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?

The next chapter

I have found a fragile peace here in the desert heat. At nighttime it is more than 100 degrees and yet Dave and I come out here to sit, talk, find comfort in the quiet stillness. We are on a large, leafy estate, surrounded by palm trees and lush bougainvillea. There are just a few lights in the pool that reflect upward and make the greenery look like it is shimmering. The moon is sitting just above the mountain to the west of us and there are stars in every direction. It's hot but there's no humidity so the heat is healing, not oppressive. We've been coming out here after Luke goes to sleep, just to look out into the sky and talk about what's ahead - for the next hour, week, thirty years. Last night we stopped our whispering when we heard a rustling in the trees. A large white owl swooped overhead, then came to rest on a tree nearby.

There's nothing more to say about me other than that I feel scooped out and raw, and I don't know what's going to come next. I'm sad and confused, and extremely disappointed to be barred from the pool (the worst is having to listen to Luke saying, "Mommy, I want to swim with you!") But the truth is, while I thought that being out in the desert might be a bad idea, in some ways it's been a relief. We are in a beautiful fantasy home and Luke has been thrilled beyond belief with the pool and all of the activities. The fact that it topped 112 degrees today and I couldn't swim was completely beside the point. I decided that I've been looking forward to this trip for so long that I wanted to give myself permission to enjoy it - and I have.

We capped off our day today with a dinner out at a Japanese steakhouse - the kind where they do the cooking at your table. We had given Luke a clue about what was ahead: Just before he went down for his nap, we told him that we were going to eat at a table where we could watch a man chopping the food and flipping it. He said, "My so excited I want to jump out of bed!" At dinner, when the chef chopped the shrimp and tossed a piece into Tony's mouth, it completely rocked Luke's world. For the last several hours he's been carefully re-enacting the scenario and quizzing us about the details.

It's been a year since I started writing this blog and it's odd to look back and remember that one year ago, we decided that we were ready to start trying for #2. Looks like we didn't get too far in a year's time. But that's just one yardstick to measure by; we've had a year's worth of total delight with Luke and plenty of blog-worthy material. Mid-year, in fact, I had decided that if there were a purpose to this blog, it would be to keep a journal or a record for Luke. But of course it's been about me and my own motivations as well. I guess if I'm writing this at all, even if it's for Luke, I need to be honest about what's going on with me and make that a part of it. So that's why, even though it doesn't really mesh that well with all of the funny stories and joyous memories I have from this trip, I have to bring up this sad chapter and think about how I want to start the next one.

As I sit outside in the dark heat, with the pool lights glowing in the background, it is completely silent except for the hot breezes that are blowing in the trees, around my face, and on my feet. It seems like what I've written has made sense, but I'm not sure how well it will hold up in the light of day. No matter; I'm going to go and find Dave now, so we can stay cocooned in this little dream for just a while longer.

surprising changes

Lots to catch up on...If I were really organized, there'd be a picture for each update. But what can you do.

Luke has some new things that are either cracking me up or disturbing me - I haven't quite decided. For one thing, he has designated one little stuffed dog as his "baby" that he insists on wearing stuffed down the front of his shirt. And he walks around telling us that the "baby" wants to eat beef. Or money milk. Hmmmm...

He also informed us that he needs a slide guitar. (A little too much time spent watching bluegrass, no doubt). But still, hmmmmm...

Three times a week or so he asks where his drum set went. "We had to return it to the store because it was broken," I tell him. "Who broke it?" is always his next question. Well, it was flimsy, and Luke broke various parts through wear and tear, but there was one part that Eitan broke. "Eitan broke it!" is always how the conversation ends. I was starting to get worried because the other day when they saw each other at story hour, the first thing Luke said to Eitan was, "You broke my drum set!"

So finally we got him a new, hopefully sturdier drum set. He was all excited, sat on the stool, drum sticks poised expectantly in the air, and before he played a single note, he stopped to ask, "Who broke my other drum set?"

And then there was the party. Hooray for the baseball party. I have tons of good pics but only one available at my fingertips at the moment right here:



Lots of baseball-themed fun - Baseball, baseball cupcakes, pennant artwork, hot dogs, etc. Luke and Hatcher were perfectly matched in their 2.5 shirts. Luke was clingy for the first half-hour, but three hours into the party he was running around like a crazy-happy person, singing the alphabet song at the top of his lungs.

We got home, exhausted, and decided to open just one present (presents given to us against our "no-gifts-please" instructions, by the way). The present was from Eitan and the beauty of it was that it could be used right away - a set of floating drums for the bathtub. Luke loves it, and we're just grateful we don't live in an apartment building on account of the noise. Let's hope that is the last chapter in the great "You Broke My Drum Set" wars of 2006.

The sad little postscript is that the little raspberry and I are still fighting the good fight, but it is not looking good at the moment. I'll spare this blog from the roller coaster but suffice to say we are hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

What are you yaffing at?

What are you yaffing at? Luke's now in a fabulous stage where everything is just plain funny. Making up nonsense rhymes with songs he already knows is funny. The dog that says "foo" in the comics is funny. Other Luke, who calls all farm animals a helicopter, is funny. Uncle Joe, who says "Pee-yew" is funny. "Poopdeck" is funny. "Did you ever see Nut/Scratching his butt" (sung to the tune of "Down by the Bay") is funny (and something tells me I'm going to regret making up that one).

Point is, he seems to have a whole new joy and appreciation for things, whether it be bouncing a ball off his head, or playing guitar naked after a bath. I'm going to attribute it at least in part to school, where the kids crack each other up all day long.

Yes, we're still dealing with a sudden pig-headedness that manifests itself as a refusal to eat all previously loved foods. But he can be tricked into changing his mind. Last night, Dave made hamburgers rolled into little cigar shapes and Luke happily glommed down two "hot dogs." Oh, and he'll occasionally go back to rice and beans, as long as he wants to and not because you tell him to.

One of the things that Luke is most joyful about these days is the fact that he has a party coming up in only five days (at last count). He can barely contain himself with glee when he talks about eating cupcakes, and playing baseball, and eating more cupcakes. If this is how it's gonna be, I'm signing up for more.

shaken, not stirred

We are in the midst of celebrating Father's Day, which began with Luke's outstanding new recipe for sesame seed pancakes and culminated in a loud hot morning on the beach at the drum circle. Now we're all collecting our respective thoughts by sleeping (Luke), grocery shopping (Dave) and lazing around on the computer (me). What a difference three days can make. I was sad then and I'm happy now, but everything is just a little more guarded, even more so than before. There was no point of elation for me when we got the good news, just total and utter shock because I had believed for more than a week that the situation was hopeless. I guess one possible reaction would have been cheering from the rooftops. But I can't take any more of the roller coaster. For the moment, I have a different feeling than I've had before - I've lost the worry about how we would manage with another kid, and I've gained kind of a warm fuzzy googly feeling when I think about Luke plus another Luke-ette running around.

I'm still not counting any chickens. Still, when you think about it, there are currently four hearts beating in this house. We're going to do whatever we can to keep it that way.

words

The other night when the family was all here eating dinner, Luke excused himself and went off to play by himself. I guess he wanted to make sure he wasn't forgotten because he decided that the best way to amuse himself would be to sing the alphabet song, repeatedly, at the top of his lungs. It was funny, but more importantly , it was hard to ignore.

Seems like we don't know exactly what's going to be coming out of his mouth these days. Like this morning when he told me that he was off to the store to buy "beer and juice and bubble water." Anyone unsure which beverage-oriented parent he is taking after? When Dave complained the other night about Luke needing a separate utensil for each food item, Dave's parents wondered aloud where *that* particular trait could have come from. "It's all in the genes," said Bobbie. And then without missing a beat, Luke agreed, "It's all in the genes!"

For all of his conversation and mimicry, I'm still totally amused by the words he can't quite get right, especially those that involve "r" "l" and/or "g." But if I generalize, and say he still can't say the "g," I remember that he's been asking for "go-gos" (goldfish) since practically day one. Or sometimes I think that he has trouble with the "v" sound, but in reality he just uses it in the wrong way for violin: "bah-vah-in"

A quick guide for those still confused:

tah-TAH = guitar
a-yeh-tah-tah-tah = electric guitar (very important distinction, by the way)
dah-dah = gorilla
soo-doo = cereal
nuh-donna = iguana
beh-uh-ee = Miss Beverly
wee-budduh = wheelbarrow
teem-wudduh = steamroller

We went to a fun graduation party yesterday for Luke and all of his pals as they move on from Mommy and Me into various big-kid activities like preschool. Luke was the only kid who refused to sit for the class picture so I have some cute pics of the class sans Luke, maybe for later posting.

I'm not denying that I'm sad right now. In fact, I'm fumbling my way through a fog of sad. But what I have right now to get me through is an otherwise happy life, filled with the soundtrack of the alphabet song and the strummings of an a-yeh-tah-tah-tah.

Whatever happened to...?

Lots going on right now with everyone but let's just focus on Luke for a moment. Dave tried to talk to him in Spanish the other day and Luke cut in without a moment's hesitation. "Stop, Daddy. I don't like Spanish." Sunday we took him to the Cuban restaurant and he announced that he would eat rice but not beans. Whah? Today I took him to the farmers' market and went through a comical routine of buying just about every lunch option for him (pupusas? guacamole? tamales?) until he finally accepted a hot dog. Lest it start to sound like he's just rejecting Hispanic culture, he's also turned up his nose at such previous favorites as chicken, red peppers, noodles, and mushrooms. My heart used to swell with pride when he would beg for vegetables. I think now we're going to have to hope that bland starch items, fruit, and nitrate- (or is it nitrite-, I never can tell) loaded meat products will fulfill his nutritional needs. But I mean, how predictably toddlerish can you get?

What's Seattle do-ning?

Just a few pics to hold us until I can get my mind and act together...

Deep in girl world

There's much too much going on to spend lots of time on the computer, but I can't go a *week* without blogging, can I? We are in Seattle, deeply entrenched in girl world. There are dolls and princess hats and dress-ups and things that Luke just can't really get his mind around (I had to tell Antonia, "He doesn't really like changing clothes once he's put something on for the day.") But in the end they have a lot more in common that you'd think. After all, who wouldn't want to run around a park like a crazy person, picking up sticks and pinecones? Or chase after the ice-cream truck? Or look at a massive room-sized aquarium full of fish?

Luke had some confusion at first, thinking that Aunt Julie was "Ant-onia" and Antonia was "sister" (as Helena calls her). But they've worked it out amongst themselves. Luke and Antonia were fast friends from the beginning, and Helena and Luke are now more likely to hug than slug.

Antonia is extremely sad to learn that we're leaving tomorrow already, and Helena's persistent comment is a plaintive "Why?"

Pictures to come soon...

All creatures great and small

So the great Fratello Four-Day Weekend is still in full swing and we've done so much I can barely even remember the beginning. A haircut for Luke...a day in Topanga...a day at the aquarium...and we still haven't made it to the beach yet. That'll be tomorrow. For now, we're basically trying to keep things interesting while we manage this new-found habit of throwing a tantrum over the smallest thing (Where's my balloon? I want a cupcake! I don't want to get dressed! etc.). It's balanced out by an even richer sense of humor, especially while reading the food book (tell him there's a picture of spapple and aghetti instead of apple and spaghetti and he's completely gone). Things tend to balance out on the positive side, at least for now. Now it's time for some much-needed rest.

who puts you to school

The first night after I wrote the sleep blog, Dave helped Luke with the whole jamas-on-and-teethbrushing routine, but then Luke came looking for me, grabbed my hand, and led me into his room. When we got there, Dave was sitting at the foot of the bed, in the book-reading "put you to bed" spot.

"Oh, NO!" said Luke. "Who's sitting there?"

Poor Dave. He just does not get enough credit. Let's give him a round of applause for elevating the school drop-off to a fine art. As in, maybe I can take Luke to school without a tear now, but no one does it like Dave does. I'm going to take the liberty here of sharing his daily morning update from today:

Well, when Postman Pat was over, Luke jumped out of my lap, said, "T'mon, Daddy, go to school!" And I said let's look at the lunchbag, and he said, "Maybe some blueberries!" And there were, and he was pleased, then said, "Get the Cold One." So we did, and we went to the door and he said, "Let's see Miss Beverly." Of course we did that too.

I gathered an all-boy crowd again for book-reading, 4 of them, until Roxanna came over and boldly handed me a book about manners featuring a monkey. I deferred to her and read that after we finished book one. Meanwhile, Kadin left during the monkey book to bring back a gigantic book (seriously, like 3 ft by 3 ft) about a mouse that eats a strawberry while fearful that a big bear is going to come get the strawberry. Actually it was cooler than that sounds maybe.

While I was reading the strawberry book (which Kadin called "the scary, scary book" and "monster book" because of the looming bear - who never actually appears), Luke and Roxanna took over naming most things on the pages. Luke asked me what the words said frequently.

When we finished that book Luke rolled around in my lap, put his face up to mine and said, "Let's see Miss Beverly." I said "great" and we went over there. He said he wanted Papa-Damma, but he brightened when she told him that today they're going to do something messy with shaving cream outside. But first they're going to pull out instruments. OK! he said. And off I went.

No question, he's the most famous guy at school. And he writes me a complete update every day. How can you not love a dad like that?

Who puts you to bed

No need to remind anyone that sleep is somewhat of an obsession in our house; aside from me and Dave, now there's Luke. Every night, sometime between dinner and teeth-brushing, comes his inevitable question: "Who puts you to bed?" as in, 'Who's putting me to bed?'

In the past there wasn't much of a question or an issue:

Ages birth-3 weeks: Sleep?
3 weeks-5 months: Nursed to sleep by mom, then swaddled and rocked by dad
5 months-18 months: Nursed to sleep; occasional rocking to sleep with bottle from dad
18 months-19 months: Rocked to sleep by dad after protesting wildly for mom
19 months: Gently (albeit noisily) trained to put himself to sleep by dad
19 months-24 months: Happily accepted being patted and tucked into crib by dad
25 months: Increasingly resisted being put into crib by dad and certainly not by mom. Culminated in one unfortunate night of dad being in Sacramento and mom in tears on the phone at 11 pm with toddler screaming in the background
25 months plus a day after that: Changed over from crib to bed and happily willing to go to sleep again, only this time prefers mom once again. Theories abound, but most likely having to do with the fact that mom curls up in the bed with him and nearly falls asleep in the process.

For a while, when Dave started putting Luke to bed, it was a huge relief to me. I had a whole extra 30 minutes of my day, whittled down by only the amount of time it took to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen. But what Dave wasn't telling me, and what I only gradually learned, was that it is increasingly cool to put Luke to bed, especially now that he talks. Dave wasn't kidding when he said he felt like he had pulled one over on me by taking over the tucking-in role.

Now I "let" Dave put Luke to bed but I am secretly happy when I get a chance to do it. For one thing, it means I don't have to do the dishes. But for another thing, I get to hear the last remaining things that are on his mind from the day. It often comes out after we say our prayers....he'll mention that he wants to give special thanks for Daoud and his drums, or that Michael pushed him at school, or that Teacher Alinda was chewing gum today. For the last few weeks, he'll often curl up and mumble something about wanting his Grandma and Papa, or perhaps tah-sert (dessert).

Last night (continuing this on Monday morning) Dave had to go to Sacramento. Nevertheless, I got the question anyway: "Who puts you to bed?" "Me, of course!" I told him. He mulled this for a moment, then agreed, "Yes, Daddy go downstairs and do dishes."

This morning, given that Dave was not here to do the usual morning drop-off at school, I got another interesting question: "Who puts you to school?" Luke asked. Well, kid, you're stuck with me today.

My school-taking skills are pretty rusty (much like my bed-putting skills once were). I don't have the funny banjo music in my car, I don't know most of the kids, and I don't have the ability to draw a crowd with my book-reading sessions. Yet amazingly, it went by without a tear. Dave's going to be in trouble if I start liking the drop-off too.

The perch

Before we had Luke in our lives, one of my favorite down-time activities was lying draped across our love-seat, reading or sometimes just staring off into space (or sleeping, especially when I was pregnant). Dave called it my "perch." After I had Luke, I never had much perch time and I sort of got out of the habit.

But lo and behold - the perch is back in my life, only now I'm not alone there. Luke has started to enjoy lying back in the perch with me. We pull back all of the curtains so we can look up in the trees and telephone lines and scout for squirrels, or if we're lucky, an adventurous cat. Luke calls it "my nest." For a toddler, he can lie amazingly still just watching and listening to the sound of an occasional airplane (or jackhammer).

This morning we were sitting in the perch, more comfortable than ever, and we were lucky enough to see three squirrels.

"This is nice," I said.
"Nice - Yes!" he agreed.

I knew that we had a concert to go to but I didn't want to interrupt precious perch time. Finally I got up to see what time the concert started so we could get out of the house at a reasonable time - Yikers! - It started 10 minutes ago!

I briefly considered just staying on the perch. But we had friends to meet and In-N-Out Burger to eat. Maybe we'll go back to the perch after naptime.

Table for three

If you have a day that's filled with fun activities that you can check off in your mental scorecard of how you're doing, how does that compare with a day where there's nothing on the books but you still have a good time? Today we did nothing much of anything, but yesterday we did everything...Mother's Day tea at Luke's school, picnic at my office, then Shabbat at Eitan's house with Hatcher and assorted parents. Today - eh? We had big plans to go to the beach but when Luke seemed to be having just as much fun walking around with a hose, we just scaled back on our ambitions. Fine with me; I needed a day like this. Lots of other things to say, probably, but I just want to go to bed and see if I can make it through tomorrow (24 hours) without another load of laundry...

Luke's latest revelation: "I have blond hair!"
Latest skill aquisition: He can sing the alphabet now (but it's probably a good thing he learned "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" first)
Latest bizarre kid activity: Sneaking out of his room when he was supposed to be napping, taking our framed wedding invitation down from the shelf in our bedroom, and curling up with it to go to sleep. Huh?

The mysterious older woman

Yesterday at school Luke was talking somewhat insistently about "Sophie," to the point where Teacher Beverly asked Dave if we knew a Sophie. No, we don't...and yet, Luke kept insisting that Sophie was at school.

So this morning, determined to get to the bottom of it, Dave and Beverly figured out that Sophie is one of the kids in the 3-year-old class. Luke's class doesn't have any regular interaction with the older kids, but the teachers had just opened up the yard so that the kids can see each other through the fence.

The best we can tell is that he met her by talking to her through the fence. (Luke: "What's your name?")...