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Ahhhhh…

April 1, 2010

Ethan came home from school with irritated, watery eyes today. Allergies? A cold? Errant eyelashes? The jury is still out on the cause, but after flushing his eyes with water and giving him dinner, he’s feeling much better. I just walked over to him and told him I realized that in my rush to make his eyes feel better, I forgot to give him a hug. I knelt down in front of his chair and wrapped my arms around him for a nice, long, gentle hug.

“Ahhhh…. this is the life,” he said.

Now it is my turn for watery eyes.

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Just pretend

March 15, 2010

I took Ethan to a model Matzah Factory yesterday.

The kids were led from room to room by “Moses,” who explained each step in the process of matzah-making. The first main room, however, was where the kids sat down on the floor and watched a little play about Moses and Pharoah and the plagues. It was hokey as all get-out but the kids loved it. One or two rooms later Ethan looks up at “Moses” and says, “You are not the real Moses, you know.” “Moses” was caught a little bit off-guard, and before he could respond, Ethan continued. “You are just a pretend Moses. But that’s okay.”

“Moses” nodded his head and told Ethan he was correct, bemusedly walking away to lead us on to the next room.

————

Ethan has a very strong sense of what is real and what isn’t. What is pretend and what isn’t. Out of the blue a month or so after Christmas, he stated, “You know, Mommy, Santa Claus is NOT real.” It was very matter of fact.

I stood at the sink, facing away from him, wondering how I could respond without outright lying to my son, which I loathe, but also avoiding the issue. I feel like we are entering the tricky stage where there are a lot of questions about religion and why we celebrate different holidays than Grandma and Grandpa, and why we don’t have a tree, and why Grandma and Grandpa don’t light a menorah, etc. So far we’ve been able to explain pretty well that Christmas is a holiday we celebrate at Grandma and Grandpa’s — it is a special thing he gets to do at their house. He’s been okay with that explanation so far, but the questions will surely keep coming.

Suffice it to say, I have my own internal conflicts about Santa. As a child I once sat on the lap of a department store Santa after begging my mother to let me, and when asked what I wanted for Christmas, replied with ‘I’m Jewish. I don’t celebrate Christmas!’ That poor Santa had no clue how to respond.

I knew I would have to be very careful with my response, so as to avoid the risk of disappointing my husband’s whole family.

“What makes you say that, buddy? Why do you think that?”

“Because, Mommy. He is JUST PRETEND.”

“Wellllllllll, um, then what about the presents you get from Santa on Christmas morning? Where do those come from?”

“Oh, Mommy. THAT’s different.”

Ahhhh… PRESENTS can be magic, but the man is just a myth. He is such his father’s son!

Comments (1) / The Mouths of Babes

Drinking in the dark

March 9, 2010

At the bedtime bottle feeding, she will now only drink in her crib in the dark.

It used to be that I would lay her on the changing table, perpendicular to her brother in his crib, and hold the bottle while she drank. My right hand sustained her while my left, him. He would finish first, being the more aggressive eater of the two, and then would proceed to roll around in his crib, making contented baby noises. Slower at the bottle, she brought up the rear, consistently finishing a few minutes after her twin.

We had it perfectly choreographed, but like all things in the early months of life, perfect is quick to change. Routine is fleeting.

Compromises were made. Toys were placed in tiny hands to keep distracted minds on task. Then, when those hands started to reach out to hold the bottles themselves, books were held up for curious eyes to look at.

About a month ago, I had to start them with their bottles before bedtime diapers and PJs, and when I could no longer hold her still, her bottle was set aside (while he drained his on his own in his crib right next to us) to take a drinking break while diapers and PJs were attended to. Usually she would take the rest of the bottle right there, but often we would have to finish up in her crib.

And what it has come to lately is that she desperately wants her bottle right away… claws for it on the way up the stairs, but will only take two or three gulps, if that. Then it is squirm city.

Diapering these two, at eleven months, is an Olympic event. Every diapering challenge up until now has merely been training for the big event, which is, I suspect, the next 4-6 months of writhing, arching, twisting, grabbing, crying… times two. Getting them both diapered and dressed is exhausting, and often will result in diaper cream being smeared where it shouldn’t be. Then it is hold me hold me why are you holding her him why not me hold me hold me. If they would both just be still I would hold them together in my lap in the chair. But they are not, so they get their bedtime stories separately… individual Mommy-time.

Then the lights go down and the white noise goes on. And she gladly, and calmly, takes her bottle… in her crib, and in the dark.

Comments (3) / Perils of Parenthood

FLASHBACK: Manipulation, toddler style

February 26, 2010

Every once in a while I look through my past writing and dust off something from the vault. This piece was originally written in April, 2007, a month after Ethan turned two. In four days he will turn five (I won’t even start right now on how freaked out I am about that), and is still very much the negotiator. If only I had known then just how MUCH a negotiator he would be… But really? Could I have done much about it? This kid is surely going to be a lawyer… Or an agent.

A few mornings ago Ethan asked for a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast:

Ethan: Mommy, I wanna chocachip cookie?
Me: That’s not an appropriate breakfast food, bud. How about some yummy banana yogurt and some Crispix?
Ethan: I don’t want rickets.
Me: Well, I certainly wouldn’t want rickets, either, but these Crispix are super yummy.

Three minutes pass.

Ethan: Mommy, Ethan have an owie.
Me: Where’s your owie, honey?
Ethan: On a knee, Mommy.
Me: Right here? (kissing a non-scathed knee)
Ethan: Yeah, Mommy, yeah… (then, with a bright smile) Maybe a chocachip cookie make it feel better!

Sigh.

Comments (2) / Flashback, The Mouths of Babes

FLASHBACK: A Lazy Sunday

January 29, 2010

Every once in a while I look through my past writing and dust off something from the vault. This piece was originally written in August, 2008, a few months after Ethan turned three.

We did practically nothing all day, and it was bliss (though the pile of dishes in my kitchen still sits, accusing me of abandonment). Ethan had a Daddy-filled day, with occasional Mommy cameos. Here are some overheards from the day:

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Ethan: Mommy, I have a secret for you.

Me: What is it?

Ethan (whispering in my ear, so close it tickles): The secret is — you are my sunshine.

————

Jack supervised Ethan’s shower tonight (the cleaning off of the mint chocolate chip ice cream from dessert was necessary) and apparently Ethan was swinging around a washcloth. The washcloth knocked something down and hit him. He said, “Daddy. That big thing hit me. We DON’T have to amputate.”

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