Falling Down the Stairs

I promised to write Calvin's Falling Down the Stairs stories yesterday. But between working extra in order to get off early today for Middle Child's 12th birthday party, cleaning because my parents came today (ok, all I really did was mop and pick up, you can't really call that cleaning), finishing several loads of laundry, and being whisked away for a surprise 16th Anniversary evening of Dinner and a Play, I didn't even have time to check me emails. And since I'm not allowed to blog at work I just couldn't fit it into my schedule. So today I am bringing those stories front and center for everyone's laughing pleasure.

When Calvin was younger he would get in trouble with me. Who knows what the cause was; he was young, he was my first and I felt the need to quash every undesirable bad behavior, we are both oldest children and butt heads, he was a young boy and did things he knew was not right (nothing serious), he liked to annoy his brothers, and he liked to fight me on almost every front. Nevertheless we would butt heads on occasion. Usually we butted heads for a bit and then he saw the light and did what he was supposed to do.

But on occasion he would not see the light and would work himself into a frenzy. A full-fledged psychotic breakdown. Well I guess it wouldn't be a complete breakdown because we never had to commit the poor kid, but he would get pretty worked up. When he got this way he needed a "Time Out" from life. Not a "Sit-In-the-Corner-Time-Out" but a "Go-To-Your-Room-and-Chill-Time-Out." For some reason he felt being sent to his room to relax was the equivalent of being sent to a Siberian Work Prison. As soon as his room was mentioned he instantly became the most repentant person on the face of this earth. He would plead and beg and implore to not go to his room. He would have tears streaming from his crazed eyes from the Angry Confrontation while he informed me that he was no longer upset.

I knew better. I knew he needed a 15 minute break to catch his breath and calm down and he would come back up with that goofy grin on his face and the world would be all sunshine again. He just needed a short break. For some reason he couldn't see that. He thought he would be just fine. He would still be so worked up that within a couple pleadings he would be crying again. And occasionally I would lose my cool and shout "Get to your room now!"

Finally he would surrender and head down to his room. But remember, he is worked up into quite the frenzy. He would head down the stairs. Normal, modern-day, widish, straight, 12, stairs. It would never fail. He would Fall Down the Stairs. Not the way a normal kid would fall down the stairs. He would start by walking sideways, still begging to not have to go, then he would trip and start falling. He would fall head over heels, he would slip and slide, he would contort and twist his way down the stairs. And most likely he would wrap one of his feet up into the railing and try to tell me his leg was broken. He would cry and lament and weep that he was Hurt.

The first few times this happened I would race to his side and pick him up. I would feel sorry for him and let him back up into the Real World. But then I became wise to his antics. I realized it was another ploy to get out of being sent to his room. I soon became numb to his cries. I would completely ignore him except for on occasion for when it went on too long and I had to remind him to "Get to Your Room!"

One time Olaf was home to witness his tirade. As he was lying on the stairs claiming to be hurt Olaf almost fell for the scheme. As Olaf told me, "He might really be hurt!" I sternly told him to not go anywhere near the stairs if he wanted to stay in this house. After he realized it was part of Calvin's game he understood, but I will never forget his first time.

The best part was after Calvin got to his room, Baby would head to the top of the stairs with broom in hand. He would shake the broom and yell down the stairs in Baby Talk. This always broke the tension upstairs and made us laugh. After Calvin did his penance and was in a happy mood again he was allowed back into the Real World and everything was sunshiny once again.

Santa Drives a Sleigh Among Many Other Things

Our church has a regular Christmas party, as do most churches. And, yes, there is the usual program with singing and a reading of some sort and more singing and hopefully some musical numbers which include jazzy piano, lots of guitars and sometimes other instruments, since we have quite a bit of talent in our congregation amongst the grown up crowd. And we always have dinner with lots of Do-You-Really-Want-to-Know-What's-In-That-Dish Potluck items to complement the cheap ham bought at the local grocery store heated up especially for this night. And the jewel of the evening is the visit from Santa. There were a few years when the Jolly Man didn't get to come and I was as bummed as the kids.

One of the best things about the Christmas party is the ability to hang out with my own friends while the children run the halls with their friends, causing all sorts of havoc, thus the need for ALL doors to be shut and locked. While they run and eat candy, run some more while grabbing more handfuls of candy, you can feel the excitement build during the musical program. And I get to gab socially with the few people who deem themselves lowly enough to associate with me and my conversation which always seem to run in the inappropriate direction no matter how hard I try to stay calm and good.

This year the under-12 children sang 'Away In the Manger'. The boys were supposed to sing the non-soprano part of the chorus in an attempt to show their manliness before their voice makes that change separating them from the females. Of course, Baby, against all orders, had left the room as the program dragged on longer and longer, and was nowhere to be found for his starring moment. We have few children in our congregation and very few boys, and he is the loudest singer amongst the boys. I'd been waiting for his boisterous "Asleep, Asleep" so completely out of tune and out of style with the reverent song. While Olaf tried to find him the song was done and over and the children were running around again, waiting for that special moment when Santa would arrive. Of course he didn't miss the moment, only we did since we ( as all parents) consider our child the most precious of all children. Magically, he showed up as soon as it was over.

About 4-5 years ago Santa came at the end of the party. He let all the kids sit on his lap, tug on his beard, and excitedly relay what they wanted for Christmas to the Man-Who-Delivers. There was lots of candy eaten by the young children, creating a higher level of excitement than needed. Just knowing The Man is coming is enough to send a child into a tizzy fit, coupled with candy and excessive running is a recipe for heart attacks. Good thing children still have clean arteries. This year Calvin and Middle Child had been asking us how Santa had gotten to the church. We explained the reindeer had dropped him off and were probably waiting on the roof. Of course, Calvin didn't believe everything we told him by this point of his life and so he checked. About a minute after Santa left he came running back into the church hollering, "Santa drives a Ford truck just like us!"

But the best year was when Calvin was only four. The children were once again putting on a program, except that was the whole program. They were seated on the stage for the whole Christmas program, never a recipe for success with my children. Calvin was only four and had never sat in front of a large crowd. We tried to get him to sit on the stand so he could sing, but he wouldn't. We suggested he sit next to Gus, his best friend, but even that didn't entice him to sit in front of all those scary people. Finally we gave up and let him sit with us and watch the progam. Near the end he decided it didn't seem to scary and went up on the stage to sit by Gus. But by this time another boy, Alex who would later become Calvin's other best friend, had decided he was sitting by Gus and had been the whole time. He wasn't about to give his seat up so easily. Calvin wasn't going down without a fight, he slugged that other boy. But the other boy was pretty tough to. They began to yell at each other as both parents came running to break up the fight and put an end to the embarrassment. We still, to this day, get comments about the Christmas fight. No warm fuzzy stories from my family about some boy claiming there really is room in his Inn for Mary & Joseph. Nope, we just provide ringside entertainment during the shepherd's vigil.

New Things

Today I stopped by the school. Baby wanted to show me how he could skip bars while doing the monkey bars. He dragged us over to the school about a month or two ago to show us he could do the monkey bars. He was so proud of himself! I was proud of him too. I never had much upper body strength, even as a skinny kid, and could rarely complete them more than once, or twice on a good day! He proceeded to do all three sets of the monkey bars several times. He loved it! I can't believe how well he can do the monkey bars. I'm thinking I should sign him up to do gymnastics and maybe he can join the circus when he's older. He had so much fun that I had to pretend to start driving away to get him to finally come home with me for dinner (I was starving and therefore getting grouchy!). In the car he instantly started blowing on the palms of his hands and kept getting more and more upset because of his new stinging blisters. He proclaimed "I'm not going to be able to eat lunch ever again!" This rather perplexed me, what did blisters have to do with eating lunch? I asked him that question and he replied he wouldn't be able to hold a sandwich with the blisters because his hands hurt so bad! I had such a good quiet laugh, I wouldn't want to squelch that 7-year-old common senseness that doesn't make an ounce of sense to old, boring, one-track minds such as mine. He brings so much joy and silliness to my life that he makes me laugh and cry all at once.