He came in from snowmobiling and spilled it.
While out in the snow, he thought once he might die.
He is scared, he says, of how his nails and hair will grow after he is dead.
I tried to explain how it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't feel it.
For now, my words are worthless. "Please don't talk about heaven because my belly will hurt again."

Suddenly I remember him asking me last week on the way to school what happens if someone is buried alive.
I spent five miles explaining all the techniques one could use to make sure a person is dead. And now I recall the botched burial of our recently departed chicken Sleepy Cloud. Just as I was about to drop her in the hole, I thought I felt her move. I made quite a production of double-checking her vital signs. This set off a world of questions, including references to Michael Jackson's Thriller video.

So maybe Miles is suffering with graveyard fears more so than mortality issues.
I think I'll let Chris tackle cremation, his family's choice of post death body maintenance.

At bedtime last night Miles welled up. We were studying a book my friend published on the history of her family business. In it is a black and white photo of her grandmother, an infant at the time, taken nearly 100 years ago. Miles and I had been laughing just seconds before, trying to figure out how this tiny baby somehow grew up, had children, and became a grammie.
But when Miles asked if the grammie were still alive and I said no, the laughter died.
Will I die? he asked.
He knows the answer to this question. He seems pretty comfortable with the cycle of life concept. He sees a lot of birth-growth-decay of animals and plants at his nature-focused school. Talk of me and/or dad dying will make him cry, but that's about all that brings him down.
Usually.
"I don't want to die," he began to cry between phlegmy coughs.
I told him that we don't know what will happen after we die. I told him I heard heaven is the next stop and it will be filled with whatever we love. For you, Miles, that could be puppies and pizza and Grammie, and maybe pets who've passed like Silky and Sleepy Cloud and Chipper.
Miles pleaded the fetal position and said his belly hurt. We changed the subject to pilgrims, colonists, Dances With Wolves, Elf, fixing Santa's sleigh, and New Year's Eve parties.
This morning while watching Toy Story, Miles rubbed his belly and mentioned something about death. I stopped scrambling eggs and wondered what to say. In my silence, Woody's character spoke for me: "Save your batteries."
And I thought Thank you Woody.
I prepared my response. I will suggest we put our energy toward doing fun stuff while we are alive and not waste our precious batteries on worry.
We'll see how that goes. Miles is debate team material.

A Recurring Train

Miles said good night to the chickens. They were perched inside the coop, above his head. As he raised his arm to pet Big Red, his favorite hen, another chicken pecked Miles's wrist.
Big Red sat still, allowing my son to touch her ample chest feathers. If she could have purred, she would have.
"She never pecks you, does she?" I asked Miles.
"She never pecks anyone, right Ma?" Miles asked. I told him I couldn't recall her ever pecking a human.
"That's cause she's teached."
"Trained?" I suggested.
Trained, he repeated, smiling, closing the coop door.
Train.

Peace, God and Watery Poops
Sleepy Cloud, 4/22/10-11/13/10


We buried the first of our beloved egg-laying chickens today. Sleepy Cloud, as we called her, passed away in my arms this morning. I loved Sleepy Cloud, who loved to nap in the sun or on our laps when we first brought her and five other baby hens home six months ago.
Cause of death: unknown.
I bawled. Miles asked if we could "stick a sword in its neck."
I declined his request.
Think of something to say when we bury her, I suggested. He agreed.
An hour later, when the last of the dirt was patted down, I said something like I hope you go where you want to go, either with human spirits or animal spirits like Chipper and Misty, or maybe just with the moon or the wind or the sky.
Miles stood up straighter and said,
"I hope you have a good time in God, Sleepy Cloud. Thanks for being in our life. Thanks for the eggs, the small and the double-yolk ones. And it was funny when you made watery poop yesterday in the basement!"
It was funny yesterday, when we brought her in the house to give her more individualized, tender care. It was smilingly-tearfully funny remembering it today.
We trooped back to the coop. Miles took me aside and whispered, "I went back to the dirt pile and said, 'Peace, God.' "
My son, the devout, Santa-loving Atheist, referred to God twice in ten minutes.

Video of the clouds when they were days old:

Miles lied to me last weekend. He was informing me about how mussels have teeth called ballerina that are razor sharp and can tear through Hefty garbage bags.
"Where did you learn this?" I asked.
"At stool...at my other stool." My kindergartner attends only one school currently.
"I have a lot to learn about mussels," I began. "I'm getting a book from the library--"
"No, it's not in any books right now," my son said.
"Oh, then we get home I'm going online--"
"It's not on any pewter!" Miles barked, frustrated. "It's secret, it's ... tompitated."
Complicated. Either Miles is enrolled in a highly covert marine-life educational program, or his creativity is in high gear.

Miles leapt over a greater milestone this weekend when he mastered the Hard C sound. Last night, after some concentration and practice, Miles said, "Carl can care for the baby." We were looking at my favorite picture book, Good Dog, Carl.
This was the week I was to schedule another evaluation with a speech pathologist. Good speech, Miles.

Ma, what's freeze brain?
Brain freeze? That's when you eat ice cream too fast and your head feels frozen.
Like your whole brains gets really really cold and you get turkey pimples all over your skin?
Goose bumps?
Yes!

Child number two of two just signed up for the Dental Floss Bathroom Buffet. I had almost finished Miles's "Back in the Uterus Days" post when I was distracted by Charlie's lip-smacking sounds emanating from the potty. Same floss, different son.

I am startled at how long Miles's five-year-old body stretches in our bath tub.
"I remember when you were jack-knifed in my uterus," I said to Miles as I scrubbed his feet. "Thanks for choosing my uterus," I added. I have my son believing I have no idea how he got in there; I am just lucky that he decided to grow inside my body.
"No problems. I really liked being in your uterus," Miles said. "I was like the boss of your uterus."
I raised my eyebrows.
"I could watch TV anytime I wanted, and could stay up early or not go to bed, and I could drive the car with you."
I tried to memorize his words until I got to the computer.

Mom. You look not so beautiful.
I couldn't argue. Today I looked a lot like the character Angela Martin from The Office.


Angela Kinsey

Miles, My New Therapist

What did it feel like to you when you was growing up?
We had just finished reading one of his favorite bedtime short stories, "Curious George Takes the Train."
I thought Miles was buying more stay-awake time by asking his mom to talk about herself.
With every intention of outsmarting him, I quickly chronicled the types of beds I slept in, and at what age. I told Miles I was in a crib in my parents room until 5, at which point my sister Jeannie married and freed up a bed. I got promoted across the hall to bunk beds with Bud, my only brother. A couple of years later, sister Diane got hitched and I upgraded to a single twin. Soon my sister Eileen scooted to Vermont, but my sister Laura and I stayed roommates in our matching twins.
When I was 12, my dad died and soon after, Laura married. I landed a full-size bed. I blurted to Miles that it was a lonely time.
Why?
I told him that Sue, my remaining sister living at home, and I were mean to each other.
Why? Her hit you? Miles got a time-out yesterday for hurting his brother Charlie.
No. Well, she tripped me once. But I was mean to her too. I took her things without asking first.
Was she mean to you when your dad was alive?
No, not really. Maybe, Miles, Sue was sad about my dad and she took it out on me.
[Miles and I talk about anger displacement a lot, but only tonight did I consider its role in my childhood relationship with my sister Sue.]
Was your mom alive?
Yes. But I didn't really like her too much at the time. I was kind of mean back then, remember.
Why you not like Betty? He pronounces my mom's name Bed-Tee.
I guess I wasn't sure if she loved me.
She still loves you. Miles said it immediately and with certainty. She's talking about you right now with....Miles paused, trying to grab the name of our dead-for-two-years-now cockatiel.
Chipper?
Yes, Chipper and Grammie. Betty is talking about you with both of them right now.
I welled up, hugged him, kissed him, and changed the subject.

"Wow! Is this plants or celery?"

"Ma, want to see my moves?"
For five minutes, across the living room floor, Miles showed his self-taught martial art kicks and spins. His guttural "hyah"s were all well timed, but in my ears he sounded like a cowboy on a cattle run. Occasionally he'd pepper his presentation with a Batman-like Pow! or a Take That!
It was bedtime, so I ushered him up the stairs toward the bathroom. He continued his demonstration in the hallway while I squeezed toothpaste on our brushes.
Finally, with a hand on his heart, he approached our bathroom sink.
"Ma, I can feel my heart knocking!"
We borrowed a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles DVD from the library this week. I'll be looking into what the town offers for kiddy karate tomorrow.

From the back seat of the car, Miles sang A field is alive!
He was using his high voice, his lady voice.
"Remember that show, Momma, the dancer who didn't want to be indoors?"
It seemed so familiar.
He sang again, louder this time, My field is alive!
I stalled for time, reviewing my son's clues:
TV show, dancer, possibly claustrophobic.
"Remember, with the mean, mean, mean daddy who turned nice when he sang?"
Ah yes, then I knew.
Two nights ago, while the country watched Super Bowl XLIV, we drank in a family favorite, The Sound of Music.
As the movie started, I had tried to frame the plot for my nearly five-year-old.
I told Miles that Maria loves exploring outdoors, running, playing, dancing and singing. But, her job as a nun requires her to be quiet and to sit still. Her boss tells Maria to babysit seven kids who have a strict dad. Maria teaches the family to sing and play and dance.
"Her the best lady in the whole world," Miles said after we both sang Miles's version of The Hills Are Alive. "But why her only dance outside?"
We only watched half of the film, including the sultry part where the Captain replaces his son Kurt as Maria's partner for the Austrian folk dance, but I couldn't recall a single scene where Maria danced indoors.


Best Moments of January 2010

Two weeks after Christmas I got a new phone from Verizon. It alerts me to incoming email messages with a tone that says "DROID" in robotic voice. It took me a few days to find the volume button and adjust it.
During our first night with the new phone, Miles shook me awake.
"Mom! Mom! I heard a man downstairs!"
I listened for a long time. All was quiet.
"I heard him," Miles whispered urgently. "I heard a man say something."
I pulled off the covers and sat up. Miles has had bad dreams lately. I was willing to walk him downstairs and show him we were intruder-free.
As my feet hit the carpet, Miles added: "I think he said: "TOYS." Miles did his best robot voice.
Had I mentioned how important Santa was this Christmas?

Miles zipped his jacket today. First time ever by himself.
A year ago he called this part of his jacket a yipper. Today he called it a sippah.
Proud. Both of us.

Why Christmas is only one day?
I struggle with the same question every year.
I did my best to be direct with my four-and-a-half-year-old.
I told Miles that winter is the name of the entire cold weather season, but Christmas is the celebration of Jesus's birthday.
Who's Jesus?
God's son?
You mean God got married to a girl, a beautiful girl? I didn't know dat. Are you laughing or crying?
Both, Miles. You are so delicious.