Monday, December 31, 2007
Brotherly Love
The rivalry between Max and Boo continues to escalate. Initially, most of the animus originated with Max. But lately, Boo has been playing catch-up. Yesterday morning, in typical fashion, Boo-the-Early-Riser crawled into bed with us for a snuggle. Beaming sweetly as he stroked my cheek, he seemed at his most angelic. I was overcome with motherly adoration.
"Boo, do you know how much I love you?"
"No, mommy."
"I love you more than there are stars in the sky."
"Really? More than everything?"
"Yes, Boo, more than everything."
"Even Max?"
"Boo, do you know how much I love you?"
"No, mommy."
"I love you more than there are stars in the sky."
"Really? More than everything?"
"Yes, Boo, more than everything."
"Even Max?"
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Brotherhood
My mother-in-law, the educator, psychologist and child-development expert, has pointed out that even siblings raised in intact households do not grow up in the same family. The oldest child has a markedly different view of his or her family than the youngest, and heaven help the unfortunate ones caught in the netherland between the two. You don't have to listen to my mom and aunt recall too many tales from childhood to realize the wisdom of my mother-in-law's perspective.
That this principle holds true in our family has been obvious for some time. Christmas morning was just the latest venue for observing it. Boo unwrapped a mock-up of the space shuttle, complete with solid rocket boosters, fuel tank, astronauts, and a countdown clock. "I've always wanted this!", he shouted. And then, without taking a breath, he volunteered, "I'll share this with you, Max!"
Contrast this with the present Max made at school for our family: a midnight blue Christmas ornament stamped with his small snowy handprint. Each finger had been embellished with black Sharpie to depict the members of our family. "Look!" he observed, without any trace of self-consciousness. "Here's Mommy and Daddy and me and Harley and Cassie! I didn't have room for Boo!" He pointed to the leash drawn carefully between thumb and forefinger. "And I'm walking Harley!"
Let's see. Boo reflexively offers to share his most prized Christmas present with his big brother. And Max edits Boo straight out of the family portrait, relegating him in status to just beneath the family dogs. Is the dichotomy comical or poignant? I suppose that all depends on whom you ask.
That this principle holds true in our family has been obvious for some time. Christmas morning was just the latest venue for observing it. Boo unwrapped a mock-up of the space shuttle, complete with solid rocket boosters, fuel tank, astronauts, and a countdown clock. "I've always wanted this!", he shouted. And then, without taking a breath, he volunteered, "I'll share this with you, Max!"
Contrast this with the present Max made at school for our family: a midnight blue Christmas ornament stamped with his small snowy handprint. Each finger had been embellished with black Sharpie to depict the members of our family. "Look!" he observed, without any trace of self-consciousness. "Here's Mommy and Daddy and me and Harley and Cassie! I didn't have room for Boo!" He pointed to the leash drawn carefully between thumb and forefinger. "And I'm walking Harley!"
Let's see. Boo reflexively offers to share his most prized Christmas present with his big brother. And Max edits Boo straight out of the family portrait, relegating him in status to just beneath the family dogs. Is the dichotomy comical or poignant? I suppose that all depends on whom you ask.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
The Littlest Angel
Boo's teachers are well-known for their love of art. During November, his class collectively painted a totem pole. Well, it was kind of a modern totem pole. Deconstructivist, really. Passing by the room, you might not have recognized those four stacked cardboard boxes for what they were. But once a curator explained the primitive piece, it was unmistakably a totem pole.
Against this backdrop, Boo announced this week that his class had a major role in Chapel. The children were going to be angels, Mrs. M. was going to be Mary, and there was going to be a Real Baby Jesus. Boo was tickled at the beatific role he was expected to play.
Boo: I'm going to be an angel, and I'm going to have a silver silo, because all angels have silos. We made the silos at school.
In any place Boo would call heaven, there are going to be silos. Or was a more likely explanation that the children were portraying special angels--the angels of mangers and barn animals and shepherds and sheep? Surely they would have silos, too. And if anyone could make silos, it would be the children in Mrs. M's class. Maybe they were like the totem pole, only rounder and painted silver. The whole silo business was a bit of a mystery, but then, there's no shortage of mystery when it comes to the virgin birth.
As Chapel began this morning, Boo's class filed quietly into the sanctuary, each 3- and 4-year old wearing a shiny tinsel halo. One little girl's halo slipped awkwardly over her eye, causing her to look for all the world like the littlest angel in the story, the one who couldn't keep her halo on straight. The service was heart-breakingly sweet, and the kids performed like pros. Except when Boo, in a burst of spontaneity, announced that there were THREE DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS. And for good measure, in case anyone missed it the first time, he informed us all over again. (Never mind that it is actually five days until Christmas--that is a superfluous detail.)
After the service concluded, proud parents rushed forward to give their kids a squeeze. When I reached him, Boo was beaming with excitement. He pointed to his head.
"Mommy, do you like my silo?!"
Against this backdrop, Boo announced this week that his class had a major role in Chapel. The children were going to be angels, Mrs. M. was going to be Mary, and there was going to be a Real Baby Jesus. Boo was tickled at the beatific role he was expected to play.
Boo: I'm going to be an angel, and I'm going to have a silver silo, because all angels have silos. We made the silos at school.
In any place Boo would call heaven, there are going to be silos. Or was a more likely explanation that the children were portraying special angels--the angels of mangers and barn animals and shepherds and sheep? Surely they would have silos, too. And if anyone could make silos, it would be the children in Mrs. M's class. Maybe they were like the totem pole, only rounder and painted silver. The whole silo business was a bit of a mystery, but then, there's no shortage of mystery when it comes to the virgin birth.
As Chapel began this morning, Boo's class filed quietly into the sanctuary, each 3- and 4-year old wearing a shiny tinsel halo. One little girl's halo slipped awkwardly over her eye, causing her to look for all the world like the littlest angel in the story, the one who couldn't keep her halo on straight. The service was heart-breakingly sweet, and the kids performed like pros. Except when Boo, in a burst of spontaneity, announced that there were THREE DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS. And for good measure, in case anyone missed it the first time, he informed us all over again. (Never mind that it is actually five days until Christmas--that is a superfluous detail.)
After the service concluded, proud parents rushed forward to give their kids a squeeze. When I reached him, Boo was beaming with excitement. He pointed to his head.
"Mommy, do you like my silo?!"
