Christmas/Solstice updates

Welcome back to the longer days and the post-consumption grind! I have risen from the dead, speaking of consumption, and am ready to clean and paint and get ready for playdates and company and the arrival of T/M. The worst thing about having a cold while pregnant is stress incontinence. Tell your teenagers. 

Right, updates!

We did the chop-down again this year. Mom reminded me that it was our twenty-fifth year of doing this. Holy crap. I find I enjoy it most now as we taper our participation to our family’s quirks, which means heading home no later than six, and if we do that, we grab a fast dinner on the road. So we leave early and spend as much time as possible outside. It’s good. I wish Seamus’ friends were able to come, but the truth is that we started day-tripping and road-tripping with Seamus early on, and not too many of our parent friends have done that. So they see “Sonoma” and not the choose-your-own-adventure aspect of it. I suspect that will change as our kids get bigger and more capable of handling themselves on longer rides. Seamus may be a wild boy much of the time, but he is an excellent traveler.

He picked out the tree, which was a little thin, but we had enough lightweight ornaments to cover it. Our Flying Spaghetti Monster topper is MIA, which sucks. The kid made a haul between our replacng his wardrobe and the grandparents slinging gifts at him. We got him some bigger-boy books: D’Aulaire’s Greek Myths and Macaulay’s Built to Last, some more chalk pastels which he really enjoys and falls into, and I made him a custom-colored eight-pack of homemade playdough, which he got early so he’d get out of my hair while I hacked my way around the house.

But before Christmas, we all got an unexpected present.

I still look for Bandit on the shelter websites on occasion. I know the chances are she lived long enough to get nabbed are slim, and slimmer still that she was considered adoptable if they had, but I look for her anyway. I found a mugshot of a tabbly that looked familiar at the Alameda Animal Shelter and went down to check her out.

It wasn’t Bandit. But I met two cats that met our criteria: Over a year old but under three, playful, affectionate. One was owner-surrendered, the other a stray. I took phone pics, sent them to Patrick, we talked…and then I went back to fill out their paperwork before picking Shay up from school. They came home on the Solstice, one newly fixed, the other curious and ready to roam the house. Their shelter names were Inky and Agave, and Shay asked if we could keep those, so we have.

Inky is all black with one tiny white spot and green-yellow eyes. She’s carrying a bit of weight that I suspect will come off, as she is a big jumper and loves chasing toys and the laser pointer. She’s getting used to all of us, and before she was surrendered, I suspect she was in a one-cat household. She purrs and growls loudly, and is learning that we won’t let her be bullied…and won’t let her bully anyone else. She sleeps with Shay a lot.

Agave (it was “Agate” on some of the paperwork, and we’ll probably call her “Aggie”) is a tortoiseshell/tabby mix that actually resembles agate with brown and orange stripes. She’s younger and more kitten-like in features and behavior, but had at least one litter before arriving at the shelter. She slept forty-six of the first forty-eight hours she was here due to her spaying, and is now exploring and accepting affection. She is very quiet verbally but likes to play at night. She has claimed our bed as her primary sleeping space.

The best things about the new girls are the look on Patrick’s face when he pets them, and the sound of Seamus giggling when Inky goes after the laster pointer. Fifteen months without a cat is a long time for a writer-librarian household, apparently.

Pictures to come. I also need to write about our “babymoon” trip up the coast.

Letter to Seamus, at Four

Dear Seamus,

You have been four for a month. How is this even possible? 

We celebrated your birthday twice - once with a trip to the rodeo, per your request, the day before your birthday. 

Why you are sideways, I have no idea. But boy did you like that lemonade.

Then a week later we threw you a party at the local nature center, which I think made for a nice balance.

Quit mugging for the camera, dude, there’s a turtle behind you!It was a squeeze getting both of those done, but I’m glad we did it. You enjoyed both, and it was good to see you and your friends running around like maniacs in the meadow after the reptile program had ended.

You’ve undergone a sea change in the last two months or so. I don’t know if this summer was some last hurrah or dreadful three year-old button pushing or what, but man, you have mellowed out a lot. It took some time, but these last weeks have seen a much more communicative Seamus, one who can be receptive (and argumentative) in addition to the declaring and demanding little monster we love. The beginnings of reason have appeared, as have a love of words. You’ve begun learning to read, and last week we started reading chapters of James and the Giant Peach to you- two in the morning and two or so at bedtime- making that Roald Dahl collection the best thing your Dada has ever brought home from Costco.

We’ve become Mom and Dad during the day, and Mommy and Daddy when you’re tired or sad or scared. You started swim classes six weeks ago and will get your second ribbon next week. We took the training wheels off of your bicycle and you love to climb and jump on rocks and walls and logs, making either climbing classes or acrobatics classes a possibility. You ask me about how to say things in Spanish. You love science and making things and traveling. You’re excited about becoming a big brother in the spring, at school you take care of your friends.

It’s like you’ve gone over the wall. And while you’re still a full-tilt sort of a person (and probably always will be), you have blossomed in both hoped-for and unexpected ways. I confess that the last six months wore me out, but watching these things come from you has been a hell of a reward so far.

Love,

Mama

Three, smoldering

We’ve had some improvements in Seamus’ behavior of late. Not meltdowns, which I count separately since they plug into some more primal outlet on his  emotional baseline, but in the constant testing and getting into our faces. More often his antics read to me as “energetic wild child” and not “little sociopath”. 

He’s still figuring out emotions and getting easily overwhelmed, so that’s our next stop on the creative parenting train. I want him to acknowledge his feelings, state his needs, and stand up for himself verbally, as well as apologize and offer amends. I’m also starting to see places in his daily rhythms where he’s actively listening, so I’m trying to plug into those as much as possible. I plan to make one day a week our solo day, where it’s just he and I in the world. He’s getting a lot of exposure to kids his age, so I’m not worried about that, but he constantly asks for playdates, and I would like him to be able to entertain himself and be comfortable with not having tons of stimulation all the time.

That sounds like work, but really, after spending the last two years trying to keep him from maiming or killing himself, it’s a nice change of pace. After he and Patrick come back with a new battery for the Subaru (long story), we’re off for a hike, some lunch, and a little birdwatching.

Life with the wee dude at forty months

I had my stitches removed on Monday, which has led to some more swelling and general agita on my part. I know, small potatoes in The Grand Scheme Of Things, but I’m tired of smiling without discomfort. I can read without pain, thank goodness, because nothing makes me feel shittier than telling Seamus that I can’t talk or read very much because my face hurts. Our heater is still acting up, which is now a boring and uncomfortable constant, and I’m marking the days till the warm weather makes an appearance.

California has set the birthday cutoff to November 1st, which means that Seamus is Kindergarten eligible in the Fall of 2012. His preschool will begin transitioning he and a bunch of other kids to the Pre-K program over the summer, and he will begin officially in September. Patrick is still on the fence regarding homeschooling vs public school, and I’m still interested in doing it if we aren’t impressed with our public school options. In any event, Kindergarten is not compulsory in this state, so we could start him later if we so chose.

We’re riding the waves of Shay’s age. Some days are delightful, some days he tests us, and some days he wakes up hard and it just snowballs. While no fun to experience, I feel better capable to deal with these than I had a few months ago. I think the trick is to stop it as soon as we recognize what’s happening, but to give him support and a safe space to feel his feelings. I think the carrier is still my best tool for this, since I can hold him close, keep him from running away (in public) or flailing and getting hurt, and still not feed the tantrums, since he’s on my back.

I’ve found some classes here in town that might serve as good entry points for the science classes he wants to take - they’re naturalist classes that focus on the bay, and they fit in our day really well, but aren’t every week, so we can still have field trips and playdates with friends. The Parks District has programs like this all summer long, so between the various events, he’s covered for biology-based stuff. Next up is math. We could be mathier. Right now it’s just allowance and letting him buy his own toys with it, but some of this stuff is going over his head. He does like making things into the shape of letters, and he’s sounded things out with me a few times, so I think the pre-reading is going well. I might be able to push it a little at this point, but I don’t want to turn him off of stories. Or poems, which he asks us to read to him. (My boy likes poetry! Suck it, Disney!)

He’s begun to be interested in current events, particularly the tsunami (pron. “salami” in Seamus patois), which he may be conflating with the wave that almost took him out the Thanksgiving he was two. We get the Oakland Tribune, which I think I’ll start reading to him. We’ll start with one story a day, and see how it goes. We’ve decided that we will all learn to rock climb (I think I’ve written that before) and sail - Patrick will teach us - so we have some fun extracurricular stuff to do as a family. This also solves our “Ooh, lookit all the classes!” conundrum. We want him to try things, but I don’t want him to get overscheduled by Things To Do. So we’ll rotate stuff through our family day, then we have the Park classes, and at some point we’ll find a swimming class. That’s a life-skill in both Patrick’s an my eyes, and non-negotiable.

He’s still interested in developing his own style, largely through stenciling his shirts and playing the tiny Fashion Director to my clumsy seamstress, who needs to make him some new jammies, since he literally outgrew everything sometime last week. My mom gave him a kiddie camera for Christmas, but the image quality is so poor I plan on giving him my old one. Which will need a case. Right. Back to the fabric.

Seamus update: as we round into three and a half

OH MY GODS, THE QUESTIONS. What is that? What is it doing? Why is it doing that? How does it do that?

I hope this means that we’re on the right track with him.

He’s forty inches and forty pounds. The Buddha baby belly is gone, instead a pinch or two of baby fat remain. He’s sturdy and strong, able to take part in our blossoming family activites: hiking, bouldering, sailing. He’s kinetic, climbing over everything like I did at that age, meaning the baton of blame for his antics has officially passed to me. Some days all I say to Patrick is “Shit, those are my genes. My bad.”

He’s really into making letters out of anything and spelling stuff out, but he’s not quite plugging in the phonics. I’m not pushing it. Everything I’ve read suggests supporting his interest is necessary (check), but boys tend to read later. We encourage him and read to him a lot, and that feels appropriate. He’s gotten more into making things, like the robot we built from a globe and heavy cardboard tubes, odds and ends. His art is still energetic swirls of color. We’ve put it up everywhere.

He helps in the kitchen by putting away the dishes and loading the dishwasher, making bread and yogurt. He’s used my kitchen knives, sewing machine, and cordless drill, with my hands over his. He’ll start learning to sew by hand this spring as we make a sock monkey, and possibly to crochet, since I’m working on a mat for his room.

He stands up for his friends at one playdate, then pushes their buttons at the next one. At the Exploratorium yesterday he waited his turn to walk through a vapor tornado, then negotiated a place with the bigger kids once he saw an opening. When told he would have to buy his own toys between now and his birthday, he saved his quarters and bought a water pump for his bath times. When he asked “Why?” and was told that Mama and Dadda wanted to give him experiences more than things he blinked, then asked for science classes.

He still throws down at bedtime and pushes our buttons and boundaries. But he blows us away the rest of the time.