H.O.T

We have family in town visiting, so lots of stories to come, but tonight, just a short update:

It is H.O.T.

The digital thermometer (out from yogurt making) reads 87 degrees in the house.  I don't know what it read midday.

Now, I'm not sure of the math involved here, but if you plug it into the whatevermajjiger equation necessary, I'm pretty sure that means its actually 107 degrees in this kitchen, counting the humidity.

The upside to a very warm home is a vibrant outdoor life little bothered by the heat.  After all, that breeze outdoors can make things downright doable.

And the water features at the park are the stuff sultry days are made of.  P, having forgotten BB but having found a pencil, fancied the monster on a paper scrap and played with that.  He washed him down slides with water cascades, held him under the sprinkler's glacial glory and, finally, splatted the poor pinklessness to the underside of the playground equipment.   Repeatedly.  Only to climb the ladder, carefully, and while toting a bucket full of this brisk blessing,  to wash the doodle down.  Repeatedly.  While cackling.

Its hot, but its still fun!

Collecting....

P, showing E his fabulous thorns.

We went out before dusk last week for our evening adventure and I was determined to finally get some biking footage.  E and I have been swearing we will preserve those little pumping legs for posterity... someday.... :)  Now, we've done it.

The early evening mission: to collect thorns from a tree discovered the day before.   En route, the Little Man also collected weed tops in the meadow.  And a few rocks on the path.    And, of course, the old standby... acorns.  The acorns are tiny and tight in their shells right now and the child thinks them adorable.

The little biking montage below features a few of my favorite things.  First, his favorite pants.  Ethan had an old shirt. The child, being the being he is, couldn't imagine letting loose of such a thing.  (In case I haven't mentioned the many collections we house already in our flat.... :)  Honoring his quirks (concerning keeping stuff) and my quirks (about simple spaces) is fabulous for creating creative opportunities. Fortunately, the child was happy with my suggestion that the shirt be reborn a pair of P pants.  (Seemed simple enough - just fabric sewn together with a drawstring, right?!  I didn't think about the fact that I'd never sewn clothing before, hadn't a clue or even had home-ec or that I'm a consummate optimist when it comes to creating....  But after a few, erm, revisions, he has a pair of pants he adores like no other and my already stuffed storage space is intact.  Of course, he's too young yet to realize they are a little bunchy in the waist ;)

 It also shows my favorite "drop" move that kids often have.  Frequently, when P falls, he just stays down for a bit, checking out what's at his new eye level.  Its the most wonderfully zen thing in the world.  His fall in the movie looks a little planned to me, so its not exactly the same thing, but it reminds me of this tendency that always makes me smile.

And third, his pumping legs.  Striding long to keep up with Ethan.  We didn't get him on a really long run along the bike path (we love how he looks over at the big bikes and then pumps even harder) like we've been hoping, but there are glimpses of when he really gets going.  Its a little tricky to film, in addition to the encroaching evening component.  I have to shoot him while I'm simultaneously scooting, which was a bit tricky to do one-handed :)

 And, lastly, it features a song we just discovered on a library CD P picked yesterday. Its called "Collecting Bottlecaps" and when I heard it I laughed out loud. Fortunately, the child was busy dancing and didn't notice :) Though E and I joke about the kid's collecting nature, its never, ever in front of the child. While loving him "just as he is", we wouldn't necessarily have a problem with him outgrowing this particular passion either :) So that external definition stays well hidden until bedtime on the off chance that he'll let it go....

Oh!  There's one more favorite thing :)  At the end, when he is trying to hitch a ride - he does it all the time.  Cracks me up.

 

Cold Spring

P's fantastic Father.

If we are too long in the city, we jones for some hiking.  Yes, we go to a park almost every day (and we *love* our park!), but there's just something about trails sans broken glass and condoms....  And we knew getting into the great outdoors was the perfect perk for Papa's special day, so we started researching.

Cuz, though we've been in the area for the better part of a decade, we have very rarely left the city.  Car-free (which can, oh so rarely, (like when you're wanting to drive somewhere) feel more like car-less) with a kiddo has been a prohibitive combo to the weekend jaunt.  But the Little Man is not so little anymore.  

So I figured we should hike the Appalachian Trail where it meets with the Metro-North Line.  E has always wanted to hike this trail (in part, at least;)  But the citified child said it was a no-go.  Something about no towns, no way....  When I mentioned another State Park, nestled next to a quaint town, the kid cheerfully consented.

P, enjoying the beauty of Grand Central.

P, enjoying the green, swishing past the train.   I'd forgotten how much we love train rides.

Our destination.  

The adorable area surrounding the train depot.

Poor E's back went wonky the day before our departure.  Though he was game to gimp in the greenery, this put P's primary pack-mule out of commission.  Would the child throw a fit to be carried (not an unheard of occurrence...)?  No.  The child hiked the entire day (well, until the face plant/tumble at the very end, but that was understandable...).  In the heavy heat.  Alongside the highway, half a mile, to reach the state park. Then up the mountain.  Without batting an eyelash.  Apparently, he understood his trusted steed was unavailable.  

And though he appreciated the gorgeous greenery, the funny flowers, the zillions of collectable rocks, he was steadfastly searching for real rocks, to climb.  After hiking for a bit, we accidentally lost the trail, but found the rocks.  He actually squealed with delight.

We picnicked in the shade and then bouldered a bit.  Then the child wanted to really climb.  Knowing E's back wasn't up to spotting the child, I took the camera from my neck and handed it off.  As I heard it clicking behind me, I was thrilled that our climb would be captured.  P and I love to rock climb in the woods, and now it would be documented.  Ummmm.  Oh, well.  There were a number of blurry shots with one of us half hidden behind a tree...    And a couple of blurry pics of our butts lacking any perspective of the height which the child was achieving...  But, really, one cannot complain about the Father on Father's day, so excuse the digression and enjoy the only two non-blurry shots....

I'm picking a spot, while P picks some moss.  He, of course, has a moss collection.

Climbing.

It was a high climb that was pretty vertical.  P was in heaven.  There was a couple of spots that were pretty tricky, and one spot where he needed a boost, but we really enjoyed ourselves. As we crawled over the top edge we saw.... the trail!  And a guy hiking down it.  He jumped in surprise as P waved his dirty paw and smiled.  The hiker was more than a little shocked that we had just climbed the wall, looking over and then telling me we were.... kinda crazy.  Erm, whoops!  Was this a bad parenting moment?   I knew it was a tough climb for a kid, but P is pretty in touch with his abilities.  And I was right behind him the whole time....

I called E on the phone (oh, the wonders of the modern hike ;)  and he came up to join us.  He was nonplussed by safety concerns for the child.  Whew ;)  The view was lovely, though the iphone in my fanny pack couldn't quite capture the grandeur and I was too lazy to dig out the decent one :)

The child was energized by his ascent and wanted to carry on up the trail, but we were almost out of water (the heat was unbelievable) and, so, had to head home.  We knew the highway hike to the train station would be a scorcher (I still feel dehydrated, two days later!)  

And it was, but the ice cream shop at the end washed away our weariness.  

P (of course;) also has a charcoal collection, from any fire-pits he passes.  He loves to draw with these, even more than his beeswax crayons.  He gained some additions to this collection while hiking (and an enormous bag of rocks...) So he set to entertaining himself while we waited for the next city-bound train.  

A couple of curious children crept closer and P happily handed out charcoal.  We had a little drawing party on the platform, the perfect ending to a really lovely day away.  

While the child had a number of highlights, I'd bet that E's was during our picnic.  P and I decided to do daddy dedications while we ate, and the kid's list of loves was so sweet.  Two tops?  "I love how much Papa carries me" and "I love how good of father Papa is."  Awwwwww!  Well, the guy is pretty great :)

Pooping Diamonds

Out of nowhere, the five year old says to me:

"I poop diamonds and burp butterflies." Downbeat. Grin.

I really like five. Despite the questionable prominence of the word "poop" that has arrived on the scene. Seems everything is funnier with the word "butt" or "poop" in it. Honestly, I had figured that was a schooled thing. A learned thing. Picked up from older sibs or classroom antics. Umm, nope. Poop is, apparently, inherently, funny. At least to this five year old boy :)

A few minutes later he asked, "Mama, could we do that? Could we take a picture and make it look like I'm pooping diamonds and eating rainbows? I could sit just like this [and he sat cross legged] and you could make it look like I'm pooping diamonds and eating rainbows with your computer or camera...."

I wish I were that technical.

The child, though, he's the creative one. On a hot day last week, he took to the tub to get cool. Carting one of his favorite pieces of wood towards the bath, I followed, curious. He wedged it across the tub, tentatively toed it to test for solidity... and grinned hugely when it held him. Insta-diving board. Fun ensued.

Scooby Adventures

Phoenix found some Scooby Doo books a while ago and instantly fell in love.  Though I greatly enjoyed the dog when I was a kid, I'm not a huge fan as an adult :)  Nevertheless, the child has found great joy reading these, despite realizing their total lack of logic ("Mama, if that octopus is a hologram, then how is it holding the door of the shed open?") 

Blessed be, the beauty of the books wore off fairly quickly, but they left behind a residue of vague adventure.  The idea of scary chase scenes and wacky, costumed rivals.  These seeds sprouted and the Scooby Adventures grew.

This basically means we all race around the park (typically after dinner), pretending we're looking for something and/or something is chasing us.  P is Scoob and E and I switch characters.  Its a very loose translation of the comic, typically amounting to little more than P answering to the name "Scoob" and yelling "Rummies!" whenever he wants to imbue our scoot with a little speed.

These evenings, though hell on my breakfast prep and dishwashing duty, are some of my most cherished moments.  Every time we zip through the park, zooming behind P's little legs, the dark coming, the woods scented in the evening air, I try to take mental pictures for my old age, memories to last my lifetime.  They are simply too sweet to ever forget.  There's something special about all of us playing together at dusk. 

We missed our Scooby Adventure last night and P requested one this afternoon.  E stays in the city on Fridays, so, free of a timeline, P and I headed into the park to chase "rummies."  Though the Scooby bit quickly went by the wayside, I think its quickly becoming code for "let's get lost in the woods"....

While it wasn't as magical as when E is around (E makes everything more magical:) we had such a lovely time that I had to pull out my phone.  It doesn't do the dancing shadows or the glowing greens any justice, but hopefully the pics will trigger the mind memories when I'm grey(er:)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood....  I love aimlessly following paths with P!

P found a stick with real thorns.  He was thrilled.  We made homemade forks and spears....

We're reading "My side of the Mountain" (thanks for the rec, Jo!!!!) for our daytime book and P is loving it.  This boy, living off the land, by himself, has planted a love of the Catskills in P that is so strong it will probably grow my child's entire life.  As we sat in the shade, making our My Side inspired thorn forks today, I glanced down at the old bricks below.  When I pointed in surprise, P actually read/recognized the word.  This coincidence, of course, only reinforced his want to hike in the Catskills :)  

We're hoping to find a train north this weekend that will drop us off at a mountain for a really big "Scooby Adventure"....  Here's to the next post having Catskills-like backdrops!

Sears sucks, but we got a staycation.

We've had some realllllly unfortunate luck with our Sears dishwasher and have spent a ridiculous number of days waiting for technicians in the machine's short, six months of life.  The first three appointments, I was irritated.  This last one, more experienced and therefore knowing that we would wait an extra 2, 5 or 7 hours past the arranged appointment, I decided to rearrange my brain for a little staycation.

So, despite the glorious 70 degree weather, we had an indoor party for two (well, er, three, counting BB;)  In addition to couch cuddling while book reading, baking and playdough making (followed by giddy mess making), the trains came out for "the biggest track ever, Mama!"  Every time we pull out the wooden track, I fall more in love with it.  The creativity, the puzzle building, the spacial relations, the angles and forethought and, well, the fun :)  Its been especially fun to watch P's interaction with this toy change and grow over the last three years.

Of course, this appointment didn't fix the machine, either.  But it did fix my mindset.  We're looking forward to another staycation, next week...  And, hopefully, someday, a working dishwasher.

Fun in New York

P, as if following some intense instinctual urge, has to balance on the most precarious part of any object...

P, walking BB's eco-vehicle on our 'wooded" hike...

The word "socialization" and "homeschooler" seem to be inexplicably tied in the modern mind. But, honestly, the kid is so busy having fun with friends, mentors, neighbors (and area farmers, local shopkeepers, the odd guy on the corner, the librarian...  I'll stop there, you get the general gist;) - and experiencing the big wide world - that an eye roll just seems too understated. To put it in perspective here: I actively try to spend one day a week doing nothing with the child. Of course, we're still doing something;) but I try to make sure that its something for just P and I. Well, P and I and some green space :) 

"Green Space" - those words probably never escaped the lips of our mothers, mothering in Kansas. But its a hot topic in this concrete jungle, where people live three floors up with only a ficus for a private pinch of dig-able property. E and I were in our yards all. the. time. In fact, that's the phrase we both remember most from childhood, "Go play outside." Our lovely downstairs neighbor remembers the same refrain from his New York City childhood... (and, yes, his folks meant the sidewalk :) But, nowadays,  a mother would rather be caught dead than have CPS called on her after letting her five year old play outside by himself in this overprotective parenting culture. (Hell, I've gotten many the hairy eyeball just for letting my kid climb beyond my reach!  As a sidenote: In reaction to this hyper-active parental presence, a local author/mother recently established a "Take your kids to the park and leave them day."  Catchy as it was in acronym form, I haven't read any updates as to how that day went over...)

 While I have no dreams of leaving the small child in the big park to fend for himself, I do have dreams of him having dirt to dig in, places in which to be sullied (by something other than soot) and insects to inspect. So we spend enormous amounts of time across the street, getting dirty in the "woods." A yin to the yang of all the skyscrapers and subways. We join homeschool groups there, have weekly playdates there and, last but not least, explore by ourselves there, every week.

And on that day, no one else is invited. There is no plan, no goal, no destination, no timeline. I can only imagine that the child feels led about the world, on a daily basis. And though he is starting to master the subways and can even lead us to eateries we have long forgotten in the West Village, he's still only five and can't quite tell time, so, he is in the follower position, a lot.

So on that day, he leads. Whatever trail, whatever picnic spot, whatever mud hole he chooses, we hang. We do it when its snowy, when its rainy, when its hot, when its glorious. Each season has something lovely to offer us, a new beauty to the park (Puddles! Snow balls! A breeze!:) I rarely bring my camera on these outings, since I can lose my self when I pull it out and then he gets frustrated :) But I brought it along yesterday, and P pulled it out to play. He wanted to take a bunch of chronological shots and see them together. So he snapped a billion of me, and then posed so I could do the same for him. (Funny thing how a kid looks really cute making funny faces, but an adult just looks funny...)

Sitting in the warm grass, sweet smells of clover blowing past us, finding animals in the clouds, closing our eyes and watching them glow red from the sun. Glorious days like this that are so full of life, the really important life stuff (versus the bullshit spelling, silence and standing on line stuff:) make me so, so, so thankful we can homeschool. Almost everyday does, actually, but gorgeous tumbly park days do, just a little extra....


 

The First Sentence

                       P (and BB), experiencing the Mac store, as we wait for our Genius to help us....


If you look closely, BB is in the background of most P pics. If you see a P pic sans pink monster, well, P was playing with Invisible BB that day :) He's here, always.  Whenever P learns anything new, hears anything that excites him or just basically needs to share, he instantly starts talking to BB.  The fluffy friend is showered with gifts, fed (quite regularly), and bandaged and cuddled whenever P gets hurt (BB's fate is so very tied to the kid's ;).  And when the child forgets to bring the doll along on adventures, he either deals with Invisible BB or calls his fave friend up on the "BB Phone," for updates.   He is an integral part of the Little Man's life.  (And yes, people look at me crooked all the time as I suddenly slip into an accented voice that says ridiculous things.  My favorite is when P is a good distance from me, banging on BB.  There I sit, quite contentedly, say, on a rock in the park?  While occasionally, and seemingly pointlessly, screeching, "Ouch!....... OUCH!  Hey now...... Ouch!!!"  Fortunately, I just look like all of the other crazies....)

Yes, its a round relationship :)  The flip side of all of that sharing and caring is the taunting, the teasing, the tearing, the, well, the torturing.  BB has been hammered to boards, flung from all manner of high heights, slammed in doors, starved, bitten repeatedly, stuck with needles, shark's teeth and safety pins.... the list is kinda twisted and endless, actually.   And the kid, he takes great pleasure in the role of both caregiver and hell-maker.

So, his first written sentence didn't surprise me too much.

The kid has taken to writing regularly.  Mostly just random letters.  Words, when he feels inspired.  His name, almost constantly.  Being a perfectionist, he likes to practice his shapes, striving for the perfect "O" or "P."  His chalkboard sees a lot of love, so does his collection of notebooks, but its the doctor's pad in his Haba doctor's kit that sees the most action.  I don't know what it is about those little lined pages in this prescription booklet, but the kid adores writing on them.   And that is where he wrote this today:

BB U R A BOOB.  [Heart] MAMA.

I should back up here.  First, the boob bit.  As in idiot, not breast.  The child would never think of something as precious as breasts as a taunt ;)  The heart bit?  He knows its a sign for "love" and hasn't yet figured out how to spell that one.  Sees no point in it, really, when you can just draw that pretty little shape instead :)  And the comparison bit.  That's been going on for a while now....  He likes to tease BB about how he lines up, in the scope of things.  The monster is hopelessly devoted to the Little Man, and the Little Man, his favorite way to torture the poor pink thing lately, is to tell him that he ranks low on the totem pole.  Specifically, below policemen, robbers and, the bottom of the P barrel, kidnappers.  In fact, this evening, he drew a hierarchy on his chalkboard featuring Mama, Papa, Grams, Grandpapa, Uncle Ian..... a policeman, a robber (with, like, 18 fingers for grabbing stuff), a kidnapper (carrying a kid) and then.... BB.  Of course, the fleece friend fumed and then bawled.  The Little Man cackled with glee.

Should I be worried about this? ;)

But backing up one step further.  The root of this particular evil....  A friend's passionate baby brother frustratedly called P "stupid" last month.  I didn't actually hear the word, but noticed P's behavior change abruptly when his wee friend said something.  The Little Man remained civil towards his buddies, but he started pushing on me, ordering me around, grumping with a capital G.  His buds were heading out right then anyway, so we transitioned to the ground for a snack (I was thinking maybe he was hungry?) and the kid kept at it.  I usually feel so connected to P that I don't have to wonder why he's fuming, so this was odd.  I asked if he felt "off" and would he like a snuggle?

He's getting so big.  He seems all boy and bounce these days.  But the kid just melted into my lap and reminded me of how small he really is.  After a moment of silence, he asked me, "Why did J call me "stupid"?"  He was honestly stumped - he tries so hard, so being summed up as stupid seemed pretty strange.

From that night on, name calling entered his play.   He doesn't do it to friends. He doesn't do it to family.  But he loves to do it to BB.  And, interestingly enough, he never uses the word "stupid."  But "boob" and "poop-head" are regular repeats :)  Other than those, its typically made up nonsense, like, "snotty-snot-snafamahush!" (Um, well, these made up treats he does like to toss at family....)

When P handed BB the folded note today, he could barely contain himself.  When the pink monster read, out loud, the fabulous insult (a name call and a demotion!) the child experienced elation.

Tonight, after torturing BB, placing him below kidnappers and gnats, the child chose a different doll with which to slumber.  And made sure he announced this to BB.  Finally, the monster had had enough. He informed P that he loves him (insert small sob) but would be sleeping with Papa (sob), so Good-Night.

As P brushed his replacement Ugly Doll and listened to his bedtime book, he forgot BB wasn't in the room and tried to talk to him.  A couple of times.  Finally, he had to call BB on the BB phone and invite him back to bed.  He offered the brush to BB, an act of truce, and then set the surrogate softie to the side.

From boob to back-to-bed, the kid couldn't imagine a world without this monster.  As someone once said to me, after watching P play with his fluffy friend, "Talk about experiencing unconditional love."

House guests and Star Wars

P had looked forward to the block party for a year. So when he asked, Friday, if we could sleep through Saturday(block party day) to skip to Sunday faster, I knew he was super excited to see Ella and Reed (our dear friends from Kansas). All day Sunday he asked when we could go to Grand Central. Even as he laid suspiciously still on the couch. Even as he covered his eyes with his flax seed pillow. Even as he eschewed food for the cool floor.

Fortunately, his fever was short lived and we were able to adventure with our friends the following morning. Our typical tourist trappings weren't at the top of the kids' lists, so we mapped the Empire State Building, Dylan's Candy Bar, Central Park, it's Zoo and FAO Schwartz in an attempt to minimize walking for short, midwestern legs.

While the kids were a bit underwhelmed by the mighty matron of the city, the candy shop didn't disappoint :) P handles the sweet shop with aplomb, and I'm always surprised ;) Two floors of brightly colored sugars, all of which he is allergic to, shine beneath bright lights and booming music. A childhood candy aficionado myself, P's allergies to fake foods have put an extra emphasis on my adult whole foods preferences, and my feelings about candy shops were summed up in this one shot: (The treat's name said it all :)

                                  P and Ella, wowed by the wonders of a candy filled floor:

Its not just my kid that likes to climb rocks in Central Park. After a couple of subway rides, our guest were giddy running into the rock strewn green for a snack.

                             Public art, en route to the zoo (cuz climbing rocks doesn't always do):

After climbing, we headed to the zoo. I had waxed poetic about seeing a polar bear in real life and hoped he wouldn't be holed up in the heat. But no disappointments there, we were all thrilled to see him bobbing in the water, watching us watching him. Mammals in captivity break my heart, especially when they make eye contact ;) P seems to have the same reaction, because after seeing the snow leopard glide past the glass, he demanded to know why the regal feline wasn't in his natural habitat.... Nevertheless, the zoo was a success, all three kids seemed pleased as pie with the lovely animals and the giant spiderweb.

At FAO, P very carefully picked his prize - a special occasion since friends were here. Yup, I said "special occasion." After years of constant toy purchases, we agreed to take a break. We're fully stocked, overflowing our space, in fact, due to toys (seriously, we own almost nothing other than toys, toy containers and the food making basics). And the child.... he doesn't play that much with them these days! He typically turns towards his rocks and sticks, a cardboard box, BB or a hammer and a board. And, of course, us. His favorite toys, the live robots that play endlessly, he can spend an hour on the floor with either of us and nothing else but sheer joy. He's finally starting to realize this and has decided to wait a while for new additions, (thank the holy freakin stars.) But there is a difference between taking a break from toy stores and actually leaving a live toy store empty handed :)

So, despite his total ignorance on all things Star Wars, the Little Man chose light sabers. His best buddy is all about Star Wars and has been talking up his lighted swords for a while now. Additionally, the older boy downstairs has spoken of Star Wars in hushed, reverential tones. This has made an impact. Nevertheless, P agrees he's nowhere near ready to watch the flick. But swords with lights, well, that sounded kinda cool :)

And honestly, they are. Our previous swords have been a tad short (read: hand injuries) for me to enjoy swordplay with P. And its a pursuit he loves. Now we can jab and dive together, in the dark, bouncing on the bed, illuminated by our sabers. Its ridiculously fun.

But there's one problem. P got a red one and a blue one. Then Reed told him the red one was the bad guy's. Well, P doesn't really want me to be the bad guy and he doesn't really like the idea of the bad guy going after me either - so after a few rounds, he was stuck. I let him sit with it and then suggested the colors were ours to interpret. No go. Damn defined toys. Sticks pose no such problem ;) Hmmm, I said, maybe I could be a good guy that had grabbed a bad guy's saber? (Don't even get me started on the good guy/bad guy delineation!) He liked this solution and we swung and bounced merrily, for a moment. Then he stopped. "But wait. If we're both good guys..... why are we fighting?" OMG. I love this child.

Day two had big plans for two museums and plenty of park play... and we just barely made it through the American Museum of Natural History. After our afternoon indoors with bunches of bones, we headed to Belvedere Castle before getting dinner. Travel with kids is an amazingly different beast that beats to its very own drum :)

                                                         The pic P took at he the AMNH:

P was sad to see his friends (and their mum!) leave the next morning. He, in all seriousness, invited them to be our flat-mates :) Unfortunately, I'd guess that a few more days of P inspired late nights and Reed inspired early mornings and the situation would have been less "Three's Company" and more "Star Wars," for real :)

Worth the 364 days of waiting...

The block costume parade, complete with bag-piping Scotsman in the lead...

We were beyond lucky when we landed on this block (in this place, the longest place we have lived (four whole years next month!) since we graduated high school almost 20 years ago. I jest not about our gypsy hearts :) Across the street from this amazing park, around the corner from the subway, upstairs from nice landlords and seconds away from swarms of kids. The annual block party (for said swarms) is almost too good to be true and tips my scale in location love. And the kid, he waits for it from the day after one party until the day of the next, the following year :)

After many, many months of "when will it block party day?", the day finally arrived. Making an already special affair even more lovely, family and friends joined the kid. Uncle Seth and Aunt Alicia spent the early afternoon bouncing and running, as well as the world's best downstairs neighbors, R and L.

P was happy to drag us all through the wet with him. Seth smartly tried the umbrella approach, though our fire hydrant "sprinkler" refused to leave anyone dry...





R, bouncing with the boy.



Unlike last year's, this bouncy house wasn't fully enclosed, so, of course, the Little Man just had to climb it. When I snapped his scaling smile I didn't realize it froze the small female form in the back in a dead-doll-like hanging position. It looks like her wee head is impaled in the yellow plastic. I love the morbidity of it :)


After his tall friends departed for various adult pursuits, the Little Man fell in with the local set. I started to type "shorter set," but that' wouldn't be accurate, since he sees the adults at this end of the block as his close companions too and approaches both tall and short (and those in between:) in equal amounts. His independence was solid this year and I wistfully remembered his first block party four years ago - that required constant attention and chasing (on our part:) It was a much lazier afternoon this time, requiring little more than stoop sitting and the occasional smile and wave. The kid, he's growing up.

This wave of independence washes in new issues to wade through. Left alone on the stoop while we retrieved potluck pots from upstairs, the Little Man romped about "unattended." All of our neighbors and his buddies were outside (including the 13 year old boy that lives next door, who shadows P's every move with diligent devotion). I didn't think a thing about it. Arriving downstairs, an unknown guest to the party informed me P had been walking the stoop wall. Yup, he likes to do that. P and climbing go together like E and naps, I hardly blinked. Then she informed me, with more emphasis, that she had told him she was nervous, he should get down. Hehe. Whooooooops :)

I know the whole routine about raising children to respect their elders. I'm friends with kids that have the endearing protocol of calling everyone Miss Insert-First-Name-Here. I just don't buy it. At all. Adults can be asses (or worse) and I don't want my kid blindly following someone on the basis of wrinkle achievement alone (even idiots sunburn). Now, I've never told him this, explicitly, since I'd like to engender respect for everyone, regardless of age. But I also haven't told him, explicitly, that he is to listen to his elders. After all, we live in NYC, and random people tell us what to do all the time. I've had instructions shouted at me from bikes, cars, walkers passing by, children sitting on stoops, grannies glued to library steps. You name it, P's seen somebody "help" me on the subject (do I look this inherently clueless???) I've blogged about it before, how odd it is (every time) and how I try to respond with validation to their concern while feeling solid. Responding respectfully, even when my middle finger feels faster than the smile on my face. I know that, on some level, they think they are helping. I've hoped this wordlessly said to P, listen and be nice, but listen to yourself too. When he was younger he was so worried about upsetting people, their reactions, and I really worried he would live his life based on other's hopes and expressions. Well, apparently, he's grown out of that :)

She went on to inform me, with a bit of bitchy dismay, that my child had informed her not to worry, he'd climbed the stoop wall 10 million times :) And then he had proceeded to walk that wall. The air was pregnant with her pause, the one where I was supposed to turn to my kid and have him apologize or something. I just smiled and said "Oh, yes, he's always enjoyed climbing!" As if on cue, the kid ran up the stoop stairs and threw his body over the side, to dangle from the railing, mid-air, over the concrete far below. She actually gasped. I chuckled. (Quietly and respectfully, of course.) I knew the kid wouldn't be rude to her as I walked away with my bean salad. He loves people too much to even consider being "mean." He's just honest and, finally, full of some of that self-esteem that allows him to answer anyone with that sweet, unwavering honestly.

But this wasn't the only growing pang that day. As the day progressed, P started collecting (insert sigh) cans. He carried them about, the reason entirely unclear to me (as with much of his collecting, to be honest...) Much of the time he was carrying them about, following .... Rose, the 10 year old girl from across the street. Together with her younger brother, they play street ball with P and Rose sweetly gives P water balloons and tells him how cute he is. Long story short, he has chosen Rose as his first girlfriend. He informed me of this a few weeks ago, out of nowhere. He thought he should have one and he had picked Rose. We had just sat to supper in the kitchen. He paused for a second after his share and then turned to me, "Should I go tell her now?" I stumbled and mumbled, not sure how to broach the whole sudden subject, when E's arrival home saved me...

But only momentarily, because when Rose returned to the block party, post-dinner, in a dress and heels, her blockmate buddies barbie'd up too, P was transfixed. He stared (and not slyly:), continuously looking at those heeled shoes (she had been barefoot all day:) I wondered if music played n his head or something, it was such a quintessential first love realized moment. With the misty water flying from the hydrant in the background, the mariachi band playing in the street, the warm wind whisking her dress around and the shadows of the trees flitting, it was the making of a magical moment; in that second, P was changed. It was, seriously, like one of those movie montages:)

But everyone knows that the branching of the heart is the beginning of pain. Especially for young boys, I've heard girls are mean ;)

I sat on the stoop, watching him flit about the street with various friends, always returning to Rose's heels. Eventually he walked up to her pack of pretties (the balls on this kid! I swear! A five year old approaching a group of pre-teen girls, the poor kid's mother should be looking out for him or something ;) He spoke for a bit and the next thing I knew, the pack was suddenly at my side, sans P, giggling.

"Do you know what your son just asked Rose?!?!"

"What? :)

"If she wanted to go to town and get a beer!"

I had to laugh. The whole girlfriend idea has been inspired by his Uncle's amazing new gal pal. And those two frequently do spend time together grabbing beers, so I wasn't altogether positive he hadn't said this, though I figured his phrase had differed at least slightly...:)

"What did you say, Rose?"

"I told him I was having a sleep-over, so I couldn't."

And this cinched it for me. The child, at least, has good taste. She's a sweetie.

That night, as we lay in bed chatting, unwinding from the long day, I found out Rose's friends weren't as sweet as his sweetie, though the kid would never complain or "tattle." He just mentioned it as fact. And I casually asked about his invite. "I asked her if she wanted to count my beer cans with me."

Now that sounded more like my five year old :) He's been into counting in Spanish lately and perhaps thought this was just the type of excitement needed for a first invite. We had a little chat about girls in groups and the child is hopefully better armed for his next ballsy boyfriend move.... Unfortunately, I doubt I'll have another 364 days before it happens again :)

Fast trip to Fire Island

P and the amazing Aunt Alicia

With E gone, pretty much around the clock, for a month, our flat had fallen far, far below my comfort level on the cleanly front. I mean, the floor was vacuumed (and all of the "stuff" shoved into, erm, spots), the laundry was clean (and sitting ignored in heaps for those desperate enough to dig)... It wasn't quite CPS material, but.... well, I was feeling a bit basket-casey about it. The word "quicksand" comes to mind. I just couldn't climb to the top of the piles faster than the piles buried me. And we had houseguests coming. Small, midwestern children, to boot, who where already puzzled at the word "apartment." Something drastic had to be done. And E knew just how to accomplish it.

After putting in even more hours, he announced one Sunday that he was taking P for the rest of the day. P announced his usual "No!" right back. I sighed.

Its not that P doesn't like E. (Who couldn't like this man?) And at this age, if he gets regular Papa playtime, he separates fairly well from me. But he'd barely seen the man in a month and he felt no need to leave his life line. But E had a plan. Amidst P's protests he merely mentioned the words "Fire Island" and the Little Man's tirade tired and sputtered to a close. Brief pregnant pause, followed by an excited jump through the air, and the deal was done.

It was almost noon, we had yet to eat breakfast or slink out of our sleep clothes, and I had no idea how they planned to handle a 5 hour round trip (bus, train, bus, ferry) commute and still enjoy their day. But E really did have it planned this time. A quick call to Seth and Alicia (who had just walked in the door from another trip - have I mentioned they're amazing???) and Zip Car and companions were procured. We raced around the house grabbing hats and umbrellas while the eggs poached and suddenly, they were gone.

Leaving me to wonder things like, how did that food get on that wall? Why is there a pile of tissue buried in the records box? Do I keep the bones in the window? Are all of the toys buried in the ficus base permanent additions? And, my favorite, how can I separate out this pile of 287 tiny pieces (of what looks like tiny trash tidbits but is undoubtedly highly prized and mentally catalogued goods) into a recognizable order, without crying? And the ten million dollar question, as always: Where in the holy hell will I put all of his shit?!?!

P trudged back up the stairs nearly nine hours later, sun kissed and happy. The house, I kid you not, was only 2/3rds clean. And I had hauled ass the entire time. Sad, I know. We're really not foul people, I promise. The child just has, erm, sheer, raw talent when it comes to spreading bits and pieces into every nook and cranny of our existence. (This, of course , will be better addressed when I eventually get around to my collecting/hoarding post....) Combine that with being gone every day on adventures, only to come home to cook (aka make more mess), eat, do dishes and then hit the hay and, well, those "collections" can creep....

Of course, E entirely lacks a girl gene and is unfortunately incapable of relating past events. So, once again, I'm not really sure what happened that day outside of scrubbing and shelving. But the kid said he had fun. He told me he drowned 5 times. He jumped over a river to the ocean. He was hot. He discovered a shell with the mussel still in it and returned it to the sea. Oh, and he came home with a pretty pile of stuff to add to his various collections....

Playing Catch-up

P, having a picnic on the porch :) (See how far behind I am - he's wearing *long sleeves*


All of the other stories and nuances of the last month be damned... I'm just going to post some pics with bylines - and begone my guilt!

P and E, subway to adventure.



P, collecting (of course) at a friend's bday party (at his favorite community garden in the Lower East Side.) After quizzing about a dozen garden patrons, he finally found out what he was collecting (unripe yellow plums).)



P, tying up one of his favorite mom friends to an old wood wagon. Just another average school day at the Historic House...



P, with the "princess." He was infatuated with her highness at a recent homeschool park day. After an hour of distant reverence he discovered she belonged to a homeschooling family from Australia that he had befriended. Armed with this courage, he climbed into a friend's plastic car, paddled over to her with his arm slung out, all cool like, and just fixed her with the look. They drew with chalk together after...



Playing water balloons in the park with a best buddy. It was hot and they were wet.




Then, back to our place for some rock smashing and studying... (Silly as it sounds (he is a great kid, but home play hasn't historically been his forte...), I was slightly astonished when P invited J home, pulled out his beloved rocks (some protective goggles (he's terribly scarred from his eye surgery - its sad really), some hammers and chisels, a magnifying glass...) and suggested they chip gifts for one another. Call me cynical (call me experienced)... I called it a sigh of relief after a steamy afternoon in the park :)

The Trauma of Ten Little Inches

Oh how I am so far behind... but I'm skipping a bit ahead to today, since the drama was unbeatable :)

So, I've been growing my hair for f o r e v e r, trying to get it all long enough for Locks of Love, and after the last 8 months without a trim (ewwww) I could yank even the shorter stuff straight enough to measure the minimum, post-pony. Finally. I find long hair to be a royal pain in the ass, post-child, so I was ready for super duper short.

Knowing transitions aren't the Little Man's forte, I had merely mentioned it as fact - for months. No big reactions. This weekend I showed him cuts. Small reaction, but reconciliation too. I reminded him this morning of our afternoon appointment. Slightly larger reaction, but a brief reminder of how much faster no hair is than long hair, and he was on board again. Phew.

The initial chop still left me with a bob and the boy was ready to leave the shop. Erm... But he was also happy to return to his story and wait until I was shorn shorter than many men. No big reaction.

Then we left the shop. BIG reaction. He wouldn't look at me. Wouldn't walk with me. Mumbled into the ground that I didn't look like me and that... wait for it... I looked like fox poop smells.

Now, anyone else who's had the joy of reading the book "Poop" (any other lucky parents enjoy the discussions after this one?) knows that this is a full-on statement of disdain. I was impressed that, though he's never heard the phrase "you look like shit," that he had arrived on the, apparently apt, phrase nevertheless.

All the way home we schlepped in silence - sprinkled by these oh-so adamant expressions. I quietly validated, hoping the venting would let out all of this sad steam. Occasionally, the voice of these descriptions would crack, just slightly, in perfect timing with the welling of the wee eyes. The ones that were fixed on the ground.

Then, even looking down wasn't safe. "I don't even like the look of your shadow" he wailed. And silly me, I had left my Rescue Remedy at home...

He thoroughly expressed himself for many, many blocks. Granted, it wasn't exactly the reaction I like after a major haircut, but I could take it ;) However, I admit that I did strain to see myself in the bank window as we rounded our final corner, all those blocks of dog doo, fox poo, conjured some curiosity.

When we got home, we played a game to make it up the final stairs and into the flat. We had to, really, he was on the verge of completely losing it as he squeezed out his primary pain with the words "I can't even tell that you are really Mama." Oh, kid. Ouuuuuch. He closed his unhappy baby blues and I asked him if some things were still the same (my voice, my smell, my hug, etc.) The game took a turn at Silly Street and his laugh was so cathartic it was a visible release. Giggling really is good for the soul :) His eyes blinked open and his frown was shorter this time. So we went part by part until he discovered I was, indeed, still me, minus some hair. His brilliant solution to the hair hatred? I wear my cowboy hat. At All Times. "Even at bedtime, Mama." But after 15 minutes of play, the thing was tossed off and he was fine with it. BB had been quizzed about his feelings during this whole ordeal (he always echoes P's emotions, unless otherwise instructed or expected;), and now the Little Man reported to the pink monster that he was fine with Mama's hair. What about BB? (who is, by definition, always a step behind P.) No! BB was not fine with it. "Oh, BB. I am. Mama doesn't look like fox poo smells, really. She looks like a queen."

Well, now. That was more like it ;) Hopefully the shock won't be all anew in the morning...