Crazy Crap#271: The part concerning art

A couple of weeks ago, I came home to discover James Casey (just turning 7 years old) on my front boulevard struggling with some boards and a length of string he had tied to my tree. I asked him what was going on, and he told me, “I was going to climb this tree, but then I decided to do something impressive instead.”

I looked at what he was compiling, and asked if it was art, or did it do something. He replied, “Both. It’s art, but art makes people happy, so that’s the thing it does.”

I noted that his construction would be greatly aided by some rubber bands, and would he like some rubber bands? His face took on a glow of unexpected joy, so I took that as a yes and went to find my tin of rubber bands.

I showed him how to wrap the bands several times, and use the power of basic geometry and physics to keep the thing standing. He was quite pleased with our work. Our neighbor Kevin offered to commemorate the new structure, which James dubbed “The Norwood Thingy” with a photo.

James designed not only the structure, but also came up with his pose in the photo. He’s quite the artist and public figure.

Crazy Crap #268: The part where Google proves its worth

Yesterday, neighbor James (age 6, for those of you keeping track) asked his mother Ann if Google is smart enough to know his favorite foods. They did a search on "James Casey Favorite Foods" and, of course, got some other James Casey and his irrelevant preferences.

Another neighbor, Kevin, caught wind of this and decided to make it so:

http://web.me.com/kevinwatts/Site/James_Casey,_Norwood_Street,_Chicago.html

Google knows all! You heard it hear first!

Crazy Crap #265: The part where James has aspirations

Sadly, I now crib from Facebook. This is Ann's latest report on James, via Facebook status. It's too brilliant not to report:

James has an idea for a new TV show called "The Just Me Show." He says he would be the only one on the show, thus the name.

He would play himself and several other characters including Goggles (a baby), Scruffy (a dog), and a guy named Jazz Dancer.

Crazy Crap #264: The part where Jack sums things up

Today, as I was reading in the yard, James came out with a large, inflatable machine gun. He frantically pantomimed shooting and lobbing what seemed to be imaginary hand grenades.

"Who are you fighting?"

"The Japanese."

I expressed skepticism, and explained that the Japanese are our friends. "They made your car," I told him, referencing his mother's Subaru.

"I'm fighting World War II," he clarified.

I asked why he was not instead fighting Germany or Italy. After some consideration, he decided that the Italians would be his target.

Jack, who had just wandered out, suggested that the Germans would be a better target for his brother's hostility. "They made Hitler," he helpfully explained.

I agreed that Hitler was quite bad, probably crazy, and a failed artist.

"And he tried to kill all the Jewish people," Jack added.

I agreed, and, with his prompting, tried to explain anti-Semitism. To an 8-year-old.

We went through several watered-down explanations, variously suggesting that Hitler was crazy, was using the Jews to get his people to support him (my suggestion), thought the Jewish people were to blame for Germany's weaknesses ("Were they?" "No."), and were blamed by Hitler for his own artistic shortcomings (Jack's idea).

"And then Hitler tried to kill all the Jewish people," Jack summarized, "Which was awkward."

Quite.

Crazy Crap #263: The part where Jack shows a good deal of self-awareness

James Casey is a menace to his own person. First, there was the incident in which the bed caused a horrible accident. Then there was a rogue arrow, thankfully sponge-tipped.

We'd discussed oft and anon how these two incidents had marred James forehead in such a way that he looked like he had horns just about to sprout. "Like a devil," he'd proudly proclaimed.

Just the other day, I encountered young James, cavorting in my backyard, and noted he was now sporting a third red spot, this time in the middle of his forehead. "I'm a three-horned devil!" he announced. "I'm a triceratops!"

I questioned him narrowly about how this had happened, and he gave some vague account of falling and hitting his head. I asked if he'd been leaping about, and he admitted he had.

I noted that he was a menace to himself, and that he always seemed to be hurting himself. He responded with incomprehension, so I pointed out his many injuries, recounting how he had gotten each. "I'd say that you're accident prone."

"What does accident prone mean?"

"It means you hurt yourself a lot." Then, I started to feel bad. Perhaps I was giving this poor child a complex. Perhaps my labeling of him as accident prone would give him a complex. So I softened the blow by pointing out that he wasn't alone.

"Lots of you kids are accident prone. Gavin hurts himself a lot."

James: "I hurt myself more."

"No,Gavin broke his arm. He fell out of a tree."

"I'm more accident prone," he asserted again.

"Jack is..." Then I realized something. "You know, Jack's not accident prone. He never hurts himself." I turned to Jack. "I don't remember you ever hurting yourself."

Jack whispered conspiratorially. "I make better choices."

Crazy Crap #262: The part where I never thought about it that way

It's Memorial Day Weekend. On Norwood Street, this is a holiday replete with neighborly interactions. Being, as I am, a roller derby widow, I found myself the recipient of much fine hospitality.

While I could expatiate upon the bench-side snacks provided by Megan on Friday afternoon, or the delicious backyard barbecue hosted by the Harris-Wattses, for the purposes of this blog, I will pause only on the impromptu offer of a spare-rib dinner by my dear neighbors, the Caseys.

The dinner, itself, was delightful, garnished as it was by Jim's homemade, ketchup-free barbecue sauce and Jack's many witticisms. But a standout of the evening was a small performance by James, age 5.

In a particularly wriggly mood--and who wouldn't be, with such a scintillating guest as myself present--James enacted some very strange writhings and facial spasms that caught my attention.

Fortified by several glasses of the Caseys' excellent red wine, I said the first thing that came into my head.

"Are you favoring us with your Elephant Man impression?"

In the sober light of day, I realize this is not the question you ask of a 5-year-old, or his precocious 8-year-old brother, who will demand an explanation.

Thankfully, Ann leapt into the breach, describing the disease Elephantiasis and all its accompanying horrors. Naturally I feared the inevitable follow-up, queries about the likelihood of contracting this disease.

As it turns out, this should not have troubled me.

Upon hearing the explanation, James leapt onto his seat, stood with legs apart, fists on hips, and announced, "Never fear, Elephant Man is here!"

Then there was some booty shaking, but I think that has more to do with James himself than the pachyderm superhero he was portraying.

Crazy Crap #257: The part where I wax pithy and historical

The 5-and-under boys of Norwood are taking tap class, including James, also known as Casey Brother the Younger. There is some shuffling and stomping involved.

This week, tap class is coming one day after a Casey-family visit to the Chicago History Museum, where stove-pipe hats a la Honest Abe were procured. And thus it is that James is taking his hat to tap class.

Quoth I, "Give my regards to Gettysburg."

Crazy Crap #253: The part where I hope James is not misconstrued

So last night, as Jack was undertaking his first reconciliation, James repaired to my house for an evening of cookie-baking and general mayhem. As part of the night's entertainment, I showed him my brand-new Weight Watchers pedometer, and we spent a good amoutn of time testing exactly how good a job it did counting my steps.

Today, I received this missive from Ann, alluding to our evening of fun:

This morning I was getting the boys ready for school. Jack was complaining of being tired and James was saying he wasn't tired at all. I explained that Jack had a big night out while James relaxed and watched cartoons at your house.

James said "I didn't just relax, I walked all over and kept checking the temperature" I was totally confused by this and asked him "what temperature" and he said "the one on Kay's pants."

That is not what one wants to hear about one's babysitter.

Crazy Crap Item #245: The part where James ensures his own survival

Halloween is less than a month away and, as such, I spent a lovely Sunday afternoon decorating. I've yet to document this year's splendor, but it's very similar to last year's, which can be seen here.

As always, I was assisted by many small "helpers," who offered up useful suggestions, sage opinions, and dubious hand-eye coordination, all in support of my efforts.

Young James Casey, newly turned 5, was particularly assiduous in offers of "help," viewing my decorating activities as an opportunity to slip into my house, harass Eamon (who was ailing on the couch), bang on our keyboard, and otherwise explore. So bold he was, in fact, that as I was rooting in the basement at one point, I heard tiny footfalls on the floor above me. I was, as a result, not surprised when he appeared, cautiously working his way down our rather rickety and cobweb-festooned basement stairs.

James: Watcha doing?

Kay: Talking to Pumpkinhead.

For those unaware, Pumpkinhead is a legend in a neighborhood, a figure of mystery and terror. He made his debut some years ago, on Halloween. Appearing at first as a large pumpkin perched upon a festive holiday display, he would leap up when approached and menace costumed passers-by, to terrifying effect.

Pumpkinhead's first arrival inspired nothing but terror on the block. But soon, cooler heads prevailed. Around age 5, the smaller denizens of Norwood begin to suspect that Pumpkinhead is indeed Eamon. But they aren't quite sure yet, and there's too much at stake to assume he does not, indeed, exist.

On one occasion, James' brother Jack discovered the pumpkinhead itself in my basement, and loudly announced, "See! Pumpkinhead is Eamon!" To which I replied, "...Or, Eamon defeated Pumpkinhead, captured him, and trapped him down here to keep you all safe." This gave Jack much food for thought, and he soon began proposing the rules by which Pumpkinhead operates. To wit:

"If you say Pumpkinhead's name while in Kay's basement, he will come to life and chase you."

Now, at age 8, Jack seems pretty assured that Pumpkinhead is but a costume. James, however, is not so sure. Which brings us back to last Sunday.

James: What are you talking about with Pumpkinhead?

Kay: I'm asking him which child he intends to grab on Halloween.

James (decidedly): He should grab Sam.

Kay: No, he wants a smaller child.

James: Well, if Miles and Nolan come to our block, he should grab Nolan.

Kay: He says he wants someone a little bigger.

James: Then he should grab Miles.

Kay: No, he wants someone with lighter hair.

[James begins to nervously stroke his blond forelock.]

James: He should grab Jack.

Kay: I think he wants someone a little smaller.

[Pause.]

James: Are you giving me clues?

Kay: Yes.

James: I want to decide. Tell him to grab Sam.

James may not know if Pumpkinhead is real, but he surely knows how to save his own bacon.

Crazy Crap Item #242: The part where Halloween holds new thrills

As is well known, Jack is a bona fide Halloween fanatic. 'Round about May, he starts asserting that Halloween is next week, and suggests that we start planning our costumes and other hijinks.

So when a catalog arrived from a Halloween costume company -- in the high-summer season of late August, mind you -- I knew what to do with this.

"Can I have it?" Jack asked with wonder in his eyes as I handed it off. I assured him he could.

He immediately plunked down under a tree on our parkway with catalog in hand, accompanied by Sam and James. I went on my merry way.

Later, I passed by, only to hear Sam leading the trio in cries of, "Sick! Gross!" I had to investigate.

My inquiry led to a furious whipping of pages, accompanied by "Show her! Show her!"

At last, they lit upon their quarry. It was a photo of a cheery model wearing an adult-sized Wonder Woman costume.

"SICK!" they cried out.

"But that's Wonder Woman!... WONDER WO-MAN!" (This last sung from the theme song from the 1970s TV show.)

"But look what it says!" Sam directed, and I beheld standard-issue costume catalog copy.

I looked at him, puzzled, and he continued, "It says she's sexy."

"Yes?"

"Ewww. That's sick!" Sam asserted, and Jack and James chimed in assent.

There was a long pause. Then, Sam continued.

"What does sexy mean?"

And... scene.

Crazy Crap Item #232: The part where I add an addendum

This is a follow-up to the story about the Caseys' very bad day. So if you haven't read that, read it first.

One thing I forgot to record in my account of the day of drama and trauma on Norwood is the actual cause of James' trip to the ER.

I first learned of it when Sam joined Jack and me to await the outcome. Jack was concerned it was his fault. I asked what happened, and he said it was his fault because he was the one who had told James to jump from one bed to the other -- the incident which resulted in the noggin-cracking.

"Accidents happen," I told Jack, who I felt didn't need a "Didn't-your-mother-always-tell-you-not-to-jump-on-the-beds?" lecture at that precise moment. Plus, it seemed like a pretty self-evident lesson.

Today, to help bolster recovery of both James and the entire Casey clan, I whipped up one of my now-world-renowned batches of brownies. When I delivered said treat, James' uncle was visiting, and asked James, "Whose fault was it that you hurt your head?"

Without missing a beat: "The bed's."

I've said it before, I'll say it again: I like the way that kid thinks.

Crazy Crap Item #231: The part where the Caseys have a very bad day

[NOTE: No children were harmed in the posting of this story. Though the story itself was the source of some harm.]

Yesterday was full of drama and trauma on Norwood. Around 5pm, I was putzing around the entryway, after investing some considerable time in a new entryway-beautification project. What to my wondering ears should appear but my neighbor Ann calling to me.

I opened the door to find her out on the lawn holding James. She's a very laidback lady, so it took me a few seconds to realize that she was in full-on panic mode. It's not initially very far off from regular Ann mode, except that in panic mode, she doesn't finish sentences.

It also took me a few seconds to notice a lot of blood on her shirt, at which point, it very slowly dawned on me that something was terribly wrong. I cut her off in mid-sputter. "What happened?" She started to say something about how she had called Ruth because James had a cut on his head, and could Jack come over, and Sam too, since Ruth was going with her to the ER. I said of course, and called to Jack to come in.

The poor kid was extremely freaked out. He was just crying and asking, "Is my brother going to be OK?" I told him I knew it was scary, and did he want to talk about it? He said no, that would make it worse, so I suggested chocolate milk and cartoons. He thought that seemed ok.

As we sat on the couch looking for a good kid-type show, he broached a few comments about how worried he was about his brother. He seemed very concerned that it was just going to take too long for the ER folk to help James. As Jack is a logical, detail-oriented kid, I told him about triage, and how they screen patients to determine who needs immediate care. I recounted my last trip to the ER. In response to his worries about James feeling pain, I described the medicines they have to make pain go away.

Finally, we got to the big question.

"Is he going to die?"

I answered, "No. No, he's not. He is not going to die from this. He's going to be fine."

I've never seen such a visible sign of relief.

Then Sam came over, and they snacked on cheese, and played with some army men I just bought from the dollar bin at Target. Then we went outside and made swords out of styrofoam. Later, Sam's dad Kevin arrived home from work his son, who was miffed that Jack got to stay at the Dalys (the tenor of his complaint seemed to be something about how Jack gets all the fun).

By about 7:30, Jack, who had been waving off snacks for the past 2 1/2 hours, suddenly announced he was "starving." I hustled up some grub, and Jack, Eamon and I had a nice supper of chicken, corn and Scooby Doo cartoons.

Ann and Jim finally got James home by about 8:30. He ended up having 11 stitches, including 3 stitches deep in the wound, as the cut went all the way to the skull. But Ann said James didn't cry at all; everyone in the ER was amazed. And when they came to get Jack, James insisted on coming in, then leapt all over my livingroom, banged on my electric piano keyboard, climbed on the back of my couch, and, like his brother, was very reluctant to go home.

Ahh, the resilience of youth.

Crazy Crap Item #230: The part where Jack and James wax pious

Yesterday, Ann announced that Jack (age 7) and James (age 4) took it upon themselves to write a letter to God.

Apparently, Jack did all the actual writing (a skill he's been honing in first grade), while James added helpful suggestions. To wit:

- "Add some crosses there."

- "And stars. Jesus loves stars."

We inquired of Ann what the boys could possibly be writing to God. "A general proclamation of their love," it seems.

They were also concerned that if they stored it in a drawer overnight before mailing, God might show up and take their unfinished draft. This was, apparently, a great concern.

I suggested that Ann spirit the letter away in the night. Mimi added that she could leave a cross behind.

I suspect she did no such thing. So much for the true fun of parenting: messing with your kids.

Crazy Crap Item #226: The part where I like the way James thinks

So, thanks to global warming, Lake Michigan, what have you, we experience a very chaotic version of spring here in Chicago. To wit: one day it will be 40 degrees with driving rains; the next will be 80 degrees and dry. Bizarre.

As a result, we have learned to take to our front lawns whenever the sun peeks her face out in the month of April.

It was during one of these sunny 15-minute windows when I happened to witness some sort of chase game occuring on the Caseys' front lawn. James was the quarry. Jack, Sam and Emmett were the predators. Mayhap it was cops and robbers, or cowboys and Indians, or Jedis and clones. All that matters for the purpose of this story is that James was being chased.

The merry band wound its way along the front parkways and sidewalks, until James, seeking to evade capture, sharply cut back along the west side of his house, an area which is strictly prohibited.

"James!" Jack hollered to stop him. "You can't go back there! You know you can't go back there."

James looked thunderstruck.

"Then why did YOU chase me there?"

Touche.

Crazy Crap Item #225: The part where James offers a definition

James: "If you get all wrapped up in black tape, then you're a mummy."

Kay: "What is a mummy?"

James: "A mummy is 100 years old. He is covered in bandaids."

Crazy Crap Item #221: The part where Jack shows himself to be a bottom-liner

As is well known, neighbor Jack is a fiddler. He's been playing violin since, I don't know, perhaps the womb, and is quite adept.

He's also learned to revel in the limelight, particularly during one of my favorite annual events: busking at the Andersonville Somerfest.

For those unaware, "to busk" is to perform some sort of act in public, with a hat, jar, or instrument case out for the collection of contributions. Sometimes such actions are frowned upon. Rarely are they disputed, however, when the busker is in the 5-year-old age range.

That is what we learned when Jack busked a few years ago, with his friend and contemporary Sam adding a dance interpretation, and netted quite a handy pile of cash. He generously used his earnings to buy ice cream for us all.

Last year, he did a repeat, and earned enough to buy himself some knickknack I can't quite recall.

Well, recently, his younger brother James has also taken up the bow. I was a little concerned. Would Jack resent his spotlight and thunder being stolen.

I was relieved when I asked about future busking plans, and his response was, "James can do it too this year. We'll make about a billion dollars."

Clearly, Jack knows which is worth more: ego, or cold hard cash.

Crazy Crap Item #219: The part where I receive a pretty authoritative vote of confidence

Well, not to crib again from the annals of James Casey, but his mother Ann just sent along another anecdote that must be shared. To wit:

After swimming today James and I were in the locker room and he says "When we get home we should ask Kay to come over and build us an indoor pool"

me - "why would we ask Kay?"

him - "because Kay came make anything"

me - "is that right?"

him - "well, I HOPE so!"

Crazy Crap Item #218: The part where James demonstrates his knowledge of things spiritual

I crib this story from Ann, James' mother. James is 4.

James wanted to read a story so I told him to go pick out a book. He came back with one and I told him "This is a book about what happens after you die". (It's a picture book that Rose gave us when the boy's grandfather died called "The Next Place".) James said "I already know what happens after you die, they make a statue of you and put it in church.........................or you become a ghost and fly around a castle".

Crazy Crap Item #217: The part where James sums things up quite nicely

Recently, my neighbor Ann had to go to the dentist to get a crown. She asked if I would hang out with James (age 4) while she did so.

I cherish any time I can spend with either or both of the Casey boys under any circumstances, so I readily agreed.

Most of the hour or so were spent with him demonstrating his many toys, making my knight battle his (I always lose), and with the eating of snacks. But we also steeped ourselves in philosophical discussion. To wit:

James: What comes before 4 and 102?

Kay: I don't think I understand your question.

James [said with greater emphasis]: What comes before 4 and 102?

Kay [not wanting to have to count from 1 to 101]: Well, every number before 102 is what comes before 1o2.

James: Yes, and 1, 2, 3 come before 4.

Kay [relieved]: Yes, that's exactly it.

James: 1 you wear diapers; 2 you wear diapers; 3 you wear underpants; 4 you wear underpants.

Kay: Yes. And what comes after 4? What do you wear then?

James: After 4, it's all underpants, all seasons.

And....scene.

Crazy Crap Item #200: The part where James learns to spell

This latest item from my neighbor Ann, regarding a dialogue with her son James, age 4:

This morning James said upon waking up ,"I know how to spell teeth, t-o-n-e." I told him that that doesn't spell "teeth."

James --"What does it spell?"
Me -- "It spells tone"
short pause....
James -- "Oh, then I know how to spell tone"