January 22, 2007
I taught them the Interrupting Cow* joke–I’m sure their teachers will thank me
The boys have gone back to school today, and the ice is melting, and my house is blissfully quiet. So desperate was I for the quiet that I turned NPR OFF this morning, even though Diane Rehm had Roy Richard Grinker on, the anthopologist who wrote Unstrange Minds, a book about the rise in autism. Grinker’s argument, according to Judith Warner, who has read the book while I have not, is that “the dramatic rise in the incidence of autism in the past few decades is mostly-– if not entirely-– the result of more and better diagnoses.” I buy that, and initially I was looking forward to hearing Grinker talk about his book, but a few minutes into the interview I realized that all I wanted to hear was the sound of my empty house, and perhaps the kettle boiling.
The boys were also ready to return to the status quo. Last night, Henry was telling me how tired he was, and when I said, yes, it’s been hard to be off our regular schedule, he said, “But HOW do we get the schedule BACK?” I told him that we would get up in the morning and eat breakfast and get dressed and go to school, and that would get us back on track, and he nodded and said, “That sounds good. That sounds like the schedule.”
Charlie, of course, woke up this morning and immediately (before he was even out of BED for god’s sake) announced, “I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL.” He always says that and he then he always goes, happily, to school, and almost always greets me at the end of the day by saying, “I LOVE my school.” But as Wade points out, you have to give him credit for trying. Every. Single. Day.
I spent the morning crossing things off my to-do list: I lined up a contractor to do some major work on the house (moving us two weeks closer to actually SELLING the house), and ran errands (new contacts, tailor), and did laundry (oooh the millions of sandy towels). I made a longer to-do list for the next few weeks, mostly of house-related stuff (why oh WHY didn’t I paint the bathrooms LAST week, when we were iced in? WHY?) and I balanced our checkbook and paid bills.
I drank tea and read the New York Times and listened to the silence.
I’m surprised, these days, at how much I rely on having this block of time to Get Things Done. This is the first time that BOTH of the boys have gone anywhere outside the house for any extended period, but I have a hard time remembering what I did when they were home. I think the answer is NOTHING; I didn’t take clothes to the tailor or paint bathrooms or read the Times or drink coffee while it was hot. I did things with the boys, all day every day, and in between the things I tossed laundry in the washing machine and emptied the dishwasher. Or, sometimes, I didn’t, but it all got done somehow.
Kathryn and I were on the phone one day, and she described the full-on mommying as “this five minutes of my life,” which I thought was so very smart, especially for a woman whose kids are still IN the full-on phase. But she’s right; I don’t know how it happened but here I am, five minutes later, with two children who go to school ALL DAY, and who come home from school and play together (often without me, at their own request) and dress and undress themselves (multiple times a day) and feed themselves (and clear their own dishes) and THEN sleep all night in their own beds.
I blinked, and here we are.
Henry has been asking for me to lie down with him at night, in his bed. “Get under my covers, Mommy,” he will say, and I’m always happy to oblige, if only to be lying down for a minute. Lately, in this crazy window of complete unscheduledness, he has started to worry about not being able to sleep. One night last week, he said, “I used to not sleep at night, and you would come and get in my bed.” Yes, I said, I did. “You slept here every night.” Yes, I said, for a while I did. But now you’re sleeping better, and so I sleep in my own bed. “But what if I CAN’T sleep?” he asked, clearly worried. Then you come and get me, I told him, and I will lie down with you.
He sighed, relieved, and said, “Lie down with me now and then I think I will go to sleep.” And he did.
*Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Interrupting Cow.
Interrup–
MOO!
Posted by Susan @ 2:20 pm • Uncategorized
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January 22nd, 2007 at 2:45 pm, fluentsoul Says:
Okay, first of all, I LOVE the Interrupting Cow joke!
The “five minutes” thing — wow. I know what you mean. My kids are still here most of the time, but I can feel how quickly the time goes. I was always very much a sleep-in-your-own-bed kind of mom until a few nights ago when my two-year-old climbed into bed with us and I was too tired to take her back. She was so snuggly and warm that I LOOK FORWARD to her next bad dream so she will sleep with us again . . . because one day not too long from now she’ll be too big to snuggle like this.
January 22nd, 2007 at 3:43 pm, Mir Says:
But… have you tried the interrupting starfish? (Fully splayed fingers, palm to face.) It’s nice, unless the person you “interrupt” decides to lick your hand. Ewwww.
January 22nd, 2007 at 4:05 pm, Susan Says:
Oh, I totally taught the kids that one, too! And Charlie totally licked my hand.
And it was totally gross.
January 22nd, 2007 at 8:35 pm, Jordan Says:
The ‘five minutes of my life’ quote really helped me today - in fact, I wish someone had said that to me a year ago when I was feeling overwhelmed, but I probably wouldn’t have heard it anyway. But now I understand it. Thanks for the encouraging thought, and it’s also encouraging to read about you being such a sweet mom. I hope after this ‘five minutes’ I will be as tender as you are (and as lucid).
January 23rd, 2007 at 12:35 am, The Daring One Says:
I love that joke with a great love but I’d be too scared to teach it to my kids.
I also enjoy the control freak one.
Knock knock
Who’s there?
Control freak *pause* Now you say ‘control freak who?’
January 23rd, 2007 at 12:36 am, The Daring One Says:
Oh, and I was just taking some medicine that had a warning label with a martini glass and a line through it. I thought of you but I came here anyway. I hope I don’t have any strange side-effects.
January 23rd, 2007 at 9:35 am, Velma Says:
I’m at that same point of starting to forget what it was like just a year or two ago, how claustrophobic I felt in my own life. I still sit with my (almost 7 year old) daughter each night for the 10 minutes it takes her to fall asleep after we read, because soon? She won’t want me with such desperation. WAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!
January 23rd, 2007 at 9:44 am, mamalang Says:
I, too love that joke. I will have to tell my kids. We have sattelite radio, but the station I have the car radio tuned to is NPR…so it always comes on before I turn the Sirius on. Sometimes I actually just listen to NPR, and yesterday was one of those days, with that show on. Only got like 5 minutes of it, but it was good!
My son does the same “do not want to go to school: thing every day, too. Actually, most of this post could apply to my life recently. Scary isn’t it?
January 23rd, 2007 at 10:33 am, Karyn Says:
I plan to stop laughing at some point. Really.
(My guys do the Wendy Knock Knock joke….
Knock knock…
Who’s there?
Wendy?
Wendy who?
Wendy Joke Is Over You Better Laugh!)
They really do think it is the funniest joke anyone ever told. Except for the Banana / Orange one.
Knock knock - who’s there - banana - banana who - knock knock - who’s there - banana - banana who - knock knock - who’s there - banana - BANANA WHO - knock knock - WHO’S THERE?!- Orange - orange who - orange you glad i didn’t say banana?
Oh yeah. Quite the humour.
January 23rd, 2007 at 10:45 am, sarcastic journalist Says:
The thought of getting to a place with children where it isn’t full-on mommying is totally thrilling.
January 23rd, 2007 at 11:40 am, Anne Glamore Says:
I told the interrupting cow joke at the dentist’s office and almost got drilled in the knee.
January 23rd, 2007 at 1:46 pm, Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah Says:
I love that joke!
I use it on my kids all of the time.
(I don’t think they get it, but I we always laugh).
January 23rd, 2007 at 3:05 pm, standing still Says:
Husband told me the interrupting cow joke the other day, and I nearly wet my pants laughing. And, those phases of anxiety … ah … yes.
January 23rd, 2007 at 3:40 pm, My Marrakech Says:
The scary thing is that I know that I will blink my eyes and two kids will all be grown and I will wonder how that happened…
Then I will be here without them in my little olive grove in Marrakesh, watching the birds make their nests. How very sad some how.
January 23rd, 2007 at 4:03 pm, rachel Says:
I love the interrupting cow joke, and all of its variations (we go through the whole barnyard and beyond, here!).
I really love Henry. He’s such a sweet boy. He’s lucky to have such a great mom who understands him, too.
January 23rd, 2007 at 5:22 pm, Jenorama Says:
*lovely*
LOL at interrupting starfish.
January 24th, 2007 at 7:09 am, Karen Rani Says:
My fave is interrupting starfish too! Watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tuzxHczowe4
Karen
January 24th, 2007 at 7:48 am, Elizabeth Says:
Kelly Ripa told the interrupting cow joke on Live With Regis and Kelly yesterday! I don’t think poor Reege got it.
That is so true about it feeling like five minutes go by. As much as I love that my boys make their own breakfast and get themselves dressed, they are also too big to sit on my lap and be cuddled, and that is sad.