I Work Hard to Stay Relevant

I work hard to stay relevant. When I go to a park, I seize the moment by creating sculpture using a traffic cone, eucalyptus leaves, branches and bark. Look out Louise Nevelson, because I might be more relevant than you already, and I am just two and a half. I am a seizer of moments.

At mealtimes with my parents, I repeat mommy mommy mommy over and over to break up the conversation when I can’t think of anything to say. I believe in staying on top of the conversation at mealtimes and this means talking a lot. My father refers to this as ‘sucking the oxygen out of the room,’ but I don’t know what he means. He talks about me being a blustery lobbyist or commentator on Fox, but I don’t think these would be good career choices for me.

Staying relevant means that everyone is looking at you. The best way to do this is to shout, ‘Mama, play with me’ when you want your mama to stop reading The New York Times Week in Review and come over and build a block tower right away. I have seen the Week in Review, and it is filled with fluff. Maureen Dowd is off for the holiday, so there is nothing to read there. Nick Kristof is okay, but David Brooks is a one-percenter apologist blowhard. Joe Nocera is a sophisticated complainer, nothing more. My mama will get a lot more out of making a block tower with me, trust me.

Sometimes staying relevant is challenging. There are moments, as impossible as it is to believe, during which I have nothing to say. At those times, I make buzzing noises to simulate words. There are times when I disagree with my parents’ choices for me but don’t want to hurt their feelings by saying their logic is outmoded, their morality bankrupt, and their creative impulses derivative. So in those instances I just say ‘woof.’ I mean, literally, ‘woof.’ It is easier to become a puppy in the moments when somebody in authority is mouthing an inanity like: ‘Two more minutes of playtime, and then we will be putting away the blocks!’ The only response to a statement like that is ‘woof.’ I use this technique often.

Staying relevant means creating drawings with my parents, but I do it Huck Finn style, getting them to do most of the drawing, while I direct them, telling them what to draw, and in what color.

Staying relevant means listening carefully to when my parents get up at 6:30 AM to do yoga and meditation, and then calling out ‘Mama come in here now’ to stay top of mind during their sessions.

Staying relevant means skipping or shortening my naps so that I can continue to build block towers and seize moments.

Adopt some of these techniques, and you too will stay relevant.

Afraid of the Vacuum

hello

To My Parents,

This is a new year so I want to give you both a chance to get this right. Here is a caliper and a metric ruler so you can cut my waffle pieces into the precise sizes that I require. Here is a schedule to tell you when you may run the vacuum.  Please note that all the times listed are when I am out of the house. I don’t think it’s being overly picky to say that I forbid you from running the vacuum in my presence.  I am afraid of the noise of the vacuum, but I will never admit that publicly. It is a better choice for us all if you never use the vacuum. Who cares if the place gets a little dusty? The cat likes batting the dust with his paw, so this decision will benefit him as well as me.

Please never put a blue yoga mat where my mommy places her red yoga mat. If you do so, it will be upsetting for me. Please never move my block towers, yogurt cup towers, constructions, doors, fences, and other things that may be blocking your path. I understand that you believe that you should be able to freely walk around our place, but you have that wrong. Building things is important to my mental development, honing my sense of spacial relations, hand-eye coordination, and self worth. When you consider that huge value to me, what does it matter if you trip over a toy once in a while? Get a sense of perspective, please, and we will all live in harmony.

Here is a timer that will go off when I say it is okay to change my diaper. Here is a weekly schedule that describes when you will be taking me to school, how long I will be permitted to dawdle on the walkway before getting into the car, and how many minutes I will be allowed to fumble around in the car before I get into the car seat.  Here is a list of approved radio stations, when it is preferable to play them, and for how long. Here is a list of what I will eat. Here is a much longer list of what I will not eat. The short list just says ‘toast,’ ‘yogurt,’ and ‘figs.’ That is not a mistake.  The long list is too long to reproduce here, but I suggest you memorize it. This will make it easier for all of us. When I request food, such as an organic fig, please deliver it at once, no matter what else you are doing.

Here is a list of parks I play in, and a map showing the streets you will take to get to them. Please don’t repeat the same park two days in a row.

Here is a list of sounds I make inside, and another list of sounds I make outside, and at what volume and intensity for each sound. Note that these lists are identical. So get used to me screaming, shouting, singing, and whatnot in the location I choose. Do not attempt to modify this; it may affect my ability to self-express.

If I am tired of walking when you are holding my hand to cross the street I will signal this intention by lifting my feet from the ground or by dragging my knees on the ground, making a spectacle of myself in the middle of a busy street. This may cause you some embarrassment, but you need to understand that when I am tired of walking, I am tired in that instant and something must be done.

Wait – I need to update this blog. My father has said that I can’t be giving orders all the time, can’t yell at my parents, can’t repeat the same thing over and over even if I want it very badly, and that I have to live together with my family and be a ‘citizen’ whatever that is. I think he is wrong, but he seems as set on me being a citizen as I am in demanding an organic fig, no matter what else you are doing.

I know I am just two and a half, but I might have to budge on some of this because when my demands escalate, even my mommy, who is a goddess, has to walk out of the room sometimes. She talks about this thing called ‘cooperation,’ which has to be bad because she says it with a serious voice. Still, there is merit to having her in the room with me, so I might have to listen.

Guess what? I have decided that I am not afraid of the vacuum. When I go to a restaurant I will eat french fries with ketchup and will remain seated for almost the whole meal. Is that what is called being a citizen?

Photo credit: Calipers by Mauro Cateb. Toddler photo by docuguy.

5 Things I’ve learned so far…

Lee Schneider:

This is good, solid advice and learning from Chris Gaspic.

Originally posted on This, That & The Other:

So, in honour of all of the end of year lists out there, I thought I’d quickly share what I’ve learned just over the past year (Matilda is only 14 months). I don’t think listing only five will be enough, so perhaps I’ll carry this over. I’ll see. Well, let’s get this started.

1. You sleep more than you think.

We’ve all heard the stories when you don’t have a kid and you’re preparing to have that first child: “Oh, say goodbye to sleep” or “You’ll never have a good night sleep again”. Well, I’m here to say that it’s not entirely true. Yes, I will say that the first few days absolutely, positively suck. It’s the worst. I’ll never forget being in the hospital and watching nurses come in and out of the room checking in on Matilda and taking her out of the room. In those first few…

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One more minute

We say ‘one more minute’ a hell of a lot around here. One more minute, and we will be leaving the playground. One more minute and we will be changing your diaper. One more minute and we will be going out. One more minute and we will be coming back. Mama texted to say she will be home in one more minute. We are staying in the bath for one more minute. We are reading for one more minute and then it will be bedtime. I will stay here for one minute to help you fall asleep. When you wake up and repeatedly shout, ‘Mama come in here right now,’ you will need to wait one more minute for me to get the almond milk from the refrigerator, put it in your sippy cup, and bring it to you.

With all this talk of one more minute, you’d think that kids would become excellent timekeepers. Well, they certainly value each moment, expanding a walk around the neighborhood that takes 10 minutes into a 45-minute adventure where everything is examined and everything commented upon, especially if it is a fire truck. Most of the time, however, they are at war with time. There’s no other explanation for the tears that flow when that ‘one minute’ is up. When it is time to go, if you are two, you fight it, even if you have been given a one-minute warning. When it is time to sleep, to eat, to clean up, to put away, to wash off, to change clothes, to come inside, to go outside, to leave, to stay, you fight it. You fight it all.

We say ‘one more minute’ so much because it is our clueless way to negotiate with master negotiators who will not budge. Therefore, they are not really negotiators at all, are they? We refuse to see that. In our parental wisdom and with boundless compassion, we think our timekeeping smooths the path, wedging an inch of reason into the toddler mind. What we fail to apprehend is that the toddler mind is pissed off, really pissed off, because the toddler has been passed over for the position of running the household. Their intractability is sharper than our compassion. There is no negotiation that will work. The only tool we have is time. Not one more minute, of course, but patience for a longer time, until they are older and can be reasoned with, at least a little.

For now, the best unit of measurement we can offer is ‘one more minute.’

Below, a recording of our toddler practicing his negotiation skills a few weeks ago. He goes to school with a few German-speaking children, so he is working through his ‘nein.’

The Registry: Free Stuff Never Felt So Hard

Lee Schneider:

All the ‘stuff’ is confusing. The writer of the blog below has done a good job here of sorting it out. Just imagine what it’s like a few years in, when you have a house full of stuff. This Christmas we made a point of putting a few toys away ‘for later’ before bringing out the new ones.

Originally posted on HypeDad:

Having trouble comprehending the gravity of having a child? The largeness of it? The overwhelming magnitude of it all? Start your registry. Then let’s talk.

Yes, it’s a bit of a wakeup call. All that stuff. The bottles, the bottle warmer, the car seat, the infant converter, the stroller, the crib, the humidifier, the baby monitor, diapers, diaper bags, and endlessly on into Buy Buy Baby oblivion.

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When walking home, everything merits further study

When walking home on our quiet streets, everything merits further study. Every blade of grass is worth picking, every plant identified, every post-rain mushroom examined.

The child’s dialogue goes like this: ‘That’s a fire hydrant. That’s agave. That’s a crescent moon. That’s dog poop. That’s a mail truck. That’s a mailman. That’s a U-Haul. That’s a big truck. What’s that sound? That’s a fire engine. That’s a car. That’s a car coming this way. That’s a doggie. The dog says woof. That’s a bird. That’s a fountain. That’s a driveway. Where did mommy go? What’s that over there?’

The parent’s dialogue goes like this: ’Stay on the sidewalk, that’s dog poop, or is it a pine cone? No, it is a mushroom, but don’t touch it, and don’t eat it. Those look like blueberries, you can touch them, but don’t eat them, they are probably poisonous. What’s poisonous? It means don’t eat it. Yes, we sometimes eat mushrooms, but they are the right kind. Stay on the sidewalk. Hold my hand when we cross the street. That’s an alley, you have to hold my hand. If you wipe your hand along that dirty car, you hand will get greasy.  Okay, I will wash it when we get home.  Stay on the sidewalk. Stay close to me. Your hand is dirty, but we will clean it off when we get home. Mommy is waiting for us when we get home. Don’t walk in the neighbor’s plants. Stay on the sidewalk.’

For a child, I suppose, there is great comfort in hearing one’s father say ‘stay on the sidewalk.’ Why else would he make me repeat it often? Surely a child’s memory is not short. I know precisely the opposite to be the case: Like his vision and hearing, his memory is sharp and flawless.  Tell him what kind of plant is an agave, and he always remembers. Point out a crescent moon, and he remembers. Tell him that is a telephone line repair truck, and he remembers. Skip a page In a book accidently, and he makes you go back. Tell him mommy is waiting for us when we get home, and he asks, ‘Where did mommy go?’ six or eight times during a 40-minute walk.

The puzzle is solved with this, I think:  With a two-and-a-half year old, fact-memory is strong. He is amassing facts every moment, focusing on a mastery of things. He is building a catalogue to describe the outward workings of the world.

When it comes to emotional memory, however, the opposite is true. Emotional memory is slippery. It is porous. The answer to ‘Where did mommy go?’ always changes. It therefore merits endless asking. A mail truck is a mail truck. There is a fact to be absorbed and there is nothing to be worried about. Where mommy is merits further study, is worth worrying about, is worth refreshing your knowledge about, is worth hitting reset on until you see mommy and verify that she is indeed waiting for us at home.

Ideas for Halloween Costume

Kind of rushed today, but wanted to jot down a few ideas for a Halloween costume.

Fire chief. I already have the hat, the red chief overcoat, and I have visited a fire station and rang the bell.

Burt Reynolds. Grow mustache. Take off clothes. Pose like centerfold. Bit of a stretch. Does anybody remember that photo shoot?

A German speaker. I am learning German at school. Vocabulary so far: nein. Just the one word.

A Tiger.  It’s what I was last year.  I still have the costume, so it’s the low-friction choice. Costume a bit stuffy.  Digging deep into the archives (from last year) here’s what it was like.  Wait for the roar at the end, but try not to get too frightened.

Nudity is OK, as Long as it’s Tasteful

I was reading an article in the New York Times the other day about nudist colonies in Croatia, and it struck me. I am getting more comfortable being naked. I decided to test this out the other day. When my parents came in my room to get me at 6:30 in the morning, I had taken off my shirt and was leering proudly at them from my crib half naked. It was liberating. I saw something of the future in it.

When I was very small I didn’t know what the heck was going on, so being naked was the same as wearing clothes. But as I matured, even a few months in, I started not liking the idea of getting my diaper changed in public. It’s so exposed with everything flapping around as your parent works quickly to strap you up again. Also, it’s drafty. I can think of lots of better things to do than having your diaper changed when you are crammed in an airplane lavatory, or as you dangle off a car tailgate, or as you roll around in the grass in the shady part of a sun-drenched public park.

The nudist colony piece in the Times got me thinking, however, that what I didn’t like about nudity had nothing to do with nakedness. It had everything to do with nakedness as a necessary condition of having a wet diaper changed. It was nakedness endured, not chosen. That morning in my crib, I chose my own nakedness, and it rocked.

What good are clothes anyway? You can go swimming without clothes and I have a lot of fun while swimming. You take a bath without clothes and I look forward to that. You can take a shower, which is slightly scary, but it’s good to get out of your comfort zone sometimes, especially in water. My cat doesn’t wear clothes, and most dogs I see don’t wear them either, and they seem happy.

There is only one reason to have clothes on your body that I can see. They are to catch food when you miss your mouth. Therefore the only necessary article of clothing for anyone is a bib. Bibs come in many stylish colors and shapes to satisfy the most discerning fashionista/o. I have a truck bib, an owl bib, and a blue one with concentric circles on it that reminds me of Wassily Kandinsky’s work from 1922-1932. I am going to start recommending adult bibs as a fashion statement on Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn, and maybe somebody will pick up on it for a crowdfunding campaign.

The new thing I am doing with my mommy lately is a daily Sarasvati puja in the mornings. It goes quite smoothly with my cooperation, and only one time have we nearly burned a hole in the floor with our ceremonial candle.

sarasvati

The Satisfaction of No

There is something really satisfying about flushing a toilet over and over, especially when there is somebody in authority standing close by, telling you not to do it.

There is something great about running around the apartment, turning on all the lights, closing all the doors, closing all the windows I can reach, and watching the temperature climb until my dad’s head turns red and explodes. That’s nice.

There’s something gratifying about asking for bananas over and over again in a commanding voice, and then, when they arrive, not eating a single one of them. It works even better if you say ‘all done’ and toss the plate.

There is personal enrichment in saying no to everything, even things I really want. I can always say I want them later, because if you use a loud voice, your parents will give you anything, I’ve learned.

It’s great to be two and two months. I can taste the power.

Oh, I have to go now. Some men have arrived with a straitjacket they want my father to try on. I think I might have to stop this, before they cart him away.  All I have to do is say NO NO NO in a loud voice.  I have a lot of practice, so I know this plan will work.

Editor’s note: Child development experts write ‘The better the parent, the more the child dares to disagree.’ This sounds good, but it makes you wonder if these child development experts have a quart-sized jar of serotonin reuptake inhibitors always close at hand, or are faithful consumers of bulk, box wine in the evenings when trying to unwind. 

Synchronicity and Whiskey

I needed to complain to my wife. I walked into the bathroom as she was getting ready for the morning.

‘This is all just so stressful,’ I said to her. My tone was whiny. Normally compassionate, she glanced at me with a ‘so-what-else-is-new’ expression. The toddler-in-residence was saying no to everything, running around the apartment turning on all the lights and slamming doors. He was throwing some toys, falling over others, and rolling a big red exercise ball into my path wherever I went. I couldn’t do any yoga and meditation was beyond my ability to focus within chaos.  It was 8:30. The day had hardly started and I was ready for a cocktail.

Just then the doorbell rang. It was a man delivering a bottle of Japanese whiskey and a dry California Riesling. These gifts appeared like magic.  My wife and I broke out laughing. The cat, thrilled, jumped into the new box.

Of course, I had ordered those gifts, but their timing was perfect. It was as though that delivery was scripted and stagehands hustled the man into position to meet his cue. We’d never had a delivery at that time of the morning before and probably never will again.

I guess you can have synchronicity with whiskey. I waited till Friday to fix the cocktails. They were good.