X-Man 5

No, I don't have the scoop on the latest Wolverine feature--my little boy, my first baby is turning 5 today. I can't even believe that I'm writing that. I remember the first time I held him--all 3 1/2 pounds of him--like it was yesterday.

So here's my ode to my oldest child.

* You have the best laugh ever--somewhere between a snicker and a giggle, with some other nuances thrown in. Your shoulders hunch up and that crazy sound comes out and it always makes me smile.

* I love that when I take you to the candy store you are completely thrilled to pick out one tootsie roll. That when we go to Talbot's Toyland, you never complain about leaving empty-handed. That instead of asking us to buy you that super cool fire fighter helmet with the flashing light, you simply say "I'll save up my allowance for it."

* The way your mind works constantly amazes me. On the way to school yesterday you did your customary shut-down (due to your "no talking at school" policy) and said to me "Mom, my answer machine is broken." I replied "well, you still may need to ask some questions." Your rejoinder? "nope, that's broken too--there's a tube connecting the answer part and the question part so when one's not working the other doesn't too."

* And my all-time favorite, "Mom, Mr. Penis wants to do everything what I do, but he can't because he doesn't have opposible thumbs."

* I love that when I ask what your favorite food is you answer "tofu." And as weird as it is to have a kid who doesn't eat Peeps at Easter, I respect your position on not eating anything shaped like an animal. And your request that we not anthropomorphize your food (I'm talking about you, Mr. Hot Dog), because then you can't cook or eat it either.

* Did I mention your big, melty brown eyes? The twinkle in them? That spark of mischief that's been there from day one?

* And the maddening qualities, of course. Your insane stubbornness? Honestly, is there another child as strong-willed as you? I truly doubt it. And there's the really advanced level of selective hearing you have--or maybe it's not so selective. You told me the other day "Mom, I can't hear you when I'm busy thinking." At any rate, it's a quality you share with your father and it drives me crazy in both of you.

* Nothing pleases you more than "work" of some kind--whether it's shepherding a younger child through a new activity, hounding your baby sister while she careens through the world, or making one of your wild systems of tubes, wire and cat scratching posts. It's like watching a border collie on steroids.

* I love how you shake your little tushy to a really good riff of music.

* You seem to get the essence of people right away--not in so many words, but in your interactions I can see your assessment happening. And there's a special twinkle you reserve for especially funny women.

* Five years is a big chunk of change, and a whole lot of growth and transformation has happened in that time. But there's the essence of you that was there from day one--a tenacity I saw when you took out your breathing tube at ten days old. A combination of doggedness and caution that governed the way you approached a big milestone like walking. A sweet snuggliness that still pops up at bedtime. I love you, little man, and I'm blessed to be your mom.

Boys Will Be Boys

This is the kind of stuff you're supposed to photograph and put away to trot out on prom night to your child's utter mortification. I don't have photographic evidence yet, but the X-Man is going through a heavy princess phase. It's priceless.

We've watched some of the old school princess movies. I confess I love all of it and welcome an excuse to visit the weirdly violent and distorted world of Sleeping Beauty and Snow White. Fairy tales are just so macabre and bizarre--even the cleaned up Disney versions (although Angela Carter is more fun). And I can see why a kid--any kid, boy or girl--would be more drawn to the princesses. Despite all the cultural critique against Disney and the princess market, any princess in any story is more compelling and interesting than the prince. I don't care who saves whom with a kiss--does anyone remember the name of the prince in Snow White? But I digress.

So ages ago I snapped up a few well-worn princess dresses from a thrift store. They are pretty tatty but X has been donning them every day for the past week to get his princess jones on. I felt sorry for him squeezing into the too-small, faux-Cinderfella gear. So yesterday at the consignment store I found a really nice, fully Disney-branded Snow White ensemble (with detachable collar and cape) for him. I have to say, it's gorgeous. I would wear it--if it were in my size and I had dark hair. Yes, I am living vicariously.

So last night he put on a "princess show" for the whole family. It doesn't consist of much yet, although he's working in a bit with a poison comb and poison apple and his fainting is getting quite impressive. He clomps around on the purple plastic heels ("it's kind of hard but I can manage") and tap dances a bit, then faints. Mr. sat smiling at X and rolling his eyes at me muttering, "must you encourage this?" under his breath.

Tonight we were all piled in the car heading home from the new taqueria (La Corneta--very good by the way) and X in the back seat says "I'm going to paint my nails with a pen. They'll look so pretty" and then began humming "dum, de dum, dum dum." If he broke into something from West Side Story the whole scene would have been complete.

Here's the thing I keep trying to get across to the Mr.--wearing princess clothes when you're almost five doesn't mean you're gay. It might--it could be that X will grow up and fly the rainbow flag. Or he could grow up to be an executive transvestite. But most likely he'll grow up to be a kid who used to wear princess dresses when he was little. My big brother dressed up in my sister's patent leather shoes and hula skirt and cried when our mom had his curls cut off. At the heart of the whole thing is that I don't give a damn, and I don't think the Mr. should either. Yeah, yeah, I'm imposing my perspective on the Mr., but in this case I'm right. Gay, straight, purple, spotted--it doesn't matter to me as long as my kids are happy. What does matter? Can the X-Man go off to college and do his own laundry? Do his culinary skills extend beyond the microwave? Is he a gracious winner and a graceful loser? Can he do the fox trot? Make someone laugh? What he's wearing when he does all that? I don't give a flying fig.

To the Tree House

The Poppy family had an amazing weekend. To rip off my treasured Boz, "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times." It included multiple barf-in-the-car episodes, a family milestone, lots of drama and some real highs.

* I'll get the barfing out of the way first. X-Man is a champion barfer--the kid has great aim. Unfortunately, on Thursday, there was nothing to aim at but himself, the carseat and the car. We were driving to meet a friend so we could borrow a pack-n-play for the weekend away. He gave me a second of warning and then whoosh. A word of caution about the X-Man--he's a little trigger happy on the gag reflex. If he's the right combo of tired and phlegmy, he barfs. That's for your future reference.

The first time it happened on Thursday I pulled over and went into full haz-mat mode and thought (ah, pride goeth before a fall) "I am a pretty damn together Mommy. I'm working it out." After the fourth incident in less than 30 minutes, I was not feeling so hot on myself (or my kid or my car). But we finally got it all dealt with.

* Family Milestone: on Friday it all became official--The Mr., the kids, my parents and I stood before the judge and said "yes indeedy, Miss Z is our little gal forever." With her adoption finally finalized we proceeded to Il Fornaio to get foodie. How blessed we are to be the parents of our kids.

* And then--on some mistaken notion that I could manage with two children, away from home, on my own for more than a day, I had agreed to go to our church's parish weekend retreat here . There are various purposes to the weekend: fellowship with other parishioners, time spent in a really beautiful place, reflection, maybe some kind of transformative experience. And truthfully, I got all that plus lost two pounds in the process. And the kids had a blast.

There were some ferociously low moments. Those moments of feeling like the crummiest mom in the world (or at least in this group of people). Lunch on Saturday was particularly unpleasant, with the X-Man doing his best to push me over the edge--and succeeding. I had to send him off with the other families with children for the afternoon while Miss Z napped and I pulled myself back together. The sleep was not great for any of us, and that factored in. I wasn't able to stay in chapel on Sunday because I had Miss Z with me and she was way disruptive. I was embarrassed several times over the weekend by my apparent lack of control of my children--and of my own temper and internal emotional compass.

So that all sounds pretty crap, doesn't it? But you know what? It's wasn't. It was a really great weekend. This is probably going to sound really churchy, but every time I was struggling there was someone there to help me out. Pete and Lee with hot coffee when the kids were up too early. Leslie and Susan rocking Miss Z and singing their own greatest hits to her while I got X to bed. Serina and Lisa taking him off to play with Ella and the other kids. The fabulous Bolt family who let the X-Man try out their new metal detector (totally his thing) and sit at their table for lunch. Kristi telling me that she never would have left the house with her kids when they were this little. And on and on.

And somehow, being out of our usual environment, I was able to get a fresh perspective on my parenting without fully freaking out about it. I came home thinking "you know, what I'm doing is really, really not working. So I've got to try something else." And that's what I'm doing, and I like it a lot better than what I was doing before. I'm not sure it's the ultimate fix, but it's an improvement.

Tag on to all that the joy of watching Miss Z act as ring leader to a small toddler gang and charm the pants off all the grown ups. And seeing X in a pack of kids, hiking to the tree house, running up and down hills, playing fire fighter with an old hose, taking communion with this really special community of ours, TALKING, and having a blast. All that is just priceless. We'll be back for more next year.

The Spell Is Broken

Ah yes. It all comes back to bite us in the ass eventually, doesn't it?

If I've ever directed any smugness your way, or exhibited any smugness near you related to sleep issues (or the relative lack of them chez Poppy), well the chickens have come home to roost.

Three times in the past week, instead of simply falling asleep to the sounds of a book on tape (as he has done for lo these several years), the X-Man has actually LEFT HIS ROOM AT NIGHT!!!! What's that you say? Get a grip Poppy. Children have been doing this since children were invented. Not in my damn house. Oh, but it gets better. As the Mr. says, X is a formidable adversary. You know how in Alien, the alien is so adaptive? Well, take away the sticky, drooly bit and the many snatching claws and you've got X (and yes, he's also hell-bent on world domination).

Three nights this week he has left his room, flung open the door to his sister's room, turned the light on full and stolen all of her Dohs (those not familiar with the peculiar Poppy family lexicon, these are actually Taggies--and she uses them to soothe herself to sleep. They are as essential to her well-being as coffee is to mine.). He then hops back in bed and hollers "I didn't take them" when a parental type goes upstairs to investigate. Ah, but they sit right there on his bookcase, in full view. Guilty as charged.

It gets worse. Tonight we had a sitter and X not only left his room, but he came downstairs. This is totally and completely unheard of. It means he's realized that he CAN LEAVE HIS ROOM AT NIGHT and that scares the crap out of me.

Our wise sitter took all his guys away (guys = his precious collection of stuffed animals). After the second noctural foray I had warned him that there would be dire consequences for not staying in his room. Tomorrow night, the strong arm of the Poppy Mom law will be lowered. Stay tuned.

Holy Week

As you may or may not know (depending on how religiously you follow my life here or IRL), last fall I started attending church with the kids. Miss Z actually stays in the church nursery where, big surprise, she's the belle of the ball and a clear favorite of one of the paid caregivers (who went so far as to say she would name a daughter Miss Z if she had one). I digress. The primary reason we started going to church is that The Mr. works almost every Sunday. I got tired of looking out the window at families out having fun together doing family things. Self-pity is never a pretty thing. Church seemed like a good solution--a place to go, purpose and design to the day.

Of course that wasn't the only reason. I also felt ready for religion, somehow. I was raised in a Baptist family by parents who had stopped attending church before I was born. My mother says she "feels closer to God in my garden" than at church. And there's a distinct possibility that my father turned into a non-believer somewhere along the way. So the spiritual guideposts of my childhood were something like EST called Iamathon (ponder the solipsism of that for a moment) and transcendental meditation (or TM).

The Mr., on the other hand, got enough religion for himself, me and a few friends--chapel at religious school daily, and a Catholic mass or two on Sundays.

So with almost zero church-going experience, I gave the whole thing a try in September and was really pleasantly surprised at how great it is. I think we got very lucky by choosing the closest Episcopalian church--it turned out to be a fantastic place. The rector is great--wonderful sermons. His wife leads the children's liturgy--which the X-Man really enjoys. The community is welcoming, not overbearing, but filled with really nice people. It just feels right.

Now, coming into this with almost no background, I'm not always sure what I'm doing. I figure these are muscles that haven't been worked before. In some spots I go through the motions and figure it will all sort itself out. And of course, X being who he is, he has lots of questions. I don't think I always do a good job answering them, but I give it the old college try. The evidence of his religious experience can be pretty interesting. I give you the following:

Scene--the bathtub, both kids getting bathed by ME (a job I find incredibly tedious and off-load onto The Mr. whenever I can).

Miss Z (with a pitcher of bath water): bwahahahaha (crazy new laugh she's developed) and a little splashy splashy.

X-Man: (filling an empty shampoo bottle and pouring it into Miss Z's pitcher) The body of mice, the blood of mice.