A Boy and his Dog

This is puppy:

Puppy is Connor's best friend. He goes everywhere we go. At night he sleeps with Connor. He goes to school with Connor, and sleeps with him at naptime. Puppy is essentially another member of our family.

So we were devastated last week when we returned from our vacation and realized we didn't have Puppy.

Our last memory of seeing Puppy was at lunch that same day. Connor was petting him and placing a napkin gently over him.

"Shhh. He's sleeping," Connor explained softly.

We called the restaurant that evening. They didn't have Puppy.

I tried to explain it to Connor in simple terms.

"Connor, Puppy's gone," I began. "I think we lost him."

"It's ok," Connor responded in a matter-of-fact way. "We'll find him. He'll turn up."

Of course he'd think that. Puppy has gone missing before. He's been left at school and Target. Once he was left behind at Ninah's house, and Ninah was nice enough to mail him to us. But after calling the restaurant AND contacting the owner the next day (an old friend of mine), we knew he wasn't there. I imagined him sitting alone on the boardwalk in Georgetown, lonely and abandoned. Or worse, I imagined him bobbing in Winyah Bay, muddy and wet and cold. Or worse still, I imagined him in a trashcan somewhere, tossed in with rotten food and beer bottles. It made me sad.

It made me even more sad the following day when Connor asked for Puppy at naptime.

"Connor, we called the restaurant and they don't have puppy. I think he's gone."

Connor put his head down and his shoulders slumped foward. He began sobbing. I carried him to his room and tried to console him.

"He's my best friend," he said. "My feelings are hurting."

It was hard to watch. I realized that it was the first time Connor has had to deal with loss.

"Do you remember where you saw him last?" I asked, hoping that Connor could offer a clue--something we hadn't thought of.

"He was taking a nap at the restaurant."

"Did he go to the ice-cream store?"

"No. He can't walk. He's just a pet."

He eventually fell asleep, but he cried again that night when it was bedtime. It was so heartwrenching that even Lee teared up.

That night I spent more than three hours on the internet trying to find Puppy. I finally found him: he is a Ty Classic named Scoundrel. He is "retired", which basically means they don't sell him anymore. He was sold for a short time in 2006, and is apparrently considered rare. I found him on Ebay for $45.

I woke Lee at 1:00 a.m., excited that I'd found Puppy.

"We're not paying $45 for a stuffed animal," Lee replied.

"But it's Puppy."

"No, it's not Puppy. Besides, you know Connor will know the difference."

It was true. Earlier that day I'd given Connor Laila's puppy to sleep with. As he was dozing off, Connor pointed out all the differences. Not the obvious ones--e.g. her dog is white, his is brown. But the tiniest, most minute differences.

"The tags are different," Connor said. "On Laila's Puppy, the tag is right next to the tail. On my Puppy, the tag is a little bit under the tail."

So I knew he'd know it wasn't Puppy. I went to sleep feeling defeated.

The next day Lee called with exciting news.

"I called they ice-cream shop, and they have Puppy!" he said. Connor grinned when he heard it.

On Thursday I drove from Columbia to Georgetown-- 2 1/2 hourse--to get Puppy. Connor hugged him when he saw him. We had ice-cream. We walked along the boardwalk. And when we left, Puppy came home with us.

Boys will be boys

The inevitable has happened. This morning Connor broke his leg.

In his short life Connor has given us our share of medical adventures. He had tubes put in his ears before his first birthday. He had stitches when he was two. He's had three trips to the emergency room due to severe asthma attacks, and one emergency trip to the pediatrician when the nebulizer failed to help his breathing after three rounds of treatment. Earlier this year he stuffed play-do in his ear. A few weeks later he stuck a plastic eye from a craft project up his nose. (He approached Lee, blood dripping from his nose, and cried, "Daddy, I have an eye in my nose.") In three years he has already seen more specialists than I have in thirty years. We knew it was only a matter of time before he had a broken bone.

It finally happened this morning. He jumped off the couch and fell down. Something so simple, and yet it fractured his tibula. Now he has a full-leg cast. A blue one, like Leonardo from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

And he is totally milking this thing. Lee told me to give him ice-cream shortly after it happened. After he got his cast Lee took him to the store so that he could pick out Popsicles. At Qdobas he got free guacamole AND a free brownie. He is sleeping in our bed tonight. And he seems overjoyed by the fact that I have to carry or push him everywhere. Earlier today he told me that he needed to sit in Laila's stroller because that would make his leg feel better. So I indulged him.

"Om, Mommy, can you just push me around?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Oh, you can just push me around the coffee table." (Big devilish grin.) "Leonardo's hurt. He can't walk right now, so you can just push me."

The next few weeks will be interesting.

Junk Toys

Connor came out of his room with an arm full of toy cars with missing wheels.

"Mommy, these cars are junk. They can't be fixed."

"What did you do to them?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing. They just came off by themselves. I took the wheels off because they are junk. They need to go to the junk yard. They can't be fixed."

He continued.

"All of these wheels are junk. I can't get them off." (Pulling at the wheels.) "I can't get them off. They're junk." (More pulling at the wheels.)

"Mommy, can you pull them off? I can't get them off. I need to get them off because they're junk."

Work

Yesterday Connor broke our camera. In an attempt to help Connor understand the significance of that, Lee tried (again) to explain the significance of money and work.

"It takes a lot of money to buy a camera," he explained.

"We can get some money from the bank," Connor offered.

"But we don't have unlimited money in the bank," Lee attempted. "I have to work so that we can put money in the bank. We can't get everything we want. And now we have to buy a new camera, so that means you won't get something you want."

I wasn't sure Connor understood.

This morning when I woke up Lee was already gone.

"Lee--" I called.

Connor heard me from the other room. He came into my room.

"Daddy's gone, Mommy. He went to work. We need a new camera, so he had to go to work."

Connor-speak: Part III

1. Foreth (For-eth): forth. Ex. "Let's share. We'll pass the ball back and foreth."

2. Calipitter (CAL-i-pit-er): catipillar. Ex. "Calipitters are bad bugs. They eat Mommy's plants."

3. Wuacomole (WAK-a-mole-ee): guacomole. Ex: "Daddy makes the best wuacomole!"

Legs

Connor scratched his leg.

Nothing serious. Just a large surface scratch. I washed it off and kissed it. It was too big for a band-aid and it wasn't bleeding, so we skipped that step.

But for the remainder of the afternoon, Connor kept telling me his leg was bleeding.

"It's not bleeding," I'd insist.

"Yes it is. I need a band-aid."

After about the fourth or fifth time, I replied jokingly: "I guess we'll just have to cut it off."

Lee chimed it: "What do you think about that, Connor? What if we just cut it off?"

Connor looked confused. "But I need my legs."

"Why do you need your legs?" I asked.

Connor thought about it for a minute, then replied, "Because they make my feet hook up."

Conversations with Connor: Part II

This is the conversation I had with Connor on the way home from school today:

"Hey Penny--"

"Yes?"

"No, you have to say, 'Yes, Bolt.'"

"Yes Bolt?"

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

"It's a beautiful day."

"Yes it is."

"If I take off my shirt and my shorts and my shoes and my underwear, I would be naked."

"Yes you would."

"But we don't sleep naked."

"No, we don't."

"We just wear underwear and pajamas to sleep in. We don't wear shoes in bed."

"No, we don't wear shoes in bed."

"Because if we do, it will get pokes in the sheets."

More Connor-speak

Here's one I forgot to include on the earlier list:

dustice [DOO-stas]: justice. Ex. I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America... with liberty and dustice for all.

Many of you have seen this already, but here's a clip of Connor using this word. This was taken about a month before his third birthday:

Conversations with Connor

This morning around 7:30 Connor crawled into bed with us and said:

"Daddy, it would be dark inside a chicken's belly."

"Yes it would, Connor," Lee replied.

"I'm not Connor. I'm Simba."

The Lion King is Connor's latest favorite movie. On Saturday he watched parts I and II. On Sunday he started to watch part III, but halfway through the movie he announced, "There aren't any lions in this one. I want the one with the lions."

(I know that sounds like a lot of t..v., but keep in mind: (1) These are short movies; (2) We don't have cable, so we rely exclusively on movies for Connor's t.v. entertainment; (3) We stick Connor in front of the t.v. in the mornings while we attempt to sleep in; and (4) Saturday morning we had soccer, and Sunday morning we had church, so there really wasn't any sleeping in anyway. I write this as is anyone, other than me, actually cares about the amount of t.v. Connor watches.)

So Connor is Simba today. I am Simba's mommy, Lee is Simba's daddy, and Laila is "the hog" (the warthog). This one confuses me because when he addresses me he says "Mommy". I forget we're playing a game and respond with his name. He corrects me.

This is the conversation we had in the car today:

"Mommy,--"

"Yes, Connor."

"No, it's not Connor. It's Simba."

"Yes, Simba."


"It's a beautiful day today. The trees are beautiful, the houses are beautiful, the cars are beautiful, the mailboxes are beautiful."

"Yes they are."

"It's a beautiful day for playing."

"Yes it is."

"When I get home will you play with me?"

"Yes."

"We can play chase. After that you can try to eat my belly, and then we can roar at each other. Then you can try to cook me."

"Cook you?"

"Yeah, Ninah does that. She tries to cook me. But not really. Just pretend. You don't really cook me. You don't put me in a real pot. You just put me in a pretend pot and pretend to cook me."

"Sounds like fun," I replied.

I'm looking forward to it!

Money

Connor broke my water-sprayer (the thing that attaches to the water-hose to water plants--I have no idea what it's called).

I was furious. Not because it was new. Not because it was expensive (it wasn't). But because he destroys everything. He probably can't help it--he's a three year old boy. I still can't figure out how he managed to break it, but I'm sure it involved hitting or throwing or bamming or something that I have asked him repeatedly not to do. Just like I have asked him repeatedly to LEAVE MY STUFF ALONE.

So I sent him to time-out, and while he was there I tried to think of a way to make this lesson stick.

"The next time Ninah gives you money," I announced, "you have to give it to me. I'm going to use it to replace the sprayer that you broke." (As if Ninah would allow that....)

He looked confused.

Of course he was confused. He has no concept of what money is. He knows it buys toys, but he doesn't understand that there is a limited amount.

His response to a broken toy is always "We'll have to buy me another one."

"No, Connor, we're not."

"Why not?"

"Because we can't just buy you a new toy every time you break one."

"Well Ninah will buy me a new one." (Thanks, Mom.)

So I try to explain to him that Daddy works hard for money, and that we use that money to buy our house and our clothes and our food. I try to explain that the money isn't just there, but that it has to be earned.

The other morning as Lee was leaving for work, Connor lovingly looked at him and said, "You don't have to go to work today. I have some money."

"Well, I have to make some money so that we can pay for this house," Lee explained.

"But we already paid for the house," Connor replied.

I eventually got over my anger about the water-sprayer. I let him out of time-out. Connor disappeared to play, and I continued planting flowers. About 45 minutes later Connor came running up to me with a penny.

"Look, Mommy! Look what I have!"

"Wow! Where did you find that?"

"Daddy's car."

"Oh."

Connor's voice became very soft.

"Here, Mommy, you can have it," he said, putting it in my hand.

"Sweetie, I don't want to take your money," I replied.

"Well, you can use it to replace the thing I broke," he stated.

My heart melted. I hugged him and kissed him and returned the penny.

"Don't worry about it," I said.

Fathers

Connor just informed me that "some daddys don't have children."

Connor-speak

Here are some of our favorite Connor mispronunciations:

1. Croach: roach. Ex.: Mommy, there's a BIG GIANT croach in your office.

2. Brinoculars [bree-NOK-u-lers]: binoculars. Ex.: I have brinoculars just like Diego has brinoculars.

3. Noodas [NOO-das] or Goonals [GOO-nas]: noodles. Ex.: I want the goonals with the stripes (ziti) and the red sauce. (When he says this, he puts three fingers by his face and draws stripes in the air.)

4. Got-for: forgot. Ex.: I got-for get my puppy.

5. Gehaust pipe [ge-SAUST pipe]: exhaust pipe. Ex.: Mommy, your car is slooooow. It only has one gehaust pipe. Daddy's car is super-fast. It has two gehaust pipes.

Easter

Connor was a hit at the Easter egg hunt at Ninah's church. Before they set the children loose for Easter eggs (and candy, and the inevitable sugar highs), they told the story of Jesus' death and resurrection.

"Does anyone know why we have Easter?"

Three-year-old Connor piped up:

"Because Jesus died."

He knows the story. I was surprised the first time I heard him tell it.

"And what happened after He died?" I asked.

"They put him in a cave, and the bad guys put a rock in front of him."

"Did He get out?" I asked.

"No," Connor replied.

Unfortunately he misses the most important part.

This has become one of his new games. Yesterday we were playing outside, and Connor picked up a stick.

"Mommy, you shoot me, and I'm gonna rose again from the grave."

Hmmmm....

This morning was a little trickier. We discovered that Connor, who has only met Lee's mom once, thinks that Lee's older sister Carol is his mom.

"She's not my mom. She's my sister," Lee explained.

"Well, where's your mommy?" Connor asked.

"She lives far away. You met her when you were a baby."

"What about your daddy?"

"Well, he's in heaven," Lee began, a little lost for words. "He died," he continued.

"On a cross?" Connor asked.

How do you explain death to a three-year-old? I'm not really sure I'm ready to. So far the story of Jesus' death is the only story of death Connor has heard. And He rose again, so Connor is a little confused about what death really is.

I grew up in a Southern Baptist Church, and the story of Jesus' death was one I always knew. It was so much a part of me that I was in my early 20s before I realized how violent and gruesome the story really is. Blood, and nails, and a thorny crown.... It's the type of story I would censor from my young son if it were on t.v.

And yet it is central to my Christian faith.

The story is ultimately one of hope: Despite violence and death, there is ultimately resurrection. A second chance. A new beginning. Connor doesn't really get it. How can he, at three?

I wish I could completely shield him from death. I wish he would never have to worry about his health or the health of a parent, grandparent, spouse, child, or friend. I wish he would never have to feel the empty place that is left behind when a loved one passes away. I wish he could stay my little baby forever....

But he will grow up, and he will experience those things, and he will be changed by them. Hopefully he'll learn the end of the story, and with it find some hope.

GIANTS!!!

This is copied and pasted from an email Lee sent me. I laughed out loud when I read it:

We’re in the car going to school and Connor is in the back playing with his BumbleBee toy. I hear him say “someone’s going to put my BumbleBee up in a tree that is SOOO BIG.”

I ask him, “Who’s going to do that?”

“A GIANT!!”

“Really?” I ask. “Where’s the giant going to come from?”

“A barn”

“Oh, are there any barns near our house?”

“No.”

“So how’s the giant going to get to our house?”

Connor answers quietly, “Well, maybe he has a car.”

I think I’ve got him cornered now… “Have you ever seen a car that was big enough for a giant to drive?”

“No, but maybe he’ll sit on top of the car.”

“But if he sits on the car, he will crush the car.” I respond.

“Well then he’ll sit inside the car!” Connor states with certainty.

Ah ha! “But they don’t make cars big enough for giants to drive!”

“Well, they will if the giant says >very deep voice< MAKE ME A CAR!!”

I have nothing to say to that….

There's a stranger in my house....

Several weeks ago Connor watched Toy Story II for the first time. That night, Connor moved out and Buzz Lightyear moved in.

A typical conversation would go something like this:

"Connor--"

"I'm not Connor. I'm Buzz."

"Ok. Buzz, Daddy's leaving for work. Tell him goodbye."

"It's not Daddy. It's Woody."

This game never ended. Every time I called Connor "Connor," I was corrected. Every time I called Lee "Daddy," I was corrected. I became Little Bo Peep, and Laila was my Sheep. When Connor spent the weekend with my parents, my dad became Woody II. (When my dad was first introduced to Buzz, he thought Connor was saying "I'm Bud Light Beer.") Even Connor's teacher called him Buzz, as long as he was behaving (she told me this little trick worked very well).

Buzz disappeared about a week ago. Connor watched Bolt for the first time, and he turned into a hyperactive-superhero-puppy (ok, so he's always been hyperactive). I became Penny, Bolt's human owner. I liked this game much better: instead of fighting the evil Zerg (which is what Buzz Lightyear did), Bolt would cuddle up to me and say, "I love you, Penny."

But now I can't keep up with the fickle child. One minute he's Bolt; the next, Spiderman; the next, Batman.

And the game has become even more complicated: Today he was dressed in his new Batman pajamas, complete with a Batman cape. He was wearing the Batman mask that Uncle Len gave him for Christmas.

"What are you doing, Batman?" I asked.

"No, I'm not Batman. I'm Diego," he said.

"But you're dressed like Batman."

"No, this is just my pajamas. I'm Diego. Diego wanted to dress up like Batman."

"Of course."

"You thought I was Batman?"

"I thought you were Batman. I was wrong."

What was I thinking?!

Why?

Why do three-year-olds constantly ask why?

On our drive home from school today, we passed a Payless Shoe Store. Every day when we pass that same store Connor asks, "What's that, Mommy?"

"It's a shoe store."

"Why is it a shoe store?"

"Because it sells shoes."

"Why does it sell shoes?"

"Because it does."

"But why? Why is it a shoe store?"

"What else would it be?"

"Candy."

"Ok."

"Why are we going home?"

"Because."

"But why?"

No response.

"Why?"

No response.

"Why are we going home, Mommy?"

Apparently ignoring him doesn't work.

"Why?"

"Stop asking why, Connor."

"But I'm not asking why, Mommy. I'm telling you a letter."

Aaaggghhhhhh.

"Mommy, are you frustrating?"

"Yes, Connor, I'm frustrating."

"Why are you frustrating?"

"Because you won't stop asking why."

It didn't end when we got home. Connor found a bag of cough drops in my purse, which he thinks is candy.

"Can I have one?"

"Just one."

"Why can I just have one? Why can't I have two?"

"Because you can just have one."

"I'm gonna get one for Daddy. But Daddy doesn't like them. I'm gonna eat his."

"No Connor, you're not."

"But why?"

"Because."

"Here, Mommy, you can have one."

"Thank you Connor."

"Eat it. Go ahead, eat it Mommy."

"Not right now."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want it right now."

"Then can I have it?"

"No."

"Why?"