Saturday, May 07, 2005
I say "tomato"...
I've had too many days lately when I've felt as if being a mom might just drive me insane. The thought has crossed my mind when: (1) I am hit, kicked, shoved or bitten yet again, (2) I endure another meal with a child dangling from my body or eating from my plate like a malnurished street urchin, (3) I try to finish another phone conversation while trying to outrun a screaming child, (4) another piece of furniture or clothing or electronic equipment is ruined at the hands of a child who has somehow acquired a Sharpie or a pair of scissors or too many seconds of unsupervised time. When I voiced my concerns about my sanity to my favorite mental health professional, he could only offer this small consolation: "No mother ever died of this."
Surely part of this is the nature of being home with a 3 1/2 year old and an 18 month old, but I still wonder whether I have a role in the chaos somehow. From the many parenting books I've read, this phrase stands out: "Failing to plan is planning to fail." So a couple of weeks ago I began researching things to do with young children, both at home and around town. Actually, my purpose was two-fold: to assuage my growing boredom with our usual routine, and to satisfy Max's almost daily thirst to do something he hasn't been before. Armed with some new ideas, I've redoubled my efforts to be present, energetic and creative for Max and Reed. Last weekend I put my new plan into action. By Sunday evening, I was tired, and still paying bills at 11:00, but I was confident that I had been a good mother to both of my children for two whole days.
Saturday morning we went to a magnificent park in the Heights. No primary-colored plastic on this playground! In keeping with the character of the neighborhood, the play structures are wooden castles with a Victorian flare, featuring rope bridges, chutes and look-out towers. We hadn't been there long when Max came over and said, "Cool park, mom!" He had that right. On the way home, we made a detour by the Art Car Museum for a brief introduction to some of the zany things people do with cars. As an added bonus, the "docent" (now that's a lofty title for the guy who was on duty) sent Max home with a couple of inexpensive plastic cars perfectly suited for do-it-yourself decorating. For his first foray into the world of art cars, Max stuffed the yellow sedan full of flowers freshly picked from the backyard flower pots. All of us were tired from the morning excursion, but Max resisted the idea of a nap. When I tried to encourage a siesta, he said, "You go to sleep with daddy and I'll play with my quiet toys." And, remarkably, he did. Okay, so he removed most of the toys from his closet and took a layer cake out of the freezer and "decorated" it with every last drop of food coloring (rendering it inedible and staining his fingers a deep shade of blue), but boy, he sure had a ball and, more importantly, I had a really lovely nap.
I was still energized on Sunday, heading to Colonial Park in West U, where we ran into Alison, one of Max's best pals from school. (Never mind that first they decided to play "doctor" and then Max invited himself to Alison's house for a sleepover....) Lee joined us in the afternoon for a trip to the Bayou Wildlife Park, which is a private zoo where visitors can get up-close and personal with most of the residents. From the tram that took us around the property, we were able to feed llamas, camels, ostriches, emus, longhorn cattle, miniature water buffalo, antelope, various kinds of deer, goats, and so forth. Max loved the visit so much he has begged to go back nearly every day since. (See what a little energy and planning gets me?) When I explained to him one afternoon that we didn't have time to go to the "pet zoo" because it was pretty far away, he was eager to offer a solution: "We can take the Porsche, because it's fast so we can get there soon."
I've failed to mention that Houston was enjoying spectacular California weather last weekend, the kind that can lull me into forgetting how truly miserable the summer promises to be. Between our Sunday outings, we had a picnic lunch in the backyard under the canopy of a live oak. I'd given each of the boys half a turkey sandwich, when Max began to scrutinize the offering. He made a sour face: "I don't like tomatoes." Meanwhile, Reed was busy dismantling his sandwich, discarding bits of turkey on the picnic blanket. That gave me an idea. "Max, why don't you give Boo your tomatoes because he loves them. And then you can eat Boo's turkey. You guys can have a symbiotic relationship. [I pronounced it "sim-BEE-o-tic".] That means that each of you will be helping the other get what he wants." Max looked pleased. "Oh, yeah. Symbiotic. [He pronounced it "sim-BI-o-tic."] Like the clown fish and the anemone are symbiotic." "Oh, really, Max? In what way are they symbiotic?" "Well, the clown fish hides in the anemone, and the anemone eats food from the clown fish." Oh. I did not know that.
I feel somewhat self-conscious when I tell stories of this kind about Max. After all, I want both Max and his mother to be liked, and regaling people with tales of this sort can be offputting, to say the least. I also believe that we will be doing Max no favors if by highlighting what may be somewhat unique about him, we inadvertently contribute to his feeling separate from his peers. There's no joy in lonely, no matter how bright you are. And to be realistic, the complete picture of Max is more complicated, with areas of weakness as well as strengths. His teachers have pointed out that relative to his peers, he seems to be lagging in empathy and self-control. And let's not forget that great uncrossed bridge, potty training.
Which reminds me...last week Max appeared in the kitchen naked yet again. "Mommy, I used the potty! Come see." I went into Max's room and looked into the pot. Nada. I asked Max for more information about the nature of his accomplishment. "I made pee pee." I took another look, and now I saw. There was the liquid, pooled around the rim of the potty, soaking the hardwoods and the rug, and splattered on the wall and windowsill and wooden blinds behind the potty. Proudly, Max exclaimed: "I did it standing up!" The potty has been relocated to the bathroom.
Surely part of this is the nature of being home with a 3 1/2 year old and an 18 month old, but I still wonder whether I have a role in the chaos somehow. From the many parenting books I've read, this phrase stands out: "Failing to plan is planning to fail." So a couple of weeks ago I began researching things to do with young children, both at home and around town. Actually, my purpose was two-fold: to assuage my growing boredom with our usual routine, and to satisfy Max's almost daily thirst to do something he hasn't been before. Armed with some new ideas, I've redoubled my efforts to be present, energetic and creative for Max and Reed. Last weekend I put my new plan into action. By Sunday evening, I was tired, and still paying bills at 11:00, but I was confident that I had been a good mother to both of my children for two whole days.
Saturday morning we went to a magnificent park in the Heights. No primary-colored plastic on this playground! In keeping with the character of the neighborhood, the play structures are wooden castles with a Victorian flare, featuring rope bridges, chutes and look-out towers. We hadn't been there long when Max came over and said, "Cool park, mom!" He had that right. On the way home, we made a detour by the Art Car Museum for a brief introduction to some of the zany things people do with cars. As an added bonus, the "docent" (now that's a lofty title for the guy who was on duty) sent Max home with a couple of inexpensive plastic cars perfectly suited for do-it-yourself decorating. For his first foray into the world of art cars, Max stuffed the yellow sedan full of flowers freshly picked from the backyard flower pots. All of us were tired from the morning excursion, but Max resisted the idea of a nap. When I tried to encourage a siesta, he said, "You go to sleep with daddy and I'll play with my quiet toys." And, remarkably, he did. Okay, so he removed most of the toys from his closet and took a layer cake out of the freezer and "decorated" it with every last drop of food coloring (rendering it inedible and staining his fingers a deep shade of blue), but boy, he sure had a ball and, more importantly, I had a really lovely nap.
I was still energized on Sunday, heading to Colonial Park in West U, where we ran into Alison, one of Max's best pals from school. (Never mind that first they decided to play "doctor" and then Max invited himself to Alison's house for a sleepover....) Lee joined us in the afternoon for a trip to the Bayou Wildlife Park, which is a private zoo where visitors can get up-close and personal with most of the residents. From the tram that took us around the property, we were able to feed llamas, camels, ostriches, emus, longhorn cattle, miniature water buffalo, antelope, various kinds of deer, goats, and so forth. Max loved the visit so much he has begged to go back nearly every day since. (See what a little energy and planning gets me?) When I explained to him one afternoon that we didn't have time to go to the "pet zoo" because it was pretty far away, he was eager to offer a solution: "We can take the Porsche, because it's fast so we can get there soon."
I've failed to mention that Houston was enjoying spectacular California weather last weekend, the kind that can lull me into forgetting how truly miserable the summer promises to be. Between our Sunday outings, we had a picnic lunch in the backyard under the canopy of a live oak. I'd given each of the boys half a turkey sandwich, when Max began to scrutinize the offering. He made a sour face: "I don't like tomatoes." Meanwhile, Reed was busy dismantling his sandwich, discarding bits of turkey on the picnic blanket. That gave me an idea. "Max, why don't you give Boo your tomatoes because he loves them. And then you can eat Boo's turkey. You guys can have a symbiotic relationship. [I pronounced it "sim-BEE-o-tic".] That means that each of you will be helping the other get what he wants." Max looked pleased. "Oh, yeah. Symbiotic. [He pronounced it "sim-BI-o-tic."] Like the clown fish and the anemone are symbiotic." "Oh, really, Max? In what way are they symbiotic?" "Well, the clown fish hides in the anemone, and the anemone eats food from the clown fish." Oh. I did not know that.
I feel somewhat self-conscious when I tell stories of this kind about Max. After all, I want both Max and his mother to be liked, and regaling people with tales of this sort can be offputting, to say the least. I also believe that we will be doing Max no favors if by highlighting what may be somewhat unique about him, we inadvertently contribute to his feeling separate from his peers. There's no joy in lonely, no matter how bright you are. And to be realistic, the complete picture of Max is more complicated, with areas of weakness as well as strengths. His teachers have pointed out that relative to his peers, he seems to be lagging in empathy and self-control. And let's not forget that great uncrossed bridge, potty training.
Which reminds me...last week Max appeared in the kitchen naked yet again. "Mommy, I used the potty! Come see." I went into Max's room and looked into the pot. Nada. I asked Max for more information about the nature of his accomplishment. "I made pee pee." I took another look, and now I saw. There was the liquid, pooled around the rim of the potty, soaking the hardwoods and the rug, and splattered on the wall and windowsill and wooden blinds behind the potty. Proudly, Max exclaimed: "I did it standing up!" The potty has been relocated to the bathroom.
2 Comments:
accidently got dropped here by the "next blog" button. Sounds like one heck of a smart 3 1/2 year old! My oldest (now nearly 16) was extremely bright for his age, and I encouraged it as much as I could. He was doing everything BUT read by age 4. It turned out to be a disaster because he was so far ahead of his peers. It has snowballed since then. I have to say I'm amazed that you're aware with your first child how careful you have to be about this sort of thing. I personally, was clueless lol.
I joke that he was the kid that taught me what not to do with the next 4...
Sorry to intrude!
Well, at least he knows what a Porsche is for. ;-)
Hang in there, Mom. It'll be OK.
(Though maybe you should look for some videos about toilets instead of marine life. Or explain how the potty has a symbiotic relationship with him, or something.) I'm rootin' for ya'.
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