Babe in the Woods

Danielle's account of her family's homesteading attempts in rural Colorado.

[babeandthewoods]

If you don't have kids, please read this (and if you do, please do, too)

You know what really pisses me off?

People who don’t have kids, who have no idea what it’s like to have kids but think they do. People who think it’s not that complicated or that different from life without kids, who think it’s not hard, or who expect you to live your life in the exact same way as before you were a parent. I know I just covered lot of different – though related – areas, but really, they’re all out there and they’re all super, super irritating.

 Here’s a good one” “what do you mean you can’t go on a weekend trip 400 miles away? Just pack a few things, get everyone to the airport and we’ll fly. You can get a babysitter at the hotel.”

Or, “you should bring your kids skiing. You just buy their ski stuff and sign them up for ski school. Then the adults can sit in the lodge with hot toddies all day.”

They think that by mentioning your kids or giving you permission to bring them along, that somehow makes it a) easier for you to manage the immense logistical nightmare of taking kids anywhere, let alone on an actual trip or, frankly, any outing longer than two hours b) somehow not utterly exhausting, c) something you can afford, or d) something you want to do at all.

Well it doesn’t and it’s not. OK?

 Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with people who choose not to become parents; I was nearly one of them. It’s just that – for the love of God – don’t presume to know about, have an opinion, or feel any right to pass judgment on something you know nothing about.

  I admit that before I had kids I was probably one of those people who just didn’t get it, and I probably caused annoyance, consternation or heartache to others. And for that I’m sorry. But please, people, get a clue: parenting a little kid or kids is pretty much all-consuming, all day and in many cases all night. You either have to pay someone else, or do that shit yourself. And most of us these days can’t afford to pay. Of course, we don’t want to either because, unlike previous generations, we see our kids as worthwhile human beings and we want to guide, teach and have fun with them. Parents’ lives and priorities are totally altered in the early years and that’s OK. It’s hard, but it’s our job, and it’s worth it.

  For the record, here are another few gems I could do without:

“I never get to speak to you alone anymore and you always let your kids interrupt.” 

“You’re a stay-home mom—that must mean you’re rich.”

 “Staying at home with kids is easy—I mean, you’re not working, right?”

“Let’s meet at 10pm in a city an hour away, catch a movie, go to a bar and then you can be home by 2am. That’s not that late, right?”

  All that said, there are a few precious, childless souls totally well-schooled in how to be a friend to people with kids. The aunties, I will call them. They are considerate, helpful and make your life easier. They don’t make demands on you as a friend in those years when they know your life is at its utterly most intense. They don’t invite you do to things that they know damn well you can’t do. They talk to and play with your kids and see your kids, as you do, as people. God bless the aunties.

Everybody else: please learn from the aunties or just shut the hell up. 

[babeandthewoods]

I'm cuter when I sleep

I asked my son who he wanted to put him to sleep tonight, me or Daddy? "Mama," he replied. "OK," I said. 

Then he added, "because you're cuter when you sleep and you don't snore."

The last part is definitely true...

[babeandthewoods]

Who's the easier one?

If you trawl the internet in search of such things as, “number of words spoken by nine-month-old” you will find plenty of discussion on the subject even though the official sources say that most children don’t utter their first clear words until a year or later. You will also find that a sizable number of parents believe their children to be geniuses—which, need I add?, can’t possibly be true.

 That doesn’t preclude my kids from being geniuses, but I really can’t say one way or the other at this point. They’re three-and-a-half and just-turned-ten months. There’s a lot in there yet to be discovered.

So far my son has not shown much spatial genius—as evidenced by our conversations that go something like this:

Me: (Pointing)“Can you pick up that toy/towel/dish/shoe/diaper over there?”

Him: (Walking in the opposite direction) “Where?”

Me: “There! To the right! Look where I’m pointing!”

Him: (Turning around in a complete circle, totally missing the object) “Here?”

Me: “No!” (Getting frustrated)

Him: “Mama, I can’t find it… oh, this?”

Me: “Yes!” (Sigh of relief, thinking I should have just done it myself)

 Maybe that sense will develop over time.

 What I do know is that both my kids are verbally precocious. My son said his first word at 12 months—not necessarily early, but not bad for a boy. His first word, “hot,” was followed by a second, “uh-oh,” and a third, “ba” (ball). Then the kid was off and running. Within a few months he had a sizable vocabulary and was stringing words together. He spoke in full sentences by 16 months and has been talking pretty much nonstop since that first “hot.”

In the past few weeks my daughter has started saying words that, at first, I thought couldn’t possibly be what they seemed. Until she started saying them over and over in the right contexts … “Mama,” “Dada,” “nur-nur” (nurse), and “hi.” The other day my husband said she uttered a loud and clear, “No!” – a word she’s been hearing more and more as she becomes both more curious (about electrical cords, for instance) and mobile (she’s everywhere these days).

 I’d forgotten the joys of teaching language to a baby. They’re sponges with little brains on overdrive as they develop and learn at an amazing rate; also, I’m naturally pedantic so it’s a good combination.

On another note, it looks like nature is in the midst of a switcharoo on me—all this time I’ve been complaining about my wonderful, smart, sweet, affectionate, sometimes truly impossible, high-intensity three-year-old. He’s been so much more challenging to me in his three years than his baby sister. Yet, here she is, growing and becoming a little person with strong desires and opinions (not verbally expressed yet, but soon enough). She’s much more physical than he was at this age, and constantly on the move. Rolling; climbing on top of and over me; (nearly) crawling over the edge of the bed; pulling up on anything and everything and nearly or actually banging her head on tables and chairs in the process; heading right for the things I least want her to play with (shoes, the furnace); grabbing toys; pulling hair and jewelry; lunging out of my arms from standing height when there’s something interesting on the ground. The list goes on.

 I’m on my toes with her these days. Don’t even get me started on the wrestling match that is changing diapers.

 Yet he, my son, has been a dream: cooperative but independent when I need him to be, fun and playful. His imaginative play is getting more interesting, more involved. Yesterday we had a great time combining liquids to make “potions” and tasting the combinations of mango juice, soymilk, salt and sugar, for example. It was, surprisingly, pretty good. Overall – despite some weaker moments – he’s a generous and responsible older brother.

I guess Spirit or nature, or whatever is at work here, has some wisdom in all this. My son and daughter need to trade off being the “easy one” so we, the parents, don’t go totally insane and so that they each get the experience of ease and harmony with us. Family dynamics are complicated, God knows. I’m making mistakes daily, but doing my best to raise children who are compassionate with themselves and others, who know how to be in relationship and practice independence. Above all, I want my children to know they are loved and that I believe in them. May it be so.

[babeandthewoods]

Halloween in September

My son and husband visited the seasonal store, Spirit Halloween, and bought a few trinkets and decorations on Labor Day. It was blazing hot outside, still summer by all accounts. But there they were.

We started checking out kids’ Halloween books from the library I’d say about … oh, a month ago. We’re warming up, flexing our Halloween muscles. We bought the whole family’s costumes already—my husband and I finally decided to put our money where our mouth is and buy ourselves some real costumes. Normally we’re too cheap (and not crafty at all) so we throw together something from our closets—something clever, no doubt, but that people don’t seem to get or appreciate because they’re not actually costumes. But this year (and for all foreseeable Halloweens to come) he will be the vintage Batman from the 1960s TV show and I will be a beautiful harvest witch. Our son is Spiderman, but probably only for this year, and the baby is an adorable little pumpkin.

 We’re planning our outside décor. We’ve listened to the Monster Mash. We talk a good deal about the holiday; it’s literally the high point of our year.

 So yes, in case you still had any doubt, we are crazy for Halloween in my house. I hope we don’t get burned out on it before it’s even here. Next up: Halloween walks, pumpkin patches, It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, autumn foods. Good stuff.

[babeandthewoods]

The things they say

My son was eating a chocolate cupcake brought over by our next-door neighbor. It was his girlfriend’s birthday yesterday and I guess he thought it was a good consolation for us having to put up with semi-drunk twenty-somethings singing an extra loud and extra long “Happy Birthday.” I guess he was right.

 Anyway, my son asked for milk with his cupcake, though he usually asks for soymilk. He had a dairy allergy, now outgrown, but still hasn’t gotten used to the taste of most dairy. He won’t eat cheese or drink milk. Only very recently has he begun to accept butter as a substitute when I run out of butter substitute. Strangely enough, ice cream and frosting were pretty easy tastes to acquire.

I thought he might be asking me for cow’s milk so he could give it a try. Though I don’t drink milk, he sees Daddy drinking it frequently. In fact, I buy a gallon of milk every week just for my husband. And that’s whole milk—I don’t believe in lowfat or nonfat dairy.

“Do you want to try regular milk?” I asked him. “No way!” he said. “Soymilk please.”

“OK,” I replied. “But you know who loves milk?” (This sometimes works because he adores and idolizes my husband.)

“Who?” he asked.

“Daddy,” I replied, adding, “he drinks lots and lots of it!”

“Oh,” he said. “Because he wants to be fat?” 

[babeandthewoods]

Expletives, delete, delete

You know that someone has mastered swearing when he or she goes beyond the usual array of words or their usual order and starts ad-libbing, creating unique, or even signature swearing mashups. I’m not going to give examples here. This is a family(-ish) kind of blog. But you know what I mean.

We do a decent job at home of keeping the lid on swearing. Compared to his mouth before we had kids, my husband is squeaky clean now. That’s not to say that an occasional thing doesn’t slip from either or both of us, because we all know that it does. But beware what you say around a three-year-old because it is bound, bound I say, to come back and bite you in the ass.

 The other day my son witnessed something – I can’t even remember what anymore – for which he felt surprise (even a hint of shock), glee and deep appreciation. “Holy Crap Moly!” he exclaimed.

 And while I can’t recall ever saying that, I’ve uttered the root combinations more than once. My laughter probably didn’t do much to discourage him from saying it again. Damn … oops, I mean awww shucks. 

I suppose it could have been a lot worse.

[babeandthewoods]

Like Father Like Son

Over the weekend my husband and son took the train an hour and a half north of here to spend the night at the grandparents’ house in Orange County. The baby and I joined them the next day. My husband put my son in charge of packing his own things for the trip. He has a little Batman backpack that’s roomy enough for a change of clothes, a diaper for overnight, his toothbrush and toothpaste and a thermos of water.

 He went into his room to seriously set about the task of packing and when I came in a few minutes later to check his progress I found him stuffing another shirt into an overfull bag. “What did you put in there?” I asked, somewhat amused.

“Thousands of stuff!” he declared. “Shirts, pants, shorts, pajamas, long-sleeved shirts and thousands and thousands of diapers! Now I'm going to pack toys.”

So I think it’s safe to say that my son’s an over-packer. It’s funny, because my husband is a severe minimalist when it comes to this stuff. For an overnight trip he’ll take a toothbrush, maybe, along with his phone, keys and wallet. He figures he’ll just wear the same clothes and shoes again the next day and he doesn’t have a beauty regimen, so to speak.

 I guess some habits run in families and others don’t. It’s a relief to know they have at least one difference because in most other ways – ways that really count – they’re almost identical. Before having kids, I couldn't really fathom how my children -- or son, in this case -- would share so many of his traits, both endearing and maddening. I love my husband fiercely--don't get me wrong. But to have two of him? Now that's really something...

[babeandthewoods]

Winking at breakfast

My son was sitting at his breakfast table eating a waffle when he looked at me with squinty eyes and a nose wrinkled with effort and concentration. He half-blinked over and over. It was much cuter than it sounds.

‘What are you doing?” I asked.

“Winking at you!” he said. “Do you know another way to wink?”

“No.”

 “Like this,” he announced and covered one eye with his hand—sort of like a human eye-patch.

That kid is thinking outside the box.

[babeandthewoods]

False Modesty

I’m teaching a little yoga again at a lovely local studio. It’s tranquil and bright, the students are interested in real yoga. We chant OM and do pranayama—it’s been a breeze teaching these students because they’ve already learned a lot from other teachers. I’m happy I found this place and that I have the opportunity to teach there.

One thing has me laughing, though: the teacher manual says that this is a “modest studio” and that management wants everyone who walks through the door to be comfortable there. They want for students to know that yoga is not, ultimately, about fitness or having a nice body, and certainly that a yoga studio is not a meat market. I’m totally on board with that. But when I read that, I wondered what it meant in practical terms—would I be expected to wear unflattering, baggy sweatpants while teaching? Yoga tops often show a hint of cleavage—would that be frowned upon?

As it turns out, here is their definition of modesty: female teachers should always wear a shirt or tank-top over their sports bra, and male teachers should not teach bare-chested. (??!!)

I will have no problem following this rule. In all my time teaching yoga I never once considered taking off my shirt and teaching in a bra. So I’m covered, so to speak.

 Gotta love California.

[babeandthewoods]

Wrestle-Nursing

Whoever said that rocking a baby to sleep is like wrestling a twenty-pound bag of snakes was on to something.

  I don’t rock my baby to sleep these days but I still nurse several times a day and night; my baby and I have developed a technique I call wrestle-nursing. It goes something like this:

  I lie down dutifully on my side and pull my baby in close. She latches on for 30 seconds tops, then rolls to her tummy, pushes up and crawls away. I stick out my leg or arm to prevent her from crawling off the bed.

  If I were to guess what is going on in that baby brain of hers, this is what it would sound like:

  “Nursing with Mama, yum!”

“Oh, what’s that sound? Better go check it out … oooh, it looks like big brother is doing something cool.”

“But I want to make sure Mama is still there, so let me turn around and grin at her… there she is! Hi Mama! Wait… what’s that round, soft thing? A boobie! I haven’t nursed in a while; here, let me lunge at it.”

Suckle, suckle…

30 seconds later: “Nursing with Mama, yum!”

“Wait, what’s that thing on the other side of Mama? Better climb over her and check it out…”

  Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

  Of course, I have no idea what’s really going on in that baby brain of hers and no doubt she’s not thinking in sentences the way I (sometimes) do. But this is exactly how it goes each time we nurse during the day (at night she’s mellower and nurses in a totally different way). I’m sure she’s getting some milk and nourishment, and certainly a sense of connection from this time spent crawling, squirming, lunging, grabbing, climbing on or over me and occasionally scratching me in the face or pulling my hair.

  I spend the time lying bare-breasted on my back and kind of just let her have at me. Of course I’m vigilant that she can breathe when she plunges herself face down onto my chest, and I always have an arm, a leg and an eye out to catch her before she crawls right off the bed—there have been some narrow misses. But no doubt about it, it’s work. In short, it’s not the quiet half hour with a tranquil baby and a book on the nursing pillow of days past.

  This baby gets more and more active every minute. Things – choking hazards, outlets and tippy chairs – that were out of her reach just days before are suddenly fair game and it’s up to me to stay ahead of her. All this time I’ve been complaining to people about how hard it is to go places with the two kids because they both need me so much, just in different ways. The baby needs constant holding and a lot of nursing, the boy wants me to climb and slide at the playground, to chat and play imaginative games. She needs a diaper change; he needs help in the bathroom. She needs me to feed her and/or watch like a hawk when she feeds herself; he needs me to open water bottles or packages of crackers, to help him change his clothes when he inevitably gets too hot at the park in the long-sleeves and pants that he chose.

But now, well… now I’m afraid it will be even worse. With two on the move in totally different directions and one that still doesn’t know the difference between something and anything ... Oy! I'm in for it now!

Gotta love these kiddos, though. I can't decided whether they are keeping me young or draining the life out of me. Probably both.

[babeandthewoods]

Love for My City

I stopped by the delectable coffee cart this morning. After nine purchases, spaced reasonably over a month or more, I had a free coffee coming. Have I mentioned how much I love the cart? Speaking from the totally uninformed perspective of someone who stays within a two-mile radius of my home, even in the midst of a huge city, I’m just going to say that it’s the best coffee in San Diego. The only downside to it is that it’s so good, so artisanal and personalized, the baristas so talkative and friendly, that it can take a good long while to get your coffee.

In conversation with the woman working there this morning, I let it slip that I’m pretty new to San Diego—at which point she asked me what I like best and least about it. What do I like? That’s easy… the mercifully mild weather and sunny days, the laid-back feel, funky neighborhoods, abundance of independent businesses, friendly people, tons of yoga, healthy food and crunchiness, lack of traffic, the ability to make a day trip to any number of beautiful beaches.

What do I like least? In the moment, I blanked. But now that I think about it, it would be nice to have a few more playgrounds nearby. The water at the beach is a little too chilly for swimming, at least for my cold-weary skin. Also, I’m used to a greener landscape, though there’s a definite beauty to this mixed semi-arid and Mediterranean climate that gives rise to grassy canyons and beachy cliffs. It’s a place where palms and cactus thrive, but also oaks, sycamores and maples. So even though summer does not bring the intense green lushness of the East Coast, it’s still pretty darn beautiful.

That’s about it.

I’ve heard some less-than-laudatory things about San Diego from other people but have yet to experience any of them myself. It has a reputation for being conservative and for feeling like a huge collection of suburbs—two things I would hate. North Park, where we live, and the array of nearby neighborhoods like South Park, Hillcrest, University Heights and Normal Heights are pretty much the most awesome, walkable, urban-but-not-too-urban places I can imagine. I haven’t discussed politics with random people, but those I associate with regularly seem just about as progressive as anyone I knew in D.C. or San Francisco. Plus, they don’t seem to take themselves quite as seriously or think they're geniuses, which is a definite plus.

 So yeah, I’m happy to be here. Stoked, really. Thank God we found this place. 

[babeandthewoods]

Best Pick Up Line Ever

My three-year-old son was talking to the beautiful princess dressed in a sparkly green and gold gown at Legoland this weekend.

Three-year old: Do you like bulldozers?

Princess: (hesitantly) Yes?

Three-year-old: I have bulldozers on my undies!

[babeandthewoods]

Dear Mothers at the Park

Dear Mothers at the Park,

  (I would say, “you know who you are,” but I hope, in fact, that you do not. With God’s grace, none of you will actually ever read this.)

  All that aside, I know who you are. Yes, you were at the neighborhood playdate at the park yesterday afternoon. You are all first-time mothers of cute and tiny little babies seven months and younger. You have a full-on case of the new-mommy gauzy glow in which you feel so utterly proud of yourself for having successfully bred, for having sacrificed so much, for sitting in the park with a precious, fuzzy-headed little baby drooling on your lap, on your picnic blanket awash in innocuous pastel balloons, with age-appropriate soft toys arrayed all around.

  You seem nice enough, you really do. But I find I have nothing to say to you, nor you to me. And why, a sensible person might ask? We are all mothers; we are of the same generation and class, more or less. For one thing, all you know about mothering is based on about six months of caring for a cute blob. Blobs don’t talk back or make demands, walk or get into things; they don’t even crawl, nor can they really pick up and try to swallow small objects. Don’t get me wrong, babies are challenging in their own ways. Some cry a lot. But it’s child’s play, so to speak, compared to what comes next.

  Just wait until one baby is crawling and active all day, spends hours smearing food all over herself, her high chair, and you, and still doesn’t sleep at night. And the other one is a full-on person who argues and whines and chooses to listen or not to listen, who expresses himself extremely well and still manages to be a total pain in the ass about half the time. Just wait for the moments when, should you choose – God have mercy on your soul – to have another child at some point, when the two of them team up to need you the most at the exact same time.*

  And another thing: all you want to talk about is what your baby is doing right now. Is she sitting unassisted, cooing and smiling? Doe she have a tooth? Has she tried a bite of food and did she like it? And my favorite, “is she sleeping through the night?” Ha! You haven’t begun to think about discipline yet; why would you? And you can’t even imagine being me, who, when asked about the whereabouts of the “son,” referenced in earlier conversation, utterly relieved to not have him demanding something of me for five minutes because he’s busy doing something that is no doubt dangerous while pretending to be Batman, gestured vaguely to the play structure and said, “he’s over there somewhere.”

  See, you think your life is hard. You think that because you are a mommy now, and everything has changed, that because you have to think about someone else all the time, that you have been transformed and sacrificed so much, that you really know something about what it takes to be a good mother, that you’re doing it in fact. But let me tell you something: you don’t know shit. Your life isn’t hard. And I say this with love and respect, because I was like you once. When I had only one kid I thought that was hard, and now that I have two, and they are who they are, I look back on the days when I was not outnumbered, when there was only one in constant need of help with eating, drinking, playing, holding, diapering and all manner of things, and I think nostalgically, I had it so easy. Even though my son was, and is, a challenge to take care of, I had it easy then. And so do you.

  You have no idea what it’s like to be at a total loss when faced with tantrums, a toddler shouting and hitting you, no sleep, physical and emotional exhaustion, to be doing your best and still feeling like you’re failing miserably by your kids. I know I didn’t then. You have no idea what it’s like to feel like you love your kids so much but can’t stand another second in their presence.  

  Yes, there was a time when I, too, felt like I was the only one who could properly care for my child, that I alone could give him the love and education that he deserved, the best start in life. That he might not thrive if not attached to me almost every moment of every day. But now that I find myself a stay-home-mom to two partly by choice but mostly by circumstance, and now that my Dad has offered to pay for a day of childcare for both my kids so I can have some time to write, to catch up, to think and to try not to go totally nuts, I say, daycare? Hell yeah! They’ll be fine there for the day. How long can I leave them?

  Where, I ask, where in God’s name are the mothers with kids my kids’ ages? I just want to make friends with a family with a three-and-a-half-year old boy and a nine or ten month baby girl. Is that so much to ask??

  So anyway, mothers at the park, here’s my advice to you: enjoy this time. Your babies are really cute. Enjoy talking baby talk all day, and talking about nothing other than baby milestones, baby poo and baby sleep with all the other new moms you meet. I’m going to try to find mothers to talk to who are interested in adult conversation once again. I won’t be meeting you at the park anymore. Adieu.

  * I get that I am totally opening myself up to criticisms from mothers of older children; I don’t know anything about parenting a ten-year-old or a teenager, for instance. They would be totally right and totally justified to say such things. But that doesn’t stop me from having my opinions and feeling like a much more experienced mother than the first-timers. I guess it’s hypocritical, but, frankly, I don’t care.  

[babeandthewoods]

Fun Life with Mama

My son and I get precious little alone time, and even less alone time for fun, these days. On weekday mornings when my daughter takes long naps (which is not everyday, mind you) I have a laundry list miles high that may not – but often does – include actual loads of laundry. I ask him to help me out or play by himself, and to be quiet so he doesn’t wake her up. Sure, I sit on the floor and play for a time, but I just have so much to do and am so tired. It’s not a fun mom kind of combination. And when we’re out at the playground or, if I’m feeling brave, a museum, I feel like my most frequent responses to him are, “I can’t, I’m holding the baby.” At home I find myself saying, “when Daddy gets home,” more often than not.

  In other words, I don’t get to be the fun parent that often. Daddy works hard during the day and when he comes home he does a lot here, too. But he’s better at playing than I am, and can have fun in the midst of a chaotic and messy house; he’ sillier, goofier, more creative in many ways than me. Also, he’s a lot better at the kind of play-fighting that involves body slams on the bed—I’m at a distinct disadvantage in that department. I feel the need to do something edifying and productive at all times; I find it hard to relax. So being the fun parent doesn’t come that easily to me anyway.

  But when I think back into the misty days long gone – about a year and a half ago – I seem to recall being a more fun mom to my son. This was all pre-pregnancy and second child, pre-multiple cross-country moves. Perhaps once my daughter is a little bigger and more independent (and sleeps better at night for the love of God), there’s hope for me yet.

  Today, for a change, I got a chance to go out with my son and just be with him, to have fun and discover together. We went to the Natural History Museum at Balboa Park and with no agenda, no pressing needs, it was a breeze. I let him lead us where to go and how long to linger, for once; instead of trying to instruct and guide him, I just had fun. He’s getting bigger all the time and it amazes me.

  We spent time in the Dino Jaws exhibit of the museum which includes life-size, teeth-gnashing, animatronic dinosaurs, and it is, frankly, a little frightening even to me. He looked at one of them, the Baryonyx. It’s huge and scaly with a mouth full of sharp teeth and giant claws. “Hold me, Mama,” he said. And for once, hands not full with a baby and baby gear, a backpack and stroller, I did. His eyes, wide as saucers, were fixed on the dinosaur, “does it eat kids?” 

[babeandthewoods]

Thank God for laptops

Thank God for laptops... otherwise I would never get to write. Sitting on the bed in the dark while my son tries -- and fails -- to fall sleep. At least he's quiet :)

[babeandthewoods]

Friends are the best

Friends were visiting us from the East Coast for a few days—wonderful, close friends. I was sad to see them go.

Before they came, I felt apprehensive about how my three-year-old son and their two-year-old daughter would get along. We haven’t seen these friends in over a year, and since then our kids have grown. They don’t remember one another, and my son can be possessive of his toys, his space, his Daddy and Mama and baby sister. When I shared my concerns, my friends seemed totally unworried, perplexed even; their daughter likes other kids and plays readily, they assured me. But it wasn’t her, necessarily, that I was worried about. My son has made great leaps and bounds at being a friend to other little kids since beginning preschool, but it doesn’t come quite as easily to him. And I fear that as introverts, both my husband and I are not as skillful as we could be in teaching him about sociability. Of course, we have both found our ways through life and relationships, have learned to function – mostly well – in an extraverted world. But that is not the same as being a natural conversationalist, a great lover of sociability in all its forms. See, I love people—just not interacting with most of them…

 The first days of our friends’ visit were easy; I was frankly shocked to see our two smart and curious little kids (the same size though a year apart; their little girl could certainly hold her own) playing, sharing and having fun. Their small disputes were easily managed; it was a success! My son was excited by the novelty of friends with us so much of the time, happy to share his stuff and his experience of San Diego as the practiced guide. We have the most adorable video of him leading her around by the hand in a wading fountain at Balboa Park. I began to think I must have been crazy to worry about them—and that was true even though she showed up with a fever, feeling cranky and tired whenever the medicine wore off. As an aside, my friends seemed shocked and dismayed by this cranky behavior and by a few of her crying jags. I was totally unfazed. I think – no, I know – that they have had an easier time of parenting to date. Some kids are more easygoing than others; some parents are just lucky.

 Things turned a bit on the second-to-last day. My son probably picked up her fever, though it wasn’t nearly as high. He started feeling tired, possessive, hyper-sensitive. Each toy that our friends’ daughter wanted to play with was suddenly “closed,” and he spent more time sulking and pouting or shouting “no!” in an hour than in the previous three days combined. This, I told my friends, was more what I was expecting.

Alas, nothing lasts forever. It was time for them to move on to Seattle but I was sad to see them go. And even though he was not feeling his best or his most generous at the time, so was my son. Friends are wonderful and the presence of these friends reminded me to keep the oldest, best connections I have strong; they’re more valuable than nearly anything else.

 A bit of humor brightened the last day: my son was to get a treat after finishing his lunch—a practice that, although far from ideal, sometimes gets this small kid who generally isn’t interested in eating to have a bit of protein and nutrients. I told him, “don’t talk about your treat in front of your friend; her mom and dad said she’s not getting a treat right now.” I instructed him to eat it away from the common area so she would be less likely to notice. But it turns out that the message was not received, or was misinterpreted, or was perhaps willfully twisted. He marched up to her: “I’m having some whipped cream,” he pronounced. “Don’t talk about it!”

[babeandthewoods]

Mother Love

Is it funny that at this age my son misinterprets romantic relationships as mother-son relationships? He’s seen more than a few animated films for kids in which there’s a hint of romantic involvement—Wall-e, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, Surf’s Up, and in each one he calls the love interest the Mama or the “new Mama,” referring to her role as “taking care of” the boy/teenager/young man protagonist. It’s true that his most important context to date of male-female relationships is that between him and me because kids tend to see themselves as the center of everything, and because he doesn't have the tools to understand how Mama's relationship to Daddy is much different. My son and I hug and kiss, which is what – and all – they do in these movies, too. We love one another, of course; our eyes light up when we reunite after a short absence so I suppose it looks pretty similar from the outside. I don’t know whether to be flattered, amused or worried. Thoughts?