I think that when you have two children, they end up being a sort of behavioral teeter-totter. Is one of them being angelically delightful? Prepare for the other one to be in one of those phases.
Grey is being angelically delightful. I think you know what that means. Grey, the prepared painter
But first, let’s talk about that delight. It’s really amazing to watch your infant become a little person. The astonishing thing to me is how long a path it is to being a completely independent person (or having your mom able to see you as such). Let’s see, some of the awesome things Grey’s been doing include:
Feeding the cats without being asked. I know, if you have larger people that doesn’t sound like a huge chore. But for a four year old to remember his job and do it correctly without nagging is pretty fantastic.
Telling knock knock jokes. Really, really, really bad knock knock jokes. Here’s an example of a Grey knock knock joke. Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Banana cow eating milk
Banana cow eating milk who?
Banana cow eating milk with bread and jam in its nose (riotious laughing)
I’m trying to teach him to say “Non-sequitur cow” for the who’s there bit, because it would make his truly da-da-esque punchlines actually funny.
Being polite. There are pleases and thank yous. He often does what he’s asked cheerfully. I can’t tell you how awesome polite is, when your child has trained you for epic pouting tantrums. It’s just so…. nice.
Learning how to play the game. Both literally and figuratively. He’s been playing a lot of games lately (thank you, oh long-suffering Corey), and he’s starting to do cool things like follow the rules. Next up is losing gracefully.
Asking us questions about our day. Yesterday as we sat down for dinner, Grey said, “So, daddy, how was your day at work?” and listened to the answer. So cool.
Not throwing fits. For example, every day twice a day (on work days) it is time for him to turn off his DS and give it to me (since he only gets it in the car). I was figuring we’d spend several weeks where he’d lose his DS every other day as he discovered that pitching a fit about turning over the DS = not getting it next car trip. But instead, I’ve had to do that about twice. He often turns it off of his own volition as we turn onto the correct street and says “Here mom!” in a cheerful voice. The MIND BOGGLES. Moreover, I will have you know that he defeated the big Penguin in Kirby. FYI.
Having opinions about his clothes. The other day he declared the blue striped shirt I presented him with as insufficiently awesome. He emerged from his room wearing:
-Red Spiderman socks
-Blue sweatpants with a red stripe
-A yellow Spongebob shirt where Spongebob is has Groucho glasses on that says “Incognito”.
He declared himself awesomely attired for the day.
Loving his brother. He loves to give Thane hugs. He asks to please play with Thane. He often manages to find a way to redirect Thane’s attention when the same toy is desired. He watches to make sure that Thane isn’t doing something forbidden. When Thane is fussy (see also: all the damn time lately), he will dance around and make silly faces and play peekaboo to try to make him laugh instead. What a joy to watch
So Grey is largely awesome.
And then Thane. Oh Thane. Oh my sweet son, my joy and my delight. I hope we all survive this stage. I remember this stage. This is the stage I hate. With passion. And prejudice. This is the throwing food and screaming phase, the I-want-to-open-the-kitchen-cabinets phase, the everything-goes-straight-in-the-mouth phase.
First, the good. After a month-long pause, Thane is acquiring and using new words again. I think I’ve figured out why I’m having such trouble tracking his language (well, other than the other person talking non-stop about “Banana cows with milk in their noses”). When Grey was this age, I’d get down at eye-height and say, “Grey, can you say nose? Nose? Can you say nose?” and Grey obliging would say “no”. Thane, on the other hand, is having none of that. I’ll get down and point at his protuberance and say, “Thane, can you say nose? Nose? Can you say nose?” Thane will give me a look of utter disgust, attempt to wrench my mouth open with his fingers so he can find out what’s in there, and say very distinctly and clearly, “Ma ma”. I don’t know how to interpret this. Does he not know what a nose is? Is he confused about the difference between HIS nose and MY nose? Or does he totally know what a nose is and how to say it, but lacks the dramatic motivation to deliver his line? Or is “ma ma” his way of telling me, uh, something? Anyway, the key is to listen in context for appropriate words. I have several witnesses who will vouch to the fact that when they gave Thane something (like a bit of turkey), he clearly said “Thank you”. (Or, you know, “day do” which is practically the same thing in 12 month old).
But language and lack there-of plays a huge role in why he’s so frustrating. He can’t tell me what he wants. It’s much harder for him to grab my full attention, in competition with his brother, when one person is saying something fascinating about “Banana cows moo coffee” and the other one is simply screeching unpleasantly. I have a sneaking suspicion that the solution to this might be baby sign, but I’m not really sure when we’d have time to teach it to him. It might be faster just to wait until he starts talking more.
The hard part about this stage is the screeching. He’s on the floor and screeching because he wants to be picked up. He’s happily conducting investigations into the pot cupboard and screeching because I remove him. He’s bored with Cheerios and screeching as he flings them with great prejudice to the floor. (This is the stage where having a dog is awfully handy!) He’s still hungry and screeching for some as-yet unknown desired food, which he then proceeds to discover has an interesting texture and squishes in his hand before flinging to join the cheerios. In his car seat, he flings aside his toys and screeches protest at his confinement. In my arms being held, he screeches and flings himself down with his considerable weight because he sees something he wants to play with. He hits my face, and screeches when I correct him. He sees his brother playing with something cool and screeches with desire. Changing his diaper or attempting to put clothes on him is a complete nightmare. He twists and writhes without ceasing. He’s REALLY STRONG and you have to apply considerable force if you’re going to physically control him. And he’s 12 months old, which means there’s no way to verbally control him. And he’s very focused, which means distraction techniques are not particularly effective with him. He turns and turns and turns (and screeches) as you try to strap him into his car seat. It’s completely exhausting.
By the time I hand him over to Rubertina in the morning (his new favorite thing is closing the door on my face because he loooooooves Abuela), I’m not particularly sad to be parting. How could anyone as cute as me ever be annoying?
The worst part is that his investigative and easily frustrated current stage make it very difficult to do things. Invite to a friend’s house? Grey will be lovely and behaved, but Thane is a small, destructive tornado. Trip to a museum? How will we deal with Thane? Playdate? Grey can go but I won’t inflict Thane on anyone. For example, I’d like to take Grey to the grocery store to buy the things our church is providing for the Thanksgiving food baskets. But I lack the courage and energy to take Thane too. This might mean it doesn’t happen.
When I was in labor with Thane, I found that prior experience was actually a hindrance. As I went into transition, I knew how much hurt and hard work was ahead of me, instead of simply going with the flow and taking each moment as it comes. I suspect I’m doing a similar thing now. If I recall, this difficult pre-verbal stage lasts nearly a year. Grey started getting awesome to do things with about the time of his third birthday. That’s two years from now. So instead of taking Thane as he is, I keep looking ahead to post-screeching phases. I think that doesn’t help me be a great parent to him now.
Writing this all out, I’m starting to think that we need to provide Thane with some more physical activities. Maybe that screeching is just excess energy that doesn’t have a good direction. The other thing is that maybe I SHOULD work with him with sign. I know a lot of people who have sworn by the calming effects of giving a child a way to communicate before they can coordinate their lips and tongue to the efforts. At worst, it might give us some one on one time that can be hard for him to acquire.
I love my curly-haired, crinkly-nosed Thane-boy. I’d like to enjoy spending time with him. One of my delights is when he’s both loving and playing. He’ll play with a toy, come over for a hug leaning his curly head into my chest, and then after a calm moment go back to his play. What a joy!
Well, now that you’ve gotten through all this (ah, how you wish I had an editor!), I have a reward for you. Here are some pictures of our family this Fall!
The way it never wasThe other day we walked down to The Book Oasis (sidenote: how cool is it that we can walk to a local used bookstore?). We were bringing in some old books to trade for some new ones. On the shelf, we noticed one of the Illustrated Classics. It was Ivanhoe. It had pictures. We figured, “Why not?”
Grey loved it. It’s hard to figure out how much he’s actually GETTING from the books, but he begged to read it. He ate it up. Then, when we’d finished reading it together, we got the old Ivanhoe movie and watched it together. (This has been mostly a Daddy and Grey thing.) And again, he loved it. He talked about Ivanhoe and King Richard and Robin Hood.
So we got another one: Treasure Island. There was the treasure map, the Black Spot, Ben Gun, a skeleton used to line up the compass, buried gold, and of course Long John Silver with that parrot on his squinty-peg-legged-salty-taking self. In Treasure Island, boys are treated like men, in the way men wish they were treated.
Between them Ivanhoe and Treasure Island ARE the archtypes of Knights and Castles, and Pirates. They are the stories from whence all the inaccurate hoopla flows. What a delight! What a touchstone of boyhood to encounter these books and begin daydreaming in the way that boys have daydreamed for 150 years now of days that never were — but the world would’ve been a more interesting place if they had been.
Last night, Adam and Grey watched the old Disney version of Treasure Island. Do you see a trend? Illustrated Classics = Have an Old Disney Version appropriate for young people.
I don’t know about Grey, but Adam and I are hooked. Next up: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Or maybe the Three Musketeers (since we already HAVE that old movie).
I had this brief moment as I went on my Illustrated Classic buying orgy where I was like, “But these are abridged! What if I’m teaching him to read the easy version and he’ll never stretch himself to read the real version?”
Then I remembered that my son is 4. Somehow, he’ll survive the abridged version. In fact, no way he has the patience for the unabridged version. So let’s give him good stuff to daydream about. Let’s teach him to love literature. Let’s show him that the old that is strong does not wither, and that a story can be good and still not have action figures available for purchase at Toys R Us. And best of all, let’s get to reading some good stuff at night, so I never have to read another L’il Critter story to THAT child, at least!
Seriously, when did he get old enough to build towers?
Grey: believes that anything can become a joke with a combination of three elements: “knock knock”, chicken, and Barack Obama
Thane: Somehow learned how to build with blocks and spent half an hour last night amazing me with his Mega-block-abilities
Grey: has finally found a lovey. It’s a $4 white rabbit named “Robby” that was in his Easter basket. Robby did not do well with being washed. Grey will tell you about how Robby’s a baby, but now he’s old (with his bedraggled fur). Why do children not fall in love with their high quality stuffed animals?
Thane: likes to eat corn. One kernel at a time. After carefully inspecting each kernel to verify that yes, this is a piece of corn. His fastidiousness in this regard would be more understandable if he didn’t consider grass an aperitif and leaves a delightful dinner.
Grey: has decided his favorite food in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD OMG is the spaghetti & meatballs I made for dinner on Sunday. Canned sauce (with onions & green peppers added) and IKEA meatballs. But hey, it’s nutritionally slightly superior to Mac & Cheese, so no whining.
Thane: is too busy playing to play with meeeeee! I am sad about this and want to bop noses to make him laugh.
Grey: Learned some good skills on a playdate last night, about asking for what you want, compromising, and talking people into sharing instead of sulking.
Mommy: wishes she were hanging out with her guys right now. Playing 'together'
As my eldest son enters into the age of memory, I often wonder what he will recall in his adulthood, and what parts of our life will slip into the background of memory. Periodically, I hope he won’t remember some things — the times I lose my temper or fail to listen. But oh, I hope he remembers this Halloween. More, I hope that forever after, when he thinks of Halloween the imprint on his imagination will be from this Halloween. It was perfect. I can’t imagine a better one. This is joy
Halloween morning started wonderfully. It was an unusually warm and seasonable day, with fast-moving clouds and downright balmy temperatures. While his father and brother slept, Grey and I wandered around our neighborhood, chasing a wind-driven balloon through crunching autumn leaves and chatting with neighbors. Eating to keep up their strength
Once the eldest and youngest boys were up, we went to the Middlesex Fells Reservation to go on a hike. We hiked through the autumnal forest, stopping for a snack to reward our efforts, and finally (just past the Doleful Pond) found the playground. The boys laughed with joy on the swings, chased each other through the grass and showed great bravery at the slides. Swings! Slide!
We went home for lunch and I got a massage. Ok, maybe that wasn’t part of THEIR great day but it was part of MINE.
I made cookies in the kitchen, and when the time came, we woke both boys up from their naps, poured them into their costumes, put a bowl of candy on the front stoop, and headed to our neighbor’s house. We’re completely lucky to have really neat neighbors, with kids that all line up. There’s three boys in the older generation, and then three babies — Thane is the oldest of the babies. The older boys played with sounds that made it seem like at least two of them were in the processes of being killed, Thane bopped between groups, and the littler babies focussed their energies on looking adorable. The grownups had conversation and shared tips and discussed the goings-on of our neighborhood and our busy schedules. Candy was doled out.
The kids miraculously all together
Fast clouds crossed the full moon in the warm autumn night air when the boys headed out for their trick-or-treating. The swirl of leaves flickered across the warm glow of jack-o-lanterns and porch lights. As a group, they braved doorbells and held out bags and buckets to receive their chocolatey loot. They returned triumphant from their quests, and generous in their plenty — sharing the fine fruits of their labors with hungry parents. The littlest boy went to bed, and all the babies, and then those grownups of us left got together and played Rock Band while our older sons (can you believe it?) entertained themselves without injury in another room.
When we finally put our chocolate-smudged eldest child into his bed, he was happy to find sleep beneath his nightlights.
Today was the day of our well-child pediatrician appointments. I’d been hoping my husband could come, but he had an offsite meeting this morning so it was me.
First, the stats.
Grey is 38 lbs (70th percentile), 41 inches (70th percentile) and has a BMI of 15.9 (60th percentile). So apparently vomiting twice a day for a month hasn’t hurt his growth. That’s actually a bit on the short side, percentage wise, for him historically so I suspect he may be getting ready for a growth spurt.
Thane is 23lbs 1 oz (55th percentile) and 31.5 inches (90th percentile). I’m actually surprised that his weight is so low. The kid feels like someone stuck lead bars in his diapers. Or maybe that’s just because he squirms so much.
Both boys got vaccines. Grey is, sadly, old enough to anticipate the shots with fear. Happily, he got the nasal H1N1 vaccine. Also the seasonal flu and the standard 4 year vaccines. Sadly, there was no H1N1 available for Thane, him being too young for the nasal vaccine. I need to bring both boys back in four weeks for a flu shot booster, so if I can’t get him H1N1 before then, he’ll get it then. Now if only I could find even a seasonal flu vaccine for myself! I tried and so far I’ve failed.
Developmentally, both boys are fine, which is not surprisingly. There was actually a _moment_ though. Grey has been reading to us for a while. But of course, at some point we’ve read him all the books, or read them to Thane. So it’s very likely that he knows the books from context. (Last night he read us “Pajama Time”.) He can do the Boyntons. He can do Hop on Pop. While I was talking to the doctor about Thane, he picked up a book. When I finally took note of him, he was reading Go Dog Go to himself. Correctly. With even some interpretation in his reading.
He’s never seen that book before in his life, as far as I know.
So that’s it. I’m calling it. Grey is a very beginning reader, of course, but he is officially a reader.
And Thane. Oh my Thane. After my love-song of yesterday, I suppose it would be inevitable you’d be a pill today. I think I miss my baby already. Thane is at that age. The age that you block out of your memory. The “My only goal in life is complete destruction and to eat the cat’s food”. The age where desire outstrips ability and ability outstrips judgement. Every room he enters in our not-badly-childproofed house shows clearly that he has been there, with the detritus scattered throughout. He does not yet know or respect “no”. Today I got angry tears that he couldn’t play with my laptop.
I found labor with Thane harder because I knew what I was in for and could dread it better. I’m afraid this is a similar situation. It takes a long long long time to teach a child to obey your verbal instructions. We’re just starting. Grey is finally, for example, BEGINNING to clean up his own messes. So that means I have three more years of not just cleaning Thane’s, but worse yet teaching him to clean up his own.
A year ago at about 9:30 in the morning, in a room crowded with nursing students and onlookers, my midwife placed a white-covered, howling baby boy on my belly. Through my own tears of joy, I found myself swearing fealty to him, telling him I loved him over and over as they wiped him off and I pulled him up to my arms.
There are moments that stick with you. He will never remember, and I will never forget.
Nathaniel Augustus Flynn — my sweet Thane-boy. What a gift you are, and what a gift our year together has been.
The general outlines of what a child learns in their first year of life are the same. They lift their head. They smile at you for the first time. They reach out to play with a toy. They roll over. They sit up. They stand. They crawl. They walk. They call you by name. For a healthy child, the outlines are the same — like lines in a coloring book. But oh the vivid differences that show up!
Thane is my book-reader and belly-sleeper. He’s a nose-crincher and cat-lover. Thane is my thumb-sucker. Thane is my independent son. Thane is my patient child. I hear him tell himself stories in the morning in his crib. When he plays, he’ll every-so-often come over and grab on to your leg, lay his cheek against you and suck his thumb. This lasts for a few seconds of love and reassurance, and then he is back to his play again. At night when he goes to sleep (which he does like an absolute dream, night after night), he refuses to lie down until he’s turned on his crib bubbler. If you turn it on, he’ll look reproachful, turn it off, and turn it back on again. Car rides are far more peaceful than I remember them being at 1, as he gazes out the window, reads his books, and removes his socks.
Thane is, I think, destined to be a gentle giant. For all his quieter ways (and quieter is a comparison — he’s not quiet), when Thane makes a decision he’s very hard to stop. I fear dirty diapers, because Thane twists like a muscular corkscrew on the changing table. He’s far more interested in the “Ba! Ba!” (book) over there than lying down! He is so strong, it’s hard to credit.
Thane follows the cats through the house and eats their catfood if not supervised. The other day in just a moment’s inattention, I came to find him drinking (surprisingly skillfully) out of the cat’s water dish while eating their kibble as though it was popcorn. The cats were rather put out.
Thane is persistent in his skills. I watched him try no fewer than 20 times to both put the Weeble on the Weeble-horse AND spin it, until he finally mastered the effect he desired. He was patient, thorough and unhurried.
When Thane smiles, his noses crinkles up.
Thane is being cautious with language. We will hear a word once or twice and then it will disappear. The consistent words are “Book”, “Mama” and “Dada”. When I ask him to say his own name, “Can you say Thane?” he gives me a reproachful look and says with great emphasis “Mama”. I’m sorry son. I like your name. I know that only native English speakers over the age of 7 can say it, but I still like it.
Thane loves loves loves water. He has no fear of it. He loved swimming this summer. He loves taking baths. He will stay in the water until his skin is blue and he’s all shivers, and weep bitter tears when he has to come out.
Thane gets this amazing expression on his face when he’s trying to explore something by tasting it. I’ve seen him bring his mouth down to experience the busy ball bopper or the carpet or the bathwater, with this same intent expression.
Thane and his brother get along wonderfully, although they do still seem to inhabit largely separate worlds. Grey makes Thane laugh with the least thing he does. Although they periodically have their differences over toy-possession, Thane and Grey seem to really like each other.
Thane learned to walk so he could carry toys in his hands as he wandered from room to room. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason he saw a point.
Thane’s favorite food in the world is cheese. He also loves yogurt, but wants to feed himself. He loves bits of meat and enjoys gnawing on pizza crust. He’ll inhale a pair of fried eggs. He finds Cheerios vaguely insulting and expresses his disapproval by sending them all to their fate on the floor.
Thane enjoys fingerpainting with the milk from his bottles.
Oh Thane. How I love your golden curls, your disproportionate smile, your crinkled nose. One year has been wonderful. May we be mother and son for many, many more.
A lot of parenting and parenting advice revolves around saying no. No, you cannot open that cupboard. No, you cannot watch tv right now. No, you may not hit your brother on the head with a book, even if he’s laughing. No, you cannot have a lollipop. No, not chocolate milk either. No no no no no.
That’s part of the job. The kid’s job is figuring out what they can and cannot do. Flying – nope. Jumping on my bed – only at my house. Building with tinkertoys – yes. Your job is to make sure that the results of their experimentation are non-fatal and comply with the rules of your house.
As a parent, you get in the habit of saying no. And you spend a lot of time working with your children to handle “no” in an acceptable way. You start with tantrums and crying (that’s where we are with Mr. I Find Cat Food Delicious Thane), move on to (in our case) stomping and pouting, and eventually try to get towards a graceful “ok”.
In the process, you stop remembering WHY you say no. You get in the habit of no. You work so hard on acceptable post-no behaviors, that you forget that your job as a parent is NOT actually to make sure your children don’t get anything they want. It is, actually, ok to say yes to things they want, especially when they ask for them in an appropriate manner.
That may sound like an “oh duh” but that was one of my revelations recently. I’d gotten in the habit of “no”, for no good reason. Really, is it going to kill my son to get that 15 calorie candy cane? (Let’s not discuss how I still have candy canes for Christmas, eh? It actually supports my thesis that I don’t end up giving my children nearly as many treats as they’d like.) I like giving my son treats, but I don’t actually like letting him have them.
So now I’m trying to teach Grey how to ask for things in a way which delight the asked and are more likely to result in him getting what he wants. I’m trying to teach him effective, polite strategies for obtaining his heart’s desire. Obviously, he can’t always have it “Mom, may I please, please, pleeeeeeeaaaaase withsugarontop have my own car?”. But the goal of parenting is not to convince children never to want anything, and it’s not to make sure they know their desires will never be fulfilled. I need to be teaching my son good ways to get what he wants (within reason) in a way that is pleasant and satisfying for all involved — and to say “thank you” afterwards.
I’d like to know who’s brilliant idea it was for my entire family to have their birthdays in a 5 week period right before Mocksgiving and Christmas. Sheesh. How did that happen?
But hey! This weekend, we held a joint birthday party for Adam and Thane! We had the iconic baby-encounters-frosting-for-the-first-time moments.
You mean I get cake? With sugar? Channeling the festive birthday spirit Let's see what this squishy stuff tastes like... OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG
Adam and I had a philosophical discussion on whether a one year old would even notice that they were having a birthday. I discovered that I have deep-seated equality anxiety. I’m a middle child. My baby brother is six years younger than me, my big sister two years older. I remember that my parents were very careful to make sure that especially my sister and I were treated the same. I recall that they asked HER forbearance when they let ME drive to high school, since she had never been allowed to. I imagined this scene where an impressionable 9 year old Thane is looking through his baby book, perhaps while 11 year old Grey reviews his. There, at Grey’s party, is the Elmo cake, the balloons, the rejoicing. A sad, blank page in Thane’s baby book, testament to second-child syndrome. Thane becomes emotionally devastated due to this evidence of my lax attention to his young self, and eventually leaves home to become a stylite monk in the Nevada desert. All because I couldn’t whip up a few streamers for his birthday.
Funny how your own issues show up, eh? I never once remember feeling like I was any less loved for being the second born. But I’m terrified that Thane might, for the slightest moment, feel that way.
Anyway, happily this fate has been avoided by this party! Now if he wants monastic life, he can at least join one of the normal orders, you know, Benedectines or Carmelites or somethin’.
While I didn’t stoop so low as to have a Halloween/Birthday party (yet… I can’t imagine that with a birthday on the 28th that won’t happen eventually), we also celebrated my husband’s natal day in the way he likes best: board games. From about 6:30 until about 12:30, they played. Since I was on boy-duty for a good portion and then somehow ended up being schooled in Mario Kart Wii, I can’t report on the games. But I can tell you there was one that sounded terrifying: it actually has a docket. And a senate. And you negotiate legislation. They apparently thought it was awesome. How Adam celebrates
I had one of those weekends that should’ve been awesome. Saturday we drove to New Hampshire, as planned, to the Fall Festival at the Shaker Museum. We did have fun, but it was about 15 degrees colder (and windy!) than it had been at home. The Festival was rather smaller than I expected. Our tour guide seemed to have a highly unsympathetic view of the Shakers, and spent most of the time on various scandals within the order instead of the cool things about it. Still, there were great points. Grey spun a piece of yarn from wool he helped card. Thane danced to a live band singing “Mountain Dew” (yet another sign that Shaker influence had, er, waned). Grey and daddy rolled down a tall hill they climbed together. Thane investigated bright autumn leaves. The wild apple cider was tart and brilliant.
Grey climbed and rolled down the hill behind us
Then to the State Park. All I can say about that is apparently “closing the weekend of Columbus Day” means closing BEFORE the weekend, not after it’s done. No poking sticks into a fire for us.
Grey didn’t vomit Sunday at church, and we were given some awesome beef barley stew. (I kept saying that I’d gotten pregnant just for the care packages. I didn’t even have to get knocked up this time!) I even found some time to sit on the couch and watch the Red Sox vs. the Angels while Adam played baseball in the backyard with our eldest. I watched the Sox come within one strike of getting to game four… twice. I watched Papelbon give up his first post-season hit, and do his first postseason blown save to end the Red Sox year. Next year, it’s entirely possible that there will be only one man left from that miracle bunch of idiots in 2004: our own Greek God of Walks. But some of the players suffered who may leave have been my favorites: Jason Varitek. David Ortiz. Tim Wakefield (who’s been playing for the Sox since I was in high school) can hardly walk. Maybe Mike Lowell? Getting swept sucked, and it’s a long way until March.
Then I made dinner, which turned out ok, and bread pudding, which turned out ok. Followed by bills, which turned out ok.
Monday, I took a vacation day. Grey’s preschool was closed. Adam was off work. I packed us into the car for the second time this weekend to Experience Autumn on a bright, brisk day. We went to Honeypot Farms in Stowe. It was a zoo. You were hemmed in at every corner, denuded of your cash and caught in a crush of crowds. I don’t know how else they could’ve managed the hordes that had descended, but it was much less bucolic reconnecting with nature and much more standing-in-line. Plus, we hadn’t brought a singe Thane-conveyance-device so we had to carry him the entire time. But. Yet. The skies were brilliant blue. We ate Empire apples picked with our own hands in the shade of the trees which had borne them. We had cider donuts crisp from the cooking. Grey saw a pig for the first time. It was not without consolation. Both Thane and Grey love apples
When we came home, I’d had dinner cooking, so I let Adam (who was feeling run down) veg while I took the boys to the park. They were FANTASTIC. Grey played wonderful imaginary games with other kids and ran around and was chased by dinosaurs and swam in the imaginary ocean. But on the way home, he refused to come. When I insisted it was time to go home, he pitched one of his most epic fits to date. I actually had to call daddy to please come rescue me and carry him home. I put him to bed without dinner because I couldn’t get him to stop swinging at me. I’m quite sure he was tired past bearing and hungry – those were my fault. But it devolved so fast, I didn’t see it coming. You always wonder, thinking back, how you could’ve used humor or something and made it work out. He was so wonderful and then he was such a stinker.
Dinner, which I prepared with great hope ahead of time, was so-so. After the boys were in bed, I celebrated by losing at Odin’s Ravens.
After that, I realized it was my father-in-law’s birthday and called my mother-in-law to let her know I was thinking of her as she suffers through missing him.
I spent the time after that holding Thane while he screamed for 1/2 hour until either the Tylenol took or the constipation eased.
I woke up this morning to a dark, cold world.
Moments of glory, joy and memory all packed around by the dismal and drear. I suppose that’s the way life goes.
It’s a dark, windy, rainy mid-October day. I’m listening to a Pandora station that seems to be taken entirely from my own iPod library. But still, it’s good. It’s just a little, well, sad. All the songs of love, loss, home, journeying, hope, despair — with strong overtones of a capella.
In addition to writing a complex query and laying out (yet another) pdf report, I’m thinking about what to do with a long weekend. It looks like the weather has a chance at brisk and glorious. Here’s what I’m thinking about for a glorious Saturday…
We’ll rise earlyish. I’ll let Grey finally finish the Avatar episode he’s started 3 times this week, and I play with Thane in his room. Thane loves, loves his bedroom in a way Grey never has. He’ll bop the Weebles down the slide, crawl between stacks of books, and then imperious hobble over to me, a Weeble-princess in one hand “Horn to Toes and In Between” in the other and announce “Boo! Boo!” We’ll eventually pile our sons into the car, carefully loaded with snacks and entertainments and drive North through the Merrimack River valley. Grey will be confused, wondering if we’re going to daycare on a Saturday.
We’ll pass through the lands of concrete onto smaller and smaller roads, through impossibly picturesque New England towns with white steeples and lots of acrimonious town politics, until we get to the Shaker Museum. Grey will get up close and personal with a livestock. We’ll stand in a room built by hands dedicated to equality and pacifism. No one lives there now. Perhaps there will be a hayride. I’ll feel torn between permitting my youngest to explore his world and forbidding him to explore cow-patties. I’ll buy a token of my memory of this period of unworldiness and optimism.
Last time I was there, my mother bought me a pin that was also a vase. It could hold a pansy — called heartsease — in water on your chest. It was stolen from me in a burglary we experienced on September 11, 2009.
Unless fortune truly smiles at us, we’ll have to leave when one or more boys hits too-tired. We’ll put them in the car, hoping for a nap. The child who desperately needs to sleep will not. We’ll drive to our next destination. 5 minutes before we arrive, the child will fall asleep and silence will descend on the car for the first time all day. We’ll drive in circles around our destination, afraid to stop until just a little more sleep has been obtained.
We’ll go to Moose Brook State park. The boys will play on the playground, swing in the swings. We’ll play with the great stomp-rocket Grey got for his birthday. As the shadows loom long, we’ll get a campsite and build a campfire. I imagine sitting around the fire, watching embers fly up to the stars, singing songs together and telling stories. I imagine putting our sticky, sweet, sleepy children into the car and silently returning to our daily lives back in the suburbs, flying down thick freeways in time to be at church the next morning.
Thus I imagine. I have enough experience to know that it’ll be nothing like this. It will be better. It will be worse. There will be a moment most sublime. There will be several that will be quite banal. I give it 50/50 odds that Grey throws up at least once.
On a melancholy autumn day, I think about these days and moments. This is my sons’ childhood — their one and only. It’s desperately brief. You get one shot at being a child, and one shot at giving the people you created their childhood. Will Grey remember this trip on a melancholy autumn, some day 30 years from now? Will these journeys be the touchstone for him? When the smells of October waft through his office window, which of these memories will pop unbidden to his mind? Which cobalt sky will define perfection in cobalt skies for my sons? Will he remember the laughter? The hot dogs? The feeling that the world is a bigger place than he realized?
There’s a Simon and Garfunkel song (“And the Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall”) that says “I don’t know what is real, I can’t touch what I feel.” I sometimes think about how few of the things I touch are real. When is the last time you ran your hands across the bark of a tree? Do you remember how silky soft the inner petals of a dandylion are? I sometimes fear that so much our world is created, constructed and extruded that my sons will never touch what is real, to know it when they feel it. I suppose that’s a funny thing to fear. But my roots still reach down to the water table of the wild. I drank great draughts in my youth. I can only hope to help my sons know that it is there if they choose to reach for it.
My Truant Pen 