DadaMama

Here Is Your Happy Thought

Joy

Today was a shitty day. I don't like to use that word, but there it is. I mean, today had its high points but mostly it sucked and so I leave you with this:

Child

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

--Sylvia Plath

This Boy

He is six years old, almost six and a half. His hair is spiky and his shoes are scuffed in that very particular way that shoes scuff when you spend half your day kicking holes in the dirt. There is a handful of freckles scattered across his nose, and he is missing one bottom tooth. He knows the things a first-grader knows: 2+2=4, cat is spelled C-A-T, and dinosaurs are extinct. He knows that it isn't nice to call names or talk with your mouth full or snatch toys from your little brother. He is six years old, and still fresh. If you look carefully, the baby he was is still there just beneath the surface of the boy he is; vibrant, melodramatic, wreathed with an air of studied bravado. 

Today he wandered around the block with his friend. Around the block is a forbidden place; the great unknown. I expect it's very much like our side of the block, but because it's out of eyesight and earshot, the boy is not allowed to go.

The boy thinks this is unfair. The boy thinks he is bigger, stronger and smarter than his parents. He has the small boy's tendency to think that nothing and no one will hurt him. I wish that was true.

This afternoon, the boy's little brother came in and said that the boy was playing with a kid he didn't know, a kid with a brown football. The boy's father slipped out the door to find him. The boy returned dirty and crying, walking the walk of shame just behind his father. It seems that there was a football game on that side of the block, and that the sixth graders running the game bullied him, seeing him as nothing more than fresh meat to cut their teeth on.  

The boy had been tripped. He'd fallen to the pavement and landed hard on his knee. His elbow was skinned. When he stood up, the sixth graders invited him to punch the kid who'd tripped him. The boy knew this to be wrong--both his parents have told him not to hit. So the boy walked away.

He walked away. This was an act of bravery that left him shaking, breathless and terrified. I cannot tell you what it cost him; I can only tell you that I am so very proud of him.

I look again at this boy; grubby, disheveled, tears smeared across his face. I see that his lip is quivering and his ears are red, and notice how his shoulder blades look like fragile broken wings under his brown t-shirt. He is so small, so defenseless, I feel that I should scoop him up and cradle his head against my neck, like I used to do when he was a baby. But I cannot stop the press of time, the years hurtling forward and away from all of us. I look again at this boy and I see the man he is becoming.

Four

It turns out that if you're four, and old enough to have a mohawk, you're also old enough to ride your bike without training wheels. Yesterday, we finally took the plunge and bought Will a real bicycle (he already has a real one, but it's so small it's practically a doll bicycle) so he can keep up on rides to school in the morning.

He agreed to try it without training wheels, and ten minutes later--with some coaching from his Dad--he was off. He can turn it, he can stop it, and pretty soon he'll be riding it off a ramp (not because his mother wants him to). I'm not really surprised--I mean, the kid has been riding a scooter like a professional since his third birthday.

He loves his bike. "Mom," he said, "I'm a lucky kid because you got me this awesome bike." And I am a lucky woman, to be his mother.

Ah, What The Hell

You only live once, right? Right. So, if you're four, and you want, say, a mohawk--well, I say: GO FOR IT. So we did.

 

I think it suits him.

 

My husband came home and said, "I SAW what you did to his hair." And I said, "It was his idea." And he was all, "If the kid wanted to jump off a bridge, would you let him?" That was when I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes. "PUH-LEASE," I said. And he said, "I know, it's not really a big deal. It's just my job as a codger to say that."

So, glad we got that over with.

 

At least Superbaby liked it.

Camping

 

 

 

 

 

 

Showing Off Their Matching Haircuts

Here is Will and Cheez (his grandfather) on his 4th birthday at our favorite pizza place. Please note the raised eyebrow on my son, which he inherited from Dashing Husband (UNFAIR).

 

Cheez is pretty much Will's hero. These two have been buddies since day one.

Two Squared

Dear Will,

Tomorrow you turn four years old. Did you know that four is the first non-prime number? Me neither. In fact, I'm ashamed to admit that I have no idea what a prime number is. Perhaps I should have paid more attention in math class? Yes, I should have. What's funny about this story was that if I told you that four was a non-prime number, you would simply say, "I know."

 

Another fun fact: four is the number of knees that elephants have. They are the only creature on the planet that can claim this distinction. I am slightly weirded out by this, but you probably already know. Four, apparently, is the age at which One Knows Everything. Four is also the age of: Incessant Whining, Clenching One's Fists When Angry, Talking About Butts, Using "Weiner" To Describe One's Private Parts, and Refusing to Eat Breakfast Cereal.

 

Holy schnike, you're getting big. Your feet are almost as big as your brother's, and he's two whole years older. Speaking of your brother--you adore him. You want to be just like him and you're pretty sure that his ideas are the BEST ideas. In fact, when I asked you what you wanted for your birthday, you quickly rattled off a list of all the things that Gus got for his birthday. The only thing that has changed about this hero worship in the last year is that you've really stepped into the Annoying Little Brother role and made it your own. I have personally witnessed you manipulating your brother to get what you want. You're frighteningly good at it, in your quiet way.

 

What's fabulous about you is how you've also stepped into your role as A Big Brother. You take special care of Superbaby. If you have crackers, you share. If he wants your Matchbox car, you give it to him. You help him climb on the couch and you pick him up when he falls down. When he wakes up crying, you run to his crib and start tossing toys in until he's happy again. This is no doubt how I came to find Superbaby standing on top of a giant stuffed dog, a monkey, a bear, a stuffed snake, a shape sorter, three pacifiers and four blankets. Those are the things you thought might make him feel better.

 

Will, I think you're the perfect middle child. Aunt Jacqui was saying that about you before we even thought about Superbaby, and she was right. You're like the cream in our Oreo--without you, the cookie would be a little less sweet, and it certainly wouldn't stay together. Without you, our little family just wouldn't be the same.

So this is what four looks like (for the record, that's your self-proclaimed "Rock N' Roll Pose," and you are one handsome guy). It's going to be a big year, I can tell.  A couple of days ago I told you that you weren't allowed to turn four, and that you would have to stay three forever. I wish I could bottle three-year-old you, but you said, "No, Mom, I have to get bigger!" That right there is the knowing you were born with, that some things are just the way they are, and why fight it? When I asked you what you would do when you got bigger, you said, "I will tell people not to hit each other and that they have to share stuff."  That sounds like a plan to me.

Love,

Mama

On A Lighter Note

A few days ago I mentioned to Will that he needed a haircut.

"I want it just like the Cheez's hair," he replied. For the record, my father has always worn his hair short. Navy short.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He was.

 

I'm not complaining--it's easier to shear them like sheep than it is to fight with scissors and thick hair that doesn't lay right. Besides, the Cheez is pretty much Will's idol. It didn't take Gus long to decide he'd like his hair like the Cheez's too.

 

For the record, the thumbs-down is for the picture taking, not the haircut. The haircut is SWEET. Also sweet? Gratuitous baby butt, as pictured below.

 

What do you mean you don't garden naked? That does not compute.

Bye Bye, Baby, Goodbye

There are a thousand things rattling around inside my head these days. Apparently, I'm feeling a little emotionally edgy. This may or may not have something to do with the fact that I read the difficult part of The Kite Runner the other day, from which I have taken a series of images that will be burned into my subconscious for the rest of my life.

Also, Superbaby weaned himself. I didn't think this would bother me as much as it does, but then, I didn't know how quickly this little boy would grow up. He's fourteen months old today and I wouldn't be surprised if he suddenly started speaking in complete sentences and then learned to ride a bike.  Sometimes I look at the kids and think, Please don't get any older. You are perfect right now. And then the "now" changes and they are perfect again. I'm sure I'll feel this way about them until the end of my days, but it's so hard to let my babies go.

 

But go they do, and with such enthusiasm that it's hard not to be excited for them. I've heard many other mothers tell me how difficult it was to send their first to kindergarten, and well I understand this, I think I'm going to be the opposite. Superbaby will be the last to do everything--each door that opens for him will mark another that has closed for me.

 

And Now We Are Six

 Dear Gus,

You turned six on April 3, but I have only just found the time to write you this letter. It's been a busy month, and getting to the computer isn't as easy as it was before The Bean started walking.

 

We're all about the celebrations in this family: you had cake with Nana and Cheez, cake at Nanny's house with your cousins, and then cake with Chuck E. Cheese and your other cousins in NC. Maybe that's overdoing it, but there is no shortage of people who love you and want to be there for all your Big Events.  As long as you're around to give us a reason, Gus, we will be around to help you eat the cake. That's what families are for.

 

What can I say about the past year? You've gotten taller, faster, more freckled and more opinionated. The freckles kill me--sometimes we pretend you're a cupcake and they're your chocolate sprinkles. You are incredibly handsome (or, in the words of Zoolander: "Really, really ridiculously good looking.") You are becoming an Impossible Smartass with a fabulous sense of humor. You are intelligent, gregarious, and articulate. I love the way you always use the biggest word when you're trying to explain something.

 

You started kindergarten last fall, and you have amazed us all with what you're already capable of.  Just last night you were reading to me from Beatrix Potter's The Tale of Tom Kitten. You are not daunted by the size of a word and will gamely attempt to sound out even the longest--and usually you get them right. You love books almost as much as I do, and that's a lot. Almost as much as you love ice cream.

 

You quickly advanced to the highest reading group at school, and so wowed your teacher with your writing skills that she asked you to participate in the Young Author's Competition. You came up with quite a tale about a Chinese detective and a brown-eyed talking bear. Together they solved the mystery of the evil witch with the help of some magic celery. I am so proud of you, Gus. I'm happy that we can share this, when we butt heads on so many other things.

You continue to be a good big brother, though Will and Superbaby clearly annoy the hell out of you. Trust me, I know how it feels to just want to be LEFT ALONE, ALREADY. But I also know that there are going to be times in your life when you're going to be so happy you have them, those annoying little brothers. Someday you will realize that who you are is inextricably tied up in how they have shaped you.

 

It's been a huge year for you, what with the learning to read and the learning to write and the learning to ride a bike without training wheels. You are changing faster than you ever have, and I wonder what could possibly be better than watching you grow up. I love you, my first, impossible, thoughtful, sensitive, imaginative, contrary boy.

 

Love,

Mom