About a boy

While we were home, three different people commented to me about Isaac's good-nature.* I'm not sure how to put words to this without bragging, but it's true, he's a very happy kid. Vivian is, too--but there is something about Isaac--his smile, the light in his eyes, the way he is thrilled by so many simple things ("Look, mom! A truck!!!" "Oh my gosh, I saw a cow!") that just lights up a room.

I love this about him. It's been his nature since the day he was born. As an infant, he never cried. As a baby, he laughed or smiled at everyone. Even as a toddler--and he was such a difficult toddler--he didn't cry that much. He would get frustrated and burst into tears when he couldn't figure something out, yes, but he was still happy most of the time. Actually, what made him so difficult was his joie de vivre. Unbelievably curious while simultaneously confident that nothing bad would ever happen to him, he dove head first into everything he saw: the knife drawer, the speaker wires, the unstable bookshelf, etc. etc.

Now a pre-schooler, he still has that same spark. This is a kid who insists, "I really like Dr. L, Mom. He's a really good doctor," even when the last few times he has seen that particular man, there has been significant pain involved. He routinely says things like "I am soooo happy at you, Mommy. You are the best Mommy in the world. " And all I have to do is mention one of his friends--Tate or Riley; Heidi or Uncle Del--and he squeals with delight. The other day, when we come home from school, there was a pile of laundry on the floor. "Mommy!" he shouted. "Did we get new sheets?? Did you buy me new sheets? I am so lucky!!"

I know that pre-schoolers are a happy bunch (and why wouldn't they be?), but with Isaac it's more than that. You'll have to trust me on that, though here's some photographic proof for you:


There's another side to this exuberance, though. Isaac is so easily excited and thrilled that I think sometimes other children are turned off. He is frequently left out of games at the playground--sometimes by circumstance: the other kids are older, or girls who don't want to play with a boy, or siblings that have their own games. Sometimes I think he is too eager, and this leaves him vulnerable. Other kids can take advantage of him easily--he has no pretence, and assumes no one else does either. So if a friend asks him for his toy, he will give it up happily, and then become bewildered when that friend won't give it back.

Of course I would never change this about him, or coach him to play it cool--after all, his attitude is one of my favorite things about him, and a quality that should be valued and appreciated--but I do still worry. And it breaks my heart just a little bit to hear him say "Those big kids won't play with me, Mommy."

I know that as he gets older, he will lose some of this simple excitement for life. God knows you can't survive the teenage years without a good amount of angst. But I hope that this basic nature of his, this incredible joy to be here, on earth, stays with him to some degree. Speaking as his mother, I can tell you that his smile is infectious, and that this world could surely use a lot more Isaacs.

God, I love that kid.

(Here is what really frightens me: that the health issues he will face as an adolescent will beat him down and change him into an unhappy person.)

*Sometimes it takes an unbiased stranger to point out things you just take for granted, no?

Talky talky

On the way to drop Vivian off at school today, Isaac and I had the following "conversations":

Why are all the cars stopped, Mom?
Why is there traffic?
Why does everyone go to work?
Why is this a freeway?
Why can't I go to school with Vivi?
Why does red mean stop and green mean go?
What is that smell?
Why don't they like Halloween?
Why is that a ghost?
I don't see Thomas.
I see a Jack O Lantern! I see Halloween!
Why can't I go to school today?
Can I go to Nonie's house?
Can I go to Nonie's house and Vivi can't go to Nonie's house?
Vivi, you can't go to Nonie's house; only I get to go to Nonie's house.
Why isn't that nice?
When does Vivi get to go to the hospital?
When Vivi's balls don't go down then she will go to the hospital where they wear masks and then Vivi won't go to school. Right, Mom?
Why doesn't Dr. L let me go to school?
Why can I not run and jump because of my owies?
Why do we need to get gas?
Why are you running out of gas?
Why does the engine need gas to go?
Is that a gas station?
Can I get out at the gas station?
Why is there gas at a gas station?
Why do you hold the door if your hands are full?
I will hold your door for you, okay Mom?
Let me do it.
Can we go to the old house?
Why can we not get out?
Why is it dangerous at a construction site?
Why are those people there?
Why are they working on our house?
Why are they building our house here?
Why don't we build our new house at the new apartment?
I don't want to live at the new house; I like the hot tub at the apartment.
Why don't we have a hot tub at the new house?
Why did you want a big house and not a hot tub?
Why is that gardener there?
Why is he wearing a mask?
I don't like masks.
Is Riley going to school today?
Ooooh. I want to go to school. I miss him!
Is that Daddy's work?
Why is it a work day?
Where is your work, Mommy?
Why is this your work?
(I'm sure there were more but this is all I can remember now. 30 minutes roundtrip.)

We are finally home and he is mercifully quiet, watching Bob the Builder for the six millionth time in two days.

Non-sequitur

Isaac: I want to go to Bob's and buy stuff, Mom.
Me: Really. Do you have your money?
Isaac: Yeah. I have money.
Me: Where did you get it?
Isaac: From Vivian's penny bank.
Me: Oh. Why was it in Vivian's penny bank? Why not yours?
Isaac: Because I had money and I put it in Vivi's penny bank.
Me: What's wrong with your penny bank?
Isaac: I have quarters in there and money and decaf lattes.
Me: ??
Isaac: Yeah, decaf lattes. Can we go to Bob's?

Hair

Isaac hates getting his haircut. Really, really hates it. He screams, he wails, he begs to be anywhere but in that chair. Even the promise of a lollipop, or a showing of Bob the Builder, or a million dollars, doesn't calm him down. We have tried the various kid's places with little success. He screams and whips his head around like he's having a seizure, I try to hold him still and keep his hands out of the way of the scissors, we leave 10 minutes later with an uneven cut and a store full of toddlers staring at us in awe. My mother-in-law has tried, with limited success. (I'm not sure what she does, as I haven't been there for a cutting. But he returns to us with uneven hair, and many tales about the hair cut.) All other hair treatments have been at home, with Lance as the barber and me as the strait jacket, briber, pleader & distracter. Never much success there either.

I should note here that Isaac was born with a full head of hair. His first haircut, at 3 months*, went off without a hitch. But the next one, at 7 months, was a complete nightmare, and they haven't gotten any easier since then.

Consequently, we often let Isaac's hair grow to be fairly shaggy, and then when we do cut it, try to cut off as much as possible, just to prolong time between cuts. We've been talking up the "buzz cut" to him for a few months, hoping that he's getting old enough so that the clippers won't scare him so much and we can actually shave his head. He got a little excited about the idea, too, especially since one of the kids in school (after an unsupervised incident with scissors) arrived with no hair one day.

This weekend, we all trooped off to the barbershop, where Lance gets his hair cut. Oh, the excitement! "What a big boy! Just like Daddy! And your friend Leo! And you will get a lollipop if you can be good!"

No dice. As soon as we got him near the chair he started screaming. But. The barber seemed to know just what to say. Lance was able to sit in the chair, with Isaac on the stool in his lap. The barber calmed him down just enough so that he stopped screaming and hiding his head in Lance's chest. He wasn't able to get the clippers near him, but he got the hair pretty damn short, just using scissors.



I have to say I was much more impressed with Lance's barber, Tel, than I ever have been by those kids places. No TV on or balloons, and yet this guy was able to do a better job than anybody else in the last 3-1/2 years.

What do you think?

Before:


After:


*Also, I have to admit this: when Isaac was about 6 months old we met another mother, who had older boys. She told a story of her youngest son, who, until he was 3 years old, would get so upset about hair cuts that he would actually vomit. At the time, I thought to myself, "how ridiculous. Why would anyone be afraid of a haircut?" Ha ha ha. You see, how the universe makes sure to beat me down for any superior thought, ever?

The one where I test the Mommy jinx

Two things:

1. Ever since we returned from Delaware, almost a full month ago, Isaac has been sleeping until anywhere from 7:15 to 8:00 am. You read that right. The boy who for an entire year has been unable to sleep past 5:45am on a good day, is actually sleeping in to a reasonable hour. I'm not sure what has brought about this happy event, except that he has been swimming a lot, and swimming seems to wear him out. Yeehaw.
(I won't mention here that my good sleeper, Vivian, has now decided that 7am is the latest she will sleep. Ever.)

2. At this moment, 2pm on Tuesday July 11th, Vivian is asleep in her crib without the crutch of her pacifier. She cried and whined for a little bit (10 minutes max) then took a bit longer to fall asleep than her usual 5 minute pass out routine, but that was the extent of it. We'll see what happens tonight, but if it was going to be this easy, I would have taken that thing away months ago!


Also, unrelated to the above: I am going out with some old work friends tonight. REAL LIVE FRIENDS WITHOUT BABIES!!! And we went out last night with some friends too. Two nights in a row without baby-duty is unheard of, people. Unheard of.

Conversations about God

Scene: in the car.

Isaac: Are the puppets in the sky, Mom?

Me: What? Did you see something in the sky?

Isaac: See the puppeteers in the sky?

Me: What did you see, sweetie? Was it a kite?

Isaac: Is Papa T in the sky?

Me (getting it, finally): Oh! Yes, um, Papa T and Geedaddy* are both in heaven, honey. So, uh, yeah, they are in the sky looking down at us.

Vivian: They in the sky?

Me: Well, uh, yes, Vivian. They, um, died, but they are in heaven and they are looking down at us and loving us.

Isaac: They are looking at us from the sky? Are they far far away in the sky?

Me: Well, yes. Yes, they are far away. But you can always feel their presence. (Warming up to it) When someone loves you as much as Geedaddy and Papa T did, you can always feel them watching out for you, even after they die.

Vivian: You can feel der presents?

Me: Yes, you can feel how much they love you and know they will make sure you are taken care of.

Isaac: And you can open them up, too.

Me: Open them? Um . . .

Isaac: You can open up the presents in the sky. And see what they got you.


*Papa T is what Lance called his grandfather, who died a little over two years ago. Geedaddy is my grandfather, who also died two years ago.

Separation Anxiety: what not to do

For reasons I cannot fathom, neither of my children has ever really suffered from separation anxiety. They've always been happy to go to whoever wants to hold them, happy to be left with a babysitter, or my in-laws, or whoever. There's been the occasional tear, if Lance and I leave too close to naptime, but always the crying has ceased before we even make it to the car. Even when I left Isaac at pre-school for the first time, there was only a millisecond of concern before he was off exploring all the new toys.

I feel fortunate that my kids are like this, but I doubt it has anything to do with my parenting skills. I'm not sure what it says about my parenting skills that my kids are just as happy with anyone else as they are with me.

As I've mentioned, right before we left for the East Coast, we took a trip up to Carmel, to see some old friends. The kids have been there before, but I don't think either one of them remembered. Strange surroundings, strange people, but they both did fine. Immediately afterward, we went to Delaware where again the kids were dumped into a strange home, surrounded by strange people. The time change plus the long napless flight exhausted them, but still they seemed okay. Right after we got to Delaware, my brother-in-law, my dad, and my niece and nephew took the first car down to North Carolina. We sent Isaac and Vivian with them, since I had some training to do at my dad's company and my sister had tickets to see Brooke Shields give a speech* that night. At first, they were thrilled with the idea--riding in a car! With their cousins! And there was a dvd in the car! But once they were all strapped in and reality set in that I would not be joining them, Isaac started to lose it. "But Mommy! I'll miss you", he whined. "I'll be there before you know it", I reassured him. "I need ya, Mom! I miss ya! Don't leave me!"

I gave him a few more kisses through the window, and sent them off, assuming that once they got going he would forget all about missing me. According to my dad, he did fall asleep shortly thereafter, and all seemed well. About 1.5 hours later, he woke up, and immediately started crying. "I want my mommy!" Nothing my dad, brother-in-law, or anyone else did made a difference. He cried/whined for two straight hours. He finally got over it, and managed to have an okay time for the next 24 hours (again, in new surroundings) until I arrived, but the damage was done.

Ever since then (June 7th, 2006), whenever I leave for any amount of time, no matter who I am leaving him with, he has a complete fit. Screaming, crying, refusing to leg go of my legs. "I need ya, Mom! I miss ya! Don't leave me!!" When we left him with my parents so Lance and I could go out to dinner, he cried for 10 minutes. When we left him with a babysitter so all the adults could go out to dinner, he cried for 30 minutes. When we finally got back to L.A. and I took him to school, he screamed for 20 minutes (something he's never done there before). We left him last night with my in-laws, whom he has stayed with hundreds of times, and he cried bloody murder for five minutes. This morning, at school, even after insisting to me that he wouldn't cry, that he was excited to go to school, he screamed. (Though they did call me a few minutes after I left to say he'd stopped right away.)

Update: today I had to carry a screaming Vivian out of preschool ("No go, Mommy! Stay! I want to stay!") while the sweet pre-school teacher held a flailing Isaac ("Don't leave me! Mommy! No!"). Fun times.

I'm really hoping this new phase/ personality quirk is short-lived, as it's agony to leave him when he's that upset. I'm not used to it, and it makes me feel incredibly insecure about my mothering abilities. (Should I leave him? Should I ignore the behavior? Should I explain again how I'm coming back? How could I have done this to him? Is he ruined forever? etc etc)

Vivian, on the other hand, has been totally non-plussed by all the comings and goings. Apparently, for her, I'm still as interchangeable as ever.


*I'd give her a B-.

Question

If you are 3 years old and you don't fall asleep until 9:30pm, and then for some reason you wake up at midnight and cannot get back to sleep until 2am, don't you think you would sleep just a little later than 5:30? Don't you?

I mean, really. WHAT THE FUCK?


In other news, Mieke did the walk for Adelaide last weekend. Thanks to you guys, she made her $5000 goal, and then some. Isn't that fabulous? Go read about it, here. Awesome. Truly awesome.

Exceptional

When I was in high school, I remember thinking, with typical self-absorbed angst, that my life would be so much better if I was REALLY good at something. If only I was the prettiest girl, or the smartest student, or the best athlete, or the coolest kid. Instead, I was just okay, at everything. No, I wasn't the prettiest, but I wasn't ugly. I wasn't the smartest, but I was in the top half of my class. Wasn't the best athlete, but I made all the varsity teams. Far from the coolest, but I wasn't a dork, either. Just so fucking average, in every way. I really envied those kids who had something to define themselves with, who were stand-outs. (Truth is, I was far too lazy to do the kind of work that might have made me a stand out, but my teenage brain just blamed the rotten luck to have been born without some god-given talent.)

Last night, I watched the season finale of Grey's Anatomy that the capricious TiVo gods had generously taped for me after all. I cried and cried and cried some more. I shook with sobs. I could not catch a breath, I was that upset. You know, because a fictional character on a television show died during sweeps. Shocking.

But here's the thing: that's not really why I was crying. And when I finally figured that out, I realized that there IS something that I'm exceptional at. I can be a stand-out, just watch me.

Turns out, I'm really, really good at saying "I'm fine!" "It's okay!" The smiling shrug, the soldiering on, the "don't worry about me"s--these are things I've got down pat. And it's not as if I'm in denial--because I'm also quite adept at platitudes like: "yes, it sucks, but I try to look at the bright side" or "I know it's going to be difficult for him, but it could be so much worse".

What I'm NOT good at? Crying in front of people I love--or, people I don't love! Or people I don't know! Here, take my screaming child and cut him up, he's all yours. I am a rock, I don't cry! Whee, this is fun! Definitely NOT good at saying "Guess what? I'm terrified, and I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable, because this is what I feel like and you are not making me feel better by telling me that everything's going to be alright. In fact, you don't know what THE FUCK you are talking about."

Much better at saying " Thank you so much, I actually feel okay about it now. What's going on with you?"

So last night, when Denny died, I lost. my. shit. I cried because it does suck that Isaac is sick. I cried because handing him over to the surgeon last week while he begged me not to through hot tears killed a part of my soul that I will never get back. I cried because I am terrified of what the future will bring us, terrified that this will not work, terrified that even if everything goes exactly right it is still going to be REALLY, REALLY hard in ten years or so, and I don't know if I have what it takes to get through that. Cried because he is my son, and I want to make things easy for him, and I can't. This is hard, dammit. Hard now, hard later, hard for the rest of his life.

And it doesn't really matter that it could be so much worse. Yes, it could. Yes, Isaac is fine, Isaac is not going to die, I am okay, we are all okay. That is true. But the feelings I have about the whole situation--the whole shitty, un-fair, craptacular situation--those feelings are valid, and real, and they have to go somewhere.

I suppose it's a good a place as any for them to go to the television.


Tomorrow, when I read this, I will be embarrassed at my dramatics, and probably delete the whole ridiculous post.

Remember me?

Well, this has been a really long break from blogging for me, especially considering the last post wasn't really a post but just a plea for help. (I am still pleading, too; if you haven't read Mieke's posts about Adelaide yet, do it now. That sweet beautiful girl and her parents need our help.)

Isaac has been sick--as sick as he's ever been, if you don't count the surgery last year--since Sunday. The doctor doesn't think it's the flu, but he's had a high fever (around 102) since Sunday and it's only a little better today. He's on antibiotics now so hopefully by the weekend he'll be back to his old self. In the meantime, though, there has been much crying and whining and mama-worry combined with no sleep, which has kept me quite busy.

Also--and truth be told, this is the REAL reason I haven't been around--my computer has been fucking with me all week. First the mouse stopped working, then the keyboard, then both, then they worked again briefly and now they seem to be finally dead. I am currently using some old gadgets we found in the garage until I can get a new set. ( I know, it is not difficult to go to Staples and buy new ones, but. Isaac's sick, and I'm tired and Vivian is terribly two and it just hasn't happened yet.) These old computer bits don't work very well either, so this post is going to be pretty lame. I can already feel the carpal tunnel syndrome starting, and I'm not even pregnant!

I have been reading your blogs, for the most part: that I can do without the use of the keyboard, although I am unable to leave comments, which really sucks. It feels so strange to read something, and want to jump into the discussion but be unable to, and have to slink away with my head down. Perhaps this afternoon I'll be able to catch up, but truly, this keyboard sucks ass and I don't know if I have it in me. I know you are all dying to hear what I have to say--I'm surprised you've been able to continue on without my input, really.

Okay, so that's all I've got for you, except to say that Isaac is possibly the cutest three year old in all of the land, even when he's pouring snot and burning up. Such a cuddly, sweet, sedate little boy when he feels like crap, and I'm eating it up.

Be back soon.

Conversation, 7:05 am

Scene: the kitchen, I'm getting food out for breakfast.

Isaac: Mommy, remember last time when I threw the book and Vivi was laughing?

Me: What? Mmm, no throwing things, right?

Isaac: Member last time and I threw the book and the broken window?

Me: What?

Isaac: Member last time Vivi was laughing and the broke-the broken--the window, um, the window broken?

Me: Did you break a window? When? Say that again!

Isaac: (Giggles.)

Me: Wait, let's go. Let's go to your room so I can see what you are talking about.

Isaac: Nooo! I don't want to! Nooo!

Me (still not really believing): What's the matter? Come on, let's go see your room for a minute.

Isaac: Please don't yell at me 'cause I broke the window, Mommy. I don't want you to see it. Don't open the shade!

Me (entering the room and opening the shade to reveal a broken window): WHAT HAPPENED? Babe! Babe, come in here!


For those of you keeping score: yes, we are planning a remodel in a few months, which will include replacing all our original 1953 cheap-ass windows. Not really interested in paying for the pane to be replaced in the meantime. Lance spent the morning covering the broken glass with cardboard. Classy!

How this happened without either Lance or I hearing the crash is beyond me, especially considering their room is steps away from ours, and the walls are VERY thin. I can only guess that the glass was so thin and cheap the sound of it breaking was muted by Isaac and Vivian's laughter. They WERE laughing pretty loudly in there this morning--around 6:15 am.

More Filler

The birthday boys. Yes, I owe them both lovey posts, but this will have to do.



"Sharing" a chair at the beach, until Isaac eventually pushed her out of it.


I love the way he looks in underwear--after 3 years of seeing his butt in diapers, there is something really appealing about that teeny tiny bottom.


From the "See, it does get cold in Los Angeles!" files:

Rainy Days and Mondays . . .

Mondays, Isaac does not have school. This means that I save all errands/ potential activities/what have you for Monday and Wednesday mornings (his other non-school day). I absolutely must ensure that we have someplace to go those mornings; staying in the house is only an option if I suddenly feel a need to watch it burn down. We go to Starbucks to get Mommy coffee (usually the drive-thru, unless I'm really desperate for an activity); we go to the grocery store, the drug-store, or Good-will; we meet up with other bloggers; we attack the local playgrounds; or we go to the beach. If I can stay out of the house until lunchtime, we will all usually survive: nap-time is between 1pm and 2pm, and then I'll have an hour or so to relax (and by relax I mean make dinner). So--there is my goal: Mondays and Wednesdays, stay out of the house. Seems doable, no?

Unless it rains.

Fortunately, we live in Southern California, where it doesn't rain very often. When it does, I find myself frantic with worry. Playgrounds, beach-time, even the last resort of playing in the backyard are all out. We could still go to the grocery store--but ugh!, walking to the car in the rain? Yes, it's worth it, but still not that much fun. Starbucks is a go, but the drive-thru only takes twenty minutes on a slow day, which leaves at least 4 long hours to fill until noon-time. Even if I brave the nightmare of un-attaching each kid from the carseat, dragging them into the store, constantly watching them both and steering them away from other patrons and/or tempting candy and cookies on display, then hauling Vivian and my coffee while dragging Isaac by the hand back out to the car, to re-attach them both again to the carseats, all while getting rained on--even that only adds another 20 minutes or so to the trip.

Today, as you know (I hope), is Monday. In Los Angeles, the day dawned grey and dreary. Not grey and foggy, which is common and not an indication of rain, but grey and dreary. "Frinkly", Isaac said, which I later understood to mean "Sprinkling". By 10am it was pouring. Before then, I managed to run a quick errand to a friend's house to pick up my forgotten purse (don't ask), hit the Starbucks drive-thru, and go to the grocery store. We got home just as the rain started, and when I looked at the time, I sighed.

What the hell was I going to do with these guys for two hours?? I could feel that frustration feeling starting in my stomach, and moving quickly to my head. I looked around quickly for something to entertain them.

"Play-do, Mommy! Play-do!" exclaimed Vivian helpfully. Or not, since our house rule is that Play-doh is an outside game.

"Finger painting Nemo!" shouted Isaac. I paused for a minute. I had given Isaac a Nemo painting set for his birthday which I intended for him to use outside. Desperate times call for desperate measures, however, so I scrounged up some newspaper, got the paints out, and gave each kid a brush.

This kept them occupied for 30 minutes. REALLY. I was astounded, especially since they didn't even paint on the walls! Or the floors! (This is not the washable kind of paint; hence, my desire to use it outside).

I was so thrilled with this performance that when they got bored I offered up the holy grail of television. (Not that I ban TV, but I like to limit it to one hour per day, and since Isaac wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn, he's usually got his hour in by 7am). I turned on Bob the Builder and Isaac watched intently. Vivian, that dear sweet child, played by herself in the playroom happily.

And THEN, when Bob the Builder was over, Isaac joined her. They played together, with minimal fighting, until 12:15.

It seems like such a small thing: so what, her kids were good for one morning, big deal. But really, it is such a rarity for Isaac to entertain himself for that long, and for the two of them to play together so well--no screaming, no whining, no finding the meat cleaver in the kitchen and playing "Let's see who cuts off a finger first" with it. Honestly, I'm sitting here a few hours later, still amazed.

The other day at school, Isaac's teacher said to me: "He's really mellowing out, isn't he?" I agreed, because I have noticed this, but today was the first time it really made a difference in my day. Today it was almost as if he and I were at the same energy level, instead of he whirling around like the Tasmanian devil and me plodding along beside, shouting "Wait! Don't touch that! Slow down!"

What a great day.

Tomorrow, rain is predicted again. But I am no fool: thank god it's a school day.


P.S. Isaac pooped in the potty today! "Mommy, I want to poop in the potty and get a lollipop!" he said--and he did. Another miracle.

Happy Birthday!

Okay, I'm still busy, but I need to mark this day somehow, so . . .

February 2003, four days old:



February 2006, one thousand and ninety-five days old:



(Birthday hat courtesy of school; he refuses to take it off.)

This post requires no title, seeing as how it's the most boring one to date

I know, I know, I need to blog. But when you've been putting off thinking about your son's birthday for several months, except to complain about it, then you're apt to find yourself without gifts, cake, or plan the day before. And that requires much of the running around. To buy the birthday cards, the wrapping paper, the paper plates and cups and napkins and hats, the cakemix and icing, plus the presents (this year: underwear, socks and a few little things from KBtoys. Grand total: $61.39).

I suppose I can't really complain that Party City did not carry any Bob the Builder crap, forcing me to purchase generic Happy Birthday crap instead, even though I'd already promised the Bob the Builder crap to the birthday boy, he of the "I don't WANT to watch insert name of any kid's show except Bob the Builder here" tantrums. After all, if I wasn't such a lazy ass, I might have looked for it sooner, and had the option of going elsewhere. Fortunately for all, I did find one Bob the Builder birthday candle on the clearance rack, and the birthday is saved.

Heidi and the in-laws are coming over for a birthday extravaganza tomorrow evening, complete with take-out Chinese food and beer. Just now Isaac helped me make cupcakes to bring to school tomorrow. Sunday we are going to Kidspace (Yay! An alternative to Chuck. E. Cheese!) with the neighbors. Pretty fucking good for a 3 year old birthday, if you ask me.

Then, well then I have next week to plan for Lance's birthday. Fortunately finding a babysitter and making a dinner reservation shouldn't take up too much of my time. Though I suppose I should go get him that wallet he keeps asking for. Or the cuff-links he wants. Really it would save a lot of time to just give him some money (taken from our joint account, of which he is the only supplier), since there is absolutely zero chance that he will approve of whatever I pick out. Hmm. Why is it that the thought counts, again?

Next week is also the week from hell with doctor's appointments, which should keep me in a really chipper (Ha! Chipper! That's my brother's name!) mood.

March 6th can't get here soon enough.

Happy Crap Day

You should have seen Isaac when I picked him up from school today. He was completely beside himself. In his hand was the heart-decorated tissue box he'd made, stuffed full of Valentines from all his friends. The teachers had handed out the filled boxes just before the end of school, with instructions not to open them until we got home.

"I want to go home, Mom!" Isaac shouted, practically running Vivian over as he tumbled out of school. "I want to show Vivi my Valentines! Let's go home!"

In fact, he had good reason to be excited, for--behold his loot:



Perhaps I shouldn't admit this out loud, in such a public place, but my immediate reaction to all this crap is--what the fuck? Since when do you have to give out lollipops and bags of assorted hearts and homemade cookies for Valentine's Day? Especially at pre-school? Whatever happened to the nice simple card? There were only two home-made card in the whole bunch, and one of those had a Hershey's kiss affixed to it. The rest of the cards were attached to elaborate candy filled bags, or at very least, a heart-shaped lollipop. Isaac gave out those cheesy, pre-made cards you buy at the drugstore--his were Scooby-Do--and we did not attach any kind of sweet.* Frankly, it never occurred to me that I should. These are 2, 3 & 4 year olds, after all--do they really need candy?

I did buy some Valentine colored M&M's for the house, and each kid got a mini peppermint patty to eat at breakfast, but that was it. Had I known Isaac would be bringing home the contents of the Nestle chocolate factory from school I certainly wouldn't have gone that far.

Look, I know that at the heart of things I am basically a lazy mother. I am not crafty, nor inclined to become that way. I am not sentimental, and most of all, I am cheap. These are not necessarily desirable traits for mothering, but take me for what I am.

Many other mothers are not this way, and they enjoy crafting the cards, baking the cookies, what-have-you. Actually, the home-made cards are nice, and I don't mind them at all. Would I ever do something like that? Probably not, but that's because of who I am (see above). It's the candy that really bugs me. The candy in the elaborate bags with the expensive bows, etc. These are pre-schoolers! They don't need candy! They would be just as thrilled with a box full of simple cards, and then their parents could dole out any candy at home.

Doesn't it seem like everything these days is more, more, more? Huge, catered one-year old birthday parties. Presents out the ying-yang for Christmas, and every holiday in between. $100,000 Sweet Sixteen parties. Teenagers sporting $400 leather jackets. And no, Valentine's Day candy is not quite the same thing, but it still bothers me. Why do we have this need to out-do each other? Or out-do the year before?

Blech. Now I'm all grumpy, and Lance isn't even home to ease the pain, so to speak.


* Isaac did get one other card like this--a simple Hello Kitty card, with no sweet. Thankfully.

Boo Hoo

Well, that bites.

Moving on.

Another gorgeous day in Southern California today, so I took the kids to the beach. They had a fabulous time climbing all over each other and me, making castles, and getting sand into every nook and cranny in their little bodies. At one point, as I relaxed in a beach chair, both kids took turns pouring sand from shovels onto my person. It reminded me, as I got doused with the gritty dirty granules, of a conversation I often have with another mother.

She has children similar in age to my two, so we spend a fair amount of time together. However, we have very different parenting styles. This mother--let's call her Sybil--is very strict with her kids. Well, not necessarily strict, but definitely hard on them. She doesn't pick her battles very effectively, in my mind. For example, she gets furious if one of her sons steps on a plant in her backyard. Or takes off his shoes. Or leaves them on. Or gets mud on his jeans. Or brings out a game that has a lot of pieces. Or talks too loud. Or too much. Or whines. Or cries. Or . . .you get the picture. She's got a short fuse, I guess.

Just the other day, she and I were talking while the kids played in the backyard.

Sybil: You know, we have these really great friends that live not far from here--their son is exactly my son's age--but I just hate having them over.

Amy: Really? Why? I love knowing people who have kids the same age as mine!

Sybil: Well, they come over here, and their son is just wild. He runs all over the place and makes such a mess!

Amy: hmm.

Sybil: It takes me forever to clean up after they leave. I guess I'm just too tired or too old to deal with that, so I'd just rather not invite them over. *

With another mother, I'd probably agree. I mean, you don't want kids running rampant all over your house, and your kids should know to be respectful of the areas they are playing in. However, Sybil's definition of "wild" and my definition are "wildly" different. The kid probably accidentally stepped on one of her impatients or something. Maybe he knocked over a toy or two.

I can imagine her at the beach with us today. "No pouring sand! Don't get Mommy dirty! Listen to me, don't you dare dump that sand out! I am not bringing you to the beach again if this is how you are going to act!"

That is just not the way I parent. When her kids come over to my house, I expect the toys to get taken out of the toy box. I expect them to run around in the backyard and get dirty. I expect some plants to get trampled on, accidentally. I expect to have a bit more of a mess than I usually do, because there are four kids in my home, instead of the usual two. Same with the beach. To me, it's just sand. The kids are having a ball, and I can take a shower later, so why interfere? Let them have their fun.

Kids are messy, but guess what? They clean up pretty good. You can teach them to help you put away the toys, you can show them which plants to be extra careful around, you can explain the difference between pouring sand on someone and throwing it in their eyes. And, here's the kicker: you can do that without screaming at them!

* Also, I'm not an idiot, so I realize she was probably telling me, in her passive-aggressive way, that she'd rather we not come over either. But I don't let my kids go crazy over there--in fact, they are much better behaved then her two boys, who lean towards the manipulative and violent already.

Well, enough patting myself on the back today. Almost enough, anyway:

Isaac has been wearing underwear since 8am this morning with NO ACCIDENTS. I still have to remind him, frequently, to use the potty, since he has yet to recognize on his own that he needs to go. However, not long ago, he was playing in the dirt and said to himself, "Here's the purple shovel that's mine and Vivi can't have it because I'm playing in the dirt with it and I'm trying real, real hard not to pee in my underwear." Fortunately, I overheard, and we made it to the potty in time. Perhaps he WILL be potty-trained in time for kindergarten. (Though pooping is another story altogether.)

Vivian has also been peeing on the potty, about once a day. Yes, she's young, but I have hopes, people. The diapers, they are killing me.

HA HA HA HA HA! Just now, as I typed that lovely paragraph about Isaac, guess what he was doing. Go ahead, guess. Exactly! Pooping in his underwear! Which is not so bad, really--I expect some accidents--but oh! Oh, the trauma. It was 45 minutes of cajoling, hugging, explaining, bribing, threatening and everything else I could think of before he would allow me to clean him up. I don't know when he's going to recover from it.

Instant karma, anyone?


Last but not least: What is a good, not too trendy, not too common, not too out-there name for a boy? This should be a name appropriate to the East Coast.

Party Planner was never on my list of possible careers, and you can see why

Isaac is going to be 3 in a few weeks, and already I am dreading the birthday party. My real issue is the location: our house is so small, and I have to invite all 13 kids from his class, plus their parents. I know they won't all show up, but if even half do, that's a dozen people and us. February 24th in Los Angeles can be sunny and 70 degrees, but it can also be raining, which means I'm not inclined to hold the party at a park (Lance's suggestion). Most of Isaac's little buddies have their parties at local indoor play areas, and these parties are always fun enough. However, I've looked into it, and pricing ranges from about $300-$450. That is just way too much money, in my (cheap) opinion. I mean, he's 3! What am I going to have to shell out for his 16th, at that rate?

I'm leaning towards holding the party at our home, and hoping that it doesn't rain, so the kids can at least play in the backyard. If it doesn't rain, I could set up a few tables in the back with play-doh and markers or finger paints. We could do a pinata, have pizza (cheese-less, for my two) and cake, and call it a day.

But that still leaves me with a big IF--if it doesn't rain. If it's raining, then I'll have a dozen kids running rampant in my tiny house with nothing to entertain them. Last year, on his birthday, it was a beautiful sunny day and we just had a few friends over to our little beach club. If the weather holds up this year, I should have no problem. The year before, it rained, and we had a lot of family and friends crowded indoors--but no other kids (he was only one, not big on the social scene yet). This made for a wet, and slightly uncomfortable party, but at least there were no crying children to make the house seem that much smaller.

I am also feeling a little internal pressure to make a bigger deal out of the birthday. Shouldn't I be hiring a clown? Or renting out Chuck E. Cheese? Leasing one of those bouncers for the day? Should I just bite the bullet and pay for a party at Child's Play? I don't have any inclination or desire to do this, but I wonder if I'm being a selfish parent by not offering as much.

There is a another possibility. I could hold the party at our little beach club--but not until after March 15th because it is closed for renovations. The beach club is a great place for a party--lots of sand toys already there, plenty of room to run around while the parents could congregate on the deck and watch. If I post-pone the party until late March, there's be a better chance that the weather would cooperate. Still not fail-safe, but the beach club does have a small indoor area where the kids could run around if it rained and locker rooms to play hide and seek in, and the bigger bonus is that it's not my house. February is very busy for us--Lance is gone for two weeks of the month--so it would make my life easier to do it in March. However, post-poning the party seems a little bit like cheating to me.

Now I've thought of another solution: what if I skip the party, and just take him and one of his friends to Chuck E. Cheese? He's never been there, so it would be special. We could have a small family party with cake and presents on the actual day and then go to Chuck E. Cheese on the weekend. Is that laming out?

What do you, my loyal and faithful--and much more sensible than me!--readers think of this little conundrum? What did you do for your wee ones' 3rd birthday parties?

Opinions, please.

Broken (?)

(Note: the following dis-jointed post is what happens when you get out of the habit of blogging. I would love to claim that my next post will make more sense, but it wouldn't be true, and you probably wouldn't believe it, anyway.)

Isaac has never been an overly cautious or sensitive child. He skipped entirely the "separation anxiety" phase of baby-hood, and even as a barely two-year old, didn't miss a beat when I sent him to pre-school. His personality, up to now, has been characterized with zero impulse control, definite opinions, and high levels of activity. He has always known the rules, but followed them arbitrarily. It's not that he didn't want to be good, or that he disregarded my standards, but more that he couldn't remember the rule at the time, or that he wanted what he wanted so badly, he was willing to take a punishment for it. He rarely sits still, and gets excited easily. But he's always been an exceptionally happy child, looking forward to new experiences, never stopping much to ponder but instead running full tilt into what's next.

Over Christmas, that boy disappeared. Okay, I'm being dramatic. He didn't disappear altogether, and it hasn't happened quite that suddenly. But it is true that my happy little fire-cracker has suddenly become more thoughtful. He seems to understand, now, that other people might not be nice to him. A year ago, if my friend Susanna told him to share a toy, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. This year, he gets embarrassed. He is afraid of the street, afraid of the stove, afraid of many things that didn't mean a thing to him a short while ago. Not terribly afraid, mind you, just afraid enough to stay away.

This is making my job as a parent a lot easier. If I explain to him that when he pushes the alarm button on the elevator, the elevator repairman will come and ask him what happened, he no longer pushes the button. When we get to a parking lot or a street, he automatically reaches for my hand, with no complaint. I no longer worry if I leave him unattended--I know he's not going to drink a foreign substance, or play with matches. If I call his name, he will answer, even if he's busy playing with his sister. When I ask him nicely to share a toy with a new friend, he does this with almost no complaint, and even, on occasion, shares without being prompted. He says please and thank-you without reminding. He will stop whining immediately upon being reminded that I don't respond to it.

I think part of it is age: he actually can understand things better now. He understands that there is danger in the world, that things can hurt him, and that when I tell him to leave the outlets alone, there is a reason. He has been around long enough now to recognize a street, and he knows that he won't get across it without holding a hand. He recognizes that when he shares his toys with his sister, before I have to remind him to, then he gets to pick the toy he wants to give up, instead of me.

How great for me, then, right? I can feel proud of the little boy he is becoming, I can pat myself on the back for good parenting of a toddler. Except I don't really feel that way. Instead I feel this little pit of anxiety in my belly: have I "broken his spirit" already? Have I focused too much on the dangerous parts of life, have I insisted on politeness too much, have I destroyed his full-tilt, no-holds barred personality?

Although I have complained about it enough, I actually really love Isaac's exuberance. I am a pretty restrained, low-risk kind of person, and I appreciate anyone who has the confidence to be more than that. I loved how happy he was in new situations, how nothing seemed to scare him, how thrilled he was to meet new people and try new things. To a large degree, he is still like this, true, but I see it flitting away, and that scares me.

I blame a lot of my reticence on my dad's parenting skills. He was incredibly strict with us, and we were afraid of him until college. Fear of failure is huge for me and my sister, because he always expected so much, and was so disappointed if we didn't deliver. Even if we did deliver, even if we got a bunch of As and one B+, he'd always be quick to say something like "And that B+ in history, I bet you could get an A next semester."

I don't want Isaac to be afraid of life. I don't want him to be afraid to try. I don't want him to worry about what other people think of him.

There is something else, too: his health. He is fine, healthy, thriving little boy, and his prognosis is great. Still, it will be something he needs to deal with-- not right now, but soon, and for the rest of his life. I don't want his health to make him feel different, to make him feel small, or unimportant, or bitter.

My brother-in-law, who, as you all know, is a complete and utter crazy asshole, has health problems. He was diagnosed with Crohn's disease when he was twelve, and it's my belief that said health problem has everything to do with the person he is now. He is bitter and angry that his brothers did not get the disease, and he did. He is selfish and incompetent, because his parents babied him from the day of his diagnosis until today, to the extent that he has never had to do anything for himself. On some level, he doubts that he has that ability.

I don't want that kind of life for Isaac. (Obviously.) I know that I can learn from my in-laws, and I can treat Isaac differently. I can get us family counseling, I can get Isaac whatever help he needs or wants, even if he doesn't want it.

But when I see his personality changing like this, when I see him becoming more cautious, I catch my breath. I don't want to be the reason that life stops being so exciting to him.

Every day at pre-school, right before the kids get out, the teacher gives each one a sticker on their hand. Except that Isaac has always insisted that the teacher puts his sticker on his shirt. Today, when I picked him up, the sticker was on his hand, just like all the other kids.

What do you think? Is this kind of personality change typical for an almost 3 year old? Or have I been too hard on him--and if, so, how do I fix that?

Potty humor

I'm still in Delaware, counting the minutes until we can get back to California, where the temperature is reasonable. I don't have much time to post here, but I did want to note that Isaac, up until a few days ago, has been a complete dream since we arrived. After behaving much like a rabid dog for the months leading up to Christmas, he morphed into a sweet, thoughtful, polite, happy, perfect child the moment we got on the plane headed to Philadelphia. I am very grateful for that, so here's a little glimpse of him for your enjoyment.

(For full effect, be sure to pronounce the r's like Isaac does, with a thick Boston accent.)

Scene: The kitchen, just before dinnertime.

Isaac: "I smell something! I smell a fart, Mommy!"

Me: "Whew, Isaac! I smell something, too. Did you poop?"

Isaac: "No, I didn't poop, Mommy! That's just a fart."

Me: "Are you sure?"

Isaac: "No poop! Just farts!"

Me: "What do we say if we fart?"

Isaac: "Thank you, fart."

Me (giggling): "Or, 'Excuse me'".