The boy is four today

We call him Hudson Bear, Buddy, Hudson John, Brother Bear, and Little Man. Harper calls him Huts, or Bud, or,when she's feeling not so kindly, "Noe-nee Boy".Helena calls him "Uh-seh." He introduces himself, much to my amusement, as "Hudson Bear Grylls". As in Bear Grylls, survival specialist and star of the Discovery Channel show "Man vs. Wild". This is definitely his chosen persona these days, and generally requires lots of gear, sunglasses, and a manly scowl:



This year has completely erased the baby and replaced him with a boy. This would make me exceedingly melancholy, except for almost daily moments that look a little something like this:
I realized today that somewhere between 3 and 4 is when you stop holding children nearly as much. They get themselves in and out of bed, they walk and run of their own volition. Hudson snuggles very close next to me for stories and sometimes I carry him to bed (he prefers "upside down"), but unless he is hurt or sad about something, I go without holding him for days on end.

He weighs 30 pounds according to the scale at the Children's Museum.

He has very few opinions about his clothes, though he prefers pockets in his pants so he can carry sticks, and when it's cold he requests his "fleecy pants" with elastic waistbands, not caring one bit if they are a size 2T pair that could really be more accurately called "fleecy capris".

His favorite food is probably an Amy's veggie pocket, which he requests about 5 times a week, and actually eats about twice a month. He also loves black beans, rice and tortillas when we eat out. He's a good eater, but not an especially hearty one, which explains the 30 pounds.

He likes all of his friends, but has especially enjoys playing with Marcos, who is the brother of a girl in Harper's ballet class. It's the only time in his life when he's gotten the chance to nurture a friendship without Harper around. They tackle and play superheroes mostly. And there was one especially hilarious day when the two of them chatted up a couple of 12 year old girls on the playground. The boys hung on top of this web device and regaled the big girls with exciting information, including Hudson saying, at one point, "You know, sometimes our bodies just DO that." Note to self: Before he becomes a teenager, gently encourage him to keep the flatulence observations to himself.

His most beloved playmate is still Harper, though. This year has brought tremendous improvements in their relationship. They have more moments of genuine enjoyment, and fewer moments of Harper treating him like a disease. That has been sweet for me. They play out in the backyard for hours--exploring, swinging, see-sawing. Inside, they do some dressing up:
This picture made me giggle--it looks like Edmund Pevensie about to fall under the spell of a young White Witch. Run away from the Turkish delight, Edmund!!

He also really enjoys playing by himself. He most often gets a dozen or so little cars and drives them around on the coffee table. They talk to each other in high pitched voices, sometimes in An Unkind Manner.

He still takes a 2-3 hour nap every afternoon. I know he's awake when I hear his stuffed animals talking to each other. Also in high pitched voices, occasionally in An Unkind Manner, but usually not.

He has just about outgrown his bike. We take lots of bike rides in the afternoons, waiting for Daddy to get home, and he is fast and sure, and stops at intersections without being reminded:

His speech has gotten much clearer this year, but there are still a few words he doesn't get quite right:

1. Yightning Between and his friend Nader, from the movie "Cars".
2. Buhstruction men who work so hard to buhstruct buildings and houses.
3. Puts his dirty clothes in the pamper before running to get in the bathtub.
4. A favorite book this month has been A Pocketful of Cricket, or "A Pottet Full of Trittet".

He works hard to enunciate his L's and R's and K's. He was trying to say the name Luke the other day and his face and mouth looked like Silly Putty, and there was a fair amount of saliva expelled.

I think the big revelation this year has been the drumming. It comes as no real surprise, considering the Daddy is an excellent drummer, and Hudson wants to be exactly like the Daddy. [And here is where I wanted to post a video of the drummer boy but after three hours it has still not downloaded. Perhaps I'll try again tomorrow.]

I love him so much it aches. What joy to have a son.

Backyard Bible Club

Harper was relaxing in the hammock while the other two napped today. I was sitting on the couch reading and watching her through the window. She began to gesture madly, yelling, "Mommy COME HERE! There is SOMETHING!" So I rush out to see the Something, and I see Sasha under the hammock eating the Something, which, it turns out, is her own vomit. "There was NOTHING THERE and then there WAS SOMETHING and now Sasha is EATING IT MOMMY!!" "Yes", I said, "she has thrown up and she is now eating it. It is disgusting, and it is what dogs tend to do." It was a very teachable moment but I was feeling a little too queasy to intone the Proverbs, so I came back inside.

Tomorrow is Hudson's last day as a three year old. How is that even possible?

kings, rooks, pawns, Jesus

The husband has been teaching Harper to play chess. She, in turn, has been teaching Hudson to play "chess". She was showing him how to set up the board:

Harper: Okay, this is the good king, and this is the knight, and this is the bad king and..

Hudson: Where is Jesus?

Where is Jesus, indeed. Come to think of it, has anyone ever come up with a Christian chess set? Seems like that might work nicely, what with all the emperors and shepherds and wise men and sword-wielding disciples. And I'll bet you it would sell like gangbusters at the Christian bookstore. They could put it right between those prints of George Washington bowing down before the cross and the Test-a-mints.

I consider it one of my great failings as a mother (so far) that I do things for my children instead of taking the time to teach them to do for themselves. I'm trying to work on it but it gets to the heart of the Great Tension Within Me, which is that I am the rather lethal combination of A Lazy Perfectionist. It's like there are two voices going in my head at any given moment, one of them sneering, "Is THAT the BEST you can do??" and the other (this voice is a kindly, old British woman for some reason) saying, "Well, then, best go take a wee nap." It's exhausting, as you can imagine. Even after I take my nap.

I am reading two books at the same time and they couldn't be more different, yet I'm enjoying both of them (hm, another example of my split personality?). One is a fairly new biography of Deitrich Bonhoeffer by Eric Metaxas, titled (and subtitled, and subtitled again) Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy: A Righteous Gentile vs. The Third Reich
. It is currently 4 days overdue and I should, therefore, turn it in tomorrow, which means I need to read approximately 400 pages before I go to bed tonight. Hm. Perhaps I will break my rule of No More Buying Books Because When We Move The Books Become An Albatross About My Neck. As an aside, there are many, many things about grand fancy houses that do not appeal to me one bit, but the thought of having my very own library in my very own house from which I will never have to move seems heavenly. And I do not use that word lightly. Anyway, the other book is Lit: A Memoir by Mary Karr, who is particularly interesting to me because she graduated from my high school 15 years before I did. Our dads both worked at an oil refinery, but that seems to be the extent of our common experience. Lit is her memoir of her journey through alcoholism, and it's a compelling story, compellingly told. Sad, but ultimately she finds her way out. Out of Port Neches AND out of alcohol. And into the Catholic church, apparently, but I'm not quite there yet.

My sweet Aunt Sue died a week ago today. She was my mom's big sister and she called me "Pooh" even after I grew up. She made extraordinarily good turkey and cornbread dressing. She loved her family well. She told good stories and loved to laugh. As I pondered my lingering sadness this morning before communion, I realized anew that the deaths of those we love is so agonizing not just because we miss them, but because we simply were not made to die. We were made for eternity and communion. Not for death and separation. C.S. Lewis writes that fish do not complain of the sea for being wet. We have the curse (the gift?) to recognize we are strangers here (in reverent fear). The sea is wet, and we are cold and weary with the swim.

So. I'm off to Bonhoeffer. True fellowship, true community, radical theology and oh, by the way, we need to kill Hitler. The sea is WET.

Dare you to move

The husband has been leaving his old ipod in the car which gives us a delightfully eclectic music selection. There are two Switchfoot songs and the kids really like them, probably because they are So Rockin' compared to what we usually listen to. It cracks me up to hear Hudson singing an octave up when it gets too low ("we want more than the wars of our fathers, and EVERYTHING INSI-I-DE, SCREAMS FOR SECOND LIFE! We were meant to live for SO much MO-ORE!!)and Harper, on our way to Target this morning was having her little bean bag spider sing, and it was at a range and decibel level where only dolphins are comfortable, so I finally had to turn down "Dare You to Move" and tell Spidery that, while I truly enjoyed his performance, it was starting to pierce my eardrums and could he maybe PLEASE turn it down a little. All of Harper's stuffed animals have super creative names like Spidery and Stingray-ee, and Beary. She has several rocks named Rocky. All the dogs are named Sasha. And there is Object the Snail, Twinkle the Star, and Car the Pumpkin.

Coming out of Target I saw a large fellow in an even larger t-shirt with this emblazoned on it:

MY WALLET IS LIKE MY [word that means female dog]...THICK!!

Now, this fellow was walking with a lady friend. They were both scowling. Which is shocking, I realize. Although, come to think of it, why was he scowling? Because a trip to Target should be fun if one has a thick wallet. Well, I'll be. I just looked up 'thick' in an online slang dictionary and guess what it means?? It means 'attractive'!!! How about that? Well, then, neither of them should have been scowling. Here I've been judging. These kids today and their effusive, enigmatic double entendre t-shirt praise. Here's to a long and loving future for those two.

I've begun to look for houses. We may or may not be thinking about moving when our lease here is up in July. So it is way too early to start looking, of course. But I can't seem to help myself.

Wanted: an old but renovated house with mature trees and a yard and no roaches that is not in the suburbs and is very cheap.

I've been watching lots of HGTV after everyone is in bed and I have learned that I will have to make compromises because this is an impossible wish list for Houston. So it looks like I may have to shift my expectations a little.

Wanted: Cheap, no roaches.

In the words of Switchfoot, "We want more than this world's got to offer. We want more than this world's got to offer." Oh, maybe that's not really what the song means. Maybe I'm too thick to understand their lyrics. And by thick I mean, of course, really attractive.

Ten books we've lately loved

1. The Poodle Who Barked at the Wind by Charlotte Zolotow, ill. June Otari
2. The Seashore Book by Charlotte Zolotow, ill. Wendell Minor
3. The Sleepy Book by Charlotte Zolotow, ill.Stefano Vitale
4. The Quiet Mother and the Noisy Little Boy by Charlotte Zolotow, ill. Marc Simont
5. Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present by Charlotte Zolotow, ill. Maurice Sendak
6. I Like to be Little by Charlotte Zolotow, ill. Eric Blegvad

So, thanks to Zoe, we discovered Charlotte Zolotow. And I love her, especially I Like to be Little, because it reminds me of my childhood aspiration to never grow up, and The Quiet Mother and the Noisy Little Boy, because it reminds me that, even though my life is often quite noisy, I'm glad I did, finally, grow up.

7. Hugless Douglas by David Melling (A young bear wakes from hibernation in desperate need of a hug. I had never heard of this author but hope to read more of him.)

8. The Tub People by Pam Conrad, ill. Richard Egielski (I love books that pretend toys come to life when we aren't looking. We also loved The Rooster's Gift by Pam Conrad, about a rooster who is convinced he is responsible for causing the sun to rise, but who realizes that he is simply heralding the inevitable. Also recommended by Zoe.)

9. On Market Street by Anita and Arnold Lobel (These illustrations are splendid in this ingenious ABC book, and the kids were especially delighted by the cameo appearance of Lobel's Frog and Toad on the Toys page.

10. The Three Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig by Eugene Trivizas, ill. Helen Oxenbury (the point-of-view shift is amusing, as is the fact that the Pig is finally transformed by a beautiful house of wildflowers that fills his nose with a lovely scent as he prepares to huff and puff.)

I mentioned in the last post that Harper and I have been reading the Little House series during our reading time. We have just started Farmer Boy, which is the third book. It's such a different experience reading these books as an adult. I am totally over-identifying with Caroline, and have cried several times while reading aloud, much to Harper's bafflement. I just can't imagine how hard it must have been for her. These have been the tear-inducers thus far:

--When Pa has to jump in the swollen river to save the wagon and she has to grab the reins with her husband and their horses about to drown and Laura and Mary and baby Carrie in the back of the wagon (with NO CARSEATS!!!)
--When she leaves her extended family behind in the Big Woods, travels across the country, and knows that she likely won't have any communication with them for a very long, long time.
--When the (possibly savage) Indians come in while Pa is away and she cooks cornbread for them.
--When Pa decides, WITHOUT CONSULTING HER, to leave the house on the prairie that they have labored over for an entire year, just as they have planted their crops...

And I didn't cry over this part, but I certainly felt mighty convicted:

--When she washes their clothes AND IRONS THEM while they are traveling from Wisconsin to Kansas (far, it is very far, we looked at the map) in a covered wagon. AND she cooks. AND bakes. AND washes dishes. For weeks and weeks and weeks. Every single meal. Over a camp fire. And, meanwhile, I whine about unloading the dishwasher. Sheesh.