Snowflake Waffles

This morning we made snowflake waffles. These are just your regular old waffles, but we call them snowflake waffles because no two are ever alike. Plus, it helps differentiate them from Luke's other favorite waffle, the Eggo.

What I love about snowflake waffle making is the way Luke pulls his little step ladder over to the waffle maker, climbs up, and slips on his oven mitts, one on each hand. He then stares at that waffle iron as if wishing the light to turn on, and when it does he ALWAYS, without fail, screams, "Mommy! It's ready!" Then I go over and open the iron, prying the waffle loose with my fork. Luke grabs the waffle between his two oven-mitted paws and heads over to the table, where he places the snowflake waffle on his Spiderman plate. He then begins ripping the four pieces of the waffle apart, stacking them in various ways, turning them into pirate ships and other boy things by turning them over and taking strategic bites here and there.

I didn't realize until recently that when you're a parent, you don't plan most of your rituals and traditions. One day you suddenly realize that this is how we do it, how we have always done it, and how we will probably do it for years to come. Something as simple as making snowflake waffles has become an important, shared ritual in my household. Snowflake waffles are part of me and Luke now, an experience in the kitchen we share and never stray from at least two or three times a week. And while the experience is almost always the same, no two waffles are ever alike!

Jerry

Meet Jerry.

Jerry has become a true and invaluable member of our family. He helps keep the peace. When Luke is having trouble communicating (a.k.a throwing a bit of a tantrum), he is able to speak to Jerry candidly, "Jerry, I don't want to eat that asparagus! I want noodles!" When Luke is especially frustrated, he now calls on Jerry to discuss the matter, "Hmph! I don't want to talk to you Daddy! I want to talk to Jerry." Like a wise older brother, Jerry has the power to make all things right. He even manages to leave the entire family smiling at the end of a long battle. Here's to you Jerry!

Brudders

People often ask me how Luke has adjusted to having a brother, and I am always proud to report that he is doing GREAT! In the time since Nate's birth, Luke has matured quite a bit, including becoming potty-trained (thank goodness!).

Yesterday we were talking about what Luke wanted to be when he grows up and he told me, "A baby." When I asked him why, he said, "Because I love Nate." (As an aside, when I asked him how he would make money, he physically showed me how he would make money, as though it was something he would produce on a machine!) Later, when Nate was crying, Luke came over with what has become his standard refrain, learned from me, "It's okay Nate, I'm here." And he says it over and over, so gently, it just melts the heart.

When Nate and I pick Luke up at preschool, he tells all the kids, "Touch my baby! You want to touch my brother?" Like rubbing the Buddha, all goodbyes at La Primera now involve the ceremonial rubbing of Baby Nate as Luke bids adieu to his schoolmates.

The most interesting development, though, has been Nate's interest in Luke. Most of the time when Nate spots Luke in a room, or at the side of his stroller, or over his crib, he dissolves into hearty baby laughter- they are total giggle fits! Luke is not usually hamming it up at the onset of the giggle fit, but once Nate starts laughing, Luke's comedy routine begins. I think Luke and Nate have the beginnings of a beautiful friendship.

Good Cop Bad Cop

About a month ago, I needed a few things from CVS. The boys and I walked over there, and I promised Luke a small prize since he had been such a good boy all day. He chose this policeman set- cheesy, cheap and plastic, but it has handcuffs, which he calls "key changes"- he says that's what Jack Sparrow calls them- a working flashlight, a badge, a walkie-talkie, and a whistle. I especially like the Poncharello glasses.

Oh, the irony. On the way home from the store, Luke says, "Mommy..." in that voice that can ONLY mean trouble. He is revealing to me a pack of purloined Orbit sugarfree gum that he has lifted from the CVS and stowed in his little pocket. I whipped my stroller around and walked my little officer back to that CVS where he confessed his crime to the store manager. The man was nice but he could have stifled his giggle and played along a little better when I asked "Are you going to need to call the police?" Still, Luke was appropriately freaked out.