You mean like Obi-Wan?

Lillian and I had to explain to the kids that their grandmother passed away.  Lillian waited for me to return home from work to break the bad news.

When I got home, my daughter greeted me with, “Mom said you have bad news.  Did Oma die?”  I answered with, “Where’s your brother?”

When we got the kids together, I told Maddie that she was right, Oma died.  The kids said things like, “Did her heart just get tired” and “I want to see her big stone thing at the cemetary.”

I explained that Oma’s not going to get a headstone.  She wanted to be cremated.  Of course, I knew it was coming: Now I’d have to explain what cremation is.  They asked, and I just dove into it.  “They’re going to burn Oma’s body, and we’ll be left with her ashes.”  I watched the faces of the kids and of Lillian to see how this explanation was registering.

They processed it for a bit, and then asked, “You mean like Obi-Wan?”

Lillian lit up at the comparison too.  Obi-Wan was a great Jedi, after all.  That would be a fitting comparison, right?  I had to explain, “No.  Not like Obi-Wan.  His body just disappeared when Darth Vader struck at him with a light saber.”  I went on, “Cremation is more like what they did with Darth Vader.”

I got slightly confused and horrified looks for a second.  But then as everybody remembered that third original Star Wars movie, they all nodded sagely.

Mom, I love you, and I’ll always remember you.

Where’s the red chalk?

The rain abated this afternoon, so the kids and I gathered in the driveway for a little fresh air.

Maddie rode her bike up and down the street, while Aaron grabbed the chalk and started drawing on the nearly dry concrete.  He draw a rhino-nosed shark, and began to fish through the bucket of chalk pieces.

“Where’s the red?  I need red chalk.”

He got up and went back inside the garage to sort through another container of chalk pieces.  I’d already figured out that he needed red to draw some blood.  Awesome.  My son was going to draw the shark in a feeding frenzy or something.  I was so proud.

He came out disappointed.  “We only have pink.”

With that, he began to draw a line from the shark’s eye to a little stick-figure man, and then drew zapping lines all around the man.

Shark eye-zapping its prey

His drawing was far more awesome than I anticipated.  He didn’t need red chalk for blood.  He needed it for the rhino-nosed shark’s laser beam eyes.

Way to beat your old man’s expectations, Little Guy.

Thoughts on the Future of this Journal

Now that my kids are old enough to read, I’ve been thinking seriously about when I should retire this blog.

The charter of this blog is “anecdotal stories about fatherhood,” and I’ve been able to keep to it for the past six years or so. But as the kids get older, I have to respect their privacy, and I have to do so before they even become aware of this blog. Eventually, they’re going to get online. I just have to accept that.

So, today, the kids start arguing about something silly. I start laughing, and yell, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” I want them to be quiet so that I can point out to them exactly how silly they’re being.

They both quiet down, and they can tell I’m not mad.

Maddie offers, “Daddy, this would be good for you to blog.”

I had no idea she knew. But what does she know? I have to re-think everything.

Mosura ya Mosura

Aaron got a butterfly treehouse this summer. The treehouse comes with a postcard that you have to send away to get five live caterpillars sent back to you in the mail.

Lillian and I weren’t so sure about the caterpillars’ prospects going through the mail, but we gave it a try anyway. The caterpillars eventually arrived in a little cup with some caterpillar food paste on the bottom. The care instructions were so easy to follow! You don’t have to do anything.

The caterpillars would eat their food, grow and grow, and turn into chrysalises right there in the same cup. And sure enough, they did. Once they turned into chrysalises, we removed them from the cup and attached them to the inside of their treehouse.

After a couple of weeks, the chrysalises opened and revealed the new butterflies. The netting of the treehouse was splattered red all over from the butterflies shaking off the dye that colors their wings.

We kept the butterflies in their treehouse for a few more days, feeding them sugarwater on a papertowel. Then it became time to let them go. We broke out the camera and video camera to record the momentous occasion.

We opened the door, and took turns gently reaching in to bring the butterflies out. I don’t know who started it, but one of us began singing,

Mosura ya Mosura…

Pretty much instantly, the rest of us joined in. We all knew the tune. We were letting the butterflies out to the tune of the Mothra Song.

Do you know who Pinocchio is?

As I was sitting on the ground reading Wired magazine, the kids came by to look over my shoulder.

They started laughing at an ad that had a guy with a long, photoshopped nose.  The nose stuck out at least six inches.  “Look at his nose!

But they never made any references to they guy probably being a big liar, or to Pinocchio at all.  I let them giggle and point for a few seconds, but still, they never made the connection.  At least they never mentioned it.

How could this be?  Were my kids that uncultured?  What kind of father was I?  Pinocchio is a Classic.  I had to find out.  I asked the five-year-old, “Do you know who Pinocchio is?”

He looked at me for a few seconds.  The gears turned.  Eventually, he said:

“You mean like in Shrek?”

That’s not exactly what I was going for, but I took what I could get.  “Yeah, he’s in there.”

Special in Little Ways

On the way home from preschool, Aaron made the following announcement:

“I like being the littlest.  Because I can fit through small holes.  If there’s a thing there, I can reach through a little hole and get it.”

It was like he discovered his own super power, and he knows how he can best contribute to the family.

Under the Pillow

This letter, transcribed exactly as written by the girl, is to be found under her pillow by a certain fairy:

Dear, tooth fairy

I kind of swallowed my tooth and I was wondering if it’s OK for you. You know to except my note. Well think about it and show me under my pillow when I’m awake. I will always except what you think!

yours truly

[Edit] I later learned that Maddie asked her mom, “How do you spell accept?” But her mom misheard the word.

Energy Conservation

The kids love to go to the local roller skating rink.

The reason is not because they’re so interested in skating. It’s like why they ask to go to McDonalds. They want a toy.Glowstick

The big draw at the roller skating rink is glowsticks. Forget all the fun of skating with your friends for a couple of hours. If you can get a glowstick and swing it around in the dark for a while, that beats all.

The last time we returned with glowsticks, the kids couldn’t wait until it was dark enough to turn off the lights and see the sticks glow. When the time came, we turned off the lights, and activated the glowsticks. The kids danced and spun the glowsticks and worked up a real sweat. They loved their glowsticks.

It eventually became bedtime, and when we told them so, Aaron told his big sister, “Hurry! Turn on the light so they don’t run out!”

It nearly broke our hearts to explain to him that that’s not how glowsticks work. Turning on the lights does not conserve glowstick energy.

The Utility of Bumps

I was navigating my way out of the parking lot, and had to roll over a speed bump. Aaron chimed in from the back seat:

“You know why they put the bumps there?”
Cheerfully, he answered, “So you can have fun!”