The Art of Becoming

Tom and I were both up in the middle of the night with Audrey.  She was running a fever and couldn't get comfortable.  This means we are all pretty tired today.  Of course, the night before last we were up with Sean in the middle of the night. He awoke screaming from his room. When I went in there, he refused to let me help him with anything saying he wanted Dad.  Typical.  Tom took over, and I went back to bed livid.  When Tom returned 10 minutes later, I asked if everything was okay.  I assumed Sean had had a bad dream. Tom: His covers were off and he needed help getting them back on.  It was a four alarm fire. Let the record show that I've had two nights of broken sleep and crying children.  Proceed. This morning I was reminding Sean that we needed to make another thank you note for people who had given him birthday presents. I also told him that we needed to take some pictures of him and Audrey holding Happy Birthday signs so we cou...

The other night we walked to the park after dinner to give Tom some quiet at home to grade papers.  Sean asked repeatedly why Tom wasn't coming to the park with us. me: I already answered that question. Sean: But why, Mama? me: You know why.  Why isn't Dad coming with us? Sean: No, you tell me! ... Sean: (quietly defeated) Because he has to grade the newspapers. Close enough.  It was beautiful outside: mid-50s, sunny, and a light breeze.  We arrived on the baseball diamond and Sean asked if we could play.  We ran the bases, pretended to pitch the ball and swing the bat.  It was glorious.  The moment was sublime. Sean: Do we live on the earth? me: Yes.  Yes we do. Sean: Where is the earth? me: The earth is all around us.  The earth is in front of us all the time.  It's beneath our feet. Sean: Do Beckie and Brent and Jonathan live on the earth? me: Yes. Sean: Do Todd and Steve live on the earth? me: Yes, they ...

This morning Sean was "nursing" Pooh bear.  He was sitting in an over-sized tupperware container (one that would house camping gear or blankets or large toys - a big container) in the living room with Pooh cradled in his arms.  When I double checked to make sure I heard him right, he clarified. me: You are nursing Pooh? Sean: Yeah! me: (hiding all misgivings vocally) That's great!  Thank goodness I was in another room so that my face could allow curiosity, confusion, and humor to cross it. Sean: I'm giving him honey! But of course!  If a man could nurse a small creature, and if a stuffed bear could receive said nutrients, then clearly that man would produce honey from his body in order to supply said bear with exactly what he craves.  This is all coming together now. It makes sense that Sean would explore the world of nursing.  He sees me nurse Audrey multiple times a day.  In fact he recently raised a question about this activity while ...

We sat outside playing with sidewalk chalk and soaking up the abnormal 60 degree weather in March in Minnesota.  We drew bulldozers, backhoes, bowls of fresh berries, refrigerators, and flowers.  You know, the normal stuff.  I received a text, picked up my cell phone (because of course it was but inches from me outside - must be always accessible), quickly read it, answered it and put the phone back down.  Sean stopped drawing with his chalk. Sean: Can you turn that thing off? (though coming from him it sounded like "fing" instead of "thing.") me: (nervous laughter) Sure... why? Sean: I don't want to hear it. While speaking, he'd left his place on the driveway and walked towards me.  I was sitting on the ground, and he was level with my eyes but staring at my cell phone.  He clearly sensed, as he does so frequently, how important my cell phone is to me.  The text message was completely unimportant and mundane, there was no rush, and yet I respo...

Sean shows a great deal of restraint.  When I gave him a snack to eat "while watching Sesame Street," he sat there staring at the TV, watching the end of the previous show. me: Sean, do you like your snack? Sean:  huh? Oh, yeah. me:  Are you going to eat it? Sean: (nodding his head, as if teaching me a point) Yes, Mama. I am just waiting to eat until Sesame Street comes on. Five minutes later, when I hear the Sesame Street song start, I see Sean reach into his bowl to eat his snack.  Clearly he's gotten this trait from the Bushlack side of the family.  Similarly, just the other day, he showed amazing restraint concerning a napkin.  After taking a bite of his PB&J, he looked down at his sticky hands, ran to the dining room, grabbed a napkin and brought it back to his stool-by-counter set up (some days there's no sitting for lunch.  Don't ask me why).  As he continued eating his sandwich, he chose to wipe his mouth with his sleeves - b...

Building up to Sean's surgery last week, we had a number of busy days planned with some fun activities to make the week exciting and keep him distracted.  One day we made sugar cookie dough, rolled it out, cut cookies into fun shapes, baked them, and then the next day we decorated them.  A big hit.  We had movie nights, a special jello breakfast before his surgery (code word: clear liquid diet), and I even tried to make his pre-op physical at the doctor seem fun (that was a huge failure, though we succeeded in getting the physical - a blog for another time).  Last Wednesday, we planned a trip to the Minnesota Zoo. We were venturing out with my friend Kate and her daughter, Charlotte, who is roughly Sean's age.  Kate explained to me that the highlight of the trip to the zoo would be the dolphin show, so when I began talking this up to Sean last week, he quickly glommed onto the dolphin show idea.  On the car ride down to the zoo, Sean remembered other ...

When Sean was born and we discovered he had a cleft lip, the medical professionals explained that the reasons he was born with a cleft lip were 'multi-factorial.'  One nurse explained that multi-factorial was a fancy way of saying "we really don't know the cause."  As I've pondered the recent events in my life, this word keeps coming to mind.  For example, a month ago why did Sean run through the dining area of a restaurant screaming, "I HAVE A BUTT RASH!!" when he did not, in fact, have a butt rash?  The reasons are multi-factorial.  In a juvenile and impulsive move recently, why did I, a 30 year old woman, rip a sticker off the front of Sean's fleece during his tantrum and throw it in the trash can? Multi-factorial. (not my proudest moment as a parent... one in which I felt myself become a toddler again, frustrated with a fellow child, instead of acting like an adult.)   Or why was I woken this morning to the sound of Sean screaming in my ear ...