Precious

Were you denied the privilege of knowing my eight-year-old self?

If so, then I am sorry.  But I am also delighted to share this little gem with you as evidence of what you missed.

While at my parents' house over the holidays, I was dismayed to find a very important piece of my history shoved away in the back of my brother's closet.

Meet Precious:

Precious was a handy little friend because his (her?) clothes fastened with Velcro, making a handy little hiding spot.

The first of these secret documents was merely a testament to my undying love for Precious.  The validity of this document may have come into question under the circumstances which led to a 7-year confinement in my brother's closet.

The second document was of a more legal nature, reproduced below:

To the person who finds this.

My ballet diary is locked. The key is hidden in one of my glass figurines. It's in the one that swims.

You just inherited Precious, the doll this was hidden in and my ballet diary. Do not let anyone else see my diary.

[reverse side]

You may also have the glass figurine you find the key in but you may only claim this stuff after my death.

[signed] Full Name       [printed] Full Name

Clearly, I figured that if someone was distraught enough after my death to disrobe Precious in a desperate search for relics by which they could remember me, then they deserved to read about whether I loved or detested my brother on any particular day.

Sadly, my budding legal mind failed to date it.  Sorry to disappoint you hopeful seekers, but Precious and company will probably end up in the attic of one of my descendants, unappreciated and undiscovered. 

First Try at Chopsticks

Normally Kekoa is happy to use his primitive chopsticks (fingers) while Mom and Dad do the real thing, but last night he wanted to give them a try.

After a long battle, he put one chopstick down, popped the sashimi in his mouth with his fingers, and smiled proudly at his accomplishment.

In Which I Retire from Housekeeping

Some friends from church gifted Kekoa with a child-size vacuum cleaner, same brand as our big one.  ("We have to be quite undercover about the pick-up," my friend said, "because my kids don't know."  Somehow I don't think we'll be their favorite guests to dinner anytime soon.)

As you can see, toy vacuums require crumbled-up chips so as to be more realistic.

Fortunately, the vacuum's capacity to make actual vacuuming noises has been disabled.  Whether this is by natural causes or ruthless destruction at the hand of an annoyed parent, I cannot say.  It does, however, make a satisfying clicking sound when pushed, just loud enough to seem real and just quiet enough for me to ignore completely.

It is a rather precious thing to pull out the big vacuum cleaner and see those little legs run as fast as they can to get the little vacuum cleaner, and be followed every step of the way.  No carpet left behind.  I don't even mind the constant nipping at my heels.

I do, however, feel like a lazy slob when I stop and he looks at me disdainfully as if to say, "Sure, you may be done working, but I'm not a quitter!"  Carry on, son.  Carry on.

People are always talking about how much work kids are.  How expensive they are.  Not so, my friends. One look at my blog history tells you that I not only have someone to do my vacuuming, but someone to do my dishes,

my laundry,

my sweeping,

my dusting,

my baking,

and even my secretarial work.

'

Clearly, kids totally make sense if you're looking to retire from the housekeeping world.  No work required! So...you wanna borrow my kid for the afternoon while I get some work done?  ;)

Fall

It's been raining for two days straight and I am delighted to say that Kekoa loves the rain almost as much as I do.  Last night after dinner we went skipping down the bike trail singing The Wizard of Oz, and he was utterly thrilled.  Today he has been sitting at the window watching the drip drips on the glass, begging to go outside.

 He also seems to like other aspects of fall:

Apple cider by the gallon?  BRING IT ON!

And now that it's cool enough to use the oven, I enlisted his help with stirring while I was doing some baking. He caught on pretty quickly:

Yep, he knows almost as much about baking as I do.  Batter = delish.  :)  And no raw eggs.

This has been a really hard semester for us thus far.  The internet doesn't need any more whining than it's already got, so don't worry, I won't add to it.  But with Josh gone a lot, it is the sweetest thing in the world when he comes home and Kekoa hears the door.  Can you say JOY?

Occasionally Josh just falls asleep wherever he is...in Kekoa's room, on the couch, on the floor (he kinda works really hard).  When that last one happens, Kekoa prefers to take his nap right there with him. 

Heartmelt. <3 div="">

Teaching Firstborns to Share

Dear Son,

This month, I can see that you have grasped a cold, hard truth of the world: that eating is a zero-sum game.

I mean this: you have discovered that if I take a bite of peach, you cannot take that same bite.  Every bite for me is one bite less for you.  Sharing a mango three ways results in significantly less mango per person than if we allowed someone -- say, you -- to eat the whole thing alone.

It is not an easy truth.  But you, remarkable boy, seem to have an open-hearted generosity with your cauliflower.  I respect that.

But I have also noticed that it is much harder for you to watch the pile of pineapple on Mommy's plate dwindle away without ever reaching your plate.  Even if you have both hands and mouth full of pineapple, you desire more, more.  You must protect that precious pineapple from being subject to Mommy's appetite.

You are not wrong, I think, to surmise that you would enjoy the fruit more than Mommy would - a sort of utilitarian assumption, but true nevertheless.  It always hurts me a little to eat a nice plump tomato.  We all enjoy it more if I give it to you: you because you like your food, and me because I'm a sucker for that little full-mouthed grin you give as you beg for more.

But no.  I do not give it to you.  Do you know why?

Because, my son, you are a firstborn.  Perhaps someday--Lord willing--there will be TWO full-mouthed little grins begging for more, and then my son, I will have to give to them equally.  And even though it will still be hard for you (because sometimes it is still hard for me!), it will be less hard to resign yourself at 14 months than at 2 years, or 3 years, or 4 or 5.

A friend once said that the best thing that ever happened for their firstborn's character was the second-born.  As a second-born myself, I wholeheartedly agree.  I'm of the opinion that second-borns are God's gift to the world.

But even if you never get a second-born sibling (sorry grandparents, this was not a long-winded announcement of any sort), you still have cousins.  And you will have more cousins, and then there are other people in the world, and then someday you may even have your own little full-mouthed grinners looking up at you.  And even though sharing with them may be as easy as sharing cauliflower, you will also have to help them share with others.  THAT can be as hard as giving up mango.

And that, my son, is why I ate the last piece of mango tonight.  Sorry.

Independent

Now that I'm not posting each month about Kekoa, I take fewer pictures.  Because let's face it, about 70% of the pictures I took last year were snapped the morning I was trying to get a picture post together.  I'm not good about remembering the camera, and he's not good at posing long enough for me to get the moment anyway.

But I realized that nearly all the photos I have taken lately center around a common theme: messes.

I mean, independence.  Which just happens to be accompanied by a whooooole lot of messes.  And for being independence, it sure does seem to come with a lot of oversight necessary.

Here are a few of the new things our Chief Imitator has learned to do in the last couple months:

Drink out of a cup.

Eat with a fork or spoon.  Bonus: he's wiling to eat almost anything if he can stab it on a fork!  

The food's not that bad.  Really.

Brush his own teeth (questionably, but better than him resisting our efforts).  Incidentally, I discovered a couple weeks ago that he  is also pretty good at brushing baseboards - with the same toothbrush, of course.

Sweep, also questionably.

Dust (ditto).

Help with the baking by stirring, mixing, and taste testing.  I don't think we'll be sharing our baked goods anytime soon, though - our sanitation standards aren't quite up to snuff.

And that is the story of how our general, everyday tasks like eating and cleaning suddenly seem to take three times as long, but have twice the excitement as usual.

(And why yes, those last three pictures were all snapped this morning.  I told you I'm not good at remembering.)

What My Parents Did: Teaching Kids to Manage Money

When I was very little, we got a small allowance along normal lines - my older brother and I had piggy banks and we would occasionally get dollar bills or coins to put inside.  Really, the excitement was more with the piggy banks than it was with the money.

But when each of us reached an age when we could do basic addition and subtraction (usually around 6 years), we switched to the "register" system.

The register system was rather an adult way to do things because all our money was imaginary.  None of it ever actually crossed our hands (a sneaky way for Dad to keep full control of the actual spending!).  My dad gave each of us a check register, which we kept exactly how you would keep a checkbook.  Each month, my dad would add our allowance.  Any purchases we made (we were taught to religiously keep receipts until they can be logged in - I still do this obsessively, and passed that little habit on to Josh) were subtracted from the total.

Story of my Childhood

We got an allowance on a graduated scale based on our age, but it was substantially larger than that of our peers - I didn't like telling other kids what I got because they would inevitably open their eyes saucer-wide and say, "Whoa, that's not fair! I only get five dollars a month!"

There was a catch, however: we were responsible for buying everything.  We were responsible for managing our money to buy clothes, toys, sporting equipment, athletic fees, attendance to camps and clubs, birthday and Christmas gifts, shoes, etc.

One of my friends complained profusely about her "tiny" allowance.  "I'm so jealous!" she said.  I, on the other hand, was busy gaping at the biggest Beanie Baby collection I had ever seen, and drooling over her American Girl horse to go with her three AG dolls, complete with bedroom sets and every accessory ever.  What exactly did she use her allowance for, I wondered?

Obviously, we didn't have to pay for everything: food, rent and utilities, and school supplies/activities, but if we wanted any special treats or supplies, those came out of our discretionary income.  We also paid for our misdeeds: windows we had broken, lamps that were shattered, lights left on during vacation, chores left undone (we eventually had to do them anyway, but were charged at Mom's pay rate for her time disciplining us).

We learned the value of money pretty quickly.  The ice cream truck lost its appeal when we realized that we could buy an entire box at Costco for the same price.  I took horseback riding lessons for a summer, cleaned out my life's savings in three months for the privilege of mucking stalls, and promptly switched to a cheaper sport (running).  My brothers, more attached to their sport of choice, learned that taking good care of baseball bats, cleats, and mitts helped them last longer.  When we got our licenses, we discovered the joy of car insurance.  If we went out with our friends to dinner and a movie, we'd ask Dad for cash.  Inevitably, it was already subtracted by the time we got home.

The system taught a lot of life lessons at once: how to manage a check book, how to budget for savings and tithe and gifts, and how to prioritize activities and costs.  For big desires, we learned to wait until Christmas or birthdays.  I was lucky, with a summer birthday; my brothers with December birthdays waited all year.

Bonus lesson: we were also allowed to lend money to our siblings.  Interest is great- when you're on the right side of it!  And we learned that borrowing from family and friends is wrought with potential conflicts.

I envision us using the same system for our kids.  We'll take the amount we budget each month for the kids and pass it on to them to handle.  One big change though: I think we'll buy them a few wardrobe basics each year. Anything they want beyond that - accessories, trendy clothes, extra shoes - will be their responsibility.  I know that occasionally my unwillingness to buy new clothes caused fights:

"But I thought you gave us this money so we could manage our needs!"
"Yes, and I've decided that you need new clothes.  You may not wear jeans with holes in them!"
"Okay, well, these ones are fine.  And I don't need a new shirt."
"No, those don't fit well.  Try these ones. And you do need a new shirt because you can't wear the same three shirts every single day."
"But Mooooom!  These ones cost twice as much!"
"But they don't make you look like a ragamuffin!"

Yeah.  I think we'll definitely be buying some wardrobe basics for our kids.  But I don't think my parents anticipated me being quite so...uninterested...in clothes.

So. Kekoa and his possible future siblings are unwitting future victims of Dad's register scheme.  I wonder how he'll feel about it when it's his grandchildren learning about scarcity of resources?

Either way, I know they'll learn one thing quickly: you can always look forward to birthdays and Christmas.