Tag Archives: motherhood

Dark & Elegant Matters

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LaKqejeuVcc]
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We found this huge book on the Cosmos at Borders a few weeks ago. High atop a display of discount outer space books, Declan asked me to get the “Bero Galaxy book.” For those of you who, like me (before I had a space-obsessed child), would have no idea what that might mean – it’s a book with a picture of the Sombrero Galaxy on its cover. Filled with huge images taken by the Hubble and Spitzer space telescopes, as well as various other spacecrafts, he was excited to see things he loves, like the Galilean moons of Jupiter, in such detail.

And he stunned me a bit by identifying not only the things I knew he knew, but by saying things like “oh, these are the train wrecks,” when I turned to the page that showed distant galaxies colliding with one another. He can also identify many planets and moons in our solar system by their surfaces – the volcanoes on Mars, the pock-marks of Mercury – and the long arms and glowing cores of several different galaxies. His father and I are confounded by this on pretty much a daily basis, and grateful to be learning that we are even tinier specks in the universe than we ever thought possible.

“That is a really good space book,” he told me confidently after we spent 10 minutes on the floor of the bookstore, flipping through and talking about the pictures.

His favorite thing to watch lately has been the Nova special The Elegant Universe, about string theory. I have watched this with him at least two or three times now and much flies over my head. Declan likes me to watch it with him and explains some of the basics to me: “It’s everything, mommy. It’s everything.”

A few days ago, a young pregnant woman flirted with Declan in the grocery line. He peered around the shopping cart at her, sweet and shy. She waved at him and said “Hi there! How old are you?”

This is a question people ask him all the time, but he doesn’t seem all that interested in answering or even knowing the answer.

I leaned over to him and said, “can you tell her how old you are? Do you know you are two? Can you say ‘I’m two?'”

He looked right at her and said “It’s an elegant universe.”

She looked at me curiously and I interpreted. “He said ‘it’s an elegant universe.'”

She looked pleased and surprised as she touched her belly.

“He has a lot of answers about the big things,” I offered. “Details like his age – not so much.”

“Who needs to know they’re two when they know that?” she said, then she leaned down and looked right at him. “I hope you keep thinking about the big things and the elegant universe for a long, long time. I hope you don’t forget them when you get older.”

Life soundtrack: The Elegants, Little Star: Best of The Elegants, “Little Star”
The Elegants - Little Star:  The Best Of The Elegants - Little Star (LP Version)

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Good time to be a boy

I barely blinked before buying The Dangerous Book for Boys by Conn & Hal Igguiden when it popped up on my recommended list at Amazon earlier this year. I hid it in a shirt drawer for at least two weeks, alongside a copy of Where’s My Jetpack? by Daniel H. Wilson. Then I proudly unveiled the tome, packed with boyhood rites, obsessions and tales, to my husband on Fathers’ Day. (It’s retro, red cloth-bound cover and 19th-century gilded font were brilliant marketing devices.)

According to last week’s Time Magazine, plenty of people joined me in buying that book, which remains a best-seller. David Von Drehle’s cover article “The Myth About Boys” makes the argument that this rekindling of the traditionally magical parts of boyhood – from tying slip knots to knowing the story of the Alamo – means that now is a very good time to be a boy. Apparently, there are (pretty pricey) summer camps devoted to creating outdoor spaces that are essentially safe, but allow lots of room for boys to play, explore and feel some sense of danger. And that’s actual danger, not Nintendo danger.

It seems as though Drehle first dismisses some of the ideas in books like Raising Cain and Real Boys – books that profoundly question, if not indict, the ways our culture raises boys – as alarmist. But he later comes to embrace some part of those notions too, because the cultural dialogue about boyhood and masculinity ultimately benefits boys. This is a conclusion that I can agree with – I am glad to have so many ideas and opinions out there to consider.

I still resist it when anyone tries to define Declan’s actions or personality as somehow definitively or traditionally “boyish.”

I’ve seen toddlers of both genders push boundaries, dig in the dirt and splash through mud puddles. Maybe it’s because we’ve been lucky enough to keep him at home (away from the competition of daycare) for these first two years – not to mention the fact that he’s an only child – but so far, his nature seems very gentle. He fearlessly approaches kids of all ages out in public, especially girls, looking them in the face and saying things like “you have blue eyes.” (Eye color has been his favorite thing to observe about people lately.) But he also cracks up and slaps his knees when he sees older boys doing playground slapstick. He obsesses about outer space and loves to throw a ball, but he’s also an awesome dancer, puzzle-doer and snuggler who often declares himself “scared of bugs” and is thrilled if he gets to teach a grown-up something new.

I worry about the expectations future teachers, friends, family and acquaintances might give him about being male, particularly if they happen to quash any part of his ravenous curiosity or chastise his sensitivity by dismissing it as feminine. Sheltering him from people and experiences wouldn’t be particularly helpful, but I hope I can help him develop the strength to face all of it with the kind of assured innocence he possesses today.

Life soundtrack: The Shirelles, The Scepter Records Story, Vol 1, “Boys”
The Shirelles - The Scepter Records Story, Vol. 1 - Boys

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Funderstorms

We all woke up in the middle of last night as the house got a good shake or two from passing thunderstorms.

“It’s a funderstorm,” Declan told us, confidently.

For some reason the weather made him very alert at three in the morning. He requested that he be able to play with a puzzle, take a purple bath, watch “Little Einsteins” and see the moon. The three of us opted to drink tea, sit by the window and look out at the rain together, trying to explain why “funderstorms” obscure our lunar view.

When I complained that I was hungry, he asked me for a “shiny red apple.” We went to the kitchen and cut one up for him. Before I could get something else for myself, he made me take a bite of one of the slices.

“Is that better, mommy?” he asked me.

In that moment, he reminded me so much of my little brother, Andy, who possessed that breed of kindness from his earliest days as a blonde-haired moppet. Lately, he I get those childhood reminders on lots of days, like our visit to Inniswood park earlier in the week, when I had to swoop Declan up into my arms to stop him from picking a flower for me.

Life soundtrack: Eddie Rabbit, All Time Greatest Hits, “I Love a Rainy Night”
Eddie Rabbitt - Eddie Rabbit: All Time Greatest Hits - I Love a Rainy Night

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The understanding of bliss


All weekend long at Comfest, this arch of rainbow balloons tormented Declan. The allure of the rainbow seduced him across crowds. It would catch his eye and off he’d run. Held down by two supposedly empty helium canisters, it was treacherous to toddler parents who knew that looking at the spectrum really wasn’t enough for little ones. They want to stand beneath it, to touch it if at all possible, and you’d just have to hope that you caught them before they pulled on the ribbon that held it all together and rolled the metal canisters right over their feet.

On Sunday night, the arch was attached on one end and sagging lower to the ground on the other. Declan ran in circles beneath the limp side and Dan brought it down to him. Soon, an entire gaggle of toddlers was running directly underneath the rainbow, or wedging themselves into sections where everything in their world became blue, or in Declan’s case, orange (pictured above). The laughter was infectious and constant – the most contagious display of unabashed childness I have ever seen.

But for some reason – I think maybe an older kid down the row started popping some of the balloons – the woman who had blistered her hands making the arch came up the row, upset and yelling “Let it go! This mine, get off of it now!” to, well, a lot of people who were under five years old. Even though there was less than an hour or two of daylight left in the festival, and the helium arch was flagging, she scolded Dan to let the balloons go, claiming he was preventing all of the other children from enjoying it.

This is the place where parents and people without kids often part ways. I know that before I had Declan, there were certainly times when I would have been on that woman’s side of the divide and wondered what in the hell we, as parents of wild, balloon-crazed giggle monsters were thinking. I know that I’ve put shiny objects in front of more than one little person in my time and wondered why there seemed to be no way to get them to leave it alone. If I’d put in the work that she did, I also might be too attached to watch my work destroyed, even though the arch’s death was clearly inevitable.

When a little child is one of the people you are closest to in life, and you accept their essence – their ability to sustain a state of joy – you know that there is absolutely no way that simply looking at an arch of balloons can compare to the unadulterated bliss those children had when they could run beneath, around and over them – how often do you get to touch an actual rainbow? Regaining a closeness to that simplicity is one of the most precious things about parenting a toddler, and you can often see a nostalgia for it on the faces of parents who have been there.

So I’m grateful to the woman who made the arch, I just wish that she had been able to experience some of that joy along with us.

Life soundtrack: Willie Nelson, Rainbow Connection, “Rainbow Connection:
Willie Nelson - Rainbow Connection - The Rainbow Connection

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Name change

I’m finally happy with the name of my blog!

Here are some of the tiny mantras that currently rule my world:

“Galaxies fade away, all stars merge.”

“Just the right speed! Just the right angle!”

“Mommy! Daddy! Baby! Arrow!”

“Saturn has rings.”

“Jupiter’s going ’round the spot’s going round Jupiter’s going round the spot, Jupiter.”

The last one is a pretty apt description of Jupiter’s atmosphere, as I understand it. It also reminds me of my favorite Lewis Carroll quote: “Be what you would seem to be – or, if you’d like it put more simply – never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.”

Happy Comfest.

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Moon drops and perfect days

It was a recipe for chaos: the Little Brother’s 10-year anniversary and Declan’s 2-year birthday fell on the same weekend. The class that Dan is taking at OSU had a field trip planned for the entire day of said birthday and then, of course, the club’s anniversary took on a whole new significance when its closing was announced. It felt like Dec’s birthday was going to get sucked up by everything else in our lives.

Instead, the appearance of old friends and reunited bands at the club really put Dan at greater ease than he’s been at weeks. The whole weekend felt like a vacation. Dec and I spent most of his birthday on our own, taking phone calls from singing relatives, opening the cards and gifts that people had sent to him and enjoying each other’s company. I let him lead the day, happily fulfilling requests like “let’s hug and snuggle” and “read it again, mommy.”

When a packet of glow in the dark planets arrived in a package from my dad, I dutifully put them up in order on Dec’s bedroom wall. Because he’s watched a Science Channel special about the formation of our solar system on the DVR several times, he was able to name every planet after I went through them with him once or twice. Uranus tripped him up a few times, but he’s now an expert who runs into the room yelling “panets!” several times a day, then points at each one expectantly: “Murkee, mommy? Wenus, mommy? Earf, mommy?” And yes, the set does include the recently demoted “Fluto.”

Most of the adults in his life don’t remember learning the planets until well into elementary school, so again, he is blowing our minds.

His Giga (my mom) got him an amazing blue and silver indoor/outdoor spaceship tent and a Moon in My Room. The latter slipped from his hands as my mom and I were putting a play kitchen from Target together that involved approximately 6,231 screws.

“Baby dropped the moon,” he told us.

Everyone tells me that two is a magical age. And it is. We had a little cake with a number two candle when Dan got home. Declan was every bit as excited to pretend to make his daddy dinner in his play kitchen as he was to sit inside his tent and pretend to be launching into space.

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He wants pink

Every parenting newsletter I get tells me that it will help build my son’s confidence if I let him start making little choices. I usually give him two options: Broccoli or edamame? Goodnight Moon or My Many Colored Days? The playground or the library? Edwards or Obama?

Lately, the color of bath water is one of his favorite daily decisions. He went through a brief and surprising anti-bath period a few weeks back, so I got those red, yellow and blue bath tablets in hopes that the excitement of orange water would bring him back to what had been one of his favorite rituals. It’s worked almost too well. He wants a bath in the morning after he had one just before bed and he hates to get out. I’ve taken to draining the water while he’s still in the tub, so he can flop down his belly, watch the water swirl down the drain and say “bye bye green bath.”

Pink is a favorite. Purple too.

I don’t have any hang-ups about boys and pink, although I have caught myself accommodating other people’s hang-ups on occasion. As a baby, unless he was wearing some kind of sports-related outfit (which was rare – I don’t like inflicting an athletic destiny on him any more than I would want to inflict a pageant destiny on a daughter), Declan was often mistaken for a girl. I always stumbled over whether or not to correct people, and felt dopey when I did. Honestly, he wasn’t even aware that he was an individual yet, he was a sweet ball of rosy cheeks and big eyes, why project an identity crisis onto him? Still, it usually prompted dramatic apologies, as though they had emotionally scarred my son by implying he looked like he could be the same, apparently inferior, gender that I am.

He once joyfully picked up a pink ball at Target and started carrying it with him, and a strange grown man lauded the sporty interest but questioned the color choice. When we told him we didn’t see the problem, he suggested “well that’s fine for now.” Implication: An affinity for pink will destroy him once he is old enough for preschool. My husband gets indignant: “It will always be fine!” he told the pink-phobe.

When I ask Declan what color shirt he wants to wear today, the answer is often pink. I’ve scoured the piles and piles of hand-me-downs we have for a shirt that had the slightest trace of pink on it – maybe a sunset or a flamingo. No luck. I’ve scanned the racks at Target, Old Navy and Kohl’s for a plain pink t-shirt, a pink oxford, maybe a golf shirt with a pink stripe… there is nothing. Meanwhile, in the girls’ section, where the racks look like a massive strawberry confection exploded, everything has a hoochie-mama vibe — spandex fabrics, low necklines, capped sleeves, cheap ribbons and sparkles. Does anyone make gender-neutral clothing for little ones?

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Truths

For the most part, I’m a strong believer that telling my son the truth is usually not only morally correct, it tends to be practical. Unless he’s sleeping or having too much fun to pay attention to me, I always tell Declan when I’m leaving the house without him. Sometimes there are tears, but I find out that he almost always recovers in under two minutes. For reassurance, he looks to my husband between 10 and 50 times while I’m out and says, “Mommy: She’ll be right back.”

He now sometimes sings “she’ll be right back” to himself while I’m away.

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Deceptions

About a year and a half ago, my five-year-old niece was bouncing her entire body off a Fitness Ball in my living room, flopping herself onto the floor and then making sudden, armless leaps back over it like a suicidal dolphin.

“Could you help me keep my daughter from killing herself?” my sister-in-law implored.
My husband sprung into action.

“Uh-oh. It’s six o’clock,” he said. “The purple ball has to be put away at six o’clock.”

The rest of us nodded solemnly.

My mother watched the episode and uttered, “wow, parents are devious.”

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Preschool woes

We took our first mom and baby yoga class when I was still counting my son’s age in weeks. Because the instructor was also a preschool teacher, the small talk on the very first day revolved around the process of enrolling kids in preschool. Her main message was that we not wait – we should get our babies on wait-lists months, if not years, before we wanted them to start school.

This is a bewildering situation, given how mysterious children can be, and how long it may be before their personalities, abilities and learning styles come to light. I’ve looked and asked around casually, comfortable that he’s probably best off at home. But in the past three months, Declan has revealed his incredible ability to memorize and retain information. As the year began, he mastered his shapes in one week, colors in another, the next he was counting to twenty and identifying numbers up to nine pretty handily. He forms sentences about subjects that I don’t remember talking to him about in the first place. Yesterday, we took a walk in a park. As we started up an incline, he repeated “walk up hill!” over and over. He’s blowing my mind.

Just a few months ago, the periodic visits with kids at library reading hour, COSI and the park seemed like enough outside stimulation. Today, I’m having a hard time finding any preschool with programming for children under three – I was hoping there might be one that just does a half day or two a week for that age nearby, but no luck.

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