Yesterday I visited one of the public playgroups that continues through the summer months. The director happened to be there at the entrance, and greeted us warmly as we came through the door, even though it's been at least three months since we were there last.
My son made a beeline for the elevator in the lobby--he's addicted to pushing buttons, and somehow, elevator buttons are a particular thrill. I think he has made the connection that if he presses that kind of button, something big will happen--he'll make a whole room move and suddenly appear, in other words.
"Sorry kid, we're not going to play with that," I said.
"That's right. Did you read about that kid in New York?" the director said.
"Oh--the boy who fell out of a building?" I said, my voice dropping down low.
"No, the one who got his finger caught as the elevator doors were closing," she cheerily replied. "They had to sew it back on." Her voice also dropped as she said the latter.
My heart did a somersault. But that's what it's like raising a toddler, I'm realizing: terror lurks around every corner (for the parent and more dimly, for the child as well).
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Muni and Me
We rode Muni for the first time today--his first time, I should say. And perhaps the first time for me since he was born, though I'm not sure about that.
We got on at 9th and Judah. Before getting on the train, we heard a man singing and shouting all the way up the street--"Oh great, a crazy person for my son's first Muni ride," I thought--and sure enough, the tall, lanky man with headphones on boarded the same car we did. I took the seat nearest the driver, the one that has to be vacated when senior citizens and disabled people want to sit there; the man sat in the first two-person seat facing the front. "Yeah, how you doin' man," he kept saying; I had the sinking feeling he was talking to my son. The next thing I knew, he'd placed a dollar bill in my little boy's hand.
I felt something like amused irritation, with a touch of fear as well--"He doesn't need money," I said, making a feeble attempt to give it back to the man. He raised his hands or something similar; I realized he was just trying to be friendly in his way, and was trying to connect with perhaps the only person on the streetcar who wouldn't mind his intrusion. A couple sat down next to us with their two young children, and two more dollar bills made their way into the hands of each of these kids. Then the man whipped out his military i.d. card and talked to one of the children, the older boy, about being in the Marines.
"Just another day on the Muni" I thought, remembering well how common such incidents are for daily riders. "Good experience for the kid." But I felt a bit depressed about it just the same.
On the trip back, the bars that connect the Muni to an electric cable just suddenly bounced off--as frequently happens--and the driver had to call for help; we walked the last two blocks.
All in all, an authentic Muni experience.
We got on at 9th and Judah. Before getting on the train, we heard a man singing and shouting all the way up the street--"Oh great, a crazy person for my son's first Muni ride," I thought--and sure enough, the tall, lanky man with headphones on boarded the same car we did. I took the seat nearest the driver, the one that has to be vacated when senior citizens and disabled people want to sit there; the man sat in the first two-person seat facing the front. "Yeah, how you doin' man," he kept saying; I had the sinking feeling he was talking to my son. The next thing I knew, he'd placed a dollar bill in my little boy's hand.
I felt something like amused irritation, with a touch of fear as well--"He doesn't need money," I said, making a feeble attempt to give it back to the man. He raised his hands or something similar; I realized he was just trying to be friendly in his way, and was trying to connect with perhaps the only person on the streetcar who wouldn't mind his intrusion. A couple sat down next to us with their two young children, and two more dollar bills made their way into the hands of each of these kids. Then the man whipped out his military i.d. card and talked to one of the children, the older boy, about being in the Marines.
"Just another day on the Muni" I thought, remembering well how common such incidents are for daily riders. "Good experience for the kid." But I felt a bit depressed about it just the same.
On the trip back, the bars that connect the Muni to an electric cable just suddenly bounced off--as frequently happens--and the driver had to call for help; we walked the last two blocks.
All in all, an authentic Muni experience.
The Day After
I forgot to post to this blog yesterday.
I think that I haven't missed a day for eleven months. (I'm not 100% sure about that, but I think the only other day that I missed was during a trip to France when it was all but physically impossible to access the Internet.)
I know that this effort to blog every day without fail for an entire year was a kind of "stunt," of absolutely no importance to anyone but myself. But for me, it was hugely important.
This blog was functioning--is functioning--as a reminder that I could, possibly, have some sort of life outside of the one I currently live as a wife and mother and stepmother. (Even though the title of the blog is "newmom44," I still believe that the topic of motherhood is not necessarily the most important subject I'm attempting to deal with here.)
If I start to believe that "this is it"--i.e. wifedom and motherhood--I'll start to disintegrate. In little bite-sized pieces.
So in that sense, yes, the blog is important to me.
And I'll post twice today to make up for yesterday.
I think that I haven't missed a day for eleven months. (I'm not 100% sure about that, but I think the only other day that I missed was during a trip to France when it was all but physically impossible to access the Internet.)
I know that this effort to blog every day without fail for an entire year was a kind of "stunt," of absolutely no importance to anyone but myself. But for me, it was hugely important.
This blog was functioning--is functioning--as a reminder that I could, possibly, have some sort of life outside of the one I currently live as a wife and mother and stepmother. (Even though the title of the blog is "newmom44," I still believe that the topic of motherhood is not necessarily the most important subject I'm attempting to deal with here.)
If I start to believe that "this is it"--i.e. wifedom and motherhood--I'll start to disintegrate. In little bite-sized pieces.
So in that sense, yes, the blog is important to me.
And I'll post twice today to make up for yesterday.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Families and Loss
I'm reading The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, a novel I'd been curious about for a long time. Reviewing it purely as a work of literature, I think it has a gripping plot, well-rounded characters and, unfortunately, a shopworn premise--that the dead can "spy" on the living.
I have fantasized about such a thing, on occasion, and it appeals to anyone who's ever wondered about "heaven" and the influence of the dead on the living. But it also reads a bit like one of those "Touched by an Angel" shows (was that the name of an actual show? I don't remember. But it seems like there's been a spate of them recently--shows where people from "the other side" watch and worry and even meddle in living people's lives in mysterious ways). We hunger to feel connected with the dead, and this story taps into that hunger--but I don't find it a particularly uplifting or inspired premise upon which to base an entire novel. Also--the violence that takes place in the book is so horrific that I don't believe this family would have been able to contain their rage and grief as successfully as they seem to have done. Yes, the family falls apart at certain points, but it's doesn't seem as messy and painful as I think it needed to be.
Having said all that--yes, it's a richly imagined book and I understand why it's so popular.
I have fantasized about such a thing, on occasion, and it appeals to anyone who's ever wondered about "heaven" and the influence of the dead on the living. But it also reads a bit like one of those "Touched by an Angel" shows (was that the name of an actual show? I don't remember. But it seems like there's been a spate of them recently--shows where people from "the other side" watch and worry and even meddle in living people's lives in mysterious ways). We hunger to feel connected with the dead, and this story taps into that hunger--but I don't find it a particularly uplifting or inspired premise upon which to base an entire novel. Also--the violence that takes place in the book is so horrific that I don't believe this family would have been able to contain their rage and grief as successfully as they seem to have done. Yes, the family falls apart at certain points, but it's doesn't seem as messy and painful as I think it needed to be.
Having said all that--yes, it's a richly imagined book and I understand why it's so popular.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Tahoe Toddler Woes
We recently vacationed in the Lake Tahoe area, if "vacation" is a real concept with a toddler in tow. It would be, perhaps, if someone provided meals and at least three hours of childcare a day. This was not our experience; and the baby slept incredibly poorly, which left me zombified for much of our trip. It's several days later now and I still haven't fully recovered. Not much of a post today, but all I can grapple with right now is a deep desire to lie down for an hour, read, then sleep for a blissful eight or nine hours (when was the last time such a wonderful thing happened? Can't remember).
Friday, July 2, 2010
The Toddler from Another Planet
Just saw the John Sayles classic "The Brother from Another Planet." I'd seen parts of it before, but never the whole thing. A touching, original film about alienation and belonging, racial identity, what it means to be human.
It also made me think in a new way about my toddler's daily experience. Being wordless yet wanting so badly to communicate, to be loved, to be appreciated. And wanting to be in control of his environment--why else is he trying so hard to open and close doors, pick up heavy pots and trays, play with the car's window controls and door locks, figure out cell phones and remotes?
The demons in the film--played with Monty Pythonesque touches of absurdity by John Sayles and David Straithearn--attempt to re-enslave the Brother; they are dressed all in black, and the whole film involves a classic retelling of the hero's journey--he must descend into the underworld (Harlem in the bad old 70s) to save himself. My son's demons come in the form of his own physical limitations and various situations he just cannot understand or control.
How does a toddler complete his own mythic quest? Step by laborious step...I hope we (my husband and I) can provide some measure of comfort and counsel along the way...and just enough prodding to let him reach whatever planet he's aiming for.
It also made me think in a new way about my toddler's daily experience. Being wordless yet wanting so badly to communicate, to be loved, to be appreciated. And wanting to be in control of his environment--why else is he trying so hard to open and close doors, pick up heavy pots and trays, play with the car's window controls and door locks, figure out cell phones and remotes?
The demons in the film--played with Monty Pythonesque touches of absurdity by John Sayles and David Straithearn--attempt to re-enslave the Brother; they are dressed all in black, and the whole film involves a classic retelling of the hero's journey--he must descend into the underworld (Harlem in the bad old 70s) to save himself. My son's demons come in the form of his own physical limitations and various situations he just cannot understand or control.
How does a toddler complete his own mythic quest? Step by laborious step...I hope we (my husband and I) can provide some measure of comfort and counsel along the way...and just enough prodding to let him reach whatever planet he's aiming for.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Nap Transition
My son's nap schedule is in flux--as often happens at this age, his two regular naps a day are slowly becoming one. He can still nap twice a day, but if he's slept especially well the night before, he tends to take just one nap, at around 11:30 or 12:00 noon.
It's becoming increasingly difficult to figure out what to do with him at around 10:00 am--keep him busy with activities, hoping that he doesn't suddenly fall over something and hurt himself in his fatigue, or put him to bed, whether or not he's shown any signs of sleepiness? Thus 10 to 11 am has become a sort of "danger hour"--as 7 to 8 pm still is--where I have to watch him especially carefully.
This information is of little interest to anyone, perhaps, except new or expectant parents. But to those I would say: be prepared to have your child's naps--their quality, their duration, their frequency--dictate the rhythms of your day, at least until your child has settled into that one-nap routine.
It's becoming increasingly difficult to figure out what to do with him at around 10:00 am--keep him busy with activities, hoping that he doesn't suddenly fall over something and hurt himself in his fatigue, or put him to bed, whether or not he's shown any signs of sleepiness? Thus 10 to 11 am has become a sort of "danger hour"--as 7 to 8 pm still is--where I have to watch him especially carefully.
This information is of little interest to anyone, perhaps, except new or expectant parents. But to those I would say: be prepared to have your child's naps--their quality, their duration, their frequency--dictate the rhythms of your day, at least until your child has settled into that one-nap routine.
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