DadaMama

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

 

Three Stooges Easter Triptych

 

 

A Preposterous Notion

My serious, intelligent, precocious, impossible oldest boy is 6 today.

Who invented growing up, anyway? I won't allow it.

The annual birthday letter will have to wait until next week, because we're on the road this week.

Happy Birthday, Gus. I hope you have the best year yet.

When I Think of You, I See The Ocean

 

Brown and Agile Child

Brown and agile child, the sun which forms the fruit And ripens the grain and twists the seaweed Has made your happy body and your luminous eyes And given your mouth the smile of water. A black and anguished sun is entangled in the twigs Of your black mane when you hold out your arms. You play in the sun as in a tidal river And it leaves two dark pools in your eyes. Brown and agile child, nothing draws me to you, Everything pulls away from me here in the noon. You are the delirious youth of bee, The drunkedness of the wave, the power of the heat. My somber heart seeks you always I love your happy body, your rich, soft voice. Dusky butterfly, sweet and sure Like the wheatfield, the sun, the poppy, and the water. Pablo Neruda

Look at all those butts!

 

The cousins are in town. I think we need a bigger tub.

Alphabet Soup

The coolest thing that's happened this school year is that Gus is learning to read and write. I catch him sounding out words all the time. When he figures out what he's looking at, he usually comes running to me to announce what he just read, a little breathlessly.

He's smart, this one. On the way to Nanny's house over winter break, Gus asked from the back seat, "Mom? What does D-I-N-O-S-A-U-R spell?"

"That spells dinosaur," I replied.

"Oh! So, this says 'Jurassic dinosaur.' T-Rex was a Jurassic dinosaur."

"Did you just read the word 'Jurassic?'"

It turns out he did. I'm not an expert, but I think that's a pretty big word for a wee five-year-old boy.

Gus has little notebooks scattered all over the house, filled with phonetically spelled words and arcane illustrations. The kid has lots of ideas, and it brings me no end of happiness that he is starting to express them on paper. The writer in me gets a little teary-eyed over it, actually.

Last week, Gus came home from school all excited about the field journal he's making in class. Gus is my little scientist, and so he was thrilled to think that he would get to keep a real scientist's notebook. "I'm writing about dinosaurs in mine, Mom!" he explained, with lots of sweeping hand gestures and excitement. He was actually a little disappointed that the class didn't spend the entire day working on their field journals, and that he had to leave it at school (it's an ongoing project).

Gus wanted so badly to write in a field journal. So, we decided to make our own. I recycled an old cardboard box and a composition book, then covered the whole thing in Egyptian-themed wrapping paper.

Gus started writing in it right away. It's a book about nature. This is the title page, which says "What is Nature." "Nature is something that helps us to breathe." My favorite part is the person at the bottom of the page, breathing. I watched Gus write this page. We were sitting out in the driveway with the baby. Gus carefully placed each letter, stopping to make sure there was a finger space between each word. As I watched, I had one of those moments where I saw him so clearly: five years old, freckled, serious, hard at work.  God, I love this kid.

 

The second page is kind of a warning. "Fire is something that is bad for you."

 

There's one last page, which he must have added on his own over the last few days. "Nature also helps animals breathe."

 

I will have this field journal long after Gus has forgotten about, I assure you. And lest you think I have forgotten the other children, here are some more pictures.

 

The baby is 10 1/2 months old. More on how this is impossible later.

 

The reading bug has bitten Will, too. He "reads" things all the time. This is his name on the fridge--he spelled it himself. "It's really long, Mom, and it has an 'F' in it." It looks perfect to me.

Merry, Merry, Merry Freakin' Christmas

Superbaby proved that he is mighty and took his first steps this morning, right after we finished opening presents. Dashing Husband held out his hands and called his name, and Superbaby just up and walked over to his father. Then Dashing Husband and I dropped dead. [Ed. note: Superbaby is two days shy of his 10-month birthday. Yeah.]

The three tottering steps my baby took this morning round out this year's Trifecta of Ultimate Parenting Moments: 1. Gus learned to ride a bike without training wheels. 2. Gus read me a book. 3. Superbaby took his first steps on Christmas morning. Sorry, Will, you don't make the Trifecta this year. You can just add it to your list of injustices you suffer as the middle child.

Anyway, Merry Christmas everyone. I hope your day was as lovely as mine.

I Think We're Going To Need a Bigger Box

Aunt Sharon: Will, what do you want for Christmas?

[Will ignores this question because he's too busy playing.]

Me: Will, what is Santa going to bring you?

Will: A slave.

Aunt Sharon: Will you loan him out?

(I would just like to say that the child has been watching The Dark Crystal a lot lately, so perhaps he thinks he's getting a Pod Person. Sure, they're lifeless and kind of ugly, but if they scrub toilets we're golden.)

My Favorite People Are In Town!