Category: Kids & Cute Stories

Pajama Day

First posted here nine years ago today.

Mack, official oldest grandchild of NewMexiKen, was nervous. According to his mother, it was “pajama day” at Little Lambs pre-school. That meant that all the five-year-olds were supposed to wear a favorite pair of pajamas to school. In his pajamas in the car on the way however, it felt a little uncertain.

To alleviate the uncertainty — which by then had started to settle into her own mind — his mom began to suggest other “clothing days” there might be. In the joking that followed, Mack suggested — as 5-year-old boys will — “underpants day.”

His mother assured him there would be no day when the kids just wore underpants to class — at least not until college.

Mama Giraffe

First posted here 11 years ago today, February 23, 2004.

Kiley at the Albuquerque Zoo, February 22, 2004
Kiley at the Albuquerque zoo, February 22, 2004

NewMexiKen visited the Rio Grande Zoo Monday, a cool but not uncomfortable day (the rain and snow came in toward evening). With me were my daughter Emily and her daughter, my 16-month-old granddaughter, Kiley. The Zoo was quiet and nearly empty, seemingly as many caretakers as visitors.

We had already enjoyed the giraffes for a few minutes when a female came from the far side of the enclosure toward us. I commented to Emily that the giraffe was coming to see us.

Sure enough the giraffe came as close as she could, her head no more than five or six feet from our viewpoint. She seemed attracted to the baby, who was hungry about then and crying.

Kiley stopped crying when she saw the giraffe. We took some photos. The giraffe lost interest and wandered off.

Kiley also lost interest and resumed crying. Slowly, ambling as they do, but without hesitation, the giraffe, which by then had gone around a corner out of sight about 20 yards away, came back, if anything closer.

There was absolutely no doubt in our minds that the female giraffe was interested in the crying baby. I found myself talking to the giraffe, as one would to an intelligent house pet, reassuring her that the baby was fine. It was a conversation with considerable eye-to-eye contact.

The whole incident was extraordinary.

Life Is Just a Bowl of Cherries

This story from Jill first published here 10 years ago today.

[Three-year-old] Mack and I picked out some lovely ripe cherries at the market today. We’re going to chop them up and put them in homemade ice cream.

At lunch I diced some of them and gave them to [8-month-old] Aidan.

He grabbed a couple and stuffed them in his mouth. Immediately, his eyes shot to me with an expression that perfectly conveyed two thoughts:

“My God, but I do love you, woman.”

and

“Exactly what else have you been keeping from me?”

The Real Reason May 8th Ought to Be a National Holiday

Harry Truman, Robert Johnson, Rick Nelson, Melissa Gilbert, Coca Cola, Let It Be, and Santa Fe National Trail notwithstanding, the real reason May 8th should be a holiday —

It seemed like a good use of time. Labor had begun, but was progressing slowly. No sense not getting some chores taken care of while we waited at home. Most worthwhile seemed the leaky toilet.

I can’t remember what I was thinking, but at some point I moved the toilet too far and ruptured the fresh water feed at the valve. Water was spewing everywhere and there was no way to turn it off. Well into labor or not, the expectant mother went rushing around outside looking for the main shutoff, and then the tool needed to turn its valve. I stayed with the toilet trying to stem the geyser with my hand or a towel or whatever. I think actually at one point we switched roles, but ultimately I was the better stopper and the one who was heavy with child had to get the water off, which she eventually did.

A lot of water can come out of a small pipe in ten minutes (it must have been longer). A lot of water. No matter, we needed more. So it was then — not too surprisingly given all that exercise — that the mother’s water broke.

This was around noon. The afternoon was spent cleaning up the mess and waiting for the landlord to come home that evening so he could repair the plumbing. (I’d done all the harm they’d let me do for one day.) The labor stalled and soon mother, grandmother and obstetrician were playing cards, while I waited for game seven of the NBA Championship to begin. You know the one, the classic where Willis Reed hobbled onto the court, hit his first two shots, psyched out the Lakers, and the Knicks won 113-99.

Grandma and newborn Jill at the kitchen sink for first bath.
Grandma and newborn Jill at the kitchen sink for first bath.

Or so I’ve read, because I never saw the game. After lulling us into lethargy all afternoon, at about 6 PM the baby abruptly said “I’m ready” and within a few minutes Jill was born — at home* in a house that had no running water.

That baby is now a wonderful mother of three herself, photographer, author — once one of my favorite bloggers — pop culture maven, and friend. Happy birthday, Jill.

—–
* Home delivery hadn’t been planned. The grandmother however, was an obstetrics nurse and the doctor was there as a courtesy to her. Given the baby’s sudden impatience, staying at home was just about imperative. Honoring family tradition, Jill’s second was born in a hospital with no potable water thanks to 2003’s Hurricane Isabel. That plumbing problem wasn’t my fault.

Best Bib Ever

Mack's Bib

If 8-year-old Mack does well in this morning’s 5K, perhaps it’s because he had some Mephistophelean help.

Or has his mother said, “Whoever assigned the bib numbers for this race obviously knows Mack.”

[First posted April 26, 2009.]

It Ought to Be a Holiday

Sweetie Reidie is 8 today. Below his NMK birth announcement.

Reid

Grandpa has a brand new Sweetie today — Reid Fisher, third son of Jill and Byron. Reid and Fisher are both fifth generation family names.

The little guy was two weeks early, but weighed in at 7 pounds 3 ounces, and is 19 inches long. He and his mother are both doing fine.

Photo taken about three hours after Reid’s birth.

Each of the six of Grandpa’s Sweeties have, oddly enough, been born on days of the month that are prime numbers: 7, 13, 13, 19, 23 and 31. Thought you’d want to know.

Of course, born since is grandchild seven, Sweetie Sam, now 3, born on an unprime 25.

And a newer photo of Reid, taken one week ago.

Reid

My Mommy

My daughter Emily is on a business trip. My granddaughter Kiley misses her mom.

My Mommy

She is the star to my tree
The snow to my plow
I try singing without her
But I don’t know how
She’s part of my duet
We’re jelly and jam
If I am the turkey,
She is the ham
I know my rhyming
is pretty bad
But I hope this last line
Makes you glad:
Love left with you
And love will come back with you
And love will wait here for you
All the hours in between.

Looks Can Be Deceiving

By my Granddaughter Kiley, 11.

Every girl, if I’m not mistaken, wants to feel pretty. Maybe all the time. Maybe just once in a while. Maybe hardly ever. But our appearances matter to us. We want to impress people. We want to look cute, or at least clean. So next time you see a girl in a pretty outfit, look closer. If she’s not smiling, she’s not confident. If she’s not smiling, make her smile.

I Say What I Say

By my granddaughter Kiley.

I say what I say
I say what I say
But somehow
it never comes out that way
I do what I do
I do what I can
But somehow
There’s always a flaw in my plan
I type what I type
I type what I want
But somehow
It ends in a different font
I am who I am
I am the best I can be
At least that part works
And shows beautiful me.

My Granddaughter Wrote This

My not quite 11-year-old granddaughter Kiley wrote this for her blog.

Letting go is hard. Tomorrow is our community garage sale, and I finally have to say goodbye to my old baby dolls. I don’t really care about the dolls. Nor about the old VHS tapes, or even the stuffed animals. It’s the memories buried inside those things I want. The memories that make me want to turn back the clock. Back when I was little. Little enough to fit in the stroller we’re selling.

A Tail Wind

Four years ago then 8-year-old Mack appeared to have some Mephistophelean help in his 5K.

Or has his mother said, “Whoever assigned the bib numbers for this race obviously knows Mack.”

Mack's Bib

Most Popular Toys of Last 100 Years

1900-1909 Crayola Crayons
1910-1919 Raggedy Ann Dolls
1920-1929 Madame Alexander Collectible Dolls
1930-1939 View-Master 3-D Viewer
1940-1949 Candy Land
1950-1959 Mr. Potato Head
1960-1969 G.I. Joe
1970-1979 Rubik’s Cube
1980-1989 Cabbage Patch Kids
1990-1999 Beanie Babies
2000-Present Razor Scooter

Here are the details from Forbes, including other notable toys of each decade. (Article is from 2005.)

The Pilgrims and the Made-Up Americans

This is Mack’s first Thanksgiving in school, so of course he’s hearing the public school version of the First Thanksgiving story. Some teachers don’t use the correct name for the indigenous people near Plymouth — Wampanoags — or even the preferred generic term — American Indians. They use the presumed politically correct term — Native Americans.

That’s what the teacher says, but what do the children hear?

Mack’s mother Jill reports:

“At school, Mack is learning about the first Thanksgiving. He came home today with a short story about it, which I asked him to read to me. It went well until he got to the first reference to what he called the ‘Made-Up’ Americans.”

First posted in 2006.

Halloween Sweeties 2012

The East Coast Sweeties on Halloween: Crypt-Master Alex, Jailbird Reid (a burglar last year), Mad Hatter Mack, Nerd Aidan and No.2 Pencil Kiley. Click for larger version.

Sam. His mother was also a bumble bee.
 
And though in real life she is an angel, Sofie as a devil.

If This Story

… makes you feel one-tenth as good as it does me, you’ll have a great day, too.

Jill reports on three-year-old Reidie:

Reid just woke up. He has a cold and he’s also having a hard time adjusting to the new schedule — he naps, and then he can’t go to sleep at night, and then he gets up late, and then he won’t nap and he’s exhausted by 7:00…

Anyway, he just woke up and I asked him (as I always do), “What did you dream about?”

“Darth Vader was chasing me.”

“Oh no! Were you scared?”

“No.”

“Really? I would have been scared.”

“Grandpa was holding my hand.”

[Reposted from this date in 2009.]

You Have to Be a Weeble to Catch

It’s Fall sports season in Virginia and we have four boy Sweeties playing baseball and one girl Sweetie in soccer. Jill reports on 6-year-old Reid:

Reid has been petitioning his baseball coach for a chance to play catcher and he finally got his shot tonight. We had to buy him a cup first. (Oh, he is tickled pink by that cup.)

Anyway, he put on all the gear and he could barely stand up. He tried to catch about 20 pitches from the machine and every single pitch knocked him over completely backwards — including one that hit him plum in the face.

I think it’s the weight of the equipment that is tipping him over, more than anything else.

It was pretty awesome.

Reid on last year’s Fall team.

Early Lifestyle Choices

First day of school yesterday and Jill reports on Mack and Aidan.

Going through Mack’s papers and one of his teachers had them do a handout about themselves and their hobbies and what they like/don’t like about school, what they like in teachers, etc.

One question is, “If you had a million dollars, what would you do with it?”

Mack said he would buy a business so he could earn a bunch more millions of dollars.

Which is a good answer.

It also made me think of what Aidan told me earlier — his teacher asked them all what they would do with a thousand dollars (apparently, the rate of return on imaginary investments greatly increases between third and sixth grades).

Aidan said he would buy a hot tub.

Heroes

First posted here six years ago today:

Mack, official oldest grandchild of NewMexiKen, watched much of the Rose Bowl with his mother Wednesday night. Here’s the story as told by his mother, Jill:

The honorary marshal came onto the field, before the game, to flip the coin. I saw that it was Sandra Day O’Connor.

I said, “Oh, Mack, that is one of my heroes.”

“Why?”

I referenced conversations we’ve had in the past, “You know how we’ve talked about how, for thousands of years, men got to be in charge of everything and women didn’t get to do lots of things?” (Mack has a fairly solid background knowledge in this stuff, at least for a five-year-old boy.)

“Yes, like how they couldn’t vote or have a house or do lots of jobs?”

“Right. Well one job they didn’t get to do was be a judge. A judge gets to decide the laws for all the people to follow. It’s a really important job. Well, that lady was the first woman who got to be a judge. So she is one of Mommy’s heroes.” (Not strictly accurate, I know.)

Mack looked at me for a minute, then said, “Then she is one of my heroes, too.”

My heart melted. I put my arms out for a hug, so proud of my brilliant, sensitive child.

He continued, “Yes. Also Batman.”