Carpool and The Grass Seed Fight

While we technically have another month of fall left, this time of year never really feels like fall to me. Sure, when the wind blows, it still looks like it's raining leaves most days, but football is wrapping up, the weather is taking a decidedly colder turn and Thanksgiving and Christmas are on everyone's minds. So as we enter the final month here, I thought I'd close up with one more post on some events that seem like so long ago, but which just happened at the beginning of fall.

Big Steps
When Mary Poole and Perritt were in pre-school last year, we'd walk them into the church and all the way to their room, which was in the interior of the church. Toward the end of that walk, there is a set of stairs that all of the older kids have to walk down on their own. We looked at that set of stairs and we thought to ourselves - "Will our kids be able to do that in a year? "Such a steep set of stairs. Carrying a little bookbag. It just didn't look doable. We imagined Mary Poole and Perritt going down the ramp that was beside the stairs while the rest of their class went down the stairs. But then of course, over the course of the next year, Mary Poole and Perritt got more practice than they'd ever need on our basement stairs. By the time school started, they were old pros.

But then there was the carpool. Given Perritt and Mary Poole penchant for being a little on the conservative side, it just didn't seem likely they'd be at all interested in being dropped aoff nd led into school by mothers and teachers they weren't all that familiar with, even if they did see them around the church. We just knew this was going to be a problem.

Fast forward to this year and the school has just opened its new preschool, which made a previously long walk much more daunting. Now with a new carpool lane and a walk to class the extended all the way through the new preschool, our children's Tuesday/Thursday morning walk was considerably more challenging.

To us.

The first morning of preschool, we got in the carpool lane with all the other parents. And while we're normally big advocates of the "let's talk it over ahead of time to get them ready for X" approach, this time, we just didn't say anything. We just knew that if we said anything to either of them along the lines of "Now when we get up there, Mommy and Daddy are going to stay in the car and you're going to go in all by yourself"we'd be risking Mary Poole wimpering, sucking her thumb for a little while and then melting down when the door opened. So we just waited until right before we were about to let them out to prep them. There was mild concern, which was allayed by us unbuckling their carseat straps.

Then it's our turn.

The door opens and we're in luck. It's one of their teachers: Mrs. Melissa. Perritt and Mary Poole love Miss Melissa, who teaches them movement. Both of them get out slowly, sling their bookbags over their shoulder and hold Miss Melissa's hands as they walk down the breezeway.

We drive off to keep the line moving and we catch the slightest bit of concerned look from Perritt but then he turns, looks up at Miss Melissa, starts walking again and launches into what appears to be a pretty good conversation, probably something like "Mommy, Daddy come right back later." And Mary Poole is sort of looking at her shoes as she's walking which was probably the preface to some comment to Miss Melissa like "Mary Poole shoes so pretty." She likes compliments.

But LeeAnn and I don't drive all the way off, we sort of park our car where we can watch them walk in for a second. We get a couple of glances but I'm not sure if they were looking at us or just looking around. After all, we were a good ways away. But we watched them all the way into the school and there was no crying, no melting down, nothing eventful. Just our two little ones being grown ups going to school all by themselves.

It's hard to believe we once worried about them handling stairs.

Grass seed fight
One of my absolute least favorite things about fall (right after picking up 1,391,220 leaves) is reseeding our fescue lawn. It's just a huge pain, compounded by the fact that it just doesn't seem to ever do any good. Come July, my yard is always in just awful shape from the heat. So it's a labor of spited love every year. I do it knowing my yard will never love me back.

This year I had some help from Perritt and Mary Poole though. They saw daddy out in the rain tilling up the bare patches, spreading some starter fertilizer and raking until he got blisters on his hands and they wanted in. So when it came time to spread the grass seed, they helped. We got them some buckets and I showed them how to cast grass seed by hand.

They sort of got it. Kind of. I would show them a bare spot where the seed needed to go and they would throw some out. A lot of it out. Like the seed covered the entire bare patch an eighth of an inch thick. Toward the end though, it devolved into a grass seed fight. Perritt threw some on Mary Poole. Mary Poole threw some on Perritt. Then Perritt realized he got the most laughs by literally dumping his bucket on himself. He was covered in it.

So this story isn't hysterically funny in and of itself, but I mention in it because it just shows how much effect children can have on heretofore miserable experiences. I'm sure I'll reseed the lawn next year (despite my annual threats to sod the whole yard with Bermuda or Zoysia) but next time I'll have some good memories to make the experience a little more enjoyable.

That's pretty much it for fall posts. We're a few days from Thanksgiving and then it's a downhill race to Christmas. Before you know it we'll be planning their third birthday. But fall will always have a special place in my heart, even if it goes more quickly than I ever remembered it passing in my youth.

The Changing of the Guard

We're just about at the end of the fall leaf season here in Atlanta. As noted before, it's a great time of year - my favorite. I haven't been in years but when I was in college I would often travel up from Clemson to the Western North Carolina mountains to see the mountains all afire and hike a mountain or two or just drive around. As everyone knows though, timing is everything. Go too early or wait too long and you miss the show. It just seems to go so quickly every year.

Mary Poole and Perritt are a lot like that these days. Vestiges of their years and months as infants are seemingly disappearing daily. There hasn't been anything quite as noticeable as the passing of the paci though, with the exception of potty training, which is underway.

In any case, back to the paci. So over the months and years LeeAnn and I have been really delinquent in instituting a forceful separation of Perritt from his best friend. We just knew it was going to be ugly and we just couldn't bear to do it to the boy. He's just so sweet and nice. We didn't think his heart could take it. Going to the pediatrician for checkups had been uncomfortable because we knew the question would come up. "Anyone using a paci or bottle still?" Awkward silence. "Just one. A paci." And then we'd sort of glance sideways-like and point to Sir. Meanwhile he'd just be sitting there looking at us like "What?"

But you know, we could handle the pediatrician. We knew that if the doctor just knew how sweet Perritt was he would agree there was no harm in his paci friendship. Plus, he only used it for naps and bedtime. Plus we didn't really have any appetite for spending two nights not sleeping because of the crying when you forced a paci intervention.Layer in the fact that we could still sort of pass the twins off as our "babies" because of his paci and there just wasn't a lot of impetus to make this move.

But the day came and we had to pull the trigger. We just had to try. So we did. The first night we asked him, "Hey Perritt, do you think we can just leave your paci here tonight" and we set the paci on top of his crib. He thought about it, looked at the paci, looked at us, clearly wise to our plan and took it down and put it in the crib and said "Just right dare." We put it back on top and said, "How about here. You can still have it, but it'll be right here". He looked at us again and went through some mental negotiations and decided that this agreement was ok, but that he wanted 2 pacis, probably in case one of them fell off. So we complied. Two pacis up on top (not one will drop).

Going in later that night, we found one paci was in his mouth and the other one on the floor. Prescient little tike. But we had failed we thought. But when we went in the next morning, it was back up on the top of the crib. Bubby had remembered the request and put it right back. So we knew he was trying.

So that night we tried again. The same thing - two pacis up on top - only when we went in later that night, he didn't have it in his mouth, one paci was up, one in the crib - but no paci in the mouth. Progress.

The third night, we dropped it to one paci and that one made it into the crib but not in his mouth.

The fourth night, it was one paci and it never left the top of the crib. It was funny though because in the middle of the typical Mary Poole/Perritt banter on their way to sleep we heard a lot of this on the monitor: "Paci going just right dare." As if he were talking himself off the no-paci ledge. When we went in the next morning he was so proud. "Paci just right dare. I no no need it."

But that paci stayed there all night. The next day we tried it again. Same thing. The paci never moved. The next day, we just took it away altogether and that was that. He didn't even mention it. Keep in mind this is the one thing he's had as part of his sleep routine since his birth. He literally had never slept without it. Not once. Not ever. And then one night, he just didn't.

No crying. No knashing of teeth. Just a little boy bidding his buddy a protracted goodbye. This was a couple of weeks ago now and I don't even know where those pacis are in the house. They're just, gone. Like so many other things I suppose. I guess I just thought there would be more pomp and circumstance about leaving something so integral behind. But like the leaves every fall, even big events can pass quickly and quietly, one leaf at a time.

Mr. Punkin Man

Fall has always been my favorite season. There are so many good things about the fall that it's hard to really pin it down but I suppose your standard cliched list would include any of the following: cool weather, the sky going from smoggy to blue in the matter of a few weeks, low humidity, football, Halloween, shorter days, the way the smell of a fire seems to smooth out the air, the leaves changing, wearing jeans all the time. I could go on but we all know the facts. Fall in the South is just hard to beat.

For the first time, I think the twins are aware of the difference. This is really the first time they are going to understand Halloween. Last year was more entertaining for us. This year should be lots more fun for them. While they had fun in the leaf piles last year, this year should be double the fun. In fact I think we're just now entering the prime fall enjoyment years (approx 3-11 if I remember correctly) of kid-dom. It's going to be fun to relive it with them.

In any case, over the next week or so I hope to put out a few posts on Fall and the Smiths. This one is about Mr. Punkin Man

Many years ago LeeAnn and I went to what amounted to a city-wide garage sale put on by the Sandy Springs Society. As with all garage sales and estate sales, upwards of 96% of the things there were probably best suited for a recycle bin or trash pile: old boom boxes, broken wicker furniture, 3 Flo-bees in their boxes, an old electric weedeater, some Retern of the Jedi glasses from Burger King (I should have bought these). In any case, somewhere in the piles of other people's cast-offs LeeAnn spotted a particularly pitiful little artifact of Halloweens past. It was a little 3 foot tall orange and green formed plastic Pumpkin Man that theoretically lighted up when you plugged him in. She had to have him.

On account of the fact that he seemed to be missing a sign (he had holes in his hands that seemed to hold something that was not present) and that he had frayed wires which clearly made him a fire hazard in 49 states, "Mr. Pumpkin Man" was labeled at a scant $1. After some shred finagling, we coughed up $0.50 and took him home along with some other knick knacks. I spent a few hours getting his wiring fixed and outfitting him with a brand new wooden Trick or Treat sign. With a little hesitation and in full expectation that he would either a) blow a breaker in my house when he shorted out b) completely melt into a pool of orange and green plastic on the ground, I carefully plugged him in. Low and behold, he didn't explode. In fact he just sat there. Alight again to welcome the Halloween season one more time. Happy. Since then he's become a landmark of the Smith house Halloween decorations.

While I imagine our neighbors have enjoyed his kitzchiness as much as Clark Griswold's Christmas decorations, no one's ever really paid much attention to Mr. Pumpkin Man other than LeeAnn and me. That is until this year. This year is different. Not only does he get noticed, he's developed a happy little fan club. Because the weather's been so nice, we've lately been going for family walks after dinner . Our walks take us around the corner and up to the stop sign. Along the way Mary Poole and Perritt see a couple of scarecrows in the yard, smoke coming out of a neighbor's chimney and practice getting out of the street when cars come down our road. But as we come back around the corner, they catch a glimpse of their friend, standing like a tiny orange sentinel of Halloween cheer at the top of our driveway. "I see it, musser punkin man." says Mary Poole. "I lack it musser punkin man. I jzuv it."

And there he is, just waiting on us. After saying good night to our neighbor's scarecrow, Mary Poole and Perritt hurry up the hill to greet Mr. Pumpkin Man at the end of their walk. Just before going into the house they each walk up to Mr. Pumpkin Man, who is about at eye level to them and give him a big hug and a quick kiss. Mary Poole even looks him right in the eyes and says lovingly. "Nigh night, Musser Punkin Man." Sometimes she gives him two kisses.

While a small part of me is nervous our trusty friend's wiring may short out from all the hugging and jostling, effectively putting a damper on the adoration of his fan club, it's just too cute. And plus, if objects have feelings, how could Mr. Pumpkin Man not be in cheap plastic heaven right now.

And to think, just a few short years ago, this little guy was about to head to the bottom of a landfill somewhere. Talk about rags to riches.