Monday, April 18, 2011: Balls

I woke up this morning to a smiling little boy kneeling next to me on the bed saying, "Hi, Mama D." This, of course, sounded like, "Hi, Dirt," which is even better, really. That smiling boy, in case there's any confusion, was Gavin. Otherwise I think my account would have gone more like, "I woke up this morning with some random kid looming over me. WTF?"

I love when Gavin wakes up in a good mood. It's very gratifying. But he wakes up in a bad mood, too. I'm not sure if it's more often a bad or good mood, though it might just feel like there are more rough wake ups because it's easier to remember unpleasant things.

In any case, Gavin can be really bratty, which I feel bad even saying since it feels like I'm calling him names. But it's true. A not uncommon scene:

Me: "Gavin, let's put your jacket on."
Gavin: "No!" (Collapses at knees to the ground, kicks legs, scrunches face up, cries).

Good times.

He also likes to throw things. He is allowed to throw balls, not any of his other toys. He knows this, but throwing stuff is infinitely more awesome than not throwing stuff and so that's usually the option that wins out. Sometimes he'll pick something up and look right at you as he chucks it, clearly looking for a reaction. Ignoring him means he'll throw more stuff. My way of dealing with this is to take his throwing arm and hold gently but firmly so he can't throw anything else or hit me in the face and say, "Gavin, what do we throw?" And he'll say,"Balls," the level of remorse in his voice differing depending on how conscious he was of the throwing. Often when he's done it intentionally for the benefit of attention there is no remorse. But sometimes he just has the urge to throw stuff and will be quite peacefully looking at books one minute and the next he's chucking a stack of books to the floor. He knows he isn't supposed to do this, though. On more than one occasion before I could even say anything he looked at me and said apologetically, "Balls," anticipating my question.

Speaking of balls, that's not the slang word for testicles in our house. We use huevos (Spanish for "eggs"). So it's fun to ask him, "Gavin are there balls in your diaper?" Because he'll look at you like you're crazy and say, "Noooooo!" in the same way he answers the question, "Does Mommy eat cat food?" or "Does Aunt Laura have a penis?" He's very consistent with the answer to both questions now. The penis question was tricky at first. Not because Laura has short hair, but because the whole concept of some people have penises and some don't is still very new territory for him. It has less to do with gender and more to do with the fact that we taught him parts of the body by asking him to find our noses and our hands and our hair and then have him touch his own. He's quite expert at this now and needs no leading. And his skill is not restricted to humans. Animal, vegetable, mineral, he can find its nose, eyes, mouth, you name it (this is, of course, provided that the vegetables or minerals in question have been heavily anthropomorphized). He's figuring the whole male/female thing out, though he is much more inclined to say, "Man," when he sees a man, especially if that man is doing especially manly things like driving a garbage truck or just being very tall. He does not say, "Woman" really at all, and certainly not in the same awestruck way.

I would like to state for the record that the only way Gavin will ever see me as "cool" is if I were to be a garbage man. Sanitation worker, I suppose, if we want to be gender neutral. The boy loves himself some garbage trucks. More than once the driver has waved at him and honked the horn, which pretty much blows Gavin's mind. The trash truck is pretty much Gavin's Justin Bieber. It's a crush from afar. It'll never work out in real life, but it's fun to pretend. I freely admit that I've encouraged this obsession. Not because I have any particular interest in garbage trucks (in fact, I have no affinity at all for garbage trucks because they smell terrible. I don't have the kind of fortitude needed to be a garbage woman), but because Gavin really digs them and it's awesome to see how awe struck he gets. Standing at the window, fogging up the glass with the heavy breathing emanating from his slack-jawed face. He's a wonder to behold. I love it, even if I know I cannot compete with garbage trucks at this stage. If he had a life raft that only had one additional space and he had to choose between Mama D and Waste Management, I have a pretty good idea what he'd pick. And I try not to take that personally.