Marcel Monday: Can you go now?

Lego World People Set

Me:  Tomorrow is your post day. What would you like to talk about?

Marcel: Me and you and Sammy and me and you.

Me: What would you like me to tell all your friends about you?

Marcel: That I run fast.

Me: Anything else?

Marcel: That I like to bounce, karate chop, eat cheese without my hands. Like a pig. Oh and play with this (holding up the box from his Lego World People. The box that he takes to bed, all flattened. He loves looking at the pictures of the little people that came in the box from Lego Education).


After putting this post to bed, it was time for Marcel to go to sleep too.  For the last three or so months, this has involved an elongated cuddle.  Sam is on the top bunk, and falls asleep in about ten seconds after a song. Marcel has required me to stay, and rub his back for several minutes. I can usually leave before he falls asleep, but to be honest, I usually don’t.

Until tonight.

He asked me to leave. “Mommy can you go now? I need some privacy.”

I was startled. Then I said; “Sure” almost abruptly.

I went in the kitchen and just stood there in the dark. So there, I thought. It’s true. Sometimes kids do outgrow things, before we have to outgrow them for them. (Meaning, I thought I’d have to begin a new “sleep training” moment with him soon, to get him to go back to sleep on his own, without me.)  I was also very sad.  Who likes to be outgrown?

I sat on the edge of my bed, looking over my planner, when I heard his little footy pajamed feet pitter-pattering in.

“Mommy? I didn’t get a kiss.”  I was sweetly startled this time.

I knelt down and gave him a kiss. Then he gave me one, and  and he walked back into his room and put himself to sleep.

What he wants to be when he grows up/Mama C and the Boys

It is the next morning, and I am still in awe of these two kids I have who know what they need, and know how to ask for it.

Today’s job: remind him how proud I am off how he put himself to sleep, and let him go the “little bowl of surprise gifts” (replenished yesterday) for that policeman, or fireman toy he was talking about.

Marcel Monday: Truth is a many plastic thing

Mama C and the Boys/ Line up!

Marcel:  I want to have a regular daddy. Does this guy have a regular daddy? (holding up a Playmobil guy)

Me: Maybe he had a donor.

Marcel: A coast guard donor? A brother and a coast guard donor?

Me: Sure


Marcel: OH NO!

Me: (from other room) What happened?

Marcel: There are Legos all over your kitchen floor!


Marcel: You want a piece of me?

Lego via Marcel: Pick a piece!


Marcel (to the assembled masses of plastication all over the kitchen table)  OK friends, time to go night night! Can you all get in your bed box, and meet me here in the morning?

My daddy is a Storm Trooper: making sense of the donor thing

Mama C and the Boys/ Don't forget your hat

Marcel was playing with his Legos, while I was working on yesterday’s Letter to LePage. I missed the first part of this conversation. I tuned in loud and clear when I heard; OK Daddy you can have my light saber. Then I watched a masterfully orchestrated dance between a Storm Trooper guy, a little Lego guy and a big Playmobil guy.  Sometimes they are “guys” and sometimes they are “friends”. The conversation continued:

Is that everything you need Daddy? OK. Don’t forget your hat. I have it, and I am wearing it. But you need it too. I will hold it, until the other Storm Trooper guy goes home. You can have it then. OK Daddy. Now we have to go in the firetruck. You can come too. Here is your hat. OK? Continue reading “My daddy is a Storm Trooper: making sense of the donor thing”

Marcel Monday: On not being a ballerina boy

Mama C and the Boys/Double trouble on the side
Mama C and the Boys/ From a distance
Mama C and the Boys/ hall way dash

At a ballet birthday party today, Marcel said No.

No to the hat, no to the music, no to any kind of organized movement.

Yes to Mr. Potato head in the plastic box in the other room.

Yes to sitting in my lap, and yes to running up and down the halls of the old converted mill.

No to the table of mostly ballerinas seated for pizza and cake.

Yes to the “grown up” folding chairs around the periphery.

He loves his ballerina friends, and loves to dance. But he remarked, “my moves stay inside the house Mom. If I wanted to take them outside I would go dance in the park, or on top of the car. Not in a loud place with so many people inside.”

I am still working out my own opinion of the “Princess Boy’s” mother’s choice to invite a five year

old into the media maylay over his story. For a compelling discussion on the topic please see My Brown Baby’s post here.

In my case, I was just happy that for once, I let him do what he wanted, and didn’t sweat the small stuff. He had a blast actually, and so did I.