Baby Batman

When my youngest boy was about two years old, he climbed into my lap and said, "I was a baby Batman and you are a mommy Batman. He was a baby Batman and he want his mommy."

That's when I knew this kid was going to be super fun! I had always known that I wanted to raise my own children and not send them to daycare. With the help of kind employers, family and obliging coworkers, it has worked out. Sometimes its a struggle, but my husband and I have managed it so that one of us always takes the boys. We have been amply rewarded for our efforts. We get to spend time with them.We get to be there! I feel blessed in all the sweet moments I've been a part of. Over the years, "Batman" has amused us by his funny way(s) of talking, his amazing sense of humor and his fantastic imagination. You'll understand what I mean.

For one thing, he loves Batman. This is actually pretty useful for me as a parent. When he had to drink a nasty medicine, I told him it was a special potion that might turn him into Batman. He drank it. One Easter Sunday, he broke his poor little arm (walking up a slide.) I took him in for casting and expected that he'd pick green, his favorite color. However, I knew that it would be filthy and disgusting in about... one day. In my head I was singing the scouting song, "Black socks! They never get dirty. The longer you wear them the blacker they get." It was his choice, but he went with black and it still looked pretty clean six weeks later. Thank you, Batman.

It's pretty obvious who is his favorite superhero, but would you guess that a three-year-old would have a favorite direction? Well, he does and it is East. Anytime you want to hear pure and unbridled enthusiasm, just tell him you're going east. You will get "Yay! Yay! Yay!Yay!" for up to five minutes straight. He loves east. I don't know why, but it sure makes me smile. (Speaking of smiles, this kid lights up the room. Between his blue, dancing eyes, and those  irresistible dimples, He just might persuade you to do anything.) He also likes north, and sometimes west, but if we're heading south, we don't bring it up.

As you might have guessed, car rides get pretty interesting. "I Spy" might be the greatest game ever invented. Here is one game we played.



           Me: I spy with my little eye, something black.
           Batman: Is it a duck?
           Me. No...
           Bat: I spy with my one little eye, something blue.
           Me: Is it a car?
           Bat: No, it's a duck.

Funny how I didn't see any ducks.

Sometimes you'll guess for a long time before he makes up his mind about what it is he's looking at. Sometimes he'll change his mind. Usually, he'll end up picking something you've already guessed. Power of suggestion.

The best game was at night, when we were driving through a canyon. He'd spied something black. Just try and figure out that one. Is it really black or does it just look black because it's dark? And how will we know? We never did get it.

It gets crazier playing Twenty Questions. I mean, at least in I Spy, he can only spy REAL things, right? RIGHT? When he starts up with "I'm thinking of something!" It could be anything from a tree to a giant ball of cheese bigger than a house. When it's his turn to guess, he always starts out with "tree" and inevitably gets to "RTD2." Sometimes, he gets tired of hearing "No" in answer to his queries. He'll just restart the game. On one occasion he declared, "Whoever says no wooses. Whoever wooses, it's my turn."

Sometimes, as we're driving, he'll see a mountain. He'll get super excited and start commanding, "Singa mountain song!" (Country Roads) So we'll have to sing, "Countwy woad, take me home to the place I belong! West Virginia..." He's John Denver's cutest fan. Once we heard this song at the grocery store and he told me, "They played it for me because they thought I would like it." I had to agree.

This kid has been saying funny things since the day he learned to sign. (The first time he signed "milk", he retired from signing and learned to speak instead.) At three years, his favorite phrase was "Boo-hoo to you." Don't even ask me where he learned it. We used to play the animal sound game. We would ask him "What does the horse say? The duck? The whale?" Once I asked him what the human said and his response was awesome. "Na na na na Batman!" He calls his brother Denny, (as in "Denny, back off my stuff.") and more recently, Milk Dud.

The way he talks is fun too. For the first year of his life he spoke with a southern accent. ("Ah don' wanna gaow!") He got over stuttering and speaking about himself in the third person. Mostly. He went through a phase where everything was growled, rather than spoken. I can tell you, you haven't lived until you've heard "Jesus wants me for a sunbeam" growled by a cherubic toddler. Growling is so fun, that he still does it at times. You try saying "Wook into my eyes!" in a growly voice and see if you don't grin. The voice seems perfectly appropriate for a boy who calls himself Batman. You see? Everything is Batman.

There are so many more stories, and so little time. And he keeps on growing, and talking and making me laugh. He has sweetened my difficult moments with his gorgeous smile and sincere love. His little chubby arms give the best hugs. His bedtime stories are amazing and sweet. ("Once upon a time, there was a baby giraffe, and he did nuffing. And he gave his mommy a wuv.")

I hate to think that someday, I'll have to let him go.  I don't want him to change and be anything else but my little boy. I hope I get to keep him forever. For now, I'll keep him close by.

I Married Superman

How do you know if you've got a good man? Well, if he's willing to put others above himself, stay cheerful in times of trial, knows when to keep his mouth shut, doesn't take things personally, works really hard, doesn't let fear stop him, keeps his promises, says he's sorry, doesn't make excuses, treats every woman with respect, gives up his seat to elders, picks up little children when they're crying, helps unload the groceries, listens to how your day went and saves his best smile for you, he's AMAZING. Keep that guy around.

Sometimes I can't believe how blessed I am. I can't wrap my mind around the fact that my husband loves me. Loves ME. LOVES me. How unlikely. How impossible. And how true. How and why did he ever fall in love with me in the first place? I thought at the time and I have thought since, that it is a miracle.

Because it is.

I used to talk about my husband all the time with girlfriends. Listening, really, as all these women playfully criticized their soulmates. Again and again the complaints would come out. "He doesn't help around the house. He won't change diapers. He gets ticked off when..." It was social murmuring, a time of "getting it out" and sharing. I'm a social person and the exercise seemed harmless enough at the time, but I honestly couldn't think of anything negative to say about my husband. Not one thing.

They'd all be complaining because their husbands all did something or other, and I'd have to admit, "My husband doesn't do that." I hadn't learned to keep my mouth shut, and why should I? My love is sweet and deserves to be praised. I don't want anybody talking bad about him, especially me. Other women didn't see it that way.

I must have been pretty convincing in my praise, because they all believed my husband to be sweet and clever and good. They just didn't think that I deserved him. Since I never took the trouble to brag about myself, they just assumed that I was a grouchy, horrible wife, who was all take and no give and who would soon be divorced. Ouch.

I'm going to skip all the "Where do they get off" outrage at their presumptions and just get to the part where they insulted my husband's intelligence. Sure, he's smart, sweet, good natured, hard working, determined, a veritable superman, but he can't tell that the girl he's dating is a complete witch. Anybody that nice is bound to be unhappy in marriage because nobody will ever be as nice to him. It's a mystery why he seems so happy. He'll eventually catch on and dump her.

I actually received long, unsought and downright nauseating lectures on all that I must do to keep him. Under constant attack, I found myself obliged to declare that I did do nice things for my husband. I'm angry just thinking about it. Not because anyone would be that... [choose your own adjective here] but because I put up with it for as long as I did. I'm angry at me.

I'm getting over it, and so must everyone else. I intend to brag about my husband any time the subject is mentioned and anyone who doesn't like it is welcome to leave. There will be no man-bashing here. There is no one to bash. My husband is awesome!

A dinner 

It's been seven years now and he still hasn't seen the light and dumped me. I wonder if my constant admiration for him has anything to do with it? (Or maybe dinner?) It's probably true that on some level, I don't deserve him. I might be called upon to acknowledge that on some level, he might not deserve me. But I won't. Our imperfections fit together, like those brain puzzles he's so fond of working. Together, we're pretty amazing and since I see him best when we're together, I see perfection.

If anyone wants to get together to brag about their men, I'm in. Better yet, let's write it all down, give it to our husbands with a [whatever thing they like] and see if it doesn't work for another seven years. Or maybe seven hours. Whatever.