A year ago I was big as a house. Big, lumbering, fearful of the change about to descend into our lives.
A year later, I am not so big anymore. I am less lumbering. And the fear? That made way for equal parts delight and utter weariness. Most days, I would say, by the time the kids are in bed, I am wearily delighted. Delightfully weary.
Now if I could just regenerate my brain activity... the higher functioning portions... Someone said to me yesterday, "You're a writer, right?" I shook my head. But I used to be, right? I may be again someday? Right now I can't remember the last time I even read a poem.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Playing hide-and-seek with a baby
As the year mark of Abe's life, and my being a mom of two, approaches, I am hoping I can stop all of the hand-wringing that has gone on this past year and move forward into a more positive way of thinking about my approach to parenthood. I mean, chest-beating is only going to get me so far - the self-awareness of it, I appreciate. The residual (and perpetual) negativity, not so much.
So, coming off of an interrrrrminable day of having both kids home (Jonah has been running a fever for a few days), here's a bright spot from the day's events. Jonah spent a lot of time watching YouTube playlists of Sesame Street clips. A LOT. For a kid whose screen time is usually pretty severely limited, this was revelatory. When I decided that the glaze over his eyes was getting dangerous, I cut him off for a bit, and he decided he wanted to act out a particular Ernie and Bert sketch that fascinated him (though he likes to hide behind furniture to watch it, because the part where Bert finally gets out of the chair seems to scare him). He kept getting frustrated because I (Bert) would flub my lines because I hadn't watched the clip 8,000 TIMES. Plus, he seemed confused between tag and hide-and-seek. So, I suggested a game of hide-and-seek, which he enjoyed when he was 3, but we hadn't played in ages. It may seem ridiculous to play hide-and-seek in an 1100-square-foot apartment, but it is a hell of a lot of fun, especially with a 4 year old who is still not clear on how to be sneaky.
Abe was not napping at the time (his naps and sleep have gone to hell lately), so I took him with me when it was our turn to hide. I chose a classic spot: inside the bathtub, with the bathroom light off and the door closed. It took an insanely long time for Jonah to find us - he kept running right past the bathroom door. But the extra time I got to spend holding Abe was worth it. He wasn't a bit scared to be in my arms in the bathtub in the dark. Rather, he was totally thrilled by it and kept emitting happy shrieks (which Jonah kept trying to use to place us, but failing). It was the best thing he'd done all day, I think. When it came time to hunt for Jonah (who ran to his room to hide, slamming the door), it was such a delight to see Abe approach Jonah's bed and look at the odd lump under the blanket. I could see him trying to figure out what it was, as he stood up next to the bed. Then he pulled back a corner of blanket and LO! a foot! and then, a big brother! Cue screaming laughter!
I don't know if Abe understood what we were doing, but he did seem to sense this was FUN. And he does love his brother. I will choose to remember this from yesterday, and the half-hour I spent making cookies with Jonah, and the joy on his face when his entire class made a get well phone call. The rest of the day, the parts that made me look haggard beyond my years when Josh came home, can just piss off to obscurity.
So, coming off of an interrrrrminable day of having both kids home (Jonah has been running a fever for a few days), here's a bright spot from the day's events. Jonah spent a lot of time watching YouTube playlists of Sesame Street clips. A LOT. For a kid whose screen time is usually pretty severely limited, this was revelatory. When I decided that the glaze over his eyes was getting dangerous, I cut him off for a bit, and he decided he wanted to act out a particular Ernie and Bert sketch that fascinated him (though he likes to hide behind furniture to watch it, because the part where Bert finally gets out of the chair seems to scare him). He kept getting frustrated because I (Bert) would flub my lines because I hadn't watched the clip 8,000 TIMES. Plus, he seemed confused between tag and hide-and-seek. So, I suggested a game of hide-and-seek, which he enjoyed when he was 3, but we hadn't played in ages. It may seem ridiculous to play hide-and-seek in an 1100-square-foot apartment, but it is a hell of a lot of fun, especially with a 4 year old who is still not clear on how to be sneaky.
Abe was not napping at the time (his naps and sleep have gone to hell lately), so I took him with me when it was our turn to hide. I chose a classic spot: inside the bathtub, with the bathroom light off and the door closed. It took an insanely long time for Jonah to find us - he kept running right past the bathroom door. But the extra time I got to spend holding Abe was worth it. He wasn't a bit scared to be in my arms in the bathtub in the dark. Rather, he was totally thrilled by it and kept emitting happy shrieks (which Jonah kept trying to use to place us, but failing). It was the best thing he'd done all day, I think. When it came time to hunt for Jonah (who ran to his room to hide, slamming the door), it was such a delight to see Abe approach Jonah's bed and look at the odd lump under the blanket. I could see him trying to figure out what it was, as he stood up next to the bed. Then he pulled back a corner of blanket and LO! a foot! and then, a big brother! Cue screaming laughter!
I don't know if Abe understood what we were doing, but he did seem to sense this was FUN. And he does love his brother. I will choose to remember this from yesterday, and the half-hour I spent making cookies with Jonah, and the joy on his face when his entire class made a get well phone call. The rest of the day, the parts that made me look haggard beyond my years when Josh came home, can just piss off to obscurity.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Further into Four
Jonah is a memory monster!
He received a beautiful memory game for his birthday. I was always (and believed this still to be true) the reigning champion of memory, any way, any day. My game growing up was Holland Memory, with its entertaining pictures of clogs, windmills, tiles, and strange sweets. Jonah calls his "Coney Island" Memory because it has circus images.
Tonight after dinner, he bounded over to Josh and asked, "Are you in a memory mood?" Abe was safely asleep, so the three of us got to play the game uninterrupted by a marauding 11-month-old. Tonight we played with 50 cards (the full set is 72 cards). Josh, uncharacteristically, possibly because he'd had a nap, and also because he'd not been to a bouncy castle birthday party today, beat the pants off me. What really made my jaw drop is that Jonah beat me, too! I was even more amazed because he was becoming visibly tired as we played, and his body started all of its usual fidgety sensory-seeking behaviors that drive us nuts. I kept chiding him for not paying attention. And yet, he WAS paying attention, to the point that he even did, more than once I think, that amazing move where he nearly turned over the wrong card and caught himself and picked up the correct one next to it. I am humbled by his prowess, even more than I am pissed at myself for losing to my memory-deficient husband at the one game I have always ruled at.
Yesterday began with in-home haircuts for 3/4 of the family (first Josh, then a very reluctant Jonah, and then a stressed-out me). I was so proud of Jonah for rising to the occasion and letting me convince him to get his crazy mane tamed. It was not a major chop, just a cleaning up of the tangly baby hair on the ends, which were the locks that contributed to his mad scientist look. It was astonishing how quickly he transformed. I couldn't quite believe the big boy that started to emerge once his hair was cut. Once he stopped struggling, though, I noticed his body was limp and he had a smile frozen on his face. Which of course sent me to the worrying space: Did we break his will? Is he going to be scarred for life because of a ten minute haircut? The reality is probably that he was relaxed, and happy to watch some favorite YouTube clips on my phone while getting his hair done. When can I stop with the worrying?
I haven't been writing much about Abe. He is pulling himself up to standing, repeating words with uncanny precision ("cookie," "duckie," "all done") and also saying non sequiturs ("bye bye!" very clearly, while he's eating). I will never forget looking at him lying on the bed as we prepared to leave the hospital with him on Day One, saying "hi!" to him, and getting a very similar "ayyyyyyyy!" in response. He and Jonah are getting thick as thieves, particularly during car rides. They almost always hold hands, and Abe provokes Jonah into shrieking and laughter. I'm so glad we added a peg to our car.
He received a beautiful memory game for his birthday. I was always (and believed this still to be true) the reigning champion of memory, any way, any day. My game growing up was Holland Memory, with its entertaining pictures of clogs, windmills, tiles, and strange sweets. Jonah calls his "Coney Island" Memory because it has circus images.
Tonight after dinner, he bounded over to Josh and asked, "Are you in a memory mood?" Abe was safely asleep, so the three of us got to play the game uninterrupted by a marauding 11-month-old. Tonight we played with 50 cards (the full set is 72 cards). Josh, uncharacteristically, possibly because he'd had a nap, and also because he'd not been to a bouncy castle birthday party today, beat the pants off me. What really made my jaw drop is that Jonah beat me, too! I was even more amazed because he was becoming visibly tired as we played, and his body started all of its usual fidgety sensory-seeking behaviors that drive us nuts. I kept chiding him for not paying attention. And yet, he WAS paying attention, to the point that he even did, more than once I think, that amazing move where he nearly turned over the wrong card and caught himself and picked up the correct one next to it. I am humbled by his prowess, even more than I am pissed at myself for losing to my memory-deficient husband at the one game I have always ruled at.
Yesterday began with in-home haircuts for 3/4 of the family (first Josh, then a very reluctant Jonah, and then a stressed-out me). I was so proud of Jonah for rising to the occasion and letting me convince him to get his crazy mane tamed. It was not a major chop, just a cleaning up of the tangly baby hair on the ends, which were the locks that contributed to his mad scientist look. It was astonishing how quickly he transformed. I couldn't quite believe the big boy that started to emerge once his hair was cut. Once he stopped struggling, though, I noticed his body was limp and he had a smile frozen on his face. Which of course sent me to the worrying space: Did we break his will? Is he going to be scarred for life because of a ten minute haircut? The reality is probably that he was relaxed, and happy to watch some favorite YouTube clips on my phone while getting his hair done. When can I stop with the worrying?
I haven't been writing much about Abe. He is pulling himself up to standing, repeating words with uncanny precision ("cookie," "duckie," "all done") and also saying non sequiturs ("bye bye!" very clearly, while he's eating). I will never forget looking at him lying on the bed as we prepared to leave the hospital with him on Day One, saying "hi!" to him, and getting a very similar "ayyyyyyyy!" in response. He and Jonah are getting thick as thieves, particularly during car rides. They almost always hold hands, and Abe provokes Jonah into shrieking and laughter. I'm so glad we added a peg to our car.
Friday, January 14, 2011
How to Make Mama Cry
[Dinner table, end of a semi-trying afternoon]
Jonah: You are the BEST mama.
Mama: Are you sure? What makes me the best? I don't think I'm the best.
Jonah: Because... because you TAKE CARE of us. That makes you the best mama.
Mama: [sobs]
Jonah: I know how I can cheer you up, Mama!
Mama: [sniffling] How?
Jonah: It's called Table Manners. [lifting fork, finally using it] There, now do you feel better? Please, may I please have some milk?
Jonah: You are the BEST mama.
Mama: Are you sure? What makes me the best? I don't think I'm the best.
Jonah: Because... because you TAKE CARE of us. That makes you the best mama.
Mama: [sobs]
Jonah: I know how I can cheer you up, Mama!
Mama: [sniffling] How?
Jonah: It's called Table Manners. [lifting fork, finally using it] There, now do you feel better? Please, may I please have some milk?
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Four
As Jonah moves into his Four-ness (and as I read the appropriate book in the Your ___-Year-Old series), I am suddenly struck by my closeness to and affinity for this particular age.Four seems to be where I started remembering things, really remembering them. Not just the shirt, but what it felt like to wear it. Not just what my room looked like, but what it felt like to sit on the shaggy red carpet, surrounded by my mess, feeling at home in it. So I am assuming that Jonah is the same way, and that everything that happens from now on is going to stay with him.
Also lately I have noticed him repeating something either he or I have said, in a whisper, right after it is said. This is absolutely something I remember doing at his age, and I can't imagine he's seen me doing it (as I trained myself out of it long ago). Very trippy.
Another reason I'm feeling so connected to Jonah these days: our hair.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Mama/Mamma
We have a four year old now, one who is transforming hourly into a very Big Boy. And a ten month old, who could probably eat a car if we fed it to him in small enough bits. Tomorrow is the last of Jonah's three parties, a joint one with another boy at school, with pizza and cupcakes and entertainment by the dads. I can't wait! Perhaps most of all because I don't have to do much for it other than get the pizza. Somewhere in there, I turned 39 as well. And I'm going to stay that age for the next ten years.
So, the yelling. I'd like to say it has diminished a bit. The anger, too. Maybe I've turned it down just a notch or two. Maybe I don't have the heart to yell at a boy who's in birthday mode. Maybe it's because when Jonah cries, Abe now starts crying in solidarity. Or maybe it's because Jonah's gotten more sophisticated, and has realized that he can call me on it. Last week he made an attempt to pour his own milk while I was in the other room changing Abe's diaper. I knew he would probably make an attempt, and I specifically told him not to. I came back to find a pool of milk on the table, Jonah soaked in it, and I started yelling almost immediately. Jonah started crying (which he typically hasn't, not until now), and saying, "Don't yell at me!" After cleaning it up, I may have also said something like, "Drink your damn milk." This also perturbed him and he protested, "Don't say that word!!!"
Could it be that I just needed him to grow up a little? Just a hair's breadth of growing up? After that episode I really haven't had the heart to get mega-pissed at him. He is also becoming savvy about "mistakes" versus pure naughtiness. And I can't really yell at him if he made a mistake, can I? So I guess we are going to give mistakes a wide berth for a bit.
A couple of nights ago, Jonah chose his Italian picture dictionary as bedtime reading. Maybe an odd choice, but not for my language-obsessed little guy (he has these dictionaries for Spanish and Hebrew, too). He asked us which one of us spoke Italian, and I raised my hand. He asked me to talk to him in Italian, and we wound up doing the entire bedtime routine in Italian. He loved it! And it was amazing to see how quickly he was understanding the things I was asking him to do. Then we settled down and I pointed out words and told him how to say them. It wasn't until later that I realized another possible reason he was so enthusiastic about his Italian Mom: She doesn't yell at him.
Italian--Moms--Yelling. This string of three took me straight back to my shared apartment on Via Aretina, in Florence, spring and summer 1992. My bedroom wall adjoined the kitchen of our neighbors, a family with two young boys. On a regular basis, the mother would be cooking and all of a sudden burst into angry invective at one of her sons (probably the younger one, as wailing would quickly ensue). I would lie in bed feeling awful for the little guy, and wondering how any mother could be so quick to anger at such a young kid.
Signora Vieri, I'm sorry I thought you such a bad, evil mom.
So, the yelling. I'd like to say it has diminished a bit. The anger, too. Maybe I've turned it down just a notch or two. Maybe I don't have the heart to yell at a boy who's in birthday mode. Maybe it's because when Jonah cries, Abe now starts crying in solidarity. Or maybe it's because Jonah's gotten more sophisticated, and has realized that he can call me on it. Last week he made an attempt to pour his own milk while I was in the other room changing Abe's diaper. I knew he would probably make an attempt, and I specifically told him not to. I came back to find a pool of milk on the table, Jonah soaked in it, and I started yelling almost immediately. Jonah started crying (which he typically hasn't, not until now), and saying, "Don't yell at me!" After cleaning it up, I may have also said something like, "Drink your damn milk." This also perturbed him and he protested, "Don't say that word!!!"
Could it be that I just needed him to grow up a little? Just a hair's breadth of growing up? After that episode I really haven't had the heart to get mega-pissed at him. He is also becoming savvy about "mistakes" versus pure naughtiness. And I can't really yell at him if he made a mistake, can I? So I guess we are going to give mistakes a wide berth for a bit.
A couple of nights ago, Jonah chose his Italian picture dictionary as bedtime reading. Maybe an odd choice, but not for my language-obsessed little guy (he has these dictionaries for Spanish and Hebrew, too). He asked us which one of us spoke Italian, and I raised my hand. He asked me to talk to him in Italian, and we wound up doing the entire bedtime routine in Italian. He loved it! And it was amazing to see how quickly he was understanding the things I was asking him to do. Then we settled down and I pointed out words and told him how to say them. It wasn't until later that I realized another possible reason he was so enthusiastic about his Italian Mom: She doesn't yell at him.
Italian--Moms--Yelling. This string of three took me straight back to my shared apartment on Via Aretina, in Florence, spring and summer 1992. My bedroom wall adjoined the kitchen of our neighbors, a family with two young boys. On a regular basis, the mother would be cooking and all of a sudden burst into angry invective at one of her sons (probably the younger one, as wailing would quickly ensue). I would lie in bed feeling awful for the little guy, and wondering how any mother could be so quick to anger at such a young kid.
Signora Vieri, I'm sorry I thought you such a bad, evil mom.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The silly season
As my friend calls it. All the parties, all the treats, all the wrapping paper to be carefully fitted over gifts, then ripped mercilessly off. Jonah's birthday (to be celebrated no fewer than three times, as usual), mine a week before (to be celebrated at all because I planned ahead and got a sitter!), Chanukah, and of course ubiquitous Xmas dopiness enveloping all, whether you wish it to, or not. Yesterday I took Abe to a Chanukah program at Jonah's school, the centerpiece of which was a drum circle for all the kids which told the story of the holiday. Each kid got to sit on a drum and play it. There were enough drums that I could snag one for Abe, who went to town. (Seems I've got TWO Little Drummer Boys... ba rum pa pum pum.)
Last night, Jonah asked to watch some old movies, and by old he means, last year. I queued up one where he was playing with a birthday gift, a wooden pizza set, right after turning 3. Before Abe arrived. What a chubby-faced baby he was! And what hit me like a ton of bricks was my voice in the background, patiently explaining to him how to put the toppings on the pizza, how to use the cutter. I was so sweet, so loving, not even a hint of edge in my voice. So it seems I was a good mom, and then went and had another baby and instantly transformed into a bitchy, impatient, angry one (with some help from Jonah who has inhabited Three-ness to the utmost for the past few months). I waited until after the kids were in bed to think and talk about it, and promptly broke down. I don't think I can stand to watch these movies again until we're past the dark age of 3, which I hope will be very soon.
But I'm not always so horrible. Yesterday I decided to take the kids to the library after the school event, and Jonah managed to walk all the way there and back, so Abe could nap in his little stroller sleeping bag. The vibe there wasn't too bad, considering that after-school hours there mean extra cops on duty in the youth wing. We got to have a snack in the library atrium and read a Richard Scarry book together and then go up to the phone booths on the 3rd floor so Jonah could go in and out of them a hundred times. When we came home, we watched the movies mentioned above, and came across one of Jonah dancing to the Pogues, also a year ago. I decided to put on the same song and watch him dance again, and it was so exciting to see how his movement has changed. He said, "The song is telling me how to dance to it!" How long until this creativity is snuffed out of him? Or can we keep it stoked somehow?
Last night, Jonah asked to watch some old movies, and by old he means, last year. I queued up one where he was playing with a birthday gift, a wooden pizza set, right after turning 3. Before Abe arrived. What a chubby-faced baby he was! And what hit me like a ton of bricks was my voice in the background, patiently explaining to him how to put the toppings on the pizza, how to use the cutter. I was so sweet, so loving, not even a hint of edge in my voice. So it seems I was a good mom, and then went and had another baby and instantly transformed into a bitchy, impatient, angry one (with some help from Jonah who has inhabited Three-ness to the utmost for the past few months). I waited until after the kids were in bed to think and talk about it, and promptly broke down. I don't think I can stand to watch these movies again until we're past the dark age of 3, which I hope will be very soon.
But I'm not always so horrible. Yesterday I decided to take the kids to the library after the school event, and Jonah managed to walk all the way there and back, so Abe could nap in his little stroller sleeping bag. The vibe there wasn't too bad, considering that after-school hours there mean extra cops on duty in the youth wing. We got to have a snack in the library atrium and read a Richard Scarry book together and then go up to the phone booths on the 3rd floor so Jonah could go in and out of them a hundred times. When we came home, we watched the movies mentioned above, and came across one of Jonah dancing to the Pogues, also a year ago. I decided to put on the same song and watch him dance again, and it was so exciting to see how his movement has changed. He said, "The song is telling me how to dance to it!" How long until this creativity is snuffed out of him? Or can we keep it stoked somehow?
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