Rox and Roll

A couple of Dashisms

When I arrived at school to pick up Dash yesterday, he was absolutely covered in paint and appeared very consternated.  And I was shocked; while this co-op preschool is plenty messy, and while Dash is usually dirty and muddy, this full-body paint job was a first.  I waved at him, and he sauntered over, saying: "Mama, there's a problem (which sounds like prob-wem).  My paper painted on me."

Further discussion revealed that he was painting in the school's backyard when a gust of wind blew his paper up against his little body.  From the looks of it, the wind kept blowing, and blowing, and blowing.  Score: Paper, 1; Dash, 0. 

*****

Dash has been talking non-stop about the Monterey Bay Aquarium since our visit there last weekend.  Playing around with him, I told him that we could go to the Moonterey (as in the Moon) aquarium next time.  He said, "No, Mama, it's the MONterey aquarium, not the MOONterey aquarium."

I said, "Well, I can see the moon from the aquarium, right?"

He got a little testy.  "Mama, you know you can't.  The aquarium is open during the daytime, and the earth (pronounced erf, of course) is rotated away from the moon in the daytime.  The sun is not shining on the moon in the daytime either.  So you can't see it, OKAY?"

And with that, I handed him the Nobel Prize for Three Year-Old Astrophysicists and went about my business.  2009 Scoreboard: Dash, 1; Mama, 0. 

Braces and spinach and stitches, oh my!

Petunia and Dash visited our new dentist today.  Petunia was shocked that she has a cavity in between two tightly-packed baby teeth; it is going to be filled on Friday, because it is in one of those teeth that you don't lose until you're 12.  It's a huge bummer; she is a great brusher and flosser according to the dentist, but this cavity is so wedged in there that it was virtually inevitable.

That aside, the even bigger shocker was that the dentist recommended consulting an orthodontist about the crowding in Petunia's mouth.  Apparently, the "new" thinking (new since my day, anyway) is that kids with crowding or other orthodontic issues should have braces for about 18 months at this age, and that dental work might preclude the need for braces later on -- or might at least shorten the duration in those teen years.  Here's how our conversation, post-dentist, went:

Petunia: Mama, what was that dentist girl saying about needing to see about orthodontia?

Mama: Well, she thinks that it might be advisable for you to have braces sooner rather than later because of the crowding in your lower teeth.

Petunia (sighing): The crowding that gave me this cavity that I now have to have filled?

Mama: Yes, I think so,

Petunia (super-serious): I do not want braces.  (dramatic pause)  Braces will look cheap on me.

Mama: What huh?

Petunia: Seriously, mama, they're not good.  They don't "go" [and she even inserted air quotes!] with me.

Mama (stiffling a laugh): Well, would you rather have them as a teenager?

Petunia: MAMA!  [hands on hips, walking stopped]  Do you know how serious I am?  I WOULD RATHER EAT SPINACH THAN HAVE BRACES.

Mama: Wow.  I mean, WOW.  We'll have to talk to Daddy about this problem, and, in the meanwhile,  we are scheduling a consultation.  (cutting off protest from Petunia)  Just to get information!

Petunia: Alright, but I'm just saying, it's not cool.

[Mama: OH MY G-D, SHE'S ONLY 8, I'M GOING TO NEED SOME SERIOUS MEDICATION TO GET THROUGH THE NEXT TEN YEARS....!!!!!]

*****

Meanwhile, Dash was mortified by the hygenist touching his sister's teeth with "some buzzing thing" in the dentist's office.  He didn't act up or anything; he just whispered to me that he wanted "that lady" to stop it.  I wasn't sure what to expect when it was his turn in the chair.

Imagine my surprise when he climbed into the chair by himself, looked me square in the eye, and said: "I'm a big man.  I can do this."  I confess that I almost cried.  He is almost 4 I guess... but something tells me that this steely resolve is quite atypical for his age.  I hope he keeps it, because I envy it; I am pretty strong, but not half as much as him!

*****

Flashback to a week ago, when Dash was sitting in the dermatology office with me as I had a mole, and some surrounding tissue, excised.  (My brother is a melanoma survivor; I don't screw around with funky moles.)  I looked over at him as the doctor was numbing my arm, and I wondered if perhaps it was a bad idea to get this done with him sitting right there.  His sweet little deep brown eyes met mine, with a gaze that was neither sad nor scared -- just steady.  It was like he was telling me, "It's alright, and I'm right here if you need me."  I have never had stitches before, and I'm sporting four right now.  I almost cried as I was getting stitched, as the sensation is rather unpleasant -- but instead, I looked at my boy, sitting there with his hands folded in his lap, and I drew strength from him.

You know, sometimes I think that I've spent almost nine years holding children; and other times, I realize that as much as I've held them, they've held me, too.

When I got up from the chair, stitches and all, I thanked my Dash for sitting so nicely while the doctor was working on my arm.  He said, "It's okay, Mama, you're all better now," and he took my hand, and we walked out of the door together.  He is a big man, indeed.

Daddy can do it, yes he can, if he can't do it... well, I won't. He'll learn.

More parenting videos on JuiceBoxJungle

The latest Juice Box Jungle episode on fatherhood (above) ought to be must-watch for first-time mommies who haven't figured out where daddies fit into the picture yet.  Sure, the guys helped to make the baby, but he didn't have to carry it inside him for nine months, shove it out of his ka-china (my son's word for it -- don't ask), and continue to have it attached to his boobies (Facebook be damned!) for at least a year after that.  How could they possibly know what to do with a baby when they haven't lived it like we mommies have?  Worse, put yourself in my shoes: my husband is the youngest in his family by decades, and he is an only child.  When I met him at age 16, my siblings were ages 7 and 8, and they were the closest he'd ever been to young children.  His learning curve with kids was going to be steep, naturally...

Fast forward to a decade later, when our first child, our daughter, came into being under circumstances we hadn't anticipated.  Instead of having our first child just as Daddy was wrapping up a two-year graduate degree, she was born at the start of his second year.  I was the breadwinner, and staying home from work was not an option; so I started working again when Petunia was six weeks old, and suddenly Daddy -- the student with the more flexible schedule -- was on duty.  The man with zero childcare experience became diaper-changer-in-chief, roller-of-the-stroller to mommy's office for nursing sessions, crying-infant-hall-pacer, etc.  Quite frankly, trying to return to work too soon while adjusting to new mommyhood didn't give me time to think about whether or not he was caring for the baby in the right way, whatever that was.  He was simply doing it -- and, in retrospect, I realized that he figured it out quite well on his own.  When he didn't know about something, he asked me, or he googled it!  (What did we do before the internet?!)

Fast forward another eight years, and our baby Petunia is now age 8, and her brother Dash is almost 4.  Mommy became an at-home parent with child #2, and Daddy is the full-time worker (as he has been since Petunia's first birthday).  With the addition of our second child, I worried... would Daddy have the same close bond with our son, for whom he is rarely the primary caregiver, as he does with our daughter?  Once again, Daddy figured out ways to forge that special bond in his very own way.  He has special things that he does alone with the kids (like a standing date for McDonald's pancakes on Saturday mornings while Mommy sleeps in!).  These days, there are a lot more things that Daddy does -- things like rough-housing, or letting the kids drink soda on occasion -- that Mommy wants to question, but, unless he's doing something that really undermines my full-time parenting routines, I keep my mouth shut.  It's better that he interacts with them on his own terms than under mine.  And while I sometimes find it unfair that Daddy gets to be more of a special playmate while Mommy's the rulemaker, there is no threat that works better than "I'll tell you father" when the kids aren't behaving.  They know that, at the end of the day, Mommy and Daddy are on the same team, pulling for the same great thing: raising happy, curious, creative, fun kids.  It's the trust in each other that we won't screw up the kids too badly that helps us along the way.

Because a childhood is a terrible thing to waste

This marked day three stuck inside with a sick kid, and let's face it: entertainment options for mom are limited.  I've already read an entire book, read Dash all of his books, done much of the laundry, rearranged some kitchen cabinets... you get the picture.  I don't do "cooped up" well, and I really, really don't like cleaning (and can't do it all day long anyway)...

... so Facebook to the rescue! 

Now, let me backtrack a bit.  I have been extremely annoyed with Facebook lately.  These lists of 25/26 things going around are driving me batty.  Through those lists, most of which I've read because I'm stuck in the house, I've learned some incredibly interesting things about a few friends.  I've also learned a whole lot of things that I never needed to know.  As in, if you still pick your nose and eat it, I don't want to read about it on your adult Facebook page; I have a three year-old at home, so I have enough boogers to deal with.  You have OCD?  Tell your therapist.  You have fears?  Sissy.  Go cry to your mommy; just don't freakin' tag me.  I refuse to be "it."

SO, anyway, like I was saying, I was averse to Facebook for a while, but then -- after reading every post ever written on my beloved Silicon Valley Moms Group -- I decided: hey!  I know what to do as I'm holding this barf bucket for my kid!  I can make more friends!

And I thought: who am I the most curious about?  who am I missing from my list?

That's when I realized that, short of my BF since the 2nd grade, I was missing my entire childhood.  Seriously.  Aside from my immediate family, anyone who grew up with me in my small hometown in West Virginia -- every last person (except for that one) who knew me before I was 16 and left for boarding school -- was missing from my radar screen.  That realization made me quite sad on two levels.  On the one hand, there was this small group of people that I really liked, and I wondered what happened to them.  On the other hand, I remembered how hard of a time I had growing up there -- how I was bullied mercilessly, especially for being smart, and I certainly didn't want to conjure up those bad times.  Then again, I sort of "won" in that regard; I never broke under the pressure, I still don't need a therapist for it, and I learned just how strong and resilient I am mostly because I had to deal with mean people at a young age.  (I often wonder how my kids are going to learn how to "deal" in our lily-livered modern age -- though, obviously, I'd rather they learn strength in a more positive way!) 

So I started searching, first for the high school that I attended in 10th grade (that my mother had attended before me), and one thing led to another... and there they were.

The people who sucked were not there, but all of these wonderful people -- people who were my friends, who came to my goodbye party before boarding school, who stayed in touch a few years beyond in the years before we even had e-mail -- there they were, on Facebook.  They are still amazing.  They are all over the world.  They are doing amazing things.  And best of all, they showed me that I wasn't the only one to leave my hometown to see the world.  (I often worried about that, since the college-going rate for WV is just over 10%, which is about a third of the national average.) 

First I heard back from one, a boy who suddenly looks like a man, who played trumpet with me in band and jazz band.  Then another, a boy who I remember others teasing; he has facial hair plus a graduate degree from a school that I deeply respect.  And another, a guitarist with whom I had some awesome jam sessions; he's halfway around the world running his own company, and he looks exactly the same.  A girl with whom I was in the "gifted" program is all grown up and a professor in the Southwest.  And the list, it keeps growing. 

Facebook, I still think you suck for disallowing breastfeeding pictures, and I'm still not doing my list of 25 things... But I heart you anyway, because now I can make a better list, one of people who made my childhood better -- people with whom I shared a unique experience in rural America, people who still care what I'm up to some 20 years later.  Living in WV, I always thought that my world was too small.  Now, thanks to the internet, my small world is back.  It is a warm and cozy place -- and the memories and catching up should get me through yet another day with an improving but still recovering Dash.

Just dropping in to say "hi"

A friend emailed me yesterday to ask if I was no longer blogging.  I emailed back and asked, "Guess again?"  She correctly surmised that the kids have been sick again.  This time, they've been taking turns, and the latest is a real doozie.  Dash is all alone across the room from me right now, stretched out across our leather sofa.  He has decided that the cool comfort of the leather far exceeds the comfort of my warm arms, and he has demanded to be left alone there all day.  When his fever hit its highest, he didn't even want me to look at him.  Luckily, that high number's been dropping all day, and I am off of my perch: prone on the rather hard floor beneath the couch, squished up against it so that he can't see an iota of my body, since the very existence of the mother who brought him into this world so that he can be feverish and vomiting apparently offends him today.  I was not allowed out of the room, but I had to be out of sight -- and after the kid had vomited a couple of dozen times, what was I to do?  I complied, passing him a "boot bucket" whenever that first wretch happened.  He didn't even want me to hold THAT for him!  When he demanded Gatorade, missing from our pantry, he agreed to a ride in the car, but complained the whole way: "Mama, you're carrying me too hard... Mama, I don't have shoes... Mama, I don't want shoes... Mama, the seatbelts are uncomfortable... Mama, the sun is too bright... Mama, this is the wrong store for Gatorade... Mama, I hate."  To which I replied, "You don't like what?"  And he answered, "I hate today."  Yeah, kid, I became a member of that club around 3 a.m.  You made it twelve whole hours longer than me.  Here's your medal.

So on the one hand, there's nothing worse than having a sick kid; but on the other hand, there's having a sick kid and last night's dinner dishes sitting in the sink because you're not allowed to move.  The Premier gave his blessing to my laptop, and, finally, to my sitting in the chair across from him, as long as I don't look at him, watch TV with him, touch him, type loudly or move without permission.  My knitting practice is disallowed, as the clicking bothers him. 

This is one of those "each day is better than the next" kind of weeks, isn't it?

No matter; I'm stocked up and ready.  I now have Gatorade aplenty and some emergency chocolate rations for myself for tomorrow, when I have to watch another sunny day pass by through the window.  Someone told me the rain's coming again, so I'm itching to take a walk.  Maybe Thursday?  I also stocked up on kids' videos from the library, because I believe that kids should have unlimited TV/movie access when sick and unmoving from the couch... and if I had to watch the same Bill Nye "The Moon" video one more time, I would've booked a flight to Seattle, tracked him down, and... yeah.  Did I mention that today sucks?

Meanwhile, in the back of my mind, a few thoughts are swirling.  What if Dash's ear tube fell out, and this is the first of another string of ear infections?  What if it's strep; his stomach hurts, isn't that a sign?  What if he's like this tomorrow, with a lower fever but still so irritable and lethargic?  Why the hell didn't I go to medical school???

And then there's that little devil on my right shoulder... actually, it's now taunting me from where I left it beneath the couch... saying "hey, since he doesn't want to be touched, maybe Dash will even want to SLEEP here, and you might get your first good night of sleep in four years!"   It's an evil thought, but I can't help wondering... what if?  There's room for the couch in his bedroom, even.  For of all of the sadness that lurks in our house today, there is one great thing happening: self-sufficiency.  If he can lie on his own, throw up on his own, comfort himself while sick...?  Maybe he is growing up, after all, and that is a rather happy thing.