Thursday, August 27, 2009


Yesterday, Demon Baby was exceedingly good and VERY talkative. He wanted to help clean the house and he articulated every single thought that was in his very smart little head.

"Holy what the heck! What is in this living room?" he screamed as he cleaned up toys.

"Holy what the heck, it's the mess you made."

At the end of a long, exhausting day, I said, "You were so great today. Thanks for being such a helper. I'm really proud of you."

"I think all my meanness is gone."

"You're not mean," I said.

"Well . . . you know, my naughtiness. When I fight my brother and spit on the floor and stuff. I think that's all out of my bloodstream."

This I pondered. Where does this kid GET these concepts?

"I'm glad you are not fighting your brother anymore, and I am really glad about the spitting."

"I bet sometimes you want to trade me for a really, really good kid who doesn't spit."


He cocked his head at me. "Come on. What about a kid who doesn't bring worms in the house."


"All right, what about the time I peed in your closet."

"I could have done without that, but nope." I leaned over. "You are perfect. You are made precisely perfect just the way you are. I think it's a good thing your meanness has left your bloodstream, but I wouldn't have traded you for all the well-behaved kids in the world."

He looked pretty pleased with that answer. Then I kneeled down, eye to eye. "I know this is kind of a big concept, but I think before you were born, your soul CHOSE me, and I think I CHOSE you. And I think we're perfect for each other."

He nodded, eyes shiny. "So even if I spit, you won't trade me."

"Even if you spit."

And off he went.

I'll be honest, there are days when I would like five minutes of peace and quiet. But I do think he chose me. And I chose him. And holy what the heck, that's just the way God works.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Dr. Demon Baby

My kids know when I am about to lose it. I start sighing. Loudly. I tend to lose it at the end of the day . . . usually on the occasions when I discover a MESS of epic proportions, which I now have to deal with after many hours of writing and assorted stress.

Demon Baby now predicates messes with coming in to me and saying the following:

"Mom . . . nothing broke. But . . . [FILL IN "I spilled an entire half-gallon of orange juice on the floor" or "I let the senile dog into the family room and he peed in there," or "I got creative with my food again" or "You might not want to look at the couch"]."

Then I usually sigh and slap my pen down on my desk.

Then, lately, he usually pats my arm and says, very slowly and patronizingly, "Now Mom, stop freaking out and CALM DOWN [aside, spoken as if I am a jumper on top of the George Washington Bridge] . . . you don't want your blood pressure to go up now, do you?"

And usually . . . that's enough for me to remember that life is too short to care about messes.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Brave Boy

Due to Demon Baby's antics, I have had some major plumbing and construction issues.

And when I got home last night, a field mouse had come in through some exposed wall/piping.

I cannot possibly explain my sheer freaked-out-ness. I didn't sleep last night. I may never sleep again.

But what amazed me was as I was shrieking and freaking out, standing on some furniture, Demon Baby did the first thing that came to his mind.

He ran to get his sword. He changed into his Ninja pants (no shirt) and came into the room, with his sword drawn like a Samurai. He raced from one spot to another, mouse hunting.

As I stood there screaming for him to stand on furniture, he next came to me, climbed up so he was nose to nose with me, wrapped one arm around my neck--tightly--and said, "It's going to be all right. I'm here now. I will protect you. I am the bravest sword fighter in the whole world, and I will slice the mouse into tiny pieces like a chopped carrot." [Aside: YES, I swear he said this.]

Then he gave me a kiss on the face, and proceeded to stand guard over me.

For real.

He is my hero.

By the time I fell alseep, well in the wee hours, I was half convinced Demon Baby really could slice the mouse like a carrot.

I think we're going to be okay.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Nuts and Bolts

Demon Baby does not play with toys.

He has toys. He gets toys for Christmas and his birthday. He has cars like other little boys.

But he doesn't play with them.

What Demon Baby does is take things apart . . . and make new things with the pieces.

He takes all my knitting off my knitting needles because he needs Samurai swords.

He takes the wires from DVD players and computers and makes robots.

I find little nuts, bolts, and screws in the carpet upstairs. He needs them for his robots too. When I find these little screws, I look around and wonder . . . what is going to fall apart one day? Where does he GET these? What do these belong to?

He harvests old computers and keyboards to launch his rocket ships. We can't leave for church or the store until he races to his work station (which happens to be in my bedroom, where he has take over an entire dresser) to "save my work." Then he presses keys and apparently that will keep a meteor from landing on the house while we are gone. Yesterday he asked me to call Santa Claus and request "tools" for Christmas.

We had his yearly check-up last week. That's a blog for another day. The short version is I decribed some of his behaviors . . . like this lack of toys thing. And the doctor talked to him for a long while (during which Demon Baby used big words, and formulated each sentence with "Precisely, . . ." and "Actually, I'm quite serious . . . ") . She studied him and pretty much came to the same conclusion I did. He's not autistic. He doesn't have ADD or ADHD. He's just really, really, really, SCARY smart. And he sees the world a different way.

"That doesn't mean you are any less exhausted, but I cannot imagine what advice I could even offer you," she said to me. "You're pretty much doing everything I would tell you to do with him. You've got him figured out."

But she's wrong. I don't think anyone could really figure him out. Not really. I collect his little nuts and bolts. I don't tell anyone in my family, but I tuck them away someplace and once in a while, I just go and look at them. I marvel that the house hasn't fallen apart yet for all his disassembling. But the nuts and bolts are a reminder to me.

He sees the world as something to take apart and put back together his way. And that's okay. Different isn't such a bad thing. We're all nuts and bolts just trying to find out where we fit.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Baby Girl Has Directed Another Music Video

Wait until AFTER the final words to see Demon Baby silliness.

And if you have a youtube account, you can subscribe to her videos!

Wednesday, August 12, 2009


When you have a child who is a Demon Baby, you spend most of every day teetering on the edge of disaster. You grow eyes in the back of your head. Your every nerve is attuned to when the house gets quiet . . . too quiet. You march up and down stairs sending the little guy to time out. Your ears seem to have sonar so you can pick up when he says naughty words. You hear a lot of crashes. A lot of things get broken.

So I try, every day, to find many moments to praise when he tries to be helpful. When he is sweet. Or quiet. Or learns something new. I would far rather notice the GOOD things than only scold the naughty. And at night, we have our whispered prayer time in the dark.

Last night, as I snuggled next to him, I ran my hand across his forehead. I decided to tell him a story. About him.

"You know . . . I used to pray for you. Before you were EVER in my belly, I wanted to have a baby, and I prayed that God would send me you. Exactly you." [Aside . . . all right, so not EXACTLY a wild, always-naked Demon Baby, but yes, exactly him.]


"Yes. You are so loved. And I carried you inside for nine months and couldn't wait to meet you and I have loved you so much for every moment since."

"You should have asked God for TWO of me."

"A twin?"

"Yeah.'" [Aside, both my sisters have sets of twins, and in fact, I had PRAYED for twins, but in the Universe's infinite wisdom, there is only ONE Demon Baby.]

"You know, my little angel, I have to tell you that I really think I could only handle ONE of you."

"But two of me would be so much better."

"No. Just one special little boy."

"But if you had two, there would be two of me to love you twice as much."

And at that, I just said, "No one could be that lucky." And I meant it.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

He's Started Doing This On His Own!

I walked in on him. He was chanting "Om."
This totally changes my perspective.
Maybe my wild child is actually a Buddha in disguise.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

I Really CAN'T Make This Stuff Up

I found Demon Baby playing catch in the kitchen with one of our dogs.

The ball of choice?

An overripe Hanover TOMATO.


Do the math.

Top Ten Reasons You Don't Let Demon Baby Near Water

1. He will drown your tomato plants.
2. He will drench your front hallway with the garden hose he brings inside.
3. He will hose you down when you are on your way to a meeting.
4. He will create a LOT of mud.
5. The dogs like mud.
6. He will "wash" your bathroom mirror with a combination of toothpaste and soapy water.
7. He will see which household objects float in the bathtub.
8. Your favorite book does not float.
9. Neither does your hairbrush or your underwear.
10. Your kitchen ceiling will eventually give up from all the water leaking from UPSTAIRS . . . into the DOWNSTAIRS.