Wednesday Musings

The pipsqueak is obsessed with the Great Outdoors. He stands by the French doors in the living room with his shoes in his hands and murmurs, “Side, side,” which is what he says for “outside.” He has only been outside a few times. Back in the fall, when the weather was warm, he was not yet walking, so he could only be carried around outside. He liked swinging, and he liked looking around, but I don’t think he thought being outside was ALL THAT.

No longer. Now it is the best thing EVER. When we say “no outside now,” he is totally crushed and collapses into a miserable little heap. But as the weather warms, we’ll be spending a lot of time outside. When it’s warm out, I remember why we wanted the 9 acres of woods that surround our house. And I can’t wait until the boys are old enough to play outside on their own. I’ve been thinking about a clubhouse or playhouse or treehouse for them. They are not quite old enough, but it’s something to think about for the future. I have happy visions of them camping in the yard while their papa and I have the house to ourselves!

The squeaker is equally excited about the prospect of warm weather. He has an entire set of dinosaurs that are for outside play; his grandfather bought them at a yard sale, and the squeaker can spend hours playing with them on the patio and in the grass. Plus, there are bones to collect and trees to climb and dirt to dig in.

At the squeaker’s preschool, they had a photographer take individual pictures and a class picture. Parents could also sign up a sibling, so I thought I’d have a set done of the pipsqueak, too. The night before, I picked out their clothes and bathed them both. The next morning, I had both boys in my bed. (The squeaker often migrates in when he wakes up.) The pipsqueak is always very excited when he wakes up to find his big brother there. The pipsqueak peered into the squeaker’s face gleefully, and then, without warning, he head-banged him, whacking his forehead into the squeaker’s forehead, and then giggling like mad. I was sure that the pictures would include a nice dark bruise in the middle of each boy’s forehead, but luckily, that didn’t happen. Still, I couldn’t get the pipsqueak to smile for the photographer. He was too frantic and kept crying “mama!” and putting his arms out for me. The more the photographer tried to be silly and entertaining, the more horrified the pipsqueak looked. So I’m sure the pictures will not be the best, but we did try.

This is turning out to be a longer blog entry than I had wanted, but I’ve been thinking a lot about that pithy observation by John Lennon: Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans. I have the worst time with enjoying the moment. I feel like this little voice is always running in my head: I have this bill to pay, and that form to fill out, and the squeaker has show & tell, and I need to remember to put this away and to get the house ready for when Grandma comes to watch the kids while I work, and we need bread and milk, and the squeaker’s not writing as well as the other kids so I need to do something about that, and the pipsqueak missed his 15-month visit to the pediatrician, and we’re out of dish soap...

I’m always planning and thinking and organizing and arranging. Sometimes I don’t feel like I get to sit down and enjoy the company of my little boys. And here’s the worst part: I don’t really feel like I’m having fun, and I want my boys to feel that life is fun and good and happy. But if I am frantic and frazzled and busy, how can I show them that? My mom had four kids under age 6, and yet she seemed to love it. Not every minute of it – I can certainly remember bad moments, and moments that we stressful and unhappy for her. But she loved having little ones, and she rarely seemed overwrought by the responsibilities of motherhood. Admittedly, she didn’t work outside the home, and she isn’t the kind of person who frets about small things. But I don’t know how I can meet all the responsibilities I have and, at the same time, provide a good model for my boys about priorities and a good attitude for weathering the every day challenges. I guess I don’t feel that I am all that good at weathering those challenges myself, and that I have trouble keeping my own sense of perspective at times. My mom says I need to let more things go. But I am not sure that I can. I somehow have this notion that keeping things a certain way is key to my ability to meet all of these responsibilities, and that if I let things go, I will feel too scattered and messy and out of control. And yet I can’t say that my approach is really conducive to happiness.

Also, I am not sure there is really all that much that I can let go. The bills have to be paid. The boys have to be fed and dressed and bathed and so on. The house has to be cleaned; I don’t think I am obsessive about that, though I do spend at least one solid day each week cleaning. (And my kids act like they are very neglected while I am busy scrubbing toilets and vacuuming.) Anyway, sometimes I just wonder if I should be happier about the day-to-day job of mothering. Instead, I’d probably describe it as “busy” or “difficult,” rather than “fun” or “wonderful.” Shouldn’t I be having fun? Or is that an unrealistic expectation? If life isn’t fun, then what is the point? I don’t know. Maybe I am over-thinking this, which would be very much like me. Should I be trying to be more zen-like, to be more engaged in the moment, to let things go? Or is that incompatible with my essential nature as a planner, a worrier, an organizer who doesn’t enjoy the chaotic freefall of an unplanned life?

Anyway, like Arthur Dent, I seem to be having trouble with my lifestyle. Maybe I just need a vacation. Or a movie date. Or some really good chocolate. Sigh.

Bad Guy

The pipsqueak has been using so many words lately that we decided to estimate his vocabulary. He labels everything, from squirrels to froot loops to shoes. He doesn't usually string words together yet, though he has managed a phrase like "cookie, please" a few times. I've also been surprised at some of the more abstract words that he knows, like "hot" (which he says with vigor when he sees something that is steaming) and "scared" (which he says when he gets....well, scared).

We figure he knows about 100 words, which seems pretty remarkable for someone who is just over 17 months old. The human brain just astonishes me.

My favorite of his words: "bad guy." The squeaker has a large number of Lord of the Rings figures, some of which he refers to simply as "the bad guys." So the pipsqueak wanders over and picks up one of the figures, and he holds it out to me and says, "badguy." It was crystal clear. I'm sure he was puzzled that I found it so funny.

Where is Spring?

It is almost mid-March, but I have not wanted to write though it has been two weeks since I have done so. I always find this time of year painful. Winter seems endless. The few warm days are tantalizing, but not satisfying. And without the sun, I just feel worn out!!

The squeaker has been practicing his writing each day. His letters are still wobbly and sometimes hard to decipher, but he has improved. He also has been taking swimming lessons on Saturdays. We watch him through the one-way glass, and from the instructor’s expressions, it is clear that at times he is being some kind of sea dragon. (She pretends to look terrified now and then. At least we think she is pretending.) We’d like him to continue the lessons after this initial six-week session, but they are very expensive. Of all the physical activities the squeaker could do, I think swimming is probably the most valuable. But I love swimming, so maybe I am biased.

The pipsqueak has been wearing shoes lately, and the weekend of warm weather gave him a chance to walk on his own outside. At first, he didn’t like the shoes at all. He stood in one spot and squeaked at us, clearly unsure what would happen if he tried to move his feet. But then he finally took a few steps, and it wasn’t long before he was running. Now, he loves to be on his own feet outside. He points to trees and birds, bends down to dig in the dirt, and runs (and falls). He does not want to be carried around and does not want to be strapped into the stroller.

It will be fun for the boys to play outside together this summer. If summer ever comes!!