Sturm Haus

putting the pieces together

Bel asked today if we could make more rolls (I made cinnamon rolls for everyone yesterday).

I said sure, I have some crescent rolls in the refrigerator, we can put cinnamon sugar on them.

Green light given, she headed to the fridge, opened the door, and started pulling stuff out. "We need strawberries," she pulled them off the shelf, "and butter, and milk." I got out the roll of crescent rolls and a baking sheet while she set up on the kitchen counter.

"What are we doing with the strawberries?" I asked.

"We squeeze them to make juice!" she said, and appropriated the cinnamon/sugar shaker I keep next to the toaster oven.

I assisted, separating the triangles and putting the finished rolls on the baking sheet, watching while she spread butter, shook out cinnamon sugar, and rolled (big end first, I reminded her). We also made a couple with peanut butter and a couple with M&Ms (those were Otto's).

My baker waited impatiently for her rolls to come out, and had 2 for her morning snack.

The strawberries made it back into the fridge without squishing and were sliced up later for lunch.

And I was forcibly reminded that sometimes, as a parent, your job is to facilitate and get the heck out of the way.

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In the past month or so, Annabel and Otto have enjoyed talking about aunts, uncles, grandparents, etc. They're putting together the concept of the family tree. This leads to some pretty funny misconceptions.

Tonight Otto said, "someday I'm going to be a parent, and I'll cook my kids whatever they want!"

Jon and I looked at each other and snickered.

Then, as I tucked him into bed, he said "someday you'll be grandparents."

"Not too soon, I hope," I said.

"Yeah," he said, "and Annabel will be my first kid!"

I had to laugh out loud, and said "good luck with that. I had a little brother, and he wasn't terribly compliant."

From her perch by the desk, Annabel said "you had a little brother?" with a disbelieving squint.

"Yeah! You know this, it's your Uncle Matthew, he just visited us remember?" While they thought that over (I love it when you can almost see the gears turning) I said "I was 4 when your Uncle Matthew was born. So I was a big sister to him like Otto is a big brother to you."

"How old was I when Annabel was born?" asked Otto.

"Three and a half," I said.

"Huh," Otto said.

Like all siblings, they often rub each other the wrong way. But they just as often enjoy playing together and hanging out.

Otto has this week off (mid-winter break), and I'm taking a couple of days off. We need to pick up a few Scout items, get Bel new shoes, check out the indoor soccer place and register for late-winter classes, that kind of stuff. The weather will be nice, so we'll have to hit up the park, too. Should be fun.

seven

Stats first.

Our boy is 49", 53 pounds of lean, mean, boy machine. About 50th percentile for both height and weight, maybe a bit more - right in line with where he's been in years past, so that's good.

We've been at this office since he was 3 months old, so we recognized nurses and said hi to folks as we went back to the exam room -- the corner room with wraparound windows. It was beautifully sunny and warm today and the room was bright and cheerful. One of the other docs on staff is a photographer, and the rooms are full of framed photos he's taken of kids as well as humorous art posters, all with lots of color. Jon and I took our seats off to the side while Otto climbed up on the exam table and began checking it out. Sliding shelf? Check. Stirrups? Check. Drawer that makes a hollow noise when kicked? Check. He opened and closed things, sat in one spot and then stretched out in another - all while answering questions for the nurse.

Then he went off with her for a quick, basic eye exam - still 20/20 pretty much, a little teeny bit nearsighted in his left eye. Nothing to worry about. He came back and hopped up to lie on the table, then sat up and lounged with his legs folded in origami-like contortions. At some point I realized he'd kicked his shoes off in the corner to be comfy.

Dr. S came through the door her usual cheerful smiling self and said "Hi Otto! Boy, I can't believe you're seven already!" She settled at her little desk, dropped her tablet computer into its dock, and looked at her paperwork. "Now, who recommended you test him for ADHD and why?" Our office uses something called the Vanderbilt scale to evalate kids for potential problems - one of the other doctors in the office scores the surveys. It is, in fact, the same doctor who sings Barney songs when he shines the otoscope down a kid's ear canal, and who once lectured me on kids being "hot and happy" and not worrying about what number was on the thermometer (that was the day O had a fever, became enamored of the ear thermometer, and took it with us to the office so he could keep checking his own temp. The doc was slightly worried about me.)

Anyway. We went through the concerns expressed by various people at school, and I ran through his most recent report card and MEAP test with her too. Otto was on his stomach on the exam table, listening intently, answering questions when asked. The upshot is, Dr. S would not classify him as ADHD but agreed that he's showing signs of anxiety related to school. So she recommended we find a psychologist/therapist who can work with us to figure that out. I don't think that'll be a problem - I already have a couple of leads at the university, we just have to check insurance coverage and figure out who, when and where.

She stepped out for a few minutes so that Otto could strip down to his Star Wars boxers, and we spent half that time trying to get him to leave them at belly-button level instead of pulling them waaaay up high or waaaay down low. Body humor is super funny to seven year olds, isn't it? When she came back, though, he was Mr. Charming and Compliant, taking deep breaths, touching his toes, showing her how he takes his pulse. She asked if he was riding a two-wheeler yet (not yet), or if he was swimming (he said no, I said 'he's taken lessons, but doesn't really float'). Evidently those are skills kids often develop around this age. "Booster seat until 80 pounds, keep 'em in the back seat" she said, and we nodded.

And that was that. We collected our coats from the hooks in the waiting room and said goodbye -- I had to head back to work, so the boys went their direction and I went mine.

I got home tonight just after the kids had been tucked in and peeked in their rooms to see how they were doing. Otto was sitting up in bed looking at his LEGO calendar while listening to the radio. He requested a drink, and after I brought it to him he said "Mama, you are the best mama ever."

And I said, "You are the best Otto ever, and I am so glad I get to be your mama."

In other words, I think we're all feeling a little relieved and a lot better.

Whew.

God Bless Captain Underpants

So, you know how Otto's been having kind of a rough time at school?

His teacher called this afternoon.

I was downstairs at work, circulating the circulation desk while I made notes on a patron account, chatted with our February artist of the month as he set up his display, made copies of bank statements, reassured desk staff that the new PayPal payment option in the catalog doesn't require staff intervention... you get the picture. I'd forgotten my phone was in my pocket until it rang, and when I saw the school office listed on the screen my heart sank.

But - it was good news! Hooray!

Otto's teacher had the first Captain Underpants book on the classroom bookshelf, and I guess he's been asking her where the rest of the series is.

Frequent readers know that we're big Captain Underpants fans. In fact, we've been reading about him for years now -- it started with Mama reading him at bedtime when Otto was in Pre-K, then we got Daddo hooked too, and now Otto likes to reread them on his own.

With some trepidation, his teacher brought the rest of the series to school with  her today. She wasn't sure I would be OK with the language (HAH! though it's nice that she was concerned), but she wisely decided that it was worth trying.

And lo and behold, he had the BEST. DAY. EVER.

Because evidently not everyone else in class can read Captain U. Nope, most of his classmates have some trouble getting through the pages, so he got to feel kind of... super about being a good reader, and thus able to share the soft, cottony awesomeness that is Underpants.

Writing in his journal wasn't so bad after finding that out.

And any time I can appeal to his sense of humor and get him laughing, it's a good thing -- he tends to be a lot more open to trying things, and a lot less self-conscious about mistakes (aren't we all?).

Fingers crossed that this signals the beginning of a good upward trend for him -- more good days than bad, more feelings of accomplishment than worries about failure.

As Captain Underpants would say, "Tra-la-laaaaa!"

(Thank you, Mr. Pilkey - and we really mean it.)

just in case

When I was a teen, I started reading a lot of sci fi. I also read historical fiction (the Sharpe series, anyone?). And I read a lot of mysteries.

Mom got me started on mysteries, and it took me about 15 seconds to get thoroughly hooked on Dick Francis. What I loved (and still love) about his mysteries is that you get a thorough introduction to some sort of interesting profession (jockeys, of course, but also glass blowers, meteorologists, Olympic target shooters, etc.) along with a brain-stimulating mystery.

And evidently the random information I ingested has stayed with me. Tonight I learned about a concept called EDC, which stands for Everday Carry. There's a blog dedicated to the idea, which is roughly this -- what kind of survival gear do you carry in your pockets every day? Mostly this is interesting to guys, and mostly it seems to be about the type of knife/watch/money clip one has chosen.

I, however, look at those pictures and immediately recall the main character in Longshot, a writer who traveled and wrote survival guides for exotic places. He had a tiny emergency kit he carried with him every day. It fit in something like an Altoid tin, and had essentials such as waterproof matches, fishing line, etc. For long walks or hikes, he had a bigger kit. For camping he had a super kit. At one point he sends a group of teenage boys out to the back woods with a small kit and challenges them to see how long they can make it without needing help (it ends up being a surprisingly long time).

So this EDC concept, which seems to be a hot new thing, isn't new at all to me. Thanks to Mr. Francis I've not only already learned about it, but I internalized it to the point where I normally carry a little flashlight, emergency Benadryl, and other odd essentials in my bag. The flashlight in my glovebox is the self-crank kind with a spot to plug in my phone charger so I can always call 911. Nothing fancy or crazy, but what amuses me is that choosing those things was pretty much unconscious on my part, yet evidently heavily influenced by that one mystery novel about the writer guy with the fishing line and space blanket in his back pocket...

And they say recreational fiction is mindless reading. HAH!