Kid Amnesiac

Within a day or so of my purchasing Happy Baby Things That Go, I snapped some pics of Simon reading it. Then I got a new Elizabeth George novel and started consulting with landscape architects about my back yard (my back yard needs a landscape magician, I’ve decided), and never got around to taking said pics off my camera. Tonight, my mother reminded me that it had been a long while since she’d seen new pics; the poor thing is stuck with a photo from way back on June 1. Clearly, I’ve been negligent.

You know that you are suffering from world’s-most-photographed-child syndrome when you feel guilty about going two weeks without publishing new pictures of your child! What a little emperor I run the risk of creating over here…

Regardless, a sample pic is at right; more are in the Gallery. May everyone dream sweet dreams of buses tonight.

If Simon could write a book report, his for Happy Baby Things That Go might read something like this:

“Bus. This the bus. The bus? Yeah, the bus. Whas zis? Bu-pu? Ooooh. The bus.”

There’s more going on here than this report may demonstrate. Owing to his emerging fascination with all things wheeled, I picked up Happy Baby Things That Go at Borders Sunday night. I knew he’d like it, but I was and am truly delighted at how much he likes it.

His first order of business was to frantically turn pages looking for anything bus-like, to emphatically point to all these vehicles, and to emphatically proclaim “the bus” with a slight lisp at the sight of all of them. Once he calmed down, he began flipping between the inside cover page, where miniature pictures are located, to the page where each miniature’s respective full-size counterpart was located. He’d point to the small tram, call out “the bus!”, then flip to the main page in the book, point to the bigger tram, and explain that it, too, was “the bus.”

His second order of business was figuring out what all these non-bus buses were. Like the big passenger airplane. “The bus?” “No, honey, that’s an airplane.” Simon now calls this the “bu-pu”, either his attempt at saying “airplane” or “Airbus”, but we’re thinking he doesn’t know about brand names just yet. And what about the farm bus (tractor), or the sea bus (boat), or the rotorcraft bus (helicopter)? Matt and I easily spent thirty minutes saying the name of each item over and over and over again.

By the end of the evening, Simon could point to the rocket, the airplane, the motorcycle, the helicopter, and-of course-the bus when asked. Two days later the sight of the book still brightens his eyes and deepens his dimples, to say nothing for how much it makes Matt and me smile.

It would be too much to say that we are seeing an explosion of language, but we are certainly noticing a distinct increase in what Simon understands and how he can communicate with us in recent weeks.

The only real new words he says are baby, bunny, Bubbie, and bus. Added to the old repertoire (yes, no, mama, daddy/yagi/papa, cat, dog, light, ball, what’s that? and a few others that enter and exit his lexicon), we have a regular rotation of about 15 words. Probably average for a boy his age in terms of expressive language.

His receptive language, though, has developed much faster. About a week ago, Matt had Panda Bear, Panda Bear, What Do You See? open to the back page, where the gallery of animals described in the book all appear. We read this book pretty often, but it’s not a daily standard like Goodnight Moon or My First Mother Goose. So when Matt asked Simon to show him the sea turtle, I thought he was joking… until I saw a little finger hover over the sea turtle. In turn, Simon showed us the black panther, the red fox, the panda bear, and the sea lion, then got stumped by the water buffalo and began pointing at random.

Wow! My boy has been paying more attention than I gave him credit for. In fact, once I started to pay attention myself, I could see that Simon is increasingly absorbed by the details in books. He loves the butterflies in Peter Rabbit, the little house on the hill in Each Peach Pear Plum, and the glowing embers in Bear Snores On.

It’s not just a matter of adding vocabulary words, either. He’s clearly got a better memory and a better grasp of grammar then he did only a few weeks ago. It used to be that when someone made for the door to leave, Simon would wave bye-bye. Then he began to wave as soon as keys and coats were picked up. But last week he began waving at my mother as soon as she said she should get going and before she got up or did any of these things. Matt and I also made the terrible mistake of mentioning Molly and Grandma by name on days when Molly wasn’t coming and Grandma was off on vacation. Both times he went to the window and looked out, eagerly awaiting their appearance coming up the front sidewalk and visibly disappointed when they were absent. The age of spelling out key words has dawned.

Simon also getting better at telling us what he wants using non-verbal gestures. Last week, on a day that Simon slept in unusually late, I told our sitter Laura (Molly’s replacement last week while she was away at camp) to expect to him to eat lunch late. As Simon has been cutting his two-year molars, Laura didn’t think much about the fact that Simon had his fingers in his mouth. After waiting for Laura to take the hint, Simon opted for a more direct route: He pulled up on Laura’s jeans, dragged her into the kitchen, walked (holding on to her pants-no news here) all the way to the high chair, then turned around and lifted his arms to be picked up. That got his point across quite effectively!

The very next day, at nap-time, my mom sat down in the glider with Simon to read some bedtime stories. Simon fussed, so mom reached for a different book. Again taking matters into his own hands-literally-he leaned against the glider’s footrest and pointed up meaningfully to his crib. He didn’t want to read; he just wanted to sack out. A point made all the more clear by the fact that his afternoon nap stretched to three hours.

These advances, small though they seem on the surface, are making our days together easier and more enjoyable in equal measure. It’s less of a strain when Simon can tell me what he wants and when he understands more of what I say. And as someone who finds beauty and interest in the small details of nearly every aspect of life, it’s enthralling to be able to share some of these with my young son.

I am somewhat amazed at how difficult seemingly simple decisions can be, specifically, shopping decisions. I’ve already politicized grocery shopping to the point where I sometimes feel I need online access in the aisles to remember what is healthy and/or ethical to purchase.

Toy shopping is proving no easier. The difference is that while I have more or less made my peace with what’s sitting in my cupboards, I have much less confidence in what’s sitting in Simon’s toy chests.

At the most basic level, I strongly prefer toys the encourage use of imagination, that foster peace and cooperation, and that do not reinforce rigid gender roles. One day in the future, Simon will ask for or bring home a toy gun or tank, and on that inevitable day all my strongly held convictions will be put to the test. Until then, though, we’re keeping to the wholesome set.

I’m also not fond of the toy that is glorified branding. Why, when I’m shopping for a one and a half year old, am I besieged by commercial characters? Why is everything Dora this or Elmo that? Simon doesn’t watch (much) tv; he doesn’t know who these characters are. No offence to Sesame Street, but I’d just as soon have my blocks and crackers Elmo-free right now.

Another source of consternation is all the lights and bells and whistles on today’s toys. Study after study shows that the best toys for kids are the plain ones. Blocks, dolls, and balls are hard to beat. Toys that flash and buzz not only require less imagination and grow tiresome quickly, but they also spoil kids for the good toys. Despite pediatricians’ near unanimity on the subject, the aisles of stores like Toys ‘R Us are stocked with heavily branded multi-sensory attacks. Nearly everything I want is special order.

And then there is the issue of where materials and labor are sourced. If you buy plastic toys, you are purchasing something that’s a petroleum by-product and that is destined for a landfill. If you purchase wood toys, you have to be careful lest you contribute to deforestation. If you purchase toys made overseas, you have to worry about labor conditions and the environmental impact of shipping. If you purchase domestic toys, you better be rich.

All of these issues came to a head the day I first went looking to buy a train set. That must have been two months ago or longer, and yet we are still train-free. Why? Because I am paralyzed by indecision, that’s why.

Trains pass the ethical test just fine. What could be more wholesome? I think trains are cool, and while they are most often found in boys’ playrooms, I also know several girls who play with them. And hey, he’s got a toy kitchen, so I’m giving myself a bye.

The issue is which set to get. The optimal train is made of wood from well managed resources, comes from a carefully supervised factory, doesn’t include any lead paint (needless to say), and-ideally-costs less than a full pay check.

Well good luck with that! I found a Scandinavian set that is now made in China, an English/American set that recently had lead paint issues, one European set that would cost me several pay checks and another that uses sturdy cardboard (yuck!) for the tracks.

Looks like we won’t be getting a train until I decide whether I’m compromising my principles or my wallet. Or both.

I’m afraid we are losing Simon to the thrall of the internal combustion engine. What in the world could be as magnificent, as the car, the truck, the plane, or–above all-the bus? If Simon had any idea how often Matt and I rode the bus during our eight years in San Francisco, he might never forgive us.

This has to be the Y chromosome at work. We have one toy car in the house, one simple train, and no buses, trucks or planes (yet). He’s only got two shirts with wheeled vehicles on them, and both of these owe more to Mondrian than a monster truck rally. He has one set of books about fire engines and trucks, a hand-me-down from his cousin Ben, and we only just got them out a couple of weeks ago.

It’s as though the love of buses and trucks were encoded in his DNA, and something just triggered the bus-loving gene. Really, it’s the only plausible explanation.

About a week ago, Simon saw a toy dump truck at my mom’s house. It was love at first sight, and he played with it for longer than any other toy there. At about the same time, he started to get more interested in the Big Fire Engine, Big Race Car, and other Big Vehicle books he got from Ben. His love even extends to the page in Hippos Go Berserk where eight hippos board a Greyhip bus. He will flip through the pages front-to-back and back-to-front in search of that page, then emphatically point to the hippos in the bus to make sure we join him in his excitement.

But nothing in the world compares to the joy of seeing a bus go down Bardstown road. When that happens, Simon starts to talk a blue streak and gesticulate wildly. I’ve taken to walking him down Bardstown road instead of through the neighborhood because he’s less likely to resist being in the stroller if he is surrounded by trucks, motorcycles, and the like. It’s our little compromise: I relinquish my love of quiet nature walks in exchange for Simon giving up his rage against confinement and letting me stretch my legs.

At our playgroup on Friday, Simon once again sat outside the play area for much of the time and entertained himself on the shop’s front steps. Every time a bus roared down the street, he’d get excited. Then he tossed a ball down the front steps, watched it roll into the street, get hit by a bus, and fly a full block ahead, and he was in sheer heaven. It was the happiest I saw him all day, and that Friday Simon ate a cupcake, a chocolate kids’ Cliff bar, and a piece of apple strudel. (No comment on the nutrition here. I sort of lost track. In my defense, the cupcakes were for a birthday and he also ate plain yogurt, grilled cheese, fresh fruit, and sag paneer that day, so it wasn’t a complete bust.)

Clearly Matt and I have some shopping to do. And I have to say, I’m crossing my fingers that if we indulge his love of trucks and buses he might just forget about that other great love…

…the love that dare not speak its name…

… the motorcycle.