This is not, I repeat,
Took Tre to his first

(This is something from Friday

(This is something from Friday that I didn’t post then because the carpet in the room where my computer is was still wet. Plus, I didn’t manage to transfer the file from my laptop until just now. The weekend got hectic. So now you get two, count ‘em TWO blogs for the price of one. Can you believe your luck?)

The carpet cleaners came this morning, and as expected, they cleaned the carpets. So our house is damp around the edges. I’ve been doing my best to keep feet off carpet all day. We’ve been out a lot.
This afternoon the exile from the carpeted zones drove me outside, to the garden. It’s high time to tidy up the place in preparation for winter, anyhow. And fortunately I had Raphael’s help. I dug up some garlic and he drove a toy bulldozer over the cloves, mashing some into the dirt. So I saved the remaining garlic and moved to the reclamation project – removing the parsley forest. I may have mentioned the parsley forest. Well, as bemused as I was in the spring, when the parsley plants were all about four tender inches high, picture me today. Now they are sturdy foot high plants with deep, strong taproots. They own a good third of my garden area. And my garden area is fairly large.
So I set to pulling up parsley plants. I actually broke a trowel on those things. But I got a good portion of them up, and threw the parsley carcasses in a pile. Raphi drove his bulldozer over them. I showed him that parsley is good to eat, dusting off a few leaves on my shirt and munching on them. He took a fistful of leaves and marched around, chewing manfully. He didn’t really like them, but he wouldn’t admit it. Occasionally he would gag a little and I would ask, “You ok, honey?” He’d nod and reply with a grim expression, “Yummy.”
In his meanderings he found a under ripe bell pepper. “Iss a beena?”
“No, it’s not a banana, it’s a bell pepper.”
“Oh. Ah pick it?”
“No, let’s leave it there to ripen. But hey, thanks for asking first!” My hand met a sticker among the parsley and I jumped. “Ouch!”
“Whassamatter? Yoo hurt yoo leg? Ah kiss.”
“No, I hurt my hand. You want to kiss my hand?”
“Oh. Ok then.”
“Ah kiss it.”
“Thanks.” Smooch.
“Yoo aw better?”
I leaned back on my heels and breathed in deep the scent of parsley, garlic, dirt, and fall.
“Yup. I’m all better.”

Ok, picking up today. The carpet is all dry, and I’m going to get all the small bits of furniture back in their places just any minute now. There is already a new spot on the floor of the sun room, where Raphael spit chewed candy corn out. I don’t know why. Why does he do any of the things he does?
Dad took the boys to Elitch Gardens today. Pardon me, that’s actually Elitch Gardens Six Flags now. It used to be a charming amusement park nestled in an actual garden setting. But the area it was in got seedy, so they moved it downtown and sold it to the Six Flags empire. Now it’s huge and way more exciting. Tre’s words of greeting when they came home were, “We’re back! And nobody barfed!”
Well, you can’t ask for more than that.
I tried to get the boys into bed fairly early, since it had been such a big day (big AND barf-free), and tomorrow’s school. Pardon me a moment while I giggle maniacally.
Anyhow. Max went down ok. He was exhausted, since he had been up late last night playing a wonderful game with Raphael. It’s called “doughnut” and it goes like this: Mama puts her children to bed. Tre in his room, Max and Raphael in their room. As soon as she goes back to her room to watch “Trading Spaces”…err…do something productive, Raphael calls out merrily, “One…two…threeeeee….DOUGHNUT!!” Max flops over in bed and responds, “HUH?” This is apparently very funny. Veeerrry funny. There is much laughter and joy, until aforementioned Mama appears in the doorway with that look on her face. Then Max declares loudly and mournfully, “Raphael woke me UP!”
Repeat. Until 10:30 pm.
Eventually they went to sleep. But Tre actually outlasted them. He was reading in bed. He’s into the Magic Treehouse series, and he’s read four books this week. Every so often I’d poke my head in his room, and there he’d be sitting in the middle of his bed, so engrossed in the book that he wasn’t even aware of me. I suppose I should have made him turn off his light, but I just couldn’t bring myself to. Ok, I confess, I took a picture.
It’s just so cool, watching him become a reader. He’s been able to read for…what…almost four years now. But up until the last year it hasn’t been reading, it’s been decoding. Now he’s crossed a line where he’s not even thinking about the phonics, he’s getting lost in the stories.
And tonight, when he should have been way too tired to read, he was at it again. As a mother, when I’m standing in his doorway, watching him devour his book, I’m pretty proud. I taught him to read. Now I get to watch where it takes him.


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