It's been nearly a month since my last post and all I can say is that is has been a really challenging month. Gavin is really testing us with his behavior and desperately wants me to become an alcoholic. He is lucky that I don't drink. Seriously, though. The whole "terrible twos" thing is a myth, like a unicorn. But the terrible threes is real, like a rabid 40 lb. raccoon you are legally obligated to provide food, clothing, and shelter to even though the raccoon is yelling "NO" in response to everything whether it is a question or not and thrashing around like, well, a rabid raccoon. Don't get me wrong. I love my kid and think he's amazing and beautiful and smart and sweet. But sometimes I want to say, "You can open the fridge and know how to use the microwave (kind of). You're on your own now, kid." And get in my car and drive far far away.
It's not a lot of fun to tell people, "Yeah, my kid is acting like a total dick" because it basically feels like you're telling them, "I am so terrible at my job." And I really want to be good at this. Since it is kind of high stakes, raising a human being and all. We've started using Love and Logic which is resulting in incremental improvement. Rosemary suggested it to us and let us borrow an audio book by the guys who started it. Stacy said it makes her feel really empowered. I like it because the goal is to stay calm and be understanding but firm. In other words, don't take any shit and do it with a smile. And don't get me wrong, it's not like any of Gavin's behavior has been unusual for a three-year-old. This is a hard age, the hardest so far for us, certainly. Three-year-olds are all about wanting to do things for themselves and testing you at every turn. The problem is that it's always a pop quiz and we, as parents, have to ace every one. So we're working on it.
Gavin wore two pair of underpants all day yesterday. At the same time. One pair of Scooby Doo and one Thomas the Train. When he came out of his room this morning all doubled up I said, "I don't know how comfortable that's going to be, Dude." But soon after breakfast I totally forgot about the Scooby the Train combo, ushered him into some sweats and took him to school. It wasn't until I got home from work in the evening and saw his sweats in an inside out entanglement with his dual underpants on top of the laundry hamper that I remembered. I asked Stacy if she noticed anything about his underpants and she said that when he got ready for his bath he had red marks on both sides near his hips. Stacy asked him if his underwear had been uncomfortable and he said, "No, it's probably because I was wearing two."
Sometimes Gavin will "fix" my hair when we are face to face, like if I pick him up or if I crouch on the floor at his level. This fixing usually entails him pushing my hair away from my face with the clammy palms of his hands. And he gets this really serious look on his face and his face is so close to mine but he is not looking at my eyes, he's concentrating on the sides of my head where I apparently need help. And I love this look so much. It's love, I think. It's something he does that is just so sweet and attentive and I don't even know. I should note that he doesn't exactly manage to make my hair look in any way improved, but he can be my stylist any day. Yesterday after doing my hair he turned his attention to my eye brows, smoothing them down with his finger tips. "Why are your eyebrows so long?" he asked me. I told him that I didn't know, that's just how eyebrows are. And he said, "You're supposed to cut them." I said, "I am?" And he said, "Yes. They're too long. You need to cut them." Next he'll be giving me makeup tips. Which I probably need.
I mentioned awhile back that I often say to Gavin, "Guess what?" And then answer the question with, "I love you." Gavin did his own version of this for Stacy yesterday. According to Stacy, Gavin said, "Mommy I have a secret to tell you." She asked, "What is it?" And Gavin put his mouth right up next to her ear and whispered, "Stinky butt." And Stacy said she tried not to, but could not help but laugh. Which means he will do it again and again times infinity. Today he did the same thing to me but what he whispered in my ear was, "Poo poo pee pee."
And so the blue humor stage of Gavin's comedy career has begun. Gavin is obsessed with the words "poop, pee, stinky and butt" in any and all combinations right now. I am sure that going to preschool is helping to reinforce the hilarity of potty talk, which means we obviously have to pull him out and home school him. Mostly I ignore this kind of talk because it's a losing battle and the more attention I give it, the more encouragement he has, really. But I have to admit, I know I would have laughed at his "secret" because I totally would have been expecting him to say, "I love you." And I have to admit, I like "I love you" better.
On Monday morning I dropped my necklace down the bathroom sink right before leaving for work. As I was already running late, I put a box over the sink and wrote on it: DO NOT USE SINK. I dropped my necklace down the drain and had no time to deal with it." When I got home from work that evening, the following conversation ensued:
Gavin: "Mama D! We have a plan for to get your necklace out."
Me: "You do, what is it?"
G: "You use a screwdriver to pop it out and take it off and get your necklace."
Me: "Really?"
G: "Yes. So you need to get a screwdriver."
Me to Stacy: "What kind of screwdriver do I need?"
Stacy, shrugging: "I don't know, it's his plan."
I did, in fact, end up using a screw driver as part of the necklace rescue operation and I am happy to say that after disconnecting the pipes under the sink I have my necklace back.
Stacy and Gavin left a little while ago for some event related to helping families in need at Stacy's school. After giving me a hug goodbye Gavin put his palm to my cheek and, looking into my eyes, he said, "I'm sorry you aren't coming with us, Mama D. You're gonna be okay."And that, folks, is why this is all worth it.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Saturday, Oct. 20, 2012: Gun Control
I woke up yesterday morning in between sheets soaked in pee that wasn't my own (for once!). You can probably guess where the pee came from. Especially if I tell you that Gavin was sleeping next to me. He has a habit of waking up between 1 and 4 in the morning and getting into bed with us. Quite honestly, I don't usually even wake up so I have no idea that this under-the-cloak-of-darkness-sleeping-quarters-relocation has even happened until morning. Stacy, on the other hand, tells me every morning at what time Gavin came into our room. She's said in the past that she doesn't sleep well with him in our bed, but she also says she doesn't mind that he's doing this because she finds it endearing. I don't really mind, either, but, like I just said, I sleep through most of it so it really doesn't effect me. What I don't like is how early Gavin wakes up -- weekday, weekend, it doesn't matter -- and how he stands and turns the lamp on that hangs over our bed (sometimes he steps on my hair as he does this). This is usually followed immediately by Gavin saying, "I'm hungry."
But back to the pee. I've always had a lingering fear about Gavin peeing in our bed because, unlike him, we do not have a waterproof wet-the-bed emergency sheet on our mattress like he does. So when I woke up and found a very damp Gavin sleeping next to me and sheets all around me equally damp and smelling like pee, I knew that my fear had come true. But when I asked Gavin if he peed he said, "No, I just sweated." Truth be told the boy does often sweat a lot at night, but sweat was not the culprit this time. He even had a night time diaper on (I should say that all diapers are night time diapers in our house now. Gavin is a chonies champion these days) and even though he rarely actually pees in said diapers, last night he apparently peed all the pee in the world, or at least more than could be contained underneath his green-striped footie pajamas. Although stripping pee-sheets off of my bed is not my ideal way to start my morning (so close, though), I am happy to report that the allergy cover we use on our bed saved our mattress from an absorption catastrophe.
Gavin found a witch hat in the basement that I'm pretty sure Stacy wore for Halloween last year. He puts it on and then gives us "rotten apples" since his main reference point re: a witch is this old Snow White puzzle he has which I have described to him as a picture of a witch giving Snow White such an apple. When he gives the apple to me, I pretend to smell it, declare it unfit for consumption, and toss it into a compost bin. Stacy, on the other hand, proceeds to pretend to take a bite, throw up, and pass out, waiting for a prince to come kiss her awake. Gavin likes to play multiple roles in this game, which led him to declare, "I'm the witch. And the prince." Which, as Stacy said, "pretty much sums up my relationship with my son at age 3." And how. I'm happy to report, however, that last week Gavin and I had a couple of really amazing days in a row. It was awesome. He listened to his moms and was polite. No freak outs. No broken hearts.
Well, until yesterday, that is, when something really sad happened. No, not Gavin falling down the front porch steps -- though that did happen. Literally head over heels, landing on his noggin at the bottom. I was standing at the front door and Stacy was standing at the bottom of the steps and while people often say, "It all happened so fast," it actually seemed to happen in slow motion. He was shaken up but not really hurt and Stacy held him while he cried for a bit. And then I said, "I told you to hold onto the goddamn handrail." Actually, I didn't use those words, but I did ask him if he was holding the railing (he wasn't, which I already knew) and pointed out the fact that falling is not fun is exactly why we need to hold the railing in the first place. I wasn't trying to say "I told you so," as much as trying to help him establish a clear cause and effect in his head since he's been really cocky about not holding the railing on steps these days. So many of the parenting books talk about how important it is for kids to experience real-world consequences and so I capitalized on that teachable moment. Lo and behold today he and I were coming upstairs from the basement and he was goofing around on the steps going up "like a frog," he said, and near the top of the steps he fell backwards and landed on his butt a step below. Had I not been right behind him with a firm grip on the clothes hamper he fell against, we both would have probably fallen. Which is why, involuntarily, what came out of my mouth was, "Jesus, Gavin!" I later heard Stacy telling him in Spanish that what he did was dangerous and I couldn't make out the rest except she said something to the effect that he would get hurt and end up in the hospital and that he would cry and that she would cry and that other people (not sure who she said) would cry and that he wouldn't get to go to Greenfield Village because he'd be in the hospital.
But that's not the sad thing I was talking about. The sad thing was hearing Gavin say, "I have a shooting gun. I'm shooting you," while brandishing a plastic, child-size hanger. We have tried very hard to keep him shielded from images of violence. He hasn't even seen Cars 2 because they shoot rockets at each other. I remember over the summer at Lisa's house in California Gavin picked up Brenden's bubble gun (like a squirt gun, but it blows bubbles) and declared that it was a bubble machine and proceeded to hold it upside down while he played with it, having no concept of what a gun was nor how one might hold such a thing. Other toy guns he has encountered he's thought they were toy electric drills. And none of these toys were his. We have no toy weapons of any kind in our home. And yet, here Gavin is, shooting up our house with a hanger. I gave Stacy a worried look and she said something along the lines of "it's preschool," and while I wasn't sure what she meant by that, I could tell by her look that she wanted to discuss it later and not make a big deal out of it lest we accidentally encourage Gavin by giving him a reaction. Later, when I asked Stacy about the gun thing she said she had casually asked him about it. She assured me, "It's procedural at this point. He has no idea what the effect of the gun would be." When she asked him what a gun is for he said, "You hold it like this and you shoot it like this and then you put the bad guys in the jaula." The bad guys, he said, included the police. Oy. Look, it's not like I didn't think this day would come, but it feels really sad. It's a loss of innocence and this means he's one step closer to learning about the super fucked up things that happen and how horrible people can be to one another and to animals. The amount of cruelty in this world is astounding. I just hope that we can teach him to fight against that cruelty, not be part of it.
But back to the pee. I've always had a lingering fear about Gavin peeing in our bed because, unlike him, we do not have a waterproof wet-the-bed emergency sheet on our mattress like he does. So when I woke up and found a very damp Gavin sleeping next to me and sheets all around me equally damp and smelling like pee, I knew that my fear had come true. But when I asked Gavin if he peed he said, "No, I just sweated." Truth be told the boy does often sweat a lot at night, but sweat was not the culprit this time. He even had a night time diaper on (I should say that all diapers are night time diapers in our house now. Gavin is a chonies champion these days) and even though he rarely actually pees in said diapers, last night he apparently peed all the pee in the world, or at least more than could be contained underneath his green-striped footie pajamas. Although stripping pee-sheets off of my bed is not my ideal way to start my morning (so close, though), I am happy to report that the allergy cover we use on our bed saved our mattress from an absorption catastrophe.
Gavin found a witch hat in the basement that I'm pretty sure Stacy wore for Halloween last year. He puts it on and then gives us "rotten apples" since his main reference point re: a witch is this old Snow White puzzle he has which I have described to him as a picture of a witch giving Snow White such an apple. When he gives the apple to me, I pretend to smell it, declare it unfit for consumption, and toss it into a compost bin. Stacy, on the other hand, proceeds to pretend to take a bite, throw up, and pass out, waiting for a prince to come kiss her awake. Gavin likes to play multiple roles in this game, which led him to declare, "I'm the witch. And the prince." Which, as Stacy said, "pretty much sums up my relationship with my son at age 3." And how. I'm happy to report, however, that last week Gavin and I had a couple of really amazing days in a row. It was awesome. He listened to his moms and was polite. No freak outs. No broken hearts.
Well, until yesterday, that is, when something really sad happened. No, not Gavin falling down the front porch steps -- though that did happen. Literally head over heels, landing on his noggin at the bottom. I was standing at the front door and Stacy was standing at the bottom of the steps and while people often say, "It all happened so fast," it actually seemed to happen in slow motion. He was shaken up but not really hurt and Stacy held him while he cried for a bit. And then I said, "I told you to hold onto the goddamn handrail." Actually, I didn't use those words, but I did ask him if he was holding the railing (he wasn't, which I already knew) and pointed out the fact that falling is not fun is exactly why we need to hold the railing in the first place. I wasn't trying to say "I told you so," as much as trying to help him establish a clear cause and effect in his head since he's been really cocky about not holding the railing on steps these days. So many of the parenting books talk about how important it is for kids to experience real-world consequences and so I capitalized on that teachable moment. Lo and behold today he and I were coming upstairs from the basement and he was goofing around on the steps going up "like a frog," he said, and near the top of the steps he fell backwards and landed on his butt a step below. Had I not been right behind him with a firm grip on the clothes hamper he fell against, we both would have probably fallen. Which is why, involuntarily, what came out of my mouth was, "Jesus, Gavin!" I later heard Stacy telling him in Spanish that what he did was dangerous and I couldn't make out the rest except she said something to the effect that he would get hurt and end up in the hospital and that he would cry and that she would cry and that other people (not sure who she said) would cry and that he wouldn't get to go to Greenfield Village because he'd be in the hospital.
But that's not the sad thing I was talking about. The sad thing was hearing Gavin say, "I have a shooting gun. I'm shooting you," while brandishing a plastic, child-size hanger. We have tried very hard to keep him shielded from images of violence. He hasn't even seen Cars 2 because they shoot rockets at each other. I remember over the summer at Lisa's house in California Gavin picked up Brenden's bubble gun (like a squirt gun, but it blows bubbles) and declared that it was a bubble machine and proceeded to hold it upside down while he played with it, having no concept of what a gun was nor how one might hold such a thing. Other toy guns he has encountered he's thought they were toy electric drills. And none of these toys were his. We have no toy weapons of any kind in our home. And yet, here Gavin is, shooting up our house with a hanger. I gave Stacy a worried look and she said something along the lines of "it's preschool," and while I wasn't sure what she meant by that, I could tell by her look that she wanted to discuss it later and not make a big deal out of it lest we accidentally encourage Gavin by giving him a reaction. Later, when I asked Stacy about the gun thing she said she had casually asked him about it. She assured me, "It's procedural at this point. He has no idea what the effect of the gun would be." When she asked him what a gun is for he said, "You hold it like this and you shoot it like this and then you put the bad guys in the jaula." The bad guys, he said, included the police. Oy. Look, it's not like I didn't think this day would come, but it feels really sad. It's a loss of innocence and this means he's one step closer to learning about the super fucked up things that happen and how horrible people can be to one another and to animals. The amount of cruelty in this world is astounding. I just hope that we can teach him to fight against that cruelty, not be part of it.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012: Hands are not for hitting your moms
Hey, have you checked in with your peanut butter lately? Because your peanut butter may totally be trying to kill you. WTF, peanut butter? W.T.F.
Gavin is making new friends at school, mystery friends, even. There's a boy named Julian he talks about a lot. In fact, last week, apropos of nothing while eating dinner with Stacy (I was at work) Gavin said, while smiling, "Julian loves me." When Stacy asked him how he could tell Gavin said, "Because every day at school I sit by him and he plays with me." Thing is, I have never met or even seen Julian. I'm not calling my son a liar, mind you. I guess I'm just saying that I don't even know who he is anymore.
Today we had lunch with Jack and Sammy, twins in his class, and Beth, their mom. She is very crafty and loves math. I am not crafty and do not love math but I do love writing and have a guilty affinity for 80's and 90's era hair metal. So between us we could do a pretty awesome job homeschooling. If it ever came to that. In any case, bagels were had and no one really cried so I call the event a success.
Gavin got his first bad report from daycare on Tuesday. I realize I just wrote "first" as if I expect it to be one of many. I hope not, of course, but also recognize that he's three and also that he's human (most days). Ms. Eugenia told me that he was very disrespectful, sticking his tongue out and refusing to listen. He had to sit in time out, though was apparently not cooperative with that, either. She said something like, "We do not allow this kind of behavior in our class," which kind of sounded like Gavin was in danger of being kicked out of school, but I'm sure that only crossed my mind because I was feeling embarrassed and sad. I thanked her for telling me. I may have said, "I'm sorry," though I don't remember. I certainly felt sorry, but recognize that it isn't really me who needs to apologize. It's Gavin. And a sincere apology from a three-year-old is hard to come by. It's not like Gavin is headed for a special episode of My Toddler Is Out of Control with Maury Povich (or, wait, isn't there a Learning Channel show on that topic?), but it's still a major bummer to get a bad report about your kid.
Thankfully the rest of the week has been shaping out okay. And I was happy to hear that he's usually well behaved. So maybe Tuesday was just a rough day. It happens.
As for his behavior at home, well. You take the good, you take the bad... He still tries to hit us when we tell him it's time to stop doing whatever fun activity he's engaged in and go home or eat dinner or whatever totally less fun thing is coming next. And we definitely had some of that today after I let him play on the playground for 20 minutes. I gave him 10, 5, and 2 minute warnings, but to no avail. I ended up basically having to wrestle him into his car seat and let him cry all the way home. I should note that much of this crying was totally faking it, a new thing he's pretty fond of. (Note: I am not so fond of this.) I know that a large part of what is required of me is being firm yet patient and loving at the same time. The patience part can be hard. Because it's not easy to play it cool when a three year old is beating you up in your car.
I don't mean to make Gavin sound awful. He isn't. I mean, look at this kid. He's like the epitome of sunshine and all things beautiful. This was him this morning right before school, sticking his head out of the sunroof. While we were parked, of course. As I explained to Gavin, it would not be safe to do that when the car was in motion, to which he responded, "Unless you're in a parade."
Tonight while eating dinner Gavin jumped out of his seat and tore out of the kitchen saying something very urgent sounding as he sped by, but he was going so fast there was a major Doppler effect and it took me a second to figure out that he was saying, "I gotta go poop." No sooner had I deciphered this message when I heard a crash in the hallway, the sound of Gavin colliding with the laundry basket that he, himself, left there. I rushed to him and comforted him while, at the same time, I pulled down his pants and got him to sit on the toilet before I had a kid who was not only crying, but also had shit in his pants. Mama D for the win.
Gavin is making new friends at school, mystery friends, even. There's a boy named Julian he talks about a lot. In fact, last week, apropos of nothing while eating dinner with Stacy (I was at work) Gavin said, while smiling, "Julian loves me." When Stacy asked him how he could tell Gavin said, "Because every day at school I sit by him and he plays with me." Thing is, I have never met or even seen Julian. I'm not calling my son a liar, mind you. I guess I'm just saying that I don't even know who he is anymore.
Today we had lunch with Jack and Sammy, twins in his class, and Beth, their mom. She is very crafty and loves math. I am not crafty and do not love math but I do love writing and have a guilty affinity for 80's and 90's era hair metal. So between us we could do a pretty awesome job homeschooling. If it ever came to that. In any case, bagels were had and no one really cried so I call the event a success.
Gavin got his first bad report from daycare on Tuesday. I realize I just wrote "first" as if I expect it to be one of many. I hope not, of course, but also recognize that he's three and also that he's human (most days). Ms. Eugenia told me that he was very disrespectful, sticking his tongue out and refusing to listen. He had to sit in time out, though was apparently not cooperative with that, either. She said something like, "We do not allow this kind of behavior in our class," which kind of sounded like Gavin was in danger of being kicked out of school, but I'm sure that only crossed my mind because I was feeling embarrassed and sad. I thanked her for telling me. I may have said, "I'm sorry," though I don't remember. I certainly felt sorry, but recognize that it isn't really me who needs to apologize. It's Gavin. And a sincere apology from a three-year-old is hard to come by. It's not like Gavin is headed for a special episode of My Toddler Is Out of Control with Maury Povich (or, wait, isn't there a Learning Channel show on that topic?), but it's still a major bummer to get a bad report about your kid.
Thankfully the rest of the week has been shaping out okay. And I was happy to hear that he's usually well behaved. So maybe Tuesday was just a rough day. It happens.
As for his behavior at home, well. You take the good, you take the bad... He still tries to hit us when we tell him it's time to stop doing whatever fun activity he's engaged in and go home or eat dinner or whatever totally less fun thing is coming next. And we definitely had some of that today after I let him play on the playground for 20 minutes. I gave him 10, 5, and 2 minute warnings, but to no avail. I ended up basically having to wrestle him into his car seat and let him cry all the way home. I should note that much of this crying was totally faking it, a new thing he's pretty fond of. (Note: I am not so fond of this.) I know that a large part of what is required of me is being firm yet patient and loving at the same time. The patience part can be hard. Because it's not easy to play it cool when a three year old is beating you up in your car.
I don't mean to make Gavin sound awful. He isn't. I mean, look at this kid. He's like the epitome of sunshine and all things beautiful. This was him this morning right before school, sticking his head out of the sunroof. While we were parked, of course. As I explained to Gavin, it would not be safe to do that when the car was in motion, to which he responded, "Unless you're in a parade."Tonight while eating dinner Gavin jumped out of his seat and tore out of the kitchen saying something very urgent sounding as he sped by, but he was going so fast there was a major Doppler effect and it took me a second to figure out that he was saying, "I gotta go poop." No sooner had I deciphered this message when I heard a crash in the hallway, the sound of Gavin colliding with the laundry basket that he, himself, left there. I rushed to him and comforted him while, at the same time, I pulled down his pants and got him to sit on the toilet before I had a kid who was not only crying, but also had shit in his pants. Mama D for the win.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Saturday, September 29, 2012: Pancake Queen
I made pancakes for the first time ever this morning. Stacy, still recovering from the cold that has knocked us all on our asses the past two weeks, slept in while I got up with Gavin (who doesn't believe in sleeping in). Full disclosure: this does not usually happen. Stacy is usually the go-to parent in the morning because Mama D can sleep through almost anything through sheer force of will if I know that Gavin's health and safety are not threatened (i.e. if I know that Stacy is awake and on it). But because Stacy coughed much of the night away last night, I knew (from personal experience, albeit, second hand) that she hadn't gotten much sleep. And so it was that I found myself awake and asking a handsome boy with messy blonde curls what he wanted for breakfast. And he said, "Pancakes." Now, he has made this request before and I have always said, "I'm not making pancakes" because we either didn't have time or because, well, I had never made pancakes before and it seemed like an awful lot of work (if you're wondering how someone can make it 34 years without ever making pancakes I say worry about your own life for once, okay? Also see the previous reference to "an awful lot of work"). Stacy makes us pancakes pretty frequently, actually, on Saturday or Sunday mornings. And, well, they're not always very good. She has been experimenting with different recipes trying to find the best vegan pancakes (solely for my sake, because she wouldn't need to make them vegan if she and Gavin were the only ones eating them and this is but one of the many things I love about her). What I've learned about myself and pancakes: I don't like buckwheat pancakes. I don't like bananas in my pancakes. I don't like thick pancakes. I don't like burned pancakes. So when Gavin asked for pancakes this morning, my first instinct was to say, "How about cereal or toast?" But then I thought, "Hey, why not fucking try to make pancakes for your fucking kid? Would it fucking kill you? (I'm not a morning person, really). And so I said, "Sure" and got out my copy of Vegan Brunch and Gavin and I whipped up some pretty damn good pancakes if I do say so myself. Though glancing at the recipe now, I think we may have used a tablespoon of cinnamon instead of a teaspoon and I know we did not use vanilla extract. But it was before 7 a.m. and I was tired, plus my assistant was illiterate had to stand on a chair to reach the counter. Still, they were good, damn it, and mostly not burned. So I got to spend quality measuring and pouring and mixing time with my son this morning and Stacy got to sleep in and wake up to breakfast already made (points deposited in the Being Married To You Is Not A Miserable Experience Bank). A win-win-win.
Our street had a block party today and Gavin got to ride his bike in the street for the first time ever. He loved this, as did many of the other kids. I explained to him that today was the only day riding his bike in the street was okay because the street was blocked off. I don't want him getting any ideas and cruising down 8 Mile, even though I know he would wear his helmet. He is very safety conscious. He was concerned that not all of the kids in the bike parade, which kicked off the block party, were wearing helmets. That's a tricky thing to explain to kids -- when something they have been taught to do for safety, and indeed must do per parental demand, isn't something other kids have to do. The worst is when Gavin calls attention to this within earshot of the other parents because I can't be all, "Well, that boy is climbing up the slide after I told you not to do that very same thing because that kid's mom doesn't care if he gets kicked in the face." Wearing a helmet, however, is something so ingrained that whenever he sees a bicyclist or a motor cyclist he always remarks upon whether or not they are wearing a helmet. Michigan's brilliant repeal of the helmet law has only made this issue more confusing for Gavin (he follows state politics pretty closely). So Gavin's attitude toward the helmetless bike paraders wasn't, "How come I have to wear a helmet and they don't?" It was more, "Why on earth are they not wearing helmets?" But once the parade had started he forgot all about the potential for closed head injuries among the neighborhood kids and focused instead on riding as fast as he could down the street with his biker gang.
Gavin also loved jumping in the Spiderman bounce house set up on the Pool family's front lawn, which I think all of the kids agree should be a permanent staple. Especially Jim, a.k.a. Mr. Jim, a.k.a. Mr. Pool (psst: he's really a grown up). And he got to do a little sidewalk bowling, which I was absent for, but from this picture Jim took, it looks like my boy is a natural.
Our street had a block party today and Gavin got to ride his bike in the street for the first time ever. He loved this, as did many of the other kids. I explained to him that today was the only day riding his bike in the street was okay because the street was blocked off. I don't want him getting any ideas and cruising down 8 Mile, even though I know he would wear his helmet. He is very safety conscious. He was concerned that not all of the kids in the bike parade, which kicked off the block party, were wearing helmets. That's a tricky thing to explain to kids -- when something they have been taught to do for safety, and indeed must do per parental demand, isn't something other kids have to do. The worst is when Gavin calls attention to this within earshot of the other parents because I can't be all, "Well, that boy is climbing up the slide after I told you not to do that very same thing because that kid's mom doesn't care if he gets kicked in the face." Wearing a helmet, however, is something so ingrained that whenever he sees a bicyclist or a motor cyclist he always remarks upon whether or not they are wearing a helmet. Michigan's brilliant repeal of the helmet law has only made this issue more confusing for Gavin (he follows state politics pretty closely). So Gavin's attitude toward the helmetless bike paraders wasn't, "How come I have to wear a helmet and they don't?" It was more, "Why on earth are they not wearing helmets?" But once the parade had started he forgot all about the potential for closed head injuries among the neighborhood kids and focused instead on riding as fast as he could down the street with his biker gang.
Gavin also loved jumping in the Spiderman bounce house set up on the Pool family's front lawn, which I think all of the kids agree should be a permanent staple. Especially Jim, a.k.a. Mr. Jim, a.k.a. Mr. Pool (psst: he's really a grown up). And he got to do a little sidewalk bowling, which I was absent for, but from this picture Jim took, it looks like my boy is a natural.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Thursday, Sept. 20, 2012: Homesick
Gavin has a cold, or, as he calls it, "a coughing sick" and did not go to preschool today or yesterday. I, too, am getting such a sick and I am not as happy as most people probably would be. I know I am alone in my dislike of colds, but if hating colds is wrong, I don't want to be right.
The good news, however, is that Gavin's behavior has been much better these past couple of days. Not perfect, mind you, but we never asked for, or expected, perfect. I think he's getting used to going to preschool and his new schedule (though being off for two days can't help). He's been a much happier kid (despite being sick) which means he's been more cooperative and much more polite. So I've decided he can stay.
That's not to say I won't still read Your Three-Year-Old: Friend of Enemy, which my mom bought for me as soon as she read my last post, even though I was joking about wanting it because it seemed so sad. Thankfully in real life it doesn't seem to be that depressing. It's even pink with a close up of a little girl in an ugly hat on the front, so it can't be all bad. I will read it and report back.
Yesterday Stacy had to stay home from work to tend to Mr. Coughing Sick. Today I stayed home with him, but I don't go to campus on Thursdays anyway. He goes to morning preschool on Tues. and Thurs. and I go to the library to get some work done. Trying to cram an entire work week into the three days I am on campus (MWF) is impossible. I've tried it. Having a couple of hours in the morning to get work done on the days I am home with him is really helping be to stay employed and sane. Well, just employed, but still.
I accidentally taught Gavin to say, "I'm going to punch you in the face" today. Before you panic, no, I did not threaten to cold clock my son. I was getting him his car seat (because even though we are both feeling sick, there were some things that had to be done outside of the home today like going to the credit union so old women could gush over Gavin's gorgeous curls) and he, not paying attention, flung his arm outwards and upwards, his hand just grazing my chin. I, largely involuntarily, made some kind of sound akin to "whoa" and Gavin, the ever-curious gent that he is, asked why I made such a sound and I responded, "Because you almost punched me in the face." And then I hardly had myself in the car and my seat belt buckled before he said, kind of to me, kind of to himself, "I'm going to punch you in the face." I told him that was a terrible thing to say to someone, but I really didn't have much credibility on the subject at that point.
Gavin has been learning about time and is constantly asking questions about what day it is. Not as in what day of the week, but as in, "Is there another yesterday coming up?" which is what he asked Stacy yesterday and then me today. Other queries include, "Is today yesterday?" and "Yesterday will it be tomorrow?" I just asked him, "What day is it?" and he said, "What?" I repeated the question and he said, "I don't understand what you're saying." I repeated the question again and he said, with his most serious thinking face, "I thought today was tomorrow."
Hey, do you have $80 to spend on a gift for an awesome kid and you're about to blow it on some kind of plastic LeapFrog bullshit reading thing that you're totally going to regret buying because it is loud and eats batteries and even after you give it to your kid he will still prefer to steal your iPad and eventually will manage to break both? Don't do it! Subscribe instead to McMullens the children's book imprint by McSweeney's. Gavin is a subscriber (okay, I am and I somewhat reluctantly hand over the books to Gavin, so really this is a good gift for all ages) and we both really dig the books so far. In fact, a short while ago we were cuddled up together reading The Night Riders (which has no words so not only does it require imagination, it also can be read in any language including Gavish, a language he made up himself), and Benny's Brigade, which came in the mail today. All of the McMullens books I've read have ranged from good to excellent (the vast majority of children's books I read, and I read a lot of them, I deem merely okay) and for $80 you get 8 beautiful hardcover books (with bookjackets that, when unfolded, double as awesome posters) as they are released by writers and illustrators who are a testament to the craft. I realize I sound like I work for McSweeney's here (and let's be honest, I totally would), but I seriously love these books and what kid (or grown up) doesn't like to get packages in the mail? Especially when those packages contain children's books that are not about Elmo or giving things to a mouse/pig/cat that are unhealthy and inappropriate for their diets or a glasses-wearing aardvark who looks nothing like an aardvark or Disney Princesses singing "I'm too sexy" or whatever it is they do (get married mostly, I think). Amen.
The good news, however, is that Gavin's behavior has been much better these past couple of days. Not perfect, mind you, but we never asked for, or expected, perfect. I think he's getting used to going to preschool and his new schedule (though being off for two days can't help). He's been a much happier kid (despite being sick) which means he's been more cooperative and much more polite. So I've decided he can stay.
That's not to say I won't still read Your Three-Year-Old: Friend of Enemy, which my mom bought for me as soon as she read my last post, even though I was joking about wanting it because it seemed so sad. Thankfully in real life it doesn't seem to be that depressing. It's even pink with a close up of a little girl in an ugly hat on the front, so it can't be all bad. I will read it and report back.
Yesterday Stacy had to stay home from work to tend to Mr. Coughing Sick. Today I stayed home with him, but I don't go to campus on Thursdays anyway. He goes to morning preschool on Tues. and Thurs. and I go to the library to get some work done. Trying to cram an entire work week into the three days I am on campus (MWF) is impossible. I've tried it. Having a couple of hours in the morning to get work done on the days I am home with him is really helping be to stay employed and sane. Well, just employed, but still.
I accidentally taught Gavin to say, "I'm going to punch you in the face" today. Before you panic, no, I did not threaten to cold clock my son. I was getting him his car seat (because even though we are both feeling sick, there were some things that had to be done outside of the home today like going to the credit union so old women could gush over Gavin's gorgeous curls) and he, not paying attention, flung his arm outwards and upwards, his hand just grazing my chin. I, largely involuntarily, made some kind of sound akin to "whoa" and Gavin, the ever-curious gent that he is, asked why I made such a sound and I responded, "Because you almost punched me in the face." And then I hardly had myself in the car and my seat belt buckled before he said, kind of to me, kind of to himself, "I'm going to punch you in the face." I told him that was a terrible thing to say to someone, but I really didn't have much credibility on the subject at that point.
Gavin has been learning about time and is constantly asking questions about what day it is. Not as in what day of the week, but as in, "Is there another yesterday coming up?" which is what he asked Stacy yesterday and then me today. Other queries include, "Is today yesterday?" and "Yesterday will it be tomorrow?" I just asked him, "What day is it?" and he said, "What?" I repeated the question and he said, "I don't understand what you're saying." I repeated the question again and he said, with his most serious thinking face, "I thought today was tomorrow."
Hey, do you have $80 to spend on a gift for an awesome kid and you're about to blow it on some kind of plastic LeapFrog bullshit reading thing that you're totally going to regret buying because it is loud and eats batteries and even after you give it to your kid he will still prefer to steal your iPad and eventually will manage to break both? Don't do it! Subscribe instead to McMullens the children's book imprint by McSweeney's. Gavin is a subscriber (okay, I am and I somewhat reluctantly hand over the books to Gavin, so really this is a good gift for all ages) and we both really dig the books so far. In fact, a short while ago we were cuddled up together reading The Night Riders (which has no words so not only does it require imagination, it also can be read in any language including Gavish, a language he made up himself), and Benny's Brigade, which came in the mail today. All of the McMullens books I've read have ranged from good to excellent (the vast majority of children's books I read, and I read a lot of them, I deem merely okay) and for $80 you get 8 beautiful hardcover books (with bookjackets that, when unfolded, double as awesome posters) as they are released by writers and illustrators who are a testament to the craft. I realize I sound like I work for McSweeney's here (and let's be honest, I totally would), but I seriously love these books and what kid (or grown up) doesn't like to get packages in the mail? Especially when those packages contain children's books that are not about Elmo or giving things to a mouse/pig/cat that are unhealthy and inappropriate for their diets or a glasses-wearing aardvark who looks nothing like an aardvark or Disney Princesses singing "I'm too sexy" or whatever it is they do (get married mostly, I think). Amen.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Sunday, Sept. 16, 2012: Frenemies
I wish Gavin would stop telling me, "I don't love you" so much because it's kinda bumming me out. Oh, and hitting me. I am not digging that, either. Ever since Gavin started preschool at the beginning of this month, he's become a little terror. At first we chalked it up to the fact that he spent all summer home with both of his moms and now, BAM, he's in day care three full days and two half days a week and both of his moms are at work every day. I can totally understand how that might be a tough adjustment for a little dude. Hell, it's a tough adjustment for me, too. But this "I will no longer listen to you and will, in fact, hit and spit at you while saying hurtful things" shtick is really wearing me out. I did a Google search for "my three year old has turned into a nightmare" and I came across a discussion page that recommends a book called Your Three-Year-Old: Friend or Enemy. Even the title is depressing. But from what I understand and what I've read, Gavin is not beyond the range of normal, but he is beyond the range of pleasant too much of the time.
He has also stepped backwards in toilet learning. Right before preschool and perhaps the first week in even, Gavin had been using the toilet like a boss. He even slept in underwear one night last week and woke up dry. We had reached what I thought was a turning point and I thought I could see the light at the end of the diaper tunnel. There was even a nearly two week stretch when I couldn't even remember the last time he'd pooped in his pants. He was wearing underwear during the day, often backwards so he could see the picture on the rear, but still. And he was trying really hard. He'd spring up from the table or his room and say, "I've got to go poop!" or "I've got to go pee!" A couple of weeks ago he had an accident at Laura and Jamie's but he tried so hard to make it to the toilet. I wasn't there, but Laura reported that he ran like hell from the living room to the bathroom but just couldn't get his pants down in time and peed on the floor. According to Laura she heard the saddest voice ever from the other side of the bathroom door say, "I didn't make it." A similar thing happened today, in fact. Stacy was in the bathroom and I heard Gavin say, for the first time in at least a week, "I have to pee!" But the bathroom was occupied. Before Stacy could open the door I heard a very despondent Gavin say, "I'm peeing in my diaper." I went to him and as soon as he saw me, guess what? He pouted and tried to hit me. Good times. I understood that he was really upset about not making it to the bathroom and am bummed myself since he hadn't shown interest in awhile and this makes me fear he may be set back further, like, "Screw this potty thing, it's too hard." Poor little dude.
I would also say, for the record, that the worst feeling ever is not liking your own kid -- thinking your own child is an asshole, even if just momentarily. Also for the record, my son is not an asshole, he is just teaching us the gift of patience. Xtreme Patience, as it were. And man does having a three year old run away from you in a parking lot and then spit at you when you get near him test your patience. If there was a Patience Olympics, I am definitely in training. Actually, I think this is the Patience Olympics and it's a decathlon on an endless loop with no breaks.
That's not to say Gavin is never sweet. I hit my head on the van door while getting him into his car seat today and he asked if I needed a kiss. When you sit in the back seat with him he always says, "Hold hands?" as he extends his hand to you. He likes to cuddle up while we read books. And Stacy and Gavin had the following exchange the other day while playing together in his room:
See, I know he loves me. Even if he says otherwise. I am, however, really glad that he hasn't learned how to say, "I hate you." Yet.
He has also stepped backwards in toilet learning. Right before preschool and perhaps the first week in even, Gavin had been using the toilet like a boss. He even slept in underwear one night last week and woke up dry. We had reached what I thought was a turning point and I thought I could see the light at the end of the diaper tunnel. There was even a nearly two week stretch when I couldn't even remember the last time he'd pooped in his pants. He was wearing underwear during the day, often backwards so he could see the picture on the rear, but still. And he was trying really hard. He'd spring up from the table or his room and say, "I've got to go poop!" or "I've got to go pee!" A couple of weeks ago he had an accident at Laura and Jamie's but he tried so hard to make it to the toilet. I wasn't there, but Laura reported that he ran like hell from the living room to the bathroom but just couldn't get his pants down in time and peed on the floor. According to Laura she heard the saddest voice ever from the other side of the bathroom door say, "I didn't make it." A similar thing happened today, in fact. Stacy was in the bathroom and I heard Gavin say, for the first time in at least a week, "I have to pee!" But the bathroom was occupied. Before Stacy could open the door I heard a very despondent Gavin say, "I'm peeing in my diaper." I went to him and as soon as he saw me, guess what? He pouted and tried to hit me. Good times. I understood that he was really upset about not making it to the bathroom and am bummed myself since he hadn't shown interest in awhile and this makes me fear he may be set back further, like, "Screw this potty thing, it's too hard." Poor little dude.
I would also say, for the record, that the worst feeling ever is not liking your own kid -- thinking your own child is an asshole, even if just momentarily. Also for the record, my son is not an asshole, he is just teaching us the gift of patience. Xtreme Patience, as it were. And man does having a three year old run away from you in a parking lot and then spit at you when you get near him test your patience. If there was a Patience Olympics, I am definitely in training. Actually, I think this is the Patience Olympics and it's a decathlon on an endless loop with no breaks.
That's not to say Gavin is never sweet. I hit my head on the van door while getting him into his car seat today and he asked if I needed a kiss. When you sit in the back seat with him he always says, "Hold hands?" as he extends his hand to you. He likes to cuddle up while we read books. And Stacy and Gavin had the following exchange the other day while playing together in his room:
Gavin: "First you dump the M.U.S.C.L.E. men in this dump truck and then in this dump truck and then in this yellow one."Gavin's musical tastes continue to evolve with my careful curating of pop music on his ever-growing playlist on my iPod. His current favorites are the Spanish version of "Mickey" by Toni Basil, "Jump" by Van Halen (he digs that music video, too), "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor (one of my favorite songs as a kid), and Todd Lundgren's "Bang the Drum All Day." His number one favorite is still, however, "I Can't Drive 55," which both of us sand along to in the car on the way home from the grocery store today. Singing along to songs is a new thing to him and "I Can't Drive 55" is one of the only ones he'll do. That song has become his touchstone when it comes to talking about speed limits and speeding. Like this conversation that Stacy and Gavin had while Gavin sat behind the wheel of the van pretending to drive while it was parked in the drive way:
Mommy: "Like this?"
Gavin: "No. It's okay, Mommy. It's okay to be unright. Try it again."
Gavin: "I'm going 30! Is that faster than 55?"Tomorrow starts his third week of preschool. I can't believe my kid is in preschool already. He's in a Spanish immersion Montessori school, which means he gets to do whatever he wants, but all in Spanish. So far he seems to have gravitated to food-related art. He's come home with no less than 4 different finger painted broccoli stalks on four different days and two potato pictures decorated with brown crayon and, for reasons I don't quite get, several strands of brown yarn. Unlike his years in day care when Stacy dropped him off every morning, that is now my job. And it is not easy. Getting a kid ready in the morning, especially in his current Mad Max state, is challenging to say the least. I am not a morning person either. But if he doesn't get ready and out the door in time then I will be late to work, so there's high pressure to get asses (his and mine) moving in the morning. I find that if I get him dressed first and let him play and then get ready myself that helps because then I don't have to wrestle him into clothes at the last minute, which is guaranteed to be the exact minute he decides to shut down the cooperation area of his brain. The worst part about the morning drop off, however, is that every morning he says, "I don't want to go to school" and he cries when I leave. Not only does he cry, but he has to be pried (gently, but still) off of me by one of his teachers and I have to, basically, escape. It's not a good way to begin the day. But on the days I also pick him up (Tuesdays and Thursdays) he is always so happy to see me when he emerges from his class, thrusting his latest broccoli or potato masterpiece into my hands before giving me a huge hug.
Stacy: "No."
Gavin: "Then I'm going 7! Is that faster than 55?"
Stacy: "No. How about 75? That's faster."
Gavin: "Then that's the amount I'm going."
See, I know he loves me. Even if he says otherwise. I am, however, really glad that he hasn't learned how to say, "I hate you." Yet.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Friday, Aug. 24, 2012: Hungry like the big bad wolf
I'm on strike today. For 24 hours I will not eat anything, just drink water, in order to protest the discrimination I face as a lesbian in the state of Michigan. It's part of Hungry 4 Equality and I'm the Day 26 striker out of 100. I'm camped out in the front window of Affirmations. It's all very red light district. If you want you can watch me live, which is pretty creepy, actually.
What does this have to do with being a mom? Well, Stacy and Gavin may come visit me later today, for one. But most importantly, I am not considered a mom at all by the state of Michigan. As far as they're concerned, I am a single woman who lives with another single woman and that other woman's child. I have no legal protections as a parent because I am not legally a parent. Michigan doesn't allow or recognize marriage between two women nor does Michigan allow second-parent adoption, which would allow Gavin to have two legal parents and all of the protections that come with that. Should something happen to Stacy Gavin would not automatically stay with me or anything. We'd have to rely on a judge to recognize our parenting agreement (a legal document we had drawn up with a lawyer), and said judge doesn't have to do that. We have a will and everything, but that is not at all the same, not even close, to a legally recognized relationship.
So, yeah, I'm doing this for my son and my wife and my life, really. How much impact or effect it will have, I don't know. But raising any awareness is a good thing.
Hunger related things: "Hunger Strike" by Temple of the Dog, "Hungry Like the Wolf" by Duran Duran, The Hunger (that movie where Susan Sarandon and Catherine Deneuve are, like, lesbian vampires or something), The Hunger Games, Hungry Hungry Hippos (my sister, Laura, swallowed a marble from that game when we were kids). It's lunch time. I'm hungry.
I just got back from Chicago. Gavin, Stacy, and I went on a road trip adventure to see Krystal & Nate & Henry & Lucy, Amanda & Dave, Carolyn & Chris & Brenden & Grayson, and Carol and Ina (Stacy's aunt and grandmother). It was an action packed week. We learned that Gavin is a most excellent travel companion who can sleep in just about any bed anywhere. He was very good in the car and had only a couple of meltdowns the whole trip.
Krystal's kids are pretty much in love with Stacy. She played Big Bad Wolf with them for hours. Basically you just reenact the story of the Three Little Pigs using your imagination and alternate who is the wolf and who is the pig. It involves a lot of running and hiding. It's something Gavin wants to do basically all of the time and something I want to do rarely, which causes some conflict. Stacy is the go-to mom for that kind of stuff. I'm more into things like, "Hey, let's line up your Hotwheel cars in color order" or "let's read books."
Gavin is still not potty trained, but he's making some impressive steps forward. He pooped on the potty at Amanda's house when we first got there, which is something he did at my dad's house a week earlier. He liked Amanda's bathroom because it is upstairs and Gavin, not having stairs in our oh-so-modest home, is very interested in this. He always wants to go upstairs at his Grandma Kathy's house, for example. Well, he declared, "I'm old enough to go upstairs by myself" and he did just that and used the potty all by himself, too. Granted it was all pee, but still. He asked Stacy for assistance (and yes, "assistance" is the word he used) with buttoning his pants. That's it. He'll get there soon enough.
Thankfully the place he's going to preschool (a Spanish-immersion Montessori school) doesn't require that he be potty trained like most preschools do. Otherwise I'd be panicking right now. It's such an arbitrary rule and I know that so many parents, and as a result kids, get super stressed about potty training right about now, which isn't at all helpful for anyone involved. I'm a believer that this isn't something you can force a kid to do. Not unless you want him to have major issues later on that he only shares with his therapist.
What does this have to do with being a mom? Well, Stacy and Gavin may come visit me later today, for one. But most importantly, I am not considered a mom at all by the state of Michigan. As far as they're concerned, I am a single woman who lives with another single woman and that other woman's child. I have no legal protections as a parent because I am not legally a parent. Michigan doesn't allow or recognize marriage between two women nor does Michigan allow second-parent adoption, which would allow Gavin to have two legal parents and all of the protections that come with that. Should something happen to Stacy Gavin would not automatically stay with me or anything. We'd have to rely on a judge to recognize our parenting agreement (a legal document we had drawn up with a lawyer), and said judge doesn't have to do that. We have a will and everything, but that is not at all the same, not even close, to a legally recognized relationship.
So, yeah, I'm doing this for my son and my wife and my life, really. How much impact or effect it will have, I don't know. But raising any awareness is a good thing.
Hunger related things: "Hunger Strike" by Temple of the Dog, "Hungry Like the Wolf" by Duran Duran, The Hunger (that movie where Susan Sarandon and Catherine Deneuve are, like, lesbian vampires or something), The Hunger Games, Hungry Hungry Hippos (my sister, Laura, swallowed a marble from that game when we were kids). It's lunch time. I'm hungry.
I just got back from Chicago. Gavin, Stacy, and I went on a road trip adventure to see Krystal & Nate & Henry & Lucy, Amanda & Dave, Carolyn & Chris & Brenden & Grayson, and Carol and Ina (Stacy's aunt and grandmother). It was an action packed week. We learned that Gavin is a most excellent travel companion who can sleep in just about any bed anywhere. He was very good in the car and had only a couple of meltdowns the whole trip.
Krystal's kids are pretty much in love with Stacy. She played Big Bad Wolf with them for hours. Basically you just reenact the story of the Three Little Pigs using your imagination and alternate who is the wolf and who is the pig. It involves a lot of running and hiding. It's something Gavin wants to do basically all of the time and something I want to do rarely, which causes some conflict. Stacy is the go-to mom for that kind of stuff. I'm more into things like, "Hey, let's line up your Hotwheel cars in color order" or "let's read books."
Gavin is still not potty trained, but he's making some impressive steps forward. He pooped on the potty at Amanda's house when we first got there, which is something he did at my dad's house a week earlier. He liked Amanda's bathroom because it is upstairs and Gavin, not having stairs in our oh-so-modest home, is very interested in this. He always wants to go upstairs at his Grandma Kathy's house, for example. Well, he declared, "I'm old enough to go upstairs by myself" and he did just that and used the potty all by himself, too. Granted it was all pee, but still. He asked Stacy for assistance (and yes, "assistance" is the word he used) with buttoning his pants. That's it. He'll get there soon enough.
Thankfully the place he's going to preschool (a Spanish-immersion Montessori school) doesn't require that he be potty trained like most preschools do. Otherwise I'd be panicking right now. It's such an arbitrary rule and I know that so many parents, and as a result kids, get super stressed about potty training right about now, which isn't at all helpful for anyone involved. I'm a believer that this isn't something you can force a kid to do. Not unless you want him to have major issues later on that he only shares with his therapist.
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