Cold Spaghetti

The Little Man.
TLM got himself into a bit of trouble last night when he, protesting a trip the shower and using a request for a cookie as a stall tactic, peed on Paul and the kitchen floor. Whoa. We had the “we love you, but your behavior is completely unacceptable” talk and explained that he had lost the privileges of a bedtime story and goodnight song. Shower time commenced and bedtime followed. Whether because of a need to know everything was “okay” with us, or because of a need to continue to test the waters, Will had a tough time falling asleep.

For the next hour, we found him:
– Quietly typing away at Paul’s computer
– Putting on shoes in his room
– Singing songs while hanging off the base of his bed
– Using the bathroom at least 3 times (productively, though… he actually had a bad bout of diarrhea)

He was obviously aware of his transgressions, instantly went back to bed without complaint when found, and clearly found humor in the odd assortment of activities he was choosing to surprise us with.

The last stalling technique was the most impressive. I was in the kitchen and heard his little feet nearing me from the hall. I turned to see a pants-free Will shuffling down the hall, eyes tightly shut, head tilted to the side resting on his blanket, mouth trying to suppress a mischievous smile. He was trying to fake sleepwalking… it was very hard to stop from breaking out in giggles. I had to bite my lip and force every muscle into a rigid set to position him back to bed and firmly assert that he was to not get out of bed again… and then rush out the front door to the porch where I could explode in laughter without fear of being heard.

The last conversation I had with Helen Hill was a friendly hello at Abeona — we both wanted to say more but were overwhelmed with our kids at the time. I had hoped to send the images from Oak Street Cafe to her over the break and we had talked about getting together for New Years, neither of which happened. So, it may sound silly, but it was very important to me to get the images to her family directly. We dropped them off in a sturdy folder with the flowers and cards at their front door. Soon after, Emmy and Renee (friends and Abeona instructors) visited the memorial. They saw the folder and recognized it; wanting to keep it safe, they gave it directly to a family member and showed the photos I took. They were very well received, and were brought directly inside the house to Helen’s family. Media swarmed. Emmy felt they all were piranha-ish… with the exception of one British man who she felt was very respectful and caring. She gave him my phone number.

… And this is how I met Charlie Varley. When we first spoke, I had no idea who he was and acted very suspicious. Photography is a funny medium. It can easily be exploitative and I am very sensitive to this. I consider it a privilege to photograph people and feel that, particularly where children are involved, a photographer needs to be very careful with their work. So at first, I was very unsure how to handle Charlie Varley, who wanted to send some of my work to several news sources that were preparing memorial articles for Helen. By the end of our conversation, I was assured and agreed to send him some images. Then I googled him and realized who he was… when I sent him the photos, I wrote that I felt like I was sending a crayon sketch I made at age 10 to Picasso.

I was surprised to receive a wonderful email response from him. For one, he encouraged me to protect my work by adding a photo credit to the images and made some suggestions in that regard. Before sending them on, he embedded my credit into the image file for me. Second, he said wonderful and encouraging things about what I had done: “very professional and not at all amateur if you ask me.” He went on to say some personal things about being a parent and covering this story. It was, in every regard, a kind and thoughtful message.

Quickly following on the heels of Charlie’s message, came a phone call and email from Schroeder. Another uplifting and friendly bit of light coming unexpectedly.

Yesterday was my birthday. These little pieces of kindness and thoughtfulness were wonderful presents!

Even before I became a parent I’d heard the advice: “Don’t push potty training. Wait until they are ready and it will happen overnight.” I devoted myself to this advice and allowed it to paint my parenting toilet-training fantasy… In it, Will gently, softly enters our room in the soft glow of morning light (ie: after 8am) and pleasantly announces: “Good morning, Mother. Good morning, Father. I would like to tell you that as of today, in this very moment, I no longer require a diaper. I will use the toilet without fail each and every time from now on. And I will never forget to wash my hands afterwards.” It’s really a great dream, especially because he makes this wonderful announcement while serving us breakfast in bed. (When I dream, I dream BIG.)

Will is now three and ready for potty training. And I’m learning that it is not so easy.Will has been telling us he’s ready for underwear for weeks. He’s asked for underwear. Dug undies out of his drawer and undressed himself to put on underwear. Sat on the toilet for half an hour waiting to do something so that he could show he was ready for underwear. Begged and pleaded for those cute little underpants! Will could not have cared less about saying goodbye to Pampers… Paul and I were the ones freaking out. It was a great surprise to realize how important an absorbent core was to our daily lives. We couldn’t say goodbye, just taking it away was too much, too soon. We needed time, we weren’t ready. We rationalized it in so many ways: he was still wetting the diaper; it was the holidays; what if he has an accident on my Mom’s rug(!); we have to take a ride in the car today… and more. There are so many excuses.

Finally, after some advice and support from our knowledgeable Abeona teachers, we gained the courage to try. So, for the past three weeks, we’ve tried a variety of suggested strategies… Will running around nude, Will wearing underwear for short time frames, Will wearing both underwear with a diaper or pull-up over (to reduce mess), and finally, Will sporting nothing but the undies.

It has not been that bad… so far. Will is very good at identifying when he has to make a bowel movement. We’ve had two accidents of this type. The other stuff, “tinkle” in our household lingo, is still a challenge for The Little Man.
Yesterday was the Big Day. As of yesterday, we’ve got an undies-only 3-year old. This was a really big day for Will. In addition to wearing his pirate underwear (could there be any other kind?), this was also his first time staying a full day at school (until 3ish). He did pretty well. Three accidents at school… but zero at home. Today was much improved. One accident before leaving for school this morning (possibly two, but Will claims he spilled some milk from his cereal), one accident at school, and one accident in the waiting room at the doctor’s office this afternoon. Pretty decent. He still sleeps with a diaper at night, I figure we’ll keep the night pull-up or diaper for awhile… this is a tough one for little guys from what I understand.

So goes our first foray into potty training. I would LOVE suggestions and insight from anyone reading who has successfully potty trained a child… especially a boy!

Kate, you’ve been with us for just over 6 months. Your short time with us has been filled with moments of learning. The relative ease of caring for you in those first days shocked me. I had no idea having a new baby could make me so happy. Your sweet big brother and I worked so hard, so hard, for everything… until I had you, I had no idea how sick I was at that time. The guilt of those lost moments with him plagues me. You seem to have inherited your parents warped sense of humor, intuitively knowing what makes us crazy and picking away at those pockets of sanity. For example, while every other baby on the planet is content to sit in those wonderful Bumbo seats, you fling yourself around like a fish until you’ve got enough foot leverage to push, yes PUSH, your little butt out of the seat. Twice we’ve caught you before you landed head first on our dinner plates. You remain blissfully unaware of your desire to destroy brain cells and happily throw yourself around, a free spirit ready for the fall. Having you convinced me of something that I’ve wondered for some time. I am now confident in the fact that I make the world’s most beautiful babies. One might think that being the World’s Most Beautiful Baby-Maker would make me smug. But no, in fact, it scares the pants off me. I fear that the universe will present me with one huge smack-down striking one of you ill or hurt or worse. Josefina (our Peruvian nanny) gave me a red bracelet for you to wear to ward off mal de ojo, but I just can’t get the darn thing to stay on! It is very stressful to be the mother of the World’s Most Beautiful Baby. Please remember this incredible stress I’ve gone through for you when you consider what nursing home to put me in.

Even more than the cats, which you chase around the house in that bumpy crawl, your brother is the light in your day. Dad and I can act goofy, making our voices hit ranges that would embarrass us to tears if heard by the outside world, and you’ll generally respond with a happy laugh. But Will… his mere presence is enough to put you into hysterics. We’d like to believe that the two of you share a special bond of understanding. We’ve heard that older siblings can translate the rough speak of younger ones into sounds that us old people can understand. Granna swears that Uncle Skip was practically mute until Kindergarten because I translated all of his whispers and signals with expert attention. We are waiting for Will to carry on in this tradition. You talk a lot… A LOT… and often say things with such conviction that the neighbors call to ask why we are torturing that poor woodland animal and please, for heaven sake, let it go! It would be wonderful to explain that no, we aren’t performing any sacrificial rituals, but just trying to figure out whether you’d like applesauce or bananas for breakfast. So when you say something like, “AAAAWWWGGGGHHHHHAAAAAA” we eagerly ask Will if he can tell us what you are saying. He takes each request seriously, focusing and clearing his throat to answer: “Baby Kate said ‘AAAAWWWGGGGHHHHHAAAAAA’”. I guess you two have some work to do on that sibling communication thing.

You should know that, at least during my childless days, I lived a life that generally did not accept the notion of fear. Having your brother gave me a decent sense of fear, but it wasn’t until you came along that the overwhelming, crippling sense of fear set in. I used to live in a dream bubble where the risks of the world were muted and dulled; I could convince myself that if we were to fly off a bridge and into water, I could somehow transform into AquaWoman, pulling your brother to safety. Your addition to the picture brought reality into my focus. My cape disappears when bridges are near. The fear of loosing one of you is crushing; somedays I wonder if it has the power to take over. My love for the two of you is unconditional and nontransferable. I used to think I could overcome anything. Now, I am much more aware of the limits to my heart.

It was Bud’s Broiler, not Port of Call, that cooked up Paul’s first hamburger in 16 years. Will, who has been asking for nothing but hamburger for 4 days straight, was in heaven. It was in this memorable moment, between dipping his burger bites into his little cup of red-eye, that Will turned to me and clearly asked:

“Mommy, d’you havea pee-nus?”

I blinked and cleared my throat, quickly looking to catch the eyes of fellow diners, glancing over with smiles. Is this a conversation that we want to get into now? Here?

“No, Will. Mommies and little girls do not have them. And remember,” switching to a loud whisper, “we talk about penises at home, right?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

Pause. Another bite of burger goes in.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Will?”

“Does Granna have a pee-nus?”

Parents make up funny tunes to sing to their kids. Here are some of ours:

Cuddling/playtime song:
Monkey feet and monkey toes!
That’s what little William knows
Monkey feet and monkey toes!
Touching little William’s nose!

To change a diaper:
Did you make a poopie?
Is it soft and goupy?
Smell ‘ll make you loopy?
Should we name it Snoopy?
Poo-pie!

When looking for Will’s pants, or trying to put them one once they’re found:
Pan-ta-lones!
Covers your ca-jones!

While stroking his cheek — to the tune of Brother John:
Will is sleepy, Will is sleepy
Tiny boy! Tiny boy!
Mommy loves him so much.
Daddy loves him so much.
Little man. Little man.

What: 3-4 steps. Full steps, where he did not fall at the end, but sat down. Actual supported steps.

When: yesterday afternoon, approximately 5:30pm.

Who: toward Granna. Then Mom. Then Granna again. Then Mom again.

Where: Granna’s bedroom, in her house in Mobile, AL.

Paul’s answer to the question, “guess who’s walking?” — Paul said, “Skip.”

Paul’s response to finding out that Will is actually the one (almost) walking: “Can we use diving weights to hold him down a bit longer?”

Now that Will is happily eating more diverse foods, the quality of his solid production(s) have changed as well.

Smell, color, shape, size, consistency. And the potential for constipation. Paul is handling it all very well, considering he feared this more than other part of parenting.

Then this afternoon, while having a nice conversation with neighbors on the street, Will begins squirming and finally bears down with an unmistakeable, red-faced grunt.

Can’t wait until potty training time.

I’m not sure when I poked Paul and asked him to get the baby. (Thanks to Paul for being such a great dad to get up and get Will in the middle of the night!) I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. Paul and Will are currently sleeping off the rough night cuddled on the couch together.

We’re wondering if Will is feeling under the weather (he has been sleeping a lot during the day and particularly clingy with me)? Or maybe more teething? (All of his lower teeth seem to be on the verge of cutting at once.) Either way, it has him a little frazzled and Mom and Dad exhausted. (Happy and in love with our little man, but exhausted!)

Will has a difficult time falling asleep. Once asleep, we have a difficult time moving him to his crib to continue sleep, or, if we successfully get him in the crib, keeping him asleep in it. So, for the last three (four?) nights, Will has shared a bed with us for most, or all, the night.

Not that we mind sharing the bed with him too terribly much. But he is squirmy! It means that we are waking up at all hours with Will pushing and rolling and kicking and punching. (Seriously, he does all those things!) He somehow managed to get himself completely perpendicular to us so that Paul and I have a width of roughly 4 inches of bedspace each. Really. The bottom line is that neither of us have slept much in the past few nights.

I can remember when Will was only a few weeks old and it felt like we would never overcome the difficult challenges with breastfeeding. Now, it is hard to believe it really was that difficult and challenging. I know that this whole sleep episode will be the same years from now… that we will barely remember the difficulty. We may even wishfully look back to these days with longing for those sleepless moments with our little baby boy. I know that eventually this problem will go away. (As my mother says, “I can guarantee he won’t do this when he’s 18.”)

But for now, it feels like it will never end — we can’t wait to get a restful night’s sleep!