Are you sure you want that dog?

Photo: One From RM, Flickr

]]> http://bravingboys.org/2011/01/27/boy-wants-dog/feed/ 0 http://bravingboys.org/2010/12/25/the-boys-nana-rocks/ http://bravingboys.org/2010/12/25/the-boys-nana-rocks/#comments Sat, 25 Dec 2010 05:00:07 +0000 Jacki http://bravingboys.org/?p=1734 Following the mechanics of 4th grade expository writing, 9-year-old Joey wrote a four-paragraph essay for his Nana.

My Nana Rocks
By: Joey Donaldson

Do you have a family member who rocks? I do. My Nana rules the school. One thing that puts her at the top of the list is that she’s cute. Another reason why I think my Nana is so spectacular is because she is super strong like a lion.

Whistle! Whistle! Here comes my never-cuter Nana. One thing that makes her look so spiffy is her short haircut. One time, she thought of getting a little trim, so she got in her shiny, silver SUV, raced off to the hair salon, and returned home with a shorter ‘do. When she got back and paid me visit, I said, “Is that my 30-year-old Nana?” You’d never know my Nana is actually 63 years old. She looks as young as a spring chicken. Maybe it’s her red-hot lipstick that makes her look like a supermodel. Sometimes, my Nana can get a little frazzled by her treacherous dogs and her endlessly whining grandchildren, and on Thanksgiving Day, well, she was pretty upset. My cousins and I were playing with a super big bouncy ball, and I launched it up as high as I could, causing the humongous ball to zip across the kitchen counter and crash into a plant, which flew in the air and then smashed into a pure white and yellow deviled egg. My Nana knew what to do. She sprinted to her bedroom, smeared on some lipstick, and returned refreshed and looking as cute as a button. The best part is none of us got in trouble! As you can tell, my cute Nana rocks!

If you’ve ever seen a lion pounce or show its power, then you can imagine the strength of my Nana. The girl can do 20 perfect push-ups at one time. Once, I jogged down to her house, and she was relaxing outside in her favorite Gator chair. When I stepped onto her driveway, I challenged her to do 20 push-ups. She said, “Bring it on!” She got down in her push-up position, and I said, “Ready, Set, Go!” She smiled at me and did 10 push-ups in five seconds. I was astonished. Then, before I knew it, she was done. She did 20 push-ups in 10 seconds. I gave her a high-five, and I saw her biceps pumping, so that told me she was really fit and strong. I guess she has proven she is one powerful person. Yep, she sure is. She’s even pretty mentally strong. S-E-I-Z-E. “I got it. It’s diagonal!” My Nana is like Einstein at word searches. One day, I came home from a day at school, and I had to do a word search, so I asked my brilliant Nana, “Will you help me?” She said, “Sure, Cupcake!” The first word was “fragile.” One second later, my Nana had it. “It’s on the third row, on the top of the page,” she told me. I joyfully responded, “Thank you!” In five minutes, it was all done. WOW! That was fantastic. I had a hunch she was feeling exhilarated. Not only is my Nana a whiz at word searches, she is basically smart all around. It must be because she reads a lot. One time, she read a whole book in one day! But that’s a subject for another story.

Give me a, “N.” Give me an “A.” Give me an “N.” Give me an “A.” What do you have? “NANA!” My Nana is cute. She is strong. She is the total package. My Nana is Rock-tastic!

Merry Christmas, Nana!
December 2010

And I’m not in the least bit disappointed that the package I opened from Joey contained something I’d already owned for several years. Nope. I found it entirely sweet that my 9-year-old boy wrapped up all by himself my little pink laptop and power cord and had the present waiting for me on the kitchen table the morning of my big day.

Even better, though, was the card he made.

“Happy Birthday, Mom, I love you,” he wrote. Then he described me, in list form:

nice
funny
awsome
sweet
beautiful
good
good at everything
smart
helps a lot
is very cute
has a good attitude
healthy
skinny
not fat
awsome at losing pounds
a good person
good at her job
greatful

Laptops, yea, they come and go (and maybe come again!), but cards like this one, well, they have real staying power.

Thank you, Joey. I love you, too!

Me (the mom): “Oh, really?”

Joey: “Yes, look!”

He pointed to some blond peach fuzz on his neck (sweet, delicate, little-boy fuzz. Not a beard, just fuzz), then continued:

“Do you think it’s a little strange that I’m getting a beard?”

Me: “It is a little early.”

Joey: “I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not.”

Yea, me either.

Apple of My Eye

Danny marched down his elementary school hallway today at pick-up time wearing the coveted Apple of My Eye crown. It’s a good day.

Apple of My Eye is what select first-grade kids earn on Fridays for a week of stellar behavior. Danny has been working really hard to score the honor — well, when he wasn’t talking during tests, pinching kids and being silly.

My man’s efforts paid off on this fine February 11 (“I’m working on being Apple today,” he announced on the way to school this morning), and along with his construction-paper hat, he brought home a hand written note from his teacher:

You have been trying very hard. This week was much improved. Good job helping and doing what you need to do. You are a great friend to others as well!

He is very proud. We are, too. That’s why we’re taking him to the restaurant of his choice (Sonny’s), right after he finishes up his Apple homework — he has a journal entry to write, an illustration to make and a questionnaire to complete (he’s already revealed Mac and Cheese as his fave food, and he wrote that he wants to be a NASCAR racer when he grows up).

Danny will also take in some photos and a special show-and-tell item on Tuesday when he goes back to school, because next week he will reign as top Apple. Then on Friday, someone else will march down the hallway after school all happy and beaming, just like Danny did.

Photo: D Sharon Pruitt, Flickr

John’s dad didn’t know our boys, because he died before they were born (he didn’t get to meet any of his grandkids — there are 8), and today marks the very day he passed away. February 9, a Tuesday, 11 years ago. He was 51.

Joey and Danny may have never met their Grandpa Donaldson, but that doesn’t mean they don’t know him. Thanks to stories and photographs, they’ve got what they think are memories of the guy who loved the TV show “The Hulk,” always worked several jobs to support his family of five and custom-made for their daddy a skateboard with wheels that went round and round and never did work very well.

They know their grandpa was a really tall man (maybe that’s why Joey is almost 5 feet tall in the third grade). They know he taught his own three boys that no job is worth doing if it isn’t done right. And they know, most of all, that their dad loves his dad with every inch of his heart.

When Joey was just a wee little one — actually, he was never “wee,” but when he was younger, he told John that the clouds are his dad’s eyes, and he is watching him all the time. Maybe he’s right. And if he is, well, then, perhaps he does know our boys. And wouldn’t that be nice?

Photo: AMagill, Flickr

My boys are fascinated with money. Just yesterday, one of them asked me if lawyers make a lot, they both love to dream about what they’ll do when we win the lottery, and I’m pretty sure 9-year-old Joey is purposely pulling out teeth to pad his bank account. So when the two of them realized that cash prizes go to the folks who finish first in the 1/2 marathon I’ll be running on February 14, they issued me an assignment: “Mom, you’ve got to win!”

“I just want to finish, not win,” I responded.

“Please, please, please, try to win,” Joey and Danny chanted in tandem.

Here’s the deal: If I finish first in my female age group (35-39), I’ll score $250. Second place gets $150, and third place gets $100. Do I think I can do it? In a word: No. My 10-minute mile just isn’t that competitive, I don’t think. Will I tell my guys this? Nope. I plan to arm them with the fact that I’ll try my very best, that I’ll run like I want to win. I’m sure they’ll see visions of wealth when I tell them this, but what I hope registers in their little-boy brains is that dedication and some good hard work are what really matters.

Money, yea, that would be nice, too.

Danny

Danny, 6 years old, finally lost a tooth on December 30. We were at Busch Gardens, eating lunch, when John tugged it out. It was hanging by a thread, we told Danny, and that’s why it needed to come out. He’d been very patient for weeks, letting that tooth linger in its assigned space. Big bro Joe would have yanked that thing from his own mouth the minute he noticed it jiggling even a tad bit. Not Danny, who is now monitoring another loose one. Yesterday, he came out of school and asked me, “Mom, is this hanging by a thread?” I checked and told him it was not. “Then how many threads does it have?” he said. We talked about threads, and figures of speech, and now we await the loss of pearly white No. 2. I predict it comes out, oh, sometime around mid-February. Joey happened to have a barely wiggly one after school yesterday, too. It was out by 5 PM.

Mom and Joey: Same-size feet

Joey is tall. Really tall. He just turned 9 on January 3, and he’s a half-inch away from measuring 5 feet. He’s almost as tall as his Nanny, his feet are nearly bigger than mine, and the mom of the short boy he guarded during his last basketball game was not at all happy about the pairing. About his height, Joey said recently: “I don’t always like being tall.” I asked him why, and he told me people at school think he has had to repeat a grade. “Has anyone ever told you that?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “But still.” Yea, I gotcha, Joe. And that’s exactly why the kid must pass his FCAT test in March, because if he doesn’t, he must do third grade all over again, and there’s just no way he can actually repeat a grade. That would just look downright silly.

We think Danny has a photographic memory — the kid can recite parts of a nutritional label in a nutty accurate way. Sugar and protein are his favorites. Name a food or drink (mustard, ketchup, ground turkey, milk), and he’ll spit back spot-on numbers. The other day, I told each boy they could pick out a frozen treat at the grocery store. Danny picked Scribblers popsicles (no protein, 6 grams of sugar), and Joey grabbed for a package of Klondikes, which didn’t escape Danny’s glance. “Those are loaded with sugar,” he shouted at his brother. Sure enough — 23 grams of the stuff in each square of chocolate-covered goodness. Joey didn’t care, he picked them anyway, and we’re OK with that. I mean, we don’t eat too much junk at our house, so we figure it’s OK to enjoy an occasional treat.

Somehow, we got to talking a few days ago about behavior (the boys like to report on who was good and bad in school each day), and I told them that everyone has good qualities. No one is entirely bad. That’s when Joey said, “I don’t always do the right thing. But I always try my best.” I don’t think I can really ask for anything more. And that’s what I told him — just before I picked boogers off his bedroom wall.

Stay tuned. More to come.

Joey, reading an age-appropriate chapter book

If I could take away my kids’ ability to read while in the grocery store, I would. Well, not while we’re shopping — I like that they can read while we’re strolling the aisles (Danny would be lost without a good nutritional label to analyze) — but if I could reverse their powers in the check-out lines, believe me, I’d do it, because what they’re learning from sensational magazine covers is resulting in some heavy-duty discussions I tend to think are better left for future ages.

Not long ago, 8-year-old Joey announced mid-line, “Adam Lambert is gay!” Followed by: “What is gay?”

I told him — right there in line, because he was hungry for an answer — that gay means boys fall in love with boys, and girls fall in love with girls.

“Can boys marry boys?” he asked.

At the time, yes, they could (in California, anyway), so I told him that. He was happy, and I think, mildly informed on a topic we’ll tackle in more detail one day in the future. Right after we talk about sex tapes, maybe.

Today, Joey declared, “Tiger has a sex tape!”

Here we go again.

“What’s that mean?” he inquired.

I told him Tiger has gotten into some trouble, and then I had to pay for my groceries. We continued our conversation in the car.

“What kind of trouble did Tiger get into?” Joey asked.

“Who is Tiger?” asked 6-year-old Danny.

“He’s a famous golfer,” explained big brother.

“But what kind of trouble, mom?” said Joey.

Here’s what I said:

“Tiger is married, and he has two kids, but he also had some girlfriends, and that is not OK. When you’re married to someone, that person must be your only person.” I told Joey that Tiger made some bad choices, and sadly, it is messing up other people’s lives. “That’s why it’s important to make good decisions in your life,” I told both guys.

We went on to talk about whether or not Tiger will get a divorce (I hope he does), and we unraveled the whole mystery of divorce for Danny (it’s when a marriage comes to an end). We also talked about whether it’s legal to do what Tiger did. A little bit of research tells me adultery is, in fact, mostly legal, meaning you won’t get arrested for it or anything, although it can have legal ramifications in property settlement, child custody and other matters. Adultery is just wrong. Really wrong. And that’s what I hope my boys learned from our chit-chat today.

What did I learn? To head straight for the kiddie check-out line next time, no matter how the long line is.

Oh, and Joey never did ask for me to define “sex tape.” Nor did Danny. Thank goodness for small blessings.

Danny

Danny is obsessed with numbers lately. Ages are big — “Mom, how old were you when I was 2?” he might ask. Or “Dad, how old will you be when I’m 19?” We’re trying to teach him that I’m 33 years older than him and that John is 35 years older. That way, he can answer his own questions. It’ll take some time, though — he’s only 6, after all.

The numbers on nutritional labels are another story — he’s way more interested in them, and he can pretty much compare, contrast and make important decisions all by himself. Case in point: Yesterday.

Danny came out of school yesterday afternoon and announced that he chose white milk instead of chocolate milk at lunch. “That’s great,” I told him. “White milk is healthier.” He agreed, schooling me on the fact that chocolate milk has 25 grams of sugar and 8 grams of protein, while white milk has 10 grams of sugar and 8 grams of protein. And that’s why he chose white over chocolate — it’s healthier.

I did a little fact checking just now, and sure enough, Danny was pretty right on. Check out chocolate milk here at The Daily Plate. And white milk here. The guy knows his stuff. And if he keeps making solid choices like the one he made today, I’m thinking he’ll live a long and healthy life.

And if he makes it to, say, 85, how old will I be?

Uugh.