And We Laugh

Cal's and my relationship has reached a really fun stage.  The kid doesn't really do much to get under my skin, other than dealing with his "issues" with general neatness and cleanliness (uh, yeah, does he HAVE to wipe his mouth with his shirt?); but even that has become fun.  I see food dropping from his mouth as he eats and I stare.  I mean, what else am I supposed to do?  I stare.  I am amazed at how unfazed he is by it.  With every crumb and clump of sauce that fails to stay in his mouth, I think about how much work is ahead of me.  My general verbalized response to this is, "Cal, you are never going to have a girlfriend if you continue to eat like that," said as I shake my head from side to side.  This is naturally followed by his wiping his mouth with his shirtsleeve... or neck of his shirt... or just not at all.

Anyway, on Sunday, I was all over him about changing his socks before we went to, well, kind of my boss's boss's house for an afternoon of a little work (she and Dan had some Rebuilding Together planning to do) and a little socializing, with drinks, of course.  Why it was so important to me that he change his socks, I don't know.  I didn't have any facts to back this up, but I envisioned them being the same socks that he had worn to school on Friday and then again on Saturday because the kid only has a couple pairs of socks that he actually likes to wear.  Why wouldn't I think they were three days in to being worn before being washed?

So it was getting close to our target time to leave for their house, and I said for what may have been the fiftieth time, "Cal, did you change your socks?"  He responded by insisting he had put them on fresh that morning, but I wasn't listening.  I insisted again.  And he responded this time by coming to me, his arms outreached, and saying with his sweet voice as he hugged me, "I love you, Mama."

I got sucked right in, hugged back and reciprocated, "Aw, I love you, too, Baby Bear," setting the whole sock thing aside.  He does this.  He knows how to pull on my heartstrings.  All he needs to say is, "I love you, Mama," and I'm done.  Wear whatever you want, even that shirt with spaghetti sauce on the sleeve and Cheetoh juice on the neckline.

I told him this, that he just needs to tell me he loves me and I'll forget any issues I might be tackling with him; and he laughed, a playful yet devious laugh.  He all-encompassingly knows exactly what he's doing.  I'm a sucker for that kid.  For now, it's fun.  Battling dirty socks and food-stained shirts just gets overtaken priority-wise by enjoying a good hug and laughs with that Leatherkid.

We laughed again on Monday night during reading time.  Dan and I are back to the read-two-books-to-Ella-together-followed-by-reading-one-book-to-Cal routine.  Lately (where "lately" seems like the last two years), Cal chooses to read his Lego Star Wars book, which usually means he and I lie side-by-side at the head of his bed, Dan lies across the base of it, and I read the book to him.  Every once in awhile, Cal says that he wants to read, which, of course, I oblige.

The book is very worn and damaged (this is the one I threw against the wall a month or so ago), posing a challenge to bedtime reading as pages frequently fall out of it.  Despite its condition, this book gives the readers a good sense for how the Star Wars characters evolved, who trained whom, who moved to the Dark Side of the force, who killed whom, who descended from whom, and, in the case of the droids, who made whom.  It also describes the spaceships and general modes of transportation and tools for battle.  All of the aforementioned in their Lego forms, of course.

I wouldn't describe it as a funny book, though some of the cartoon talk bubbles have some witty banter.  There is one page that, when Cal and I hit it, makes us laugh because I just can't pronounce the word the way it's supposed to be pronounced.  It's about a spacecraft, the Executor, which seems like an easy word to pronounce but really isn't... on which syllable does one put the emphasis?  I inevitably pick the wrong one and, even after a lot of thought, awkwardly say it with the emphasis on the second syllable, "ExECutor," you know, the person who executes a will.  Cal laughs and corrects me by saying with the emphasis on the first syllable, "EXecutor," you know, the person who kills, or executes, people.

Executor excerpt

Monday night, Cal read that page.  We both giggled when he first arrived at it, knowing full well what was ahead of us.  It was early on that he came across the word, said it just as he usually does ("EXecutor") and then smiled.  Thinking he had said it incorrectly and I had caught him, I said, "wait..." and then bounced the word around in my head a few times before realizing he had said it correctly.  We laughed at the notion that I had thought that I had caught him saying it incorrectly.  As if.

Yes, despite my not-so-excited reaction to the news that he has selected it as his bedtime book again, reading this Lego Star Wars book is fun... or can be fun.  He has clearly read it an estimated million times.  Either that, or he has a freakishly good memory. Or maybe it's both.  I say this because when we hit the pages

Bounty Hunters, page 2

Bounty Hunters, page 1

Monday night that provided Darth Vader's notes (data files) on the different bounty hunters he was considering for the job of hunting down Luke, Cal recited the notes for each hunter either close to or exactly as old Darth had written them himself.  That one about Cad Bane (right) he nailed word for word with no help or leads from me.  Amazing.  And we're not always talking everyday, easy peasy words, either.  Cal laughed at my reaction to his being able to recite virtually word for word all of content from these pages; and that, in turn, made me laugh with him.

We really do have fun together these days, Cal and I.  Dirty socks, food-stained shirtsleeves, mispronounced words in a kids' book, amazing memory -- on the surface, these don't seem like funny things; but they are.  At least, Cal and I find a way to laugh about it all.

Cal's Hug

Not that I ever question our having two kids, even having to endure all of the lunacy that raising them entails, but tonight I experienced one of the benefits of having two of my own flesh and blood in our house.

I came home from a busy, tough day of work and tried to exchange pleasantries with Ella who was sitting at the island in our kitchen and frantically typing on her "Discovery Kids" laptop.  Yes, I tried.  She didn't bite and eventually grunted a frustrated response that had nothing to do with me... or anything, for that matter.  I don't remember what it was about, other than nothing that had anything to do with her, me or Dan, who was fixing dinner at the stove at the time.

I really just wanted a hug from her.  She gives good hugs.

Rather than sulk and be sad that my kid wanted nothing to do with me, I immediately asked where Cal was.  "In his room," Dan said.  He barely had the words out of his mouth and I was calling for Cal.  "Baby Bear?!" I called.  No response.  Dan followed by announcing that it was time for dinner; and, with that, I heard some footsteps and eventually saw Cal bounding down the stairs.  He was smiling.

"Hi, Mama!" he exclaimed through his big smile.

"Hi, Baby Bear!" I replied, my arms outstretched and inviting him into them.

He ran to me and wrapped his arms around my neck.  I wrapped mine around his torso and and then around his butt and picked him up to fully enjoy my much-needed, big-hearted hug from my firstborn.  It was a long hug and made me smile.

And that is a benefit of having two kids.  When one wants nothing to do with you, you can always turn to the other and just try again.  It won't always work, but the odds of getting something good from a child increase exponentially when you have two.

Things That Make Me Smile

A couple of days ago it was Friday and the end of what was a long week of work.  So much done, so much to think about, so much yet to do.  Next week will surely be not much different, possibly even worse.  But it's all good -- I'm not complaining.  I'm enjoying it.

Friday has turned into "beer train Friday," which, as its name suggests, involves drinking a beer on the long train trek home.  Usually, it's just a friend and I; every once in awhile another friend joins us.  Once, it was just I.  And every time, unless they're sold out, my choice of beer is the Two Brothers Wobble IPA.

Halfway through my beer during Friday's ride home and while talking with my friend, I felt happy.  I don't know exactly why, maybe it was the IPA, maybe it was the good end to the workday that I had, maybe I was overtired and delirious.  Whatever it was, it was the inspiration for this post -- a list of things that make me happy.

1. Drinking IPAs.  This has been my beer of choice for awhile now and lately has been the only type I drink.  Except for the Rebel IPA, I haven't had an IPA that I haven't liked.  I don't know if it's bad that I don't drink a variety of beers, but I don't care because IPAs make me happy.
2. Ella, reaching the end of the lane at swimming.  I watch her "make pizzas," kick, flip to breathe, crawl and dolphin kick her way from one end of her swimming lane to another, and I do enjoy witnessing that.  The best part of her trip down the lane, though, is when she reaches the end.  She goes under for a bit, explodes out of the water and smiles a toothless smile so big that you know that she is having so much fun.  That she's having fun and showing it makes me happy.
3. Dan getting a well-deserved raise. That Dan recently got a good raise was entirely his doing.  He works hard and sensibly and is productive.  His customers, both internal and external, appreciate the care and attention that he gives their accounts.  He takes on additional responsibilities above and beyond what is expected of his role. If his work ethic and product don't say enough, Dan also verbally regularly reminds his management of how valuable he is to their organization.  They hear him and have no choice but to reward him.  I am proud of him for this, and this makes me happy.
4. Talking with Cal about Michael Jordan.  I never pass on an opportunity to tell Cal that Michael Jordan is the best basketball player EVER.  I believe it, and I want Cal to know how good Jordan was.  Just yesterday, I reminded him of this.  I told him, "Michael Jordan was better than LeBron James.  He was better than Steph Curry... well, not as good a shooter as Curry but better all around."  Cal then asked me if he was better than "that guy who scored 100 points in a game," and I responded, "Wilt Chamberlain?  Yes, Jordan was better than Wilt Chamberlain."  As I talked with Cal about Jordan, I got excited tears in my eyes.  I was happy.
5. A run to the United Center at lunch.  Every once in awhile, I am able to escape work at lunchtime and go for a run to the United Center and back -- two miles there, two miles back.  It's a perfect distance with good distractions (including a statue of the aforementioned thing that makes me happy).  It really is an escape, and I always feel better having done it.  This run makes me happy.
6. The Leatherkids' artwork.  Not that I like the sheer volume of this (I get anxious

   

   One of my favorites of Cal's

   just thinking about it), but so much about the Leatherkids' artwork they bring home everyday makes me smile. Sometimes, I think it's brilliant, and it lands in a frame; other times it touches my heart, like when Ella writes "Mommy" somewhere on it.  I love that she thinks of me during the day when we are apart.  This makes me happy.
7. A full moon on a clear night.  Sometimes when I know it's a clear night and when everyone but I (is that right, Dad?) is asleep in the house, I step out onto the deck and look up at the moon. (I also do this on my walk back from the end of the driveway after taking the garbage out, which doesn't sound as glamorous.)  If I'm lucky, it's full.  It's dark outside.  It's quiet.  The air is especially refreshing.  The contrast of the moon's light against the dark sky is striking.  I take it all in and smile.  And then I think about the millions of people who could witness the moon at the same time if they chose to and wonder who actually is.  All I do know at that moment is I am, and what I'm witnessing makes me happy.
8. The Leatherkids, fast asleep.  They are not talking or talking back.  They are not making noises with their mouths or their bodies.  They are not wiping their mouths with their shirts or or just not sitting still.  They are still.  Perfectly still.  I watch them breathe for a few seconds and then look over their entire bodies.  I marvel in their existence.  I made them.  I kiss them and smile, a sure sign of happiness.
9. The Leatherkids getting along..  They may push each other's buttons and yell at each other.  They may push, kick or hit each other.  They may each shed tears over the other's doing.  And they may say that they "hate" one another.  But that's just part of being siblings.  I know that because I regularly witness the two of them interacting and laughing, playing off of one another, genuine joy expressed by their eyes which are looking at each other.  I love this.  They are friends, and they do love each other.  This makes me happy.
10. An unexpected compliment and show of appreciation from a co-worker.  To be honest, I work hard at my job for myself and sometimes for my co-workers who I also know are working hard toward the same goal.  If I don't think I'm doing a good job, I am not happy with myself, even if others think I'm doing just fine.  I don't seek or need praise from co-workers or managers.  But I tell you what: when, out of the blue and without a clear trigger, my co-worker tells a room full of people how much she appreciates the work that I've been doing and how helpful it's been to her team, I feel pretty darn good.  This happened on Friday, and I'm still smiling about it.  This made me happy.
11. Sunset behind the Chicago skyline.  I love this City and its skyline.  I can look at it

    

    Sunset behind the Chicago skyline

    and know what's going on between the buildings, having lived there for many years and worked there for even longer.  It's familiar.  It's alive.  It's beautiful.  It's now a far trek, but I love that I get to go there every workday to feel, share and witness it.  What a fantastic symbol of the City, made even more fantastic by a sunset.  This makes me happy.

So this isn't an exhaustive list of things that make me happy, just ones that came to mind during the timeboxed window I gave myself before starting to write.  I wanted ten but did eleven because I like odd numbers.  And I am happy just having written about these.