Why they don’t ask for permission…

I walk into the living room to see Ender and Cinder sitting around my old non-functioning Mac Book, its keyboard in pieces, and Cinder wedging one of the panels on the body open.

Cinder: Hi Mom.
Jane: What are you doing?
Cinder: Ender and I wanted to see what the inside of a computer looked like. Don’t worry–this is the broken old one. … Um… was this one of those things I should have asked permission for?
Jane: Um… yeah, probably.
Cinder: Would you have said yes?
Jane: Um… well…
Cinder: See, when I think you might say no, I don’t want to ask permission.

White MacBook laptop

From Life’s Archives, May 5, 2010. Cinder was a couple of weeks short of nine years old, and Ender not quite two. As far as this type of event goes, not much has changed in the intervening year!

Poisonous Volvo

I just really need to laugh today, and I bet you do too.

Unedited and uncensored; anatomy talk warning. Flora’s a month short of two, and Cinder’s four and a half.

Setting: our bathroom.

Cinder: Flora, stop trying to grab my penis. Flora! No! Stop!

Flora: hee hee hee

Cinder: It’s poisonous. Poisonous! Like the giant red milipedes in the
South American rainforest!

Flora: hee hee hee

Cinder: It will bite you!

Flora: hee hee hee

Cinder: OK, Flora, I know you want to play with it. But you can’t. Only I can play with it. Play with your own.

Flora: Oh… no pee pee!! Brother! No pee pee?

Cinder: Oh, I forgot, you don’t have one. Well, maybe one day, if you are very good, I’ll let you borrow mine. If I can. Mom! (I’m in the next room) Can I borrow my penis to Flora for a while?

Jane: Um… no. It doesn’t work like that.

Cinder: I didn’t think so. Well, sorry, Flora.

Flora: No pee pee? Why?

Cinder: Don’t worry, Flora. I’m sure we can think of something fun to do with your… Mom! What’s Flora’s not-a-penis called?

Jane: Um… (Still haven’t decided if Flora should have a Volvo or a Gavina… OK, I know she has BOTH, but you know what I mean. Go for the Volvo today) A vulva.

Cinder: We can think of something fun to do with your vulva. Hmm. Let me think. Maybe we could attach something to it?

Flora: Yeaah!

Cinder: Or… we could stick something in it.

Flora: Nooooo.

Next day. 
Setting: post-bath time. Sean and I hanging out downstairs chatting, Cinder and Flora are playing upstairs. Suddenly:

Cinder: Flora! I will smite you with my poisonous penis!

Flora: Aaaaah! Run! Run!

Sean: Well, if Flora turns out to be gay, we’ll know why.

Jane: Sean!

Sean: What? I think it would make the teen years a lot easier, don’t you?

Jane: Sean!

Sean: What? All I’m saying is, if she ends up a lesbian, being chased by her brother’s poisonous penis may be one of the reasons. And don’t you think you’d worry less about boys and teen pregnancy and all that?

Jane: What are you…

Cinder: Ok, Flora. Now it’s your turn to smite me with your poisonous volvo.

Flora: Aaaaah! Run! Run!

The genitalia of the Callosobruchus analis bee...

The genitalia of the Callosobruchus analis beetle. It is covered in spines from base to tip. Referenced in Rönn, J., Katvala, M. & Arnqvist, G. 2007. Coevolution between harmful male genitalia and female resistance in seed beetles. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 104, 10921-1092. and Hotzy, C. & Arnqvist, G. 2009. Sperm competition favors harmful males in seed beetles. Current Biology 19, 404-407. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

From Life’s Archives, December 9, 2006.

Damn right he’s cool

Jane: Ender, dude, where do you think you’re going?

Ender: Outside. Play with the guys.

(“The guys” are Cinder and his friends, currently bouncing like mad on the trampoline. And I pause and wonder how to explain to the little dude that 1) he’s two-and-a-half, so I can’t just send him out into the wild that is our Common unsupervised and I can’t supervise him because I need to make supper and, perhaps just as pertinently 2) I’m pretty sure “the guys,” 9, 10 and 12 years old, don’t want him on the trampoline with them. Finally, I say:)

Jane: I think the guys can’t play with you right now; they’re doing something pretty tricky.

Ender: Guys play with me. I’m cool.

(And I pause again, loving the confidence and dreading the meltdown that will follow the rejection that I’m sure is inevitable the second he shows up on the trampoline. But we’re talking on the balcony that overhangs the trampoline, and “the guys” here us.)

And one of them says: For sure you’re cool Ender. Come on down.

(And as he toddles off, brimming with joy, I take a moment to feel thoroughly ashamed. For yet again underestimating children: my children, their good friends that I know so very well. For underestimating their goodness and kindness. And I get all sappy and mellow and happy and reflective, and then a voice brings me back.)

Cinder: But Mom? Can you make sure he’s wearing pants?

A youth bouncing on a trampoline

I am not a mindless drone

or, following orders

Cinder to Flora: Ender’s too young to follow orders, Flora. Actually, as you can see by your own example, you’re not quite at the stage at which you can follow orders.
Flora: Huh. You’re not that good at following orders either.
Cinder: That’s because I’m not a mindless clone.
Flora: You mean droid.
Cinder: Clone.
Flora: Droid.
Cinder: Clone.
Flora: Droid.
Ender: Waaaaaaaah!

B1 battle droids are battle droids used by the...

B1 battle droids are battle droids used by the Trade Federation Droid Army and the Separatist Droid Army. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

From Life’s Archives, September 18, 2010

Do you think he got the stomach flu when…

Cinder: Do you think Ender got the stomach flu when he ate that gum ball off the floor at Market Mall, or when he licked the watch display case?

Flora: I think it’s probably food poisoning from when he grabbed those chicken bones out of the garbage.

I’m spending the day today on the couch with a puking toddler. What are you up to?

Flora Takes a Nap

But I like poking Flora…

Nobody who hasn’t been there understands just how much effort goes into keeping a baby alive when there’s an active toddler in the house. Flora’s three months old in the following vignettes. Cinder? About six weeks short of three years, and the most loving big brother imaginable. Yet their parents are terrified Flora will not make it to her first birthday. Why?

Babies are for wrestling:

J: Why is Flora crying?

C: Because I wrestled her.

J: Did she like it?

C: No, that’s why she’s crying. She’s too little. I’ll try again tomorrow when she’s bigger.

Babies are for jumping on:

J: Cinder, what are you doing?

C: I’m going to build a mountain and jump on Flora.

J: I don’t think that’s a good idea.

C: It is a good idea. Flora said she wants to play with me like that.

Babies love to play leap frog

J: Stop!

C: What, mama?

J: You’re stepping on Flora.

C: No, I’m not. I’m playing leap frog, like Franklin and Rabbit.

Brothers like to poke babies

C: Mama, can I poke Flora in the eye?

J: That’s not a good idea. We have to be very careful about eyes.

C: Mama, can I poke Flora in the ear?[etc. Etc.]

J: How about we don’t poke Flora at all?

C: But I like poking Flora.

From Life’s Archives, April 5, 2005.

2012. Poor Flora. She’s going through it all again… with a baby brother. At least this time around, she outweighs him. Although, because I make giant boys and small-boned girls, not by much. Do you have a “But I like poking Flora” story from your toddler/baby life to share with me? I’d love to hear it. Tell me I wasn’t alone with this phase…

Agneta Block (Emmerich 29-10-1629 – Amsterdam ...

Four minutes to go…

Jane: Guys, I need you to wrap up this game—you’re about five minutes away from someone getting seriously hurt and screaming in pain.

Cinder: So that means we have four minutes to go—call us in four minutes.

A typical Deutsche Bahn railway station clock

For the record: Cinder and I have had this precise same conversation on October 10, 2009. It’s nice to know that we’re consistent in some things…

The day I stopped reading parenting books

My friends and I have been passing this Science Daily article to each other—a short piece reporting UK research to the effect that for some five decades now, child-rearing “experts” via their manuals and how-to books, having been telling mothers to do impossible things. The authors use the term “setting the bar too high”; I would use the expression “setting mothers (and fathers) up for failure.”

Now, if you’re a 21st century parent like me, you’ve consumed at least half-dozen different parenting books, a bunch of them before your baby’s first birthday. Probably more, right? How many? I think in the first two to three years of my own journey, I read them all. This is the (short) story of when I stopped reading them and why. Flora was about 10 months old, and Cinder three and change.

From 2005: My son peed in my daughter’s ear today, and in the split second of silence between my “Oh, God, Cinder, gross, gross, gross, what were you thinking?” and his ear-splitting, half-remorseful, half-angry “Waaaaaaaaaaaah!”, I condemned myself as a parent. He did this because I breastfed him too long/not long enough, because I did not script the introduction of his new sister into his life as perfectly as, say, Dr. Sears did each of his eight children, because I let him eat too much Halloween candy, because I laugh at his other scatological jokes, because I did not punish him that time he peed on the pigeons in the park…

Minutes later, we’re washing Flora’s head together, Cinder repeating to himself, “We pee in the potty, we pee in the potty, sorry Flora, sorry mommy,” then, “but I can pretend pee on Flora, right, Mommy? Is that funny?” I look at him and blink my eyes. I really don’t know what to say. I have half a shelf of parenting books, including Dr. Sears’ Discipline Book and What to Expect the Toddler Years (the book I love to hate). If I look in the index, I will not find, “pee on sibling” or “how to discipline when pees on sibling” or “pretend pee and poop play, how to deal with.” I’m on my own here, and if I say or do the wrong thing, Flora will smell like urine for the rest of her life.

Cinder climbs into the tub beside Flora and piles bubbles on her head. “Flora is a bubblehead, bubblehead, bubblehead,” he sings. “Look, Mommy, I’m washing Flora,” he says. And at that precise moment, I have an epiphany, at least party because my crisis has been averted—he is no longer looking for guidance as to whether pretending to pee on Flora is funny; I don’t need to provide that particular answer right now.

Here’s my epiphany: I’m a damn good mother, and will remain a damn good mother regardless of how I handle the “pee on sibling” incident. One, in the long run, my specific response to this specific challenge doesn’t matter. He will not be peeing on his sister when he’s six; much less when he’s sixteen. Two, three minutes later, it’s all forgotten—at least by Cinder and Flora—apparently one of those events the universe just throws at you to see if you have a sense of humour. Three… parenting books suck.

From Life’s Archives, November 7, 2005 —Yes, he really peed on her // The Day I Stopped Reading Parenting Books

Calliope Hummingbird / Stellula calliope - fem...

From 2012: So is it true? Have I really stopped reading parenting books? Well… there’s a chapter of Gordon Neufeld’s Hold On To Your Kids I revisit almost every year (I’ll tell you which one, and why, soon). I’ve kept Myla and Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Everyday Blessings: The Inner Work of Mindful Parenting on the bookshelf still… I haven’t re-read since the pee-in-ear incident, but I think the world’s a better place because that book exists. And I do have a handful of blogs on living with children, learning and family adventures I like to visit. I like to laugh at their adventures, empathizes with their misadventures (so many of theme echo my own), and maybe get inspired by their solutions—or reject their solutions as inappropriate to my family and our path. None of them—not even Dr. Neufeld—will ever—nor should they—tell me what to do when my son pees in my daughter’s ear. I’ve got to figure that out for myself.

Caveman Redux

Good news: Ender does not have a younger sibling to torment right now. Bad news: He’s got Maggie the runt Boston Terrier. And his baby cousin. Good news: his baby cousin is almost in the same stage. That’s Karma. If you think we’re being cavalier about Ender’s current caveman stage… well, we’ve been here before. And Flora survived. Mostly intact.

Flora’s 10 months old in these vingettes, and Cinder’s a solid three-and-a-half. Oh, God. A full 12 more months of this? Where’s the secret chocolate stash? (By the way, have you seen this research report that chocoholics are thinner than abstainers? Ha!)

J: Cinder! You need to be more careful with Flora. What do big people do?
C [sullenly]: Big people take care of little people.
J: That’s right. Big people take care of little people. You’re big and strong, so you have to take care of Flora…
C: Well, I know that. But sometimes I just want to poke her!

C: [to Flora] I love this little bald creature who won’t get hurt.
J: She’s not bald. She has hair. Look, lots of hair!
C: I love saying I love this little bald creature who won’t get hurt, okay Mommy?

C: Mommy? Can I pinch this little bald creature so she wakes up?
J: I’d rather you didn’t. I like it when she naps in the car.
C: Well, I do too. But I really want to pinch her, too. Can I pinch Daddy instead?
J: Well…
S: No!
From Life’s Archives, November 30, 2005―The fun and the frustration…

Through the Chaos

Through the Chaos (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Being Ender Redux

I originally wrote this essay in November 2011, for the 2011 Family Christmas Book. But given Ender’s performances over the last few days, it seems appropriate to revisit it today.

Meet Ender. Little brother of Flora and Cinder. Son of Jane and Sean. Big brother of Maggie. Charmer of the entire world. Proof that gorgeous, grinning children never get disciplined, even when they’re doing things that make you want to sell them to the gypsies. Or, in the modern parlance, to put them up on Kijiji. “Free, to a good home: a two-year-old with attitude…”

Actually, Ender doesn’t have attitude―at least not in the way most people define it when they use it with reference to a child. Really, what passes for a cranky Ender or a distraught Ender is still an incredibly happy, easy Ender. It’s quite amazing. We sometimes engage in the the not-very-productive nurture versus nature debate. Is Ender the way he is because, well, that’s just the way he is? Or is he the way he is because he’s the third child, the one who has had to accommodate to everyone else’s set patterns and quirks, the one who got the already trained, relaxed parents?

We’ll never know. We just have to enjoy him. Adore him. And make more of an effort to document him, so he doesn’t totally resent us when he grows up and asks for where all the Ender stories are.

So, some Ender stories from 2011, as remembered by Cinder and Flora and his parents.

The most disgusting thing Ender has done to date: sucked on the toilet brush. And not on the end you hold. Think of that next time you kiss him.

The most embarrassing thing Ender has ever said: Rock, rock, rock, rock, rock! Rock! At the top of his lungs in the Glenbow Museum. Except it didn’t sound like rock. The r sounded like an f and the o like the short u. Yeah.

Look what I taught the baby to do, Mom,” Part I: Ender, running down the hall naked after Maggie, swinging a hot pink Lego foam sword, yelling, “Die, puppy, die!”

Look what I taught the baby to do, Mom,” Part II: R: “Ender, show Mommy the moon. The moon, Ender. Remember?” (Yes, the next frame is Ender taking off his diaper.)

The most adorable thing Ender does after pummelling Flora in the head with something hard: “Awie, Flora? Awie, Flora? En-duh kiss.”

The most adorable thing Ender does for no reason at all: Go up and down the stairs, singing, “En-duh-en-en-en-duh. En-en-en-duh. En-duh!”

How to get Ender to eat pretty much anything: Indicate that you would like to eat it.

How to get Ender to play with this trains, cars, or pretty much anything else: Decide you need to put them away.

The price of getting supper on the table with an Ender underfoot if Flora and Cinder are away: A flooded kitchen. He loves to play in the sink.

The price of washing the kitchen floor with an Ender helping: A flooded kitchen.

The price of five minutes of peace on the telephone: A flooded kitchen.

The thing I never thought I’d say before Ender: “For God’s sake, stop biting the dog!”

The day Ender discovered dinosaurs: November 23, 2011.

Most memorable quote Ender elicited from Cinder: “Mom, are you putting that pink diaper on him again? He’s a baby―he’s not colour-blind or stupid!”

Most memorable quote Ender elicited from Flora: “Now’s my chance to turn Ender into my slave!”

Ender’s word for penguins: “Fish birdies!”

Ender’s word for turtles: “Rock puppies!”

Flora’s favourite thing to do with Ender: Colour his face with Sharpies.

Flora’s least favourite thing to do with Ender: Change his diaper.

Best conversation Ender caused between his parents: S: “Hurry! I need to pee and the baby is grabbing the camera, the box of nails and my beer!” J: “Where are you?” S: “In the bathroom! Hurry!” J: “Your camera, box of nails, and beer are in the bathroom?” S: “Now is not the time to discuss the inappropriateness of me putting all these things in the bathroom sink. Just save my beer… and the camera. He can have the box of nails.”

Most frequent Facebook comment Ender has elicited from his mother: “Sunrises are over-rated.”

Best Greek myth analogy: From August 16, 2011: “Today, Flora is Hermes, messenger of the gods. Cinder is Hades. And we are all agreed Ender is Chaos personified.”

But the bestest Chaos personified you could ever ask for.

Pants Optional

Austen/Cinder: Moooom! Ender’s following me outside!

Jane: Just watch him for a few minutes; I’ll be right there.

Cinder: But he’s not wearing any pants!

Jane: Ender! You need shoes and pants before you go outside!

Cinder: He’s got his boots on. He’s just no diaper and no pants. [Pause.] It must be great to be a baby.

From the sitcom that is my life…

Strong start to the morning

Ender: Mama! I pee in potty!

Jane: Awesome! Way to go… um… if you peed in the potty, why is there a big puddle of pee on the floor?

E: I dump pee. Dump pee on floor. Hee hee hee.

J: Um… why?

E: Make footprints! (takes appropriate action)

Gets even better in the afternoon…

Flora: Moooooom! Ender’s biting the dog again! Should I make him stop?

Jane: Well–yeah! Get him off her! Why are you even asking me?

F: Well–cause if he’s biting Maggie, then he’s not biting me. [Pause.} Or you.

J: That does make sense. … No, for Chris’ sake, get him off her. Poor dog.

[five minutes later]

F: Mooom!

J: Is he biting the dog again?

F: No, he’s dragging me around the floor by my feet. I knew we should have just left him biting the dog.

Interlude for a telephone call…

On the telephone–the Vice President (Legal) of a Calgary investment banking outfit. Of course. At least it wasn’t the CEO.

Ender: Hello… Mommy? Talk with Mommy? … No talk with Mama. … I go have nursies. [Receiver slam!]

And wrapping up in the evening…

Jane (reading): “Holi is a joyous Indian holiday that comes at the end of winter. Holi is also known as the festival of colors. On this holiday, people run through the streets smearing strangers and friends with colored powder and douring each other with colored water. At the end of the day, everyone is decked out in all the colors of the rainbow.”

Flora: Oh, oh, oh, we could totally do that tomorrow to celebrate the Equinox. Can we, Mom? Can we?

J: Well, it would be very fun, I totally agree. But all our neighbours would pretty much hate us.

Austen: They already think we’re the crazy people, don’t they?

Raising 21st Century Kids

Austen: Flora! Get away from that window unless you want your naked behind all over Google maps or Facebook.
Flora: What? Did you see the Google spy car?
A: No–but I bet there’s a satellite somewhere pointing straight at your butt.
F: Jesus, can’t a girl have some privacy in her own house?
A: There is no such thing as privacy anymore.

(Note to self: Remember they hear everything you say. There is no privacy in the house.)

Agent of Karma

Flora: Ender! Go bite Cinder right now!
Jane: Flora! What are you doing?
F: I’m making Ender an agent of Karma.
J: We’ve talked about that. You can’t be an agent of karma, and you can’t make someone an agent of karma. Karma just is.
F: Fine. I’ll just make Ender an agent of Flora. Ender! Are you going to bite Cinder or not?
J: Flora…
F: What? I have a mere year or maybe two while he’s in that do-what-sister tells you phase. Remember, you told me about that?
J: So?
F: So? I have to take advantage of it!

''Fish Karma logo

Beast In Disguise

S: Guys, guys, come look at this, you have to see how cute Ender looks!
Austen & Flora (simultaneously as if they rehearsed it): He’s a beast in disguise! He’s a beast in disguise!

Agents of Karma

Austen (whacking Ender after Ender kicked him in the shins and threw a car at his head): See? That’s karma.
Jane: No it’s not. One can’t be an agent of karma.
Austen: One can get beat up just for referring to one as one.

Thank you, Big Bang Theory.

Being Ender

This is an essay written specifically for the 2011 Family Christmas Book: As I’m putting 2011 to bed and doing a late-night proof of the book―a sloppy light night proof, as I know you’re mostly looking at the pictures―I’m struck by how Ender-light the text of the book is. And slightly shocked, because the days and the hours are extremely Ender-heavy. Ender and Ender’s life stage dominates everything right now: how little I work, how early I go to bed, how early I rise. How diligent Cinder (also known as Austen) has to be about hiding his Lego projects―how on top of putting away her markers and paints Flora needs to be if she doesn’t want to find them in the fish tank, the garbage or the toilet. Ender’s absence from most of the text of 2011, however, reflects the reality of what I’ve been writing in 2011: not an awful lot for love and pleasure. Most of the stories about Cinder and Flora come from the need to document their homeschooling; if it weren’t for the progress reports, learning plans and other tidbits for the portfolio, there wouldn’t be nearly as much Cinder and Flora content either.

 But before we end 2011, we need to give Mr. E his own story. We can’t have the third child feeling any more neglected than he is bound to feel…

Meet Ender. Little brother of Flora and Cinder. Son of Jane and Sean. Big brother of Maggie. Charmer of the entire world. Proof that gorgeous, grinning children never get disciplined, even when they’re doing things that make you want to sell them to the gypsies. Or, in the modern parlance, to put them up on Kijiji. “Free, to a good home: a two-year-old with attitude…”

Actually, Ender doesn’t have attitude―at least not in the way most people define it when they use it with reference to a child. Really, what passes for a cranky Ender or a distraught Ender is still an incredibly happy, easy Ender. It’s quite amazing. We sometimes engage in the the not-very-productive nurture versus nature debate. Is Ender the way he is because, well, that’s just the way he is? Or is he the way he is because he’s the third child, the one who has had to accommodate to everyone else’s set patterns and quirks, the one who got the already trained, relaxed parents?

We’ll never know. We just have to enjoy him. Adore him. And make more of an effort to document him, so he doesn’t totally resent us when he grows up and asks for where all the Ender stories are.

So, some Ender stories from 2011, as remembered by Cinder and Flora and his parents.

The most disgusting thing Ender has done to date: sucked on the toilet brush. And not on the end you hold. Think of that next time you kiss him.

The most embarrassing thing Ender has ever said: Rock, rock, rock, rock, rock! Rock! At the top of his lungs in the Glenbow Museum. Except it didn’t sound like rock. The r sounded like an f and the o like the short u. Yeah.

Look what I taught the baby to do, Mom,” Part I: Ender, running down the hall naked after Maggie, swinging a hot pink Lego foam sword, yelling, “Die, puppy, die!”

Look what I taught the baby to do, Mom,” Part II: R: “Ender, show Mommy the moon. The moon, Ender. Remember?” (Yes, the next frame is Ender taking off his diaper.)

The most adorable thing Ender does after pummelling Flora in the head with something hard: “Awie, Flora? Awie, Flora? En-duh kiss.”

The most adorable thing Ender does for no reason at all: Go up and down the stairs, singing, “En-duh-en-en-en-duh. En-en-en-duh. En-duh!”

How to get Ender to eat pretty much anything: Indicate that you would like to eat it.

How to get Ender to play with this trains, cars, or pretty much anything else: Decide you need to put them away.

The price of getting supper on the table with an Ender underfoot if Flora and Cinder are away: A flooded kitchen. He loves to play in the sink.

The price of washing the kitchen floor with an Ender helping: A flooded kitchen.

The price of five minutes of peace on the telephone: A flooded kitchen.

The thing I never thought I’d say before Ender: “For God’s sake, stop biting the dog!”

The day Ender discovered dinosaurs: November 23, 2011.

Most memorable quote Ender elicited from Cinder: “Mom, are you putting that pink diaper on him again? He’s a baby―he’s not colour-blind or stupid!”

Most memorable quote Ender elicited from Flora: “Now’s my chance to turn Ender into my slave!”

Ender’s word for penguins: “Fish birdies!”

Ender’s word for turtles: “Rock puppies!”

Flora’s favourite thing to do with Ender: Colour his face with Sharpies.

Flora’s least favourite thing to do with Ender: Change his diaper.

Best conversation Ender caused between his parents: S: “Hurry! I need to pee and the baby is grabbing the camera, the box of nails and my beer!” J: “Where are you?” S: “In the bathroom! Hurry!” J: “Your camera, box of nails, and beer are in the bathroom?” S: “Now is not the time to discuss the inappropriateness of me putting all these things in the bathroom sink. Just save my beer… and the camera. He can have the box of nails.”

Most frequent Facebook comment Ender has elicited from his mother: “Sunrises are over-rated.”

Best Greek myth analogy: From August 16: “Today, Flora is Hermes, messenger of the gods. Cinder is Hades. And we are all agreed Ender is Chaos personified.”

But the bestest Chaos personified you could ever ask for.

And so it begins…

Flora: Want to go upstairs and play pets?

Friend: No, I want to watch your brother play video games.

I knew it would come. Just not when they are 7 and 9!

Skin Falls Off

Sean: Dear god, Flora, what have you done to your brother’s face?
Flora: Whaaat–look, he likes it.
S: Is that permanent marker?
F: Don’t worry, Dad–you know skin falls off, don’t you?

Good to know: Cheap sunscreen will take off permanent marker. True.

The Return of the Princess Dress

You may recall Cinder’s Princess Dress–the fluffy, lacey, floor-length Disney princess gown Flora received for her first Christmas from her Nana, and which was immediately confiscated by Cinder as his party dress, which he wore to every major party event for the next two or so years. He stopped wearing it quite abruptly–I remember feeling sad at the rise of consciousness that accompanied that decision of his, his awareness that “boys did not wear dresses” and his acquiescence to that norm. But, by the time he outgrew the dress, Flora was ready for it… and how many little sisters get to wear their brother’s hand-me-down Princess dress? “What a lovely dress,” people would say, and she’s say, “Thank you, it was my brother’s,” and people would not be quite sure what to say next.

The dress got too tight for Flora a couple of years ago, and got retired to the back of the dress up pile. Smaller friends wiggled into it, puppy Anya wore it on special occasions… and today, proud Big Sister dressed little Ender in it.

Flora had a couple of friends over today and they dressed up in a variety of costumes, uncovering the Princess dress. This evening after bath, Ender dragged Flora over to the dress up rack. “Peese?” he said, pointing. “Peese?” “Mom!” Flora called. “Ender wants the Princess dress! Can I dress him in the Princess dress?”

She did–although first, she had to let him run around the house naked, clutching the dress to his chest and bellowing, “Wheeee!” Finally, she wrestled him into it. He immediately ran to show himself to Sean. “This!” he announced, turning around. “Oh my god,” said Sean. “It’s like a … ” “He looks just like me!” Flora said. Pause. A critical look at Ender. “Only much fatter.”

She took him downstairs to show Cinder. “Oh, he’s wearing my Princess dress!” Cinder said. He tousled his little brother’s hair. Ender tried to bite him. They wrestled for a bit. “Did people make fun of me for wearing the Princess dress?” Cinder asked me suddenly. I frowned in concentration. “Not really,” I said. “I remember once, N and F did…” “And?” prodded Cinder. I remember very clearly — Cinder, wearing a Princess dress and yellow rubber boots and a baseball cap, marching into the house, getting the biggest water gun he could find, and a few minutes later… shrieks. He chased the girls with the gun, first spraying them with water, then trying to pummel them with the gun. It’s a story with a tricky moral–no one on the Common ever made fun of his Princess dress again. But, um, that whole pummelling with the gun thing…

“And… you kinda… ” I searched for the right word. “Whooped them?” Flora suggested. “Hmmm,” I murmured.

Cinder hugged Ender. “So, if anyone makes fun of you for wearing a Princess dress, you go and whoop them,” he said. “And if they’re bigger then you, come get Bubba, and Bubba will whoop them for you.”

“Wheee!” Ender vocalized. Then bit Cinder in the arm pit. And got a bit of a whoop in return.