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Thursday, August 20, 2009

Squidbits

If you ask the Squid what a shark says, he says, "Donnit. Donnit donnit." He means the "Jaws" dun-un, dun-un noise. Our little shark can swim three whole feet now with his nose mostly above water, and he likes to play in the pool in the shallows "looking at coral," he says. I got him a shark towel with a hood so he can dress up as a shark after pool time and chase me. DONNIT DONNIT.

He is a preschooler now, properly. He graduated from the "Bumble" group at preschool and is now in the "Caterpillar" class. He is the only Caterpillar in diapers but he is a Caterpillar nonetheless. A big boy! I think it will be good for him to be with kids who are a little closer to his developmental level. And maybe it will inspire him on the potty front, too, because God knows I've had no luck, which is all I really want to say about that. He's gotten taller and lankier, and while he is still in the adorable stage of childhood, he's starting to transition into "kidhood," the part where strangers will no longer coo and flirt as though they cannot help themselves. Little rock star that he is, this will be terribly disappointing to him. Enjoy the attention while it lasts, bucko.



He says, "You're not kidding!" when he means "you're kidding!" and likes to declare things silly. He apparently informed a large, tattooed biker at the airport that his suitcase (the biker's) was very pretty and "probably full of silly bees." Other interactions with people outside the family have included, "Stacy, hey Stacy! Look at my butt!" to his swim teacher in the shower, and "Hey guy! I have poo in my pants!" to a random stranger as we went into the bathroom for a diaper change. I am slowly but surely developing a list of "things we only talk about with family," but it's a slow concept to sink in. One might also note that the idea of me teaching someone else to filter appropriately is truly laughable, which is true, but I'm what he's got so I'm doing my best.



Imagination is taking off exponentially – he makes up names for all his toys and has them interact and have conversations and narrate their actions. He talks to his puppets and to "Duck" and "Twin," the little shadow-alligators I make out of my hands when there is no puppet handy. He told his Daddy to squeeze him like a yoghurt tube, from the bottom, and "the flavor will come out my hair!" I don't know where he comes up with this stuff, I really don't, but it's awesome.

He also had lots of visit time with the Fan Club. My parents were home in between bouts of globetrotting, and they came down every weekend for three or four weekends in a row. He was ecstatic. "Grandpa, c'mere! You want to see something really cool?" Poor Grandpa is pretty much commandeered for play and audience purposes from the moment he walks in the door, but he loves it. And I love to see the Squid with my parents. They were (and are) great parents to me, and it's wonderful to be a parent in turn and see them with my kidlet.



We have had many adventures this month (month and a half, really, but I haven't seen him for two weeks, so it doesn't count). We went to the transfer station (stinky!) and to the landfill (dusty!) and to the model train exhibition (shiny!) and then he and his Daddy flew on a plane to Chicago and had a few weeks with Lolo and Lola while I stayed back and worked overtime and visited my grandmother and Got Stuff Done. Last time they took off, I got nothing done – I had anxiety attacks and spent most of my "self-time" doing breathing exercises to calm myself down – but this time I'm properly medicated – I've been stable! Functional, even! For two whole months! And so I was able to do my work (and well), knock off some other things on my "need-to-do" list (get the car cleaned up to sell, do my financial stuff, help a friend move, etc.) It's like a miracle.

I miss him like crazy, though. Even as I am watching a table of three 2-5 year-old boys misbehave with one another and their poor, long-suffering mother, I miss him. I am newly resolved to figure out how to be more of a mindful parent, to really enjoy the time that I spend with him, because it is awfully important to both of us, all-too-fleeting, and housework and other B.S. should not distract me from it.



This weekend is the planes and books preschool activity at the aviation museum, and I think we might take a train trip somewhere if he's not too jet lagged. Maybe we will go to the library. Maybe we will go to the park. It doesn't really matter; I'll just be thrilled to see him after so long apart.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Tattoo, by Ted Kooser

What once was meant to be a statement --
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart -- is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories.