Four

To my dear, sweet, son:

I have been obsessing about this post, and dreading this post, for a few months now. I have tried to start it more than once--to at least start a bullet-point list of the things I want to say. To make a list of all the things I don't want to forget.

Tomorrow is your fourth birthday. The first birthday you can count to. The first birthday when you understand the age that came before and the age that will come after. (Please stop reminding me that you will be five-years-old after you are four-years-old. It's giving me panic attacks.)

I have been dreading this post because I know that words do not do justice to who you are.

Hello up there

Deep thoughts. Strange goo.

Or who we are.

Red River Zoo
(I love this zoo. The animals seem very happy and have a lot of space.)

Zoo in Wahpeton. (Bad zoo. Ugly cages. Sad animals)

Superheroes

Or who you are becoming.

Zoo in Wahpeton
(I hated that zoo. Even the monkeys were depressed.
But the colors were pretty.)

Fort Abercrombie

I am afraid that I can never truly capture the joy you have brought me. You have made my heart grow and swell, the same way my body grew and swelled while pregnant with you. My heart expands to the point that I am sure it will explode. But it doesn't. And then it stretches a little more.

First day of preschool

You had a hard time going back to preschool last September. For several months, over the summer, you often climbed into our bed in the middle of the night, and I never turned you away. You were home with me all day, every day, in July and most of August. When you went back to school, it wasn't easy for either of us. I mean, sure, it was nice some of the time, but not 30-hours-a-week of the time.

One night, you asked to go to sleep in the big bed. I thought it would be for a night. Maybe a few nights.

You haven't slept in your bed for even an hour since.

It's okay, because it turns out that it's easier this way. You go to bed more quickly. You sleep more soundly. You sleep MUCH later in the morning. We hadn't coslept regularly before because I thought that it robbed me of sleep. True, you sometimes kick me in the face. Or ribs. Or cough in my face. Or get drool on my pillow. But I don't have to get out of bed to soothe you if you wake up crying. In fact, you rarely wake up. You talk in your sleep, but you rarely seem to have nightmares. Sometimes, you wake up and can't get back to sleep, but it's rare.

I was not opposed to cosleeping. I just thought it wasn't "for us". I wanted you to go to sleep in your own bed, even if that meant that you crawled into bed with us later. Turns out that it's easier for me to just let you fall asleep in the big bed. And it turns out that for some reason--maybe due to some extra boost of night time oxytocin--I have more patience with you. I always felt I needed that "break" from you and that sleeping separately allowed for this. I find that I like you more. This may be, in part, due to the fact that we are away from each other for several hours a week. Whatever the reason, I have grown to love the "family bed". It makes me sad to think of a day when you will sleep in your own bed again.

To be perfectly honest, I often let you watch cartoons in bed for 30 minutes to an hour before turning on your rain sounds (white noise) and telling you to go to sleep (if you aren't asleep already). But you don't fight going to bed. You don't fight going to sleep. Occasionally you will say you need a snack. Most of the time you actually eat it :0)

Also, if I am perfectly honest, you watch a lot of TV. Not really TV--we don't have cable. You watch DVDs or Netflix videos. Thus, we are not subjected to advertisements. You also play video games. Some of it is not age-appropriate--it's geared for children who are a few years older than you. I had a lot of guilt about this, but you're not having nightmares or hitting other children, so I'm just going to let it go. There's a long list of things I said I'd never do as a parent that I turned out to be totally wrong about. This is just one more thing.

You rode your first carnival rides this summer by yourself:

You got your first fishing pole and went fishing. We didn't catch anything, but had fun anyway.

Turtle River

You are funny. In the last few months, you've started to sing and dance. Many of your dances are best categorized as dramatic interpretations. I say this, because they are a combination of goofy, muppet-like dance moves and play-fighting choreography.

You are sweet. You are kind. When I am sick or have hurt myself, you stroke my face and say, oh honey, are you okay? It will be okay.


You are inquisitive. You and your dad went to AZ for a few days last May. While there, your dad stopped to visit his brother's grave (the uncle for whom you are named). He tried to explain that F was dead. You said, Oh, F is dead? It's okay. We can go to the store and get a new F. You said this because when a battery is dead, we buy a new one. (Well, we try to recharge it, but some batteries don't have rechargeable versions.) If only human batteries were so easily replaced...

You had your first "very own" pet this year. It was a beta fish. You named him "Moinxie". He died about 10 days after we bought him. This was a few months after the visit to F's grave. I'd like to think that this taught you about death, but I know that you are still too young to really understand.

You want to be a "cooker" when you grow up.

You learned to ride the neighbor-boy's mini-quad.

You learned to ride a bike. You are learning to catch a ball. You are learning to ice skate.

You planted a flower garden. Your flowers were beautiful. And so are you.

You like to eat fresh peas out of a pod that have just been picked from the garden. You like to eat summer squash, zucchini, carrots, broccoli, and tomatoes straight from the garden. You won't get near any of these vegetables once they are cooked. One more reason to garden.

You like fish oil capsules; you chew them up and swallow them. You like sardines; you eat them straight from the can.

You build things. Fantastic things. Cities.

 

Robots.

Play-doh monsters. This one is from last summer. The most recent ones have several arms. Or tentacles. Or eyes. Or heads. The lighting in this photo is terrible, but your expression is adorable.

Bristle-block aliens.

You had your first "real" Halloween this year. As in, you picked your costume. You joined a trick-or-treating mob. You trick-or-treated until you could barely stand up. You are the Wall-E in the middle.

Beware: Child-mob ahead

This year, we had the first Christmas that was "our" Christmas. We stayed home. We didn't visit family. It was the first year that we bought and decorated a tree.

You had been asking for this robot since last May. Santa brought it to you for Christmas.

You starting drawing things in September. It has been the single best thing that has come from your preschool experience. At a few points during the school day, you have the option of doing "books, puzzles, or journals". Essentially, it is semi-structured free time. At first, you didn't want to draw, because you couldn't make things "perfect". Now, you draw all the time. I don't want you to be a perfectionist. It is a crippling trait. It makes you afraid to try new things. I hope you grow up thirsty to try new things.

You are also learning about yoga at preschool. I love your teacher so much for that.

First, your drawings were heads with legs and arms coming out of them. Then, robots (but not humans) had bodies. And very long fingers. You drew a robot for Santa. The stuff in the body is all of his doodle-oodle-oop, which I think translates to buttons.

You built your first ice-cave-slash-igloo this year.

You had your first dentist appointment this year. You liked it so much, you wanted to go with me when I had to go back in to get a filling.

You had your first round of antibiotics. It was for a sinus infection. Then you had another round of antibiotics for a nasty case of strep throat that involved puking up mucus and a full-on scarlet fever rash.

You can put away your own clothes in the right drawers. You can pick out your clothes for school. You can mostly dress yourself now.

You had your first school "performance" last spring. I was worried that you would cooperate when it was time for your class to be on (the little, only slightly elevated) stage. I was worried that you would just stand off in a corner and/or pout. Boy, WAS I WRONG. You stood right up there in the middle and sang and danced. You were a total ham. Pure awesomeness.

You gave up naps this year. At least, you gave them up at home. You still take them at school, sometimes. And every once in awhile, you'll let your guard down and fall asleep during the day.

You started using the potty this year. We used a token economy because I am, at the end of the day, a behaviorist at heart. To be a behaviorist is to believe that we are all unique individuals and that change is always possible.

You still wear a pull-up at night time. We tried just wearing underwear, but one night you had an accident and quietly changed your underwear and pajama pants and climbed into my bed. You didn't tell me you'd had an accident, and seemed embarrassed the next morning when I found the underwear. I decided pull-ups were better than feeling bad about wetting the bed. You just aren't ready yet.

You had your first boba tea in Fargo one day after we went to the (incredibly charming, non-stifling, animals-seem-geniunely-happy) Red River Zoo. You still remember the names of the men working in the tea shop. Now, every time I mention going to Fargo, you want to go to the tea shop. When winter is officially over, I will totally make that happen for you.

When I asked you what kind of cake you wanted for your birthday, you said raspberry. Not strawberry. Or cherry. Or chocolate. Or vanilla. Raspberry. With chocolate frosting. I asked if you wanted a train cake like last year, or a heart cake. I was hoping you would say heart, because the train cake takes a LONG time to decorate. Also, I don't think I have many years left before someone convinces you that hearts are "for girls". You said you wanted a love-you cake. You like to refer to hearts as love-you's.

(Psssst...The cake was actually vanilla butter cake, but there was raspberry jam in the middle, and those are real raspberries around the edges. Raspberries that have been rolled around in sugar. The cake and frosting were made from scratch. And oh yes, that pink frosting is chock full of red dye. You only live once.)

People say I'm crazy for making the whole cake from scratch. What they don't understand is that the whole time I was making it, I was meditating on the day we found out you were coming to join us. And the day you were born. And the days that fell between. And all the days that have come since.

Happy 4th birthday, my sweet little boy. Every day, you make me want to be a better person than I was the day before. I am so glad you are my son.

I love you,
Mama

Books for Preschoolers that don't make me want to gouge my eyes out with a...

We have a lot of children's books in our house. A LOT of books, period. I lug them around every time I move. I wish I could part with more of them, but this is my hoarding achilles heel.

Many children's books bore me. They make me want to read them quickly to get them over with, especially after the umpteenth reading. There are a few books, however, that stand out from the crowd. The boy loves them and I love reading them to him, over and over again.

Spoon. Written by Amy Krouse Rosenthal with illustrations by Scott Magoon.

My best friend and I discovered this book at Powell's when we spent a weekend in Portland during the summer of 2009. It made such an impression that she was sure to order it for the boy last Christmas. From the Powell's website:

"Young Spoon lives a fairly happy life with a large extended family (including a ladle and a very fancy Aunt Silver), but he can't help being a bit jealous of some of his friends. Knife, for example, 'is so lucky! He gets to cut, he gets to spread.' Not to mention Chopsticks: 'Everyone thinks they're really cool and exotic! No one thinks I'm cool or exotic.' Spoon's mother doesn't try to change his mind, but reacts neutrally. Outside conversations let readers know that Spoon is being envied right back: 'Spoon is so lucky!' sigh the Chopsticks. 'We could never function apart.' At bedtime, Spoon's mom offers encouragement ('Your friends will never know the joy of diving headfirst into a bowl of ice cream') then invites him into the big bed — to spoon, of course. The talented Magoon (Mystery Ride!) gives the utensils plenty of personality, with wide eyes and expressive antlike appendages, and Rosenthal's (Little Pea) skillful storytelling moves along briskly. The humorous but earnest message about valuing one's own talents comes through loud and clear. Ages 2 — 6."

I simply love that he is invited into the big bed to "spoon" at the end. It never fails to make me laugh. The humor is clever and the story is endearing.

Instructions is a book that grew from a poem by Neil Gaiman, with illustrations by Charles Vess.

I adore Neil Gaiman. I read American Gods several years ago, and it quickly became one of my all-time favorite books. The book is based on the premise that the old gods still walk among us, and that they are organizing to fight against the new, modern gods--like the Internet, television, credit cards, etc. That book was written for grown-ups, and if you haven't read it, you should. Especially if you like folklore and Norse gods in particular. But this isn't about American Gods.

Gaiman also writes books for young adults and preschoolers. Instructions, based on poem by Gaiman,  is my favorite book that he has written for young children. It's rapidly becoming one of my favorite books, period. Gaiman has described it as a how-to-survive-should-you-ever-find-yourself-trapped-inside-a-fairy-tale book. You can read the poem here. You can watch a fantastic video below that shares many of the illustrations and features the author reading the entire poem.

Even after watching this enchanted video, it's still worth it to buy the book. After all, it offers damn good advice to live by:

"Remember your name.
Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.
Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have
helped to help you in their turn.
Trust dreams.
Trust your heart, and trust your story."

And these last few words make me weepy each time I hear them or read them aloud:

"When you reach the little house, the
place your journey started,
you will recognize it, although it will seem
much smaller than you remember.
Walk up the path, and through the garden
gate you never saw before but once.
And then go home. Or make a home.
Or rest. "

Crazy Hair. Also by Gaiman, with illustrations by Dave McKean.

This book is just plain silly. And it rhymes! I love the cadence and the illustrations are funny, fantastical, and just a tad creepy. I have fun reading it every time.

Me I Am.

When I read this book, I am struck by the depth of its poem. Seriously. It's a deep poem, no?

I am the only Me I Am  
Who qualifies as me,
no Me I AM has been before,  
and none will ever be  
No other Me I Am 
can feel the feelings I' ve within,  
no other Me I Am
can fit precisely in my skin  
There is no other Me I Am  
who thinks the thoughts I do,  
the world contains one Me I Am
There is no room for two
I am the only Me I Am
this earth shall ever see,
that Me I Am I always am
is no one else but Me!

This book is based on the above poem by Jack Prelutsky, the first winner of the Children’s Poet Laureate award. The poem is beautiful, and the illustrations that accompany it are great fun to look at with your child because there's a lot of "stuff" going on in the picture that they can ask questions about. In searching for more information about him, I discovered this section on the scholastic website, and he offers great tips (I think) for writers--child and adult alike. I also like that this book will serve as an early reader book because most of the words are simple.

Chip Wants a Dog.
This book is weird, but fun. The photographs and story are by William Wegman, who apparently luuurrrves weimaraners. Chip (who is, very obviously, a dog) wants a dog, but there are barriers to this goal, such as the fact that his parents (who are also dogs) won't allow him to get a dog because dogs are a lot of work, and his mother is a cat person. In the end, Chip realizes he doesn't need a dog--HE IS A DOG. I'm not sure what the "moral" is, but I think it's something about not needing someone to make your life complete. The photographs of the beautiful weimaraners (dressed in clothes, reading magazines, etc.) are hilarious.

The Human Body: A Magic Skeleton Book. Written by Janet Sacks. Illustrated by Jan Smith and Peter Bull.
When the boy was potty training, he wanted to know where poop comes from. It wasn't enough to know that poop came from food--he wanted to know how food turned into poop. I tried showing him images online, but they are confusing for a little guy. I looked at several books before finding this one. Most of the children's anatomy books are either WAY too detailed for a 3-4 year-old, or they are (in my opinion) just plain stupid. I was really excited when I found this book. You can't tell from the Amazon images, but each page has a slide-out tab, so that you can first see the skeleton (or digestive system, or brain, etc.) and then when you pull the slider out, you see where that particular organ (or skeleton) resides in the body. The book includes pull tabs for the skeleton, the brain, the heart, the lungs, and the digestive system; simple information about cells, teeth, and nutrition is also included. The boy loves it, and when he took it to show-and-tell, his teacher wrote the information down to order one for the classroom because she had also had difficulty finding something that was both appropriate and informative for young children. You do have to be a little gentle with it because if you pull really hard the tabs will come all the way out or get torn, but overall the book is sturdier than I thought it would be. The book will grow with him because there are sort of layers of information in the book, so that we can move from just enjoying the pull tabs to reading more of the details in the book.

Frog and Toad stories, written and illustrated by Arnold Lobel.

These are by no means new books. They were published in the 1970s, but I didn't read these books as a child. Now I feel like I was deprived :) If you were similarly deprived, buy them now so that you can enjoy them with your child. They are simple, sweet, and funny stories about two best friends--Frog and Toad. I would probably read these by myself even if I didn't have a child, now that I've discovered them.

Santa

The boy visited Santa today. When we got there, there was no line (SERIOUSLY, NO LINE! I wasn't sure how to react), and I asked him what he was going to ask Santa for. He said he couldn't remember (even though he's been reciting the same two things for several weeks), so I reminded him of the first thing--an R2D2 robot. Once I reminded him of that item, he generated the following list:

1. R2D2 robot (already purchased on Ebay)--He saw a remote control R2D2 robot in the store last May, and has been mentioning it ever since. Please don't ask how my almost 4-year-old knows who R2D2 is. I still can't decide if that's parenting win or parenting fail. Instead, I refer you to this video:



3. Journal from mama**--A few weeks ago I asked what he would like from me for Christmas, and he said he would like a journal like the one he has at school, which is basically a tri-prong folder with blank pages.

4. Water bottle from daddy--When I asked what he would like form daddy, he said another water bottle. He already has a couple of stainless steel water bottles, and he keeps one next to the bed, takes one to school, etc. Since he hasn't used a sippy cup in several months (after I decided that I really wanted to minimize the degree to which our food touches plastic***), I think this is a prudent and endearing request.

Then, he turned to me and said, what else?

I suggested play-doh, because he is out of it and I already bought more.
 
5. Play-doh

When he got up to Santa, there was no way he was sitting on his lap, but he did bend in and whisper his list, in that exact order.

I try to not go overboard on material things for holidays and birthdays, but it's hard because I LOVE TOYS and holidays in my house growing up were riddled with tension and strife. I know that you can't buy your way to happiness, and have tried to stick to a fairly rigid list this year. The last few years I bought more than expected, and ended up doling things out for subsequent holidays or other random days of the year. Case in point--we just opened the majority of the play-doh that I bought last December. He created an army of creatures with it and refused to put them away so they dried up. He continued to play with them until I'd had enough of finding crumbs everywhere, so I slowly threw them away one at a time so he didn't notice. Hence the need for more play-doh.

---

*I don't mind giving a shout-out to Ebay because a few months ago, I ordered a Wall-E costume from a seller on Ebay (because boy was very definite about what he wanted to be for Halloween and I couldn't find the costume here). The costume that arrived was not the one in the picture, and I had taken a lot of time to find that specific costume. Had I wanted the costume they sent to me, I could have found it far cheaper and with less hassle on several other sites. When I tried to contact the seller, they had disappeared. I couldn't email them. I couldn't go to the seller's store. I contacted Ebay. After a week passed and I was still unable to contact the seller, Ebay refunded my money. All of it. In the past I have been hesitant to order anything online, but this earned my confidence. I like that I can order used things, and even though many items are not local, I feel like that reduces my carbon footprint. If I were to buy something new locally, my options are limited, so I'd end up giving my money to a chain store that shipped the stuff here anyway and sends the profits back to a corporate office.

**I could have explained that he didn't need to tell Santa what he wanted mommy and daddy to get him, but that would have been confusing.

***I know that the plastic stuff is BPA free now, but I still don't trust the plastics industry and feel it is only a matter of time until we learn that some other chemical in plastic is making us sick. I try to store everything in glass. Especially if it will be reheated in a microwave (we don't own a microwave, but I take leftovers to work).

Perplexed

The boy busted out some sidewalk chalk this morning, and asked to go color with it outside. We told him he couldn't really color on the sidewalk because it's very cold and wet and there's snow outside, but I brought out his Ikea* art easel that's been put away for several months because he didn't have much of an interest in it at the time.

He drew some pictures and I asked if he would like a wet cloth to clean the chalk off so he could draw new pictures. He said, yes please (because he has been very polite lately).

I grabbed a white wash cloth and dampened it and brought it over to him. He wiped the chalk board, and then looked confused, and looked at the part of the cloth that he had been using to wipe the board. I knew exactly what he was thinking--he was wondering how the white cloth that didn't have black paint on it made the board black again. Not just black, but really black. Darker than the parts he hadn't wiped! He continued to wipe the board off and occasionally look at the washcloth, perplexed. He said, mama, it makes it black. I thought about explaining that it was really just taking the chalk off and leaving black board behind, but he'll figure it out soon enough. In the mean time, it's fun to watch him wonder.


*I chose to specifically mention that the easel was from Ikea and link to their site because compared to catalogs from other stories (like JC Penney, Target), their catalog is far more gender neutral and doesn't make me want to vomit from stereotype poisoning. The boys and girls in an Ikea catalog play with all the toys, and I do not feel blinded by pinky pinks and bluesy blues. Men are shown cooking and holding babies. I feel dirty after I look at catalogs from other stores.  

Also, they have a great selection of toys that have grown with my child because they are open-ended (i.e. the child is an active part of the play experience rather than being passively entertained). These toys don't require batteries. And they are reasonably priced. He still plays with the trains I started buying him when he was 18 months old, the stacking cups I got him when he was 2, and pretty much any other toy I've ever bought him from this retailer.

Birth and Death and Ear Movies of Snow

Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson died this morning at the age of 55. He was, in my opinion, on of the most influential artists of the last few decades. The contribution he made to experimental music, sampling, and general f*cking around with sound cannot be overstated. I don't usually get choked up about celebrity deaths, but this made me feel like someone had just head butted me in the chest, and then I started crying.

Sleazy was a member of the bands Throbbing Gristle and Coil, and an early member of Psychic TV, and contributed to several other musical projects. Additionally, he was a music video director and an artist. I have a special connection to the music that Sleazy produced as part of Coil. First of all, I think the albums that he and John Balance created were freaking brilliant, though sometimes challenging to listen to. Some have referred to their work as "ear movies" and I think this is an great description. Peter himself said that said that he composed Coil songs visually rather than muscially:

"As long as I can remember, I've approached music from a visual point of view. Any technique that you can apply to a film, you can also apply to a piece of music. Our tunes that start off with a sort of film script or filmic picture are much more successful than the songs that start with a riff or bass line or conventional musical cue."

His music blew my mind and expanded the boundaries of what I now like to call "auditory art". When we think about visual art, we have film, paint, sculpture (although that can be tactile as well), etc. But most people only think of music as music, rather than the potential for something more.

The Snow was one of the albums on my birthing playlist, and it happened to be the album that the boy was born to. He was born towards the end of the album, and it was actually a great album for that particular point in time because the last half an hour or so of labor was hard for me to get through. Had I not been so caught up in GETTING A BABY OUT, I probably would have asked someone to skip past it when it came on, because I would have thought it "unbirthy". We were in the bedroom, and the music was playing in the living room, and I was at a point where there was NO WAY that I would have asked anyone in the room at that time to leave my side for even a second. The album is upbeat and electronic, and I was dimly aware of it playing in between contractions, but not bothered by it. It was exactly what I needed to find the energy required in those last minutes. Something more ambient and dreamy would not have been quite so effective.

After the boy was born, I wrote to Sleazy and told him my son had been born to his album. He responded and seemed delighted. I was touched that he had replied.

It was only months later when Hym and I were listening to the album again that I realized that the second to last song--the song that was playing while the boy was stuck and then likely still playing when he came flying out--was Answers Come in Dreams II. 

Because the music was playing in another room and because I was deep inside birthland, I didn't hear these words that are spoken more than once in the song:

Get ready to be delivered, and delivered in a hurry.

Indeed. What could be a more appropriate song for the end of a hard labor that culminated in a shoulder dystocia?


It was only tonight, as I listened to the song again, that I took notice of these other words, spoken only once:

Man has given a false importance to death. Every animal, plant, or man that dies adds to nature's compost heap.

RIP Sleazy. You gave us so much while you were alive, and now you'll return to the earth. Thank you.

Pyew-pyew-pyew

A few nights ago, I was getting boy ready for his shower. When I helped him get his pants off, he said,

Mama, can you lift me up to look at my penis?

You want me to look at your penis? Does it hurt?

No, I want to look at my penis.

Oh, you want to look at your penis in the mirror?

Yes.


He wanted me to help him stand on the bathroom counter so he could look at his penis in the mirror. Kind of a strange request, but there are not many mirrors in this house that are at his level. I thought that maybe he just wanted to check things out since he knows what his dad looks like from the outside. Right?

I lift the boy up and stand him up on the bathroom counter. He laughs and says,

My penis!

Then he grabs his penis, and starts making shooting sounds. Seriously. SERIOUSLY.

What are you doing? (trying to sound nonchalant).

I am pyew-pyew-pyewing (shooting sounds) mine penis!

You are shooting with your penis? Your penis is a weapon?

Yes! Pyew-pyew-pyew.

I am slightly mortified, but also choking back laughter. I mean, he's at that age where he pretends a lot of things are weapons, including shoes, fruit snacks, and pretty much any other object you can think of. We sometimes make him leave his "weapons" in a special cabinet before he plays with other children so that he doesn't pretend to shoot them, and it actually seems to work. I was at first bothered by his weapon obsession, but feel better (sort of) knowing that he is primarily attacking monsters and "bad guys" and that what I perceive as a gun is often a much more elaborate weapon like a rocket or light beam (way better, right?). I have also noticed that since he started pretending to have weapons, he actually hits other children and me much less. I *think* this is a good thing. (???)

He has pretended that his head shoots laser beams. He has pretended that his feet propel rockets. He has even staged battles between his "robot fingers". Why wouldn't he use his penis as a weapon? I mean, it's the one body part he can actually aim and already shoot stuff from. Makes perfect sense, really.

I think to myself, it's no wonder Freud had some of the ideas he did. But mostly, I just want to laugh.

I stifle the laughter, because I don't want to a) encourage penis weaponeering, b) make him feel like I'm laughing at his penis, or c) make him feel like there is something different about his penis compared to the rest of his body. All I said was, oh honey, I don't think a penis should be used as a weapon. It has many better uses and it's already cool because you can pee with it. Are you ready to get in the shower now?

As an aside, it's pretty awesome that he calls it a penis instead of some other goofy name. About six months ago, he had loose bowels, and his father said, oh, buddy, I think you have diarrhea.

No, I have a penis. Mama has a diarrhea.

I guess that's close enough...


 

On lying to my kid and other guilty pleasures

I missed a post yesterday because I was exhausted from wrangling a 21 pound turkey for 3 days, and then I fell into a turkey coma. Dinner was fantastic.

Not only did we do our Friends Thanksgiving yesterday, but we also took Dude to see Mickey's Live Rockin' Road Show. I didn't think it was as good as the live Playhouse Disney show last year, but the boy enjoyed it.

I didn't tell him about the show. Instead, I wrote a letter to him from Mickey Mouse and put it in the mailbox. At 3:00, hubbie said, oh, that's strange, the mailman just put something in our box--on a Sunday!


We retrieved the letter. The letter told Dude that if he followed the instructions, he would get a surprise. I glued a picture of Mickey Mouse at the end of the letter and signed it, Your Pal, Mickey Mouse.

The instructions were to get in the car at 3:45 and follow the directions, which were driving directions to The Ralph (the Disneyland of hockey stadiums). When we pulled up, he totally figured out what was going on because that's where the show was last year. He was really excited to see Tigger again.

While the other kids sang and yelled and danced, Dude just sat in his seat, perfectly still. We asked, do you want to dance? and he shook his head no. I don't know if he just felt shy or if he was trying to be "good" by being quiet and still. He went to see his daddy perform about a month ago, and we go to see movies on the weekends, so he is a seasoned pro at being quiet and respectful at theaters. However, he was completely still like this last year as well, which was before we started going to any kind of movies or shows. I think that when he is amidst chaos he just needs to retreat inside and soak it all up sometimes.

But then...then...Tigger started his bouncerrific techno finale number. We asked if he would like to stand up and bounce with Tigger. He shook his head up and down really fast and we said go for it. OH. MY. GAWD. It was like he had been holding it all in. He was overcome with the spirit of Tigger and looked like he was either possessed or having a dancerrriffic seizure. It was awesome.

I've noticed that when there is music on at home, he will rarely dance just a little. He's not the kind of kid who kind of sways to the music. It's all or nothing. He's either oblivious or overtaken. Strangely enough, the one band that will always get him moving is Joy Divison. Seriously.

So, yes, I lied to my kid. I fabricated a Mickey Mouse letter. To make matters worse, I secretly hate Disney because the company is really nothing more than a marketing machine. DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED on how pissed I was that an entire plot point of the Rockin' Road show was centered around Minnie's need for SHOES. I wanted to puke. I was so happy that I hadn't taken a little girl there, until I realized that it's also teaching little boys that all girls care about is shoes. All this, and I still bought the tickets. And it was worth it to see him bounce up and down and flail his limbs with a look of pure joy on his face. I lied to him because there is this tiny window of make-believe that will disappear someday. I wish that I could get a letter from a cartoon character and believe it. Hell, I wish I still got letters. Or sent them for that matter...

This is not the first of my lies. I also told him that thunder and lightning were caused by Thor riding his chariot through the sky, and that he threw lightning bolts down upon the earth because it was fun. Because really, if you could hurl lightning bolts, you totally would, and you know it. And I thought that the story about Thor made for a much better story than gods bowling.

Recent phone pictures

Heaven in a glass:

It's a layered iced americano, using Peet's Espresso Forte blend (or maybe Major Dickason's--I can't remember). I have Peet's shipped once every 6 weeks or so for a treat, even though my husband gets free pounds from Starbucks. I use some of the Starbucks coffee, but we also give it away.

We have a home espresso maker--a good one--and it have saved us a lot of money, especially since I can't seem to find a really good coffee shop in this town. I mixed a shot with some vanilla sugar (i.e. sugar that has vanilla beans hanging out in it), added a tish of water, added the ice, poured some half n' half slowly, and then added the last two shots by pouring them gently over the back of the spoon. It's similar to the way you make a layered latte. I can't say that it tasted any different than if I'd just mixed it all together in the first place, but I felt like I'd given myself a real treat.



Boy as Wall-E:

This was boy's Halloween costume. He knew exactly what he wanted to be this year, and I think he looks adorable.


Autumn on campus (it turns out that leaves really do change into colors other than green, less green, and brown):

Feelings

The boy has been learning about feelings in school this week.

Tonight he had a stuffy nose. I asked him if he was getting sick.

Uh huh. My nose is stuffy and my brain had a hard day and my legs are tired and my tummy is, um, um, sad.

Well said, son.

October

We were at the Red River zoo on this day, and I thought this summed up autumn in North Dakota perfectly.

Collard Greens!

We still have a lot of Halloween candy left, because I dole it out slowly--a couple of pieces a day. I'm actually considering stashing some away for his Christmas stocking...Our neighborhood apparently takes Halloween very seriously, as evidenced by the ridiculous pile of loot he received from 20 minutes of trick-or-treating.

But I digress.

The boy is star-of-the-week at school this week, which means that I was asked to pull together something starry, like family pictures, for the wall. Does anyone have printed pictures just lying around the house any more? Of course, they sent the letter home last Friday, and because I just threw the pile of papers in the back of my car, I didn't notice it until Sunday night. Bah.

Dear Preschool,

If I had time to pull something starry together, I wouldn't be paying you to take care of my child all day.

Sincerely,
Works-too-much

Seriously, though, I was excited about this, but disappointed because we could have discussed this ALL WEEKEND if I'd actually looked at the stuff they sent home on Friday. We could have made a PLAN and he could have helped me pick out pictures and it would have been nice quality time for us.

I found a few pictures and asked the boy to pick out three favorite books for show-and-tell.

I picked him up from school Monday afternoon, and he was excited that Teacher V. had read his books to the WHOLE CLASS and Teacher V. wanted to know where I got one of the books so she could get it for the classroom.

I asked boy what he wanted to take for show-and-tell on Wednesday. He wanted to take Eddy, our iguana. I explained that we couldn't do that, and suggested that he take in a picture of Eddy, along with a bag of collard greens to show the class what she eats. He was excited about this idea.

Tuesday night, I printed a picture of Eddy and put some collard greens in a bag and told the boy that everything was ready for school. I had been talking with him all day about what Eddy eats so that he would remember that the leaves are called collard greens.

I asked boy if he would like one of his Halloween candies since he had finished dinner and it was almost shower time (he prefers showers to baths). He sifted through the bowl, and said what is this? while holding up a pack of RAINBOW!!! Twizzlers (I would have been much more excited about Twizzlers as a child had they come in multiple colors).

I said, those are Twizzlers.

No, they are not. They are like the bad guy in Candy Land.

Any Candy Land experts out there? No? Well, lucky for you--I AM. I am an expert in Candy Land because I have been forced lucky enough to play it over and over and over again. For those of you who may not be such experts, when you land on a licorice space, you get stuck for a turn.

Oh, they are licorice! You're right--they ARE like Candy Land.

Of course, this meant that we had to play a game of Candy Land before he went to the shower. We played the game. He beat me, and I noticed he had one Twizzler left. I told him to eat his Twizzler because it was shower time. It was a green twizzler.

He picked it up, held it up in the air like a sword, and said,

Dun-duh-na! (bugle horn sound). This is green! It is a COLLARD green!

And then he giggled like crazy at his own joke. Just like mommy does. Just like mommy's daddy does. It runs in the family, and if you don't find it as funny as we do, we'll gladly repeat it twice more so that you are given additional opportunities to laugh at us...

I kind of like having boy around. A mirror.

NaBloPoMo here we go, now with inappropriate fart jokes

I recognize I am already two days late, but by golly, I need some kind of inspiration to actually sit down and write here.

I will break my long hiatus with a simple story that illustrates life with an 3.5 year-old-boy.

Yesterday morning, I played a Care Bears movie on my computer so that I could lay in bed awhile longer while boy watched the movie. When the movie was over, I suggested that we go eat breakfast.

Boy: No, we have to hide under the covers. Get under the covers, mommy.

Me: Okay, but why are we hiding?

Boy: Because there are monsters outside.

Me: Oh, no. Monsters? What will we do?

Boy: It's okay. The Mighty Shark is here. He will protect us. Go outside Mighty Shark.

Boy lifts covers so the Mighty Shark can get outside. 

Me: What is he doing out there?

Boy: He is eating all of the monsters. 

Boy lifts covers.

Boy: Come back inside Mighty Shark. Mommy, the Mighty Shark eated all the monsters!

Me: Phew, what a relief.

Boy (in stage whisper): Mighty Shark, pull mine finger.

Mighty Shark (performed by boy): Okay. Doodleootleoot! (sound effect to indicate said finger pulling) 

Boy: PPPPHfffffffTTTTTT (fart noise).

At which point, I laughed so hard that I cried.

Fast forward to later that day, approximately 11:45PM. Boy is asleep in our bed. Hyrum and I climb into bed, and I proceed to tell him about the events of the day, and as I begin recounting the Mighty Shark fart story, I can hardly get the words out because I am laughing so hard. At some point, boy wakes up and hears me telling the story, and of course takes advantage of this opportunity to illustrate more fart noises.

For the next 15 minutes, the three of lie in bed, giggling hysterically, because every time the giggles died down, someone (not ME, of course...okay I'm lying...I was totally one of the instigators) would make a new fart noise. The BOY was the one who finally said it was time to sleep, and instituted the Quiet Game.

This is not what I envisioned parenting would be like. It's so much better.

Dear Dude (3rd birthday edition)

I can't believe how tall you're getting.

How tall you've gotten.

The way your clothes hang on you--a lithe little boy rather than a chubby little Michelin-man cherub. You have clothing preferences--no jeans for you! You want "nice and toasty" pants, which means soft and fleecy sweatpants. Who can blame you?

You build things. You are DRIVEN to build things. Out of whatever. Anything. Everything. Blocks, train tracks, train pile-ups, bristle blocks, tree blocks, dominos. You love your cars, your trains, your stuffed animals, your tools, and of course, Tiggy.

Daddy helped you build this robot, but then you decided to take a nap with it:

You want to play games. Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders, matching games.

You love books. You enhale them. You are a slave to them. Welcome to the order of the nerds, son. This is how so many of us ended up where we are today.

I put you to bed one night at 7:30 and peeked in on you a little later. You were still reading by the light of your nightlights and the hall light. This happens a couple of nights every week, and you usually fall asleep with an open book on your chest, part of it covering your chin.

This particular night, you were still awake at 9:30. I gently explained that it was time to stop reading and time to get some sleep.

3 years old and silently looking at books for TWO HOURS. Okay, almost silently. Occasionally you would slip and let loose with some exclamation or gibberish. But mostly, you were silent. Even when you got out of bed to grab new books, so that in the end you were trying to sleep with 10 or so books at once. In a toddler bed.

Ahem.

You are my son. I am so honored to know you.

You stayed the night with the babysitter for the first time a few weeks ago because it seemed easier than waking you up to bring you home (and it's easier for you to be at her house because she has a wee-un that's younger than you). You snuck out of bed at 5 in the morning, got a stack of books from their cabinet, and crept down to the living room to look at them. She woke up to the sound of whispering from the living room, and was concerned that someone had broken into the house. It was just you, and she sent you back to bed, but let you take some books with you. You were over there today, and apparently were trying to cuddle with and read to the cat. He was not amused.

You have imaginary friends. The whole lot of them showed up one morning after a week of crappy sleep. I have learned that when your sleep goes to shit you are either getting sick or about to have some kind of developmental leap. Some of your friends are Disney/Pixar/fill-in-the-blank-corporate-creations. But some are not. They ride in the car with you. You tell them to line up behind you to go into school. This morning, when caught tearing pages in a book, you said Penny told you to do it. We explained that sometimes you have to tell your friends no, that it's not the right thing to do. You introduce them as "see, mine friends" and pan your hand around. One of them is Petos, the dragon, along with his best friend Walter. Petos and Walter are characters in some of the stories I tell you. Stories about why it's a good idea to walk, not run, on ice. Stories about why it's a good idea to let your mommy put lotion on your face and hands. Stories about why it's important to wear your snow boots and coat. Petos ran on the ice, and he hurt his wing, but the wizard made it better and now Petos knows that walking is safer. Petos didn't want to put lotion on, and his poor tail and wings got all dry and cracked and hurt, but the special dragon lotion keeps his wings and tail soft. Petos got mad at Walter one day and hit him, and then he felt very sorry, so now when he gets angry he takes nice, deep, dragon breaths to let out his fire. I always ask you what color Petos is, and what color his wings are, and those change from day to day. I didn't know if you actually heard the stories, until you started repeating them back to me. One day I was so upset I couldn't stop crying, and you said, "mommy, just breathe, like Petos doos". You are such a blessing to me. If you can remember that, to just breathe, and remind other people to do it too, you'll be just fine in life.

You have friends from this dimension too. This year was the first year that when I asked who you wanted to invite to your party, you had an opinion and it was consistent over several days. You had opinions about your cake, too. It was to be a chocolate train cake. And so it was.

You love the movie Wall-E, and spend much of your time as Wall-E. You will pick up "trash" from the ground, squeeze it towards your belly with a grrrr sound and then drop it back to the ground, "like Wall-E doos". I recorded you one day as you acted out parts of the movie along with the movie. Then I showed you the recording. Now you ask to watch yourself doing Wall-E. I don't know what the long-term effect of seeing yourself on video so young will be, but I do know that we're well on our way to having another performer in the family. You also ask to watch footage of your cousins and yourself from when we visited Arizona for the holidays. I am so happy that you have a big extended family and can't wait to watch you all grow together.

It's hard to believe that less than a year ago, I was worried about your language. When we moved here in June, it was a big deal that you were consistently putting two words together. Even when I met with your teacher last October, it was rare for you to put four words together. Now, you talk constantly. And you even have a special language for your imaginary friends that is some kind of hodge-podge of English and gobbledeegook. I wish I could speak it too.

You asked for a Barbie. Sigh. What a dilemma for me. On the one hand, I want to support your interest in non-gender-normative toys. On the other hand, IT'S BARBIE. I don't want to support the notion that she is what a woman is. In the end, I bought you the Barbie, but it was the rock star one, by god. I kind of want to tell you that she's from another planet and that's why she looks so strange, but that might be a bit much.

You love the digital camera and take good pictures. You have started to sing songs you know. You love the alphabet. You love counting. You love school. You love cats. You love hot chocolate. You LOVE. And sometimes you rage. And I love you always.
 
~Mama

Teachers

 love my son's teachers.

Some people are really good with kids. I am not one of them. I love children, so please do not misunderstand my words. I love them, but I am not particularly good or skilled or patient with most children. We all have our weaknesses. I love being around them, so long as I am not in charge. I especially love children of close friends. I have a level of affection that overtakes my heart because to me, they are like little nieces and nephews. I love their mothers (and fathers) so much that the love spills over into their children. These women are like soul family to me, and I can't get enough spending time with them and their children. I wish there were more time for that.

I love my son and think I'm good with him. For short periods of time.

We all have our talents. My son's teachers have a way with children that has never come easily for me. We have been fortunate to have kind, loving, competent caregivers to help shape Albie's life.

Oh, my sweet son

I feel so bad that I haven't written to you.

I am not always the best mother to you.










But I LOVE you. And think you are awesome. And I like being around you (most of the time...but I can't say much more about anyone in my life, don't take it personally).

And I am proud of you. Because you are just, you.

Dear Boy (month 33.5 or so)

There is no excuse for dropping the ball on your updates. We have had so many changes since your last one (when you turned two). YOU have had so many changes.

We moved to North Dakota. You have a friend who lives next door who is about a year and a half older than you. I think it's awesome that you actually have that, and that we are part of a real neighborhood where we know our neighbors. We like most of them, and tolerate the rest with a healthy dose of midwestern-nice.

You started day care/preschool/whatever-it's-called when I started my new job at the end of August. It's a school through the university where they train teachers. The whole focus is on learning through play, and you love it. You go three days a week, and you are apparently totally different child there than you are with me. At first, I was almost upset by that, but now I think it's great. You don't throw tantrums there, you don't hit other children (like you hit me), and they describe you as a "sweet, quiet, little boy". You are very obviously happy when you are there, and that makes me happy. It's been amazing to watch you blossom as a person by spending time with other children in a safe environment. Your teachers are great and you have a handful of favorite friends (even a best friend). I was, however, taken aback when they first told me that you were "quiet". I had to make sure we were talking about the same child! It's not that you are withdrawn--you play with other children plenty--but you are thoughtful and a little reserved when you are at school, which is quite the opposite of your home self. I was the same way.

Your best friend is named Jackson, and it's fantastic to watch the two of you goof around and make each other laugh. You've had a total language explosion since you started school. And the best part, for me, is that there is no TV. Because no matter how much I tell myself that too much TV can hurt you, it is such an easy crutch in this house. The second best part, for me, is that your teachers are people who chose to work with kids for a reason and they are GOOD at it. I'm not. I love you. I love you so much my heart wants to explode when I think about it. But I am not particularly great with small children and do not have the patience with you that you deserve on a day-to-day basis. Instead of berating myself for not being the kind of mother I think I "should" be, I've finally accepted that other caring people can mother you as well--and they do a damn fine job of it. I came from a very dysfunctional family, and I think you should really be getting some input about how to be a human being from someone aside from me. And now that I'm finally accepting that about myself, our lives seem to be getting easier, and I enjoy my time with you so much more now that some of the pressure is gone.

Speaking of TV, you saw Toy Story for the first time this week. You have subsequently been running around the house talking into your arm.

You love Dora and Diego, and Little Einsteins. All TV badness aside, I love them too, in that you run around talking about taking care of animals and now (finally) wanting to play music and dance. Those shows are not all bad. You still like to watch Signing Time, and you still use many of your ASL signs. There was a period in time when you were catching up in verbal language and you didn’t sign much. But then, once you had sort of caught up, it was like BAM! and you were back to using both. That makes me happy. I hope you hold on to sign language.
You know how to use a digital camera, and are getting quite good at it. You like to take pictures of your trains, your cars, and Tigger.

This morning, I was sick. I've been sick for a few days, but it was really hard to get up. I went to the freezer and got two of those Uncrustables sandwiches. Totally processed. Totally delicious. Especially if you only let them thaw for about 10 minutes instead of the recommendations on the box. We sat in bed and watched Dora and some trippy-hippy-lovely show called "Mustard Pancakes" that is like Mr. Rogers but with a folk singer and MORE PUPPETS! When I laid back down, you offered me your Tiggy. Your beloved Tiggy. I asked you to find another animal I could cuddle with so that you could still cuddle with Tiggy. You brought in a whole big bin of stuffed critters from your room, and put (threw) them on the bed, one by one. I was covered. It was lovely.

Then you asked if I was sick. I said yes. So you got your doctor stuff (which is also in the same little box as your tools like screwdrivers, hammers, etc.). So, part of the time, you were checking my ears, my throat, my nose, my temperature...and the rest of the time you were screwing things into my forehead, hammering things into the side of my head (all very gently). Apparently, I was so sick that you thought the most conservative approach was to treat me as a human AND robot, just in case.

You gave up your binkies on Veteran's Day. I casually mentioned one night that soon, we were going to take them all in and trade them for a toy. I was thinking a month or two away. Nope. You got up the next morning and said, "trade binkies for toys and stickers?" I asked (several times) if you were sure, and explained what that meant, and you were on board. So, we put them all into a jar, and I let you look through a Target Toy Catalog that was randomly in my house. You knew just what you wanted, and we went there and got it. The next day was not a school day for you, so I went there to grab your two nap binkies, brought them home and explained that teacher Tina had given them to me. So then, we picked out another little toy. You asked once or twice after that at bedtime where they were, and I reminded you, and that was it. THAT WAS IT? Yes, that was it. Amazing. This is also how the whole toddler-bed thing went too--you were excited about it, I wasted no time making it happen because I was afraid we'd miss a window of opportunity, and damn if you didn't transition to it with no problems. If only I'd had the foresight to not say A DAMN THING about potty-training, ever, I'm sure we'd be DONE with it now. Sigh. I'm thinking that when the weather is nice again in May or so, that would be a good time to trade diapers in for toys, and that be the end of it. You seem like that kind of kid. I understand. Really I do.

You are learning your colors, you can count but don't REALLY understand what you're doing. You can finish sentences in SO MANY of your books it freaks me out. You like to dance. You like to paint. You especially (this week) like to draw with erasable markers because ta-da, they can be erased. You've started to tell me what's in your drawings and I kind of get it. I can see it. This is exciting for me.

You love books. You love trains. You love puzzles. You love cars. You love wearing mittens (a new thing here!). You have been asking for a tea set. The answer is yes, absolutely. You have all sorts of strange and interesting conversations among your furry friends. You talk in your sleep. You are still a good sleeper, though you try to dawdle some nights. Not too bad. You are a little trickster. When the doctor asks you where your nose is, you point to your belly and say belly button. When she asks where your ear is, you point to your eye and correctly say eye. You do not do this at other times when you are cooperative, but you will be damned if you're going to give HER what she's asking for. You know that you're playing, and I know that you're playing, because you are smiling and giggling, but the silly doctors sometimes seem concerned... This happens with your teachers too. One day, I came to pick you up and one by one you pointed to each of the pictures in every person's cubby. At this age, they kind of function as labels since you don't know how to read yet. So, as you were pointing to each picture, you were telling me each person's name. Teacher Tina walked over and said, Albert Patterson, have you been holding out on me all this time? Because there had been several instances where she tried to assess how well you understood the concept of names and if knew the names of your classmates and she. got. NOTHING. from you. The flip side of this is that when I had to put eyedrops in your eyes for pinkeye, I was on the verge of strapping your arms down with belts and sitting on you. I DID sit on you, actually, I just didn't resort to a tying you up. When she put them in when I wasn't around, you tilted your head right back, didn't squirm, cry, or even flinch. Kids. Hmph. She said that even though she is a TEACHER the same thing happens with her kids and they are way more difficult for her and their teachers seem to have have magical powers. Kids are weird.

I enjoy your company. I like playing with you. I just have a terrible attention span for it. So I try to REALLY be present when I'm with you, and then REALLY focus on work when you are in day care. Sometimes that is hard, and sometimes I resort to popping in a DVD or something, but thank god we don't have cable with all of the insidious advertising. Eck. The character cross-marketing is bad enough without you seeing commercials for breakfast candy cereal.

We like to go for drives. There are so many beautiful places near by. The prairielands are unlike anything I have ever known. They make me so homesick for Arizona. But the prairielands are so beautiful in a haunting and open and brutal way. The land here is like the desert lands of my home--be caught out and about in their world in the wrong season or in the wrong mood, and it will kill you.

You have learned some manners, and often apply them in interesting ways. As in, Albie, it’s time for us to put the trains away, and you will say no, thank you.  When you are really resistant to doing something, you just roar at me. Not yell. No, it’s a roar, like a dinosaur or lion. Cute, yes, but very primal too. You will ask people what’s wrong, why they are sad, or why they are crying, or tell me not to worry if I seem upset about something. You say thank you spontaneously most of the time after you are given something. Please is a little more sketchy. You will apologize unprompted most of the time if you hurt some one on accident. We’re working on apologies after intentional hits.

Several of the faculty members here have children close to your age, and that has been a blessing. It's the first time that I've felt like I'm really part of a community. I felt part of a community in AZ--the birth community--but I wasn't directly doing any of that kind of work and we were all VERY spread out because Phx is so ridiculously huge, and people moved away. So it was hard there to connect with the people I love so much--which is another reason that I need to write these updates about you, Albie. So that they know. There are people out there who you may not remember that know you and love you and I want them to know about your life and our life together.

I love you Albie. Even on the toughest days, I so love you. I am so proud of who you are. Not something you do, but who you ARE. I am so lucky to know you.

You are becoming much more of a little boy every day. The next post will include pics. For now, I don't want to delay this post by dealing with them...

Love,

Mama