The Village

As we wandered to the armory with Yoav, his mama and his toddling little brother the other day, a woman glared after our diaper clad companion and then chastised me with a "Aren't you worried that baby's gonna be cold?"

I'm constantly surprised that in such an industrial world setting the village vibe is alive and well. It used to irk me to no end. How dare someone question my dedication - can't they see the sleep deprived bags under my eyes??? Then I got a good week's sleep and saw it in another light. A sweet, rosy one. Sure, under the watchful eye of the world is the underlying notion that the chastised parent obviously isn't doing their matronly duty, this stranger better knows the needs of this unknown tot. But mixed in with this negativity is a glowing concern for all those that are little. And I decided last year I'd only recognize that love. Skip the judgement, go for the gold.

So when I turned a smiling face towards my jury of one and said "That is so sweet! Thanks for worrying about him, its not as warm as last week is it?", she seemed entirely miffed. She took another stab at whatever she was attempting, but my unmoving appreciation had her walking off pretty quickly. And all P saw was another example of the world being a good place, strangers helping strangers..... ;)

And in a huge city like this, there is a definite vibe of working together. We work together to ignore one another when we need space but can't find it piled one on top of another. We grab the kid about ready to be swallowed up by the escalator (much to the kid's dismay:) We get in one another's faces about proper attire for toddlers. But mixed in with the constancy of being surrounded by other's is a feeling of vacancy. When I ran around my neighborhood as a kid, I knew to watch my stuff since all of the other neighborhood moms knew exactly where to find my mom. Despite this village-y vibe, P doesn't have the same midwestern nabe to roam. And as he gets older, having safe spaces to venture out independently is more important.

The Mulberry Street Library has become one of those safe spaces. P knows the librarians, they know him. The children's section is a level below the street, cozy and away from too many crazies :) The stairway rises up the middle of the space, so its not the clear shot I'd prefer, but that's the part that gives P a feeling of slowly budding independence. He likes to wander to the other side to pick a book, or go to the water fountain himself. So yesterday, when I headed to the bathroom (after an Awesome dreamcatcher craft with the Homeschool New York group) he chose to stay at the table and look at his new book. We've done this before. He's always smiling when I return. But this time, on my return to the table I bumped into Milo's mama and started book chatting etc. As I started to walk away I heard a strange noise. And it started getting closer, louder. And then there was P, wrapped up in Twinkle's arms, coming my way, doing his strangled cry.

Yes, he has a strangled cry, because he thinks he isn't supposed to cry. Another gift of my village. Too many well meaning "Oh, you're so tough, you don't need to cry! Oh look how Tough you are!"'s thrown his way. An unusually irksome response since P has never been a quick crier. Some kids, this demeaning chastisement bounces off of, other's swallow it up and buck up. But no one is supposed to buck up like that. Our repressed society is abysmally unhealthy. And if I run into a concrete pole and cry and someone comes by and tells me how tough I am I can guarantee my newfound rosy view on helpful villagers will be revised...

Add to his fear that crying isn't the right thing to do when he thinks he's lost his mother, modeling has done a freak on his head too. Not the catwalk kind. The natural, watching your parent's kind :) Once, after a hurt that tears can't hide from, P tried to turn to fury (his current approach once mourning and sadness were stolen from him, the feelings have to go somewhere (for every action there is an equal and opposite blah blah blah) and anger hasn't been publicly condemned yet, so... ). But the hurt was too big and eventually tears won. He was dismayed. Why, he said to me with red rimmed eyes, why don't you make sounds like I do when you cry?

Ahah! I have no shame for tears. I think they are fab. As a very wise child (yah, mine ;) once told me when he was 2, "Tears are how the hurt gets out of my body, Mama. It comes out my eyes." They are cleansing, literally. Scientists found that tears release stress chemicals stored in our bodies. That's why a good cry makes a person feel better. It actually helps. The two year old was right.

But me, I'm not much of a wailer. More the silent dripper. I don't need a big production, the things just leak out. I don't squnch 'em back in, but I don't push 'em out either :) And the kid has noticed the silent part apparently, and he, like most kids, have a very vocal approach to water works. And ever since he asked that question, he's tried to cry silently when he can't avoid sorrow. But just like the tears that turn to anger if stopped up, the cry of a child can't altogether dissipate either. And so we have the squeal. Its pathetically pinched. If he had the power to swallow it whole, it seems he would. Its quieter than the typical wee wail, and sadder, to me, too. Since I know its him, hurting, and trying to hide his hurt. Because he thinks he should. And this is when the roses fall from my eyes and I whisper "shitty, shitty world."

But it wasn't a shitty world yesterday. And it wasn't a vast city that met my scared child. It was another homeschooling mom's loving arms :) She told me later that when she saw P, he was just sitting at his little table by himself, his hands over his face. His tiny sound was so strange she thought he was laughing. Then when she spoke to him and his face raised to hers, well, he obviously wasn't laughing. He said he thought he'd lost his Mama. She offered to help him find me (20 paces away on the other side of that damn stairwell, where I could see anyone come and go, in full knowledge my kid was safe... and supposedly, happy...) and when she picked him up he squeaked out a "thank you." Awwwww.

This all came on the heels of a nightmare the very night before. In it, P lost me, I just walked down the sidewalk, leaving him behind, and he lost me. Ouch. Crying, he found a mama and asked her to take him to 603 Xth St, last brownstone on the left. (skipping the exact address for the world wide web, despite the fact that only three people read this, a girl's gotta take a little caution after deserting her child in a public library! But the kid nailed the address, and even the adorable brownstone bit that I always tell the taxi when we return from the airport:) ) He said he planned to ring the doorbell once the lady got him home, and that I would come down and find him then.

At least he has a plan :) So, last night, as he procrastinated sleep for eons and chatted away in the dark, I found out just how little the four year old understands things. He thought that when he hides from me on the sidewalk and I pretend to lose him.... that I've actually lost him. That there is a possibility that I could just forget to get him when I walk out of a store. That I might run for a subway and leave him behind on the platform. That I could just walk out of the library sans offspring.

Holy Shit!!! Where's the faith? The trust? And it reminded me of the story my girlfriend told me. She parked in the garage and got out with a bag of groceries. After sitting them inside she went back out to grab her 3 year old from his car seat. He heaved a great sigh when she opened the door and smiled, "Oh, Mama. I thought you'd forgot me." Yah, she's a dedicated mom too, no previous smack smoking disappearing acts from her either....

Anyway, back at the library. After soothing my sweet son and reading a bunch of books, we wandered outside to play until E finished work. The day was lovely and the scaffolding on the building beckoned to P. This library sits on a strangely vacant street. Popular with photo shoots. Busy neighborhood, unused one way alley. Just the occasional delivery van. So we had a snack on the wood beam curb and then P and BB climbed the pipes. As we enjoyed our play (me, standing right beside P, holding a pink monster, speaking in monster tongue, Not across the street doing a drug deal) a woman walked past sputtering to me, shaking her head. Her words were slightly lost as a big truck rumbled down a nearby street. "Oh," I said, attempting to validate what I assumed was her concern, "You're wondering if he might fall?" "No," she snapped at me, " aren't you worried, Worried, that he'll fall into the traffic?!"

"That's so sweet! Thanks for your concern...." The village is alive and well and the child is protected by many, even if the child doesn't believe it... yet :)

Still inspired

I had high hopes for posting tonight, but last night's unproductive bout of insomnia has me heading in early :) Bottom line, everyone should flock to this exhibit! Check it out:here. We walked around in awe and joy (often slapping our heads and saying "Aunt Alicia has Got to see this!") for SIX hours. And P and I are already ready to return :)


(The video starts dark but there is actually a video there - promise!)

Art that blisses you out

Things have been a bit crazy, and its late, so here's something short and sweet from yesterday's adventure. More details to come :) I'll sum it up with one word: "BLISS."

Good wenches and grog

(Above, BB is at sea, but in the dark, since P's bowler is covering the sun;)



Thanks to Yoav's Mama, we had a great project this weekend while E was working (yes, you read that right, working Again poor guy!) and I was sick (yes, again for that too. I've got a living, breathing, 19th century novella sorta constitution here:). We painted an ocean scape, cut out a boat to sail the seven seas and gave the scape some waves (and a sun to relieve my angst as mentioned in the previous post;) and Whalah! P was quite impressed. The simplicity ended quickly tho, for we needed a BB to sail those seas... and a shark to bite BB's toes... and we ripped our first scape... and a rock for BB to climb upon once his boat sank in the second set of seas... and, and, and... And, since Papa wasn't home to see all of the fun, we had to make a movie of it to boot!

Home movies are so much more moving with a little muzak. And so I share with you yet another mama-mess-up. As mentioned a while back, P wanted to purchase pirate songs, his tastes expanding and all. Well, ITunes plays tiny bits of a tune and from this soundbite you determine your purchase. The song featured on the below video seemed catchy and P voted yes, so we bought it.

Now, this story only makes sense if you know the following: I've barely listened to music with lyrics since I became pregnant (over FIVE years ago) when my morning sickness was replaced at month three with an inexcusable aversion to lyrics. Tug at my heartstrings is a ridiculous understatement, I tear up at P's kid's songs (the happy ones). No kidding. So, for the most part, the music the little man hears at home is electronica, trance, classical or foreign (if I can't understand the lyrics they can't make me cry!) (It hit me the other day that P's lack of typical kiddie jingles could be based in this funkiness (oooo - more bad mommy confessions!)) Now, knowing all of this, and how much E and I adore music, we want P to be surrounded by sounds, so I've tried to turn on a wider variety of tunes for the little man in the last year. And I have trained myself to ignore the lyrics. Its been working well. So well, in fact, that I didn't realize what this song said until I heard my four year old sing it to me. And, I don't think its a kid's song...

Beeswax is da bomb

So I've been wondering about art lately. P still prefers abstract. I'm still inspired by the theories in "Young at Art" (very unschooly, basically a buzz off approach. Give the kids the media and stand back, waaaaay back, so they can experiment and express without expectations, without copying, without losing their vision for yours.) And then I start wondering. Am I ruining him, will he miss out on the yellow suns, stripes emanating? The turkey plate? We did the recycled tissue flowers, maybe he won't be too scarred...

And then I regroup. Rethink and remember. He's happy. He's creating. He loves it. I really don't want him to draw my trees or my faces. I want to be patient and see what his trees and his faces look like. And then I get the gist of what will be hardest about unschooling. The not "measuring up." To the "norm." To other's expectations. By really giving P the space to take his time, to find his path, he might be surrounded by swirls and swooshes instead of sunsets. But really (here comes the rationalization part for when highfalutin' theories wobble), I have yet to go to a job interview that asked me "when did you begin drawing sunsets accurately? How was your turkey plate?" And I'm really hoping that if P is ever hit with that he'll reply "define accurately....and I'm vegetarian."

Skipping ahead. Long story short. Play doh isn't cutting the mustard for his sculpturing needs anymore. The gloriously soft stuff we mix up is faaaabulous for his tactile needs, but it isn't structurally sound. So we've added beeswax to our workshop. (Pre-beeswax we went the Sculptey route. Much to my dismay. I've worked with the stuff and the nasty residue it leaves. Watching P's precious little hands squish the stuff was neurotically painful for me. Fortunately, after playing with it he hated the feeling and left it behind. Unfortunately, this still left a gap in our art arsenal.)

So, beeswax. Its lovely. It smells divine. It can get practically translucent when warm and thin. And, bless the little man, he made 4 sculptures for me right out of the box :) The slightly waxy residue didn't bother him (or me, though my kitchen knife thought differently:) The next day he decided it was the perfect addition to his kitchen too and we sculpted carrots, eggplant, mushrooms, peas, red peppers etc etc and then he meticulously chopped them up for a "stew." It was, of course, delicious. And veered towards dabbling in realism.... :)

The collector

As if shells, rocks and whatnot weren't enough, the child has found something else he wants to collect : hats. He's so in love with his fedora and tam that he wants to expand his "collection." Yesterday, he set his sights on a bowler hat for a buck at a stoop sale. Of course, he calls it alternately a "bullet" or "boulder" hat :)

I read a mainstream article recently about toys (speaking of an ever growing collection!) It was a pretty scathing review on anything electric that has one solid purpose (think Tickle me Elmo), relying heavily on the "my kid loved the box it came in the most!" refrain. It was fairly preaching to the choir here :) but I was struck by this theme as I watched P play with his hat, er, ball, er magic trickster, er boat for BB, er frisbee, er.....

Community Garden: take two

Thursday we were off to the Community Garden again. Milo's mum had schlepped plants, sun tea and a bean project (not to mention her 4 year old) all the way there and I again stood in awe of her awesomeness. The plot was much less crowded and P happily planted a few flowers, once he could commit to getting his hands dirty, that is :) Watering was, again, his favorite part, dragging a big bucket from the rain water containers spread around the garden. The day was warm and everything was green and gorgeous!

A new little girl joined us this time and, following the good faith Abby had built up the day before, P befriended her. He'd just gotten a new shipment of candy and offered some sweets up to his new sweetheart. They sat together in the shade to discuss her options and I felt like the paparazzi around Brad Pitt. I soooo wanted a shot of their sweet little hatted heads bent in concentration, but I was just a bit too far away, the sun was the wrong angle, and I didn't want them to notice me either :) Ahhh, well....



After we dug in the dirt, another homeschooler celebrated his 5th birthday with some yummy cupcakes, thrilling P. Dirt digging, cupcakes (With Sundrops!) and a sweet little girl? Ahhh, the bliss of it all.



"Grabbers" are one of P's favorite things in the world. He'd love to have a set of those sold in zoos everywhere, with the snake/rhino head at one end and a clamp you squeeze at the other, making the snake/rhino bite. But he knows how shoddily they are made (he's seen them broken) and wants one that Really Works. We've bought him a few sets of kitchen tongs as semi-replacements, but I can't believe I hadn't thought of trash grabbers! They're heavy duty and just the thing! One was just lying around and P happily did some damage to a few weeds:



To top off a top-notch day, we wandered the garden collecting treasures. P is a collector at heart (his rock collection is almost comical. Ditto the sea shell one.) and we've started a new project that requires lots of natural treasures, so we scoured the space. Elsie Mae followed us, occasionally sharing a find with P (thereby solidifying his growing trust in friends, of at least the female variety ;) while her wee brother chugged along behind. Under the green canopy, surrounded by the lovely east village rooftops, it was a perfect way to pass the day.

Wednesday in the park

We spent the most lovely day in the park last week. And I forgot my camera!!! My butt should still be bruised for the number of times I kicked it.... Thanks to Amy I have a couple of pics to share:




Abby was there, thrilling P to no end. He played like I have never seen him before (with another 4 year old, that is:). Independently, happily, interactively, thoroughly. There were just No Issues. Which is huge for us.

At one point in time he saw Logan and his Mama across the baseball diamond and decided to go visit them. He didn't need me, didn't even look back. It was awesome. Eventually he wandered back over to invite me to join him, but he was really content playing with his friends. So huge.

Then, as we all meandered out of the park, P dropped BB. Abby jumped to retrieve the monster and handed him back to P. Aha! I could see it dawn on his face. A friend could be "good" to him too. They don't always take toys and run off, hit, yell and say things he doesn't like. They can also help! Holy moly. And he tested this theory allllll the way out of the park, dropping BB repeatedly (and oh so covertly, as in, oops! I did it again??) and grinning when Abby again helped him, over and over and over...

Ella Update

Ella is still coming to play most Tuesdays after school. The child is so unbelievably sweet. Unfortunately, an hour and a half is just about enough time for Mr. Slow-to-transition to finally get comfortable around her and start to play :) producing playdates occasionally more akin to an awkward blind date than a bouncy house of fun. But his internal clock wasn't the only palisade to playdate success. P was routinely shying away from Ella interaction on Tuesdays at the beginning of the month. Not wanting to put him on the spot and increase the issue, I tried mentioning it, very lightly. "Mama, (big sigh) I just like playing with you better. You're more funner."

And while its true that I'm a fair bit spazzy, and the child enjoys this, and Ella is fairly calm and quiet, she certainly Tries to follow P's joy. So the little man and I chatted about it and I gently encouraged him to take this very small time out of our week together to let someone else into his life. He basically told me he was feeling deserted when Ella arrives (I try to stay out of the way and just clean the kitchen and make dinner. Obvious desertion :) But I could see how he got that. And then it hit me! When Ella visits I don't play with her. I greet her, feed her a snack, ask her a few questions and turn to my work. P hangs out with us for the first bit and then often slides into his swing in a solitary fashion. Duh! I wasn't mentoring very good playmanship!

So the next time Ella joined us, I joined the two kids for some fun. She perked up a bit, P interacted more. It was a smashing success. Since my main goal is for P to better enjoy peer play (that means minus mama!) I've slowly pulled back my interaction. P has followed suit slightly, but not entirely. And sweet Ella, she follows P's lead perfectly, getting bouncy when he feels playful, retreating to the couch to pet the cat when he's aloof. Its a surprisingly slow process, something I hadn't expected, but there aren't really any downsides, so we're sticking with it.

And, though I could be reading into things here, his comfort level with new kids seems to be improving, which is the other outcome I'd been hoping for....

Block Builder

P went on a building spree the other day. The palace that evolved was stupendously fun. There was a Very High cell, decorative brickwork, a tree lined patio... Every block in our house came out to play... until the entire structure was demolished with BB inside :)

The next morning he woke up and created a "sculpture garden." So very "little boy in NYC" :) He loves exploring the city and happening upon a sculpture garden stuck between buildings, so he built one for BB:



P had been telling me quite a few tales about the palace and his plots. As always, I missed the solid string of stories flowing from him, but captured a slightly encouraged version below:

Icky Experiments

P has long wanted a real crab claw (the better to clip BB with, of course!). We've collected a number of these odious treasures only to have them over-stink the house or crumble. Determined to prevent the latest beauty from rotting, we're attempting various de-meating processes... Pictured here in a relaxing hydrogen peroxide and water bath.... where it has luxuriated for going on two weeks now.... ewwwwwwww.....

Stoop walker

P was soooo very inspired by La Famiglia Dimitri's tight rope walking that it has been all high wires around here:) BB has endlessly walked P's black rope, stretched between the ladder and the kitchen cabinets. P has even run into a few slack wire wannabes in the park who've given the little man a go. And, of course, there are stoop walls to proudly walk everywhere...

Dumbo: Twice a day keeps the Dr. away...

We had an errand to run en route to the library last week that took us to Dumbo. The day was Gorgeous. Seriously beee-u-tiful. Post errand, P developed a plan: the beach. But our books were due at the library, so the stop wasn't optional, and we'd already gotten a late start on our day... (um, we get a late start Every day :) So we compromised a plan and scooted away smiling.

We hit the rock beach between the bridges and it was heavenly. We boulder hopped, rock tossed and boat watched. Imaginary BB was atop most of the rocks that P tossed and P would yell out over the water "BB!!! Oh, BB! What did you think of that? Are you in the water? Are you clinging to that rock? Do you feel something brushing past your toes?" Giggle, giggle. Grab new rock. Toss.





When our designated time had come and gone we sped off to the library where P loaded up on more books. (We're burning through the books these days and just finished the sweetest stories by Brooklyn writer Emily Jenkins. ("Toys Go Out" and "Toy Dance Party.") These books are freakin' fantastic. The characters are so well developed that their voices seemed predetermined to me. The toys positively popped off of the pages, always sounding completely themselves. And the stories were so lovely and true - with just enough adventure and honest, rough emotions to keep a sensitive four year old identifying with and begging for more of, without ever upsetting him too much. Versus, say, James and the Giant Peach, where the parents get knocked off on the first page and the child is beaten by the third. Totally great book, just a bit Too Much emotion for P right now. Needless to say, we started that one and didn't get very far, despite P's Roald Dahl addiction ;))

Anyhoo... After the library and dinner with E, P believed another trip to Dumbo was necessary :) We played on the sandy beach this time, rock hopping again and watching the sun move over the city.



And I wondered, again, if P recognizes the beauty in the city or if its just a boring backdrop for him. Cuz looking though the bridges towards downtown at sundown is breathtakingly magical.



But that's probably not fair. As a Kansan who is still blown over by this city, despite how long I've lived here, I've often wondered if a long-lived local really sees the grace and grandeur of the skyline. (Like the poem featured on the subway last fall; the transplants are the heart of NYC because we appreciate it so very much :) And said poem (yay to Aunt Alicia!!! You can read it here) also mentioned how the native New Yorkers viewed their metropolis (less love.) When I read this, guilt slapped me. Are we ruining things for P? After all, he'll have few choices of where to live in terms of comparable food options outside the city :) Museum options, check. Social, theatrical, musical...check, check, check.... Here I go again, plant a heart shaped transplant sign on my head :)

..........................

True to form, I started this post when the week began (I know, I know, if I wasn't so verbose and didn't procrastinate uploading my pics there'd be fewer problems ;), so some things have changed already. Like my worries about P's appreciation (or lack thereof). Silly mama. I've decided, I don't think its due to where a kid grows up, but how the kid grows up. And P is pretty bathed in blessings talk around here :) And then I realized, osmosis has done its job again. When we were at our community garden yesterday, the child, rounding a rose strewn path, sighed and said, "Isn't it lovely, Mama?" I hear that A Lot from the little man. (Today it was the subway smell he cherished! He said he wanted to put it in a bottle and take it home :) So, then I came home and uploaded the pics from our Dumbo day and saw his face as he gazed across the darkening city... and I knew it. Yah, the kid treasures stuff :)

Sleep stomper

P and BB having cracker snacks in P's cardboard house.


P needs 1.5 to 2 hours more sleep than I do each night. This is just enough time to finish the kitchen, toss laundry in the dryer, pick up toys, have a conversation with E, catch up on email and then choose from one of four "me" options: blog, read, watch a video, do some art. The child accepts none of this and has formally forbidden me to leave the bedroom when he is sleeping....

I've tried rising in the morning (my preference) to greet the day before the little man rouses. I love it. The little man, he hates it. He isn't a very solid sleeper in his last few hours and typically rolls over to hold hands or share a pillow before he zonks for his last set of zzz's. When I'm absent for the hand hold the last zzz's get skipped and then he's not only angry but also tired. Not an ideal situation.

So I sneak out after he falls asleep at night. Also a sweet, if not sleepy, piece of peace. He rarely wakes in the first few hours... until recently. Three nights in a row his scared little voice screamed to me over the baby monitor. Hurrying in, I'd cuddle him and he'd quickly go back to sleep... after chastising me for my absence :) Then, the fourth night, I thought I heard some unhappy sounds, but its often hard to tell with our white noise machine blasting through our static-y monitor and the dryer banging away through the wall. After a pause in my art, I went back to work for a brief moment... until stomping suddenly sprang up behind me. Startled, I turned to see an angry four year old coming through the kitchen, arms pumping like a drill sergeant, bare feet stomping out his disapproval, face contorted into a half cry, half accusation. It was Precious. E had also paused his work to see what the commotion was and we both burst into laughter and hugs. The child, happy to be hugged and not ushered back to bed, rolled his eyes as far into his head as they would go (laughter and gushing both being things he's not very comfortable with) and was even unable to suppress a wry grin. It was one of those moments that I hope lives as a perfect mental video for the rest of my life - it so summed up P's little personality - and was pretty freakin' cute to boot ;)

Stranger Danger

We had a really fun Friday last week - but that's for another night with more spare time - just a quickie tonight!

You know those regrets you pile up as you go through the parenting years? Stranger danger is a biggie for me. Sure, our city is huge, the playgrounds absolutely swamped with people and odd fellows lurk just about everywhere. But that I would have traded my peace of mind for my child's..... We had a chat with P last summer about running off with strangers (he was in a most affable and simultaneously far-running stage at the time.) We tried to keep it simple and non scary, just the very basics. But he was Fascinated. And full of questions. Questions we, obviously, couldn't really answer. So, after enough verbal dodgeball, he turned it into a game and devised (of course) a plot: I would try to lure him to my car (the couch) and he would get away. Over and over he overcame his imaginary captors. And then the day turned to night and I hoped to be done with it.

But somehow the word "kidnapped" has cropped up lately. I've stretched my two brain cells thin thinking about where its reared its ugly head and I can't put my finger on it. I know he learned about "burglars" from a picture book last month, adding yet another thing to fear (I reassured him we own nothing worth burgling and he seemed satisfied ;) but the kidnapping bit alludes me. BB is occasionally "monster-nabbed......"

At any rate, he's been mystified about who to trust. He won't accept food from strangers (a waitress once offered him olives from her personal stash and he balked) and he looked at a woman working at the coop (who handed him a chocolate sample) like she had just sprouted green horns. I've tried reassuring him about the good that lives in the world, but the deed is done and the kid sees doom.

Then today, as he rode my scooter down hill at a nice clip, he shouted up to me, "Mama. Everyone's friends have friends. And their friends have other friends. And those friends have other friends. And if you think about it, the whole world is actually friends. Because everybody is somebody's friend." I love deep thoughts by four year olds :) He decided that maybe the world was really a nice place after all. And, according to P logic, kidnappers don't have Any friends, so we don't have to worry about them tricking us....

I hope this newfound optimism sticks, cuz he gives every stranger he meets a look that crosses cynicism with suspicion. And that sort of look looks a little funny on a four year old :) Really, I would so love for him to have a carefree smile. Like the one he had before, ya know, his mother accidentally scared the holy freak out of him last year.... :) (Ok, so he's never been the carefree smile type, ever, but his quiet, questioning glances carried just a little less glare before The Talk :)

B-b-b-benny and the beach

P has started trying to spell words. In the middle of a conversation he'll repeat a word, Elton John Jets style, cock his head to the side and smile, "Benny starts with "B!"" And so does, he figured, beach :)

So it was with great pleasure that we met our dear friends at Coney Island last week to enjoy some sandy fun in the sun. True to form, P ignored his buddy for the first thirty minutes while we scoured the sand for shells and shark's teeth. He carefully toted BB in a bag to protect the little monster from the elements, announcing each and every find he made to his enclosed friend.

Then P settled into the playdate and we settled in to burying the boys. Vividly recalling Grandpapa burying Uncle Jace, (see it here) and then decorating the immobilized boy's buried body, P quipped he didn't want neenees ;) Then, still remembering last summer, he added a sand penis, just as Grandpapa had. (Awwww, the things they learn and remember ;) But two sand legs weren't enough for P, the number quickly grew to something like forty, twenty two, three hundred pretty quickly. This meant, of course, he was no longer human, and I therefore gave him sea monster additions. Benny's buried toes evolved as well; his, into a race car. The boys were quite pleased with the results, P adding a roar to his picture to give it a little fear factor.





As the little man enjoyed his warm, sandy leggings, Benny and his mum sweetly buried BB's toes and gave him some monsterish fins as well. P was thrilled.



Breaking free from his encasement to tease BB, P found the day had turned chilly and requested a return to his sandy grave. Instead, we headed home to a warm bath and the surprise of a stow away crab we had forgotten to return to the beach. P spent the remainder of his evening counting and categorizing his new shells. He became a guard at the Natural History Museum, the one in charge of the shell collection, who would sell said shells on the black market to BB - if he was interested in such a purchase....

The singing explorer

I'll try to not wax poetic about living beside the park yet again, and suffice it to say that the urban and green combo blows my mind, uh, daily :) P and I went exploring last week, worshiping the weather that brought about all of the lushness living across the street. The little man hiked around for two hours and never asked to be carried. This is the dawning of a new age to be sure....

When he wasn't climbing fallen trees or flinging himself off of tall objects, he was swinging his sword singing pirate songs. Never much of a crooner at home, he's started singing short ditties when he marches about (his initial inspiration was the Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto birthday card Grams slipped him during her visit. Yah, that was pretty funny. P was positive the song said "Gomo." :) Then he moved onto John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt (oh what I would give to have his rendition on video!) and Knick Knack Paddywack (ditto.) After these winners he asked one day to hear pirate songs. Our itunes being dreadfully short on the pirate front, we downloaded a few together. Yo ho yo ho turned out to be a real favorite (see him slinging his sword and singing here), one that he perfected on this fine day of hiking - through constant repetition - interrupting it only to bark commands at myself or BB :) Someday I'll have to video a whole day of P, just to sit in amazement at his constantly used vocal chords....

P charges at BB:



A brief moment of respite:

Flower Power

P has started enjoying crafty things (typically a project with an expected outcome chaps his hide, but lately, not so much... he Loved making pom butterflies last month at a homeschool meet-up) so artsy crafts are creeping into our lives. Since the little man has been hot to trot about Spring, we've focused on flowers. The green roses were inspired by a site Aunt Alicia linked us to here (Thanks A!!!) The tissue flowers were our Earth Day project (I'm woefully behind on blogging!) to use up the tissue we've saved over the last year. P absolutely loved this one; his fingers were talented enough to form the flowers and the mounds of available tissue papers soothed his innate need to use Lots of any artistic media. A few days later, playing with his recycled truck from Uncle Ian, P explained to his pink monster that his Safari Truck was excellent because it reduced, reused and recycled.... :)

My little mountain goat

P was a Rocky Mountain Goat in his last life. The mountain fetish, the love of heights, the infatuation with Colorado and the addiction to jumping all point in that direction :) The other day he asked me to take photos of him jumping from the couch so he could see how high he was flying. When he eventually tired of tossing himself from the couch he took to just bunting BB. Then, well rested from the 10 minutes of chucking and chuckling, he joined BB for a few more launches. I honestly don't know how the child makes it through the day without a nap...

Swordplay

P has fallen in LOVE with sword fighting. (I can only imagine what it will be like around our house once Star Wars is seen :) Glowing swords! Holy moly!) After many, many months of swinging broomsticks, knife sharpeners, wooden spoons and home-made felt swords, the little man is finally in possession of a sharp, wooden sword. Two, actually, so that Papa can play too. These wooden weapons have withstood so much playtime in the last two weeks that one is already dented and splintery.

He also has a little sheath, so that a sword can accompany us out and about. Its amazing how much more fun almost anything appears when a sword is included. Here he is on a nice little nature walk last week:

(Yup, finally got the camera fixed and we have videos again!)

Fun with "Friends"

P piles into his swing with his best buds and thinks its heeeeelarious. (The initial idea was to smash BB beneath the weight of all of BB's family. Sweet, no? :)

Grams and four and a HALF

P seriously adores my mother. Having been without his Grams fix for over a month, he returned to asking daily when he could see her again. Though he's getting his days of the week and seasons pretty solid, time is still so fluid for him that "two months" is almost meaningless. And I found the concept of "going to sleep and waking up 60 times" is just depressing to some people :) So he called her on the phone frequently and chatted her ear off (which is a real act of love since his lack of "L" and his iffy "R" makes phone talk an occasional challenge :) Then the other morning he decided he just Could Not Wait any longer. And Grams, heroine that she is to the little man, she came through for him.

Her visit was made even more lovely by our very sweet landlords and lucky lack of neighbors. She slept in the apartment below us and P fancied himself fifteen, leaving home to visit Grams on his own :) We had great fun running about town, visiting toy stores and eating yummy foods. Sunday afternoon E and P hung out while I lucked into some quality mother-daughter time. The next day, as my mom and I laughed about something, P became more and more agitated. After a few out of character frustrations I questioned the little man about what was bugging him. He told me that I was getting too much time with Grams, that he needed more Grams time :)

While she was here we celebrated P's "half birthday." I first heard of half birthdays when P was a baby and I scoffed heartily at the concept. I waited a whole year for my birthdays, what was this nonsense :) Well, now that P is finally excited to get older (he was vocally reluctant to grow up for about a year there and has only recently changed his tune, due, in part, to his new stance on death. After fearing death for two years now, he has turned to denying it. He tells me he will live, "like a bowl, or a chair, Mama, a thing that never dies." And if, in play, the subject of death comes up, he quietly whispers to the Universe "I don't want to die. Thanks!" and then carries on...) he now loves marking his never-ending age. Sometimes, at the close of the day, he'll exclaim that he is now older than when the day started :) Additionally, he Loves everything birthday. He throws birthday bashes for BB on a weekly basis, wrapping toys, feeding the pink monster play cake, singing to his fuzzy friend. So it just made sense to celebrate this milestone.

P chose a carrot cake in a train shape for his big day. And he made it himself! When we filled the train mold and found there was extra batter, P decided we should pour it into his candy molds. I was a bit surprised when it all came out beautifully :) So after his favorite pizza dinner we lit some candles and sang that song while P's eyes danced and rolled (direct attention like that generally brings on an uncomfortable eye roll). As I grabbed my camera, E. feeling the birthday vibe, reflexively said 'Smile P!" We never tell P to smile for a shot, so it was hilarious to see him ham a grin. See above:)

That day he announced that he didn't like being called four and a half. We should just call him four. Then a few days later he asked if he could buy a real metal sword.

Me: Sure, P. That would be fun. (We try to always start with a yes. Its a good vibe to go with and leaves him feeling the infinite possibilities in his life)
P: Today?
Me: Maybe we'll wait till you're just a bit older, P. They can be a bit dangerous.
P: But Mama, I am four and a half....

Needless to say, Mr. Slow to Transition transitioned over to the "half" part pretty quickly :) If only he could better adjust to living so far away from Grams.... :)

The little man

P's outgrown his summer hat. At the shop, he eschewed the typical floppy brims I've always purchased in the past and opted for a tam and a fedora instead :)

Cultural cues

Its fascinating to watch general culture creep into P's psyche. And its equally fascinating to see what doesn't seep or creep. (Or hasn't, Yet.) For instance. P adores dresses. Always has. Cinderella has a special place in his heart, due partly to her fashion choices :) And he's been happy to sport a gown whenever the fancy strikes him.... until the other day. Swinging in his swing he sighed and said he wished he were a girl. Yah? Why's that, P? If I was a girl, he said, then I could wear dresses..... And so culture has crept. E and I have never said anything about this silly social limitation. I stand aghast at the thought of little girls forbidden to wear pants just a few centuries ago and am equally horrified that little boys are stigmatized in the dress category (all children innately love beautiful shiny things!). But P has finally put two and two together; it is a rare occurrence seeing a man all gussied up after all. Pity that, of course :)

But not everything insanely limiting that our culture ascribes to has yet to infiltrate the child's sweet little lovin' brain. As we zoomed through the park the other day a gentleman played his horn under an echoey bridge. P shouted out in excitement, "Mama! That man looks just like Grandpapa!" We were in a massive rush to get the kid to the loo, with the scooter enjoying a downhill surge, so I told him I'd look after our pitstop. As we scooted back through the tunnel, I slowed as P pointed at the musician and grinned. "Grandpapa! See! He looks just like Grandpapa!" And ya know what? He DID look just like my wonderful father in law. Except that he was African American. Otherwise, he was a dead ringer, I kid you not. But P didn't even notice the difference in skin tone. To him, people are like cats and dogs, they come in all colors, shapes and sizes, but they're all simply cats or dogs. Oh that this judge-free beauty will never leave him...

And love, to P, is equally equal. As are his toy preferences. Digging through my old toys in Kansas, P unearthed my Barbies. Still deep in his truck phase, he showed no interest whatsoever. Six months later, for reasons unbeknownst to me (and deep in a stuffed toy/doll phase) P wanted those Barbies. Bad. So the fabulous Uncle Cash mailed them, bringing the little man Great Joy this month. As he pawed through the miniature clothing and shoes, he devised a plot. (As most play occurs these days, P describes a fairly complex plot and then watches it unfold, directing each turn. I merely follow his lead.) And true to his fashion loves, he tossed aside the jeans and oxfords, opting for the wedding gown and fancy lace dress (both in like new condition as I always preferred the GI Joe clothes on my Barbies :). And what do you do with a wedding gown? Orchestrate a wedding, of course. So Barbie married Flower (despite the fact that I had a boy Barbie, dubbed Dexter by P) about a million times that day. They both walked down the aisle, said their vows, kissed and went to eat and dance. The dancing part was unbelievably adorable, as he took it so seriously, humming a tune, waltzing his newly married maiden, staring so strongly at the dancing girls - as if they came to life in his head. Then he had a brainstorm - plot twist. Barbie decided to give a hair-clip to Flower for a wedding present. Flower, of course, adored it and instantly added it to her ridiculously thick and long locks. Then, as they proceeded to the reception (thrown by our home-made P doll, watercolored by P, as seen in the background of the above shot, and little BB at their chateau) P plucked the clip from Flower's hair and dropped it. "Flower looses her clip," he stage whispered to me, filling me in on the new plot, "and Barbie goes to find it for her." This was added to the wedding ritual and re-enacted, with love, all afternoon. I can only hope that the world catches up to our children's innocent beliefs in love, equal love for all, someday soon....

The four year old

Honestly, four is so much freakin fun its ridiculous!

Gardening in the sky

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, P has been crazy for gardening this spring. It gives me midwestern pangs, truthfully :) Yardless, and gone for the month of July, a garden isn't really in the cards for us right now. But that's no reason the little man can't dig in the dirt and watch something grow! So we sprouted some peas and watched with delight while they grew tall and strong on our windowsill. A little batch of flowers beckoned us at the hardware store and some home sprouted basil looked like it might make it if planted so.... out the window we went. Four floors up with a curious four year old on a 100 year old fire escape provided the added excitement that mellow gardening usually lacks :) P loved the whole experience. A week of rain and everything is getting taller and greener and P can hardly contain himself until he can pick his own peas!



The little gardener: