I Don't Eat Animals!


I should have seen it coming after we finished Charlotte's Web: the X-Man has turned vegetarian. But of course, being X, his version of vegetarianism is a little twisted. He's still happily downing Jimmy Dean sausage patties and roasted chicken. What he has sworn off is shapes. It started like this:

X's beloved dance teacher, the lovely Miss Kimberly, got married recently and went to Australia for her honeymoon. Upon her return she presented each of her students with a small goodie bag of koala items. There was a wonderful photo her holding a koala, a koala bear sticker and a chocolate carmel candy wrapped in paper decorated with a koala. After lunch that day, I told X he could have his candy so he unwrapped it. Then he got this horrified look on his face and yelled "I don't eat animals!!!" I looked at the chocolate and sure enough it was shaped like a cute little koala bear. X insisted on rewrapping it, tucking it away in the treat drawer and declared he would only look at it, not eat it because "I don't eat animals!"

I figured it was a one-off--it was a very cute koala bear to be sure. But yesterday I came back from Trader Joe's with cheese crackers shaped like birds. At snacktime I offered some to X and he got a look on his face that was at once tolerant (of his dim mother) and somewhat disturbed (by my suggestion, presumably) while patiently explaining that he "doesn't eat animals."

This morning at breakfast over his Jimmy Deans he asked me if they are meat. But since sausage just looks like sausage and not like an animal, he kept eating despite my affirmative answer. I asked him if he's a "shapetarian" and we got into a discussion of vegetarians and what they do or don't eat. And in the car a few times, after reading Charlotte's Web, he had some very pointed questions about pigs, slaughter and pork. I think there's some deep conflict brewing in him--his love of sausage pitted against his love of animals. I'll keep you posted. I have a feeling the taste buds will win this one though.

Just Call Me the Church Lady

and not because I've recently started attending church (which I have). But I'm afraid I'm becoming an insufferable, uptight, old-fashioned prude (or I always was one and being a mother has just pushed it to the surface).

Today I took the X-Man to see Happy Feet. This was his first time seeing a movie in a movie theatre. He has watched movies before at home, on the couch, happily munching cheerios and yelling at his sister to "QUIET DOWN THERE!" (um, okay Max). Among the movies he's viewed at home and enjoyed: My Neighbor Totoro, Toy Story, Pippi Longstocking (the very poorly dubbed Swedish version, much to the Mr.'s chagrin), and The Brave Little Toaster. There was a deep mid-century musical phase around age 3 which culminated in repeated viewings of the middle section of The Sound of Music, as well as major crushes on both "Nanny" Maria and Gretel. But Happy Feet was his first foray into a movie at the cinema.

It went fine--he got a bit bored in the middle (the dangers of overfishing mean very little to him) but hung on til the end. I probably enjoyed it more than he did. Certainly I'd give it a thumbs up. The fact that Savion Glover does the tapping for Mumble is an obvious bonus. But what I wasn't really prepared for was my outraged reaction to the previews.

There is a little-creature-on creature violence in Happy Feet (whales and sea lions doing what comes naturely--trying to eat penguins) and that is fine with me. But here's what set my lips pursing and hands wringing with my fairly sheltered 4 y.o. sitting next to me:

* A trailer for Harry Potter. Of course I love Harry Potter, but this is dark stuff and not suitable for the little ones.

*One preview for a film due Christmas 2007 with Vince Vaughn & Paul Giametti about Santa Claus--obviously not being too reverent about Santa. I think X forgot about it quickly--I hope he did. But he may turn around and ask me why Santa was so grouchy and what's a "wet willie" anyway. With the level of scrutiny X gives to almost everything, I forsee some difficulty holding the Santa myth together for too many years--I don't need Hollywood's help eroding it.

*And what, I'm almost surprised to say, upset me the most; two films that show 'tween aged children "dissing" their parents or other adults. One is a movie called Unaccompanied Minors about kids stuck in an airpot behaving badly, creating havoc and burping a lot. Another is a film starring--I think--Ice-T about an African-American family that moves out to the country and struggles with a remodel and general acclimation to the bucolic life. It features two tween-aged children who roll their eyes, snicker and generally disrespect their parents at every turn. I know we were all embarrassed by our parents at some point, and I expect my kids will someday feel the same. But--I can't even believe I'm going to drop the V-Bomb--I don't like the values I see reflected in those previews. Yeah, they're just previews. But still--I'm not sure how else to defend my position except that I don't like what I saw and I don't want my kid to get to/aspire/emulate it.

I don't think my mother was ever this uptight, so it must be the Church Lady I'm morphing into. If you see me prancing about with a handbag, hairnet and support hose, please slap me.

With Love to Miss Z on Her First Birthday

One year ago today we got "the call"--it was four o'clock in the morning when the phone rang. Miss Z's birth mother told us that baby Z would arrive that day and we needed to get there asap. My calm, unflabbale Mr. got me on a 6 a.m. flight while I ran around like the proverbial chicken. Hours of air and taxi time later, I arrived at the medical center. Minutes after that Miss Z entered the world. And it's been a better place ever since.

And of course, Miss Z wouldn't be here and wouldn't be our little girl without the amazing woman who gave birth to her and chose adoption for her. So take a moment right now if you're reading and send some good vibes and peaceful thoughts out to K. She has my undying gratitude and admiration for what she did for Miss Z, and for us. Bless you K.

Okay, Hallmark time.

You sit in your high chair, crowing at the top of your lungs with the pure pleasure of your sound--and this satisfies Grandma B. no end, because it's loud and crazy and exactly what I did at your age.

You make a scrunchy face at Daddy when you see him, then break into a huge smile and entone "Dada" with something like reverence.

The minute the roughing pillows come out for Daddy and Big Brother to horse around, you're right there in the mix. You throw your solid body across the pillows, try to take your brother down, and squeal with glee. And you roll with it when brother tries to squish you.

Whenever you hear music, your body starts moving in time. Especially if it's Jerry Lee Lewis.

You're a feet first kind of girl--a revelation after an insurance-actuary-risk-analysis-one-toe-in-but-only-after-a-complete-assessment-of-all-potential-outcomes kind of boy. You're like a baby mosher and roller derby queen all rolled into one. It goes a long way toward explaining why I've lost weight recently.

You look really great in pink and sport your hair bows with style.

You love dogs and make a special, extremely high-pitched squealy noise when you see one.

You also love pomegranites--something we recently discovered--and seem to have an overall penchant for tart, acidic foods.

You are extremely independent--unless I happen to make the mistake of holding another baby, in which case you turn into Miss Z McQueen intent on taking the perp out.

Your very youness, the miracle of you being here, brings tears to my eyes. You have made me a mother twice over and I can't believe my extraordinary good fortune that I have you and your sweet brother in my life. To Miss Z on her first birthday--I love you.

'Zat You, Santy Claus?



My best friend will roll here eyes right now, but I've started my Christmas shopping already. No one's list is that clear yet--Miss Z can't write, or really say anything yet, so she can't tell me what she wants. The Mr. just mutters "clutter" when I mention gifts and begs me not to get him anything. And the X-Man requested an electric guitar (not on my watch), pretend candy corn (okaaaay), and a real shop vac (hmm, maybe Santa will bring Mommy one to clean out the pool shed).

So for Miss Z I ordered a baby doll from Magic Cabin a catalogue full of things I drool over. She has started trying to brush the teeth of her stuffed animals and give them snacks, so she seems ready. But shhhhh, that's her "Santa" gift. DS is a harder nut to crack this year. In the past there has been something obvious to get for him. One year he asked Santa for a guitar (acoustic, thank you) and a lollipop. He got a trike when he was two and is still going strong on that. There was a train table at some point which, of course, is never used for trains (the quote being "Mom, I wasn't made to like trains, I was made to like tubes and wires"). But it gets a fair amount of use as a platform for his contraptions, systems and installations.

But this year there is nothing obvious popping out at Santa (or Mrs. Claus I suppose--the cute and svelte version please). I did win an auction on Ebay for a Pippi Longstocking doll and her horse. This will go in his stocking and, if my hunch is right, please him no end. But other than that, I got nuthin'. The Mr. has muttered "coal" under his breath--not because he's particularly scroogy or because the X-Man is naughty (although he is often a pain in the ass), but because coal doesn't equal "clutter." I'm sure Mrs. Claus will come up with something. Maybe I should just head over to Home Depot and get some PVC tubing and a shop vac and call it a day.

Party Girl

First of all, I can't believe that my sweet little girl, Miss Z, is going to be one year old next week. The year since we flew to Ohio to meet her has blown by at an incredible rate. Then again, I can certainly believe that she's going to be one since she's so big, so fast, so ready to become a toddler at any moment. And my girl, she's the life of the party, the belle of the ball. It won't be long before she starts dancing on tables with a lampshade on her head.

I take the kids HERE where they both have a blast. When the X-Man was little we took the Busy Bees class with the cool and groovy Teacher Justin. He's still teaching it now that Miss Z is a Busy Bee. The play lists are still fab and the welcome song is the same--but the experience for me is very different this time around. X spent a good amount of time snuggling on my lap, took his own sweet time acclimating to the gym equipment, and found the parachute play somewhat traumatizing. With Miss Z, your cruise director, it's a whole other deal. She's in the middle of the circle shaking her bells and crowing while Justin plays the guitar. Then she takes off--doing log rolls down the wedge-shaped mats, trying to hang on the uneven bars like the bigger kids, making a passable attempt at the balance beam. She occasionally stops to flash her irrisistable smile at random parents or nannies, and then she's off again. Come time for bubbles and she muscles her way to the front of the group to get her fair share. When we wait in the lobby for the X-Man's class, she and her friend--the Divine Miss M--try to break into the class area together. They share snacks and clothes, play ball and make mayhem with their crackers. Parenting Miss Z is like driving a hot rod down a long stretch of interstate with no troopers in sight--fast, perilous and pretty damn exciting.

School

The X-Man will start kindergarten next year. So this means we have some decisions to make: public vs. private, one private vs. another. It feels like a part-time job researching schools, setting up appointments for tours, filling out applications, networking.

Of course, we've done this before--when we chose a preschool--only the stakes didn't feel quite so high. And we sort of screwed that up before we righted the ship and found the right spot for him (lesson being, I suppose, that there can be do overs, or at least corrections). We started him off in a nice program run through our local parks & rec dept. It's one that has worked really well for a lot of our friends' kids. Not so for the X-Man. He started there in the 2 y.o. program for a few hours a week. It seemed alright, although he didn't talk much and when he came home he would reenact the teacher admonishing them to sit quietly for stories. But when it came time for him to return for the 3 y.o. program, we ran into the problem of potty training. More exactly, the fact that at that point he wasn't. And there was also the little matter of his behavior at the back to school visit before the year started--clutching my hand, begging to leave, telling me he didn't like it there. So in desperation we started frantically searching for a school that would take him. And that's how we came across Gazelle--got the last spot available at that point really because all the boys next door had gone there. I knew something was right for X when we went to visit and he seemed immediately comfortable--his body, his voice, all of him seemed to relax there. It's been a good fit for him--although he's still awfully quiet at school. So one thing I'm taking away from that is to watch HIM when we go to look at schools. What does his body tell me? Does he seem relaxed and comfortable, or afraid and uptight? That seems like as good an indicator as any.

So obviously we're not being that systematic here. We went to an open house this weekend at a school we had heard of--X's preschool teachers actually recommended it for him. It's pretty darn alternative, or as the Mr. says "gorpy" (he went around the tour muttering "gorpy" sotto voce). But (and here's a big shout out to the Mr. and one of the things I love about him) as the Mr. said "it doesn't matter if I'm comfortable, what really matters is if X likes it." Well, the X-Man looked to be right at home there. Oh, I expect if he gets in and we start him there, he probably won't talk much for a good long time. But in his body, his excitement, his eyes, he looked very comfortable. It looked like a place we could picture him being happy. I'm sure there's other things we need to consider: test scores, safety, teacher qualifications. But the idea of my little boy with the light shining in his eyes goes a long way for me.