Mid-year mayhem

To be perfectly frank, we've hit a bit of a rough patch here, some seriously choppy water. And its been beating me up a bit. I mean, the kid and I have gotten along, quite swimmingly, for the last year or so. Of course, before that period, I'd frantically read many, many parenting books, developmental studies and blogs of familiar woe. But then we hit our stride. Our connection rarely faltered, and I could typically name the exact circumstances under which that would usually occur. It was lovely.

Then there were some hints of humility inducing trouble last month. I shrugged them off as cold induced idiocy. I was tired and obviously lacking. He was tired and obviously grumpy :) But with the spring, new challenges have blossomed. I've been wracking my brain the past week (once I finally admitted to myself that we were having a bit of a "stage" here) to format an opinion on the problem. And last night (as I lay in the dark, cuddling the Little Man to sleep, because bedtime, like everything else in our house, has turned upside down in the last two months) I finally remembered: the half birthday.

Development books typically chat about the major changes that creep up halfway through each year. And it seems that P is hitting his just a little early this year. We have watched our sweet young five year old change into a challenging (meaning he likes to challenge everything) child this spring. For the woman who has seemed to breath the truth of Gawd for the last 5 years, this has taken quite some getting used to.

In addition to being frequently wrong, I am frequently exhausted. This growth spurt has driven the child out of his high-water pants and through about a million eggs. His food intake has been uncanny (there was a month of protein, morning noon and night, hobbit like double breakfasts and second dinners), and thus my duties as chef have been quite laborious. Additionally, growing pains wake us up at night, necessitating mini massages and stamina for the ensuing insomnia.

When not eating and sleeping in order to grow, he's asking questions like never before. Asking him what he thinks only occasionally brings about satisfaction, he often wants the precise low down. With pictures, a non-fiction book, or possibly a project tied in. Unfortunately, as I earlier alluded, my answers are often incorrect. Its a fascinating stage to watch, to see him learn to dissect a point, a problem, or an explanation and fit it into his world view. Of course, he still often asks additional questions, floored by wonder, and laps it up, but the other times are new and challenging for me. I have no ego in the situation, no need to be "correct" or for him to even understand the "correct" answer. He could swear the sky was purple and I would be happy to reply, "Yup!" But he doesn't seem to want that. If he asks a question that he wants an actual answer to, I provide an answer, he challenges it and I nod my head and say "hmmm," it pisses him off. If I nod my head and say "oh!" or "I see" or even "good point," well, he's not so sure he likes that either. I have yet to find the response he's looking for. Honestly, it almost seems like he wants to argue. To debate. I've already placed the development book for five year olds on hold at the library to see what this stage is typically trying to achieve - so I can quit stumbling around like the idiot I've suddenly turned into ;)

Branching away from me mentally is just one of the many examples of how he's grown in the last two months. He has his first loose tooth. He slept in his own bed (for a couple of nights, at least ;) It didn't last, but it was a fun experiment.) He tried repeatedly (and to almost tragic ends) to cross the street by himself (we've tackled that one, thank gawd.) He no longer seems scared of the dining room (er, ex-playroom) anymore. He is back to enjoying new foods and eating heartily after a strangely sparse spell this winter. He is shouting out "hello's" to neighbors and seeming more socially strong. He is walking further and back to occasionally scooting independently for outings. He has requested his own room (but, um, no, not yet, Mama...) He is instigating large-ish projects on a regular basis. (See below)

But with all of this stretching away comes the sharp snap when he bends back towards us. And he only must bend, because, typically, he is already physically touching either E or I. The push and pull of growing is as tangible right now as when he was two, and its fascinating to watch. He is constantly interacting, physically and mentally. I didn't realize this could be taken to a higher level than before, but, apparently, there was still room to grow here too. Independent play, those brief little blips of it that bloomed last fall, have wilted and died a dramatic death. We're back to interacting absolutely constantly, , reminding me of his toddler days. I'm sure this plays into some leap he's making with vocabulary or speech patterns or something.... Then at night, reading while he falls asleep beside me is a thing of the past, he wants tight cuddles and quiet chatting. (He was growing increasingly overstimulated at bedtime, so the lights have to be out and everything quiet, just like when he was younger too. This has been an arduous transition, with the silly mama not realizing just what was needed. But this week we've hit upon the right combo and his slip into sleep has become less of a transitional nightmare for him.) By the time he slides away at night, he has required, occupied and desiccated my brain - for 14 hours straight (he's sleeping less of late) - and this introvert is learning a lot.

Like this week. I learned to stop blaming myself for every gawddamn foible I find on this journey. Not only is it counter-productive, its also, occasionally, not true. I've been hitting myself over my hard head for the last month, thinking... what? My introverted ways were ruining my kid? He was having trouble because I was having trouble keeping up such a constant connection? Or, maybe, I was just too tired of a shit when I was sick and he had discovered the idea of "grudge?" Or, was he suddenly questioning everything I said because he felt...??? Was I spending too much time dancing the cooking/playing combo, he needs more face time? What had I done???

While I still strongly believe that the parent sets the tone for an adult/child relationship, I have to remember that he's not a baby anymore. Things aren't quite so simple. He's growing some complex emotions, hitting some areas of reason, taking in more of the world around him. And it isn't all about me anymore, either. Despite the fact that he feels the need to be connected at the hip all day... ;) Ahhh, the push and pull of growing up.



Anyway, enough parenting bullshit. The kid has been project happy this month too:

He did a photo journal one day. I thought his mostly monochromatic palette in each shot was really interesting:







He's been obsessed with re-creating Squeaky's (a tiny plastic penguin he loves) home. The ziploc baggy idea was such a wash, and he was never happy with the glass jar, so he's moved on to a refrigerator drawer. It gets updated (and spilled) frequently.



His dedication to "reduce, reuse, recycle" has left us with very little recycling (though our local, deposit based glass milk jars are the most helpful to this cause;) Not used to using tissue (when did the death of the hanky happen, anyway?) he was strangely attached to the tissue boxes my elongated illness brought into the house. To that end, we created houses. Then he felt the toilet paper rolls were too fab to flush away... And so was born a magnetic marble run. At the kid's rate, the dump will never be overflowing. Our house, is another matter altogether...



\

Oh, and the paper flowers were entirely his invention. As was their cornmeal base. This is only the beginning bouquet though, it has grown, daily, into a huge arrangement, to celebrate Spring!

My Perestroika

The Little Man's devotion to his beloved neighbors was tested on Sunday. R's Sundance Film Festival toting documentary was playing at Lincoln Center, and the kid had promised to attend.

He was pee-his-pants excited to see his fave friends, which somehow didn't aid in a timely departure quite like we had hoped... This left us running along Central Park South with just minutes to spare before the sold out show premiered. Quite honestly, we made it just in time, snagging the last two seats in the back as the lights went low.

The few times the child started to squirm in my lap, I whispered that I'd step outside and play instead if he pleased. Nope, no doing. He was determined to stay seated for the entire hour and a half documentary. That was in Russian.

Focusing on a task has never been difficult for the Little Man, so I wasn't too surprised when he achieved his goal. After the film (which was, quite honestly, so, sooo good), he happily hugged his friends and both R and L toted him about their lovely reception, smiling while they introduced him (to the smart, Sunday sort who have the good sense (and free time) to find these gems playing in the city. We, ahem, don't really fit into this category anymore. If it isn't listed in Time Out NY, kids edition, its under our radar these days...)

At any rate. When R asked P for his review, he didn't miss a beat. "I loved the film! Loved it. When can I see it again?" And he meant it. My thoughts? Only a truly fine (foreign documentary) film can hold the attention of a five year old. Two thumbs up here :)

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

I'm half atheist, half Eastern Religious(ish), by nature. The atheist thinks the spiritual side adorably optimistic and hopeful. The spiritual side thinks the atheist disregards connections and cops cynicism. But ha! That spiritual side was sticking its karmically blessed tongue out at the silly cynic all this month. Just as the Little Man let it be known that he longs for more live performances, tickets started dropping into our buoyant, budgeted laps.

First we landed (admittedly, quite purposefully) at the Marionette theater, then, with a bit of fortune, at the Little Engine that Could performance (through a homeschooling group), Then a good dose of luck brought us re-sell cheap seats to the New Vic's Australian circus. And yesterday, (drumroll) free tickets to Mary Poppins on Broadway zoomed into my email inbox from our lovely neighbors. Coincidence? Maybe :) Fabulous fun? Definitely.

But poor Ethan. The man had the rare doctor's appointment and had to miss the kid's first Broadway show. Perhaps a relief to many men, the timing seemed less than karmically kissed to this show tune loving husband. Luckily for P, lovely Aunt Alicia was available. In fact, as the afternoon turned towards the evening performance, the Little Man asked me if I was excited for the show. Oh yeah. Was he? "I'm really excited to see Aunt Alicia." He then proceeded to ask me, every 5 minutes, when ...

Despite P's nocturnal bent, I wondered just how the 8:00 curtain call would work for us. The Little Man had a short, rough night the night before... Nevertheless, he sat, enraptured, for the entire performance. When Mary Poppins floated into the audience at the end, surrounded by glittering stars, dancing on the theater walls, I glanced at the kid's face. Textbook pictorial definition of sheer joy. Its funny the high your kid's happiness gives you as a parent. I suddenly felt all floaty too. He couldn't take his eyes off of Mary, i couldn't take my eyes off of his huge smile.

On the walk home, he told me he very much wants to perform in Mary Poppins. His chosen role would be that of Jane Banks. And after watching the movie today, he practiced saying Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, um, a lot. I'd totally forgotten this phrase could be a bit tricky to pronounce (but it did give me flashbacks of my younger brother trying to train his tongue around it's endlessness). The multiple mispronunciations, (that tricky R, the occasional lisped S, the word in general...) of course, only makes it sound less cloying and all the more adorable.

Karmic connections: 1 point. And that's supercalifrag.... you get the point.

My Little Terrorist

P wakes up with questions. Daily. They typically leave me wondering just what kind of processing is going on in that brain each night :) So I wrench my head from its fog and fight my tendency to over-answer... (or snore and not answer;) To keep it simple and skip what I'd like him to learn, and instead to provide exactly what he's searching for. I try to just give him the information he's looking for and then follow the connections his little mind makes between these new factoids and his current interests, which leads him to more questions... then those answers makes more connections... that lead to more questions :) So, inevitably, he keeps digging (which I much prefer to zoned drooling - which is equally inevitable whenever I slip into an "informative" Mama monologue:) At any rate, we're typically in bed for an hour after he wakes up.

This morning I blinked awake to "Mama, what's a GMO?" Erm... Those pesky, healthy eardrums;) This morning's questions eventually led to Monsanto (said with a gag). Since P tends towards worry, I try to keep things uplifting whenever he asks about the horrors of the world (which, by anyone's standards, the category of "world horrors" has to include Monsanto:). (Just as an aside, it was nigh impossible to choose which link to use for this monstrous megacorp, so there's quite a few there...)

Disregarding my aforementioned "only tell what's asked" standard, I tried to spin the sinister doings of GMO giants with a hopeful tale of seed savers. Also as aforementioned, the child would have none of it. It wasn't the angle his head was headed.

No. But he was problem solving, too. However, there were no arctic seed banks, no small seed companies, no gardener shares in his scenario. He was thinking of something a little, um, bigger. More testosterone filled.

"Mama, you know what I'm gonna do? I'm going to go to computer school. And learn how to search on the internet. Then I'm going to find out where these companies are, and you know what I'm gonna do? Take a wrecking ball and knock 'em down. I'll call all of the people out of the building... and I'll wreck it down!"

His vision expanded from there. In addition to the crane/wrecking ball combo, canons, dynamite and land mines (which he would bury in the basement and then run out, Super Phoenix style, before they could blast) featured prominently into his vivid plans. So did a large semi-truck, which he planned on ramming into the building. I was fairly shocked at how fluidly demolition functioned in his young mind. A mind that has been "world news" free... Well, everyone has to have a natural gift, right? Ummm....

But the best, the absolute best part, was his sense of justice in it all. He momentarily considered placing the company people in the hands of the police, but quickly reconsidered. No. Instead, he would "take the people and put them in cars and drive them to a big boat." There, he would "check their luggage, to make sure they aren't bringing anything - if they have some of their machine stuff that they can make the yucky seeds with, I, I, I'll take the machine parts... and throw them in the ocean!" He would then place them on the boat and sail them away to a "deserted island, that has one banana tree on it." His parting gift to the corporate sharks before they embark on their voyage? 100 seeds. He would give them a hundred seeds to cultivate and live off of.

OMG. I question his ability to truly understand the immense irony of this vision, but it tickled me all morning. The hilarity of providing the very bastards that created the Terminator Seed with 100 seeds that would, in order to ensure the survival of said bastards, actually have to work the way nature intended, is immeasurable to me :) Whether he truly "got" what he was doing or not, the poetic justice of this decision brought a peaceful closure to his little rant, and he ambled over to his swing to sing and hop... (Well, seeming closure. Later this morning, he grabbed a fruit and, shaking it in my face, asked if he should go ahead and start collecting his 100 seeds, or if he should wait until next week to begin...)

Ahhh, our little "social activist" (that has a nicer ring to it, no? :)

The Little Man's first art show

A portrait of the artist at work ;)


We popped into our favorite neighborhood art store a couple of weeks ago and the shopkeeper clapped when she saw P. "Phoenix!! Just who I was hoping to see! I'm putting together a little art show, and I was hoping you'd submit a piece..."

Needless to say, the kid was game. He very carefully printed his name on the art contract she proffered. (Insert quick, small sigh of relief from mother that kid has taught himself how to write his name...) and he happily carried home the paper she gave him. He had two weeks to complete his piece and return it.

So, in true artist form, we pulled it out the morning it was due :) I was dealing with the "cornmeal situation" we had created on the floor and thought the project might provide a bit of distraction while I attempted cleaning duties. (I've been a mother long enough to know that's not how it works. I had just forgotten. Of course, the cleaning of the "cornmeal situation" made room for the "glitter fiasco of 2010"...)

I loved what he chose for his piece. It was a completely open ended assignment, only limited by the size of the paper she gave him. We turned it in that afternoon and she was tickled with P's eclectic results, his being the only collage based entry :)

Supposedly, its been matted and hung in the window of the shop, along side other short sized neighborhood customer's works, but we haven't gone to see it yet. The Little Man was more than happy to pull out his glue and glitter for a friend (the shopkeeper fitting fairly in that category :) but has no concept of the specialness of display or any such nonsense. His mother is slightly less untainted, and I'll certainly swing by at some time to see his little name in lights ;) If you're in the area - check it out at Seventh Avenue Art Supplies! If, sadly, you are stuck in cold, rainy (read: NOT sunny), Sarasota (sorry mom!)... for you we have a picture of the oh so shiny piece to brighten your windy days. I did not, however, take a picture of the glitter activities this piece opened up in the Little Man's mind. No one is that brave...

46 Circus Acts in 45 Minutes

The New Victory Theater is gorgeous (not that you can tell with the crappy phone pic - but it truly is. We arrived a bit early and the Little Man was able to fill the waiting space with detail gawking. If you go - look at all of the bees! There's thousands, hidden everywhere!)

The Little Man has a circus fetish. We've never done the big, loud, animal featured ones (Peta members, remember?;) but we've caught a number of smaller acrobat based shows. And the kid loves them.

Lucky us, P and I scored some cheap re-sells for the New Victory's new show, 46 Circus Acts in 45 Minutes (there's a little video of the show at that link). Orchestra, Row D, center :) The seats were, obviously, crazy good. The show, it was fantastic.

Afterwards, the Little Man and Papa played in the park while I attempted to scrape away the grime that grew over our flat while I was sick. (Its funny how little time is left in life to play catch-up when your days are filled with playing, cooking and homeschooling!) When they returned, the kid was pumped to participate in our neighbor's big open house party downstairs. (These are the neighbors that are amazing. The work at home, crazy hours due to being artists (one screenwriter, one movie maker) childless couple we dreaded we'd get.... and then did get.... have turned out to be the best neighbors a boy could ever hope for. They swear P's poundings (aka dancing, block building and general bouncing around) is music to their ears. They swear they miss us when we're away. They bake us cookies, sweet breads, borscht and sourdough. They give the child gifts (rocks, leaves they collect, a special sea shell from the Hamptons), regularly. And they talk with him. Really listen, ask questions, invite him onto their laps and their shoulders. And they smile, the whole time, while he climbs on them and grins back widely. Whenever E and I talk about moving, about living above anyone else, we know we are half crazy. Although, were I a gambling gal, I'd wager a great deal that the mutual admiration is only possible since the kid keeps college like hours, allowing those below him their quiet, childless mornings :)

So these neighbors had a huge party today, and, of course, sent the Little Man an invite. We baked P's fave cookies and he carefully selected a few magic tricks his Uncle gave him. Armed with these preparations, he marched into an eclectic, adult party without a second's hesitation. He mingled, showed off his tricks, sat on laps. All in all, he was in heaven. The contrast couldn't be denied. When I bring him to peer aged playgroups he definitely doesn't delve in like this :) As it was, we practically had to drag him back upstairs.... But first he promised R that he would, indeed, be happy to go to the premier of her movie next weekend, despite it all being in Russian :)

Arriving back upstairs, P remembered the circus and put together a little bedtime show for E and I featuring dance, acrobatics and rope climbing. Thankfully, the party downstairs was loud enough his late night hopping wasn't an issue :) I think its fair to say that my kid wouldn't mind running off to join a circus (as long as E and I would come too....)

Park Play

We typically end up scooting and exploring in Prospect Park each week. Now that P is older, it seems to happen rain, shine, snow, wind, whatever. Suddenly, he says he's ready, he needs to explore the park. And so we do. I always end up wishing I'd brought my camera, but the phone has to do.

Week before last, he found some seed pods that made fantabulous sounds when they plopped in the pond. We gathered hundreds. It really was a cool sound.



Then, this week, the Little Man announced we were going to build a stick house. He was very earnest, gathering so many sticks, though I think he was a bit disappointed with our meager result :) He dubbed it our Moomintroll house and requested more rooms, so that we could move everything to this new abode. Eventually, he planned an underground house (thereby unknown to the park authorities), with a false roof. We would become nocturnal, the better to hide our house's existence, of course ;)

Rotten Egg

Just real quick before I forget ;) We played with Uncle Seth and Aunt Alicia yesterday afternoon. Seth and P were racing and Seth must have used the "last one there is a rotten egg" line. Hehe. The Little Man, never hearing this before, totally misunderstood. As he finally raced past his long legged Uncle, he gleefully screamed "Last one there gets a rotten egg!" We laughed and hoped that it wasn't a Century Egg, like the one we found in our parrot egg research...

Back in the Burgh

While E and I are thrilled to be by the park, breathing better air, we both miss loft living terribly. We're not much for walls, separate rooms and privacy. Turns out, neither is the Little Man. So, all three of us dream of living in a decrepit warehouse with no walls, except the four exteriors - ones that we can draw on whenever we please :) Occasionally, a raw space, the likes of which would make my mother tremble and possibly give my offspring lead poisoning, pop up on Craigslist. And E and I sigh wistfully. Finally, P and I decided to do a scouting mission to see if the old nabe (the last stand for un-spiffed spaces) would suit the Little Man's needs, so over the bridge we scooted...

The riverside hovel of a park E and I walked to pre-P is now semi-landscaped... and even had a few benches! P and I perched there on the rocks, pretending to dodge passer-byes. The Little Man is now in charge of carrying his knapsack himself (the only sanity saving solution we could come up with, as he typically wanted me to carry half of our house on my back every afternoon and didn't understand why this was uncomfortable for me (child's seeming translation of the situations: Mama is obviously being obstinate and heartless.) I suggested he carry what he considered comfortable, on his back. The first few times he had to unpack a wee bit from his bulging bag before we'd even made it down the stoop:) Slowly but surely he's figuring out what is reasonable:). He loaded the little bag so full of rocks and shells it kept flipping his little pink scooter. Needless to say, the child didn't haul it home himself ;) (That would have been a heartless mommy:)



As he ran down the dry gully, I shouted that he was perfectly dressed - he was completely camouflaged amongst the bluish and brown rocks. He immediately dropped to the ground. I quickly snapped this pic - before he must have realized his shoes were a dead give-away - because he suddenly tucked even tighter, making sure every bit of Converse was covered :)




Then we discovered a rusty, dark passage way, down by the water. The Little Man thought it might be fun to venture under the old building, into the dark, slippery, water edged space. Honestly, I thought it looked like a fabulous time too, but had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't such a good idea until the kid was a wee bit older and more sure-footed :) Is there anything more gorgeous than rusty metal, old wood and peeling paint? P and I stood there for forever, just taking in the beauty of the colors.



Eventually the kid had picked over every rock in the park, so we pushed on. I wanted to take him to a sneaky little spot E and I discovered years ago. The absolute best night views of the city could be scored by shimmying through a little fence hole, across a board and around a hidden wharf. Imagine my surprise as we turned the corner of 8th - we were not the only ones thinking it a grand view - the dead end street and our sneaky spot had been replaced by a public park. Ah, well. Progress :) And all the better for the Little Man, since there was sand and dirt to dig in for the rest of the afternoon. Between the sensory high of digging and the sun unusually high in the sky after the time change, we accidentally played right through the dinner hour, heading home disgustingly dirty, and late.



The kid's summary of the neighborhood? He loved it. Ahhh, goooood, now all we have to do is locate a cheap, loft space, before its renovated like our dead end street....

The Williamsburg Bridge

P and I had a blast today, scooting over the Williamsburg Bridge (after pickles and donuts:) Then we played by the water, exploring (and collecting, of course ;) More tomorrow... hopefully the Little Man will do ok in the loft bed tonight (assuming one of the three million stuffed animals he has squirreled away up there doesn't smother him in his sleep...)

Lucky Leprechaun

These days, P seems to be over his overwhelming need for reality. He's embracing the mystical, picking and choosing which fantastical creatures with which he's willing to cohabitate. The latest addition to this growing group (which features the Goo Monster (a Little Man creation), fairies, Merlin, Pegasus and dragons - but not ghosts or God. He told me yesterday that God is just a myth...) is the lucky leprechaun. Our last library craft was a leprechaun puppet, thus introducing the clueless child to yet another holiday.

Our sorry home celebration included adding natural food coloring to our leftover cauliflower soup (not an attractive addition) and then a leprechaun hunt. The possibility of the Paddy's Day Parade was on the table (alongside our greenish goo of a lunch) but the Little Man blanched at a sub ride and suggested a scooter outing instead.

Well armed with library book knowledge of leprechaun lore, the Little Man shunned green garb, going camo in all brown ("to better match the mulch, Mama), for a sneak attack.

Alas, we landed no pot of gold. But today, we did land the world's yummiest shamrock donut. Celebrating Spring, we are running adventures every day this week... before rejoining our jackets alongside next week's less optimistic forecast. So we snuck off to the Doughnut Plant (after a quick stop for some old fashioned pickles from The Pickle Guys - OMG yummy!) and the Little Man was insanely pleased to find a real, live (well, picked...) clover encased in his glaze dipped donut. Of course, it was so sweet he could only eat three bites before taking a break :) But it was a fun snack. And I realized today, I haven't been to either store since I was pregnant with the kid! I think we'll have to put the Pickle Guys into regular rotation - the Little Man is psyched to try their large selection of pickled foods.

All in all, a good holiday. No gold, but a nice, sugary shamrock ;)

Questions

The immense excitement involved in (occasionally) sleeping in the loft has gummed up our well oiled nighttime routine. So we're working on a new one :) But until it purrs smoothly, my free moments are even more rare... unless I trade sleep for sanity. But since I also need sleep for sanity (see noxious reaction to sleep deprivation displayed in previous post) I"ll be brief until things are coasting again here...

Just wanted to note down two questions from today. The kid (the one typically talking and therefore generally lacking non sequiturs) will, on occasion, be quiet for a moment or two. This is always followed by some crazy interesting (to me;) question or comment. My two faves today - both seeming to be totally out of the blue:

"Do people eat parrot eggs?" (Umm, do parrots lay non-hatching eggs??? Thank gawd for google...)

and

"What did the chimp evolve from?"

He is downright thirsty for information as he pieces together his universe...

The "Bad Mommy"

A silly little brouhaha has broken out on our neighborhood parenting page. It was probably planted by a journalist, as most of these scrabbles land in the center of the Times or gather a group on Gawker, growing comments by the dozens. The general gist began with a gloating "I'm a bad mommy" confessional, and expanded to encapsulate the Mommy Wars. These, apparently (so say the journalists), are raging all around us.

Basically, this group pisses off that group. They're too attentive, smothering really. They're too self-absorbed, negligent, really. And it propagates from there, covering every mothering decision possible; sleeping, feeding, schooling, diapering, circumcising.... parenting.

I'm less than impressed with this war we're supposed to be rising above. Seems status quo to E and I that the choices we make will piss off somebody. And generally, unless I see you smacking your kid in front of me, I'm too busy to worry about your shoddy decisions. I'm too busy worrying about mine (hmm, does that make me too attentive or too self-absorbed? ;)

Like tonight. When I could write my very own Bad Mommy post. As the offspring is finally twitching into oblivion, curled around my knees, and the husband is happily sleeping on the couch, the only dark and quiet spot in the house.

Why the private brouhaha? Well, (drumroll please) the Little Man decided he was ready to sleep on his own.

Let's let that simmer for a moment, shall we?

Last Friday, after months of chatting about the possibility (and over 5 years of cosleeping), Phoenix finally took the bait. The loft was to be his. E and I would take the big bed below, alone :) So, Saturday was set aside to make bed rails. I'd designed something in my head, combining tent like fun with an easy option for the night time pee - and the ever important shrunken budget. E, well, to E this all sounded a bit, um, complex. It necessitated a quick run to the hardware store. Perhaps some measuring. And it was raining. And windy. So.... Why don't we just throw up the baby rail on one side and screw that piece of plywood onto the other side? Er, well, I guess that will do....

So, above, you have a baby pic rather than the loft pic because its a shameful sight that I just won't share.

The Little Man then proceeded to spend the entire rest of the day in his loft. We evenutally read and cuddled to sleep. I snuck out, per his plan. He woke up, not per plan. Repeat a few times (damn, dry creaky wood!!!) and then the child slept. Until 4 AM, when he decided he'd had just about enough of that, climbed down and kicked Papa out of the big bed.

Moving onto Sunday night. I informed him the discreet exit was too much work. He requested to be read to sleep. I, already feeling worn down from the night before and the previous week's worth of child led insomnia, suggested that post book he listen to a Pooh story with his headphones. A deal was struck and the child was left (a whole three feet above me) to fall asleep on his own. Of course, every stuffed animal known to mankind had to be re-organized (they, too, had moved into the loft). Then we had to pee. Oop! Then we had to poop. Then we needed more help with the headphones. Then we had to blow kisses, for forever, over the side of the loft. Then we'd lost this particular animal, then that. Then the battery ran out and we had to lay there, babbling, forever. I was trying to be very patient. This change is huge for him.

But, of course, this would be the night before the very rare morning that we actually had PLANS. Time critical plans. Oh. and, bonus point for Mommy With No Planning Skills Whatsoever, it also happened to be the night after the spring time change. Golden.

Of course, with the baby rail all along one side and a staunchly unmovable (and have I mentioned, unbelievably attractive!) plywood board on the other side, there is no way for me to lift the sleeping child at midnight for a middle of the night potty run. (He tends to consume vast quantities of water while wrestling with E, right before bed.) Needless to say, the child eventually deposited the vast quantities, while sleeping in said bed, and then climbed down to join me in the dry bed. Cleaning and resettling ensued. And by this time, with the early curtain call for "The Little Engine that Could" (cute show, by the way) there was no reason for the Idiot Mother to go back to sleep. And so I ingested caffeine, for the first time in 6 years, this morning.

Obviously, the child was stretched thin on sleep today too. So bending over backwards to make our theater bound day trip enjoyable today was de rigueur. So, by tonight, I was done before we'd even started, really :) I thought I'd prepped everything, in a tragic attempt at smoothness. Yet here it is, three hours after the child typically falls asleep, and he's just now curled up, not in his new loft bed, but back on me:)

And I love him dearly, really I do. Really. We're happy to keep co-sleeping. Whatever works for the kid. Just as long as the word "sleep" is part of the equation, we're game....

But, tonight, after dollie after dollie kissed me goodnight, and every imaginable stall known to mankind had been expertly executed, I gritted my teeth so hard it hurt. Then, through these teeth I tried to mutter calmly (but the child could hear the grit, I know it), "I love you. Play and settle as long as you like, but I'm done. Done. My head needs quiet. I really must. Goodnight, love."

It was about, oh, 45 seconds or so before I heard from him that time.

And it was fairly clear that the peaceful chat we'd had concerning my tired brain and its need for quiet tonight just wasn't ringing any bells upstairs for the short set. And I could feel that switch. The one that flips, that you can feel flipping, that you wish you could flip back, but its like the fuse box is located elsewhere, behind padlocks.... So I informed him that, for sanity's sake, I was placing headphones over my ears. That I would talk no more. That he is loved and I would answer any and all questions in the morning, but I would be completely quiet until then. Typically, any one of these sentences is enough to soothe our evening into serenity. He usually gets it. Not tonight. "Ooooo! What will you listen to Mama? I can listen too!"

I know. It seems so small and petty. I have one child. No job. A husband, with a job. I get to spend every day with my sweet kid. I'm not dodging land mines with one leg and 5 children. I should have infinite patience and zen. Yet, I may or may not have punched a pillow at this point.

I focused on not cracking a gritted tooth as I said "Good night, Phoenix." And then I let the headphones slap down, hard, as I turned Royksopp up, loud, (enough the offspring probably could hear it). And I felt the fuse switch back. There was quiet in my head and all was well.

The child climbed down from his newly loved loft, patted my leg, and was asleep in 3 minutes flat.

Now I need to use this luscious bit of quiet to figure out if that "need" for quiet is fact or fiction and if there are any loopholes. But, at least the child is well positioned for a midnight pee run tonight...

Three. (Billy goats, blind mice, bears and pigs. Yah, that's kinda three, kinda four ;))

P was so excited for the lights to go down and the curtain to go up...

We saw the new marionette show, Three, in Central Park this week. P was positively fixated for the duration. It was a cute show, but, honestly, I'm often appalled at the things included in common kid's fare (name calling and general meanness.) The city's marionette shows are no exception (nor are so many kid's books and videos.) I don't want to seem a scrooge as I pooh-pooh much of modernity's kid lit, but I fail to see the reasoning behind mentoring horribleness.

E tried to soothe one of my post-bedtime tirade's one evening (who needs a shrink when you have the quietest, most listening-filled hubby ever? Poor guy probably just wants to read the news and sack out :) Why, why would books show children how to whittle down their complex emotions into insults? Why do kid's films (target audience: the young and impressionable) insist on tossing the word "idiot" around every corner???

As E purred something about hoping to help kids learn to navigate difficult situations, like bullying, I countered that there is very little, if any, resolution displayed in most of these situations. Name calling goes on without a downbeat. The foe is occasionally included into the friend pack by the end, but without any obvious resolution. Maybe an adult could recognize the subtle nuances that have gone unspoken. But what's being mentored is conflict, vast arrays of new, unexplored conflict (in many kid's cases), without real resolution.

E, being the brilliant hubby he is, knew to just nod at this point and agree with my supposedly sage insanity. The kid is five now, and this man has his role down pat.

Imagine my feelings of vindication when I recently read that this particular complaint had been studied by scientists. These childless brainiacs didn't expect the outcome they got, but I'd guess many mothers would:

"After the first year in Buffalo, Ostrov [the study lead] ran the numbers. The children in Buffalo watched a ratio of about two parts educational media to one part violent media, on average. More exposure to violent media did increase the rate of physical aggression shown at school - however, it did so only modestly. In fact, watching educational television also increased the rate of physical aggression, almost as much as watching violent TV. And just like in the Minnesota study, educational television had a dramatic effect on relational aggression. The more the kids watched, the crueler they'd be to their classmates. This correlation was 2.5 times higher than the correlation between violent media and physical aggression.

Essentially, Ostrove had just found that Arthur is more dangerous for children than Power Rangers."

(For those out of the kid media loop, I believe the Arthur the study refers to isn't the Dudley Moore one from the '80's, but the "edutainment" series of books and shows. An entire shelf is dedicated to this awfulness at the library. I would rather P watch Star Wars than see a single episode.)

Another study (that patiently waded through hundreds of kid's shows) discovered the crux of the situation. They found that "96% of all children's programming includes verbal insults and put-downs, averaging 7.7 put-downs per half-hour episode.... We can imagine educational television might use an initial insult to then teach a lesson about how insults are hurtful, but that never was the case, Schiebe found. Of the 2,628 put-downs the team identified, in only 50 instances was the insulter reprimanded or corrected - and not once in an educational show. Fully 84% of the time, there was either only laughter or no response at all."

Seriously. And frustratingly, so many books are the same. What the hell? Why is our culture showing our kids how to "be mean?" I believe in the resiliency of children, yadi yadi. I understand a kid can hear this stuff and grow into a gorgeous adult. What I'm wondering is why? Why is it even there??? Why are writers choosing to show kids shit instead of straight-up inspiration? Cuz here's the catch 22, if the writers think they are mimicking real life to the kids, studies are showing its actually the kids mimicking the shit-on-others stories, that then try to mimic "authentic" kid interaction, that is only mimicking previous shitty stories that mimicked... Yeesh.

(Recent Little Man example of said inspiration :) P recently watched Homeward Bound. Synopsis: Dogs and cat cross mountains to reach their lovin' owners. Seems innocent enough? Ha. That's what E thought when he got it. The dogs and cat fight, verbally, just like, well, cats and dogs (Netflix user ratings said this was a "sweet story for the whole family" - do other mums not mind the verbal aggression? I fully accept the fact that I may be a freak here....) Before viewing, P had never tossed a real insult in his life, his upsets were expressed in honest terms. The next day? "BB!! Stop it, you bumberbut!" It was "thunderbutt" in the show, but he got the general gist. Oy vey.)

Anyhoo, P so enjoys live shows, so I'm trying to make sure we get to a couple every month. And he's decided he wants to watch videos again. So this whole subject is definitely in the forefront of my mind these days. Obviously, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is queued before conventional kiddie crap...

(By the by, anyone have suggestions for non-insult laden flicks??? So far, P tends to prefer shows that are villain free, bonus points for including some physical comedy - and he loves non-animated shows with girl leads like Charlotte's Web(My neighbor Totoro and Mary Poppins are two other faves...) If you have ideas - leave me a list and I'll be eternally grateful!!!)

Motivation, MRIs and My Moppet

Though analyzing the average school going kid, the book I'm reading had the most fabulous quote for unschoolers. The study summarized in the below quote is based on brain functionality in children while the wee kids are stuffed in fMRI scanners:

"When a child gets to choose, they presumably choose activities they're motivated to do. Motivation is crucial. Motivation is experienced in the brain as the release of dopamine. It's not released like other neurotransmitters into the synapses, but rather it's sort of spritzed onto large areas of the brain, which enhances the signaling of neurons."

The author's summary? "The motivated brain, literally, operates better, signals faster. When children are motivated, they learn more." And they're not talking about motivated by cookies or gold stars here, in case you're wondering. That's intrinsic motivation bringing on that dopamine high.

Hip fuckin' hooray! Our wily ways have been officially granted a pass :)

The two day trip to Dumbo

Sunday was lovely. So we headed to get some cheese. And got seriously sidetracked.

Buds popping, sun shining, germs receding, we thought Dumbo. Rock tossing. But as we scooted down the block, the Little Man said he wasn't ready for the subway, he wanted to scoot. I felt him, having been walled in for weeks. So we zoomed through the packed park, the child blissfully in the lead, playing explorer.

All through the park, past Grand Army Plaza, past our buddies we bumped into, circling all around our neighborhood we went. But, the small leader still recognized where he was. And he was in the mood to explore. To get lost.

Then the idea hit him. We should scoot all the way to Dumbo.

If only I was fabulous enough to import a Brooklyn map here.

Dumbo is, as the rock tossing sentence would suggest, on the edge, by the water. Park Slope is in the middle, by the park. In between, there are many other neighborhoods. We wandered for a while and then the wimpy parents finally called it quits. The child, who has been an insomniac for the last week (up for hours each night! Sweetly and quietly attempting to let me (E has moved to the couch) sleep, but failing, miserably ;) gave in fairly quickly with promises to repeat the challenge again the following day.

Which we did. Setting out after lunch, P and I scooted our way through the afternoon, the child leading (saying he could "fmell the water, we must be getting close, Mama, I can fmell it.") Eventually, we arrived at the rock tossing destination, and did just what we planned, P exclaiming all the while how thrilled he was that spring weather was finally here. Amen to that.


P's not the only kid in love with this past time...

P's Aquarium

I love to watch the Little Man work a project. While I actually initiated a few while fighting infection (for sanity saving measures), typically the Little Man is not lacking in inspiration. The last few days have featured an ever evolving aquarium.

It started out in a plastic bag; a simple ziploc and BB's tiny goldfish. But more is more to the kid, and the bag was quickly overwhelmed. Plus, P wanted a higher tide. He turned to our soup jar and spent the morning creating a salt water habitat. (You know, lots of water, felt cut like sea grass, broken fake flowers as anemones and a few shakes of sea salt ;) He was delightfully happy as he searched his toys for water worthy treasures.

But the glass was heavy and less than ideal for carting around. So by the third day, he requested a BIG ziploc. We chatted about the trouble with lots of water in a less than solid space. He was sure of his approach. Needless to say, it was only inevitable, the kitchen floor got a bath. A big bath. But now the Little Man really understands how dependable a liquid is without solid walls...

Enough already

Attempt # 753: How to entertain the child, while using the least amount of energy possible. The Little Man focused the felt, of course, on BB. This particular plot saw BB fleeing over the lava licked mountains with his adopted dinosaur baby (an unnamed herbivore). They were on the lam from a mad monster horde and those dirty carnivorous dinos. This, from the child who read "Hush Little Dragon" (a, ahem, sweet tale set to the 'hush little baby don't say a word" lullaby in which a Mama Dragon dares to feed her darling on characters from a castle, sweeping into the night sky at the end with a horse, clutched in her talons) and responds "I bet the Baby Dragon put the horse to sleep under the tree for the night. They probably both ate leaves and grass for dinner." Always the optimist, this one ;)

On a side note, we read almost the entire "Finn Family Moomintrolls" today, after re-reading SkippyJon Jones (thanks Aunt Alicia!) about a thousand times. So there was a few good hours of no movement (for me, the child would bounce and swing:)

But nevertheless, I'm falling short, apparently. The child, typically content to while away the hours at home, flipped through our Time Out New York for Kids (the what's what and what's where for everything kid consuming in the city) and picked out everything he would like to do... and as of today, there was a lot. Apparently, two of us are sick to death of this sinus infection. And, honestly, I'm fairly certain he's playing the role of long suffering house arrest victim with more aplomb than the adult here...

To blog or not to blog

P, a few days old. Mimicking my feelings, exactly, over the last week.

I've been sick. Silly sick. Pathetic, actually brought to tears at one point (there's a story) sorta sick. Honestly, I've very little to say about the beauties of sweat pants, yet I've frumped in them for well over a week. Blech.

I can now blog about "What to do with a five year old when all you want to do is lie on the couch." I can blog about "Best things to cook a five year old when you can't taste a damn thing." I can blog about "What NOT to do with a five year old when all you've done is lie on the couch." There's so many fab homeschooling blogs full of craft ideas, curriculum fun facts and kid friendly recipes. I could do my part and actually add something useful to the blogosphere rather than babble about my child's every sigh. My pathogens have left me lying about for too long. I should have plenty to say.

But do I want to say it? Double blech.

I wonder this on a weekly basis. I pause every time I move the mouse to the "publish post" button. Do I want to blog? Cuz, quick secret, I'm insanely private. I've had friends make friendly reminders about this, but I really do try to toss as much out there as possible. But its just awfully awkward for me to share outside my inner circle... the circle that hasn't changed much since I was, oh, 6 years old, give or take about 2 friends :) For instance, I don't even like having an open bookcase, because what I read feels private. Not for display. No, I'm not embarrassed. I'm not haunted by Harlequin Romances or anything. But what I study is an extension of myself. And I don't like to extend myself to just anyone :)

As you can imagine, this is an insanely tight rope for a visual artist to walk ;) I could blog for boring days on that subject.

And, likewise, blogging feels a little like inviting a reality tv camera crew into my kitchen. So, when I'm flopping about at night, blowing my Rudolph nose, feeling the weight of the words I"m behind on the blog, I'm bound to wanna banter about this weight's origin. Why, why why blog??? If I weren't to blog, I'd have so much more time to read.. hah, well, wouldn't you like to know ;)

1. I blog because: I feel guilt for living so far from family.

2. I blog because: I refuse to let distance create an "idea" of P in our families' heads. An amalgam of biannual snapshots and brief phone bits. He's a nice round character in real life, why flatten him to comic book character dimensions?

3. Add to this the radical unschooling, or consensual living, or crazy liberal vegetarian freakishness (choose your appropriate terminology) bit... and the gap would grow too big to bridge biannually.

4. I'm held accountable (by my mom, thanks mom!) when I fall behind in journaling P's life. Granted, blogging is creating a much thicker journal than my previous, skimpy Word Document posts... but that's for P's future partner to bitch about...

5. I babble in my mind, constantly, may as well babble on a blog and fulfill the first four quotas. And I tell myself that its practically private... as long as no one sees a clear picture of me, no one can tell who it is that is babbling on this particular blog... except for the four people who actually know me and read it...

6. And now we get to the nitty gritty. The bare your soul bit... (This is me, assuming anonymity in cyberspace:) I dread losing E. I miss him by the time he comes home at night (yah, he's only gone all day:). But the cancer bit slapped me around a little and built up some calluses. And I've sat with this particular worry for 20 years. That numbs it a little. And holding something tight and letting it go at the same time, well, it starts to feel normal eventually.

But I can't dread losing P because, well, gosh, it didn't work. I tried it once, knowing that this particular fear is hiding in my head's shadows. Thinking I could sit with it too, like the dread about losing E, that I could find some sorta peace with it and banish that lurking suspicion of fear. Ha. Come to find out, its absolutely impossible to imagine losing your child. So I decided that one well locked door in the mind wasn't really so very terrible :)

So that left me with just one other dread to handle proactively. P's fear of losing me. Its such a tangible issue for him that I couldn't help but feel his dread too. Now, I look both ways when I cross the street and try to eat my veggies like a good girl, but the fatalist in me couldn't shake this sneaking suspicion that, well. I figured I'd better plan for the worst and hope for the best :)

So I blog. For the first 5 reasons, for sure. But mostly as an act of love. On the off chance his worst fear comes true, there's a huge pile of words sitting around, if he's ever so inclined, so he can (hopefully!) experience my love through this dedication, after the fact. So he can (hopefully!) understand why we did things the "crazy" way we did them, if the others in his life do things differently. So he can know me, more than just hazy memories allow, from the bits and pieces I pry out of myself for display here. I blog because a mama always wants to kiss things and make them all better, even if its not possible. I blog because I don't have any idea how else to help with his greatest fear.

And I thank gawd that in a few years, his greatest fear will morph, and he'll be more concerned about getting dissed by a pout lipped love or ignored by buddies;) Then, I"ll write a nice, private, "just in case" note, staple it to that will we keep putting off, and go back to reading... well, reading whatever it is I'm reading at the time. Until then, I guess I'll blog. And hope he'll thereby know how very much we love him.