Stories about the boy | Ingies n' Things

Excitin’ Pointamation!

12 May 2011 1 Comment

by Ingies in Stories about the boy Tags: vocabulary

I have a new favorite word . . . excitin’ pointamation!

(OK, technically it is two words.)

Either way, I love it. I especially love it when I hear it spoken by my six-year-old boy. It is, after all, one of his very own inventions.

In case you haven’t yet figured it out, this is an excitin’ pointamation: !

One of the things I love most when he says the words is the dropped ‘g.’ He drops the ‘g’ off the end of most of his ‘ing’ words. You’d think he was under some kind of Texan influence. It must be the genes.

One of these days I’m going to make a family dictionary. I’ll explain the origins and meanings of all these crazy words (gifted to me by my children) that have made their way permanently into my vocabulary.

Excitin’ pointamation . . . clearly here to stay.

Cheers,
D

Scientific Theories & Other Stuff

27 Apr 2011 Leave a comment

by Ingies in Stories about the boy Tags: Alaska, Wasilla

For some time now my son has enlightened me with explanations about how the world works from his perspective. Being a good testosterone loaded male he has a reason for everything and always delivers his explanation with an air of authority.

For example, tonight he told me why some of the beans I am soaking for tomorrow’s bean soup float. Evidently it has something to do with the water hollowing out said beans so they are lighter.

I had no idea.

Tonight he also shared with me one of his theories about long distance travel. The conversation went like this . . .

G: “Mom, do you know why it takes so long to get from Alaska to . . . what is that place called where Papa lives?”

Mom: “Texas.”

G: “No, the other one.”

Mom: “Wasilla.”

G: “Do you know why it takes so long to get from Alaska to Wasilla?”

(Wasilla is in Alaska for those of you who managed to remain blissfully ignorant for the duration of the last presidential election cycle.)

Mom: “Why does it take so long?”

G: “Because,” said my child who still pronounces ‘th’ as ‘f,’ “your car fights the erf because the erf goes backwards and your car goes forwards.”

Mom: “Uh, ok.”

And here I was under the mistaken impression that the 40 mile trip between our house and Wasilla takes forever because my children don’t like to ride in the car and have no qualms about letting us know it the entire time.

On another note . . . G just asked if he could dig into the “Give” section of his piggy bank and take the money from it to school for the sick kids. His school is collecting “Pennies for Patients.”

Lessons are being learned. Giving is one of my favorite. Makes me a proud mama.

They are both so happy and chatty and cooperative tonight I think I might shed a few tears of joy. It has been a challenging week and a half and we’ve all earned this bliss.

Cheers,
D

Rites of Passage

17 Apr 2011 4 Comments

by Ingies in Stories about the boy

A story from February . . .

Conversations about motherhood often include discussion or at least mention of “rites of passage.” I believe that motherhood involves many, many rites of passage. I not only go through my own, but I also go through one each time one of my children does.

I have G to thank for ushering me through our latest rite of passage.

I’m not talking about anything requiring tissues or letters to grandparents or notes in baby books. I’m talking about the rite of passage that requires scissors.

Oh, you know what I’m talkin’ about . . .

I’m talking about having to cut something out of the hair of one of your children . . . something so embedded that the hair has to be cut, too . . . and not just a few piddly little strands.

Here he is . . .

Yes, that is a metal gun cleaning brush twisted in his hair . . . twisted down to his scalp. And yes those are eyes so tired they are purple. And yes that is a swollen left eyebrow . . . from a completely unrelated incident.

It was an eventful day.

Little man was sporting a nifty little patch of buzz cut by the time I was done with those scissors . . . right smack dab in the middle of his forehead. I never thought I’d be grateful for a cowlick. (Who decided to call them that, anyway? Weird.)

Salvaging the brush involved burning the hair out. Now there is a fragrance the people at the smelly candle factory haven’t captured.

Cheers,
D

Birthday Moments

08 Mar 2011 7 Comments

by Ingies in My Life Miscellaneous, Stories about the boy, Stories about the girl

I turned 41 recently. Very recently.

No longer can I say “Oh, I’m forty,” and act like it is no big deal because now I am in my forties, tucked in nicely with margins on both sides.

That’s ok. I’ll take turning 41 to not.

And my children brought me gifts . . . which is one of my favorite parts of the whole deal.

My darling daughter made me a necklace. She calls it a “personality necklace.” The project involved ribbon, paper, silk flowers, markers and a glue gun . . . any excuse to use a glue gun . . .

Isn’t it lovely?

I’m “nice.”

Several times during the project she asked me, “What is your personality, Mamma?”

After spending a bit of time trying to figure out exactly what she was looking for I told her I was extroverted. She didn’t like that answer. She kept asking the same question.

Finally she asked, “Is there a shorter word for your personality?”

“Extroverted” didn’t fit on the paper.

So I’m “nice” . . . which isn’t exactly how she describes me when she gets crabby and I make her go to bed early . . . but that is another story.

My sweet son, being the romantic, charming little boy he is, gave me a rose.

Isn’t it beautiful?

Being a romantic, charming, Alaskan boy it is a duct tape rose.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My dear husband made me dinner. It was wonderful.

It was even wonderful when G (who generally behaves exactly as one would expect a healthy six-year-old boy to behave – sometimes beautifully, sometimes not so much) suddenly leapt out of his chair, dashed around the table and smeared mayonaise on his sister’s right eyebrow.

What?!?

Who does that?

Better yet, who even comes up with the idea to do it?

My son, that’s who, laughing maniacally the entire time.

After successfully completing his lightning fast impromptu finger/face-painting session G promptly dove into the dog crate and smashed himself into a back corner so his father couldn’t reach him. I had to cover my face to suppress outright laughter. G was absolutely delighted with himself. R and Daddy didn’t think it was so funny.

Dinner came complete with dessert and candles.

A “4” candle and a “1” candle to be exact . . . which is a good thing because 41 candles never would have fit. See?

As my husband was putting the candles on the dessert I asked him if I could be 14 instead of 41.

“Yea,” he said in his usual understated zero-inflection delivery method, “but I would probably get in trouble.”

Happy Birthday to all the other fish out there swimming around in the pond.

Cheers,
D

P.S. This morning when putting the dishes away I found a “2” candle in the cupboard. I’m pretty sure my husband wasn’t planning ahead for next year. I’m thinking he wasn’t exactly how sure about my age.