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Gentleman-like Behavior

Jun 24th, 2011 by

Simon’s second week at camp was a foreshortened one: he only went yesterday and today. The little guy had some tummy trouble earlier in the week, and I didn’t want to send him until I knew everything was all sorted out.

Aside from being yucky and a deterrent to having fun, his brief illness also proved to be a learning opportunity. For one, Simon learned a bit about manners:

“Hey honey, was it cool to see your friends again today?

“Yeah, it was. I didn’t see them before this week because I had to stay home with diarrhea.

“Did you tell your friends that?

“No. No one wants to hear about diarrhea. I just told them I was a little sick.”

Well done Matthew, family coach on gastrointestinal etiquette. Apparenly, Matt covered anatomy as well, because this morning Simon sang a little ditty that went like this:

“Large intestine, large intestine, large intestine…”

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Other People’s Drama

Jun 21st, 2011 by

I have two stories today: one has nothing to do with me, but is a doozy; the other concerns a neighbor’s drama into which I insinuated myself.

Tube Trama

My first story comes compliments of my niece Maddie, via my mom. Maddie (10), her sister Olivia (12), and brother Ben (8), just returned from a ten-day trip to the UK with their parents, my brother Steve and sister-in-law Stacy.

On their last day in London, they took the Tube to Heathrow to get a rental car for the rest of their stay. As they approached the station, the train they wanted was waiting for them. Eager to not lose time waiting for the next train, they made a run for it. Maddie was at the front of the pack, ran her guts out, and hopped right on. At which point the doors closed, and the rest of the family looked on in horror as she was whisked away on the Underground all alone.

Thankfully, if this had to happen at all, it happened to Maddie. Sensitive, artistic, and very attached Olivia would have been very scared I think. Fearless, sweet, bull-in-a-china-shop Ben wouldn’t have known what to do. But Maddie is pretty together in most respects, and isn’t one to panic. She remembered that the stop was Baker St. and planned to get off and wait for the family. And just in case she needed help, a group of teens saw what happened and offered to wait with her at the station.

The rest of the family, as you can imagine, was less stoic. A station agent was notified, A description given, and staff notified to look out for and place in safekeeping a certain 10-year-old tourist from across the pond. As Maddie tells it, once the family was reunited, Maddie was somewhat surprised to find herself the only one not crying.

“I knew where to go, Bubbie,” she stoically. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Just like all 10-year-olds would have felt. Like I said, it’s a good thing this happened to Maddie.

Feline Fright

Yesterday, my neighbor Lin asked if I could come into her yard and help her look for Scarletti, her adorable orange and white cat of not quite one year. She had heard him for the last day or so, but had not been able to locate him in her yard. Had he found a new hiding spot?

So I hear a meow, look up, and spot him right away: About 30-40 feet up in a ginkgo tree.

Oh, Scarletti, what have you done?

Matt and Simon walked over, and we all watched helplessly as Scarletti mewled plaintively and walked in circles in his unhappy tree house. This was Monday night, and by our best guess he had been up the tree nearly 48 hours. Like many a young cat, he had run further up than before, and found himself too scared or inexperienced to make his way down. To make matters worse, Lin’s tree is very nicely limbed so that the lowest branch is about 20 feet up.

We called to him. He cried. We brought out food. He cried. We stupidly sprayed him with water. He climbed another 5-10 feet.*

The fire station reported that they couldn’t do animal rescues any more and referred me to Metro Animal Services. Metro Animal Services also will not rescue cats from trees and advised me to “let nature take its course.”** I went to bed with a lump in my throat and dreamed of rescue. Lin went inside resigned to the fact that Scarletti was going to have to figure this out for himself.

Working from a tip I found online, I set out to Target this morning to purchase a round laundry basket, a cat bed, tins of food, a tennis ball, rope, and the atlatl-like devise people use to throw balls for their dogs. The rope was secured at three points to the basket to keep it level at one end and to the ball at the other. I baited the basket with the bed and food, and Matt and I set out to throw the line over the highest branch we could reach, then hoist the basket up to that level so that Scarletti could hop in. Assuming all went well, we would then slowly lower him to safety.  Assuming it did not all go well, I had an arborist lined up.

It took a few tries to get the line in place. Matt’s got a fine arm, but our line kept getting stuck on small twigs and/or branches too small to support the weight of the basket with a cat in it. Then he scored a smooth, sturdy branch, about 5-10 feet below where Scarletti was perched. The basket sailed up nice and level, and once it reached the branch, Scarletti grew more vocal and began moving about. But he still looked uncertain, and after a time we decided that our presence was making him nervous. So we tied the line to a heavy bench, went inside, and planned to give kitty 45 minutes before I called the team of tree walkers.

Just before one, I peeked out my window to see if I noticed any new tilt to our basket. I thought I saw a motion. So ran out to the deck and shrieked with delight as I saw a little orange and white tushie shimmying down the trunk. He was already halfway between the ground the lowest branch, and in a mere seconds he made it the rest of the way. It looked like a controlled, skilled descent.

He then ran off under Lin’s deck, a favorite hiding place. Did the food in the basket give him ideas? Did he make a jump for the basket, miss, and scamper the rest of the way down once he realized he could? I’ll never know. But it seems like more than pure coincidence that after spending nearly 60 hours up a tree, Scarletti finally made his move within 45 minutes of our rescue attempt.

Anyone need a very slightly used atlatl or laundry basket?

*First thing I read online: Spray water at cat or otherwise bother it to get it to move down. Second through one-hundredth thing I read: For God’s sake, don’t spray water on the cat or otherwise bug it; it will just climb higher. Why did I find the idiot first? And why did I not realize that this person’s advice was so idiotic?

**Given the number of days Scarletti had been away from food and water and the heat index, “nature taking its course” likely means one of the following: (1) cat attempts descent when too weak to pull it off, falls, and is injured or dies; (2) cat dies in tree and falls out; (3) cat nearly dies in tree, falls out, then dies. I know nature is cruel and that I can’t save everything. But damn if I was going to “let nature take its course” while I had a front-row seat to the suffering.

Posted in Friends, Jessica | 3 Comments »

Eine Kleine Nachtmusik

Jun 17th, 2011 by

Simon’s been working on some pop-tunes. I think his version of “Police on My Back” is awesome, if not mildly wildly inappropriate.

“Hard Day’s Night” is cuter. He’s been working on the first few lines, AKA the John Lennon parts, for a week or so. Tonight he ventured further into the song. It was cuter the first time when he went higher and surprised himself by knowing all the words. The taped version is still pretty darned charming, even with the camera-awareness and flubbed line. Check it:

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A Bridge Too Far

Jun 17th, 2011 by

If you were reading this blog back when Simon was 2 or 3, you know that his toddler days were made more difficult by his poor adaptability and initial withdrawal. Which is fancy speak for Simon taking a while to warm up and not handling change very well, traits he gets honest from his parents. Simon had a hard time finding his place in a toddler scrum; in fact, he usually chose “outside looking in” as his place. As for change, well, there’s a reason he didn’t potty train until he was three and a half, and it wasn’t all physiological.

Flash forward to today, and these traits are still present, but have been very much diluted. His warm-up period with Alise, Thomas, Theo, Thaylo, Kalyna, Amber (Lei-Lei) and Allison (Sha-Sha) was about two minutes. The first time Thomas, who’s older, got a bit rambunctious, Simon joined in and even egged him on. So initial withdrawal? Manageable.

And poor adaptability? Ditto. Simon was nervous on the first takeoff, until I described what was happening and pantomimed what the rest of the trip would feel like. The next leg and entire return flight was a snap. His bedtime routine was completely upended. He went down in a different bed that was too small to accommodate me (we usually lie together for about five minutes), he had no music or noise machine to keep him company, the room didn’t get as dark as his own, and he had a three-hour time change to adjust to. Sleep champ that he is, Simon went down at his adjusted bed-time, liked having a cozy new bed, didn’t miss his music, and let me kiss him on the cheek and walk out of the room. He continued to sleep well all week.

He even ate some new food. I’m afraid I have a horribly picky eater on my hands, and I was worried that even small changes like a new brand of cracker or type of yogurt might give Simon pause. Instead, he did fine. He even did fine when friend Katherine made cheese sandwiches for all the kids using—get this—olive tapenade between layers of cheese. Simon took a bite, made a funny face, and looked over at me.

“Mommy, this tastes kind of funny.”

[Uttered with false brightness]“Does it? Well, Ms. Katherine used a special cheese. But it’s totally yummy, right?”

[Meekly, after seeing Thomas gobble up his.] “Yea, Mommy, I guess so.”

We repeated the exchange with a rather tart kiwi, which Simon also ended up eating.

But even an exuberant four-year-old with newfound reserves of flexibility has his limits. For Simon, that limit was nori seaweed. Some of Thomas and Theo’s friends eat sheets of the stuff for snacks, and now the boys do, too. One of them asked for some, and when Katherine handed over the greenish-black sheets to Thomas and Theo, Simon looked on with ever widening eyes. Then he looked my way, anticipating my suggesting that this, too, might be something fun to try. With a plainly worried look on his face, Simon fixed me with a serious stare and said:

“That looks like a good snack for Thomas and Theo. But not for me.”

I laughed out loud. Then found him another snack. Outside Japan or the Bay Area, I’m guessing that sheets of nori would be a bridge too far for most kids.

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

The Unforced Error

Jun 15th, 2011 by

As with politics or tennis, parenting, too, comes with its share of unforced errors. It’s bad enough when Simon hits a rough patch and I think I err in handling it. I might tell myself that I could have or should have tried a different tactic or, if I’m really at the end of my rope, berate myself for aggravating an already difficult situation. But I usually manage to reserve at least a little sympathy for myself: controlling an angry or hysterical kid is hard, and I don’t always have the right answer for tough spots or the physical or mental reserves to rise above the occasion.

So bad and/or ineffective parenting happens. I can live with that knowledge. But unforced errors? Times when everything is going swell until Mommy opens her mouth without thinking and says something to upset Simon. Those are maddening. And I’m afraid tonight a committed a doozy of one.

Picture this. Simon has had a fun day at camp, taken a nice afternoon nap, had a good dinner and play-date with a friend, and stayed up past his bedtime to watch summer’s first fireflies in our lawn. Perfect, right? Then we go upstairs to put on pajamas. What should have been a really sweet conversation ensues:

“Mommy, how am I going to be 5?

“In just four months, Simon. But let’s not rush it, OK? Cause can I tell you a secret? Four and a half has been the most fun we’ve ever had together. Let’s stay here as long as we can.

“Will we have fun together when I’m 5?

“Well sure we will! It’s just that 4 ½ has been awesome, and I don’t want to hurry it away.

“What about when I’m 19? Will we have fun together then?

“Um, I hope so. But Simon, you might not be living with us when you are 19. You’ll probably be off at college.”

The wide eyes were the first sign that Mommy had said something terribly, terribly wrong, followed by the quivering chin, bitten lip, wrinkled nose, and stream of tears that followed. Silly, silly Mommy. What were you thinking? The answer is that I was picturing myself at 19, feeling very grown up and hungry for a taste of the cosseted independence that college provides. No curfew yet also no bills. What could be better?

Poor Simon has no understanding of college or growing up. He pictures himself as he thinks and feels now, only taller, at 19. So from his perspective, I just told him that at some point in the distant but imaginable future I was going to toss him out when he doesn’t remember his phone number, can’t dress himself without help, and otherwise relies on his mom and dad to take care of his most basic needs. In other words, I just told a 4-year-old about my plans to abandon him.

Oy.

So, the next 5-10 minutes consisted of a contrite Mommy (i.e. Me) attempting to calm a scared and hurt child. Since I firmly believe in (mostly) not lying to Simon about anything, I tried to remedy the situation not by pack-pedaling about college, but about framing the discussion in a way that he’d feel comfortable about.

“Simon, let me tell you something. When I was 19, I wanted to go away to college. So I moved away from home and lived in a place called a dorm with lots and lots of friends. When it was time for school I went to classrooms, and when I was hungry I went to a cafeteria. I didn’t live at home, but people still took care of me, and I came back home for holidays and vacations. I loved it. Some other people don’t do that. They live at home when they go to college. You can do that, too, if you want. You will always have a room in this house, and you can live here for as long as you want me and Daddy to keep you company and for as long as you need us to take care of you. I promise.”

He nodded and calmed down, fears of being tossed into the mean streets of Louisville temporarily abated. And I promised to be more mindful of the fact that we’re still Simon’s entire world and that he has already expressed concern about this thing called adulthood*. Mommy needs to think before she talks.

*Much like my brother Steve asked my mom, Simon has on previous occasions asked me how he will know which house to buy, what job to do, or whom to marry when he is a grown-up. He understands just enough about adult responsibilities to be scared of them.

Posted in Jessica, Little Boy | 2 Comments »

My Running Triumph

Jun 13th, 2011 by

Yes, triumph.

It was not that I packed running clothes for my vacation last week and actually used them. That was a new leaf for me, for sure, but not a triumph.

It was not that Saturday I went out and ran 6 miles while feeling the effects of plane travel and the mild dehydration that accompanies it, even if I did feel like crap for most of the time and have to gut my way through it.

Nor was it tonight when, back with the Fleet Feeters, I found a nice woman to run with and shaved 5 full minutes from my time, clocking in at exactly 50 minutes for a hilly 5 miles.

No, the triumph was that several minutes after I staggered into the store, a group came in behind me. That’s right: I ran with the big kids and did not finish dead last! There was a group of four who finished after me and one or two stragglers after them. And only one of them was a No Boundaries graduate!

It’s a small thing, for sure, but a total confidence booster nonetheless. The thing about joining a group so far out of your league is that, if your ego can take the bruising, you have lots of motivation to get better and nowhere to go but up. And if you are really, really lucky, as I was tonight, you will find a seasoned marathoner who remembers being in your exact shoes, slows down to help you set an ambitious but doable pace, and cheers you on the whole way. Then she and a friend will tell you that you have to sign up for half-marathon training, which I’ve about made up my mind to do.

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There was There There

Jun 11th, 2011 by

As the new banner above may make obvious, my little blog vacation involved some travel. Matt, Simon, and I just returned from six days in the Bay Area, where we visited a few of our favorite places and many of our favorite people.

It was, as ever, simultaneously relaxing and invigorating to dip back into our old lives and friendships after a time. I had last been in the Bay Area in late summer 2009 for business, but the entire family had not traveled to California for just over three years, a delay we weren’t thrilled about but thought necessary for Simon’s sake.

Two years ago he was an inflexible toddler that had trouble with crowds and change. It didn’t seem like the right time. Last year the call was even more difficult. Simon was social, but not 100% potty trained, was still struggling with loud noises, and still wasn’t what I’d call a trooper. We missed our friends, but the time still didn’t seem right. This year we declared Simon totally ready for such a trip, and with one minor exception (that I’ll save for a different post) he was.

Here, in short, is the trip in Simon’s own words:

The general vibe:

“I sure do love all my new friends.”

In the city:

“What was the most fun today, Simon?”

“The cable car!”

“Mommy, I’m cold in San Francisco.” (Welcome to the city in June, kiddo!)

King of the Road:

“Mommy, how do we get to San Francisco?”

“I’m not sure from here, honey. I’ll have to get a map.

“I think we take 13 to 24 to 580 to 80 and then boom! That’s it. You’re there. (He was right.)

“How am I going to take a BART train?” (next trip, honey.)

“How am I going to be on 680?” (possibly never)

On friendship:

“How am I going to see that tall girl (Kalyna) and her matching sisters (twins) again?”

[To Alise] “I won’t see you when I’m in Kentucky, but I’ll miss you. You know how you can come see me in Kentucky? You take two jet airplanes. Have you ever taken two jet airplanes?”

“I love Mr. Shawn’s house. And Mr. Ian’s house. I love being in California; It makes me happy.”

Me, too. Most of all on this trip because it was so clearly a vacation for Simon. He speculated about the speed of the cable car (110!), liked all the “secret lanterns” in the Japanese Tea Garden, and was proud of himself for pulling his own suitcase through the airports. But most of all, like his parents, his biggest thrill was a social one. Simon played super-heroes with Thomas and Theo, ran around shrieking with Kalyna and Alise, and took turns on an indoor slide with Alise and Thaylo. Most hilariously, he and Alise fashioned a game of Animal Hospital from a stuffed animal menagerie, a bed, and a roll of toilet paper. He seemed to form an immediate rapport with each of the kids: exploring his boisterous side with Thomas and Theo, being the big guy to Thaylo (who could hold his own and has a very similar temperament), and enjoying an easy and sweet friendship with Alise.

He genuinely liked them all. And while that may well be because he’s four and disposed to like anyone I call “a new friend”, I prefer to believe that he was naturally attracted to the children of people Matt and I like so much. Either way, we’re not waiting three years to dip back into these waters again.

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

Blog Vacation

Jun 3rd, 2011 by

I’m logging out for a week and will be back on Saturday, June 11.

Today I woke up, ran five miles, took Simon to the pool to play with Baron, took him to visit his Zadie and Nana, and then got caught up on all the mail/laundry/filth/Sudanese stuff I’ve been delaying.

With camp not set to start for a week, I think I’m sensing a theme. Namely, something has to give. That something may be:

  1. household sanitation
  2. running
  3. quality, outdoor time with Simon
  4. setting up graduation, seminars, and fundraising for the Sudanese
  5. sleep
  6. the blog

I’m opting for 6, but only for one short week. I’m unplugging entirely in fact, as I desperately need to clear out my attic, get started on my basement, and tend to my garden while also taking care of items 1-5 above.

See you all soon. And cross your fingers that we get some actual spring weather before it’s officially summer. All I want is one week of 75-85 degree weather. Not 65 and raining. Not 60 and raining. And not 95 either way. Would that be so hard?

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Medical Advice

Jun 2nd, 2011 by

This is all kinds of awesome. It’s late spring, and as I’ve already complained, we went straight from rain and cool to blistering heat with no real “spring” in between. I always encourage Simon to drink lots of water when the mercury rises. I just learned that Matt has done the same, only in his case the encouragement includes a warning based on personal experience. I don’t know exactly what Matt said, but here’s what Simon had to offer:

“When it’s hot out, you need to drink a lot of water so you don’t get a rock in your kidney.”

Who’s going to argue with that?

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Summer Speed

May 29th, 2011 by

In the way of Kentucky, the ram and bull of April and May never quite yielded gentle spring days, heralding instead rain, more rain, still more rain, high winds and downed trees, and more than a few days with winter-like temperatures. Now Memorial Day Weekend has arrived, bringing with it a wall of heat and the sound of lawn mowers in the early morning.  Ah, Kentucky…

On a more welcome note, summer weather also brought our first taste of what fun days with a four-year-old are going to be like, and I very much like what I see. I don’t quite recognize it, but I like it all the same. Saturday began with one of the very few times Simon has gotten out of bed on his own. He usually wakes up, calls out “help me”, and waits for Matt or me (usually Matt) to come get him. He did this again yesterday, but then twice sent Matt back to our room with the declaration that he wasn’t ready yet. When he was ready, he slid out of bed, ran to our room, and climbed into our bed for a visit and snuggle. He also told me that our bedspread “didn’t smell too good”, prompting me to make an overdue trip to the laundromat.*

Next up came a trip to a reggae festival at the old Water Tower with friend Caroline. Most of what I saw looked very familiar: he and Caroline ran a lot, danced a little, hugged several times, threw clover at and on each other, and shared pineapple sorbet with me. These two always enjoy an easy and affectionate camaraderie, which is one of the reasons I welcome getting together with her; I know what I’m walking into.

It’s how the day ended that made my jaw go slack. A half hour before we needed to leave (Simon had a baseball date with the Whitworth guys), a kids’ zone of inflatable houses and slides went up. Caroline immediately headed for the bouncy house, but Simon demurred. Turning around, he pointed to a huge, 20-foot+ inflatable slide, and announced that he wanted to go down that.

I’m afraid I was visibly annoyed. The line was long, and nothing in my child’s history indicated that he would (a) make it all the way up the ladder or (b) go down the slide if he did. The two most likely scenarios were his getting stuck half-way up the ladder or panicking at the top. Meanwhile, a whole line of eager kids would be impatiently awaiting their turn while the rescue scene played out. This isn’t just me being mean. Simon has talked a good game about slides like this before, and then backed out before taking a single step. There’s a ten-foot metal slide at Willow Park that he still hasn’t gone down, even when we’ve been alone at the park and offered to go down with him.

The Summit in Question

So here we were, at a slide about four times as long and steep as anything he’s attempted. Not to mention the super-long staircase Simon would have to climb before chickening out at the top. He’s not great fan of those, either. The whole thing struck me as folly—as attempting to climb Everest before conquering the neighbor’s fence.

Thankfully, I stopped just short of outright sabotage. Matt bought the ride tickets. I sighed heavily and offered up the encouraging, “If that’s what you want, buddy.” Simon waited his turn. And then, the most improbable thing I’ve ever seen played out before me. Simon slowly and carefully climbed the staircase, turning around once or twice to make sure we were there and watching. The steps were too steep for him to alternate feet and he was very careful with his footing, so it was a slow and deliberate ascent. Then he got to the top, walked over to the slide, smiled, sat down, and pushed off with his hands.

The first third of the way down, he was all smiles and dimples. As he picked up an alarming amount of speed, his hair sheeted off his scalp to the sides, his cheeks pulled back from the Gs, and his eyes widened with terror. But it must have been a fun terror, because when he landed and I ran over to greet him, he was all smiles and begged to go again. Or to build a slide like that in our yard. He was on an adrenaline rush.

We all high-fived him, and I made an internal note about my own parenting assumptions. Namely, that while certain things about Simon are constant (his basic temperament, empathy, caution, etc.), that other things (how he gauges and responds to challenges) are more fluid. That the same kid at four might do things he would not do at three. And that it would be as easy as it would be harmful to conflate the constant with the fluid and thereby ending up an accidental saboteur.

*As it happens, the Laundromat proved to be an adventure on its own merits, as I encountered an admirer who just skirted the line between flattering and creepy.

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

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