Three too many

I found this in a journal that Nova kept when he was five. Throughout his journal he sketched cute little pictures of himself in different situations. It seems to me that this fisherman is missing a hand and has fashioned a fishing pole from a hockey stick. I love the way the fish's tail spells Nova, but I don't believe it was intentionally spelled backwards. The drawing became more endearing when I flipped a few pages to days later and found the following drawing...

It seems that the missing hand has regenerated and the happy, young fisherman has himself a new pet!

These pictures reminded me of my good ol' days touring around soaking up all the fantastic live music of bands I don't even have time to listen to anymore. Ahhhh, the days...

Last night before bedtime Nova decided that he just HAD to know all about komodo dragons. Every few days he flashes on a subject from recent or past and has to, right then, attain extensive knowledge on that subject. Some of his past fascinations are, in no certain order, The Great Wall of China, India and its languages, Portuguese, Brazil, Fish(seahorses), Why the Oceans are salty, What makes it rain, the earth's core, fairies and other mythical creatures, mathematics, robotics(Furby inspired), atoms and molecules, frogs and their anatomy (mainly, do frogs have ears), bluebirds and different bird calls, and a great deal more.

I, being the fantastic mother I am, usually indulge him with accurate and very scientific information. If I don't know anything about the subject we find some website that has interactive games, tutorials, and more pictures than you can shake a stick at. I'm finding that Youtube is a great resource for just about anything as long as you have the time and love to be sidetracked. Our goal was to find footage of the "Great Komodo Dragon" Which we did, but then ended up viewing the ugliest human on earth, the best basketball dribbler history has ever seen, a weird photoshopped anomaly of something half human and half cat that seemed to be singing but left me, overall, feeling like I needed to take a shower, and finally a slideshow of some of the cutest teacup chihuahuas set to one animal lovers soundtrack entitled, what else? CHIHUAHUA. But said like you'd say TE-QUI-LAAAA!

HEY!

Speaking of sidetracked...

Those of you that know me know that I often use bad language. I have the supreme potty mouth. Despite my religious or spiritual affiliations, yes, I do often curse. It is one thing I can't stand about myself. I want to be a good example for my children. I want them to know that when anger, frustration, or silliness strikes there's other more articulate ways of expressing it. I have no problem reading blogs that have curse words. There are times and situations where the correct choice of curse word seems to be the cherry on the sundae. For example, when my son was three years old he loved to be spun, flipped, and tickled until tears ran down his face. At our Thanksgiving meal with the in-laws Nova was running in mad circles as his Dad would scoop him up flipping him head over heels in the air and putting him back down still running. Nova laughed and squealed in his sheer delight. Suddenly he stopped, dead in his tracks, and blew large yellow chunks of food all over the floor. They just kept coming in endless streams. When he finished throwing up he looked up at the entire family still gathered around the table and exclaimed,

"what the hell just happened?"

There seemed no better choice of words for that moment, even if they had just escaped the lips of my three year old.

In the mornings I go to my local gym. It's been something I've done for years and I enjoy quite a bit. I've never been one to take full advantage of my membership. I use the machines and do some lifting and then return home for my showers. It's not that I wouldn't use the showers at the gym but just that there's only so much time alloted for childcare and I'm not wasting it doing something I could do here at home. Which brings me to my point. I'm sure most people have, at some point in their lives, spent some time in a locker room. If not now, maybe in their high school years. I'm sure we all had the gym coach that was either male or female that all the students suspected was gay and, of course, using the locker room to scope everyone's bods. Or, was that just me? Plus, with our ripening pubescence, we were all maturing at different rates. Some of us were more modest than others. but most retained some semblance of privacy and decency in the concrete confines of the shower stalls.

Yikes, what massive mood swings I'm experiencing! Every month around this time I map out my future which includes getting a divorce, losing 50 pounds over night, wrapping up all unfinished craft projects, and leaving my children along the side of the road with a note attached saying "Take good care of these kids. Their mother has gone to seek herself and is positively sure that she will hate what she finds and therefore drown herself in booze and literary endeavors of the tangential sort and amass a pile of incomplete artisitic projects just as she did when she stayed where she was but is no longer because she couldn't take it!" I could leave the kids with my husband but I'm quite sure they'd have Laffy Taffy and sausages for dinner every night and wear their pajamas to school. I just couldn't take anymore embarrassment given the fact that everyone would already know I had left them.

HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?

PLEEEEEEAASE, Does anyone hear me? HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?

I've been here for almost eight years now, can someone help me? Why isn't anyone looking at me? I keep screaming and everyone just walks by, occasionally you look at me, but you don't seem to care.

HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO???!!!

I've spent the time here talking to myself. Obviously, I'm my own best friend and worst enemy. WOW, at least I can avoid the mirror here. It's such a dark place. I'm glad I don't have to spend too much time worrying about the way I look. I feel so alone. All I have are my thoughts to keep me company. Well, that and all the things I have to do. Waking everyone up, getting people dressed, making meals, doing dishes, doing laundry, driving to and from schools, cleaning spills, brushing teeth, washing little hands, packing lunches, cleaning the toilet, sink, and tub, holding, rocking, singing, cuddling, comforting, reassuring, supporting, and encouraging others. It all sounds rewarding, productive, right? RIGHT???

Hmm, no one hears me? HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! How long should a person scream before they give up? Oh my god, I feel like I can't breathe!!! HELLOOOOOO?! I. CAN'T. BREATHE.

Oh, wait, no nevermind, I'm OK, I'm breathing, I'm OK. WHEW. I'm glad I'm still here.

Wait...HERE. Where is here? What am I doing here? How did I get here? HELLOOOOOO? Can someone wake me up, talk to me, let me know I'm here? Does anyone see me. I'm talking to you!

After dinner my son sometimes likes to skip around in circles and sing or think out loud. Tonight was one such evening. As he skipped around the living room in an inquisitive frenzy he began to talk about all the different kind of animals there are. In his desperate quest to discover the link between us and other mammals he wondered out loud...

"Is a shark a mammal?"

"Nope, they do give birth to live young, but breathe with gills not lungs," I replied.

"Is a seahorse a mammal?"

"No, it's fish also, like the shark."

"Mom, is a lion a mammal?"

"Yes," I reply.

Nova begins skipping a little faster. 

"Mom, is a tiger a mammal?"

"Yes, Nova."

His skipping speeds up again. 

"Is a whale a mammal?"

"Yes."

"So, a monkey is a mammal?"

"Yep."

"Geez mom, just about everything is a mammal or a fish! There are no reptiles."

My four year old daughter, who, the entire time sat at the table picking at her green beans, pipes up and ask in her silly, cute voice, "a wrecked tile??!! What's a wrecked tile?!"

Nova stops dead in his tracks, still breathing heavy, he raises his arms in a muscle man pose and shouts...

"I AM ERECTILE!!!"

Skunk cabbage is the most curious plant, the way it grows up like large claws trying to pry its way out of the damp ground. We live near the Swift River and, in the Spring, take many walks along its banks to watch the melted snow make its expeditious journey from its frozen Winter home to new territory. Along these banks skunk cabbage and fiddleheads curl and stretch, happily waking up to welcome Spring. Lepgrass came into being following one of our meanderings along the Swift River. His body is a rotted out tree stump and from him wafts the dank smell of new Spring growth. But rest assured that this fellow has no malice in his heart. He wears the crown of luck that may have been bestowed upon him by a chance meeting with a Leprechaun and on his face he carries a smile. 

I don't often get out during the winter months. I'm like a big mama bear guarding my cubs, I stay in the cave, warm and comfortable, only venturing out after the first signs of Spring. Here in lovely New England the first signs of Spring can begin in February and officially begin, AGAIN, in April. I have lived here long enough to see snow on the ground until May. Growing up in the South this was never an issue. We had enough snowstorms to pull out the sled and to understand the sheer bliss of a snow day, building snow men and having snowball fights. But, just as soon as one might begin to get tired of having to wear a thick down coat, Spring came breezing in with her warm kisses and colorfully decorated garbs. I never thought, I mean, why would I? Of what it would mean to be a Northern mom through long grey winters, after the sweet short seasons of the South. It's hard. Dreadfully. Painfully. Chillingly. HARD! It's even more difficult when every 2.5 years my womb decides it, too, is becoming cold and lonely so, in a desperate plea for company, puts up the vacancy sign and quickly grabs a taker! This involves nine, who the hell am I kidding?! TEN arduous, uncomfortable, painstakingly hormonal months of rolling around like Violet Beauregarde a la Willy Wonka, after snatching the three course bubble gum with blueberry pie and cream for dessert, minus the Cerulean blue pigmentation.

Having a little one in the winters where foot, after foot, after foot...after foot of snow falls so that I practically need stilts to maneuver around in it, is not exactly conducive to a toddler environment. Envision this...

Nova has always had a strange fascination with fairies, ghosts, and anything supernatural. I, myself, totally believe in allowing a child's imagination to run wild. I'm not sure if my parents are aware of my alternate existence where I kept close fellowship with those of the fairy realm, but I recall it vividly. These fairy friends of mine were very real. Of course I have had no contact with Fae of any sort since my early adolescence, but these visions still color my adult existence. I found comfort, fun, and escape in this other world and so I completely encourage it in my children.

When Nova was 5 we read all of the Spiderwick Chronicles. They were a great introduction to the world of fairies outside of Grimm's and Hans Christian Andersen. They were a tad spooky and had an underlying moral message. Following these books, Nova would sit in the garden for hours waiting to see fairies and repeating rhymes and verses that were meant to attract them. I know that most people think of fairies with gossamer wings, tinkling and twinkling around in a serene hedgerow or botanical gardens. Nova, however, has a more expansive view of fairies. He now owns all of my old books on Fairy folklore and has a comprehensive knowledge of the many different varieties of fairy including trolls, elves, giants, sea folk, and more. He knows that not all are benevolent creatures. He sees in them the dualism that we as humans also must face. When we found out that the movie would be released we were ecstatic! Yesterday we headed out to see this...