A Bear Mouse. Or. A Mouse Bear. Got it?

Jack, now a newly minted eight year old, regularly surprises me with his knowledge. A week or two ago he shared facts about Abraham Lincoln that I would have to look to wikipedia to verify - and he just knew these things. Remarkable. He has also learned to think. I mean actually think, construct opinions and arguments and communicate them pretty clearly and sometimes quite emphatically. While sometimes I rue the day that this whole thinking thing started, on most days I am so proud of the person he is becoming. Monday, however, was not a day to herald his intelligence, but rather to giggle playfully.

As we were driving to snowboard camp (sidenote: this is what you do when you {somewhat begrudgingly} live in New England. You bundle your child up and send him to a place where he can become frost-bitten or fall off of a ski lift all in the name of keeping him active during school vacation and giving him a love for the only thing to do outdoors during winters here), Jack started talking about a bear that a person had on TV. A real bear. But not a big bear, and not a panda bear, but a little bear, a "bear-mouse". Me: he is only eight and does not know what drugs are. The conversation went something like this:

Jack: So the guy had one of those little bears. Not a panda. More of a bear-mouse.

Me: A what?

J: A bear-mouse. Or a mouse-bear. Got it?

M: No. Most definitely no. I don't know what that is.

J: Yes you do. They're like a bear, but they're not a bear. They're like a mouse.

M: That isn't easily possible to be both like a bear and like a mouse, little man.

J: Yes. It is... it's like a bear, but not big.

M: Is it a gerbil or something like that?

J: No. It's big.

M: Wait. You just said it's not big. Is it medium like a raccoon or something like that?

J: No. It's a bear. But small.

M: Um. You just said it's big. Is it big or small? 

J: It's not big like a panda, but it's not small like a gerbil either.

M: OK. So is it a guinea pig?

J: No! I told you, it's big.

M: No, you told me it's small. Then you said it's big. And you said it's a bear, which is big, then said it's a mouse, which is small. So I don't know what to think.

J: You know what it is. You saw one!

M: Is it a red panda? Which isn't a panda at all, but a member of the raccoon family?

J: I told you that it's not a raccoon. It's a BEAR. 

M: Yes. But you also said it's a MOUSE.

J: Yes, it's like a mouse, but it's a bear.

M: (too quietly to be heard by an eight year old... "9:45 is too early for vodka... unless I have tomato juice and bloody mary mix")

J: What?

M: Nothing. I'm just thinking out loud... buddy, can you please give me any other hints here? I really feel like I'm not getting it. What makes you think that this animal is a bear? 

J: I don't know. I just know it is. 

M: Buddy, is it a koala bear? 

J: Yes! And it's an herbivorous marsupial indigenous to Australia.

M: Dude. You can remember herbivorous marsupial but you can't remember the word koala bear?  

 

A Jack By Any Other Name...

Someone very dear to my heart once asked me to make what was, on the surface, a very strange promise. He asked me to do things as a parent that would make Jackson eliminate the status quo bias. "Don't let him get too comfortable - make him think. Keep him guessing..." At the time he threw out things that he had in mind. They were mostly things that a strong man could easily pull off.. rearrange the living room furniture while Jack is at school, turn the TV around to face the wall, unexpectedly speak Spanish from the time he comes home from school until I put him to bed (ok, appropriate for a strong man fluent in Spanish)... but I could surely pull off some things, right?

 Always leave him guessing... 

Keeping this promise has been an honor and a privilege. It's also been a fun challenge - we've (let's be honest - he's) eaten ice cream sundaes with french fries for breakfast and pancakes for dinner; we've gone to the beach mid-winter; I've changed around his room and when he noticed I acted like nothing had happened; I've called the dogs Pablo and Jose for days at a time; I've picked him up at school and headed straight to the airport for a quick, unplanned getaway. I will admit that I did try the whole "speaking Spanish for a night" thing, but sadly, phrases like "me parece que he perdido mi zapato" haven't turned out to be very useful (thanks Rosetta Stone). I like to think that it awakens dormant parts of his brain as well as maybe clears the cobwebs from corners of mine. But the seven-year name change ritual may take the cake on my favorite "question everything" yet.

About six months ago I said to Jack, without really planning to do so or thinking through the consequences, "so, have you given any thought to your new name?" Needless to say, little man was a bit confused and asked what I was talking about. I calmly explained the following:

Hey, yeah... you'll be seven on your next birthday, right? So when you were born, your father and I chose your name - Jackson Kezar - but it's only good for seven years. So now it's your turn to choose your own name. What are you thinking? 

Needless to say, this blew his mind. He asked lots of great questions - many of which I wasn't really prepared for given this was a largely unplanned "question everything" challenges. His questions included:

• Can I choose any name at all?
• Does it have to be a name or can a word become my name? (turns out he's very Hollywood en vogue.. maybe he'll hang out with Apple and North and Pilot Inspektor with his sparkly new name)
• Does this end up being his "for life" name or does he get to choose again?
• What will he do with things that he owns that already have his name or initials? 
• Does anyone need to approve of the name or can he choose it and that's that?
• What if he doesn't know how to spell the name? Will I help him?

So, answers.. yes you can choose any name that did not in some way connote violence, it can be a name or word (but can't be Word. Just because), yes it will be your "for life" name unless in high school or college your friends come up with a better name and it sticks, he'll have to regift anything personalized, but we'll work on collecting more things that are personalized, I'll have some limited veto power, but only if the name that he chooses is offensive, and of course I'd help him spell it.

The next couple of months were great! He asked people near and far about their names. I looked strangers in the eye and said, "you know, your self-chosen name. The one that you gave yourself when you turned seven..." and strangers around the world played along. I told him that often kids didn't like to talk about it because it was really personal, which is why other children denied this ritual. And he mostly bought it! He tried out some pretty fantastic names - Jake, Superfast, Scorpion, Racecar, Max, Alejandro. The name that was sticking, however, was Tornado Zap. So for the last couple of months, every so often, I'd ask about it. Mostly he'd agree that his name was going to be Tornado Zap. As his birthday neared I did get a little nervous. I mean, holy Hell - what would I do if my child actually expected to have his name changed to Tornado Zap? But it was a game of chicken. I started it, and by George (no, he didn't actually consider the name George), I was going to  stare down the barrel and see where this meandering path brought us.

So here we are, a few days past his magical seventh birthday. And his name? Jackson Kezar. He decided he likes it. Tornado Zap was cool, but Jack was even cooler. And he even decided against spelling it with a Q! I'm not sure though... Tornado Zap does seem strangely appropriate on most days...

Same My Name, Samy My Name

"Mommy.. why how come I don't have a regular name?" My response was a normal one for these days, "huh?" combined with a blank stare. Jack's going through a phase of asking questions that I just don't always have the answer to. In fact, they're often questions I can't even parse in order to make up a reasonable answer. He's gotten used to this and quickly clarifies when I give him the quizzical look of a parent who is completely stumped. "My name. It's not like Will or Matt. It's a name like some people have for a last name like Smith." Ahhhhhh, now I understand the question! But how the hell do I answer this one? It's a good question! And it's a tough question! And wait until he figures out that he has three last names - we didn't even have the good sense to give him a diminutive middle name. So. "Well, buddy, Mommy and Daddy really liked the name Jackson, so we gave you that name. Some people may have that as a last name, but you have it as a first name. But we call you Jack, and Jack is a regular first name, right?" 

When naming Jack, we employed one of my favorite naming schemes - three surnames as a full name. I find that those I've come across in life with three surnames and no obvious first name kind of rock. Note: I don't live in the south where this is more common, so please realize I've probably avoided a good deal of riffraff carrying three surnames). Anyway, it's a lot to live up to, but it just works. Jackson Kezar Smith. We considered just naming him Jack Smith, but let's be honest, when checking into a hotel for an illicit tryst with a trollop, how many men use the name Jack Smith... am I right? So yes, Jackson won. We figured he could use it or he could use Jack, his choice. Kezar. Now, Kezar was a little tricky. Jack's Dad's family has a cabin lean-to in the woods on an amazing plot of land directly on Lake Kezar in Maine. It's where he proposed, it's where we brought many friends and shared many special times, it seemed a fitting tribute. It also gave him a great rockstar name, Jackson Kezar (drop the Smith, let's be honest... it's a little "blah"). But Jackson Kezar. I can totally see him taking the stage, just him and his guitar, his hair messy, an extra stool next to him to hold his whiskey. On the rocks. I'm a mom and hope that the ice waters it down a bit as it melts. 

But until he does any of this, to me, he's Jackson. And yes, it's the last name to some, but it's the only name that matters to me. 

Such Sticky Little Fingers!!

Oh boy. I have to face a very difficult reality today. Jackson is a thief. Did he steal candy? A toy? Money? No, no, and no. Let me explain.

Today we learned that our decrepit old lab, Maggie, needs ACL surgery. She was playing fetch and came back limping like a three-legged black sheep before being shorn on the legs of a toddler just learning to toddle. Yes, she's a little chubby these days. Anyway... waited it out and finally brought her to the vet. The vet tech said, within 90 seconds of seeing her, (and before the vet walked in), "I'll tell you what she did. She did the same thing as Adrian Peterson, Tom Brady, Picaboo Street, and Rajon Rondo..." and I knew. Torn ACL. There it was. Sure enough, some twilight sedation, X-rays, poking, prodding, as well as actual time with the doctor later, and it's been confirmed. 

Jack came with me to pick up Mags at the end of the day, where they gave me the DVD of her X-rays and her pain meds. I paid the $1,019 bill for the happy news and referral to a surgeon, and asked Jack to carry the "doggie bag" of meds, and we were on our way. Remember the thievery theme of this post? Well, here is is... It wasn't until I was home and pulling out the meds that I saw that Jack had stolen a dog toothbrush. Ironically, the vet said that her teeth look great. 

Morning Routine - Forbes Addendum

This article  has now been shared by several friends. Given how I seek out successful women as mentors and how much I believe in the power of emulation and mentorship, it encouraged me to share my own morning timeline.

3:23 AM – First wake up. Check phone, see time, wonder why my cocktail of Ambien and Zquil is failing me in such a big and personal way.

3:24 AM – Do I have to pee? I think I may have to pee. No, don’t believe it, if you believe it you’ll definitely not get back to sleep. Just roll over and go back to sleep.

3:33 AM – Get out of bed to pee. Step on decrepit old dog laying next to bed. Damn.

3:35 AM – After verifying that dog still has three fairly ok legs, I finally make it to the bathroom.

3:36 AM – Back to bed.

3:46 AM – Queue up an old episode of Shark Tank Gossip Girl on my iPhone

4:15 AM – I realized that I should get up and go for a run

4:17 AM – Last time I remember checking the time

6:01 AM – Second wake up. Aided by the five year old who shakes my foot from the bottom of the bed due to sheer laziness of not wanting to walk all the way around the bed

6:09 AM – Third wake up. Oops.

6:11 AM – Stumble out of bed. Step on dog for the second time. Sigh.

6:13 AM – Dog’s still fine. Note to self: I should finally bring her to the vet to get some supplements. And armor.

6:14 AM – Let dogs out. Inevitably sing “Who let the dogs out?”.

6:15 AM – Override automatic coffee maker program. Why do I bother with this, really?

6:16 AM – Snuggling with five year old commences.

6:27 AM – Remember that I let the dogs out. Let dogs back in.

6:29 AM – First cup of coffee. Sweet Jesus, maybe there is a God.

7:00 AM – Ask the child what he’d like for breakfast

7:05 AM – Begin the process of picking seeds off of strawberries before slicing them and serving them with the whole milk delivered from our local dairy farm. Visit hen house to collect the morning’s eggs for his omelet. Just kidding, he wants a Pop Tart. I cut the crusts off, just like Mom never did. Sidenote: I really did make him a crepe on his first day of Kindergarten. And I’ve been known to make pancakes.

7:10 – 7:45 AM – Say the words “Jack, please take a bite, Mommy really has to get to the office” approximately 300 times. Sorry about that last bit, a carry over from when I used to have a job. It’s hard to remember those days, it’s been a very long 19 days, 7 hours, and 13, no, 14 minutes.

7:45 – 8:00 AM – Make lunch, snack, pack backpack, check on library books (are those due on Wednesday? Or Thursday? Or Tuesday? Damn, throw them in the bag just in case…)

8:00 – 8:08 AM – Run Jack upstairs, brush his teeth (yes, I know that I should not brush a 5 year old’s teeth. Lalalalala this may be the most important thing I do today!) “help” him get dressed, rush him back downstairs.

8:09 – 8:11 AM – Find shoes, hat, coat, gloves (I hate you, winter).

8:11 – 8:13 AM – RUN out the door and “fast-walk race” to the bus stop

8:14 AM – Bus arrives, Jack gets on, I jog home.

8:15 AM – Ahhhh. Go to kitchen for second cup of sweet, sweet elixir of life. See lunchbox and realize I didn’t put it in his backpack. Damn. 

I'm pretty surprised that Forbes didn't call me to be interviewed for this piece. 

SAHM failure #1

Real housewives, day 10 - SAHM failure #1, a conversation with the Principal, Mr. Sullivan.

Principal Sullivan: "Oh, Mrs. Smith. Where's Jackson?"


Me: "He's already up in his classroom!"


PS: "I see. Are there problems at home we should be aware of?"


Me: "Err, not that I'm aware of... why?"


PS: "Well, Jackson's teacher tells me he's frequently late to school. Virtually every day.."


Me: "He's never been late! Don't get me wrong, I cut it close sometimes, but he's always in his classroom by 9!"


PS: "Well there's the problem. Class starts at 8:45..."


Me: "Oh. Noted."

Since wrapping up work a couple of weeks ago, I decided that I can support relaxing our morning routine a bit by letting Jack have some extra snuggle time and driving him to school rather than having him ride the bus. And, as you can imagine, I have operated with the understanding that school started at 9. I thought that there was some sort of "wavy time" between 8:45 and 9, when the kids got in and started settling in. Huh, I guess not...

It's Stupid Gross

Valentine's Day - hearts, chocolates, decorated brown paper bags used as "mailboxes" in schools the world over...

This year, Jack's new school celebrated Valentine's day with much of the above, and a bit more... I think it's important to point out that I planned Jack's Valentines before we knew that he'd be moving schools. The old school didn't do much and didn't encourage activity around the day (or any day), but we always sent in a treat for the kids anyway. This year, we decorated cards that said, "You Make My Heart Sing" and attached them to those super annoying echo microphones. I stole the idea from my friend Katie and improved upon it. I knew that they'd make me the most hated mother in the class, but I thought it would be the most hated mother in the old class.. I'm not sure that I wanted that title in the new class, but whatever - go big or go home. When I handed the bag of microphones to Jack's teacher she looked at me a be wearily and said, "it's ok... we'll manage it."

Jack came home with some really cute cards - a fishbowl with some Swedish fish (I'm glad we're in the same school), lots of well-decorated hearts, some fun use of puffy letters, a bee, a salt-dough heart ornament from Hope, the girl who moved to NYC the next day, some crayons, and a couple of chocolates. Lots of effort was made, he was excited, it was everything that a Pre-School Valentine's Day should be - and more.

The night of Valentine's Day Jack asked me if he could have one of his chocolates. I told him that first he'd have to eat at least half of his dinner. He agree. Not surprisingly, however, he did not eat half of his dinner. No chocolate reward, let's take a bath and go to bed.

The next day, however, he hadn't forgotten about his chocolates. After school I made the same deal with him - eat at least half of your dinner and you can have a chocolate. To my pleasant surprise, he did, in fact, eat more than half of his dinner. Out came the chocolates! One was a foil-wrapped heart, the other a mint green and chocolate heart lollipop. He chose the lollipop. We unwrapped it and I swear, Jack even said, "Yay! A yummy lollipop!" He then proceeded to try to take a bite of it. He immediately took it out of his mouth and said, "this is gross!" The following is an account, as close as I can remember, of what happened:

Me: "Jackson, that is a Valentine lollipop from your new friend Jameson. Jameson is very nice to you, and was very nice to give that you to. You are being incredibly ungrateful right now. You wanted that lollipop, you need to eat it."

Jack: "But Mommy, it's so yucky!"

Me: "Jack, it's not ok to say that it's yucky. It's a very, very nice lollipop. Please eat it now."

Jack: "Mommy, it's so yucky, it's stupid-gross. Try it!"

Me: "Jack, we do not say words like stupid! I'm really surprised by this. And you know I don't eat chocolate so I can't try it."

Jack: "That's ok, because it's NOT chocolate! Try it!"

I begrudgingly took the lollipop from him, and as I was taking it into my mouth to scrape it against my tooth (just to get a taste), I tasted/smelled the ever so familiar essence of crayon wax. That's right, kids, I basically force-fed my child a crayon. Well played, Young family, well played!

Here is a picture of the crayonpop - complete with teeth marks.

Post-script: Today I spoke with Jameson's mom. It turns out that Jameson made an announcement in class telling the children that these were NOT chocolate, but WERE crayons... but for reasons I can't imagine (he was walking around in his own bubble, talking to a neighbor, going potty, doing something else that he wasn't supposed to), Jack missed that tidbit... Well, it serves him well for not listening I guess!