Pledging Allegiance

First off, I feel compelled to say that if I had a flag of Chile we'd be waving that tonight. Just amazing.

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Last week at preschool Jett had the honor of holding the flag while the class performed their daily ritual of saying the Pledge of Allegiance. He was so excited about this responsibility that Kai and I stayed to watch. Here is our proud little patriot.

Jett is Four!

Happy Birthday, Jett! Now you are four years old!

You are so proud to be four. Or as you like to say, “Now I am almost five!” That’s you – always thinking ahead.

Things were pretty relaxed on your actual birthday. We took a walk with your new binoculars (!) and ended up at Building Blocks Toy Store, which was having a party of their own. You took a big step and let a stranger paint a butterfly on your cheek. I was so proud! Then you went to Letizia’s for lunch with Daddy. Later that day we went to a surprise birthday party for a friend of ours. You and Kai spent the evening running around their backyard in the rain. It was a good birthday.

You also dressed yourself that day.

We had two parties for you, Jett. Two! We would have liked to combine them in to one, but the parties were supposed to be outside, and our place is too small to hold the entire guest list if it rains. And boy, did it rain.

Your first party was with your neighborhood friends and cousins at the Do Division Street Fest, where we danced to Jeanie B and the Jelly Beans. It was fun and chaotic to throw blankets on the sidewalk in the middle of a crowded street festival. Then I busted out the art project for all of your friends to do, because it seemed like a good idea to add one more distraction to an already completely distracting event. But it went pretty well and you all had fun. Jeannie B sang happy birthday to you, as did every stranger standing around us. Jeannie B told me to lift you up so everyone could see you, and I did, with some hesitation. But you were fine! Last year you wouldn’t let us sing Happy Birthday to you and this year a whole street full of strangers did as I held you up in the middle of them so they could see you better. What a day! We ate subs and bounced in the inflatable castle and danced to the music and piled your presents in the stroller after you opened them. Then the sky opened up and we crammed the cupcakes down our throats and threw the blankets in the strollers and dashed for our cars/buses/homes – and still, we all got soaked, every single guest at the party. Maybe Kai most of all, wrapped up in Aunt Jenny’s arms the entire walk home (thanks, Aunt Jenny!). The presents stayed dry of course, as did the cupcakes. We had priorities, you know.

Dancing on the bubble wrap with Christopher

Baby Colin made it!

Your second party was with your school friends, at our house. You wanted to invite your entire class, and so did we, but thank goodness we didn’t, because it rained during this party too. We had 10 kids and 9 adults (including Uncle Nathan) in our little home, and you know what? It went great. We painted t-shirts out on the fire escape and decorated sun visors on our (new!) kitchen table. Then when you all started to get a little nutty I turned on some music – the same CD that you dance to at school – and you all hopped up and started to dance! It was priceless, watching you all dance the same moves to those songs, so uninhibited and confident. I loved it. You opened presents while everyone else ate cake, and then Pete busted out his guitar and sang some songs, and then the rain stopped so we went outside to hula-hoop. As you know, you are a hula-hoop star.

Painting t-shirts

Dancing

That is a “100” candle on your cake, as you requested, because 100 is your favorite number.

Kai isn’t too bad either.

We have really spent some serious time celebrating your birthday, Jett, and you’ve loved it. You told me that each party was “the best party in the wuld.” I totally agree.



Happy Birthday, Jett. We love you.

Walking on Egg Shells

Jett wakes up at 6:00 every morning and wants to play. He doesn't want to watch tv or snuggle or read books. He wants to play. I used to wake up happy, so eager to see him in the morning, even though every morning he woke up grumpy. Now he is happy in the morning and I just want 10 more minutes of sleep.

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I recently stumbled on a way to wake him up from his nap so he will be happy. (He naps in my bed. He still, as always, wakes up grumpy from his nap - that hasn't changed). I used to sit on the edge of my bed and talk to him and rub his arm and kiss his face to wake him up for school. He hated it. One afternoon I napped with him and woke him up by draping my arm across him, since I was laying next to him. He giggled. Now before I wake him up I just crawl in to bed next to him. He wakes up and he smiles and I breathe a sigh of relief.

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Last week Sunday I was supposed to babysit for my friend the morning of Jett's third (of four) birthday party (pictures coming soon). I would have been watching my two kids and hers - all great friends. She had just babysat my kids all day the day before (Friday), and while I know Jett had a blast, he was still recovering from, I think, the effort of having so much fun. I was eager to help my friend by babysitting for her, but on Saturday I was concerned that Jett wouldn't be in good form by the time his birthday party rolled around Sunday afternoon. She was like, "Isn't his birthday party tomorrow?" And that's when I realized that other parents don't do this. They don't get so worried about their kid having enough down time in between play dates. Their kids get worn-out by a day-long play date. Mine gets stressed-out.

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Jett's preschool gets out in the afternoon and a handful of the parents stay and let their kids play on the playground after school. It's fun for the kids and for the parents, and I love it. We stand around and talk at the end of the day while the kids run and play. If only I didn't have to stay within 30 yards of Jett the whole time. Because I'll just admit it, he is the first to hit/push/collapse in an angry heap on the playground.

The other parents seem to be able to stand on the periphery of the playground and talk and keep a sufficient eye on their kid. But I have to walk away in the middle of conversations because I lose sight of Jett and the kid can get angry in the blink of an eye. I've tried warnings, time-outs, sitting on the bench, taking a break in the car, but the fact is, after a little push we have to leave. His behavior doesn't get better. We just have to leave. I don't know any other parent who has had to leave the playground because their child was so aggressive. Sure all of the kids get in to tussles once in a while, but only one kid gets in to nearly every one, every time. I don't know any other parent on the playground who goes through this and so no one knows how much I hate it.

When he's really grumpy I can't take him to the playground at all. I hate missing the playground.

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One of Jett's teachers told me that she thinks Jett gets aggressive when he doesn't have the words for what he wants to say. I accepted that but didn't quite understand what she meant until I saw a sorting exercise he did with his teacher:

Jett asked me to stay with him at school the other day, so I did. His teacher called him and two of his friends over to her table to do a couple of "exercises". She gave each child a handful of plastic shapes in various colors and she told them to each sort their own pile by color. Jett was the first one done. He stacked them in to one pile and put the yellow ones on the bottom, the green ones on top of them, then the red, and finally the blue ones on the very top. His teacher asked him to tell her what he did. He said something like, "There's the yellow, there's the green, there's the red, and the blue on top." Then she asked his friend to tell her what she did, and this little girl explained in vivid and precise detail exactly what she had done. She gave too much detail if that is possible. She wrote a novel right there on the spot. She easily spoke 10 sentences to every one of his.

Maybe it is a communication learning curve. Maybe it is more of a development stage than a personality trait. I mean, he is a really sweet kid. A sweet kid with a mean right hook.

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I went to talk to this organization that runs play groups and parenting classes. I talked to them on the phone 4 or 5 times before going in for an "intake" meeting. I spent over an hour with one of their staff members while my kids played in the preschool room. At the end of the hour the staff member told me the cost of the program. I thought it was $400 total for three months, but actually it was $400 per month, and so I did the only thing someone would do who no longer qualifies for the reduced price because after a year and a half her family is employed again: I burst in to tears. Then I went to pick up my kids from the playgroup to find them covered in cookie crumbs with their mouths stained yellow from frosting. wtf? I will not pay $1200 for you to stuff my kids with more sugar in 2 hours than I feed them in two days, thank you very much. Also, you didn't let me observe the preschool room before leaving my kids there. Also in 4 or 5 phone calls I think you could have made sure I understood the cost before charging me $30 for an intake meeting and wasting 2 hours.

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One of Jett's teachers gave me some "cheat sheets" as I call them. One is a laminated sheet of paper with four faces on it, each showing a different emotion: happy, sad, tired, angry. The other is a flip chart of options that Jett can choose to help him calm down. She made one flip chart of options he can do at home (Take a deep breath, Count to 10, Get a drink of water, Sit on the couch, Play in your room, etc.). She also made a chart of options he can do when we are out and about (Sit on the bench, sit in the car, etc.). They are pocket-sized so I can take them with me. The idea is that when he gets out of control, I am to ask him what he is feeling (he can point to one of the faces) and why. This is to work on identifying his feelings, practicing talking about them, and finding better ways to manage them. Then I give him the choices of how to cool down. Jett was thrilled with this game, and spent the entire dinner hour pretending he was one emotion or the other, and then choosing an option to "cool down", and then leaving the dinner table to go do it (Play in your room was his favorite). By the end of dinner I needed to cool down. Sadly, chugging a beer was not one of the options on the chart. Still, I'm optimistic about the charts. Also, thankful for such a committed teacher.

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One day a couple of weeks ago Jett hit a little kid, who looked about two years old, who was standing on the playground in front of the slide. I jumped up there, carried Jett off the play structure and to the car, calling apologies to the other mom. Later I asked Jett why he hit that little boy. He told me he hit that boy because he was blocking the slide. I told him that he wasn't trying to block the slide, he was just standing in front of it. I asked Jett why he didn't just ask him to move. Jett told me he didn't talk to him because he didn't know him. He said it matter-of-fact, like of course - no one talks to kids they don't know.

So I reminded Jett that he didn't know any of his school friends until he met them on the first day, and isn't he so glad he talked to them? I told him he can talk to kids he doesn't know. I told him what to say if he needed to ask someone to move out of the way. I told him how to say, "Hi". Really, I told him how to say that and we practiced. We practiced saying "hi". We took turns being Jett, and being The Kid Jett Doesn't Know. It was goofy and we laughed, and we did it.

The next day we saw our neighbor, Rene. Rene is a nice man in his, I don't know, 60s say, and we have lived next door to him for maybe 6 years now. We saw Rene and out of the blue, for the first time in 4 years, Jett said, "Hi" to him. (Kai has been saying "Hi" to him for months). Rene was wonderful. He solemnly shook Jett's hand. I wanted to hug him. Now Jett says "hi" to everyone who walks by us on the street. Today he wanted our neighbor to walk by again just so he could say "hi" to him again. I'm thrilled, but holy crap, if I had known that all I had to do was teach him how to say "hi" I would have done it months ago. I had no idea I needed to teach him how to, or that it is ok to, say "hi". What else do I need to teach him? Isn't there a list of these things somewhere?

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Somebody who knows about these things told me he just needs more "modeling". She told me to make up stories of kids doing things he does - like trying to go down the slide first, for example, and in the story, have the kids work it out the right way. So I did, and she was right. He gobbles those stories up. He wants to know how they got down the slide. Who is going first next time? He is happy when they work it out and take turns going first. He tells me stories of similar situations in his own life. I can't believe it.

I finally, and accidentally, came up with two main characters for these recurring stories: two boys named Cory and Fossil. Although once Jett told me that Cory is a girl, so it really doesn't matter. (Also, if you want to know how I came up with the name Fossil, it went like this: I thought of the name Cory which reminded me of coral, which kind of looks like a fossil to me, and fossil kind of sounds like coral which sounds like Cory, thus Cory and Fossil). Cory and Fossil get in to all sorts of predicaments and their moms are always kind and fair. Tonight Jett told me a story of Cory and Fossil, which kind of corresponded to one of the arguments we had today, although it was probably just coincidence...or are things starting to come together?

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Tonight I picked Jett up from school and he was mad that he couldn't take a toy from school home, and then he hit his brother, and then we skipped the playground and went home, and then he kept hitting his brother and hitting me so he went into his room for a time out about a gazillion times and eventually he stomped angrily to bed.

I followed him in to his room and sat down next to his bed. He told me a story about Cory and Fossil and asked me to rub his back and told me he loves me this much (arms spread wide until they reached behind his back). I told him I loved him even more than that. That made him mad and he punched his pillow with his fist because he said I can't love him more than he loves me, because he loves the most.

Oh that kid!

Five weeks away from the big 4.

Do you know how hard it is to plan a birthday party for a soon-to-be four year old who 1) has parents who were broke one month ago and have not yet recovered 2) wants to invite his entire preschool class of 20 kids 3) wants his party to be at a bowling alley and 4) 20 kids at a bowling alley costs $300!

Add in the lack of a backyard and well, it is really hard to plan a party for that. Everyone says, "Have it at a park!" but it's not that simple. What do you do if it rains? Rent a room in the park building? You might be able to entertain 20 four-year-olds in a small, empty room, but I start to hyperventilate just thinking about it.

I'm thinking of buying a couple of bubble machines and letting the kids run around on the sidewalk outside our building. If it rains we can just move the bubble machines inside. You know the kids would love having all of those bubbles in the house.



P.S. The giveaway ends Tuesday at noon.

The Best Part of Every Car Ride

Some of you know by now that Jett is sensitive about certain things, shy about other things, and completely confident in yet other things. Many of these things change by the day, and it is a challenge to keep track of how he is feeling about one thing or another. It's a challenge to respond to him appropriately because it is impossible to predict if he is going to want my attention or not. Of course I think he has a million gifts to share with the world, so I always cringe a little when I see him acting shy or self-conscious. That is why I love it when he sings in the car. We just drive and sing and drive and sing, and this time Charlie thought to record it.

Tear-Jerk-Er

The other day I had to stay after school and talk to Jett's teacher because he hit someone in class. Actually this was the second child he hit during class. I knew something was up when all of the other students had been dismissed from the class, and Kai and I found ourselves alone in an empty hallway. Uh-oh. Again? Again? Didn't we just do this on Monday? That's when the teacher beckoned me inside.



There was Jett, sitting on his space on the floor, all bundled up in his winter coat and snowpants, sweating in the warm room. I knew he must have misbehaved, but darn it, he looked cute sitting there with his little flushed cheeks and blonde hair poking out under his hat.

So the teacher told me what happened, and I like to think of it as a minor incident. He lightly pushed someone in the coat closet. But I was mortified and worried anyway. So mortified and worried that when the teacher told me, I had to hold the wall to steady myself. I hear all of you snickering at my weakness, but you see how you feel when your child hits two kids in one week and you find yourself in conference with the teacher in a sweltering preschool classroom for the second time in four days. If you are at all like me you will hear only half of what the teacher is saying. But you will hear all of what your brain is saying, and your brain will be screaming at the top of it's lungs that your child is not going to graduate from high school or even get in to third grade because he hit two kids in preschool. Simultaneously while the teacher talked and my brain screamed, I started worrying that Jett and Charlie and I would develop a reputation among the parents as that family. That family with the kid who hit two kids on one week. Selfishly, I find this particularly mortifying because now I have preschool mom friends! Friends who I want to keep and who I want to have over for play dates! It did not help that his teacher emphasized the fact that the two kids he hit were girls. As if he has a problem with women already. (Cue the brain: more worry, coming up)!

So we talked, and the teacher was nice because she is a parent herself and she was not really phased by the whole thing and blah blah blah. I was trying to appear calm and composed the whole time, but she may have caught on to my near-fainting spell because she talked on and on about how normal it was, and just a phase, and a myriad of other things probably designed to keep me standing upright. Eventually the room stopped spinning and I was able to step away from the wall I had been leaning on (nonchalantly, I hope). Eventually she stopped talking and I stopped mumbling in reply and I gathered up the boys, thanked the teacher for talking with me, and started out the door.

But I don't know. I was so mortified and worried and mad. But he's so little and his cheeks were pink and flushed and his hair was so cute poking out from under his hat. And he had sat and listened to everything we said and I looked down at his little snow-suited-up-self, and I just bent down and hugged him.

He said, "Thanks, Mama. How did you know I needed a hug?"

Instructions on Making an Angel

It has been strongly suggested to me that I add some pictures to this blog. It seems someone is missing the boys' faces. So here I present to you: How to Make a Snow Angel.

Step 1. Stand up.

Step 2. LAY DOWN!

Step 3. Now move your arms and legs back and forth.

Step 4. Come on now! I said "swish, swish"!

Step 5. Nice swishing! Now stand up!

Step 6. Step 7. Woah, not too fast! Your snow angel is getting messed up!

Step 8. Listen: You have to roll out of it. Nice and easy.

Step 9. There you go. Much better.

Step 10. And back to standing. Nice form!

You've come a long way, Kid.

What I Learned Today

Or more specifically, what I learned about three year olds while babysitting two of them today:

1. There will be tantrums. It doesn't matter that a three year old just won Candy Land four times in a row, he will still have a meltdown when he loses game number five.

2. And more tantrums. A three year old might act like he's ok with losing Candy Land four times in a row, but he is not. He really needs to go first the next time, and just let him be the red gingerbread man for once, alright? Geesh. Give the kid a break.

3. You will also want to fling yourself to the floor. If he is in the middle of an intense game of the Toy Story Alien Game, a three year old will not stop playing to pee. Instead he will pee while playing. In fact, he will pee while playing and yelling, "I'm peeing in my pants! I'm peeing in my pants!" Furthermore, when you run in to the room and tell him to "Stop peeing! Stop!" he will stare at you blankly as if you are the one being ridiculous. (By the way, Jett, if this blog somehow still exists when you are old enough to read it, I am stating here for the record that you were not the one peeing your pants. It was your friend, who shall remain nameless).

4. But you will have to act like the adult. If you ask him to wash his hands, but he starts to put on his socks, and you gently ask him to please wash his hands first (seriously, he just used those hands to take off his pee-covered clothes!) he might say, "like I've told you a million times already, I have to put on my socks first." It will not matter that he actually has not told you that a million times before, has has not told you that even once before. It will not matter. Just keep your mouth shut and let it go.

5. You will have to think on your feet. It takes approximately fifteen minutes to dry a wet pair of child-size pants and underwear under the hand dryers in the men's bathroom at the Garfield Park Conservatory. (This time the clothes were wet from a fall in a puddle, not pee).

6. And be diplomatic. Never acknowledge which child is taller, faster, bigger, or older. Don't let them run a race, and above all, do not be the judge of any race they run.

7. It's all just a matter of luck. No matter how much energy they seem to have, put them down for a nap. You never know, they might just fall asleep. Relief!

Orange

and not looking at the camera.

Jett and Uncle Dave

Preschool: The Novel

(In other words, a really, really long post).

One late night, way back in December 2008, I applied (Jett) to 18 different preschools. I filled out the applications (hard copy) and stuffed them each in separate envelopes from midnight to 2:00 am that night. You should know that I had to print out 18 different copies and hand write the name of each school on each one, even though the rest of the application was exactly the same. Then I had to print out and fill in two additional, different applications, because two of the schools were so confusing that I couldn't figure out which application they required. I had to do this in the middle of the night, because I was doing this the day before the applications were due.

Considering all of the work it takes to navigate the Chicago Public School system, it seems crazy to leave the applications to the last minute, but somehow I had forgotten about the deadline. Luckily a friend of mine happened to mention it, in an offhand way, the day before the applications were due. This friend of mine was still a "new friend" then, in that we were still kind of getting to know each other. So when I gasped and told her that I hadn't even researched any schools yet and had absolutely no idea how to get started, I felt like a total schmuck. Thankfully she emailed me the list of all of the schools that she applied to. So I just went down her list and applied to the same ones. Now that's some responsible parenting, right there.

Jett got accepted to 2 of the 18 programs. Isn't that crazy? Two. Now to be fair, I was applying to schools outside of our neighborhood. Meaning, the only way he could get in to any of those schools was through the lottery system. In other words, those schools accept all of their neighborhood kids first, then if they have any spaces left over, they accept kids from outside the neighborhood, through a lottery system. I called one school that I hadn't heard from, just to follow up, and was told that he was number 201 on the waiting list. What?!?! So 2 schools out of 18 isn't so bad. I know some kids who didn't get in to any schools at all. It's enough to make you want to move to the 'burbs.

Another crazy thing is, we didn't know which schools we were accepted to until the week of registration, which was in May. So we didn't have a chance to observe the classrooms or research the schools until it was time to register. Therefore, we registered at both schools, and planned to observe the classes later and then decide. But that was before we drove to the schools. It turned out that one of the schools that accepted Jett was too far of a drive for us, so we nixed that one right away. The other school was only 10 minutes away. Decision made. Or so we thought.

Finally it dawned on me that we hadn't ever considered our neighborhood school. Our neighborhood school is only 2 blocks away - how convenient! But we had some perceived drawbacks. First, we didn't know anyone who applied to that school, none of our friends had ever heard of it and we wondered why. (Granted, there are 401 preschools in the Chicago Public School system.) Secondly, it appeared to have a 90 % poverty rate. We didn't know if that mattered or not, but we did know that the "good" preschools that everyone talked about didn't have poverty rates that high. (During our tour of the school we learned that this school, like many others, I'm sure, inflates their numbers of poverty-stricken students in order to secure more federal funding). I don't know what to think about that. Finally, Jett would likely be the only white kid in preschool, and maybe in the whole school (which goes up to 8th grade). As the assistant principal said when she took us on the tour and bent down to the stroller to see Kai, "Oh, look at his eyes! We never see blue eyes here!" While I was enchanted with the prospect of being immersed in a different culture (at least for a couple of hours a day), we wondered what it would be like to be the only white kid in school. At any rate, on the last day of registration I walked over and signed Jett up to go to that school too. A few days later we toured the school, and we liked it. A few days after that I observed the preschool class. There were no windows in the room, and the class was a little chaotic. During free play time, a couple of the kids simply laid on the floor, and I had to break up a couple of "tussles", but other kids moved from station to station and played quite well. I assumed this was normal. The teacher was nice. I left thinking it was a fine choice. I felt good about the prospect of attending, and supporting our neighborhood school.

Then that afternoon I observed the preschool class at the school that is 10 minutes away, and it was fantastic. The day was organized better, and the kids accomplished more during the day. They used the dress-up clothes and played with the puzzles and blocks. They didn't argue over toys - they had a system of taking turns. They counted to 20 without help. They sang songs in three languages. They played and played and played and never seemed to get bored. Their teacher only had to ask them to do something once, and they did it, and she didn't have to raise her voice. This was the clear winner.

Preschool Fantastic is 5 days a week, 2.5 hours per day. It's in the Chicago Public School System, it's called Preschool for All, and it's free. Today was our first day.

Some of you know Jett, and you know how...tempermental he can be. How at the beginning of the summer he would be too shy to walk in to his friend's house, and would instead spend 10 minutes on the porch, getting used to the idea of coming inside. How he would spend the day talking about how excited he was to meet his friend at the park after lunch, but then get to the park and refuse to talk to his friend for the first 10 minutes of play time. But he's been turning a corner this summer. He runs into his friend's house now. He spent 3 nights at his grandparents'. He wants to walk around the block by himself.

You can imagine that we've been talking about preschool quite a bit these last few weeks. We've been driving to the school to play on the playground. We've been talking about all of the fun things there are to play with. We've been singing the songs they sing (My Country Tis of Thee, for example). What Jett has been most excited about is painting. He keeps saying he can't wait to get to preschool and paint.

Today was our first day of Preschool Fantastic. He bounded into the room. He followed directions, he raised his hand to stand up in front of the class, walk to the whiteboard, and point out the letter that his name starts with. He wanted to get picked for a classroom "job". He sang the songs, he sat quietly, he waited in line. He got praised by his teacher for sitting so nicely. Best of all, he painted. He loved it.

I loved it. I loved watching him move with confidence among so many new people. (There are 20 students, and every single student had at least one parent who stayed today. Some of them had siblings and strollers tagging along. The classroom was crowded and chaotic. Jett was cool, calm, and collected.) I loved watching him play with messy things (paint, the water table) that we don't have the space or patience to set up for him at home. I loved watching him wanting to follow the directions, and for the most part, being able to.

Tomorrow Charlie is going to take him to school, and probably stay through the class with him, and I'm a little jealous already, because after tomorrow he might not need us to stay anymore. Then my little window into his day is going to disappear. But that's fine, because today he did great. I think we made a good choice. I think he's going to keep doing great.

Whew!

The first day of school, in between smiles. He smiled all day!

Every now and then...

I think I'm going to enlarge this and wallpaper our condo with it.

Bigger and Bigger

Tonight during dinner, when Jett was jumping around the living room and most certainly not eating dinner, he stepped up on to the case of a power drill (yes, I said the case of a power drill) and proclaimed that every day he is getting bigger and bigger, taller and taller, and some day he will be tall like me. I told him that some day he will be taller than me. He said, "yeah," and then he walked in to the kitchen and slowly turned around in circles, looking at everything he would some day be able to reach.

Then he put each of his feet on a plastic plate (yes, yes, there were plates on the floor) and slid himself across the room until he crashed into a chair and fell over in hysterics. It's great to be three.

Oh Happy Day

This afternoon Jett was in a very good mood because he went to the store with Charlie and he got to pick out his own treat all by himself. He picked out a box of Hostess cupcakes. When Charlie and Jett returned from the store I told Jett to wash his hands and then eat lunch. Then I stood back and watched in amazement as he:

1. Walked in to the bathroom.
2. Realized that his step stool was missing.
3. Walked to the other bathroom and found his step stool.
4. Carried his step stool from one bathroom to the other, placed it next to the sink (not the front of the sink) so he could reach the faucet.
5. Turned on the water, pumped out the soap, washed his hands with gusto, dried his hands on the towel, and then dropped the towel on the floor.

He asked me for milk and I told him he could have water and he went back to the bathroom for the step stool, carried it out to the fridge, found a sippy cup in the cupboard, took the top off, stepped up onto the stool, filled his cup with water, twisted on the lid, and then climbed up on to his chair for lunch.

He climbed up on to his chair for lunch with a smile.

He ate 2/3 of his lunch and then asked for a cupcake. As he took one out of the box, he offered a cupcake to each of us, saying he wanted to eat a cupcake with us. He wanted to share.

So I put him to bed because the day couldn't get any better than that.

One Big Ball of Crazy

I'm supposed to be packing for our weekend to Michigan, but I'm too busy obsessing over tonight's bedtime routine. 

I had the boys by myself tonight, and got Kai to bed, easy as pie. After Kai fell asleep Jett and I sat on the couch and watched Curious George. The plan was to watch one half hour show and then read books and go to bed, but when the time came for books Jett resisted. I gave in and we watched another half hour of Curious George, interrupted many times by me, reminding him that when the show was over I was not going to read him books, I was not going to tell him stories, I was not going to rub his back. He was going to go in to his room by himself and fall asleep. Right, Jett?

Of course when the time came to go in to his room he resisted that too. Charlie would have relented. He would have put on his super-hero belt, read books, told stories, and rubbed his back, and emerged bleary-eyed, an hour later, wondering where the night had gone. I had no time for that tonight, because I had to pack and do laundry and eat dinner and finish a book. So, I gave Jett a few minutes to inch closer to the bedroom, which meant crawl slowly as a snail from the couch to the chair and then climb up on to the chair to rest from all of the effort of getting there. I used my stern voice and reminded him of our agreement and you won't believe it, but that did the trick. He smiled at me, accepted the sippy cup of water that I offered him, gave me a hug and a kiss, walked into his room, shut the door, and presumably got in bed.

I was relieved for a minute. Then I realized that I had just made my two-year-old  put himself to bed, and wasn't he a little young for that? I don't even have the nightlight plugged in and it's pretty dark in there (which might explain the small crash I heard after he shut the bedroom door). Do I go in to check on him? Will that make him want to get up? Should I plug in the night light? Will that make him want to get up? I don't even have the monitor on, so I can't even tell if he's singing himself to sleep tonight. Should I check on him? And what about that crash sound anyway?

I chickened out. Instead of checking on him, I thought it would be better to eat two bowls of ice cream, finish reading my book, and then got on the Internet. 

I still haven't checked on him and don't even talk to me about packing.

To move on to something that makes me sound less crazy, today I taught Jett his phone number. If he sings it he can say it.

Also, Kai hasn't signed anything in days, but I think he is saying some words - mama, dada, ball, and all done.  Man, he is cute. Don't I have a picture of him around here somewhere?

His first bike ride

There's something about a bike. You remember the feeling, don't you? It's early Spring, and your ungloved hands are cold on the handlebars. Your eyes tear up a little in the wind, but you aren't cold enough to put on your hat, no, because now it is Spring and the snow is gone, and there is still a chill in the air, but it is maybe the last chill for months. You zip your coat up all the way, but still the wind spills down your neck and you don't care. You're riding a bike!

You ride down the middle of the street because you can, because the road is yours, because there are no cars. Yesterday you had trouble getting over the curbs and through the potholes, but today you are stronger. You have the feel of the bike in your hands, the pedals under your feet. The freedom of the wind and the sun and the power of riding a bike in Spring.

Your tricycle is red and shiny. A silver bell sits perched on the silver handlebars and red and white tassels swing from the ends. You sit on the seat, back straight, eyes forward. Your feet touch the pedals. Hood up, zipper zipped, shoes velcro-ed, peddling peddling. You look the way I imagine (almost) three-year-olds everywhere, jubilant, glorious, free.

You pedal faster than I can walk, and so I run to catch up with you and close the distance between us. I will gather up the wind, gather up the Spring, take back everything in the space between us. I'll pull you back in close one more time, then woosh! Let the wind out, let Spring out, let you out, woosh! With the wind at your back, peddling peddling, smiling smiling.

Making Bruschetta

So Friday I take Jett to a free cooking class hosted by a local parenting group at a new, local cooking store for kids. I had to rsvp for this event, which I did well ahead of time. We arrived early so Jett could get a feel of the place. The store was already packed.

Then more families came in. And more, and more, and more. Pretty soon there was hardly any space to move, no place to sit, and No Snacks. At a cooking store, hosting a free cooking class for kids, no snacks. But oh yes, there were snacks. They were in my diaper bag for one minute, and then they were in every kids mouth, because apparently I was the only parent to bring snacks, and there is not a kid alive who does not want a snack from someone else's diaper bag.

Anyway, the cooking instructors could only teach six kids at a time. They didn't take the kids in the order they arrived, which would have made sense, since the kids who arrived earliest and were still waiting, like my kid, were getting the most squirrely. They didn't take the kids who were sitting at the empty table patiently eating their (Jett's) snacks. They took the kids who ran to the table first. Jett would never run to a table full of strangers first. This was a problem.

After three or four groups of kids had gone ahead of us, I finally figure out where to stand to ensure that I can get to the table, and when the group ahead of us finishes, I take Jett's hand and we step right up. Then he runs across the store. Then 7 more kids step up to the table. I can see Jett across the room, but I can't leave the table because I'm saving his space. The instructor will only take 6 kids at a time. I leave the table (although no one else did, and she still had one too many kids).

I walk over to Jett, take his hand, walk back to the table and lurk until some kid's older sister finally leaves. She leaves an empty space at the table and Jett and I scoot in to it. Jett is the 7th kid. The instructor looks at me. I say to Jett, and the instructor, that we are here at the table to watch what the kids are doing so we'll know what to do when it is our turn. The instructor doesn't buy it, and hands Jett a bowl. We're in!

The instructor then passes around a cup of chopped tomoatos for each kid to dump in to their bowl. Jett helps me in the kitchen at home, so I know he has trouble dumping food in to the bowl and not on the floor, so I reach out to help him, which he did not mind. The other instructor walks by and catches my eye and says that she's caught me! Caught me helping my child! Oh no!

At that point I look around the table and realize that there was only one other mother standing with her child. All of the other kids were coping, and cooking, just fine on their own. Maybe they were older, I don't know. When I looked at the other mother with a smile, hoping for solidarity, I got none. I felt labeled as a hovering mother.

Then our cooking teacher hands a teaspoon of olive oil to Jett, who won't take it. He still won't take it. I reach out to take it, because other kids are waiting for the spoon, and she won't hand it to me. Apparently she does not notice that every time she tries to make eye contact with Jett he buries his face in my chest so quickly and so forcefully that he knocks me into the little boy standing behind us. But she will not hand that teaspoon to me, and finally, reluctantly, Jett takes it. I remember not to help him dump the olive oil in the bowl, and he does just fine. (Ok, lesson learned). I don't appreciate, however, the smug look on our cooking teacher's face.

We go through a similar routine with every item - the garlic, the bread, the basil, the olive oil to brush on the bread. Except Jett won't take any item from the cooking teacher at all. I want him to, I really do, but I also want to give that smug look right back to that teacher because, excuse me, I know my kid, and if I'm telling you to hand the olive oil brush to me, hand it to me. He will take it from me, and brush his bread, without any injury to the poor kid behind me.

The only item Jett will take is a bowl of salt from the kid standing next to us. He even dips his fingers in, takes a pinch, and throws it in the bowl. The final touch, and it looks delicious. Whole grain bread (with no garlic rubbed on ours), just waiting for it's blanket of tomatoes. But he has no interest in the tomato mixture he's just created.

He does, however, wait until the cooking instruction is finished, and then walk over to the shelf where the brushes and bowls of olive oil are waiting, pick up a brush, and paint his bread with olive oil. At least he'll eat the bread, I think, and then give me a taste. But no. No bite for Jett, no bite for mama. We just got the heck out of there.

Deterioration

Jett likes to take your face in his hands and look in to your eyes. He likes to kiss you on the lips and then giggle. It's all very sweet.

Sometimes he puts his hands on your cheek and his hands are sticky and wet. This is because he spends all day licking his hands. We haven't yet found a way to break him of the habit.

We haven't found a way to break that habit because he used to spend all day eating his boogers. I stopped that by telling him he couldn't put his hands on his nose any more - only his mouth.

Somebody kick me. Then go wash my kid's hands, will ya?

Jett Got a Hold of the Camera

Sometimes you'll do anything to get your kid to put on his shoes, to get in his car seat, to sit down in the grocery cart, to leave play group - geesh - all the other kids left quickly and quietly twenty minutes ago, let's get moving!!

What I've done a few times lately, which I said I'd never do, is let Jett take pictures with my cell phone. I cringe, I hand it over, I cringe, and the moment starts to get a little easier. Later, when he isn't looking, I sneak my phone back and scroll through all of the pictures he's taken. Sometimes they tell a little story of our day.

(I just reread this post, and realize there are probably more pictures here than necessary, but hey, he's my babe, and he takes good pictures)!

No wonder he always wants to ride in the front seat. The view is so much better up there.

It's hard to be so short.

the photographer himself

He loved that meat display.

Have I mentioned that even though we bought this car in August, 

he still calls it the "newww car"? See his reflection in the door?

This staircase isn't nearly so ethereal in real life, but maybe in Jett's eyes...

Getting abstract at play group.

Caught talking to another kid at play group.

This is the picture that started his camera obsession. I had to get a picture of that hair, and he had to get a picture of everything else.

Neighborhood Watch

Kai, Feb 2009

Jett, March 2007

A Great Day to be a Two Year Old

It's Chicago. It's February. It's sixty-two degrees. What else could we do but get outside? There were leaves to pick up, sticks to throw, puddles to run through, and an entire zoo to explore. It felt like spring and we felt fantastic. We ran and ran and ran all morning, and the air was warm as we rushed through it.