Tag Archives: motherhood

Your hair is like a book

I was leaving the house, so I got down on my knees to hug Declan goodbye.

I put my arms around him and kissed him, told him that I wouldn’t be gone long.

He put his hands on my cheeks, then moved them just over my ears.

He grabbed a handful of hair on either side and ever so gently pulled them outward and all the way up, until his hands touched each other.

He let the strands fall slowly back to my face, studying them as they dropped.

He repeated it two more times.

“Your hair is like a book,” he said.

This, in a week when I’ve been telling myself to cut it all off.

Life soundtrack: Pavement, “Cut Your Hair” Launch

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Charting Cyberspace, November Edition

Today is the kind of day that makes me wish our fireplace was working. It’s gray and cold – a preview of the hallmarks of Ohio winter. I feel too overcast to think of much to say.
So I won’t say much, other than to point you in the direction of some of the great posts I’ve been reading, thanks to NaBloPoMo. I’ve been using Google Reader to share posts as I read and enjoy them (you can find my feed in a blue box on the right side of this page), but here are a few highlights:

I laughed
• Some sins of the mother visiting over at Boobs, Injuries & Dr. Pepper.

Running With Books experiences the joys of Kindergarten parent-teacher conferences.

• The Queen of Shake Shake rebels against November-writing nerds like me with a little NeeNerHaHa.

• Busy Dad’s five year old starts the revolution.

I cried
The myriad forms of solace at Slouching Past 40.

You have to wonder at one plus two.

I thought
Chopping away at the truth at Cheerio Road.

A precious gift at Blogs Are Stupid.

I wondered
• Do Humpback Whales say things to each other like “are your tail flukes tired? Must be, because you’ve been swimming around my head all day”? Apparently, we’ll know soon.

• News about what our mega-telescopes are finding in other solar systems seems to be coming out in throngs lately. Will SETI help us?

• Here’s a possible future addition to the decor at our house: The Alien Abduction Lamp.

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Our long national anti-bathing nightmare is over!

We’ve endured a bathtub strike for close to a month now. Any bathing of Declan has been done with washcloths, terrycloth puppets and a lot of tears. For some reason, the bathtub, once one of his most cherished places, started to terrify him a few weeks back. I took advice from the Internet, where most of my trusted sources of advice said: “This too shall pass. Honor his fears and sponge bathe him – don’t force it.”

And so I launched a public relations campaign for the bathtub. I bought a Little Einsteins’ Rocket that I made a tub-exclusive toy. For days, he would play with it from the side of the tub. I went back to our old colored water tricks: “Don’t you want a blue Earth/Neptune bath? A red Mars bath? A green Uranus bath?” All to no avail.

Meanwhile, for two weeks running, the video 95 Worlds and Counting has been his obsession. He wants to watch “Holes” — the name he gave it because he loves the animation of the descent into the holes on Neptune’s moon of Triton — as many times and as often as we will let him. “It would be very interesting to go down in the holes, if you dare,” he says, in tandem with the scientist being interviewed. Then there’s something or other about supersonic sounds and landing in a pool of liquid nitrogen.

So naturally, I recently decided that the bath water should become liquid nitrogen, which I make with blue bath tablets and bubbles. On Wednesday night, after the great recliner debacle, I pulled out virtually every toy that could be a bath toy. I drew volcanoes and a supermassive black hole (by request) on the wall with bath crayons. I yelled “let’s be scientists!” and called everything from filling cups of water to watching washcloths submerge “experiments.” I asked him if he dared to go down into the holes of Triton into the pool of liquid nitrogen. I managed to get his socks and overshirt off without any shrieks of horror. (We still must wear the rotating Nemo underneath at all times.) In all of my imaginings of motherhood, I definitely never could have pictured this.

His dad came in.

“We are scientists dad!” Declan shouted. Then Dan was able to get him into the tub (under the condition that the diaper and Nemo shirt stayed on). Then there was the experiment where they filled the diaper with bath water and took it off so we could all marvel at its bizarre absorbency. And then Nemo came off – and we had our boy back in the bath.

Last night, Declan requested a bath again. A yellow-red-brown-green Io bath (he settled for yellow, then orange-red). I started the routine again, and Dan managed to get him in the water again.

Of course, the problem we now have is that once he’s in, he doesn’t want to get out.

Life soundtrack: We Are Scientists, “The Method”: Launch

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Mrs. Ombach would be proud

When we were kids living in New Jersey, my brother and I had a babysitter named Mrs. Ombach, who came over to watch us frequently on summer afternoons. She would look over her half-spectacles at us as she knit long afghans with zig-zags or stripes. At the exact same time each visit, she would instruct us to read or lie down on blankets on the floor nearby while she took a half-hour nap on our rust-colored couch. Because of her insistence that we be raised with an appreciation for classical music, our dad went out and bought a bunch of Tchaikovsky music on eight-track tapes. I knew The Nutcracker and Swan Lake by ear long before I ever saw a ballet.

Her efforts to keep us “civilized” didn’t end with music. Whenever she was over, there would be tea, cookies and conversation at 3 o’clock. On the few occasions we went to her house , it was full of tea sets and needlepoint pillows and dark curtains and cuckoo clocks. No matter where we were with her, she would always police our language for “yeahs” and “uh-huhs.”

“You mean yes,” she would correct us.

Ombach’s notions didn’t entirely disappear or stick. I like classical music, but am by no means an expert. I’ll have some nice herbal tea in the evening now and then, but I’m mainly a coffee drinker, and I don’t drink it ritually much these days – just in large quantities in the morning. I’m particular about language in writing, but often too lazy about my speech, especially around the house. Lazy enough that my mom will still sometimes correct with me with an “Ombach would be very upset with you.”

But Declan almost always says “yes,” with a clear and precise sss sound. He’s even taken to saying “thank you” and “please” quite often, unless you’re telling him to do it, in which case, he stares straight through you as if to say “do I look like I need your pedestrian coaching?”

The other afternoon, he woke up from a nap in the car. I had the classical station playing. He rubbed his eyes and looked around sweetly for few minutes. Then he cupped his ear and said, “do you hear that Mozart? It’s on the radio.”

This blew my mind because it was, in fact, a Mozart piano sonata playing.

He will be two and a half in 11 days. What’s next? Daily requests for a cup of Earl Grey? It’s not out of the question, since he thinks Jean-Luc Picard is a family member. But if he starts asking for tea-time, I’ll be scanning the room for signs of Mrs. Ombach’s spirit.

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I like words

I finally gor around to reading Joan Didion’s Year of Magical Thinking over a weekend near the end of October. When I was done, I put the book down on an end table, not sure whether I should give it a home back on my bookshelf, or pass it on to a friend.

The next day, I found Declan sitting on the bed with it in his hands, leafing through the pages as though he was reading.

“Are you reading mommy’s book?” I asked him.

“I am,” he said. “It’s about words. I like words.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

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Perils of working at home

Me: Upstairs, working on a deadline.

(Noise from the bottom of the steps.)
Dan: “Declan, where are you going?”
Declan: “I have to go see mommy.”
Dan: “Mommy’s working, sweetie. Want to read this book?”
Declan: “Okay.”

(5-10 minutes later – footsteps up the stairs)

Dan: “Declan… I told you, mommy has to work.”
Declan: “She doesn’t has to work!”
Dan: “She does, honey. Let’s go play with Arrow.”

(3-5 minutes later. Footsteps again.)

Dan: “Dec, sweetie…”
Declan: “I just have to go up here and say hi to my friend.” (Climbs the stairs faster.)
Dan: “Say hi to your friend?”
Declan: “Say hi to my friend Mommy. ”

(Rounds the corner to my desk.)

“Hi mommy. Can I hug and snuggle with you?”

Must I have no heart to get my work done?
This is why I wish we had a coffeeshop with WiFi just an eensy bit closer to home…

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I’m the human that was born…

“I’m the human that was boooooorn…” he says, spinning around, looking up towards the ceiling with his hand dangling over his face.

“I’m the human that was boooooorn…” he trips and falls, face-first into the carpet, then pulls himself up, sobbing.

I use mommy snuggles and kisses to coax him back into a happy state.

“Are you the human that was born?” I ask him.

“I’m the human that was born in the puzzle,” he says.

“What did you say?”

“I’m the human that was born in the puzzle.”

He smiles at me and nods, as though he’s certain I will understand exactly what that means.

Update 9/11/07: Last night he added one more (surprising) detail to this mantra: “I am the human that was born in the puzzle of modern physics.” No joke.

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Charting Cyberspace, Labor Day Edition

Pop Culture
Children’s television makes a remarkable number of musical references to classical compositions. My knowledge of symphonies and concertos is nowhere near exceptional, but I’m amazed by how much I recognize when, say, “Little Einsteins” is on. Here’s one possible explanation: Wikipedia’s extensive list of popular songs based on classical music.

If the new Clive Owen movie “Shoot ‘Em up” is as clever as it’s previews or web marketing suggest, it may be the first movie I laugh at this year.

Mysteries of the brain
Here’s one of the hardest things to recoup from my pre-motherhood days: creative flow.

A whistling genius who decided to spend the last 15-16 of his 58 years as a five-year-old died in August. Here is the New York Times’ obituary for Joybubbles (his legal name).

Momosphere
There is some mighty fine writing out there by moms in blog-land.

This week, I was moved to tears by words at Velveteen Mind, most recently Camille was a Lady, Katrina was a Bitch, which led me to the wrenching Victor Vito.

It takes a certain kind of skill to write about happy times without stumbling into clichés, but Oh, The Joys has a knack for it. I particularly loved this post.

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Oh My Stars! Or, an ordinary woman tries to comprehend the size of the universe

I know an awful lot more about space today than I did a year ago. I suspected I had something to do with my son’s intense interest in the cosmos because I did watch an awful lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation reruns on the DVR during the first three or four months of his life, when the better part of our days were spent nursing and napping. But I couldn’t have named the Galilean moons of Jupiter. Or told you the names of any galaxies beyond the Milky Way.

These days, if I don’t clue in to words like quasar and understand that there are far more elaborate whirlpools than the ones that we see when the bathtub drains, I miss out on a lot of things that Declan is thinking about.

I grew up with the original Star Trek. Reruns, mind you. I remember exploring strange new worlds and civilizations on my back patio in New Jersey with my mom, brother and some friends. A small curtain was our transporter, and I was always Uhuru because she was the only female character. (I had high hopes for Lieutenant Tracy, but she was offered up for slaughter as quickly as she appeared on the show.)

Somewhere between my new cosmic awareness and a few Voyager and Deep Space Nine reruns in the past year, it finally dawned on me that I have been watching in relative ignorance. I either nodded off in 6th grade science or I just haven’t paid enough attention to space news over the years. At minimum, I glazed over during technical dialogue in Star Trek too often. I was never really conscious of the fact that the whole thing takes place in our Milky Way galaxy alone, and most of it in just one quadrant of our galaxy. Of course, that is not a small area. Our sun is, after all, one of 100 billion stars in the Milky Way. If we actually do make it to a significant number of other solar systems within those 25 billion-ish stars by the 23rd or 24th centuries, we will have made some kick-ass technological leaps.

Somehow, in my childhood brain, I never really differentiated between “galaxy” and “universe” and that stuck with me through adulthood. I never contemplated the massive stretches of void between this galaxy and another. I never really thought about other galaxies, because Earth alone has generally been plenty big enough for me to try and fathom. But beyond the 100 billion neighborhood stars in our neighborhood, the Hubble telescope tells us that there are at least 100 billion other galaxies. And presumably, many of those galaxies have their own 100 billion stars, at least.

Now they have found a HUGE hole in the universe that is nearly one billion light-years across. This means, I am told, that it’s about the size of 10,000 of our Milky Way galaxies laid end-to-end. These figures are so mind-boggling to me, the theory that we are all really just Sims begin to make sense.

I find something comforting in these new, daily reminders and revelations that I’m smaller, and more insignificant than I ever imagined. For a few moments, it can turn ordinary concerns – like the 20 percent increase in my health care premium that I just got word of in the mail on Saturday – to stardust.

Life soundtrack: The Ventures, Gold, “Telstar”
The Ventures - Gold - Telstar

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Charting Cyberspace

Here are a few selections from my week in web stumbles and ‘net exploration.

Moms
In light of the recent Mattel/Fisher Price recalls of toys produced with lead-based paint, two different blogging moms have taken the initiative to put together lists of toy companies with higher safety standards. Check out the lead-free toys lists at My Two Boys and Mamanista. If you don’t know about the risks of lead paint, particularly to very young children, you can read about them here.

Moms in our playgroup compared notes on Time-outs and other forms of toddler discipline on Saturday, and then I found out that Elizabeth Pantley, author of The No-Cry Sleep Solution, has recently released The No-Cry Discipline Solution: Gentle Ways to Encourage Good Behavior Without Whining, Tantrums, and Tears.
Her web site also has a fair amount of good, free advice.

Fun
It took surprisingly little time for me to create myself as a character on The Simpsons. (Pictured above.) Dan made one for himself, too. (Right.)

Oddee has a genuinely funny list of 15 unfortunately placed ads.

Space
The space shuttle may be the big news of the week, but there’s always so much going on in the world of space news, like the potential discovery of a new “invisible” form of dark matter.

In a couple of weeks, folks in the Western U.S. may get a rare look at the Aurigid Meteor shower.

There is also a cool feature with pictures of the top 10 views of earth.

Environment
The first ever Blog Action Day will be devoted to environmental issues this October.

The imaginative people at Craftster challenged their community to come up with recycled uses for plastic shopping bags.

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