February 21, 2008
Mamma? I don't feel so BLACH SPLASH!
And just like that, there I am, wiping vomit off the rug in my bedroom.
A lovely way to wake up and the poor Boy Child was sick all day on Monday.
On Tuesday, I went off to work quite merrily.
I felt unwell on the train ride in.
I left early and was home in bed, teeth chattering, by 12:30 where I slept until at least 4:00 in the afternoon.
The Viking Bride was then struck down.
We both sat in the den -- her supine on the sofa and me reclining in a chair -- while the two oldest kids supervised the baby.
The Girl Child cleaned the baby's mouth and hands after his dinner and got him out of his booster seat. The GC and the BC then traded off watching over him. At one point, the GC ran upstairs for a moment and I heard the BC say the following to the baby:
Ok, Baby, can you be super, extra good for me? The GC had to go upstairs and this is the first time I am watching you all by myself and it is very hard work.
The GC and the BC then discussed, in detail, how they were going to hoist the baby up into his crib to put him to bed (it already having been agreed between them that the GC was going to read the good night story to the BC and put him to bed) if neither the Viking Bride nor myself could do it. The BC remembered that the front of the crib came down so they felt comfortable getting that down and boosting him into the crib.
While they felt they had it under control, I just the same summoned the energy to get the baby changed, read to, and put to bed without their kind offers of assistance. They still had to brush their own teeth and the GC still performed story reading duties.
The next day (yesterday) dawned somewhat better for me but the Viking Bride was still weak as a kitten. I had to go to work to take a conference call on a really important deal -- not changing the face of Western Society as we know it important but still pretty significant for my client just the same.
I took a 12:07 train home, stopped off to get some soup and other easy to digest foods, and let the Viking Bride go to bed. The baby and the BC both got up from their naps on the very early side and I took all the kids to the library. We took out a Warner Bros. cartoon video and a copy of the Magic Flute (yes, the Mozart opera) to watch while we were sick (or, while the wife and I were sick). We also got a bunch of books, including 5 firetruck books for the BC.
It actually turned into a great day. After dinner, the BC and the GC practiced their instruments and we watched cartoons. Good cartoons. Funny cartoons. Not the crappy stuff that tries to pass for cartoons today with their pious multi-cultural messages and . . . well, I have written about that before.
The kids were in bed by 7:30. The Viking Bride and I were in bed by 8:30.
I managed, somehow, to get my ass on the squash court this morning for my weekly torture session with a former Division I athlete. Happily, he was recovering from a flu, too. We played ok and I did not vomit on the court, although I did have to pass on pilates this morning. That was simply even more unwise than playing squash, if you can believe it.
Anyway, here we are. Back at work. Almost at full strength.
I trust you all have been well this week?
Posted by: Random Penseur at
11:20 AM
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February 11, 2008
The Boy Child took part in the Cello Master Class this weekend at his music school. He played with his group from 9-10 and the entire cello student body played from 1:30 to 2:30. The teacher during the morning class asked the Boy Child how old he was and he replied: “four and 11/12ths”. So cute. The Boy Child was in the lowest level for the big class. He was adorable, by the way, dressed in his bow tie and blue button down shirt (which I didn’t even bother trying to tuck in), with his blond hair falling over his forehead as he bent over his cello in great concentration. At one point in the big class, held in the small auditorium with all the parents in attendance, the teacher asked if the class knew the French folk song composition and the Boy Child raised his hand. At that point, the boy behind him, a bratty little know it all, shouted at the Boy Child that he did not know the song. The Boy Child did know the song, in his mind, but did not know how to play it, you see. Anyway, the room went silent with everyone turning to look at the two and the Boy Child turned around and replied that he did too know it and the kid yelled back at him again, in a very nasty tone. The Boy Child turned again and exclaimed, heatedly: “You have never been in my class you so don’t know what I know or what I don’t know.” And that was that. The brat resigned the field. I was pleased that he stuck up for himself and did it so well – something I might have thought was beyond him.
We stayed after class for the Master Concert – a pillow concert lasting an hour, with four cellists playing. Afterwards, he ran around and played. And got into a fist fight. That’s right, my gentle little son went toe to toe with an 8 year old and traded blows until a teacher broke it up. The older kid hit the Boy Child first and the Boy Child hit back. The Boy Child came up to me after and was about to start to cry when he saw me and I told him that he better not cry, that I did not want to see him cry, that he had to suck it up and hold it in and not give the older kid, a bully, the satisfaction of seeing him cry. And he did, too. He bit it back and stood up and did not cry. I told him that while I was proud of him, he did not do a very good job of fighting and I was going to teach him how to fight when we got home. He continued, by the way, to make remarks to the other kid until we left. The spirit, you see, was not touched. He was excited to go home, he told me, and learn how to fight.
We got home and we began the lesson. I told him that the problem was that he hit this other kid, who we will call the “bully”, because he was angry and because he wanted the bully to know he was angry. This was wrong. If you are only angry, you use words, you don’t need a fist. If you need to hit someone, you have to do it to hurt and not just because you are angry. So, we spent a half an hour learning how to throw a short jab into the face. A short punch, starting from the shoulder and snapping it into the face with the intention of punching through the target. One of those to the nose will end any fight and eliminate the possibility of the Boy Child ever being picked on again.
The Girl Child participated in the lesson, too, by the way. She wanted to work on her fighting. The bully was lucky, quite lucky, that she did not see him punch her brother because she would have clocked the other kid. That is how she has been raised. The bullyÂ’s most regular source of exercise appears to be pushing a bow across the cello strings and pushing around his younger sister. The Girl Child has gotten to be one solid piece of muscle from her riding and if she had hit this kid, he would have collapsed like a cheap paper bag. No question. I am sure from this just from seeing how her wrists and hands have gotten stronger from the riding, not to mention her core. She is one tough cookie. And yes, she certainly can throw a punch.
Anyway, I told the Boy Child that I was so very proud of him and asked him if he knew why. He asked me: “Because I stucked up for myself?” Exactly. I have tried to teach him and his sister to stick up for themselves and each other but when push comes to shove, as it did, only they can make those decisions. I can teach them how to do it better, how to make a fist and throw a solid fight-ending punch, but I am so glad that I don’t have to try to teach them now not to be a victim for some bully.
His application to this private school was waitlisted. We found out on Saturday. I no longer think it makes a difference whether he goes to the very sweet, very supportive, small private school or whether he goes into the local public school. HeÂ’s going to be fine wherever he goes. He can stick up for himself, both orally and physically, and he is going to take that self-confidence with him into any situation; heÂ’s earned it himself. He didnÂ’t give up and he didnÂ’t let the bully see him cry. You may not agree with me about the morality of teaching a not quite five year old how to bloody another childÂ’s nose (and you can be sure he has learned that and we will continue to practice how to do it), but I trust you will agree that it is entirely wonderful that he values himself enough not to allow another impose on him, no matter what the size or age or strength difference.
So, yeah, I was proud because he stucked up for himself. He got it exactly right.
Posted by: Random Penseur at
04:19 PM
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February 07, 2008
I am more than a little bit in awe of this little girl.
I was less awed by how she managed to throw up three times last night. I am hoping for less throwing up and more sleep tonight. Much more sleep.
Posted by: Random Penseur at
04:12 PM
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