the sleppys

Kyle turned five about ten days ago. We started the day with happy birthday wishes and the opening of presents. He got a James train (from Thomas and Friends) and a Spiderman book. After breakfast, we went to the park to continue our Fifth Birthday Tradition. We walked the nature trail and bumped into a man who was photographing some migratory birds. We tried to keep quiet so as not to chase the birds away. Down the canal, we saw a duck and her three ducklings, various water birds, jumping fish, and a gazillion tadpoles. As we walked toward the building that houses a few of the native species, we saw the photographer again. It’s ironic that we are all quiet until it’s time to really be quiet. We walked into the building and learned about the animals that we saw in the canal and nature trail. I learned that we live in the only “pine rockland” on Earth. That’s awesome.

We walked to the playground after using the restrooms and drinking water. I placed the babies in the shade of an oak tree to sit. The children ran toward the slide. There was a little boy who looked to be about two years old who was with his nanny. Ty said, “Good morning!” and Kyle and Taylor followed suit. The nanny replied, “No English.” Nice. Quickly, the Sleppy children organized a game of tag. Twenty minutes later, we drank more water and walked to the van and went home.

In the evening, Grandma came over with gifts. After dinner, we sang “Happy Birthday” to Kyle and ate the “hand” cake that is part of the Fifth Birthday Tradition. Kyle got armor, a shield, a helm, a sword, and a scabbard.

That Saturday, we had a little party. We invited the regular crowd: Bonnie, Karina, Natalie (who was born 15 months ago), Mike, and Skyler. We had a good time, drank beer, ate finger foods, sang “Happy Birthday,” ate cake, played with party friends, talked, and had a good conversation that afternoon. Dad and his buddy Mike watched the space shuttle landing on the NASA website. Jo, Mike’s wife, showed up with her mom toward the end of the party. The men went outside to play with the children. The women stayed indoors to chat. Jo and Bonnie have been friends for three decades, so I was listening to them talking about old friends that they found on facebook.

We heard some shrieking from the backyard. Jo, who acts really concerned about her only son, stood up in worry. I stated that it sounded like laughing, and the dads were out there, too. I wasn’t worried. A while later, we saw Skyler coming into the house, crying. He didn’t look at any of us. He just walked really fast toward the front door and left.

And left. He’s six.

His really concerned mom ran out to chase him. The rest of us ladies continued out conversation because this is normal behavior. Really, it is. After a minute or two, Jo came back in the house looking angry. “What happened?” we asked.

“Skyler said that he got kicked in the nuts harder than he kicked someone else in the nuts.”

(Now, I’ve never been kicked in the gonads because they are tucked away, deep inside my torso. But I’ve seen my brothers and their friends having been kicked, and they don’t get up and run out of the house. They lie and roll on their backs. I’m just sayin’.)

She started yelling at her husband in my living room. I couldn’t understand why she was yelling at him; she ought to have been yelling at her son for kicking. But her reasoning is that the kid’s father was out there, and he should have been protecting his son.

Skyler’s victim walked in. “I asked him to stop kicking me. He did it several times. Mike was there and didn’t say a thing.”

Jo’s mom was appalled. “You shouldn’t be kicking people.” This was not directed to Skyler but to Skyler’s victim. This comment got her ticket out of our house.

So everybody left. Bonnie stayed because her kids didn’t do anything wrong. She, Dad, and I debated about how to have handled the situation better. Dad and I agreed that it’s okay to kick someone when that person is kicking you and that boys have a lesson to learn when it comes to respecting other people’s nuts. She didn’t agree but did acknowledge that she doesn’t have her gonads on the outside and doesn’t know what it feels like to have them kicked.

Ah, well. Happy Birthday, Kyle! We’ll put up the picture of your “hand” cake as soon as we upgrade from dial-up. And thank you for NOT covering your ears and screaming while we sang you “Happy Birthday.”

When you need your blue shorts and your red shirt, you always ask me, and I give you the answer, “I washed them. They are in the dryer.” And you and I walk over to the dryer and fish out your blue shorts and red shirt. A few days ago, I was pulling clothes out of the dryer and found your blue socks, the ones that are your iron boots to help you on your quest to save the Princess, dirty and wadded. I surely did not put dirty blue socks in the dryer with clean clothes.

My mom bought some sweaters for you and Ty and a dress for Taylor. Yours looks like chain mail, in a pretend sort of way. You pull up the hood, climb on the arm of the couch your horse, and wave your sword toward the bad guys who are hindering you on your quest.

You kiss me out of the blue, telling me, “Mommy, I like you.” Smiling and sweet.

Heaven knows what’s going on in your mind. Whatever it is, don’t let it die.

Love,
Mommy

October 28, Tuesday, my dad’s birthday.

October 27, Monday,  I can finally breathe after a couple of weeks of crises.
October 26, Sunday, Kyle’s nose looks much better. Maybe he’ll have a scar. The van runs but still needs a tune up.

October 25, Saturday, Dad walked to the mechanic’s and picked up the van. It was a fairly short walk, about 4,000 feet. He left early enough to beat the heat. The rest of the day was spent in the driveway, fixing up (or tearing out the bad parts) of the other two cars that have been out of order for months.

October 24, Friday, Dad called me from his errand-running “The van broke down. I’m in this parking lot. Call a tow truck.” The van had a bad fuel line. I called a towing company in the phone book that had the closest address to us. The guy on the phone actually knew where the Serpentarium was. I was wondering how I was going to get to my lessons that afternoon, but my 3:30 appointment called to cancel. Good thing. They live just up the block, but that’s a hottest part of the day. And the days have been muggy. I wouldn’t have minded walking to their house for the lesson, but then I’d have to walk to my next student’s house, making me late. I left at 5pm to my student who lives about a mile from the house. Pink, new skin is visible on Kyle’s wound.
October 23, Thursday, more honey.

October 22, Wednesday, Kyle had a big piece of scab falling off. I didn’t want him to tear it because the rest of the scab wasn’t ready to go. And you know how it is when you pull a scab that isn’t ready to go: Ya got blood. And blood coming out of your face is not a pretty sight.

October 17 through 21, Dad cleaned Kyle’s wound and put raw honey on it (for its antibacterial properties). Kyle felt special for getting Dad’s attention but mostly for getting a spoonful of raw honey during treatment.

October 16, Thursday morning, the children were playing outside because the days have been cooler – or not as hot as they have been for the past several months. Using the word “cooler” might imply “pleasant” – and they were finished with their home schooling and chores. Dad was home, too. He and I were sitting on the couch, shootin’ the shit, when Ty reared his head. I reminded him not to interrupt adults’ conversation. And Kyle showed up right behind him, crying and bleeding from his face. Again. His face was hit by the tire swing, and it opened up the wound.

October 14, Tuesday evening, just after I came home from the work, I was changing my clothes when Kyle slipped, fell, and got up crying. Ty had a scared look on his face and started whimpering. What’s the matter NOW? I thought. Good grief, there’s always something going on here. Kyle was wailing hard, and when I took a look at him, he was bleeding from his face. I was praying that it wasn’t his teeth that he knocked out. So we went to the bathroom, wiped off the blood, and discovered a moderate cut on his nose. It was one of those cuts that begs the question of stitches, but the angle was odd on the fleshy tip. How it that supposed to be stitched? So we sent him to bed in hopes that he wouldn’t open up the wound in his sleep. And he was okay for the next day and a half.