bug and the sweet banana

little sweet baboon

Connor and Jim ventured out during our Christmas Eve snowstorm to purchase a toy for Toys for Tots and to deliver it to a collection box at a nearby fire station. Connor decided to shop for a boy who might be just like him and selected a fire truck with working lights and sirens.

While they were shopping, Connor declared that he hadn't yet gotten a Christmas gift for me.

Jim asked, "What do think Mama would like?"

"Hmm," Connor thought. "Mama likes to be cozy. Maybe something soft.  I think she would like a blanket."

And now, I am the proud owner of a heated blanket. Comfy cozy.

What truly warms my chilly little heart is knowing that even at three years old, Connor knows me. He knows that I get goosebumps at the slightest change in temperature. That I must always have a sweater close at hand in case a goosebump threatens to appear. That at night, I wear: Pajamas. Socks. Slippers. A sweater over the pajamas. And, on occassion, gloves. (Yes, gloves.) That I sleep with five blankets on the bed. That I'm already That Mom. You know the type. The one who tells her children to put more clothing on because she is the one who is cold.

© 2009, Jennifer Linney.

white christmas

Fort Worth went for 83 years—an entire lifetime for some people—without snow on Christmas day. As luck would have it, we were here for the first white Christmas in Cowtown since 1926.

Snow fell throughout the day on Christmas Eve, giving us about two inches of the messy white stuff. Wind gusts of 50 mph created blizzard conditions rarely seen in these parts. 
We woke on Christmas morning to snow on the ground, 11 Canada geese on the lake, and two sick, but very excited, children.

Look past Connor and Natalie's gunky noses and two-pack-a-day coughs, and it was all very Norman Rockwell. 
Jim and Connor ventured out to see all there was to see and returned with chilly pink cheeks and lots and lots of photos.

 

Connor spent the days leading up to Christmas singing every holiday song he knew. The songs that were in constant rotation—and I do mean constant—were Santa Claus is Coming to Town and Jingle Bells.

Jukebox, as Jim and I have taken to calling our crooner, added Winter Wonderland to his repertoire when he learned that it is my favorite. 
Natalie, meanwhile, spent much of the month of December sitting on her knees in front of the Christmas tree, saying, "Oo!" and "Look at that!"

In- fat-u-at-ed.Before shuffling off to bed on Christmas Eve, Connor left snacks for both the reindeer and the jolly old elf. He seemed to doubt the need, though: "Why would the reindeer want to eat carrots?" he asked. (Connor has never enjoyed them.) "And why will Santa be hungry?" he wondered.Connor stopped just short of calling Santa Claus an old mooch: "Won't Santa eat before he leaves his home at the North Pole?" Connor asked, pronouncing "pole" as "pool." "Won't Santa have snacks in his sleigh?" "Will he eat cookies at everybody's house?"Connor woke up early the next morning and discovered that the reindeer loved the carrots and that Santa enjoyed the chocolate chip cookies and milk. Santa also left a bounty of gifts for us all.Sleepy, stuffy-nosed Natalie in her new chair.

  A little bedhead never keeps a girl from enjoying a new doll. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

foiled

Connor, as you know, is—and has been and, perhaps, forever will be—at that stage of life where he fights naps with a vengeance.

And Jim and I are at that stage of life where we spell certain words aloud so little listening ears can't quite understand our conversation.

What does this all mean? It means that when we discuss walks around the lake (one of Connor's top-rated activities), we say, "So, do you think there'll be time for a W-A-L-K around the L-A-K-E, after lunch, but before someone goes D-O-W-N for an N-A-P?"

Very stealth.

Very discrete.

Very ineffective when we are trying to have a very secret discussion about DVDs. (Note to self: Spelling "DVD" slower does not negate the fact that spelling "DVD" and saying "DVD" are the same.)

The CIA will not come calling for us any time soon, begging us to share our sneaky talents with <ahem> The Agency, as they call it.

But, Connor, that sneaky little devil, is on to us.

He was anxious to have some time alone with me one morning and asked casually while I changed Natalie's diaper, "So, Mama? Is it time for Natalie to go down for an N-A-P?"

Leave it us to have a child whose first word he can spell is the very word that is the bane of his existence.

Curses.

 

© 2009, Jennifer Linney.

 

 

with a cape and tights

I'm pretty certain that Natalie is a French comic book heroine in disguise.

She's been saying what sounds an awful lot like "Sacre bleu!" and "Shazam!" to not be one.

 
 

© 2009, Jennifer Linney.

our sweet launderette

Connor loves to help with laundry. He makes a game out of tossing laundry into the washer and transfering wet laundry to the dryer. He places dry clothing ever so carefully into a laundry basket, just like I do, and the best part is, he likes to help fold the laundry.

Only Connor doesn't fold laundry. He rolls it.

"This is how I like to do it," he says, as he places a placemat on his belly and rolls it up, as if he were making crêpes.

© 2009, Jennifer Linney.

I, bozo

Connor was gazing at me lovingly during dinner one night last week.

I had cooed to Jim earlier in the day about how soft my hair felt, so, silly fool that I am, I thought that perhaps, just maybe, Connor was admiring the way the evening sun was glinting off my hair. Or could it be that he liked the way my hair was curling, each curl embracing the next?

Like I said, silly, foolish, sleep-deprived girl.

So I asked him: "Why are you looking at me like that, Connor?"

Connor snapped out of his trance and replied, "Mama, you could be a clown."

© 2009, Jennifer Linney.

snowy texas morning

Connor, Natalie, and I were all snuggling in bed this morning. Connor began to get antsy, as he does, and wandered out to the living room. I heard his little mystified voice a moment later.

"Mama?" he said, sounding truly concerned. "Could you come here? There's white stuff falling from the sky, and I don't know what it is."

"White stuff?" I asked, very awake now.

"Yes. It's falling from the sky," Connor said, still worried. He mustn't remember the snow he played in back in Virginia.

"No way." I scooped Natalie up and joined Connor at the back windows. And sure enough, there, falling from the sky, was white stuff. "It's snowing? In Texas?" I said, my voice cracking.

Connor, Natalie, and Trouser were just delighted.

 

© 2009, Jennifer Linney.