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Sarcasm

Jul 23rd, 2011 by

Sarcasm is, in Simon’s case I suppose, a genetic inevitability. It’s funny how I guessed wrong about so many things involving Simon—his hair color, eye color, and affinity for sports for example—but missed the one prediction sure to come through.

Because in the case of sarcasm, we’ve got nature and nurture at work. The writing was on the wall a few months ago when Matt said (sincerely I think) that something was “great.” Simon’s reply was:

“Daddy, when you say ‘great’ you are usually being sarcastic.”

Having demonstrated an understanding of the form, it was only a matter of time before he deployed it. And I guess it’s not too surprising that a kid who is trotting out the subjunctive (can I just say how much it makes my geek heart go squee to hear him say things like “If I were…”?) could master basic irony.

In case he needed tutoring, I put on a clinic Thursday. Simon’s swim class was moved from the indoor pool at the JCC to the outdoor lap-pool, and no one bothered to tell me or write me. I learned when I tried one route to find a locked door and then another with the same result, all the while Simon and Baron trotted behind me barefoot in dripping suits from their foray into the kiddie pool. This maybe wouldn’t have been such a big deal except it’s the second time I’ve been left to wander the premises with no staff informed enough to help me.

So I’m afraid I muttered my way up and down the halls, saying things like “The professionalism here is truly inspiring” or “This is just how I was hoping to spend the first 10 minutes of your lesson!” Somewhere mid-stream, Simon cut me off to say,

“Mommy, this is you being sarcastic, right?”

Roger that. A mere 24 hours later Matt and Simon played basketball in the basement. After every bad pass, failed block, or missed shot, Simon offered up a commentary along the lines of a weary and/or frustrated sounding “Nice!” or “just great.”

Matt tells me that his form was impeccable. He’s got sarcasm down. Next up, learning when not and where not to deploy it. There’s time enough for Simon’s inherited sarcasm to cause problems at school. The 4-year-old class is perhaps pushing it.

 

Posted in Jessica, Little Boy | 1 Comment »

Feel the Heat

Jul 20th, 2011 by

When I started running in March, my goal was to build endurance and meet some new friends. That part was clear and relatively easy to achieve. As spring arrived and the days got warmer, I started to realize that running might also force me to confront some body image issues. The going here is slower, but I sense a breakthrough of sorts.

It began with the dreaded running shorts. I have historically eschewed the short, much preferring myself in skirts. Now that my legs are bulkier (I’ve gained a solid 3 pounds of muscle mass from the waist down) and the days hotter, I’ve gotten over that. Improbably, my favorite pair of running shorts has a 3” inseam. That’s 9 inches shorter than the first pair of shorts I bought when I returned to Louisville.

The next hurdle is the midsection. Wearing two layers when the heat index is over 100 degrees is just plain miserable. As a running bra is required, my only option for lightening up is to wear it and skip the …. and just typing this makes my palms sweat … shirt.

Breathe.

For those who don’t know me well, allow me to explain. My waist, or lack thereof, has been the bane of my existence since I was around 13. Seriously. Other than the few times my weight has plummeted to just at or below three digits, I never feel that I have a waist at all. Only the pudge at my obliques signals where a waist should be.

I’ve learned dress strategies for my shape, but bare flesh doesn’t lie. Besides briefly on my honeymoon and once or twice when I was around 15, I never wore a two-piece bathing suit until I was 33 and found myself on the edge of heat sickness while sitting pool-side at a Vegas hotel. It took cajoling that bordered on bullying from friends Diana and Susan—to say nothing of a pina colada or two or three—to get me there. And once I put the suit on, I was so self conscious that I can still remember how my palms sweated and my heart raced.

Flash forward eight years, and I’m heading out for group training runs at 6:30 p.m. during the heat of summer. Last Monday, our heat index hit 116 and my training run was canceled. Wednesday and Saturday were better, Wednesday because it was cooler and Saturday because we ran at 7:00 a.m. Monday, though, it was 92 or so when we ran with a heat index of 105. For the first time since I started running in March, I had to cut my run short and walk the final half-mile back to the store. At which point in time I splashed my face, looked longingly at the presumably cool cement floor in the store’s stock room, and made casual conversation with my half naked and glistening running mates while sweating a river.

The key term in the above sentence is “half naked”. Everyone else was sweating, too, but many were sweating in much less clothing. Nearly all the men 35 or under were shirtless, and their female cohort were down to running bras and shorts. When I bought my bras, the fitter helpfully offered that the colored ones without back clasps were best because “when it’s hot, you won’t need another top.”

The look on my face must have laid bare 28 years of clinical self-consciousness. The clerk actually grabbed my arm to steady me and went on to say “Or not. You can always throw on a tank over it of course.” Back on that cool March day, I could not imagine what would bring me to run with an exposed midsection.

I think I’m close to doing more than just imagining it now. Tonight’s run will feature a heat index of around 110. It’s going to be even sweatier out there. And while four weeks of pilates has yet to give me abs of steel, the sweatier it gets, the less I find myself caring. I think I’ll just close my eyes and pretend I’m doing Bikram yoga. Then write the Fleet Feet store owner a check for psychological services rendered.

Posted in Jessica, No Boundaries | 2 Comments »

Mr. Sly

Jul 18th, 2011 by

Behavior is a funny thing. I want Simon to be obedient and well behaved in class, so I was happy to learn that all last year he never once required a time-out or even a stern talking to. He was a good boy, and his teachers liked him. On the other hand, I don’t want him to be a lemming, either, as I’m not too sure how well kids in general and boys in particular do socially when they are too good. Which is to say, I think you can be too good for your own good.

Thus, I smiled when Diana told me last week that the boys—Simon, Baron, Braylon, and Aciek—got in trouble for throwing rocks at each other and at the fence on the playground. Throwing rocks sounds like a fine activity for four-year-old boys. I understand that the teachers can’t let them do it on the playground, but I was happy to hear that rock throwing took place.

Better still, today I was pleased to witness first-hand Simon not only being disobedient, but also sneaky about it. Summer camp days start with free play in the school auditorium. This is a biggish space with a smallish number of kids in it. The normal routine is that the big girls play house or do arts, the little kids take things from each other and cry (I’m sure they do other stuff, too, but I mostly see toddler grabbing drama), and the big boys run and chase each other. The problem is that running is not allowed.

And I guess I can kind of see why. It would be easy for a kid to fall, trip, or even trample an Itsy Bitsie. Except… no, in my heart of hearts I think it’s a stupid, unrealistic rule. How can you put a group of boys in a big room for “free play” and not expect them to run? Doesn’t that amount to entrapment? The auditorium begs to be run in; running will be had in that room.

So this morning, when I dropped Simon off I witnessed the usual tableaux. Ms. Inessa and Ms. Lana were taking care of distraught toddlers; the other teachers were talking to each other about schedules and logistics; Greta and Ruby were playing dress-up/make-believe games; and Simon, Baron, Aciek, and Lily began their chasing game. At which point in time Ms. Andi, the camp director, turned around and barked:

“Simon and Baron! What have I told you about running? No running!”

It was reasonable enough. Except for the part where I think the rule is unenforceable and silly in the first place.* What came next made my whole morning. Simon and Baron froze in their tracks. Aciek and Lily scampered off elsewhere. Then, just when Ms. Andi turned her back to talk to Ms. Melinda, Baron took off in a sprint. Simon, who is by nature more obedient than Baron, flitted like a dancer across the room, pausing at intervals to look over his shoulder and check that the teachers still had their backs to him.

So he was willing to disobey, but not so excited about being caught. This was probably one of those teachable moments when I should have intervened and reinforced the teachers’ rules. Instead, I flashed him a sly smile to match his  own and left the room. I didn’t linger long enough to find out if he was caught breaking the rules, but I sure hope not.

*For the record, I have not shared this opinion with Simon. I think the rule is silly, but I’m not going to undermine his teachers’ authority about it. I’ll save that bit of bad behavior for a time when the stakes are higher.

Posted in Jessica, KIP (Preschool), Little Boy | 1 Comment »

Baby Fever

Jul 13th, 2011 by

Well, someone around here has baby fever, and it’s not who you think.

Two years after I last tried to see if Simon was interested in playing with a doll (he wasn’t), he has taken to Annabelle the lamb, a present from my old boss Karen that arrived shortly after he did. He holds her, rocks her from side to side while bouncing a bit, lets me know when she’s sleeping or falling asleep, kisses her, and even puts her in his old baby swing. When I try to suggest that he’s running down the batteries on the swing, he looks at me sternly and maintains that “Lambie likes the music. It helps her sleep.”

All righty then!

The catalyst for Simon turning into Daddy Jr. is Anyieth. Once he realized that she wasn’t going to cry all the time, he became very interested in her. The few times I’ve held and rocked her to sleep, Simon has watched me closely. At first, his interest was all in seeing Agotich become “a little Mommy”, but I can now see that he’s quite interested in developing his own fatherly skills.

This interest has given us a great opening to talk about how Matt held and rocked him when he was a baby, how Matt was the one who took care of him in the middle of the night, and how we each had our own methods for getting him to sleep. Simon loves hearing these stories; we’d tell him more if we could remember!

The timing of this paternalistic streak couldn’t be better, either. Because not only is little Anyieth on the scene, but Simon’s best friend Baron is due to have a baby sister this November. Simon is already asking all about her. The most pressing current questions are “Will she fall asleep if you hold her and bounce her?” and “Will she be born without a shirt on?”  He doesn’t’ quite understand why babies are born naked.

Oh, and the third question he asks me all the time?

“Why do they (Baron’s parents) want three babies?”

To which I respond each time:

“Because third kids are the best.”

Posted in Jessica, Little Boy, Simon says... | 1 Comment »

Birth of a Nation

Jul 11th, 2011 by

(NO apology to epic racist D.W. Griffiths for this one.)

To the delight and relief of many of my friends, the Republic of South Sudan became the world’s newest country and the 54th sovereign nation in Africa on July 9, 2011. The Sudanese community of Louisville threw a big party to mark the occasion, and Simon and I were there. (Matt was home sick with a stomach bug that’s had him down for four days.)

Once I saw the event program, I had my doubts as to how long Simon would last. The planned festivities included two prayers, the raising of the new flag of South Sudan, the singing of the national anthem, and two musical performances. This was all good. The program also listed nine speeches, not including the speeches that introduced the speakers who give the actual speeches. By my arithmetic, we were looking at a solid two hours of talking in a room with acoustics that made it hard to hear what people were saying. Oh boy.

As I had described this event to Simon as a birthday party for the country our Sudanese friends are from, he was expecting the day to include way more singing, games, and cake—above all, cake—than it did. It also didn’t help that nearly two hours after we arrived, his friends Agotich and Aciek had not yet shown up, as their moms were busy cooking for the party and working, respectively.

Simon sang and clapped along with the visiting African American Baptist church youth choir when they sang, especially liking the clapping part. When my friend Gabriel raised the new flag of South Sudan and led the room in the singing of the national anthem, Simon dutifully put his hand over his heart and let me to lift him up so he could see the children and Mr. Gabriel better. And when we ran into people he knew, people like Kuol, Yar, James, Pajieth, Wesley, Gabriel, and Solomon, he remembered to smile, shake hands, and say “congratulations” as I had coached him.

But still there were all those speeches. At the two hour mark of the party, Simon was wilting and I told him we could go home. I also heaped praise on him for being so respectful during the speeches and acknowledged how hard it is for everyone—kids and adults alike—to sit for that long. On the way out, Gabriel’s niece Yar looked visibly upset that we were leaving and offered to go fix us both a plate of food to take home. Then, once we got outside, he sat on some steps and observed as small groups of mostly Dinka and Nuer men grouped and disbanded on their way in and out of the room. Sensing that Simon was tired of the speeches but not fully committed to leaving, I asked him if he wanted to go home, or if he just wanted to take a break and then go back in for the rest of the party.

This is long, so you can read the rest after the break.

Continue Reading »

Posted in Friends, Jessica, Little Boy | 2 Comments »

Who Me?

Jul 8th, 2011 by

When Simon first started preschool, I couldn’t help profiling the other parents I saw dropping off their kids, especially the other mothers.

  1. Woman in a suit or dress with heels, makeup, and “done” hair: Full time professional working mother.
  2. Woman in sweats/shorts with sneakers/flip-flops on and–the real giveaway—hair in a pony-tail? Full time stay-at-home-mom.
  3. Woman in yoga gear or a tennis dress with a perfect pedicure? Socialite, working or otherwise.

Of course, my taxonomy was much too simple to be accurate. Some moms work only a few days a week. Others, like me, worked from home or in casual industries. The lines between category 1 and 2 could be fluid. But category 3 held its own. They were, and remain, a very particular type.

So you can perhaps imagine the confusion I felt today when I got out my car to escort Simon into camp this morning, only to realize that I was in my (now too tight) pilates clothes. I bought these about eight years ago when I took yoga five times before quitting, and they are now a bit too snug as a result of age, motherhood, and (mostly) running. Still, they are a fashionable brand, and they weren’t so tight as to cancel out the overall impression. Only my undone toes gave lie to the notion that I was someone who never planned to work for a living again.

And I’m wondering, as someone who very much plans to re-join the work force in the future, what does it mean that I reverted to the socialite wardrobe without even realizing it? (To say nothing of how long can I continue to pay for private pilates lessons?)

Posted in Jessica | 2 Comments »

Nuance

Jul 5th, 2011 by

Some days Simon has it; other days he adorably does not.

Sunday morning, Matt asked Simon to do something, Simon balked, and Matt pressed the point home with an urgent, annoyed tone. The response?

“Whatever.”

It doesn’t sound like much, but it was delivered with the perfect teenage mix of annoyance, superiority, detachment, and insouciance. It was a perfect adolescent moment that mirrored his father perfectly, maybe a bit too perfectly for Matt’s comfort as he would later tell me. There’s nothing like seeing one of your lesser habits mirrored in your four-year-old to give one pause or launch a resolution.

The very next night, Simon’s sense of nuance was off pitch in a way that made us all feel much better. As I lay in bed with him for the first night in three (I was covered in Deet and stunk on Saturday night; Sunday night he was with Jim and Evie.) I snuggled in close to him and said,

“Oh Simon, I missed you last night. I need to snuggle with you in  a bad way.”

“What’s that mean, in a bad way?

“It just means a lot.

“Oh. Well, I really love you in a good way.”

Aaaaahhhh. I’m glad these teenage moments are still fleeting.

Posted in Jessica, Little Boy, Simon says... | No Comments »

Treasure Pillow

Jun 30th, 2011 by

A year ago (or so), Simon began putting anything that meant a lot to him under his pillow. As the months went by, the number of treasures grew so that now, when I lie beside him in bed at night, I often feel an uncomfortable, bumpy surface under my head or arm. And whereas I’ve managed to reduce the menagerie that sits in bed with him, all efforts at reducing the cache stashed under his pillow have met with resistance and failure.

The current pillow manifest stands at:

  1. Two sheets of paper we printed out from Simon’s typing
  2. One copy of National Geographic Little Kids
  3. Six wild cards from National Geographic Little Kids
  4. Halloween themed finger puppet
  5. Small flashlight (stolen from visiting guests, we later learned)
  6. Set of keys
  7. Wooden helicopter
  8. 7 model cars from the movie Cars: 2 Regular Lightening McQueens, one Dinoco Lightening, Doc, Mater, The King, Chick Hicks
  9. 1 Kids Cliff Bar (new addition)
  10. 13 (yes, really) Hot Wheels
  11. $0.76 in change
  12. a rock

I wonder: Is this accumulation possible because Simon doesn’t really use his pillow? Or does he not use his pillow because it’s hard as a rock?

Posted in Jessica, Little Boy | No Comments »

In for a Penny, In for a Pound

Jun 29th, 2011 by

Since May, I’ve been wondering where my running is headed. I’ve now decided that it’s heading to the Louisville Sports Commission half marathon on November 12. Depending on the day or hour, my feelings about this range from “Heck yeah!” to “What have I done?”

What Have I Done?

Last week, because of Simon’s illness, my Monday run didn’t happen until Tuesday. Then, when I joined the group on Wednesday, I felt terrible, ran slowly, and finished in a pretty bedraggled state. At this point, I figured 5-6 miles was my outer limit. That’s when a friendly guy in the group approached me. Kishor is a front-of-the-packer who runs full marathons at 8.25 minutes per mile. (Side note, what can you expect from someone whose name translates as “colt”?) While I complained about not being able to do back-to-back runs, Kishor fixed me with a suspicious gaze and asked, “How much water have you had today.”

Sigh. The answer was a mug of tea and a glass of water–20 ounces if I was lucky.

“No, no, no,” he adjured. “That won’t do. No wonder you had a bad run. You need to drink all day. See this bottle (20 oz. at least). I drink four of these a day. You need to drink a lot. Just take the bathroom breaks off your time if you are worried about that, and maybe get some electrolytes, too.”

Heck Yeah!

So Saturday I drank what felt like gallons, and first thing Sunday I popped an electrolyte tablet in my water bottle and headed off to do 7 miles. Easy peasy. Because I ran Sunday instead of Saturday, that meant Monday’s humid group run was another back-to-back affair. I guzzled all day. I made more trips to the bathroom than any time since pregnancy. I popped another electrolyte tablet in my bottle before heading out, and I finished about two seconds under 50 minutes for 5 miles, my best time ever.

So I signed up for half-marathon training, which begins July 9. And I’m trying to coax my brother Steve, a seasoned runner and marathoner (half and full) of 18 years, to run with me as my coach. I’m sure the prospect of posting his worst time ever is not thrilling, but I’m appealing to filial devotion.

But even if he ends up sitting it out, I realize I have other options. Runners, it turns out, are a marvelously supportive group. I was so intimidated by the regular Fleet Feet group when I began. I took one look at their ultra-lean and fit bodies and assumed I was looking at the in-crowd in high school all over again. But I could not have been more wrong!

From Tony, Liz, and Lori, who slowed down last week to help me finish my bad run; to Teresa who ran with me and helped me speed up two weeks ago;  to Jason and the others who saw me Monday night, realized I was going faster, and all stopped to cheer me on, these are uniformly nice people. Almost creepily so.

What Have I Done?

And it’s a good thing, too. Because the night before I signed up for half-marathon training, I made the mistake of watching a video of a car driving the route. It was sped up and still took over 6 minutes! It kept going, and going, and going, and by the time it was over I was feeling defeated. I mentioned this at the shop Monday, and at least three people chimed in immediately to say that the same thing had happened to them. “Never watch the videos” was the advice I heard from three quarters. But the most helpful response came from another head-of-the-pack runner whose name I can’t remember.

“It’s a mind game. Don’t watch those videos; they will destroy your confidence. Trust your training. And trust yourself. I saw you out there today—you were pushing it hard. I only started 18 months ago myself. I weighed 240, and the fastest I could go was a 13-minute mile. Now I’m the front of the pack, I’m down 55 pounds, and I made $800 selling my old clothes. You’ll be up there with me in no time. I can tell.”

Did I mention how encouraging these folks are? I wonder how many other opportunities I’ve passed up because I’m stuck in a perpetual high school state of mind?

Posted in Jessica, No Boundaries | 2 Comments »

Dr. Simon Explains It All

Jun 26th, 2011 by

Being a boy and being four and a half, Simon often does not want to stop whatever fun he’s having to attend to something as boring as his bladder. He’s got races to run, Superheroes to join, and bad guys to vanquish! Thus, he will dance around and grab at himself, all the while explaining that “the pee isn’t in my bladder yet”, often suggesting it’s still in his leg, side. or other medically improbable location. Matt and I find ourselves arguing with him over whether he needs to to the bathroom or even try to go to the bathroom daily. His insistence can get pretty violent, and has twice led him to pee his pants when mind could not win out over matter.

Matt and I were both growing tired of the situation. I wondered how long we’d have to wait and/or how many accidents Simon would need to have before he’d stop arguing and start heading to the loo. Matt decide that some medical education was in order, something I discovered when Dr. Simon explained the following to me:

“If you hold your pee too long, you get a bladder infection and have to go the doctor. They stick a tube up your penis and it hurts really bad and you go OW OW OWIE ARGH AAAAHHHHH!“

That last part was accompanied by wild flailing and dramatic hand gestures. Notably, at dinner out with friends tonight Matt asked Simon if he needed to use the restroom and Simon said yes. No fight at all, and he wasn’t even doing the pee dance yet.

Posted in Jessica, Little Boy, Simon says... | 3 Comments »

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