m only trying to keep him safe.”

Maybe father and son both need to pay better attention.

Say What II

Once again, it’s time to chronicle the funny things my kids say.

This first one we’ve been trying to correct for a while.  It was very cute when he first blurted it out, but it has really seemed to stick, and now he’s passed it on to his brother.  A while back, Griffin was at the store with his mother, and she bought the kids some toy dinosaurs.  On the way home, the oldest boy wanted to know what type of dino he had:

Griffin:  “Mommy, is this one a Ham-eater?”

Tamara: “A what?”

Griffin:  “A Ham-eater.”

Tamara: “Oh, you mean a ‘Meat-Eater’.”

(It is of interest to note that up until this point, we pretty much only had ham for sandwich meat at the house.)

Gage is at that age where he provides a wealth of humorous quotes: 

Only recently have we been able to persuade him that Chick-Fil-A is not called “Chicken-Bell.”

When he plays basketball with brother, they shoot the ball into a “Basketball Gold.”

One of his favorite breakfast foods is ‘Yogurp.’

He loves looking at reptile pictures in books.  Most specifically ‘Al-digators’ and ‘Croc-o-dye-yules.’

Griffin has begun his first foray into joking and intentional humor.  The other day, a joke was told, at his expense.  His reply, “Everyone’s a Chamelion.”  We think he meant to say “Everyone’s a comedian,” but the mental picture we get from his version is so much funnier that we’ve started using that one ourselves.

Gage has picked up an interesting little phrase that we don’t quite know what to do about.  It is either a mild toddler curse or an expression of excitement.  We think this because he uses it both when he’s frustrated and when he’s stoked about something.  Observe:

Me:  “Gage, go pick up your toys.”

Gage:  “Oh, spanx!”

Also,

Me:  “Gage, are you ready to go to Chuck E. Cheese?”

Gage:  “Oh, spanx!  We’re goin’ to Chuck E. Cheeses!”

Finally, there’s one last interchange I’d like to leave you with.  This happened last Saturday while the boys were playing outside.  Gage came in because he had to use the potty, and after he had been in there a while, I heard him call for me.  I went into the bathroom, and the following conversation ensued:

Gage:  “I have more poo-poos to push out.”

Me:  “Do you need me to wipe you, or are you finished?”

Gage:  “I can do it by myself.  You’re not the greatest.”

(Stunned silence from me)

Gage:  “But I love you.  You’re still my dad.”

Me:  “Umm, you just call me if you need any help.”

Gage:  “OK, I just need to push the rest of my poo-poos out.”

Big Hearted Boy

Griffin is probably about the best big brother in the whole world.  He watches over Gage like a mother hen, and has on more than one occasion saved his little brother from imminent trouble or physical harm.  Above that, though, he has about the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.  He probably gets that from his mother, and I’m glad that he does.

He’s very sensitive to people that are hurt or sick, but beyond that, he likes to share the good things of life with people he is close to.  The main incident I’m thinking of happened about a month ago. 

Griffin had finished eating his lunch, and as usual, he asked, “Can I have something else?”  Well, it turned out that the ‘else’ he wanted was an orange.  I peeled and gave it to him.  As usual, Gage was lagging behind his brother by a good ten minutes.  Upon seeing the orange Griffin was eating, he also voiced his desire to get one.

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “That’s the last orange.”

“We don’t have anymore,” Griffin asked, staring at the last two wedges in his hand.

“No,” I said.

So, my big boy peeled the last two wedges apart and handed one to his brother.  Somehow, in the midst of the handoff, the boys managed to drop the wedge that was being shared.  In typical fashion, Piper was there to snag the falling fruit before it even hit the floor.

Griffin stared in shock for a moment, then with tears in his eyes, he sniffled and handed the last wedge to his little brother.  He was more determined to share than to eat that last piece he wanted so bad.

It was an event that caused feelings of both heartache and pride.  Walking to the pantry, I grabbed a package of Spidey Snacks and tossed them on the table to my grown up boy.  The tears instantly melted away and he tore in to the package with gusto…offering his little bro a couple of the sweet treats as well.

Yup, Griffin is about the best big brother I’ve ever seen.