Friday, July 22, 2005
Mr. No
For much of the last two weeks, Boo has been missing. In place of my sunny, easy-to-please baby, someone has transplanted an irritable toddler. For hours on end, he'll answer my every question with a whiny "no." And if I commit the sin of filling the wrong cup, expect for him to hurl himself to the floor for a no-holds-barred tantrum. When he behaves this way in public, as he has become fond of doing, I feel the need to explain to people in close earshot, as if to ward off their unspoken criticism that something is wrong with Boo that I'm simply ignoring: "He's almost two." Older women, in particular, invariably meet that explanation with knowing, sympathetic smiles.
During our bedtime routine, I've begun to reach into my bag of tricks from a couple of years back and offer him a choice. After he finishes with milk, he can continue to rock for awhile, or he can choose bedtime. Interestingly, he sometimes opts for bed. This evening, though, he requested, "Rock." Usually at this juncture, he drapes his body across mine like a cheetah in a tree and goes limp. But tonight, he had another request: "Sunshine." I had not yet crooned "You Are My Sunshine," and Boo was keeping track. Still hoarse from last week's illness, I croaked through the chorus. Again, Boo asked, "More sunshine?" and we continued on together. Eventually, I told Boo it was bedtime. He replied, "More milk." I told him that there was no more milk, but that if he was still thirsty, he could have either water or apple juice. He grinned at me: "Orange juice." He was jerking my chain, but I can bear that brand of good-natured defiance any day. Boo settled for water, then settled in for sleep.
During our bedtime routine, I've begun to reach into my bag of tricks from a couple of years back and offer him a choice. After he finishes with milk, he can continue to rock for awhile, or he can choose bedtime. Interestingly, he sometimes opts for bed. This evening, though, he requested, "Rock." Usually at this juncture, he drapes his body across mine like a cheetah in a tree and goes limp. But tonight, he had another request: "Sunshine." I had not yet crooned "You Are My Sunshine," and Boo was keeping track. Still hoarse from last week's illness, I croaked through the chorus. Again, Boo asked, "More sunshine?" and we continued on together. Eventually, I told Boo it was bedtime. He replied, "More milk." I told him that there was no more milk, but that if he was still thirsty, he could have either water or apple juice. He grinned at me: "Orange juice." He was jerking my chain, but I can bear that brand of good-natured defiance any day. Boo settled for water, then settled in for sleep.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
My One and Only
Yesterday, I could not have told you with certainty that Max knew Boo's real name. Around here, the younger son is known as Boo, or Boo Boo, or Mr. Boo. I'll sheepishly admit that on occasion, I still refer to him as Baby Reed, this despite the fact that he can speak in complete sentences and undress himself and serve tennis balls overhand. But he's still the shortest stack in our house, and to my ear, "Reed" sounds like the name of someone who might be leaving for college any day. So for now, I generally reserve Reed's legal name for doctor's appointments and school forms.
This evening as I was tucking Max into bed, he was pondering his relationship with Boo.
"I take care of Reed," he said somberly.
For a moment, I wasn't entirely sure of whom he was speaking, so I asked Max how he took care of him.
"I'm nice to him, and I pet him softly. I chase him when he runs. And I share my toys with him. That's how I take care of him."
Max layed his head on my chest. "And I also love you, mommy."
"I love you, too, Max."
"You're my only mommy."
"And you're my only Max."
This evening as I was tucking Max into bed, he was pondering his relationship with Boo.
"I take care of Reed," he said somberly.
For a moment, I wasn't entirely sure of whom he was speaking, so I asked Max how he took care of him.
"I'm nice to him, and I pet him softly. I chase him when he runs. And I share my toys with him. That's how I take care of him."
Max layed his head on my chest. "And I also love you, mommy."
"I love you, too, Max."
"You're my only mommy."
"And you're my only Max."
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
That Loving Feeling
There are many facets of parenting which I find tiresome after awhile--diapers, sleep deprivation and discipline, to name a few. But one thing of which I will never tire is the miracle that my love for my children is reciprocated. Until very recently, Boo has made his feelings known through his own special brand of hugs and kisses. But in the last few days, new words and ideas have taken hold in his mind. Yesterday Boo was rocking his baby doll in his arms. Suddenly, he handed it to me, saying, "Baby love kiss." I hope I'm not extrapolating too much by surmising that my baby is feeling the love, too.
With Max, of course, I have to use less imagination. Yesterday afternoon, I was trying to hurry Max out the door to gymnastics. Before leaving the house, Max wanted to load his backpack with animals and puzzle pieces and a few books--things he would never need at gymnastics. As I rushed him, he grew increasingly frantic. Then I had an epiphany: My haste was burdening both of us with needless stress, poisoning what could otherwise be joyous time together. So I downshifted and suggested to Max that he take his time. Immediately, the tension dissipated from his voice. I told Max that I was going to try to rush less and enjoy our time together more. I told him that I thought I would be happier if I slowed down, and I hoped he would be, too. And then Max bestowed me with an unexpected reply: "I love you, mommy." I concluded that something in my soliloquy must be on track, and I was feeling a little self-congratulatory about my small parenting success. "I love you, too, Max." Then, as if to ensure that his point wasn't misconstrued, he said, "Mommy, I love you, but I really love Babee."
With Max, of course, I have to use less imagination. Yesterday afternoon, I was trying to hurry Max out the door to gymnastics. Before leaving the house, Max wanted to load his backpack with animals and puzzle pieces and a few books--things he would never need at gymnastics. As I rushed him, he grew increasingly frantic. Then I had an epiphany: My haste was burdening both of us with needless stress, poisoning what could otherwise be joyous time together. So I downshifted and suggested to Max that he take his time. Immediately, the tension dissipated from his voice. I told Max that I was going to try to rush less and enjoy our time together more. I told him that I thought I would be happier if I slowed down, and I hoped he would be, too. And then Max bestowed me with an unexpected reply: "I love you, mommy." I concluded that something in my soliloquy must be on track, and I was feeling a little self-congratulatory about my small parenting success. "I love you, too, Max." Then, as if to ensure that his point wasn't misconstrued, he said, "Mommy, I love you, but I really love Babee."
Thursday, July 07, 2005
To Peach His Own
After months of nouns, Boo has recently elevated his linguistic artistry. The verb section seems to have powered up in his brain, sending forth a slew of actions and commands: jump, drink, slide, climb, move, push, open, stop, go, help, pet, sweep, rock. Boo's pronunciation is still sufficiently garbled that I sometimes find myself struggling to decipher a new word. Luckily for us both, he has an eager translator in the person of Max. On the occasion when Max, too, is stumped, he usually offers an entertaining guess, like "Beeshoe means peanut butter in Spanish."
The thrill of hearing Boo animate the many objects in his universe has been tempered by an ominous development: his heady infatuation with the word "no." Perhaps I could bear up to this phase of negativity with more grace and good humor were it not for the fingernails-on-chalkboard whine with which every "no" is delivered. After four days of rejections and dismissals, I long to hear Boo's inimitable brand of "yes." It's a twangy cross between "hee-ya" and "yeow," a sound that might have sprung straight from a cattle ranch bunkhouse. I miss that happy little cowboy.
I had my first inkling that Boo might grow up to sound like a Texan several months ago, as we were examining a small book about words that start with the letter "k." Boo spotted a kite and said confidently, "Cat." After he'd repeated this several times, I realized that he wasn't confused, or suffering from poor vision, or free-associating to a memory of a cat interrupting his first kite-flying adventure. He was saying "kite," as any East Texas native would have recognized instantly. If I can suppress my own horror at the prospect of raising a son who might say "nucular," Boo's accent could be good for a lot of laughs.
I wish I had a peach tree in my backyard (or in my neighbor's...), but perhaps the next best thing is to pass the Fairfield peach truck each time we visit the ranch from June through August. On Sunday we stopped to buy a bushel. Because the dogs occupy the back of the suburban, the peaches traveled in the back seat between the boys. There was just one problem: Boo couldn't keep his eager fingers out of the box. Each time I heard Boo rattling around, I admonished him, but there was little I could do from the driver's seat. Max, who fancies himself as a member of the management team, tried to contain his brother's damage, and Boo responded with persistent demands. In a plaintive voice, he begged: "Peach! Peach! Want peach!" But if you'd been listening, you surely would have heard these strange words:
"Paich! Paich! Wont paich!"
He wasn't kidding. By the time we returned home, Boo had finished three freestones and sampled as many more, leaving "teeth tracks" in his wake.
The thrill of hearing Boo animate the many objects in his universe has been tempered by an ominous development: his heady infatuation with the word "no." Perhaps I could bear up to this phase of negativity with more grace and good humor were it not for the fingernails-on-chalkboard whine with which every "no" is delivered. After four days of rejections and dismissals, I long to hear Boo's inimitable brand of "yes." It's a twangy cross between "hee-ya" and "yeow," a sound that might have sprung straight from a cattle ranch bunkhouse. I miss that happy little cowboy.
I had my first inkling that Boo might grow up to sound like a Texan several months ago, as we were examining a small book about words that start with the letter "k." Boo spotted a kite and said confidently, "Cat." After he'd repeated this several times, I realized that he wasn't confused, or suffering from poor vision, or free-associating to a memory of a cat interrupting his first kite-flying adventure. He was saying "kite," as any East Texas native would have recognized instantly. If I can suppress my own horror at the prospect of raising a son who might say "nucular," Boo's accent could be good for a lot of laughs.
I wish I had a peach tree in my backyard (or in my neighbor's...), but perhaps the next best thing is to pass the Fairfield peach truck each time we visit the ranch from June through August. On Sunday we stopped to buy a bushel. Because the dogs occupy the back of the suburban, the peaches traveled in the back seat between the boys. There was just one problem: Boo couldn't keep his eager fingers out of the box. Each time I heard Boo rattling around, I admonished him, but there was little I could do from the driver's seat. Max, who fancies himself as a member of the management team, tried to contain his brother's damage, and Boo responded with persistent demands. In a plaintive voice, he begged: "Peach! Peach! Want peach!" But if you'd been listening, you surely would have heard these strange words:
"Paich! Paich! Wont paich!"
He wasn't kidding. By the time we returned home, Boo had finished three freestones and sampled as many more, leaving "teeth tracks" in his wake.
Monday, July 04, 2005
How To Survive Summer in Houston
The mercury has been hovering around 100 for a few days, and my parenting challenge has been to beat the heat, while still wearing out two energetic little guys. We have resorted to swimming pools, sprinklers, hoses and a variety of museums. Yesterday Lee discovered that tipping over the kayak led to an unexpectedly pleasant paddle around the lake. Boo's favorite strategy, and the surprise hit of the summer, is the lemonade pop. If you could hear him, he would be singing, "Mmmm, mmmm, good. Mmmm, mmmm, good. That's what ice pops are. Mmmm, mmmm, good." And the results speak for themselves.
