Whimsy

I stayed in this morning, trying to make up for not studying my German the last few days, kicking myself for my laziness as I willed my brain to remember the correct genders for my vocabulary lists.

But it totally paid off: I actually told a very long story to my teacher before class started, in response to his asking why I looked so tired.  And so I explained why I really deserved my soda (flavored with mint and rhubarb, of all things).

Key vocabulary included "Windel," or diaper, as in the Windel that Joey steadfastly refused to let me remove, and "Abfalleimer," or trash can, which is what Joey went digging through, flinging banana peels all over the patio, trying to recover his pee-soaked Windel.  And also "Fünfundvierzig," or 45, the approximate number of minutes we did battle over that Windel. Those of you who have been falling along know that this is one of Joey's favorite things to protest when he's feeling tired and peevish.  I have a very ridiculous son.

Unless he's very tired, Joey's just so sweet. But he does have always have a mischievous streak.  I've started to realize that quite a few of his frustrated outbursts are the result of me messing with his comedic timing.  Like this morning: he was teetering towards explosion while I was trying to take his socks from him so that I could finish getting him dressed.  But, incredibly, he bit back his temper and used his words: "No! Wait, mom.  I be funny." And then he took his shoes and put them on his hands and clapped them together.  "See! Look. It funny! Feet for hands!" After he got his laugh, he was more than happy to surrender his socks.

That was actually one of his more sophisticated jokes.  Another recent one is his letting out a low, guttural grunt whenever he finishes a meal.  I'm not sure where he picked it up, but we think he's pretending to burp.

His favorite joke, hands down, always comes after bath time.  Because he has wretched eczema, we have to cover him with Cetaphil right after we towel him off.  Once he's good and greasy, he inevitably takes off running, looking for me.  And then he looks up at me with an angelic smile: "Hug!"

Sometimes we're not sure if he's trying for a laugh or if he's just the victim of an underdeveloped vocabulary.  Like, this morning, Dennis was talking with the three kids about teenagers.  First, I must say that Alex and Ella both have developed a deep-seated fascination with teenagers, tinged somewhat with fear.  When we were at the mall the other day and we were chatting, all of the sudden Ella froze and clutched my arm. And then she whispered in my ear: "Careful, mom!  Teenagers just sat down next to us!"

Anyway, Alex asked Dennis, "Will Joey turn into a teenager in 162 years?"  Well, no, Dennis sighed:  it'll actually be about eleven years until Joey is a teenager.  And you'll be a teenager in eight years.  That means, sadly, Ella will be a teenager in only five years."

Here, Ella piped up: "Oh, you don't have to worry, Dad! I'm won't be bad! I'm going to be one of those really nice, kind teenagers who always helps out and is sweet."  I've told Ella and Alex over and over that these exist, and that I'm determined to have three of them.

Alex agreed: "Oh, yeah! I won't be mean, either!"

And then our third party piped up: "I will!"

Well, none of them are teenagers just yet, but I think Ella took another step toward maturity this evening.  She had some spare candy in her room, and she decided to give it to her brothers as a treat.  But instead of just handing them the candy, she wrote them notes, under the guise of Lucky the Leprechaun, who visits our house each St. Patrick's Day.

I think she did this to test the waters: she's been making murmurs for months that she's not so sure that she believes in Santa or the Easter Bunny any more.  I think it's interesting that she chose the most minor of her deities to impersonate: it's a risk-adverse approach.

I think she's been infecting Alex with her blasphemy, too.  Alex recently confided in me that he doesn't want to believe in Santa because he'd like it better if Daddy and I leave him presents...because he likes us best.

Yet, apparently, we, too, have magic in Alex's eyes. Today while I was making dinner, I asked him to draw a picture for the kitchen, and this is what he came up with:

That's me, in the middle, depicted as a fairy.  Having transported my children to the tip-tops of banana trees, I'm now shooting jewels from my magic wand.  Accurate.

As for Dennis, well, this evening he had to do a little shopping, and while he was out, he wanted to pick up a treat for Ella, for having finished reading a rather long German book with him.  I defy even Santa to pick out a more appropriate gift for our daughter: he got her a green bud vase and told Ella it was a magic potion bottle.  Ella, of course, was thrilled.