We're going to have to figure out a strategy for Mary's birthday. She turned 3 on November 1st, but none of us really had the energy or the interest in putting on birthday hats the day after Halloween. But we didn't want her to feel forgotten either. Garrett was the most excited about her birthday. Garrett gets excited about all birthdays! He keeps asking me if it's his birthday yet. I remind him that his birthday is in January. He reminds me that he is going to be six.
So Mary's birthday turned into a week long celebration, kind of like Hanukkah. On the first day of Mary's birthday--a Saturday--we sat around in sugar comas, exhausted from the Halloween festivities that occurred all week. Then, as if we hadn't all had enough of Halloween, we decorated spooky cupcakes for a Halloween party that Chris and I attended that evening. The Halloween cupcakes squashed all desire for birthday cake. Still, we all said happy birthday to Mary and she happily toted around the gifts from her grandparents until I told her she could open them. I was surprised that she could wait so long. When she finally opened the boxes, she was delighted with her puppets and pretty clothes.
Day 2 of Mary's birthday was a Sunday. We asked her if she wanted to go anywhere special and she chose the "Apple Buchard." That's apple orchard to everyone else. Off we went to enjoy the beautiful day. As usual, we purchased the homemade apple doughnuts and apple slushies and sought out a picnic table for doughnut feasting. There was a wild kitty that also wanted to join our birthday party and hopped up on the table to give Mary a birthday nudge. How cute. Then it revealed a mouth full of sharp teeth and stole her doughnut. That's right! It was a wild-fanged-doughnut-snatching cat! Garrett and Mary became very concerned about the fate of the rest of our treats and ate their remaining doughnuts cautiously, holding them above their heads between bites. The cat circled it's prey, but was not successful again.
After doughnuts, we rode the ponies and fed the goats--he usual apple buchard stuff. Mary was so taken in by the friendly ponies and goats that she decided to be pals with the chicken too. Apparently the chicken is of the same ilk as the cat; it pecked her on the arm and made her angry. She said, "Mommy! That chicken bothered me! Bad chicken." Now if you ask her about the apple orchard, she won't talk about the nice ponies, the treats, or the goats. She'll tell you about the bad kitty and the bad chicken.
On Day 3 Mary and I went to the stationary store to buy some birthday cards for other people and passed by the singing card section. I wanted to get a singing Star Wars card for Garrett's birthday. He saw it a few months ago and keeps reminding me that it's the card he wants for his birthday. I am worried that they will sell out or stop making it, so I'm buying it in advance. Of course my little birthday girl was not going to be left out of the singing card show and insisted, as only she can, on having one of her own. Her fingers became glued to a Tinkerbell card that sings, "You can fly, you can fly, you can fly!" when you open it up. Let me pause here to say that if any of you are trying to think of a birthday gift for a 3 year old, the singing card is your answer! Mary loves to make her card start singing and then make it stop. You never know how long she will allow the song to go on. Sometimes you just get a "You can!..." or a "You!..." or even a "Y!..." Mary carried the card with her for days and used it as her official greeting. If you asked her how she was doing, she simply opened the card in your face and presented you with "YOU CAN FLY!" Slam! She also took it to bed with her, as she does all precious objects.
On Day 4 of Mary's birthday, she got to go to Target and use the gift card that Aunt Elaina sent to her. When the gift card arrived in the mail I explained, "Mary this is a gift card. It's just like money and you can take it to the store and choose your own present." She very matter of factly said, "Oh, what a great idea!" So, off we went to Target to stroll the isles. I was curious to see what she'd pick out because I'm not really sure what she'd like for Christmas. It didn't take long for a clear theme to develop: she likes anything with Disney Princesses on it! In our cart we had Disney Princess Pens and a Craft Case, Disney Princess hats and gloves, Disney Princess hair brushes and mirrors, and a Tinkerbell jewelry box with fairies on it. I explained that her gift card would not cover all the stuff in the cart and she would have to put some things back. She said, "Nooo!" I said, "Yes!" Ultimately, I kept the two things she cried the hardest over when they went out of the cart. The winners were Tinkerbell box and Disney Princess Craft Case. She carried the box everywhere. It sat on her lap in the car, it went with us on our walk to Garrett's school, it sat next to her at the computer, and dinner table, and yes, it went into the bed.
Day 5 included a full exploration of everything in the craft case, as well as several puppet shows provided by me.
Day 6 was a blessed day of birthday rest.
Day 7 was a busy party preparation day and a play day because Garrett had the day off of school for parent-teacher conferences. The kids had a great day playing pirates, making treasure maps, and rearranging the furniture to fit with their maps.
On Day 8 we had a nice birthday party for Mary. We were joined by 3 other families for a glorified play date with cake. Mary loved her cake, which had a Tinkerbell suspended over the top of it. She also loved the enormous Princess Balloon that Isabela's family brought for her. She carried it with her everywhere, which made it very easy to find her. I just had to look for the Goodyear Blimp sized balloon. Later the balloon was inaugurated into the treasure trove otherwise known as Mary's bed.
On November 9th I officially declared Mary's birthday: OVER! Thanks to all of you who made her birthday special. Now kindly celebrate someone else's birthday. Garrett is accepting birthday offers as of today.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Hidden Camera
I'm thinking about installing a secret camera in Garrett's room. Don't worry, I'll take it out before he's old enough to object to the invasion of his privacy. I want the camera to record our bedtime ritual. If you saw it you'd either say, "Awwweee! How sweet." Or you'd throw up because it's too sweet. Here's what you would have seen if I had the magic camera on last night.
ACT I
I came back from the gym in a bit of a hurry because I'm due in Garrett's room about 7:30. It was 7:35 when I made it up the stairs. I entered Garrett's room and he shot up in the bed with a big relieved grin on his face. "Oh, mommy, I'm so happy to see you. Did you have a good time at your gym?"
"Yes, Garrett. Thanks for asking. I did all my exercises." I sat on the bed next to him. He got a worried look on his face.
"Mommy, is it hard for you to see out there, when you're in the car, when you're going to your gym in the darktime?"
"It's harder to see than it is in the day, but I have big flashlights on the front of my car that help me see in the dark."
"Big flashlights!"
"Yes. They're on the front. I'm sure you've seen them."
"Oh, I would like to see those! Can you show me sometime?"
"Yes. We can take a special ride one night and you can see that I am safe." I thought it was so cute that he was laying there concerned about my safety. I know he listens for the garage door and wonders if I will make it home in time to read him his stories. "Did you pick out your stories?" I asked him.
"Yes! I will get them." Garrett gets very excited when I go to the library and get us a new round of books. He is getting more interested in reading and wants to choose a word or phrase from the story to read when it comes along. Last night he chose "Hens Pens" and "One Dark Night." We read each book, pointing out our favorite parts, talking about the pictures, and arguing about which words rhyme.
ACT II
After stories, Garrett gets a impish grin on his face and says, "Okay, mommy! Now time for tickles!" He sits up in his bed and curls his fingers like a bear that's about to roar. He laughs in anticipation of how he's going to get me. Poor Garrett. My arms are longer than his. And I'm stronger. He doesn't stand a chance. I grab him and tickle his tummy and he laughs and screams, "Stop, stop! Do it again!" When he takes rest, he repositions himself and considers alternative strategies to gain the advantage.
Plan A: Put mommy at a disadvantage. He says, "Okay mommy, you only get me with one hand." That's fair. But he didn't say I couldn't hold him down with the other one! He's defeated again.
Plan B: See if mommy will surrender herself. "Okay, Mommy, hold your arms out like this and don't move!" he puts his arms out like an airplane, indicating that I should just make my armpits and stomach available to him without defense. I say, "No way!" He begs. I pretend to comply and then grab him as he gets close, tickling his tummy and sniffing air from his neck like a dog. He laughs and screams in a singular sound and says, "Stop! Stop!"
Plan C: Take mommy by surprise. I taught him this one and he should know better than to use my own strategy against me. "Oh, Mommy! Look at that big spider over there!" I don't fall for it, and then he gets desperate and starts to make up stuff that couldn't be real. "Oh, mommy, WOOK! A big purple monster is coming to get you. He's next to R2D2! You better look!" I have pity for him and look. Then I snap back and tickle him again.
Plan D: Take Mommy by complete surprise and strike randomly. This might work if he didn't get the cutest and most devilish looks on his face just before the strike. His eyes get super wide, his lips press together in an effort not to smile with his teeth, and his arm draws back. Gee, I wonder what's coming. I actually laugh hard as if someone has got me pinned and is tickling me relentlessly because I think he is so funny. It's like there is a ticklish spot on my heart and eventually Garrett finds it. This is why I need the camera. I want to capture all those looks of surprise and glee and mischief on his face. And on mine.
ACT III
After tickles, Garrett and I settle into the blankets for our songs. He tries to fake me out a few more times with Tickle Hugs (hugs that are just a trap!), but I calm him down and tell him that we will not have time for all the songs if he doesn't lay still. I ask him, "What song would you like me to sing?"
He says, "The longest song."
I say, "Okay. But would you like another song first?" He chooses Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Then he chooses You Are My Sunshine.
When I first started singing You Are My Sunshine to Garrett, he asked me, "Mommy, why would they take the sunshine away?" I struggle to find a way to explain it. I can imagine what he's thinking as he hears the words, You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away. I say, "Well, the person singing the song loves the person who they are singing to, and they don't ever want to lose him."
"Why would she lose him?" he asks.
"Sometimes it's not something that we can stop from happening." I want to tell him that he will never lose me. I want to tell him that I would be lost without him, but I know that this is too much information and that it isn't something I can promise.
I start singing the second verse: The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms. When I awoke dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and I cried. I realize that in this verse the "sunshine" has already been taken, and I think sadly of my sister, Mary, and how I cling to her in my dreams. I remember that this is one of the only songs that we sang together often, but we did not give too much thought to all the words. We focused on the happy thoughts: you are my sunshine; my only sunshine; you'll never know how much I love you. And I realize that this is what Garrett hears. He is absorbing my love like a sponge and filtering out all my fear that I could lose him too. I think about how I will lose him in little ways over time. One day he will not want me to sing to him. He'll be on the phone with a girlfriend, or updating his Facebook page until he must turn out the lights. I'll be lucky to get a "'Night, mom."
I want the night to last forever, so I ask him, "Are you ready for the longest song?"
"Yes!" We face each other in the bed and he puts his arm around me. I am petting his hair. We both close our eyes. The "longest song" is Kathy's Song by Simon and Garfunkel. I started singing it to Garrett because it is near and dear to my heart and on the short list of songs that I have memorized.
Kathy's Song
I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls
And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To England where my heart lies
My mind's distracted and defused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day
And this song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme
And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you
And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I
Garrett does not ask me any questions about this song and I am glad. The song is about having someone on your mind, obstructing your thoughts--someone that you hold dear and admire and respect. Someone who is far away. I hope that as he comes to understand the words, he will know why I like to sing this song to him. I hope he will understand that he is never out of my mind. Even when he grows up and moves on from his childhood home, my thoughts will always be with him, kissing him when he starts his day, all of his young memories falling like raindrops in my mind. Thankfully, the magic of love is that you don't need a camera to remember it.
ACT I
I came back from the gym in a bit of a hurry because I'm due in Garrett's room about 7:30. It was 7:35 when I made it up the stairs. I entered Garrett's room and he shot up in the bed with a big relieved grin on his face. "Oh, mommy, I'm so happy to see you. Did you have a good time at your gym?"
"Yes, Garrett. Thanks for asking. I did all my exercises." I sat on the bed next to him. He got a worried look on his face.
"Mommy, is it hard for you to see out there, when you're in the car, when you're going to your gym in the darktime?"
"It's harder to see than it is in the day, but I have big flashlights on the front of my car that help me see in the dark."
"Big flashlights!"
"Yes. They're on the front. I'm sure you've seen them."
"Oh, I would like to see those! Can you show me sometime?"
"Yes. We can take a special ride one night and you can see that I am safe." I thought it was so cute that he was laying there concerned about my safety. I know he listens for the garage door and wonders if I will make it home in time to read him his stories. "Did you pick out your stories?" I asked him.
"Yes! I will get them." Garrett gets very excited when I go to the library and get us a new round of books. He is getting more interested in reading and wants to choose a word or phrase from the story to read when it comes along. Last night he chose "Hens Pens" and "One Dark Night." We read each book, pointing out our favorite parts, talking about the pictures, and arguing about which words rhyme.
ACT II
After stories, Garrett gets a impish grin on his face and says, "Okay, mommy! Now time for tickles!" He sits up in his bed and curls his fingers like a bear that's about to roar. He laughs in anticipation of how he's going to get me. Poor Garrett. My arms are longer than his. And I'm stronger. He doesn't stand a chance. I grab him and tickle his tummy and he laughs and screams, "Stop, stop! Do it again!" When he takes rest, he repositions himself and considers alternative strategies to gain the advantage.
Plan A: Put mommy at a disadvantage. He says, "Okay mommy, you only get me with one hand." That's fair. But he didn't say I couldn't hold him down with the other one! He's defeated again.
Plan B: See if mommy will surrender herself. "Okay, Mommy, hold your arms out like this and don't move!" he puts his arms out like an airplane, indicating that I should just make my armpits and stomach available to him without defense. I say, "No way!" He begs. I pretend to comply and then grab him as he gets close, tickling his tummy and sniffing air from his neck like a dog. He laughs and screams in a singular sound and says, "Stop! Stop!"
Plan C: Take mommy by surprise. I taught him this one and he should know better than to use my own strategy against me. "Oh, Mommy! Look at that big spider over there!" I don't fall for it, and then he gets desperate and starts to make up stuff that couldn't be real. "Oh, mommy, WOOK! A big purple monster is coming to get you. He's next to R2D2! You better look!" I have pity for him and look. Then I snap back and tickle him again.
Plan D: Take Mommy by complete surprise and strike randomly. This might work if he didn't get the cutest and most devilish looks on his face just before the strike. His eyes get super wide, his lips press together in an effort not to smile with his teeth, and his arm draws back. Gee, I wonder what's coming. I actually laugh hard as if someone has got me pinned and is tickling me relentlessly because I think he is so funny. It's like there is a ticklish spot on my heart and eventually Garrett finds it. This is why I need the camera. I want to capture all those looks of surprise and glee and mischief on his face. And on mine.
ACT III
After tickles, Garrett and I settle into the blankets for our songs. He tries to fake me out a few more times with Tickle Hugs (hugs that are just a trap!), but I calm him down and tell him that we will not have time for all the songs if he doesn't lay still. I ask him, "What song would you like me to sing?"
He says, "The longest song."
I say, "Okay. But would you like another song first?" He chooses Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Then he chooses You Are My Sunshine.
When I first started singing You Are My Sunshine to Garrett, he asked me, "Mommy, why would they take the sunshine away?" I struggle to find a way to explain it. I can imagine what he's thinking as he hears the words, You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away. I say, "Well, the person singing the song loves the person who they are singing to, and they don't ever want to lose him."
"Why would she lose him?" he asks.
"Sometimes it's not something that we can stop from happening." I want to tell him that he will never lose me. I want to tell him that I would be lost without him, but I know that this is too much information and that it isn't something I can promise.
I start singing the second verse: The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms. When I awoke dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and I cried. I realize that in this verse the "sunshine" has already been taken, and I think sadly of my sister, Mary, and how I cling to her in my dreams. I remember that this is one of the only songs that we sang together often, but we did not give too much thought to all the words. We focused on the happy thoughts: you are my sunshine; my only sunshine; you'll never know how much I love you. And I realize that this is what Garrett hears. He is absorbing my love like a sponge and filtering out all my fear that I could lose him too. I think about how I will lose him in little ways over time. One day he will not want me to sing to him. He'll be on the phone with a girlfriend, or updating his Facebook page until he must turn out the lights. I'll be lucky to get a "'Night, mom."
I want the night to last forever, so I ask him, "Are you ready for the longest song?"
"Yes!" We face each other in the bed and he puts his arm around me. I am petting his hair. We both close our eyes. The "longest song" is Kathy's Song by Simon and Garfunkel. I started singing it to Garrett because it is near and dear to my heart and on the short list of songs that I have memorized.
Kathy's Song
I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls
And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To England where my heart lies
My mind's distracted and defused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day
And this song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme
And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you
And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I
Garrett does not ask me any questions about this song and I am glad. The song is about having someone on your mind, obstructing your thoughts--someone that you hold dear and admire and respect. Someone who is far away. I hope that as he comes to understand the words, he will know why I like to sing this song to him. I hope he will understand that he is never out of my mind. Even when he grows up and moves on from his childhood home, my thoughts will always be with him, kissing him when he starts his day, all of his young memories falling like raindrops in my mind. Thankfully, the magic of love is that you don't need a camera to remember it.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Beverages and More
Imagine that you had a special phone in your pocket that allowed you to press a button and order the beverage of your choice at any time. And, for your added enjoyment, you could also specify the container in which the beverage is housed. For example you could order an ice cold glass of milk in a pint glass, or a hot cup of coffee in your favorite mug--the one with the Chinese dragons on it (please), or perhaps you'd like to enjoy a Sunday morning Bloody Mary with a carrot, a pickle, and two olives in the double old fashioned crystal glass that uncle Ted used to sip scotch out of when he watched the nightly news.
Like magic, the drink would appear, but to your horror and disappointment, it is not presented in the famed crystal of Uncle Ted! "Take it back!" you cry. "I wanted Uncle Ted's glass!"
Your server smiles apologetically. She says, "But, it has the carrot, the pickle and two olives, just as you like it!"
You flop on the floor and wonder how we can all bear to live in a world in which our clearly specified requests are so blatantly ignored! You try to explain your position to your inept server: "But I asked for Uncle Ted's glass. I told you what I wanted. I said please! That's just a plain old ugly cup. I don't want it in that!"
It sounds ridiculous, but somehow this is happening in my house. Naturally, I am the server. I probably get requests like these 20 times a day: I want apple juice in a cup-the Star Wars cup….please. Can I have some chocolate milk….please…and I want it a purple cup with a purple straw. I want milk in a bottle, in the playroom. I want the bottle with the lion on it.
Before you start to think that I'm a total pushover, I will say that if I'm in an exceptionally good mood, I may try to honor the highly detailed beverage orders, but mostly I say, "Tough bananas, guys. The Star Wars cup is in the dishwasher, you're too old for bottles, straws are chosen randomly, and I don't even know if we have apple juice." When I show up with orange juice in a red cup with no straw I prepare myself for the crushing disappointment of my customers.
In graduate school I had an advisor with twin daughters. Both my advisor, Phil, and his wife were workaholic academics, with professional records to show for it. It was an incredible challenge for them to raise the twins, who were born at 25 weeks, and maintain the level of production to which they were accustomed. They employed enough babysitters, nannies, and caretakers to populate a small country. Every time I worked with my advisor he would get a call from the girls' mother reminding him that it was his pick-up day, informing him of the babysitter on duty, and telling him that he should already be in the car on the way to the girl's preschool if he planned to be there on time.
Once-and only once-I accompanied him to the girls' school for pick up because he promised we could discuss the edits for my research paper in the car. I was desperate for his time and accepted the offer. If I had known anything about toddlers, I would have known it was a fool's mission. On the way to the school he talked about the problem of finding reliable childcare to cover his and his wife's work schedule (that would be 24-7), while I held a pile of papers in my lap, pen poised, ready for constructive criticism. It did not come.
We arrived at the school and spent a solid 15 minutes gathering children, coats, artwork, and car seats. The car seats had to be reinstalled in the car every time he picked them up, because they did not use his car for drop off. The girls were wary of my presence in the car and were probably wondering if I was a new babysitter. Phil introduced me as his student, in case they might care.
After the kids were strapped in, the artwork was tucked away, and the bags and jackets were stowed, Phil started to talk to me about the contents of my paper. Picking up on the fact that they were not receiving his attention, the twins immediately started whining and crying and begging for something to drink.
Twin A: I'm firsty.
Twin B: I'm firsty too!
Twin A: I want juuuuiiiicccee.
Twin B: I want juice too!
TwinA: I want apple juice!
Twin B: I want orange juice!
It was clear that there was no chance Phil and I could talk about my paper. As I pondered the possibility that "firsty" is some sort of early unconscious Freudian slip for thinking you come first, Phil addressed the girls, "Okay, I don't have juice in the car. But, I'll call Deirdre and ask her to get the juices ready. Okay?"
Twin A: I want juice now!
Twin B: I'm firsty now! [Twin B starts to kick her feet against the seat and cry.]
Phil whips out a cell phone and calls, Deirdre. "Hi Deirdre. It's Phil. Yes, we're on our way home now. The girls are really thirsty and would like some juice. Could you get them ready so that they can have them right when we get home? We'll be home in about 2 minutes. Just bring it to the car."
Since I did not have kids, I could not believe what was happening. I was imagining myself as the parent of the twins saying, "Juice isn't here in the car. We'll have to wait until we get home and then we can have juice. Oops, and my phone is broken, so I can't call Deirdre."
In the two minutes that it took to pull into the garage, the girls tacked on a few specifications to their order, each one wanting their juice in a specific Disney cup. I could only imagine what horror awaited us when the much anticipated beverages were not presented in the proper vessels.
As expected, when we arrived in the garage, Deirdre materialized with the drink order in the wrong cups and tried to help Phil free the distraught girls from their seats. The shrill protests started with cries of agony over the cups. And the juice was all wrong! It was apple when it should have been orange, and orange when it should have been apple. I thought about having my own uterus removed during Christmas break. Stunned, I sat in the front seat and waited for the screaming banshees to be carried into the house, where Deirdre was frantically refilling juice into the right cups.
Phil returned to the car and said, "Sorry about that, Caroline. You can see why it's hard for me to work from home." Why oh why did I agree to that ride? I thought about how much Phil knows about psychology and animal behavior and attachment and personality development. How could he give in so easily with the cups? In an attempt to restore my faith in psychologists everywhere, I decided to ask.
"So, I have a question. Um… Why didn't you just tell the girls that if they want juice, it comes in the cup it's already in? Why switch the cups?"
"Oh, well, at the age of 3-and that's their chronological age, not their corrected age-they are operating at a base level of the limbic system. They do not have the kind of frontal lobe executive functioning that is required for reasoning, particularly when they are tired. There's no point in reasoning with them about the cups. The only thing that will stop the noise is producing the desired response."
"Huh," I said, while thinking privately to myself about the zillion reasons why I still would not have switched the cups. "I'm going to have a lot of issues with that limbic system if I ever have kids." I think I might favor Classical Conditioning and the pigeon experiments: no matter how many times you scream your head off, you don't get the pellet, or the juice in the pink Disneyland cup.
And this is why the beverage issue is bothering me. Somehow I have fallen into the murky waters of specialized beverage service. The pigeons have pecked and-on occasion-I have rewarded them with pellets made to order. Now we must go through the painful process of extinction, in which the pigeons must learn that although pecking has worked in the past, it is now a waste of energy. No pellets will be forthcoming. No amount of whining will produce apple juice in a Star Wars cup with a purple straw, cold, but no ice if you please.
Still, I know how they like their drinks, and I will probably tend to make choices that make them happy, as I do with anything else. If a purple straw makes your day, then by golly, I'll reach for purple. There is just something about demanding that your beverage be served up in a special way that makes me want to dump it on your head.
One day, after being given a specialized drink order, I said to Garrett, "Garrett, do you know what a waitress is?"
"No."
"I'll tell you. A waitress, or waiter, is someone who works in a restaurant and you pay them money to bring you what the restaurant has to offer. They will bring it just the way you like it."
"Oh, that's nice," he said.
"It sure is. But, I am not a waitress. I am a mother and I do not get paid, but in theory I am rewarded. I help you when you cannot do things for yourself. And I teach you how to do things for yourself. And-see if you can listen extra careful now-I help you to understand that sometimes things don't happen the way we like and we just learn to live with that."
"What?"
"That was a lot, wasn't it. Here's another way to say it: Mommies don't like to take orders, but they do like for you to be happy. Sometimes you can't have your juice in a Star Wars cup and that's disappointing, but it will all be okay. Okay?" We are really learning something here, I thought!
Garrett considered what I had said. "Okay. How 'bout I have my juice in a Spiderman cup then?"
I had to at least give him credit for being flexible, but I realized that all he heard was the bit about not getting your juice in a Star Wars cup. It's a start.
That night I decided to enjoy a glass of wine. I chose a varietal that my tired palate seemed to be craving. Something red, maybe from Chili, something fruity and light on the tannins. I considered my mood and selected a wine glass. Did I want something elegant with a long stem and a big bowl (Better to fill you with, my dear)? Was I in a swirling mood? No. Something casual and low maintenance, easily put in the dishwasher? Yes! I chose the Italian tumbler style like the one my grandfather used to drink out of after a long day of drying fruit in the yard or working on blueprints. He used to pour red table wine over peaches and let them soak up the flavors of the wine. After the wine was patiently drained from the glass, he savored the peaches. I didn't have peaches, but I've learned to be flexible. The memory of my grandfather was just as pleasing.
While preparing one simple glass of wine, I made at least four or five choices, each of them with the purpose of maximizing my pleasure and meeting my need. It is such a privilege to be your own waitress-to fill your own order. And in choosing and preparing my beverage, I knew that there is little difference between myself and a limbic system driven two year old, or a Star Wars loving 5 year old.
Like magic, the drink would appear, but to your horror and disappointment, it is not presented in the famed crystal of Uncle Ted! "Take it back!" you cry. "I wanted Uncle Ted's glass!"
Your server smiles apologetically. She says, "But, it has the carrot, the pickle and two olives, just as you like it!"
You flop on the floor and wonder how we can all bear to live in a world in which our clearly specified requests are so blatantly ignored! You try to explain your position to your inept server: "But I asked for Uncle Ted's glass. I told you what I wanted. I said please! That's just a plain old ugly cup. I don't want it in that!"
It sounds ridiculous, but somehow this is happening in my house. Naturally, I am the server. I probably get requests like these 20 times a day: I want apple juice in a cup-the Star Wars cup….please. Can I have some chocolate milk….please…and I want it a purple cup with a purple straw. I want milk in a bottle, in the playroom. I want the bottle with the lion on it.
Before you start to think that I'm a total pushover, I will say that if I'm in an exceptionally good mood, I may try to honor the highly detailed beverage orders, but mostly I say, "Tough bananas, guys. The Star Wars cup is in the dishwasher, you're too old for bottles, straws are chosen randomly, and I don't even know if we have apple juice." When I show up with orange juice in a red cup with no straw I prepare myself for the crushing disappointment of my customers.
In graduate school I had an advisor with twin daughters. Both my advisor, Phil, and his wife were workaholic academics, with professional records to show for it. It was an incredible challenge for them to raise the twins, who were born at 25 weeks, and maintain the level of production to which they were accustomed. They employed enough babysitters, nannies, and caretakers to populate a small country. Every time I worked with my advisor he would get a call from the girls' mother reminding him that it was his pick-up day, informing him of the babysitter on duty, and telling him that he should already be in the car on the way to the girl's preschool if he planned to be there on time.
Once-and only once-I accompanied him to the girls' school for pick up because he promised we could discuss the edits for my research paper in the car. I was desperate for his time and accepted the offer. If I had known anything about toddlers, I would have known it was a fool's mission. On the way to the school he talked about the problem of finding reliable childcare to cover his and his wife's work schedule (that would be 24-7), while I held a pile of papers in my lap, pen poised, ready for constructive criticism. It did not come.
We arrived at the school and spent a solid 15 minutes gathering children, coats, artwork, and car seats. The car seats had to be reinstalled in the car every time he picked them up, because they did not use his car for drop off. The girls were wary of my presence in the car and were probably wondering if I was a new babysitter. Phil introduced me as his student, in case they might care.
After the kids were strapped in, the artwork was tucked away, and the bags and jackets were stowed, Phil started to talk to me about the contents of my paper. Picking up on the fact that they were not receiving his attention, the twins immediately started whining and crying and begging for something to drink.
Twin A: I'm firsty.
Twin B: I'm firsty too!
Twin A: I want juuuuiiiicccee.
Twin B: I want juice too!
TwinA: I want apple juice!
Twin B: I want orange juice!
It was clear that there was no chance Phil and I could talk about my paper. As I pondered the possibility that "firsty" is some sort of early unconscious Freudian slip for thinking you come first, Phil addressed the girls, "Okay, I don't have juice in the car. But, I'll call Deirdre and ask her to get the juices ready. Okay?"
Twin A: I want juice now!
Twin B: I'm firsty now! [Twin B starts to kick her feet against the seat and cry.]
Phil whips out a cell phone and calls, Deirdre. "Hi Deirdre. It's Phil. Yes, we're on our way home now. The girls are really thirsty and would like some juice. Could you get them ready so that they can have them right when we get home? We'll be home in about 2 minutes. Just bring it to the car."
Since I did not have kids, I could not believe what was happening. I was imagining myself as the parent of the twins saying, "Juice isn't here in the car. We'll have to wait until we get home and then we can have juice. Oops, and my phone is broken, so I can't call Deirdre."
In the two minutes that it took to pull into the garage, the girls tacked on a few specifications to their order, each one wanting their juice in a specific Disney cup. I could only imagine what horror awaited us when the much anticipated beverages were not presented in the proper vessels.
As expected, when we arrived in the garage, Deirdre materialized with the drink order in the wrong cups and tried to help Phil free the distraught girls from their seats. The shrill protests started with cries of agony over the cups. And the juice was all wrong! It was apple when it should have been orange, and orange when it should have been apple. I thought about having my own uterus removed during Christmas break. Stunned, I sat in the front seat and waited for the screaming banshees to be carried into the house, where Deirdre was frantically refilling juice into the right cups.
Phil returned to the car and said, "Sorry about that, Caroline. You can see why it's hard for me to work from home." Why oh why did I agree to that ride? I thought about how much Phil knows about psychology and animal behavior and attachment and personality development. How could he give in so easily with the cups? In an attempt to restore my faith in psychologists everywhere, I decided to ask.
"So, I have a question. Um… Why didn't you just tell the girls that if they want juice, it comes in the cup it's already in? Why switch the cups?"
"Oh, well, at the age of 3-and that's their chronological age, not their corrected age-they are operating at a base level of the limbic system. They do not have the kind of frontal lobe executive functioning that is required for reasoning, particularly when they are tired. There's no point in reasoning with them about the cups. The only thing that will stop the noise is producing the desired response."
"Huh," I said, while thinking privately to myself about the zillion reasons why I still would not have switched the cups. "I'm going to have a lot of issues with that limbic system if I ever have kids." I think I might favor Classical Conditioning and the pigeon experiments: no matter how many times you scream your head off, you don't get the pellet, or the juice in the pink Disneyland cup.
And this is why the beverage issue is bothering me. Somehow I have fallen into the murky waters of specialized beverage service. The pigeons have pecked and-on occasion-I have rewarded them with pellets made to order. Now we must go through the painful process of extinction, in which the pigeons must learn that although pecking has worked in the past, it is now a waste of energy. No pellets will be forthcoming. No amount of whining will produce apple juice in a Star Wars cup with a purple straw, cold, but no ice if you please.
Still, I know how they like their drinks, and I will probably tend to make choices that make them happy, as I do with anything else. If a purple straw makes your day, then by golly, I'll reach for purple. There is just something about demanding that your beverage be served up in a special way that makes me want to dump it on your head.
One day, after being given a specialized drink order, I said to Garrett, "Garrett, do you know what a waitress is?"
"No."
"I'll tell you. A waitress, or waiter, is someone who works in a restaurant and you pay them money to bring you what the restaurant has to offer. They will bring it just the way you like it."
"Oh, that's nice," he said.
"It sure is. But, I am not a waitress. I am a mother and I do not get paid, but in theory I am rewarded. I help you when you cannot do things for yourself. And I teach you how to do things for yourself. And-see if you can listen extra careful now-I help you to understand that sometimes things don't happen the way we like and we just learn to live with that."
"What?"
"That was a lot, wasn't it. Here's another way to say it: Mommies don't like to take orders, but they do like for you to be happy. Sometimes you can't have your juice in a Star Wars cup and that's disappointing, but it will all be okay. Okay?" We are really learning something here, I thought!
Garrett considered what I had said. "Okay. How 'bout I have my juice in a Spiderman cup then?"
I had to at least give him credit for being flexible, but I realized that all he heard was the bit about not getting your juice in a Star Wars cup. It's a start.
That night I decided to enjoy a glass of wine. I chose a varietal that my tired palate seemed to be craving. Something red, maybe from Chili, something fruity and light on the tannins. I considered my mood and selected a wine glass. Did I want something elegant with a long stem and a big bowl (Better to fill you with, my dear)? Was I in a swirling mood? No. Something casual and low maintenance, easily put in the dishwasher? Yes! I chose the Italian tumbler style like the one my grandfather used to drink out of after a long day of drying fruit in the yard or working on blueprints. He used to pour red table wine over peaches and let them soak up the flavors of the wine. After the wine was patiently drained from the glass, he savored the peaches. I didn't have peaches, but I've learned to be flexible. The memory of my grandfather was just as pleasing.
While preparing one simple glass of wine, I made at least four or five choices, each of them with the purpose of maximizing my pleasure and meeting my need. It is such a privilege to be your own waitress-to fill your own order. And in choosing and preparing my beverage, I knew that there is little difference between myself and a limbic system driven two year old, or a Star Wars loving 5 year old.
Pumpkin Follow Up
We took the kids to two pumpkin patches today to pick out some more pumpkins. This time they each came home with their own loot. It was a very warm day, but there was just enough Fall in the air to make for a festive excursion. In the first picture Garrett is standing in front of a selection of mini pumpkins. I wonder if Mary can get all 
of those in her bed? In the second picture, the kids are busy choosing their pumpkins. In the last picture, I thought maybe it would be nice if I was in a picture. Chris waited for just the right moment to snap the shot. Guess what moment that was?
of those in her bed? In the second picture, the kids are busy choosing their pumpkins. In the last picture, I thought maybe it would be nice if I was in a picture. Chris waited for just the right moment to snap the shot. Guess what moment that was?
Friday, October 10, 2008
The Great Pumpkin
Yesterday Garrett went to Curtis Apple Orchard for a class field trip. The kids take a tour of the orchard, learn how bees pollinate plants, pick out a pumpkin, and drink apple juice out of a little container shaped like an apple. The orchard has a place for the kids to feed goats, pan for gold, and jump 5 feet off a ledge onto a pile of hay.
On the bright side, the kids have a great time, the grown ups get to eat delicious homemade apple fritters and stock up on apple butter, and you get that warm fuzzy feeling that comes with supporting local farmers and getting out into nature.
On the not so bright side, the goats smell, its easy to lose your kid, and I just know that one day I will be the mother of a quadriplegic because Garrett’s neck was snapped by an over zealous hay jumper. Then how will he eat his apples? He could probably blink twice when he finds a pumpkin that he likes. But I digress.
So, Garrett got off the bus with his carefully chosen pumpkin and proudly announced that it belonged to him, as evidenced by the fact that his name was on the bottom of it. Mary was sitting in the stroller—to which she had been sent as punishment for not following the rules in the playground. She has a penchant for choosing to climb on the highest, most dangerous monkey bars just when Garrett’s class is being dismissed, making it impossible for me to help her and greet Garrett.
Mary was aroused out of her catatonic grumpy slump when she saw that pumpkin! You could see a plan forming as her eyes darted back and forth between Garrett, the pumpkin, and her lap. Her little lips were pursed in thought. I said, “Garrett, can Mary hold your pumpkin for the walk home?’
“Okay,” he said, somewhat cautiously “But, Mary that’s my pumpkin ‘cause I got it on that fieldtrip, and it has my name on it on the bottom. Do you want to see?”
She just glared and squeezed her prize.
“Garrett,” I assured him, “Mary knows that the pumpkin is yours. Don’t you Mary?”
More glaring.
“Mommy, I don’t think she knows it has my name on it.”
“I’ll be sure and point it out, Garrett.”
Garrett went to Isabela’s house to play after school and Mary held on tight to the pumpkin all the way home. I released her from her stroller and she bounced out with renewed energy, still clinging to the fruit with zeal. “I have Garrett’s pumpkin. It’s my pumpkin!”
“Mary, that is Garrett’s pumpkin. You understand? Garrett brought it home from school. You can hold it until he wants it back.”
For the rest of the afternoon Mary toted the pumpkin around wherever she went. The pumpkin had a snack with her. The pumpkin played computer games with her. Then Garrett came home and the pumpkin conveniently disappeared. I later discovered it, hidden in her bed. She went to sleep that night with her favorite cat, her favorite blanket, and a pumpkin the size of her head next to her own head. Garrett hasn’t asked about it yet. He isn’t possessive enough to care (although at this very minute, he is crying because Mary is licking his ice cream bowl).
I wrote this little poem to capture Mary’s attitude about her rights to the Great Pumpkin.
The Night of the Great Pumpkin
Now I lay me down to sleep
Garrett’s pumpkin I will keep
I dare a soul to try to take
This borrowed loot before I wake
From the patch my brother chose it
Brought it home and thinks he owns it
But I knew at my first sight
That squash would lie with me tonight!
On the bottom there are some letters
I’m only three, I don’t know better
Garrett says they spell his name
I can’t read yet, what a shame.
Good night mommy, good night brother
This pumpkin’s mine, go find another
If I don’t see it here at morning
Just know you’ve all been given warning.
On the bright side, the kids have a great time, the grown ups get to eat delicious homemade apple fritters and stock up on apple butter, and you get that warm fuzzy feeling that comes with supporting local farmers and getting out into nature.
On the not so bright side, the goats smell, its easy to lose your kid, and I just know that one day I will be the mother of a quadriplegic because Garrett’s neck was snapped by an over zealous hay jumper. Then how will he eat his apples? He could probably blink twice when he finds a pumpkin that he likes. But I digress.
So, Garrett got off the bus with his carefully chosen pumpkin and proudly announced that it belonged to him, as evidenced by the fact that his name was on the bottom of it. Mary was sitting in the stroller—to which she had been sent as punishment for not following the rules in the playground. She has a penchant for choosing to climb on the highest, most dangerous monkey bars just when Garrett’s class is being dismissed, making it impossible for me to help her and greet Garrett.
Mary was aroused out of her catatonic grumpy slump when she saw that pumpkin! You could see a plan forming as her eyes darted back and forth between Garrett, the pumpkin, and her lap. Her little lips were pursed in thought. I said, “Garrett, can Mary hold your pumpkin for the walk home?’
“Okay,” he said, somewhat cautiously “But, Mary that’s my pumpkin ‘cause I got it on that fieldtrip, and it has my name on it on the bottom. Do you want to see?”
She just glared and squeezed her prize.
“Garrett,” I assured him, “Mary knows that the pumpkin is yours. Don’t you Mary?”
More glaring.
“Mommy, I don’t think she knows it has my name on it.”
“I’ll be sure and point it out, Garrett.”
Garrett went to Isabela’s house to play after school and Mary held on tight to the pumpkin all the way home. I released her from her stroller and she bounced out with renewed energy, still clinging to the fruit with zeal. “I have Garrett’s pumpkin. It’s my pumpkin!”
“Mary, that is Garrett’s pumpkin. You understand? Garrett brought it home from school. You can hold it until he wants it back.”
For the rest of the afternoon Mary toted the pumpkin around wherever she went. The pumpkin had a snack with her. The pumpkin played computer games with her. Then Garrett came home and the pumpkin conveniently disappeared. I later discovered it, hidden in her bed. She went to sleep that night with her favorite cat, her favorite blanket, and a pumpkin the size of her head next to her own head. Garrett hasn’t asked about it yet. He isn’t possessive enough to care (although at this very minute, he is crying because Mary is licking his ice cream bowl).
I wrote this little poem to capture Mary’s attitude about her rights to the Great Pumpkin.
The Night of the Great Pumpkin
Now I lay me down to sleep
Garrett’s pumpkin I will keep
I dare a soul to try to take
This borrowed loot before I wake
From the patch my brother chose it
Brought it home and thinks he owns it
But I knew at my first sight
That squash would lie with me tonight!
On the bottom there are some letters
I’m only three, I don’t know better
Garrett says they spell his name
I can’t read yet, what a shame.
Good night mommy, good night brother
This pumpkin’s mine, go find another
If I don’t see it here at morning
Just know you’ve all been given warning.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Making a Point
About six weeks ago, Garrett and I were in Lowe's looking for a few household items. I was unable to find something and decided to ask the nice man in the paint department if he could help me. As I described what I was looking for, I noticed that Garrett was looking at the clerk, deep in thought. Suddenly, like one of those hunting dogs that sticks his nose, knee, and tail straight out to tell the hunter's what he's found, Garrett pointed to the clerk and said, "Mommy! That man has no hair!"
It was true, the man was bald. My eyes widened in embarrassment and I said, "That's right Garrett, and probably you won't either one day." The clerk tried to ease the awkward situation and said, "Yeah buddy, I get some hair, but I think it's best just to shave it off." Then he turned to me and said, "You'll find that item on the end of isle 15. I'll take you there." Garrett continued to glare and worry about the future of his own head.
When we got outside, I said, "Garrett, I know we haven't really talked about this before, but it is really not nice to point to somebody and say something about their body."
"But, mommy, he had no hair. I wanted you to see it."
"Yes, I know, but the thing is that you don't know how he feels about not having hair. So if you point to him and say 'he has no hair' then that might make him feel bad." It was a harder concept to explain than I thought it would be. I had to teach Garrett how to take the perspective of the other person. "You wouldn't want someone to point to you and say, 'look at that', right?"
"Oh. Okay," he said.
"Now, from now on, if you see somebody that has something special or unusual, you can tell me when we're alone. Okay?"
"Okay. I'm sorry." He started to cry.
I said, "Oh hey, honey, don't cry. I know you didn't know that you were doing something that wasn't nice. Let's just try to not do it again. Okay? Now we're going to wait to talk to each other when we're alone." I was silently grateful that he didn't point out something worse, like a maimed child or something.
A few weeks later, we were at the ice cream social in the cafeteria at Garrett's school. Everyone got in line for their ice cream, loaded it up with toppings, and then found a seat at one of the long tables. Nothing brings people together like ice cream, so the tables were crowded. Garrett and I found a seat, and soon Isabela joined us. Garrett was oblivious to anything going on around us because his sole mission was to get to the bottom of that ice cream, and then suck all the remaining contents out of the bowl.
When Garrett finished, he looked around with a sense of satisfaction and gave his tummy the kind of pat that would make you think of Winnie the Pooh with an empty honey pot. He stood up and looked around for the first time, probably wondering what he should do now. Then he spotted the man sitting directly across from us, who had a six inch birth mark, or burn scar on the right side of his face. I'm sure you know what's coming. Out went the arm, with the sharply pointed finger. The eyes widened, the mouth fell open, and he said, "MOMMY, LOOK!"
Like an eagle, I swooped in and thrust Garrett's arm to his side, put my lips directly to his ear and said, in the strongest of whispers, "Don't ever do that again. Do not point at people like that!" It was painfully obvious that the man understood what was going on, but took on that distant stare and pretended to be oblivious.
Garrett is a sensitive creature and immediately started to cry. Little tears started making their way through dried valleys of chocolate sauce and ice cream. Isabela said, "What's wrong with Garrett?"
I pulled both of them to the side of the room, away from the man. I tried to soothe Garrett, who was probably thinking that he was the worst person on the planet. I said, "Garrett, honey, don't cry. I think you forgot not to point. Remember what we said about pointing? Remember that we said we shouldn't talk about people like that?"
Isabela said, "That man had something on his face."
I said, "Yes, but he doesn't need us to tell him that. What if you and Garrett had a big purple spot on your nose and all your friends at school pointed at it and said, 'you have a big spot on your nose!'?"
Garrett started to cry harder, imagining the curse of the purple spot. Isabela said, "My mommy says that if you see something that you don't understand or maybe if somebody is different than you, you shouldn't point. That's not a nice thing to do." She shrugged her shoulders and put her hands up in emphasis. "What should we do instead of pointing? Well, we can wait to ask our mommies and daddies about what we saw. Many times a person has a feature that they can't help and it isn't nice to point to it, but we can ask....."
"That's right, Isabela. Now Garrett, let's calm down because we're supposed to be here, eating ice cream and having fun, right?"
Garrett took deep breaths and sniffed with a G force of 5. "I'm sorry."
"I know. And it's okay and now we're going to move on."
Isabela found another opportunity to share her mother's wisdom. "My mommy says 'okay, we got upset and we learned a lesson and now we're going to move on! We just take a moment for our feelings and then we move on.'"
"That's right, Isabela. We should all move on." At least somebody is listening to their mother.
So a few more weeks passed, with no pointing at innocents and announcing imperfections, and we were all happy. Then, we passed a pirate on the way home from school. I mean, what would you do if you saw a pirate?
What we actually saw was a very tan, rugged college student with scruffy hair and an eye patch. This was not lost on Garrett: "Mommy, LOOK! A pirate!"
"Garrett! What did I say about pointing?" I felt so defeated.
The man saw my angst and said, "Ahoy there, matey!" I smiled at him gratefully. Garrett did not say 'Ahoy' back because he had stopped in his tracks to hang his head in shame. He whimpered, "But, mommy, he is a pirate."
"Yes, I guess he is." I had to agree.
As if it isn't enough for one small boy to see 3 strange things in the span of a few weeks (although I don't know why baldness should surprise him), Garrett got yet another opportunity to nail down this pointing thing. And I hope after I tell you about it, you will appreciate how far he has come with this particular problem.
Once again, we were walking home from school. There are so many children in our neighborhood that walk to school. Every day there is a parent parade at 3:00. You usually see the same people picking up their kids, but every once in a while you see someone new. Like, on this day. On this day, a lovely little girl in our neighborhood was accompanied by her grandfather. It was a warm, almost spring-like day, and none of us were wearing jackets. And one of us went even farther than that. Grandpa opted not to wear socks with his loafers, and,as a bonus, he opted to wear his button-down shirt unbuttoned. And I don't mean in the casual way that one unbuttons one's shirt to reveal a t-shirt. Grandpa's shirt was unbuttoned, shirt tails flapping, sockless feet squeaking in his shoes. He reminded me of a flag bearer with a kazoo. Of course, all of our eyes were drawn immediately to grandpa's bare chest. Think of your grandpa. Think of his bare chest. It's not really something you want to gaze at.
Now, imagine Garrett and his wide eyes, glancing back over his shoulder every 2 seconds to be sure that he really sees a half-naked grandpa. Once he was sure, he sprinted 10 feet to be at my side, and said at the top of his precious lungs, "Mommy! That man does not have his shirt on right and I did not point!"
"Good for you, Garrett. Let's work on your bugle voice."
Seriously, a bugle would be less conspicuous.
A week later he saw a jogger and said again, this time more quietly, "Mommy that man is not wearing a shirt and I did not point." We are making so much progress.
It was true, the man was bald. My eyes widened in embarrassment and I said, "That's right Garrett, and probably you won't either one day." The clerk tried to ease the awkward situation and said, "Yeah buddy, I get some hair, but I think it's best just to shave it off." Then he turned to me and said, "You'll find that item on the end of isle 15. I'll take you there." Garrett continued to glare and worry about the future of his own head.
When we got outside, I said, "Garrett, I know we haven't really talked about this before, but it is really not nice to point to somebody and say something about their body."
"But, mommy, he had no hair. I wanted you to see it."
"Yes, I know, but the thing is that you don't know how he feels about not having hair. So if you point to him and say 'he has no hair' then that might make him feel bad." It was a harder concept to explain than I thought it would be. I had to teach Garrett how to take the perspective of the other person. "You wouldn't want someone to point to you and say, 'look at that', right?"
"Oh. Okay," he said.
"Now, from now on, if you see somebody that has something special or unusual, you can tell me when we're alone. Okay?"
"Okay. I'm sorry." He started to cry.
I said, "Oh hey, honey, don't cry. I know you didn't know that you were doing something that wasn't nice. Let's just try to not do it again. Okay? Now we're going to wait to talk to each other when we're alone." I was silently grateful that he didn't point out something worse, like a maimed child or something.
A few weeks later, we were at the ice cream social in the cafeteria at Garrett's school. Everyone got in line for their ice cream, loaded it up with toppings, and then found a seat at one of the long tables. Nothing brings people together like ice cream, so the tables were crowded. Garrett and I found a seat, and soon Isabela joined us. Garrett was oblivious to anything going on around us because his sole mission was to get to the bottom of that ice cream, and then suck all the remaining contents out of the bowl.
When Garrett finished, he looked around with a sense of satisfaction and gave his tummy the kind of pat that would make you think of Winnie the Pooh with an empty honey pot. He stood up and looked around for the first time, probably wondering what he should do now. Then he spotted the man sitting directly across from us, who had a six inch birth mark, or burn scar on the right side of his face. I'm sure you know what's coming. Out went the arm, with the sharply pointed finger. The eyes widened, the mouth fell open, and he said, "MOMMY, LOOK!"
Like an eagle, I swooped in and thrust Garrett's arm to his side, put my lips directly to his ear and said, in the strongest of whispers, "Don't ever do that again. Do not point at people like that!" It was painfully obvious that the man understood what was going on, but took on that distant stare and pretended to be oblivious.
Garrett is a sensitive creature and immediately started to cry. Little tears started making their way through dried valleys of chocolate sauce and ice cream. Isabela said, "What's wrong with Garrett?"
I pulled both of them to the side of the room, away from the man. I tried to soothe Garrett, who was probably thinking that he was the worst person on the planet. I said, "Garrett, honey, don't cry. I think you forgot not to point. Remember what we said about pointing? Remember that we said we shouldn't talk about people like that?"
Isabela said, "That man had something on his face."
I said, "Yes, but he doesn't need us to tell him that. What if you and Garrett had a big purple spot on your nose and all your friends at school pointed at it and said, 'you have a big spot on your nose!'?"
Garrett started to cry harder, imagining the curse of the purple spot. Isabela said, "My mommy says that if you see something that you don't understand or maybe if somebody is different than you, you shouldn't point. That's not a nice thing to do." She shrugged her shoulders and put her hands up in emphasis. "What should we do instead of pointing? Well, we can wait to ask our mommies and daddies about what we saw. Many times a person has a feature that they can't help and it isn't nice to point to it, but we can ask....."
"That's right, Isabela. Now Garrett, let's calm down because we're supposed to be here, eating ice cream and having fun, right?"
Garrett took deep breaths and sniffed with a G force of 5. "I'm sorry."
"I know. And it's okay and now we're going to move on."
Isabela found another opportunity to share her mother's wisdom. "My mommy says 'okay, we got upset and we learned a lesson and now we're going to move on! We just take a moment for our feelings and then we move on.'"
"That's right, Isabela. We should all move on." At least somebody is listening to their mother.
So a few more weeks passed, with no pointing at innocents and announcing imperfections, and we were all happy. Then, we passed a pirate on the way home from school. I mean, what would you do if you saw a pirate?
What we actually saw was a very tan, rugged college student with scruffy hair and an eye patch. This was not lost on Garrett: "Mommy, LOOK! A pirate!"
"Garrett! What did I say about pointing?" I felt so defeated.
The man saw my angst and said, "Ahoy there, matey!" I smiled at him gratefully. Garrett did not say 'Ahoy' back because he had stopped in his tracks to hang his head in shame. He whimpered, "But, mommy, he is a pirate."
"Yes, I guess he is." I had to agree.
As if it isn't enough for one small boy to see 3 strange things in the span of a few weeks (although I don't know why baldness should surprise him), Garrett got yet another opportunity to nail down this pointing thing. And I hope after I tell you about it, you will appreciate how far he has come with this particular problem.
Once again, we were walking home from school. There are so many children in our neighborhood that walk to school. Every day there is a parent parade at 3:00. You usually see the same people picking up their kids, but every once in a while you see someone new. Like, on this day. On this day, a lovely little girl in our neighborhood was accompanied by her grandfather. It was a warm, almost spring-like day, and none of us were wearing jackets. And one of us went even farther than that. Grandpa opted not to wear socks with his loafers, and,as a bonus, he opted to wear his button-down shirt unbuttoned. And I don't mean in the casual way that one unbuttons one's shirt to reveal a t-shirt. Grandpa's shirt was unbuttoned, shirt tails flapping, sockless feet squeaking in his shoes. He reminded me of a flag bearer with a kazoo. Of course, all of our eyes were drawn immediately to grandpa's bare chest. Think of your grandpa. Think of his bare chest. It's not really something you want to gaze at.
Now, imagine Garrett and his wide eyes, glancing back over his shoulder every 2 seconds to be sure that he really sees a half-naked grandpa. Once he was sure, he sprinted 10 feet to be at my side, and said at the top of his precious lungs, "Mommy! That man does not have his shirt on right and I did not point!"
"Good for you, Garrett. Let's work on your bugle voice."
Seriously, a bugle would be less conspicuous.
A week later he saw a jogger and said again, this time more quietly, "Mommy that man is not wearing a shirt and I did not point." We are making so much progress.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
What I Learned In Kindergarten
Garrett has finished his first week of Kindergarten. Every morning Garrett puts on his clothes, makes himself presentable, has a little breakfast, and heads out the door with his daddy. Chris and Garrett meet Isabela and her family along the way and join the masses of parents who are all filing toward the school. Garrett and Isabela go into the school together, but they attend different classes. Sometimes they share their lunch period and a recess, but there seems to be no predictable way of knowing how much they will see of each other at school. Isabela's mom and Mary and I go to pick up the kids after school and then we try to figure out what happened in the school day. Our interrogation goes something like this:
Question: How was your day at school?
Isabela: Great! I saw Garrett at lunch and I read a book to my class.
Garrett: Um... fine.
Question: Did you eat all of your lunch? (Mother of child starts to rummage through lunch box to determine what was eaten.)
Isabela: Well, I didn't eat all of my lunch. I ate one apple slice and only the white part of my hard boiled egg. And some of my milk.
Garrett: Yes.
Question: What exactly did you do at school today? Did anything special happen?
Isabela: Today we had music and I love the music teacher. The girls in my class were respectful to the teacher, but the boys had problems. Also, we learned about Jack and Jill. Did you know that a "crown" can mean more than a crown, such as a king's crown? A crown can also refer to an area of the head. Right here! (points to head). And did you know that in the nursery rhyme, "Jack and Jill" that when Jack falls down and breaks his crown, he does not actually break a crown like a king's crown, but he breaks his head!
While I am absorbing the morbid details of this story, Garrett proceeds to answer the above question.
Garrett: Um. I drew a picture of myself. And I lay down on my towel and I wasn't scared and there was some music and I didn't have a towel with characters on it, I just have a purple towel and that room was all dark.
Question: Did you use the bathroom?
Isabela: No.
Garrett: No. Um, mommy, did you know that if you have to go to the potty, you don't have to do like this (Garrett proceeds to grab his crotch and jump up and down with is hand in the air). You can just say, "Excuse me, I need to use the potty."
About this time the conversation circles back around to lunch with questions like, "Why didn't you eat your carrots? Did you not eat them because you were full, or because you don't like them? Or because you didn't have time? Why didn't you eat your chicken dinosaurs?
Garrett and Isabela: I WANT A CHICKEN DINOSAUR!
Mary: I want shicken dine-saur too!
We proceed to empty the lunches and pass out leftovers. Eventually we make it home and Isabela and Garrett beg to play with each other until dinner time.
Now, let's get back to this very educational issue of Jack and Jill! I'm aware that learning about rhymes are an important part of learning how to read. Got that. And I very much value learning about the multiple meanings of words. Love words! Love multiple meanings. But, is it really necessary to explain that Jack's head is busted open? I did a little research on this pleasant nursery rhyme. Turns out that Jack's head is not just busted open, it has been CUT OFF! Yes, friends, the innocent thirsty Jack that we all know and love, did not just go up the hill for a pail of water. He is purported to be Louis XVI of France, who was beheaded (lost his crown) and Jill is purported to be Marie Antoinette, who was beheaded after Louis (came tumbling after). No wonder nobody ate their lunch.
Question: How was your day at school?
Isabela: Great! I saw Garrett at lunch and I read a book to my class.
Garrett: Um... fine.
Question: Did you eat all of your lunch? (Mother of child starts to rummage through lunch box to determine what was eaten.)
Isabela: Well, I didn't eat all of my lunch. I ate one apple slice and only the white part of my hard boiled egg. And some of my milk.
Garrett: Yes.
Question: What exactly did you do at school today? Did anything special happen?
Isabela: Today we had music and I love the music teacher. The girls in my class were respectful to the teacher, but the boys had problems. Also, we learned about Jack and Jill. Did you know that a "crown" can mean more than a crown, such as a king's crown? A crown can also refer to an area of the head. Right here! (points to head). And did you know that in the nursery rhyme, "Jack and Jill" that when Jack falls down and breaks his crown, he does not actually break a crown like a king's crown, but he breaks his head!
While I am absorbing the morbid details of this story, Garrett proceeds to answer the above question.
Garrett: Um. I drew a picture of myself. And I lay down on my towel and I wasn't scared and there was some music and I didn't have a towel with characters on it, I just have a purple towel and that room was all dark.
Question: Did you use the bathroom?
Isabela: No.
Garrett: No. Um, mommy, did you know that if you have to go to the potty, you don't have to do like this (Garrett proceeds to grab his crotch and jump up and down with is hand in the air). You can just say, "Excuse me, I need to use the potty."
About this time the conversation circles back around to lunch with questions like, "Why didn't you eat your carrots? Did you not eat them because you were full, or because you don't like them? Or because you didn't have time? Why didn't you eat your chicken dinosaurs?
Garrett and Isabela: I WANT A CHICKEN DINOSAUR!
Mary: I want shicken dine-saur too!
We proceed to empty the lunches and pass out leftovers. Eventually we make it home and Isabela and Garrett beg to play with each other until dinner time.
Now, let's get back to this very educational issue of Jack and Jill! I'm aware that learning about rhymes are an important part of learning how to read. Got that. And I very much value learning about the multiple meanings of words. Love words! Love multiple meanings. But, is it really necessary to explain that Jack's head is busted open? I did a little research on this pleasant nursery rhyme. Turns out that Jack's head is not just busted open, it has been CUT OFF! Yes, friends, the innocent thirsty Jack that we all know and love, did not just go up the hill for a pail of water. He is purported to be Louis XVI of France, who was beheaded (lost his crown) and Jill is purported to be Marie Antoinette, who was beheaded after Louis (came tumbling after). No wonder nobody ate their lunch.
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