wild*life

So this morning we woke-up and James made the purple sippy cup for Nate, AGAIN, and the green sippy cup for Jake.  Of course, Nate immediately commenced with his wailing, howling and grieving for the loss of his bottle.

I began to waiver.  I felt my resolve waning.  It was 6:00am.  Can I really hold-out longer than this one-year-old?  Am I tough enough?  Will this little cherubic combatant wring every ounce of purpose out of me?  Do I have what it takes?…

Then Daddy had an idea, “Hey Jake, pretend you’re drinking it.”

“MMMMMmmmm.  I’m going to drink this whole baba all gone.  No more for Nakesy!”  (His spontaneous improvisation was impressive.)

It was like the fox and the crow.  (Note: Both James and I tried this same tactic last night without so much as a pause in the protest.)

Our little crow smiled and laughed in his usual way, quick grabbed his new big boy baba from his brother, climbed up into our bed, laid down on my pillow and drank the entire thing.

Nathaniel is changing, right before our very eyes.  He went from skirting rooms like a criminal, to a timid peninsula, to an unstable island—almost in a matter of days.  And now he is running.  His knees might be locked, but he is definitely running.

He’s also got an unexpected head of blond curls, long golden eyelashes and the most angelic pout.  So it comes as quite an unpleasant change in our daily routine when our dark-eyed cherub is… constantly screeching.

This week I read a community comment on BabyCenter.com about moving from a bottle to sippy cups cold turkey and I was inspired.  Dr. Antsy recommends making the switch at one year, so I figured Nate has had a three month grace period.  Jacob literally switched instantly to his sippy cup the day after his first birthday.  (I think standards weaken exponentially with each subsequent child.)

Food milestones have always been insanely easy with the insatiable one.  But Nate, Nate has always been a different story.  If I think back, I remember how he refused to drink his bottle during his first week of daycare.  You don’t want to know what desperate and unrealistic scenarios the brain of a new mother is capable of conjuring.  That transition was rough, as were the days following a holiday, anytime I went out of town and well, every Monday.

So, back to cold turkey.  Last night we offered him a sippy cup of milk instead of his bottle.  He was so mad he just shrieked and cried and stomped around angrily.  He wouldn’t even taste it (even though he drinks water from sippy cups every day).

This morning we offered it to him again.  He vehemently shook his head “no,” flailed around, arched his back and flung himself about in despair.

Tonight we made up the sippy cup and put it on the living room table.  When he saw it, he commenced with the screeching, sobbing and circling the living room.  His anger led him on a solo tirade through the kitchen, down the hall, back to the dining room and into the laundry room where he just stood behind the stroller and uttered angry, cryptic profanities.

Hell hath no fury like a cherub scorned.

When I was in sixth grade, Mr. Post would have us pound out these papers he called “issue essays.”  The point was essentially to show both sides of the topic; proponents and opponents factually and equitably represented.  It’s been a few years since I authored a grammar school issue essay, but I’ve found a worthy topic.  Earlier this year, my friend Susan, a former librarian turned accomplished change management and technology consultant, asked me a seemingly banal question: What books do your boys most enjoy reading with you?

I provided our favorites list and offhandedly mentioned that more importantly, we had a few “duds.”  She was intrigued and asked to hear more…

Oh how we relished the thought of sharing our true literary feelings.  In just three years we now fancy ourselves highly knowledgeable consumers of kidlit.  Below is an unedited excerpt of my exchange with Susan in the form of a sixth grade issue essay:

The Story of Babar

Babar the Elephant is a French children’s fictional character from the 1930’s.  Opponents of the story believe it is a strangely materialistic narrative of entitlement and self-evident incest.  Proponents of the story believe it is a classic children’s tale depicting the time-honored rags to riches parable.

Jaimie:  My husband James got all excited when I told him I needed to write a list of all the “bad books” we own.  He’s chief bedtime reader as I find I fall asleep and end up sleeping in Jake’s bunk bed all night…  we have a stash of non-famous books that we’ve gotten over the last 3 years that you would probably never come across and therefore I won’t name them.  The ones that come to mind that we would recommend avoiding are:

• Babar: I remember liking this as a kid.  As an adult, I find it super weird.  The elephant is overly interested in material wealth (clothes, cars) from his rich elderly lady benefactor.  I don’t think it promotes the right values.  Then he goes back to Africa and marries his cousin.

Susan:  Meantime, don’t trash Babar out of hand.  Yes, the story line has some weird bits but so does every fairy tale.  I see Babar as a child’s version of The Hero’s Journey, with the hero played by an elephant in the streets of 1930’s Paris instead of by a country bumpkin in medieval rural Europe.  Abandoned orphan boy achieves success and fulfills his destiny.  Whatever.  It’s the plotline for virtually every Disney cartoon.  Babar’s fixation on material wealth and comforts could have been the author’s reaction to the Great Depression.  And marrying a cousin (of unspecified nearness — third cousin twice removed?) doesn’t shock most five-year-olds.

Your comments reminded me, however, of the very hostile reaction I initially had to Where the Wild Things Are: a nasty little boy who throws a tantrum and screams I hate you at his mother is rewarded with self-indulgent dreams of being the king controlling all the wildest and fiercest animals, and upon awakening finds his dinner still waiting for him — i.e., Mom caters to him no matter what he does.  Yccch.  I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.

In conclusion, proponents of Babar clearly illustrate the noble and characteristic storyline and its similarities to venerated literature.  Opponents demonstrate it is super weird.

I’ll never forget when Jacob was maybe 18 months old, we were driving in the car and James exclaims, “You won’t believe it.  Jakey has leg hair!”

It was true.  Our little chubby baby was growing into his big boy legs.

Then maybe about six months ago, we’re riding in the car again and Jake declares, “Mama, I’m getting leg hair!”  It seems he had just noticed his new found manliness.

On Friday, I picked Jakey up from school early and we went on a date, just the two of us.  As we’re driving to the movies he says, “Mama, when I get bigger I will drink beer.”

“What did you say?”

“When I get bigger, I’ll drink beer.”

I thought that’s what you said…

Tuesday night we ate Chinese take-out.  We were gone all weekend and so the food emergency continues…

Jacob’s fortune cookie read: Focus your attention.

Nathaniel’s fortune cookie read: Give yourself some peace and quiet for at least a few hours.

Technically it said “quite” instead of “quiet,” but still… uncanny, right?

My mom and dad love to tell the story about how when I was little, they would give me kisses and I would wipe my mouth and exclaim, “Ew!  Yuck kiss.”  Believe me, their kisses were inordinately slobbery.  They’ve been campaigning for repentance for decades.

Then maybe two weeks ago Jacob wiped-off my kisses.  He thinks it’s SO funny.  I just tell him he’s rubbing them in and give him lots more.

Exactly one week ago we found ourselves in an evening food emergency: we were out of all five food groups.  Those food groups being:

1. Fruit (As Grandma has noticed, Nate is basically a fruitarian.  Tangerines, bananas, strawberries, blueberries and halved grapes being his primary sources of sustenance.)

2. Crunchy peanut butter (I’m afraid to say that licking it off bread has been considered “a meal” on more than one occasion, including breakfast and lunch on the same day.)

3. Sauce (More specifically ketchup.  James didn’t think anyone on earth could be more into sauce than I am.  Then I had babies.)

4. Milk (Really the only thing we can’t live without.  Besides agua.)

5. Pasta (It’s the easiest thing to sell, but it must have sauce.  Most kids, myself included, prefer buttered noodles with cheese— mine won’t even let it touch their lips.)

Later that night around the dinner table, I proposed that little boys are not made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails, but more like spaghetti, peanut butter and barbecue sauce.  Jacob exclaimed, “I love snails and puppy tails!”

A sixth food group?

The very next morning after I wrote about troll bones, it came up again.  I know… I’m sure it’s a frequent topic of morning conversation at your house, too.

James: “Jaim, we figured out that troll bones have something to do with bows and arrows.  We were watching Max & Ruby and Max had a bow and arrow and Jake told me it was a troll bone.”

Me: “Aah.  Thanks for clearing that up…”

In February of last year, just two weeks before Nate was born, Grandma had a horrible fall.  We’re not exactly sure what happened, but we know it involved flip flops, a flagstone path, and a face plant.  It was terrible.  Granddad then e-mailed pictures of her injuries.  Poor, poor Dama… I still cringe when I think about those pictures.

Last Tuesday I got a text message from Nate’s teacher, Miss Dulce.  Natesy had a fall.  For those of you who didn’t see the pictures of Grandma, I’d say Nate’s expression captures it perfectly.

When I asked Miss Dulce what he hit, she told me “a little car.”  Maybe one of those new Fiats I’ve seen on the roads?

I’d say we can officially declare Jacob fluent in English.  Well, I probably should have declared it at least two months ago— consider this declaration retroactive.

Now I know the technical distinctions of fluency and the hazards identified by bilingual educators.  Essentially adults can be mislead into thinking kids are fluent because they speak perfectly from a colloquial perspective, yet aren’t truly fluent academically.

Blah.  BlahBlah.  Blah.  Blah.  My version of fluent is that he speaks in complete paragraphs with all the little words that string thoughts together like a, the, to and actually.  He uses words like difficult.  Shoe horn.  There’s a lot of talk about his binoculars, leaf blowers and astronauts.  I can’t really think of all the things he’s been saying lately that have given me pause… but I’ll take better notes and get back to you.

So, I was under the impression we’d reached the state of fluency until a few weeks ago when we went to the San Francisco zoo.  I think this was our third trip and it was great fun, as always.  The first part is an African savannah where they have the most beautiful giraffes and Jakey asks, “Where are the beehawks?  Last time, there were beehawks.”  James and I looked at each other.  It has been a really long time since Jake has said anything to us that is totally incomprehensible.

“What are you talking about?  Ostriches?  Gazelles?”

“No, the beehawks.”

We let it pass.  Then maybe 30 minutes later we were winding our way through an area that seems to be random “open space” at the zoo.

“Look Mama, a beehawk!  Two of ’em.”

Peacocks.  Mystery solved.

And then about two weekends ago we’re driving in the car and Jake is rattling off stories in the back seat.  He tells me “Indians poke buffalos with troll bones.”

“What?  What are you saying?  Did you say ‘troll bones’?”

“Yes, Indians.  They poke buffalos with their troll bones.”

“I’m definitely not familiar with that.  Where did you learn this?”

“At Granddad’s house.”

For two weeks I’ve been hoping I’d discover that “troll bones” was some sort of mispronunciation of some other concept that wasn’t quite as disturbing.

It turns out he really does mean troll bones.