Occupational hazard

As I stepped into the shower this morning, I was thinking how lucky I am that I have one of those kinds of kids who would rather curl up in a tiny space than run all over creation. Dave wasn't home this morning, and Luke woke up at the crack of dawn, so I had to keep him in the bathroom with me while I took my shower. That might seem like punishment to some kids but it is heaven for Luke. Usually when he's in our bathroom he likes to squeeze himself into the tiny space in the toiletry closet and pretend to be a diamond miner.
Brief background: We've been reading the book, "Would you like to fly a jet? Would you like to be a vet?" and discussing the merits of various occupations; Luke seems to have momentarily latched on to the idea of being a diamond miner. In the toiletry closet, it means he curls up with a hammer and dislodges the clear plastic shelf braces.
So anyway, I'm taking my shower, perhaps even composing a happy little blog in my head about my cozy curling-up guy, when Luke appears at the door, sans diaper. "I took my diaper off," he announces. "Why did you take your diaper off?" I ask. "It's on the floor, over there," he says. "Not where - why?!" At this point my happy little shower reverie is lost as I start imagining the worst consequences. "What did you do with the diamonds? Did you put one in your bottom?" "Hmmm. Yes!" he says, which turns out not to be true, but it causes me to check him anyway and perhaps gives him some good ideas for the future.
Later we went to the brand-new indoor playground near our house and Luke sought out the tall tower that warned ominously, "Not recommended for children under 3." The main attraction to it was that no one else was up there, and once you climb up to the top there's a fully enclosed, construction-site-like space looking out over the rest of the playground. When we got to the top, Luke started making grand, excited gestures: "We can build a big, big building...and some guitars and some drums..." Moments later a big kid, around four years old, made it up to the top, but he was as frightened by the remote outpost as Luke was thrilled. "I need to get down," the boy stammered, ashen-faced, and he even willingly held my hand as I helped him climb down, with Luke gloating in the background as he re-established full control. Then our buddy Clay clambered his way up but he had no interest in further developing the space; he wanted to make a beeline to the jumbo slide that came down from the top. Wheeeee!
But maybe there is a builder in our future, or at least a way to tie in one other unconnected anecdote: During free playtime at school yesterday, all the kids were scattering to various parts of the room. But before Luke left for his corner "workshop," he told Teacher Melissa, "I'll be working in the basement if you need me."

"I forgot!"

It's pretty unusual for Luke to fail to sit down at the table for a meal, so the other night when he resisted sitting down for dinner, I decided not to push it. I told him, "OK, then go play in the playroom while Daddy and I eat."

Dave and I proceeded to have a nice quiet adult conversation over dinner, while we listened to sounds coming from the playroom: drums...the guitar...flapping pages of a book...Then we heard Luke saying, "OH! OH!" and the sound of toddler feet running back into the dining room. "I forgot to eat dinner!" he declared, and then proceeded to sit down and polish off a pretty good meal.

My think about it and my say, "Hmm."

It's hot in the city, and there's no escape in sight. Yesterday I told Dave that I no longer believe the thing about how Southern California doesn't have seasons. This was just after he tried to lie down, saying, "I don't want any part of my body to be touching any other part of my body," or something to that effect, which was really funny at the time because it was just so insanely hot that it seemed to make sense. And no, we don't own a fan. Why would we?

So poor Luke has been grounded for the last few days with impetigo, which has manifested itself as a grisly-looking scab-like infection on his upper lip, and some unidentified rash on his chest and back, which I'm sure is not being helped by the heat. For the moment, it means no school, no friends, and no appearances in public kiddie places, at least in public kiddie places where we might run into people we know. He's home from school today with Suzi and Boom-Boom, and Dave and I are frantically trying to negotiate some sort of hand-off for tomorrow because it looks like the scab is here to stay for a while.

To amuse ourselves, Luke and I have moved on to a new form of entertainment, trying to set a record for most nights of attending free outdoor concerts in a row. It started when we attended a kiddie concert a few weeks ago and Luke was thoroughly annoyed at the kiddie-like nature of it (we have to stop the music to imitate animal sounds? and they want us to dance? puh-leez!). So we moved on to the adult variety, starting most recently with a 50s-style rockabilly band performing in a little bandshell in one of our neighboring towns. The Elvis wig, microphone twirling, and splits were a big hit. The next night we went for a more subdued lady playing acoustic guitar. Not so much of a hit compared with the visual stimulation of the night before. But then we reached a crescendo the next night with a swing band that played down at the beach. At some point the trombone player sort of latched on to Luke, and went so far as to perform a solo "Mary Had a Little Lamb" for him. And handed him an inflatable trumpet. And kept waving to him between songs. And later came down during "Jump, Jive, and Wail" to ask his mommy (me) to dance, in front of the crowd of 300+ people. (For the record, I wasn't all bad. I love swing-dancing; it's the men in our house who would never be moved from their chairs). Lest this is starting to sound creepy, it all ended with a massive pitch for us to buy their CD, which we got conned into doing, so all in all the band netted around $10 from us. But the larger point is that Luke had a blast and is now extremely wedded to his swing band CD.

Then last night we followed up with Latin jazz fusion, which Luke also liked, despite the heat, until he noticed something much more important: that there were sno-cone sales going on nearby. This created an automatic toddler meltdown, given that we didn't bring our wallets with us, and Dave reminded me that the last time Luke had a sno-cone, we endured two days of vomit (see October 2005 - I had to look back to remind myself too). Anyway, so we quickly replaced the concert with the playground nearby, and tonight we're going to give the concert scene a rest. Tuesday night, however, is another story.

ANOTHER thing I've been meaning to write about (it's been a week, which is way too long) is Luke's inflation of minor incidents to landmark milestones that need to be discussed for hours afterwards. Like after I spilled a full bottle of juice in the aquarium cafe, and the clean-up team had to come and do the whole mop and sign-on-the-floor deal. Seconds after it happened, Luke was ready to rehash, and the dialogue went as follows: What did mommy do? I spilled the juice. What did mommy say? I said, "Oh no!" What did Luke say? He said, "I want more juice!" What did the lady say? She said, "I'll clean it up." What did the lady do? She got a mop to clean it up. [Pause for reflection.] Then: What did mommy do? etc.

Then later at the farmers' market we saw a man dressed in a giant bulldog costume advertising something or other. Even though he waved at us, Luke was scared of him and announced, "I don't like that dog/bear!" But as soon as he passed by and was out of sight, the questions began again: Where did the dog/bear go? What was he doing? What did Luke say? What did mommy say?

That night when Dave came home of course we had to tell him everything about our day, including the adventures at the aquarium. "Mommy, what did you do with the juice?" prompted Luke. "Oh, yeah, I spilled a whole bottle of juice in the aquarium cafe," I told Dave. Luke nodded in agreement. "Juice went everywhere!" he said, gesturing wildly.

After we told the story over and over, I thought that these things had finally been laid to rest. Then after Dave put Luke to bed, I asked him if Luke had given thanks for anything in particular while they were saying night time prayers. Well, yes, said Dave. He gave thanks for the scary dog/bear. Oh, and he gave thanks for mommy spilling the juice.

I don't like soup

Yesterday I was holding Luke in the ocean, sun blazing, waves crashing around us, and he turned to me and said, "Reduce, reuse, recycle."
What?
I guess any self-respecting parent of a preschool kid could have told you that came from Bob the Builder, who is currently pursuing an eco-development project in Sunflower Valley. But still. What odd little brain cell decided that that particular phrase was worth remembering and digging back up at a time like that?
I continue to be amazed at how the toddler brain works (or at least the one brain that I'm most familiar with). He has an uncanny memory for details about people and places and things that were said, and I'm sure I'm not even understanding half the stuff he brings up.
Like when we drove by Rocky Cola Cafe the other day, and he asked me the name of that restaurant. I told him the name, and then he declared, "I don't like soup!" I was momentarily confused, and then I realized that the last time we were there, let's say six months ago or so, Luke had sort of a cold and we got a kiddie portion of chicken soup that we were trying to coax him to eat. I started to laugh, and Luke chimed in, and he decided that he must have coined a great joke. When Beatriz and Felipe came over the next morning, he announced, "I don't like soup!" If he were a little more vaudevillian you would have heard a rimshot and seen him tip his hat, waiting for the laugh track to kick in. Naturally they were mystified.
But Kris, our realtor (or should I say Realtor? No, I shouldn't), was most impressed when we ran into her at the supermarket the other day and Luke asked, "Where's your dog?" He's only met Kris one other time in recent memory, and we only talked about the fact that she had a dog - he never actually met the dog. So we all smacked our foreheads in sheer amazement that he remembered that little factoid about her.
He even remembers things that I have clearly forgotten. Like when we were at the beach, he was listing things that were probably in the water, "...like jellyfish, and rays, and I'm drinking apple juice, and looking at a fish that looks like a street sweeper..." At this point I say, "What on earth are you talking about?" and Dave reminds me that when we went to the aquarium there was a big flat ray-like fish with hundreds of tentacle thingies on the bottom and as it scooted around the tank it looked like a street sweeper. And Luke was drinking apple juice at the time. Now I get it. As I said, I'm sure that for every one of these I understand, there are ten more that I'm missing.
How lucky I am, then, that just for the moment, he is easily distracted enough that his short-term memory is almost non-existent. Like this morning when he was playing with the gardener's measuring wheel. And I wanted him to put it down. But I decided not to fight it. And sooner or later it was on the floor, and I managed to move it out of sight inconspicuously, because the measuring wheel was SO five toys ago.
Or - maybe this doesn't have to do with memory, just with gullibility, but the other day we went to the Mexican restaurant next to Ben and Jerry's and we managed to convince him that we couldn't get ice cream because it was lunchtime and Ben and Jerry's was only open after dinner for dessert. Never mind that the doors were wide open as we drove by. We probably only have a few more weeks or months left for that particular brand of parental white lie to work, so we'd better enjoy it while we can.

The end of books

If you had seen us walking into the Cuban restaurant tonight, you might have been amused to see Luke with a cookbook tucked under his arm - Better Homes & Gardens Dessert Cookbook, circa 1960, his new favorite read.

It seems that just plain old books are passe right now. What Luke really wants to read are catalog-type listings of his favorite things. So if he wants to read, he'll head over to the bookshelf, pick out his three favorite dessert cookbooks, and bring them over to curl up with them on my lap. Then we'll go through page after page looking at cookies, cakes, pies, brownies, frosting techniques...you get the idea.

Sometimes he'll pick up Dave's do-it-yourself building handbooks, like the "Build Your Own Deck" book, which is a current favorite. Luke will keep it next to him throughout breakfast, carefully examining the two-man drill, the circular saw, and the chalk line.

But the real end to books came from a music company that specializes in rare and unusual instruments. When we bought the drum set (just a standard-issue kiddie drum set) they were kind enough to include their 200-plus-page catalog. This has become Luke's ultimate fascination. Each day we page through it, solemnly discussing bouzoukis, lutes, and the difference between the hurdy-gurdy and the bass gurdy.

All of this behavior might seem alarming to any "normal" parent. But the other day when we were reading the music catalog and Luke pointed out the gamelan, a little light bulb went on over my head. Of course! He's the absolute reincarnation of my dad! He is fascinated with all things mechanical, musical, and obscure. Throw in a little dessert, and you've made his day. How lucky we are to have one of him in our house.

A little "off"

The last 10 days have been a continuous stretch of parties, family time, late nights, bouncy houses, hot dogs, cookies, ice cream, cake, and marshmallows. And some sadness. And some meltdowns. After all that and more, we're just a little bit off this week.

Case in point: Luke has had a heckuva time taking naps - He'll fall asleep in the car if we're driving between 11 am and 12; then we'll take him home and he'll wake up on the way to bed and be ready to conquer the world. Then we'll spend the next two hours trying to convince him that nap time is imminent; then he'll fall asleep around 2:30 and sleep until 5, thus delaying the nighttime bedtime; but then in the morning he'll wake up bright and early and ultimately sleep-deprived and likely to fall asleep in the car again somewhere between 11 am and 12. Got that? It's been a little frustrating.

Or take our Monday night meltdown - Dave went to a Dodger game with Uncle Tony so Luke and I stayed home and had Special Mommy-Lukey Night. We had a nice dinner and then went out to Ben & Jerry's for ice cream. I sat there watching him happily dribbling away on his chocolate ice cream cone and thinking, "Does it get any better than this?" In fact, it didn't. As soon as his cone was gone, he saw some cookies in the display window that he decided he needed in addition to an ice cream cone. After five minutes of debate, I finally had to drag a screaming toddler out of the store ("I WANNA COOOOOOOOO-KIE!!!!!") and we had to sit in the car for another good 10 minutes before he could calm down enough to get in the car seat.

Does this sound like I'm complaining? I guess I'm really not. After yet another nap battle yesterday, I told Dave I feel like we're seeing little summer storms. They drift away almost as quickly as they crop up, and the little angel-boy returns. When Dave finally got Luke calmed down after one of these, they were talking, and Dave said, "You were a little mad, weren't you?" and Luke said, "No, I was big, big, BIG mad!"

So after all that, we wound up having a great Fourth. I mean, how can you not have a good time with Dave and Stu sumo wrestling in giant fat suits?