Green Market and a few of his favorite things

So, since E flew the co-op, we've tried a number of ways to get food on the table. Whole Foods after work kinda sucks. The brilliant grocery delivery service here (Fresh Direct) is sorely lacking in fab organic produce and leaves a bigger footprint than I'd prefer. And we've had a few mishaps with Fairway Market, just a hop, skip and jump from our house....were you to have a car. (If you're interested in the woes of big city living (I know, I know, woe is us ;) read on for the two biggest Fairway drats (or skip ahead - actually, the whole post is pretty boring, so ;)

One can scoot (a 45 minutes scoot, mostly downhill), or on cold days, take the bus (which takes just as long :) to reach this urban mecca. After piling our cart too full for arms (or scooter or even bus:) we typically catch a car service home (which runs just a few bucks more than a bus ride.) Unfortunately, the car services in that neighborhood are less than reliable... and left P and I sitting on the curb for over (way over) 2 hours last fall! Yup, a four year old, an overly full cart of groceries and no way home - I know, it seems preposterous - in NYC of all places! But uphill, through the projects, in the dark and cold, with a stolen, full grocery cart, a four year old, a scooter and a booster seat, well, it just wasn't happening :)

Then, I got smart (or so I thought ;) My landlady told me Fairway delivers big orders. Wahooo! P and I super shopped, getting multiples of everything, and went to check out. Then, we're told we should carry our milk etc, home ourselves because they don't refrigerate while the groceries await delivery ... possibly a few hours later. I groaned when I saw those damn multiple milks and yogurts :) Off we schlepped to the bus, clambered off 45 minutes later to trudge up avenue after avenue to our flat. When my cell rang moments later to tell me my groceries were at my house, I ruefully realized, I was not. )

So, we've been enjoying the Green Market (at the plaza just north of us - an easy walk) this winter. Something we'd tried a couple of times before, but never with much luck. It finally fits, for whatever reason, and we all seem to enjoy shopping al fresco on Saturday mornings (even yesterday - 16 degrees!) While the produce isn't all organic, it is local, which thrills me. And, according to E and P, the milk (barely pasteurized, just the way we like it, and non-homogenized, just the way our hearts like it;) is ridiculously scrumptious. We've fallen in love with the raw cheeses, the freshly ground grains and just dried beans, adore the whole wheat sourdough and just laid eggs and marvel at the produce selection - even mid-winter. Its keeping my cooking much more seasonal, which requires creativity (for me, at least. Fitting our dining to what's available is proving to be vastly different than creating a menu each week and then shopping, regardless of how "seasonal" I tried to be before ;)

Which is all perfect for P. No crowded shopping aisles or work shifts; open air and chatty vendors suit the kid. And, he does not thrive on repetition in the kitchen. The more novel, the better he eats. So he was deeeelighted when we found this Romanesco Cauliflower (seen above) yesterday. And equally pleased with it tonight for dinner.

Which reminds me, I've been meaning to do occasional updates on the Little Man's favorite things.... the type of stuff baby books usually include. Better late than never ;)

Faves this month:

Food: Eggs - especially sunny side up. Kale chips (the new variety from today - Sea Salt and Balsamic Vinegar - was his recipe - and surprisingly yummy.) Oatmeal with maple syrup. Chocolate. Cheese (jarlsberg, fresh mozzerella, black label gouda and parmigian, the kid likes cheese ;) And tomatoes, always tomatoes... thus begging the obvious combo: Caprese Salads. He requests these almost every other day.

Music: Come on Eileen (Dexy's Midnight Runners), Dum Di Da Di Da (Aqua), anything by Queen, Clocks (Coldplay),The Loquat Tree (Indigo Girls), Itchy Itchy Chicken Bone (Kathy Bollinger), Itty Bitty Kitty In New York City (Wendy Gelsanliter), The Polar Express, and House Party Time (Dan Zanes).

Play: BB, Sock Monkey and Froggy. (duh) Any possible variation of imaginative play with these characters. And Bb's treehouse and anything with stuffed animals, though cars/trucks still feature prominently into the animal play...

Place: Home

Books: anything Seuss, the Mercy Watson series, the Cricket in Times Square series, anything by Syd Hoff or Dick King-Smith.

Oh boy. This is feeling like the world's most boring post :) I've actually become tired of it myself! So I'll stop there....

BB's Book

P made BB books for everyone at his birthday party. He carefully picked various shades of green felt to be seamed with gold (of course) thread. In the middle of each cover was a fleece BB. I'll try and remember to post a pic.

He started to fill his book a few weeks later, but it has since laid dormant. Today, he pulled it out and first illustrated, then narrated, the stories. For posterity's sake:

Page 1:
This is BB's apartment building. He lives on the top floor. Here is the street below. He wishes he lived on the bottom floor because he is scared he will fall to the bottom and die and get droven over by cars that are going really fast on the highway. (This is accompanied by a drawing of BB's building, a highway and some blurry fast cars.)

Page 2:
BB is looking out the window and he is looking down at the street below, wishing he was at the bottom floor with his friend, Bonjour Vet. And while he was looking out he fell out the window! He was fine.

And, he gone right back up. He went up 1 stairway, 2 stairway, 3 stairway, 4 stairway , 5 stairway , 6 stairway , 7 stairway , 8 stairway , 9 stairway .

And gone upstairs and he played with his toys. He had a truck, a digger, a robot, a Hess truck, 2 bottles of wine and a muffin. Those are all his toys. And he broke his robot and he, BB, glued it! Why he had to glue it was this: he had to glue it because he was flying it around and crashed it in the wall. Mhmm. (This is accompanied by a picture of BB's building with many, many stairs.)

Page 3:
He, BB, did this. He gone downstairs and he gone in a room. And know what? He visited his big brother, Phoenix! And that's all on this page, so go on to the next! (Drawing: BB, with his aforementioned toys, the robot careening off of the wall and BB's building too.)

Page 4:
One rainy day, when he was out and about with his umbrella, named Bessie, he stubbed his toe. He just kept walking. He didn't break it though. That's good!
And know what happened? A big T-Rex came bounding down the sidewalk. Bam, bam, boom, boom bam! And you know what? He stepped on BB's toe... that he'd stubbed! Then BB went straight home. (Drawing: BB, with umbrella, outside many buildings, stacked together, with huge clouds above and rain streaking down.)

Page 5:
BB was going on a hike in Colorado and, know what? He almost got eaten by a mountain lion! Know what? And then he got washed away in the waterfall! And then he almost gone on a path, but know what? The path was blocked off by caution cones and a sign that said, "Keep out, Danger. Bears, mountain lions and snakes, porcupines... are all over the place." And know what? That is the first on this page.

And then what happened is this. He almost got eaten by a bear! (P then reads the book to BB and amends the ending to this particular story with:)

He did! He got eaten by it! (Drawing: Little BB, huuuuuge bear.)



Love and torture, two sides to the same coin in this relationship :)

Following the leader

P, pretty young.


P did the funniest thing on the way home from the library today. We were waiting for the F, slightly before rush hour, when a full train pulled into the station. I quickly considered skipping the overly stuffed subway (as my crowd averse, ironically NYC living hubby typically does) while I watched more people push their way off of the platform. Perhaps the next train would be comfier... In that brief moment of hesitation, P gently pulled me towards a different door that seemed slightly less crowded. There was no drama to it, no "follow Me, mama", no distinct arm tug, he just saw a better option and wordlessly steered us that direction. It was funny to be led by a five year old :)

I often marvel at the immense differences between P and I. I never worried about details when I was a kid. If I was with my folks, I followed them without looking where we were going. P tries to be a part of every conversation, every solution, every decision. When we landed at JFK, post Florida wedding, he turned to me and asked, "Did you call a car service or do we catch a cab?" Um, you're very short, shouldn't you just follow me aimlessly?

Of course, the whole subject translates to me, the one narcissistically figuring it must be my fault, somehow, as: is this because we've "given" him so much choice, so much freedom, so much say in his existence? Or do we somehow seem incapable, less than reliable? Or is it just his personality.... Nature, nurture, nature nurture, nature, nurture. I guess if I could let go of the self-blame issue, it wouldn't matter a hoot (after all, P's not complaining, he tells me daily how wonderful I am).... Nah, ah, well, nature, nurture, nature, nurture.... :)

(Hopefully not) thin ice

(Before anyone (mom:) hyperventilates: that is a puddle on top of the frozen pond, not a watery patch....)

Those icy acoustics called us back across the park to the frozen pond. We met P's pals there and played tag, climbed trees and then listened to the rocks echo and skid over the ice. The warmer winter day had been a hiccup, replaced with air that was strikingly cold. Much too soon and to my dismay, P missed the muddy bank and plunked through the icy edge up to his knee. His galoshes (at home on the radiator) were still wet from the (much warmer) day before, leaving his wooly boot a frosty soaker. Needless to say, he had no interest in returning home. Especially once his buddies migrated onto the ice.

Suddenly, a childhood story of woe floated just outside my reach, washing fear of pond ice my way (I'm typically classified as being too laissez-faire in the child/adventure category, and it was strange to be on the high alert end of the spectrum this time.) I noticed that the other adults seemed completely mellow with the activity, and the chunks of ice that they pulled out were a couple of inches thick... P sensed my apprehension but slid out to scoot around with his buddies and their folks. What was worrying me? What was that memory? After all, the icy water below wasn't that deep right there and it all seemed solid....

So, aside from my inner conflict, the afternoon was beautiful. P had a blast. But the protect vs respect issue has been gnawing at me ever since my fingers finally stopped stinging, post playdate. And that subject is only going to get more slippery as time passes. What about when he wants to ride a motorcycle... without a helmet? Or any of the other million things that are fabulously fun and equally dangerous in this world? Growing up, I really felt no fear (well, there was the dark, my parents, the supernatural, and snakes, but that's different ;) I wasn't scared of bike tricks, riding my motorcycle, public speaking, crazy heights, hitching or being lost, alone, in a foreign city or the woods. I even remember my daredevil little brother trying to talk some sense into me occasionally. So, I distinctly remember the first time this carefree pattern changed and I was scared. And I was doing something I had done (fearlessly, enjoyably) before. But this time, Ethan was there (love changes everything, right?) And it suddenly hit me that he could die, that I could die, that we could die. I remember that moment of mortality smacking me in the face. I was 19 (I've mentioned I'm slow, no?). P's already had that moment. He had it when he was 3. So I'm hell bent on keeping my mouth shut and preserving as much fear free fun for him as possible. Sigh. Hopefully, that doesn't leave us skating on thin ice.

The Cat (P wishes there was a hat)

My parents have dogs. Have always had a dog. I like animals (hulloh, PETA?), but had never done googoo talk about them with P. Then a friend mentioned how differently kids react to pets, based on how their parents react to pets. That her kid always points out pups, just like she does. And that her gal pal's kids' eyes just passed right past the pooches. Hmmm, it was time for a little experiment.

So, the next time I noticed a cute dog (I do looooove cute dogs, I just hadn't voiced it before), I voiced it. It took about, oh, two times, before P followed suit. Of course, my curiosity concerning the case of mentoring has backfired wildly. The child now wants a dog.

But we have a cat. The Little Man's long suffering companion. She should, if sane, seriously dislike the child. But she adores him. Has since the day he popped into her life, screaming. It drove me mad. Every time the child wailed, and he wailed A Lot, she would slink into the room and yowl her empathy. As loudly as she could. And the cat has pipes like no other.

Since her early days of devotion, she has let the Little Man chase her, while growling, carry her, while gloating, and box her, while grinning. And she seems. to. like. it. She could quite easily hide, outrun him. But she rarely does. She sprints off and slides to a stop, smiling. Sometimes she yowls at him and he recognizes this as her sign, too much, too fast, too rough. But nary a hiss or a swipe. Were it another cat, he would be scarred for sure.

He's returning the love these days. He feeds her a few times a week, talking to her sweetly. Drags strings for her when she doesn't want to be chased. Pets her while he plays. But mostly, his new trick is to carry her.

She's a full bodied feline. We call it big boned here, despite her delicate paws. So the child has had to grow into the challenge. He used to just hoist her under her front arms and let her dangle along the front of him. His height (or lack thereof) meant that her back paws paddled across the floor, trying to match his stumbling pace. Then he grew a bit, in height and strength, and now grunts as he grabs her belly in both arms. She seems happy, just pleased to be noticed by the object of her affection. P's mentioned in passing how he'd like to dress her, but I think that may be pushing our luck :)

Hibernatory Reprieve

Notice the little reddish package in P's pocket? Its the Paris Metro Map our neighbors gave him. He's in love with our neighbors (who claim to love the noise we inflict upon their ceiling!) and carries the sweet treasures they leave for him everywhere he goes...


We've been having so much fun playing indoors this month that I didn't even notice the weather change yesterday afternoon. Leaving bed in the morning, the flat was dark despite the daylight, the windows banged in their frames and the rain blew sideways through the tree tops. It was winter-bleak perfection :)

Hours later, a friend called to invite us to the park. Surely she must be kidding. Still ensconced in our jammies, we looked out the window... and saw the sun! We were too knee deep in BB's visit to the American Museum of Natural History (P was reconstructing it on the couch for BB to visit) to leave right then... but her call planted the seeds of change...

After BB wandered the hallowed halls, I encouraged the Little Man to feel the windows. They were warm(ish;) I mentioned the awesome puddles that must be awaiting us and whalah! He was ready to run out the door.

We streaked our wheels through the puddles, then ran through them , then jumped through them, then wandered further and further into the park. P was all adventure, taking the lead, thrilled to be in total charge of our direction. He wound us as far from home as humanly possible... and there we bumped into his friends! More mud hopping ensued and we parted ways as the sun slid low and behind some more clouds.



Clouds I should have been paying better attention to, but we had just found a frozen pond with a pile of rocks. So all we noticed was the amazing sound of the rocks careening off of the ice as we chucked them into the thick fog. The tinklings were mini versions of the vast cracking sounds you hear in an IMAX on Antartica. It was way cool. And then the rain returned, and we hustled our wet butts home, P doing his darndest to ride his bike uphill across the huge park. I love watching his little legs pump :) At one point my scooter got a bit ahead of him and he yelled out for me to wait, he didn't want to get lost in the fog :) I'm waiting. I'm just sure that someday, the kid will trust that I'd never leave him behind....

Five is fab...

Papa, Poppy, Froggy, Friends...

E listens intently to the Little Man tell an early morning story


E has learned (the hard way;) the fine art of defensive playing....

Fortunately for P, Papa adds some spice to the Little Man's hibernatory vibe. He is an amazing playmate and Froggy is, well, learning how to be a good playmate. Because the frog, as mentioned before, is a bit of a fuck. So the Little Man has taken it upon himself to help Froggy figure out the ways of world and score some social skills... through setting an exemplary example (he announced this lightbulb one day:) Its comical to watch. P tries to keep his cool, to explain things with patience, but the frog is difficult. E's had a couple of chats with P to determine the acceptable ornery-ness level of the frog. If Froggy is too nice, P starts stuff. If the frog is too argumentative or aggressive, P can become overly-exasperated, slamming doors and stomping off in a huff. But the Little Man's been clear that he wants to be a little exasperated. He wants Froggy to be a little ornery. A little argumentative. Apparently, P likes the challenge. Here's a video of them chatting. Froggy is, I must admit, on his bestest behavior here... (If you want to see it in a larger window, check it out on youtube)

Dreamweaver

The ever elusive issue of sleep deserves a quick update, for the sake of posterity: The Little Man is steadily becoming a stellar sleeper. Sure, he requires an hour or two less than the average five year old, but the lack of drama evens it all out :) Typically, bedtime is simple. Occasionally, he'll stay up waaaaay too late with his Uncles and Aunt and melt down, but that has become a real rarity (vs the standard when he was little. No matter how gently or timely we moved towards sleep, those first few years found the Little Man flailing either when he was falling to, or waking from, sleep. Often both. Damn those transitions!). The bedroom no longer has to be pitch black and whooshing with womb noises (though I'm now addicted to our sound machine, so...) Now he falls asleep after his book, while I quietly read mine beside him. Its so lovely, after numerous years of laying silently in the dark, waiting for the tell tale twitches to release me to the laundry.

And once he's asleep, he generally sleeps all night. Sure, there are nightmares on occasion. Or thirst or boogers or whatever. But, really, he doesn't even wake when I lift him from his screwball sleeping position and seat him for his midnight pee. I would have called you a liar had you told me this last year.

But perhaps the biggest change is his location. Or, rather, mine. I'm sleeping in the loft bed that hovers over his, while he cuddles next to E. ( I may have mentioned this little experiment when it started? ) He was really reticent to recline so very far from me (hehe) for the first few months (and, initially, his sleep steadily declined due to the change. Every night meant multiple trips up and down the ladder to reassure him I was still around :) But he understood that Papa's creaking in our crappy loft woke me from my highly sensitive slumbers, making me even more highly sensitive the next day (read: grumpy). So, sweet kid, he gave it his best go. And now, he's totally cool with it. Every once in a while he requests that I sleep down below "like you used to, Mama," and I snuggle up tight for the night. But that seems to satiate him for another month or so. And so, post laundry, I find him curled into E's chest, or flung across E's back, with my rock like husband comfortably unaware. I think P secretly enjoys being able to snuggle all night again (having required body contact to sleep since he was born) because once he stopped night nursing, I always ended up shoving a big ol' pillow between us to protect my light sleep. Now, after patiently waiting for years for his kid to cuddle him, E is only too happy to let his boy burrow in for the night. Its been a good change. In fact, P's even requested E put him to sleep some nights. And, honestly, there really is nothing sweeter than climbing into the loft late at night and looking down on them all piled together, both lightly snoring (and thus, the sound machine stays... ;)

Pepper in my Poppycosh..

P is the consummate host. He adores sharing food with friends, almost to the point of force feeding them ;) Combine this trait with his wholehearted devotion to his little wooden kitchen (and the shiny new stainless steel cups and saucers from Solstice) and whalah - you have a very devoted waiter. This means E and I drink our tea in truly tiny teacups with frequent refills (and frequent spills....) And the Little Man, he takes it all very seriously.

(Oh! This is reminding me of my folk's party in November!!! They had many guests over for dinner and the Little Man spent the evening working his way out of his shell. By the time dessert rolled around, he was best pals with everyone there, feeding them piles of pistachios (see force-feeding comment above.) When Grams announced dessert, waiter P whooshed to action. He took all of the orders (pumpkin or pecan please?) and then ran to the kitchen to retrieve the proper pie piece. After one or two tasties were accidentally flung to the floor (in his great rush of gusto), Grams and I took to encouraging with the words "Both hands? Try using both hands!" He happily acquiesced... until he reached the dining room, where he would dramatically throw his left arm behind himself and swagger onward with his tray of treats. Oy . Well, the kids been to a few restaurants and he has yet to see a waiter clutching our plates with both hands :)

Learning and Forgetting

I finally started Frank Smith's "The Book of Learning and Forgetting" last month. I don't agree with everything he writes (and wish his research base was better annotated) but I'm finding myself pleasantly surprised at the novelty of some of his theories and how I see them play out in our house. In fact, his thoughts on learning to read smacked me in the face yesterday...

A month ago, P and I read the book "Gimme cracked corn and I will share". Despite seriously adoring the illustrations, the book was, well, seriously annoying. Every page was a pun, which flew right over the Little Man's head. The story was sweet enough, the pictures beautiful, but I just couldn't stop myself from making the "ta da da da" sound after every page. Have you ever tried to explain multiple puns to a five year old who's sense of humor rarely extends beyond torturing a small pink monster? Its not for the sleep deprived, let me tell you.

After reading it, we moved on and I buried it beneath better books. Yesterday, while preparing to return said books to the library today, the Little Man laid eyes on the dancing corn and requested I read it again. I zoomed through the book, the past month's rest unable to magically morph it, and started to shove it back into our bag. "Wait, Mama. Doesn't the pig think they grow on eggplants? You didn't read that part."

I looked back through the book and, lo and behold, the pig has a quote about eggplants. It had been thirty days since I read this book and I had only retained a vague recollection that I didn't enjoy it (in fact, I even snuffled at the egg roll joke like I'd never heard it before....)

But it did make me remember Frank Smith. His theory on reading (pitifully watered down) is that first you are reading for the child (the baby is looking at you, watching you read). Then you are reading with the child (the child is looking at the book with you.) And then, finally, "As British educator Margeret Meek would say, children at that point are no longer relying on a nearby adult for reading; they have trusted themselves to authors... the child knows the words and the author shows the child how to read them - as effortlessly and inconspicuously as the child learns 20 words a day of spoken language."

In case my short summary is, um, too short ;) he's not saying that the third step is suddenly the kid kicking it with Mo Willems over cocoa, just that the child eventually trusts the flow of the book, knows the words, even if an adult is still doing the "reading," which will naturally become unnecessary. Its a totally "unschooly" approach to reading, and so far, seemingly supported by the evidence in this one household :) The Little Man heard the book a month ago, remembered the funny line the author created for him, and was looking for it in the book yesterday. He couldn't read it, in the official sense, yet he was "reading" the book, as Smith points out, in a classical sense; he was translating a puzzle. The pictures, the story line, the juxtaposition of the two and how they formed new understandings in his wee brain, its a type of reading, like reading the stars, reading someone's expression, reading a map. I was reading with him, and he was trusting the author. I don't know if this is making any sense :) but it was a fun lightbulb moment for me :)

Tuesday

More super fast blogging, iphone style! I love how P doesn't even notice me snapping a shot with the slim device. I'm feeling very Bond today...


BB in a costume P made for his favorite monster


BB, flying around the "forest," aka, ficus tree. (Following the flight, P buried treasure in the ficus base and then provided BB with a shovel... We'll see how the fickle ficus responds to all of the attention in a few weeks...


P pulled out his Halloween candy so BB could go grocery shopping. M&Ms became pancakes, Gumballs, beach balls. Hard mints, pretty birthday cakes etc. The feast was so great, BB's relatives arrived, along with the T-rex and penguin, who are currently holed up in the Magic Tree House, and a party ensued...



It happens every time we leave town. We spend the following, oh, week or so, ensconced in our jammies, melting into the floor. Its especially true this time, leaving so soon after the holidays. Too many toys not yet properly played with, too many new scenarios for BB to live through.... ;) These endless days of role playing can eventually veer towards torture for me, but P was a very graceful companion today; he's really starting to recognize my needs and honor them with joy. And I, in turn, (feeling compatriot rather than floor captive) reveled in another day of play. I love his growing empathy. His quick yet thoughtful solutions. His immense excitement for life. His enormous giggle and endless bounding. Yah, living with a five year old rocks :)

Our day

My sister in law's fabulous blog has inspired me! She's been raving about an iphone app that makes the typical shoddy quality shot stylish (especially hers!). And I've been wanting a way to snap shots and post quickly... the camera usually seems like one step too many, requiring more tick tock than I've got. So when our floor play found me wishing my digital was on hand, I grabbed my phone and shook it instead. Fun and fast. A mother's dream...


This could be us, every day, actually. Most of P's holiday wants centered around BB's home. The monster has dishes, a bathroom, a garden and a barn now, necessitating daily watering, daily cooking, daily potty humor and daily hay feeds. A T-rex moved in today, along with a penguin. Life is never dull at the Treehouse...



Wondering which was heavier, this shark tooth or this shark tooth, P requested we build a scale. Chopsticks, a couple of forklift palletes, some twine and a crane base later and whalah - we were weighing fossils and crystals and, of course, eventually BB and the T-rex...



P's other favorite toy: his kitchen. We spend hours here. Shopping, organizing, cooking, ordering, playing cafe, cleaning, repeat, ad nauseum :) He is constantly on the watch for items to add to his well stocked abode and last week he scored a bag of coffee beans. Stale beyond brewing (apparently that store doesn't sell enough fair trade organic...) P suggested he have them rather than the worms. And I tell you what. Better than a brown cardboard box. Seriously. Those beans have been everything. BB even enjoyed them for a while as his own personal sandbox and then fossil finding dig spot. Then, yesterday, P accompanied Papa to Starbucks and scored the eventually empty coffee cup. He filled his cup with his coffee beans, taped on the top and drank with pride. Today, as we played shop, he shocked me by ordering, not just a coffee, but a "Grande coffee, please. With space for the cream." Teaching smeaching, nothing gets past a five year old...

Ahhh, a quick little blog! Does this make up for not getting a call to you today, mom? ;) (Our power is out, btw!)

Tree Hugger

There's something magical about climbing a tree. The tree in my front yard was my best friend when I was really little. I loved it dearly and told it everything. Seriously. When I broke my arm and was scared to tell my folks, I climbed my tree and whispered my teary secret to it. Later, when E and I were dating in high school, our favorite Friday spot was the top of a tree in College Hill Park. Twenty feet up, the branches all stopped going up and grew out instead, creating a crater for cozy chats.

Poor P, he, too, loves climbing (anything, but especially) trees. And we've deprived him of that yard tree, living a few stories up. Ahh, well, he's become exceptionally talented at finding something to climb, wherever he is ;) And in Florida, on that one warm day, there were trees!

Freezing in Florida

45 degrees in January, in New York, is down right balmy. We jauntily leave our jackets unzipped atop our sweaters and store our hats in our bags (assuming sun, that is.) 45 degrees in Florida anytime of the year, is cold. Add ridiculous winds and take away the sun and you have me huddled inside. It was about 10 degrees when we packed to fly south, so somehow 45 translated as "be carefree and leave your woolens at home" to me. Alas, alack, brrrrr...

So, P busied himself inside, playing with Grams and Gramps and I. Sweet Gramps braved the chill to dig shells in the drive one day and then P washed and categorized them with glee. He also treated P to a polo game starring cousin Josh. Otherwise, we hid :)

Then, the day before our departure, the sun returned. The Little Man thought this meant Florida as he knows it was back - and promptly froze his butt off wearing very little outdoors. But it was sunny! And we had loads of fun.

He found some stretchy workout band in my mom's closet and joyously created game after game with it. The prominent theme, of course, was merely swinging it through things...



Big diggers and loads of mulch = five year old nirvana. When I pulled out the broom to return the mulch to the beds, P was So Excited. I love five year olds :)

Uncle Cash and Aunt Maria

They're married!!! P and I just returned from freezing (no joke! We're talking actual frost!) Florida. My baby brother wed his beautiful bride last Saturday and it was Fabulous. The wedding (I'm not allowed to call it a ceremony tho, the little man explained that there are too many types of ceremonies, most importantly the kind where people get buried (which are not to be discussed) ;) was so lovely, truly beautiful. I wasn't entirely sure how P would handle the intimate setting, the period of silence, since his last wedding (for Uncle Seth and Aunt Alicia) had found him squirming in the back row and eventually wandering away.... But its over a year and a half later (!) and the five year old sat still, in the front row, quietly watching.

Well, quietly watching... until the intimate gathering began reciting the Lord's Prayer. As people rounded the bend towards the end, the apparently agitated Little Man finally exploded with an "All I can hear is Hissing and Growling!" Oh boy. I quickly shushed and then hid my grin. Because, honestly, he had a point, though, having grown up knowing the words, I had never considered the mumbling quite that way before. This being the Little man's first ever group prayer recital, it was entirely foreign to him. And apparently unnerving :)

He was then watchful for the remainder of the sweet ceremony, only to explode, again, when everyone stood to greet the married couple with applause. "Why is everyone clapping?!" he shouted over the din. Slowly, ever so slowly, he is learning the ways of this world ;)

I had also wondered how the reception would work for the Little Man. Alas, appetizers, mingling and tall glasses of white wine as a prelude to a sit down dinner isn't the typical procession for this five year old's evenings. But he adores his Aunt (the wedding was a technicality to him, she had him at bling two years ago) and Uncle and was thrilled to be there. ( In fact, he had been prepping himself for months. Last fall, after watching his father purchase a sport coat for wedding related matters, the Little Man had requested a similar shopping experience. He picked out the pants, shirt, coat and tie he had envisioned without a moment's hesitation. When the sale's lady suggested a different shirt, he shook his head, adamant in his preferences. Then, sometime between November and January, he outgrew his khakis, leaving only this wedding outfit for Friday's rehearsal dinner. He was bereft. This was not to be worn for Friday, he explained to me (and then Maria.) It was his special wedding attire, and he was prepared to wear it for the wedding and the wedding only. Maria, soul sister to P, adorably validated him. She too had planned a different dress, only to be foiled by a frosty Florida. She vowed to love him in any garb and the little man instantly took to prying his dress shirt off his skinny shoulders. The rest of the rehearsal was an unequivocal success for the Little Man. He bonded with his college age cousin, played with her shoes and stared at the sunset off the boat's bow.)

P (using his "wedding smile" the photographer taught him ;) and his lovin' cousins, Josh and Meg


The reception proved to be the same. He followed both of his college age cousins like a puppy dog, glowing from their attention. Laughingly mentioning his collector's streak, they gave him their candy filled goody bags, suggesting he get Grams' and Gramps' bags, and maybe Uncle Greg's too. And thus went the night. The collector was off, and every one of my brother's friends showered him with attention, and their goody bags. I tried to keep an eye on his comings and goings, knowing that regardless of his perfectly gentlemanlike behavior that he was still only five and not entirely beyond an occasional late night melt-down :) And then, he was gone. I had watched him walk through the crowd with a groomsmen and his wife, only to see the wife return, sans P. I adore my brother's groomsmen, have known them since they were in pre-school, but this doesn't mean I see them as babysitter material (perhaps because I've known them since preschool ;) So I swung around the room, looking to no avail. E joined the search. I checked the bathrooms, under the tables, scanning the too tall crowd for a short blur. Then E shouted my name over the band, smiling, and crooked his finger. I followed him, to the hotel bar. "What?" I asked, maybe a little too wild eyed, as my progeny was still nowhere to be seen. Like I hadn't seen Cash's best buddies huddled at a bar before? This wasn't what I was looking for. Then, the best buddies shifted, and sitting in the middle, smiling, was P. I grinned my way across the room as one of the boys proudly said, "Hey! We taught him how to order a vodka." (See babysitter comment above ;)



While he did briefly dance with his mother after this, he was typically found wandering the crowd, making friends, collecting goody bags. (His grandfather even got in on it, scoring him a large white paper sack for his collection.) He was especially smitten with one of Maria's Aunts and fed her chocolate after chocolate. This planted the seed and he took to handing out goodies to anyone even slightly chatty. As the night grew late, we suggested a departure. "No thanks, I'm busy." And so we were the last to leave the Ritz that evening, the Little Man falling so soundly asleep in his car seat that I was able to not only transfer him to our bed, but to also remove his wedding suit and pony tail, all without him stirring.

Something's fishy around here...

I have three posts left from our Kansas trip from, um, last Fall..... Have I mentioned P has been extra Active Alert lately? I have yet to even blog about his birthday.... Anyway... we're having lots of fun around here, despite rarely leaving the house!



I've mentioned our wily vegetarian ways numerous times before. And poor E's hypoglycemia. These two subjects met when E's doc told him that he needed to eat fish. Being the staunch vegetarian he was, he said something like, well, No fucking way, and proceeded to pop millions of Fish Oil Capsules :) And then, a year later, he still felt awful... and decided to finally listen to his doctor (and then felt awful guilt.) But his body felt better. And his energy improved. And his back started working again. And there it is.

Many in the Schultz clan appear to be hypoglycemic-ly challenged. While I'm ready to rumble from a bunch of bread and veggies, these guys are passed out, rumble-less. And this gets the Mister thinking, and then, the Mister starts worrying. What if P takes after them, and not his mana eating Mama?

So E began offering P bits of his fish when we went out to eat. P would quickly say "No thank you, Papa, maybe some other time..." Granted, this is a fairly common reaction amongst the pre-school set when presented with new food. But P typically lunges for new tastes. A buffet full of new foods is eating nirvana for the kid. So, we (the parental unit) finally discussed it after the Little Man went to bed one night and decided the only way the kid would try the fish... was if I ate some fish.

And I've tried. I really have. But truth be told, eating meat has grossed me out since I was very little. Combine that with the effects of reading about the environmental impacts of eating meat and the atrocities of the meat industry and, well, there's really no going back for me, without a lobotomy :) So I shoved some walls up in my brain like a construction site detour and smiled as I took some bites of fish tacos one night (and damn good fish tacos they were!!!) And after about 4 trips to this cantina, the Little Man tried some too. And he liked it.

Its funny, I could hear E sigh with relief :) (What a parent won't do to keep their child "safe.") We kept up the crusade, going out for a fishy option every Friday. Sometimes P took the bait, sometimes not. Then we visited Kansas, where Beef, Its What's For Dinner. And I could practically hear my mother squeal as she fried us fish for dinner. For too long had her daughter had to cook separate meals. For too long had she been unable to do that most motherly duty of providing sustenance for her (freak vegetarian;) child. For too long had I been away from that protein packed punch she worries I need. The tide had turned and she brought home every fish swimming in it. My father ate more salmon in November than he has in his life. P, on the other hand, occasionally ate a bite or two...

This change not only effected my mother and her kitchen kindness. It opened up a spot for this Grandad to be a Grandad in the way that this Grandaddy knows best how to be. Despite numerous rejections to adventure filled invitations in the past, (status quo for all who invite P, oh, about 98% of the time;) my father braved yet another invite to the Little Man: fishing. And P accepted!

Off they trotted to grab some poles and head to the pond for a little catch and release. When they returned, Gramps proudly displayed the iphone pic of P's prize. The Little Man was shocked at the size, weight and the feel of the fish, but fascinated by the whole affair. And, what's more, he had bonded :)

From that day on, he ran through the house looking for my father. Hugged him goodbye in the morning (if we were awake in time ;) and played with him in the evening. He accepted Gramps' invitations to ride in the mule and play with the duck call. My father was like a happy puppy, unable to grouch even when P awoke him from his evening naps.

But the one outcome E wished for has yet to manifest. P is, humorously enough, truly torn on the fish front. He's fascinated by all things oceanic and would like to poke and pry at clams to his heart's content. But he doesn't want to eat them. Or at least, today he doesn't :) This morning, as he sat in his swing twirling, he suddenly asked me why we sometimes eat fish (I'm guessing because I cooked meat, a fish dinner, for the first time in my life this week. I hated the whole process, despite how easy it was. P and I both took our typical two bites and then chowed down on the rice and veggies while E finished our meals:) I told him Papa's body doesn't seem to work very well without it. He sat with that for a bit and then stopped swirling and marched to my lap. "Mama," he said as he looked me dead in they eye, "I don't want to eat anymore fish. I don't want any fish to die for me, I want them to live in their natural habitat and swim for as long as they can."

Ahhh, me too, darlin', me too. But I just smiled and nodded... its always the safest :)