Number of our good friends and relatives who have had babies since Halloween: 9
Number of said babies we knew about more than a week before their birth: 3
Whoops.
Newborns aside, the Christmas cards have Edith agog at all the new babies on the fridge whose names she has to learn. Though if they have thick, straight, blond hair (Erik...), she's sure they're "Edie."
When I said that Edith laughs at jokes simply because we laugh, like someone in the crowd faking that she got the punchline, perhaps I spoke too soon.
Last night at dinner she was trying to maneuver strands of grated cheese into her mouth with some funny sucking action and finger motions that soon had cheese everywhere. As we often do at the table, Tom and I turned our eyes away from her and repeated to each other, "Don't laugh...don't laugh..." while suppressing snorts.
Edith looked at us and did her a-beat-late fake laugh. Then she said, "Funny. Edie. Messy." And faked another laugh. So maybe she does get the joke.
Big, Bigger, Enormous
Edith and I are walking around town. We arrive at the giant decorated fir tree in Palmer Square.
E: Chi-mus tee! Beeg!
We pass a series of bonzai-type trees in box planters along the sidewalk, each decorated with bows and white lights.
E: Chi-mus tee. Lidduh.
We pass an ordinary unlit evergreen bush in front of a house.
E: Chi-mus tee. All done.
Edith's Jingle Baby number went over so well in last year's daycare Christmas pageant that they asked her back. She explained that she's no longer a solo act but is now part of a big band. Management was cool with that and booked them all. Thus the Young Toddlers opened the 2006 pageant, snuggled around the Christmas tree in their pajamas awaiting Santa Claus...who eventually arrived pulled by (er, pushing) a sleighful of infant reindeer.
The strains of "Jingle Bells" wafted through the air (you knew Santa had a soundtrack), and the young toddlers got up and shook their jingle bells with glee. Well, most of them. Harrison and Torrey were way into it, and Timmy sat in front beaming beatifically. Edith smiled for awhile, then decided that this would be a good time to pick her toe jam.
The show then cut to Mary, Joseph, the angels, the star, etc., all ably represented by the older children. I missed the narrative link between the two scenes, but if anyone can point me to the verses in which a Santa-bedecked toddling candycane visits the manger after Jesus has already left, I'd appreciate the refresher on Biblical history:
And you'll have to tell me what it means when Mary and a Wise (Wo)Man disguised in streetclothes run off with said toddler, announcing, "This is our favorite baby."
When it comes to giving thanks for things about Edith herself, it's of course only too easy. But it's especially so in the last couple of weeks, when we seem to have again passed a milestone--or rather, one of those signs noting the summit of a hill you otherwise might have missed along a gradually sloping road--after which we marvel at the subtle but significant changes in our growing girl. One of the parenting books I read claimed that the so-called "terrible twos" actually peak at 18 months. I hardly want to start crowing that we're past unbridled willfulness lest fate smack me upside the head, as one of our readers once put it. But it certainly seems true that for now, at least, we're living with a communicative and agreeable child who enjoys knowing the rules and playing by them. And so right now we give thanks that Edith
-Responds readily to the notification that it's time to leave any place or activity. I know I shouldn't tempt the gods by writing this, but for the moment it's such a joy to say "Sweetie, it's time to go" and to know that however fun the activity in question, she'll stop and wave a loud and cheerful "Bye!" to friends, teachers, the slide, or the sandbox and toddle off with you in the right direction.
-Understands the word "dangerous" and quickly leaves off any activity we so designate. She's even beginning to know the tone of voice that usually accompanies that word and to respond to any admonition carrying that tone, no matter the words.
-Also understands when we're tickled and will join in laughing at almost any joke, like the guy at the party who doesn't want to be left out and so guffaws somewhat awkwardly a second behind the beat...which in Edith's case only makes us laugh harder.
-Can unzip her jacket.
-Makes sure everyone hangs up his or her jacket first thing when we enter the house. (Mommy is especially excited to see her persuade Daddy to play this "game" with her...)
-Likes to go to bed at the end of the day. I appreciate that fear of the dark has not been one of our parenting challenges--it's usually Edith who asks me to turn out the light.
-Often likes returning belongings and toys to the child to whom they belong.
-Loves running fetching and clean-up errands around the house for us.
-Just yesterday started using an affirmative! As we'd been forewarned, it's "yeah" rather than "yes" (it apparently takes having a child to make most of us notice how rarely we pronounce the fully articulated "yes"), but it's so wonderful that I'd take even "yup" or "uh-huh."
-Has started using "Nooo" with a delighted grin and the inflection that means "You're being silly!" Combined with the former we can have such fun conversations now:
On an evening dog walk, Edith stares fascinated in a neighbor's window.
G: "That's Mr. Keith and Ms. Julie's Christmas tree."
E: "Chi-mus tee."
G: "Mmm hmmm. Isn't it pretty?"
E: "Lights!"
G: "What's it doing in there? Do trees grow inside?"
E (smiling): "Nooooo!"
G: "Do you want to go get a Christmas tree for our house?"
E: "Yeah."
We did, in fact, get a Chi-mus tee for our house this evening. Edith seemed stunned when we got to the lot and hardly said a word, gazing silently at the mini-forest of conical firs the whole time we walked around making our choice. But when she really got wide-eyed was when the salesman tied our chosen tree to the top of the car. When we got in and put her in her carseat, she stared up at the ceiling in awe, pointed, and said "Tee...tee..." She continued to crane her neck upwards and marvel at the "tee...tee...tee..." overhead the whole five miles home.
This is going to be a fun Christmas.
A. and RLM asked for an update on how our first mother-daughter overnight separation went back before Thanksgiving. Thanks--I'm grateful for your interest.
The short answer is that all went fine. Tom should tell his side, but the version I heard from him is that the first 15 minutes after Edith woke up Saturday morning were a bit rough. He tried to cuddle her in our bed with a sippy cup of milk, but she was still groggy and confused and upset that the routine wasn't going as it normally does. So he switched tactics and fully woke her out of auto-pilot, half-asleep mode, then whisked her to the diner down the street for a daddy-daughter breakfast outing. From there they went to play flag football, then to an end-of-season flag football cookout, then to a neighbor's birthday party, then to a church friend's birthday party. The effect was that she didn't have any more time after that first 15 minutes of the day to think about nursing and enjoyed herself. I was back by the time she woke up Sunday morning.
On my end, I needn't have feared waking up at 5:30. After a delightful evening's conversation with my hosts and some true vegging time like I haven't had in months, watching "What Not to Wear" while trading our critiques of the critiques, I conked out on their Aerobed until the aroma of pancakes wafted into the room at 8:30. I think I could have slept another two or three hours, but 8:30 does count as sleeping in these days, so it was already a gift. The surprising thing was how normal it felt to be staying on a friend's floor again, responsible only for being a good guest and enjoying myself with old friends. It didn't seem possible that it had been at least 19 months since I'd done anything like that.
More striking was the feeling of driving to D.C. by myself. I used to love road trips--indeed, driving in general--but increasingly I've found myself avoiding anything that will require significant time in the car and facing any unavoidable drives with anxiety and reluctance. I've even been willing to let Tom do most of the driving. I thought this was all the product of getting old and fuddy-duddy and nervous Nellie, becoming aware of my own mortality or some such.
But on the way to D.C., I was pulling into the Delaware Memorial Bridge tollbooth, trying to roll down the window, turn down the radio, and get the appropriate change out of my purse while steering into a lane that accepted cash, when it occurred to me that I couldn't remember the last time I'd driven anywhere further than the grocery store by myself. And then I realized I was having fun. And that maybe most of my driving reluctance has not been about age and the sense that there are too many wacko drivers on the road but in fact, about steeling myself for high-pitched protests from the backseat and for doing the dance/sing/entertain distraction number. It was so different to drive without worrying about how long I could push it before someone else in the car needed to stretch his or her legs, how to time a stop for gas so as not to wake a sleeping child, or whether I would have to interrupt my driving reverie with 23 rounds of "Happy Birthday."
The conference paper went fine, too, though I probably could have been smoother on the Q&A. I was prepared for hard questions about the specific content of the paper and so was thrown by "Your advisor is very accomplished at transnational historical research; how do you propose to reach a comparable level of competence?" (which I don't think was a hostile question--more of a "hey, what's it like to work with that brilliant guy?" sort-of question). I was even worse at "To close we'll give each of the panelists a chance to say whatever they haven't said yet." In the future I'll try to prepare for a broader range of non-content-oriented questions. In the meantime, I have a few more academic contacts, a few more publishing possibilities, and a paper that might actually launch the next chapter of the dissertation.
Now it's your turn. Those of you with (ahem ahem) languishing blogs out there, tell us about Thanksgiving, victorious football games, viruses, first birthdays, and of course, your kids' latest antics. Inquiring minds want to know.
Edith had a wonderful time with her dad's family over Thanksgiving. She and all her first cousins were staying at Mom-mom and Pop-pop's house (along with their parents), joined by another approximately 30 second cousins, aunt and uncles, greats, and once- and twice-removeds on Thanksgiving proper. It was non-stop hilarity for the younger set, tempered for the older generations only by a family funeral on Friday that made everyone that much more grateful for a life surrounded by loving relatives and friends. I hope you and yours enjoyed as blessed a holiday.
A concert by cousins Emma (13 months), Edith (18 months), and Santiago (21 months). Somehow cousin Matthew (20 months) slept through it all.
Two little monkeys jumped on the bed. Santiago spent the better part of the weekend trying to teach Edith genuine, two-feet-off-the-ground jumping. She was an avid student and made up for her lack of skills with enthusiasm for the endeavor. Santiago not only could jump, he stuck the landing, finishing each leap up in perfect cross-legged seated position with his arms over his head for a 10.0 score.
Edith was grateful for the lessons...
...and Santiago didn't hold it against her that she was a slow pupil, giving her a warm hug goodbye at the end of the weekend.
At Aunt Sharon's house, Cousin Kim let Bailey out of her crate to greet Edith. Edith was taken with Bailey but even more so with the crate, and while Bailey was busy running circles around the house, Edith crawled right in. When Bailey returned to the room, she was most perplexed to find a toddler had set up residence in her home.
It seems Tom and Kim found the story more engaging than did skeptical Maggie and insolent Edie.
Laughing Magdalene and Edith with Golden Hair almost devoured Tom with kisses.
A happy weekend for Mom and Dad, too, they both were on the winning team in the Seventh Annual Endangered Fox Squirrel Golf Tournament, marking a second tournament win for each (Tom, 2000; Gretchen, 2003) and the first time the victory was decided by a photo-finish putt-out on an extra hole, won for our team in the clutch by its most junior member, 15-year-old Tyler. Was it significant that there were three lefties on the winning team? Three North Carolinians? Or that devotees of the Tarheels and the Wolfpack overcame their differences to achieve stunning combined success on the field of play?
Edith and I got a tour of the old farm buildings from Pop-pop, and Edith was quickly enamoured of the tractor, which she returned to drive several times over the course of the weekend.Edith has always liked to wave her flags and march, but this was the first time I came into her room and found her working busily to anchor one in the base. It was also the first time I've seen her play with this particular flag. Clearly she wanted to take a stand on New Jersey's pending marriage bill. (For those New Jersey readers who can speak in sentences, I'd urge you to contact your state legislator and do the same.)
To depart from Edith but stick with the theme for a moment, I heard an excellent panel of historians and legal scholars last week discussing this legislation. The first spoke on why making same-sex marriage legal would benefit straight women and men. The next explained how it is that this particular issue has risen to the top of the gay rights agenda. The third offered historical perspective on why same-sex marriage appears so threatening to some conservative Americans, as viewed through the lens of marriage counseling through the twentieth century. The fourth discussed how it is that the question of same-sex marriage has become fused with issues of religion, particularly for evangelical Protestants. They all made fascinating points that I'd love to share, so do ask if you're interested.
By the end, I was stronger in my belief that the state shouldn't be in the marriage business at all, but rather, should leave marriage to religious institutions, within which couples could still freely marry according to the tenets of their faith. The state, meanwhile, could offer civil unions to a much broader range of people without stipulating what their family ought to look like. A civil union would confer most of the legal benefits now associated with marriage--inheritance, hospital visitation privileges, child custody, health care coverage, tax breaks, etc.
One model I heard proposed sometime ago made great sense to me: Upon reaching legal maturity, a person would be asked to register with the government their next of kin. The next of kin would then be automatically granted most of the legal rights now accorded a spouse. If the next of kin ever changed, the person would simply re-register. Thus elderly single siblings who made a household together, say, would not have to worry about whether they would be allowed to make end-of-life care decisions for each other. In short, the state would no longer decide who could count as your closest family.
There are wrinkles, of course. Could you declare someone your next of kin who didn't declare you his next of kin in exchange? (A single adult declaring one of his parents next of kin when the parents declared each other next of kin, for example.) What would it mean for children whose parents were not each other's next of kin? But these seem to me like details to be worked out, not problems with the broader idea.
Anyone out there who has thought longer on these things should tell me what the drawbacks are to this model, though. I'd be curious. At the panel discussion there was a man in the audience from the Netherlands, who told us that in that country, where people can now choose between marriage or a strictly civil union, young people are no longer marrying. He says the idea would seem odd to them. I confess it sounded a little alientating to me--I like to think that those for whom the concept of marriage holds spiritual and emotional significance could still make such a commitment within a religious context (religious communities being imagined broadly). But when it comes to the state deciding who is family and who isn't...don't make marriage the starting point.
Since such an option is not currently on the table, however, one is faced with the question of whether to support current marriage legislation or not. And since marriage remains the entree into a whole range of legal benefits, I say expand its definition to serve as many families as possible.
Back to EME: Tonight is the first night Edith and I will spend apart since she was born. I am delivering a paper at an academic conference in Washington, and we decided that on balance, it would be easier for me to go alone than for us to truck our whole household down there. But it means Edith will go almost 48 hours without nursing and will wake up without nursing for the first time. I'm nervous for her and Tom both. Okay, and for me, too. The friends with whom I'm staying have promised to make me pancakes and let me sleep in tomorrow morning. Between worrying about the paper and about Edith, I wonder if I won't be staring at the ceiling from 5:30am onwards in spite of myself. Hold out good thoughts for us.
...deja vu all over again. Once again, it was a lovely afternoon in the Yale Bowl with all going our way, until The Other Side came implausibly from behind at the end to snatch victory from the Bulldogs' teeth. Edith is now 0-3 lifetime for football games attended.
Or maybe not. In the morning before we left for New Haven, I told her we were going to a football game.
"Football," she smiled. Then, "Mommy."
"Yes, we're going to root for Mommy's school," I agreed.
At which point she punched her fist in the air and yelled, "Rah rah rah..." Far from a generic cheer, fist-pumping rah-rah-rahs are the start of the Princeton "locomotive," a cheer which continues, "Tiger Tiger Tiger." Evidently we subjected her to too much of this early in life:
So maybe from her perspective, the game was a success. She did pull me down to dance with the Tiger fans on the field afterwards.
We got to meet a dear friend's son at the game. Despite being a year younger than Edith, he already knew better than to dance on the field after a Princeton win. Then again, he's being raised in the Other Enemy Territory, so maybe this coming weekend is his weekend to be confused. These poor kids--we need to move them to healthier environments.
Otherwise the weekend was fantastic. In addition to see beloved Boston friends at the game on Saturday, we had Grandpa and Mor-mor visit for the rest of the weekend. Edith kicked her legs with glee and literally shook with delight when she saw them.
Among other things, they accompanied us to the Garden State Children's Museum, an outing generously sponsored by Harrison and his mother. A great time was had by all.
Edith and Harrison enjoy a bubble bath
Fishing from the upper deck
"This late-breaking result just in from Virginia..."Or, "How to Overcome All Sense of Social Propriety in Just Eighteen Easy Months"
Tonight we were at the home of some new friends for dinner, together with about half a dozen guests whom we were meeting for the first time. Edith was playing very nicely by herself just behind my armchair, where our hosts had brought out their daughter's old Matchbox cars for her sake. The adults, all of whom except the hosts were 20- or 3o-something and childless, were engaged in somewhat shy get-to-know-you talk, when Edith emerged from around the back of the chair, announced "Poop," and grabbed at her rear. She repeated the word and action several times and looked anxious. So I whisked her off to check--though really, even had I been 100% certain she was clean I would have done the same, for how do you play that one off?
But this time she was for real! In fact, she looked uncomfortable and kept reminding me to change her right up until the diaper came off. The girl knows her shit. What a marvelous way to celebrate turning 1 1/2.
What's more, I was changing her on a bathroom floor, and when I was finished, she pointed to the toilet and said, "Potty. Mommy. Sit." And when I did, to reinforce whatever ideas she was putting together, she tore off some toilet paper and pretended to wipe herself, then handed the paper to me (okay, so we have a few things to work on). I asked if she wanted to sit on the toilet, and she was excited about that. Then she made sure we both washed our hands and as we were exiting said, "Bye-bye, potty."
I now understand how it is that otherwise reserved adults become compelled to discuss their children's toileting habits in public. Even this first step toward toilet-training is like a shining beacon in the long parental tunnel of Dirty Diapers. I've never before seen Edith show any sign that she was conscious of the toilet, much less of anyone using it. I don't think she has even been around all that much when we've used it, and we hadn't talked about it yet with her. But suddenly there it was: one of those moments when your child issues forth with a whole series of learned things you've never consciously taught her, and you once again marvel at how much the wheels have been turning. And at what a good thing it is that most growth and learning isn't up to the parents.
With apologies to all Edith's blog readers who haven't been there and think I've lost it...Next post, I'll turn to hygiene at the other, less objectionable end of the digestive system.
Edith has started playing a new game. Strapped into her high chair, she'll suddenly clench her fists, strain, turn red, and hold her muscles taut until she shakes. Then she'll release, smile, pat her bum, and announce, "Poop. Change."
At first we were alarmed, then delighted: Edith was becoming conscious of her own elimination, a critical first step toward toilet training!
But not one of the times that this has happened has she actually, in fact, had a dirty diaper. So much for bowel awareness. It appears, instead, that she has invented another form of dinnertime entertainment. Where she got the component pieces of the act and fit them together, we have no idea. A self-aware-if-constipated classmate?
Honestly, the Halloween season has become almost as extended as the Christmas season, such that I'm somewhat relieved to be done with it. But we did have a good time while it lasted. Here are a few final shots of the actual day.
Pumpkin Edith gets to walk with some of the big girls in the daycare parade. Much better than riding in the baby buggy!
She figures out that pumpkin costumes are good for cushioning against rapid exits off the end of the slide (especially when Superman is there to back you up)...
...but not-so-good for those who want to fit into their seat at snack-time...
...And that there are certain very serious misfortunes that can befall a jack-o-lantern.Edith likes parties. We didn't realize quite how much until last Thursday evening, when we were preparing to go to a Halloween dinner up on the seminary campus. We told Edith that we were headed to a party. She repeated "pah-ty" eagerly and then some word starting with B that we didn't recognize. But when we got in the car, she pitched a fit. She wouldn't be strapped in for anything and kept pointing out the window and repeating the B word frantically. So Tom removed her from the car and followed her in the direction she was pointing.
They wound up at the grill in front of the adjacent building. All summer and fall, we have been grilling out with our neighbors on Thursday evenings. It turned out that Edith's B word was barbecue, and that Edith had come to associate party with the weekly barbecue. We had no idea she enjoyed it so much.
It was very hard to explain to her that the barbecue was postponed this week so people could go to a different party on campus instead. Once she got there, however, she had a great time, watching fascinated as the older children bobbed for apples. And the next night, when we got home from grocery shopping after dark in the rain, she made a beeline for the hearty souls upholding the barbecuing tradition in less-than-ideal, end-of-season circumstances.
But Edith enjoys formal affairs, too. Saturday we attended an elegant history department wedding at a nearby 18th-century inn, and she was pleased as punch to dress up and sit eating hors d'oeuvres with all the grownups. The only part of the evening she couldn't brook was the ceremony. It was out of doors in what turned out to be a stiff wind, light rain, and 50-degree temps. Most of the adults bore up nobly, admiring the bride and groom's forethought in providing each guest with a Lands' End scarf, tied with a poem about the vagaries of October weather. But Edith's patience was not so easily purchased, and before any of the wedding party had processed down the muddy, straw-lined aisle, she let the whole attendant company know she thought they were nuts. So she and I beat a hasty retreat to the inn, where she seated herself happily near the fireplace with some bread and cheese and prepared to greet the other guests once they came to their senses.
Edith and her lady-in-waitingSome of what we've been up to this month. As in July, I suspect you'll see a theme.
You'll also see that I've tried a new template for the blog. Does it work or not?
Since their first meeting here, Edith has checked in with Mr. Jack-o-Lantern every night. She reminds us to light his candle and then gazes at him raptly. She has remained faithful even after his eyeballs were eaten out by a doo-rul, the jagged scars leaving him more sinister-looking than he began.
This is the hat that Edith refused to wear.
But she didn't object to this costume, a gift from Gigi Opal. Great grandmothers evidently understand cool better than mothers. Then again, Gigi has always had a fabulous sense of style, while Mommy has not.
More than half our photos this month have been taken on the playground. Clearly, we're trying to soak up the sun before the devastating impact Daylight Savings Time will have this weekend.
Edith's teachers had planned an especially fun day today of cookie baking and pumpkin carving (teachers carve, toddlers do "sensory play" with the pumpkin guts), and Ms. Chrissy was thoughtful enough to email us several pictures of the fun in progress so we could participate vicariously.
Had Dad been in this shot, too, it might have ended up on our Christmas card. "I am the donkey, shaggy and brown..."This morning when she got up, I showed Edith the sliver of a moon shining through her window. She loves the moon. We sat and looked at it for awhile.
"Moon...moon...moon...," she pointed. She got out Goodnight, Moon and compared the moon the cow jumps over to the moon that was outside her window.
Then she turned to her favorite subject.
"Edie. Bey butt."
"Yes, that's your belly button."
"Mommy. Bey butt."
"Yes, you found Mommy's belly button."
She pointed toward the back bedroom. "Daddy. Bey butt."
"Yes, Daddy has a belly button, but he's sleeping right now."
She pointed out the window. "Moon? Bey butt?"
These are the kinds of questions I'm looking forward to in the next few years.
In the last post I implied that I have yelled at Edith. It's not actually true. At least, not in the stand in the doorway and let loose way that Harriet's mother does in the book. I have erupted with an exasperated "Edith!!" on occasion, like when she planted her shod foot in the middle of my dinner plate (reason #465 not to nurse at the dinner table). And I have yelled a warning "No!," as when she was on the verge of yanking the double-pointed needles out of a kntting project in process. But yelled at length as a manner of venting, nope. But I hardly feel superior to Harriet's mother, because I do let my frustrations show in other ways, as Edith made clear the other day.
Nursing Edith has become something of a chore. She is very athletic about the process, and likes to wiggle, kick (she got me in the temple yesterday, again with shoes on), dig her nails into my belly button, and pinch me all over during a session. I've tried working on it some with her, but I haven't done a good job of laying down the rules. When I attempt to dissuade her from pinching or poking, she cries as if I'd stripped her of some essential component of the meal. So far we haven't pursued it much beyond the crying.
She also switches sides frequently. Perhaps it doesn't sound onerous, but constantly turning a 25-lb. creature back and forth to face the opposite direction gets tedious. The other day I was trying to remain patient, but on the fifth or sixth side-switch I'd had it. I wasn't rough, but I was cursory in turning her, and I heaved a deep sigh. Edith noticed. Having been turned, she stopped nursing, looked up, and reached out to pat my jaw, while in the voice she uses toward the dog said placatingly, "Nice, nice, mommy."
I think I've been patronized by a toddler.
I. Since I brought up the subject of clothes recently--and because I can't resist lists--I have to crow over my thrift sale triumph. At our church's fall thrift sale this week, I found Edith
-A red velvet Christmas dress in mint condition
-Two sweathsirts
-A polo shirt
-A purple T-shirt
-A pair of classic train-conducter-striped Oshkosh overalls
-Five pairs of shorts for next summer
-A sundress for next summer
-A pair of navy school shoes in the next size up that look new
-An Elmo counting book
-An awesome colors pop-up book
-A scratch-n-sniff book of common objects
-A book of photographs of common birds with a CD of their calls so she can catch up with Uncle Peter a bit, since she continues to love birds
-A hardcover original Garth William illustrated Little House on the Prairie in mint condition
-A hardcover edition of The Education of H*Y*M*A*N K*A*P*L*A*N (hiya, Uncle Peter)
-A funny story about just why the cow jumped over the moon
-Two years worth of Babybug, a young toddler "magazine" of stories and poems and art, in board book format, by the people who make Cricket magazine for older children
plus a pair of brown work-worthy shoes for myself that I needed and a newborn outfit for a friend who is due any day
...for $9. Total.
After leaving the thrift sale I went to the yarn store, where I bought the supplies to make Edith a single hat...for $17. The hat is made and she won't suffer it to be put on her head.
I sincerely hope the lesson here isn't that I should swap knitting for bargain shopping as a hobby.
II. Edith's newest phrase is an enthusiastic, "Aw right!" It's surprising how encouraging it is to have one's actions cheered by a toddler.
III. Her favorite books have all changed since August. Go, Dog. Go! is out. (It was so 15 months.) The new favorites are more numerous and actually start to include some that are interesting for adults...at least, the first couple of times each day.
The most cherished is one her cousins gave her, Micawber by John Lithgow. I first pulled this one off her shelf to read to her for a number of reasons. Micawber is a squirrel, and she loves squirrels. The painted illustrations are very realistic and engaging, each filling a large page, which I guessed would make it easier for her to get into. And for my own sake, I liked it because it's a great New York City book. Micawber is a squirrel who lives in the top of the Central Park carousel and goes over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art every day to gaze at art from the roof, through the skylights. One day he sees a student artist at the museum copying one of the paintings. Thrilled to encounter a live artist for the first time, he sneaks home with her and in the middle of the night, uses her painting materials to try some painting himself. He does this for a whole summer, until he is able to open his own personal gallery in the top of the carousel for the other city animals. The story is told in poem form and is delightfully whimsical. How many children's books use the words viridian, beguiler, and peregrination?
But we never read the poem. Edith calls Micawber simply Doo-rul (squirrel--it sounds remarkably like doo-re-ul, or cereal) and all she wants to do is find the squirrel on every page. She has a homing device attached to the book, I'm sure, because she can find its thin red spine anywhere in the house and demand a reading at the drop of a hat. As I'm not as fond of finding doo-ruls as I am of a poem about an artistic Manhattanite, I'm afraid I no longer have the rosy feelings I did about this book when Edith first latched onto it.
But she does have two books with narratives that she'll listen to now, which is a big change. The first is Harriet, You'll Drive Me Wild!, by the same author-illustrator team that did Everywhere Babies, which I love. Edith never liked Everywhere Babies, so I was surprised and delighted when she latched onto Harriet after one reading. I can't imagine what she finds compelling about it: It's about an irrepressible, messy little toddler named Harriet, who wears red Keds. She has a dog and a mother with straight blond hair who wears jeans and T-shirts. Throughout the day, Harriet keeps making messes, though she doesn't mean to. It happens, "just like that." Harriet is always very sorry. Harriet's mother doesn't like to yell, so she tries speaking calmly with Harriet as they clean up each mess. But her calm responses get more strained, and finally, when Harriet and the dog rip open a feather pillow during naptime, Harriet's mother loses it and yells. And yells and yells. Harriet cries. (Note: This is Edith's favorite part. Schadenfreude?) Then her mother calms down, hugs Harriet, apologizes, says she shouldn't have yelled, but that sometimes it happens, "just like that." And they clean up the mess together.
Of course Edith wouldn't know anything about spilling Cheerios and jam, or getting paint on the rug, or pulling a place setting off the table. She doesn't have a piggy bank just like Harriet's, or projects from daycare hanging on her wall, or a bookshelf full of books next to her wooden dresser with the round knob handles. And her mother never gets tied up with boring things like paying the bills or drinking her coffee. And of course, her mother never yells. I have no idea why Edith likes the book, really.
The other book is the wonderfully quirky Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, a catchy poem that keeps changing rhythm, so that at first you think it's one of the thousands of poorly scribed pieces out there that pass as poetry in the land of children's books, until you find that it's in your head for the rest of the day and that the twists and turns are what makes it so compelling. The poem is about the lowercase letters of the alphabet all deciding, in turn, to climb a coconut tree...until the tree bends so far from their weight that with the arrival of x, y, and z all the letters coming crashing to the ground. They get banged up in the fall ("...skinned-knee d, and stubbed-toe e, and patched-up f..." and of course, "black-eyed p"), but they all climb the tree again. Edith loves the crash, as well as the part where the uppercase letters, "mamas and papas and uncles and aunts," come to "hug their little dears and dust their pants." Me, too.
III. The alphabet is the hot ticket in town these days. In addition to Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, Edith's favorite song, which she'll start singing at any moment, is "Now I now I A-B-B..." Hey, you know her pronunciation--who needs 26 letters?
Her favorite letters currently are O, S, and X. Beantown residents may make of that what you will.
For Amy, who I just learned is reading this blog.Several posts ago--before getting sidetracked by what a legal scholar in my department yesterday termed "the start of the post-Constitutional era"--I promised a post on Edith's attachment to people and things.
Shortly after she was born, I read an excellent neurological science book, for the layperson who fancies herself smart enough for technical jargon, called What's Going on In There?: How the Brain and Mind Develop in the First Five Years of Life. Never mind that I can recall almost none of the particulars, I enjoyed working my way through it. The chapters each dealt with the development of a single cognitive function and were presented in the order in which these functions started to appear: from sense of touch to sense of balance and orientation in space all the way through to language development and then that ambiguous thing we call intelligence.
Somewhere shortly before language was a chapter on emotional and social development. Here's where I regret not remembering the details--probably not only a function of my lack of scientific training but also of the fact that I read the book before my own child had anything like a social and emotional life, so I had no hard experience against which to compare the text. Now this new capacity in Edith seems to have emerged suddenly and rather strikingly, in a variety of forms, such that I wish I knew more about how it all worked.
Perhaps the most traditional marker of such affective development is that after months of tossing aside all stuffed animals indiscriminately whenever they got between her and a plastic noise-making toy, Edith has developed a fondness for one particular creature in her collection. It is an unassuming white bear, named White Bear, who of course was the one animal not actually given to her but in fact, to her father as part of a birthday balloon bouquet. Dad has graciously parted with the beast, and Edith has made a home for him in her menagerie. Actually, an exalted position: I found her a gift box of appropriate size, and White Bear now luxuriates in his own bed, right next to Edie's, under a washcloth blanket. Edith's favorite interaction with White Bear is to put him to sleep. She works very earnestly to take the washcloth by the corners and fully spread it over him, a maternal touch she hasn't quite mastered. But she clearly thinks it's important. When she has managed as best she can, she turns and gently shushes anyone in the room. White Bear typically sleeps 5-10 seconds at a stretch--not bad for a eight-month-old bear, I suppose--before being stripped of his blanket and greeted heartily by his attentive mama.
We have asked, but White Bear does not seem interested in eating, nursing, or being rocked or read to. And he is not allowed to ride in the doll stroller, which must at all times be stripped down for aerodynamism. It's a speed machine, not a conveyor of small creatures. But lest all this lead you to think, as we did, that Edith is casually taking White Bear to bed without any real affective ties...When we inadvertently left him behind in Hoboken a couple of weekends ago, she woke each morning until his return with the anxious question, "Beah?" on her lips. I guess she had peeked into his bed first thing on waking up and been troubled by his absence.
More recently the first words on her lips in the morning have been "Hawy Hawy Hawy!" She is extremely fond of her buddy, Harrison. The past two mornings she has collected a favorite book or toy, and rather than bring it to us as usual, has run to the front door with it, banging for us to let her out so she can go share the beloved object with Harry Harry Harry.
And it's not just Harry. Her fondness for people can be seen in the fact that she is learning names faster than almost any other words. She now knows most children her age in the neighborhood by name. She also knows their parents, who are mere nominal extensions of their offspring, important as conduits to interaction with the children. She will spot Annabeth's mommy or Sian's daddy at a distance and begin to shout their daughters' names, hoping that the appearance of the adult means the child is close at hand.
As in adult friendships, some children excite her affections more than others. She is quite fond of Mimmy, a new addition to her class (his parents call him Timmy). She also has a soft spot for the younger daughter of neighbors in our building. She has hardly ever played with the eleven-month-old Av-wy (Avery), who is outside much less often than her more active big sister, but that doesn't keep Edith from clamoring for her every time one of her family members appears on the horizon.
Conversely, she is wary about the seemingly pleasant Hannah. We don't know why. Perhaps she senses a rival? Just a few weeks older than Edith, Hannah is the other young toddler girl in the neighborhood who is bold, confident, and physically active. Not usually one to be cowed, Edith keeps a close eye on Hannah from the superior perch of my arms whenever we meet her and her parents on the street or playground.
Fifteen years ahead of schedule, Edith also identifies her friends by their wheels. As we pass the dozens of parked strollers in our neighborhood, she'll point to those of close friends and inform us they belong to Ha-wy or Av-wy or Mimmy. Bikes belong to the slightly older Nee-mum (Liam) or Am-buh (Annabeth), as do a certain minivan and Subaru, respectively. (Our own green station wagon is now the prized possession of "EDIE!!" as she reminds us every time we step outside.)
If parents don't merit individual names in Edith's world, grandparents certainly do. She has seen both sets in the past two weeks, and now has down a name for each: Mor-mor, Grandpa, Mom-mom, and Pop-pop. She'll point them out in pictures, too. There's a remarkable aura around grandparents. Within two minutes of their arrival each weekend, she clearly knew she had someone special on hand. She warmed up almost immediately and was a live wire for her adoring audience all weekend long.
Her cousins also have all made an impression, despite her seeing them rarely. Their pictures hang on our refrigerator, and a few weeks ago, she started identifying them all correctly without prompting. When all four are viewed at once, either on the refrigerator or in a photo in the album, she almost invariably identifies Dah-go (Santiago) first. Then Mammie (Maggie), Mat-mo (Matthew), and Abih (Abigail) in turn.
This weekend Uncle Peter comes to visit. We started trying to prepare her by showing her pictures from his last visit and naming him. He's always had a special magic with kids. We'll see what Edith thinks.
Edith and I are both learning about clothes these days. First lesson, the basic question of how to dress ourselves. Edith has started at the bottom, trying to master the tricky business of slipping one's sock over one's heel. She is eager to make it work but doesn't have much patience for the effort involved in learning how.
I am starting at the middle, trying to determine which pair of pants on the mile-long sale rack at Ann Taylor might fasten comfortably at the waist when, in the six years since one last had to wear professional attire, one has dropped down through several sizes while living in a developing country, then ricocheted up through pregnancy, then had it all sucked back out again (and more) by a hungry critter...until the sizes in the closet run the gamut and all you know is that nothing seems to fit. The scale says I should look like I did in eighth grade; any woman who has been pregnant says "Ha, right." All things I considered, I'll take the stretch marks over the braces. But much like eighth grade, I have no idea what fits me well. And while I am eager to appear respectable in front of my students, I don't have much patience for figuring it all out.
As to respectability, another curious thing has happened since I last dressed for an office job: The skirts I considered perfectly professional at 24 now strike me as somewhat embarrassingly short. My legs are no thicker or flabbier now than then--quite the opposite--but it suddenly seems that a hemline three inches above the knee needs to be let out by at least half a foot. Have fashions changed? Is it motherhood? Is it the decade-age gap between me and the bulk of people wandering around this campus? What are these unseen forces that morph our sense of self, making us feel older mentally, quite independent of what may be happening to our bodies?
Edith is also expressing clothing preferences for the first time, within the limited range presented to her. I seem to be much better at figuring out cool for 17 months than cool for 30. On instinct this fall, I started buying her clothes depicting some of her favorite objects. It turned out to be an excellent strategy. The other day she asked to wear her new (used) apple dress. She pointed out the apples to all and sundry. When her father put her in new tights lined with dogs, she burst into the bedroom to show me not only her canine-covered legs, but how she administered Tylenol to each of the dogs. I guess they were teething. Last Friday, she locked in on a ladybug costume hanging in her closet, courtesy of Aunt Janet. We wound up delivering a ladybug to daycare that morning--to the great amusement of the boys in her class.
Edith tends to stand out sartorially at daycare even when she dresses as a little girl rather than an insect, because she is the only such in her class. The other seven children--Harrison, Torrey, Joshua, Zeke, Gavin, Reuben and Timmy--have yet to arrive in a skirt, pigtails, or pink. At age one, I don't think the children themselves are conscious of sex difference, which doesn't seem to make much of a difference in how they play. Edith shoots baskets, gawks at trucks, and wrestles her buds to the ground. The boys tote dolls around the classroom and clamor to use the miniature stroller. All this is well and good.
But the teachers, whom I generally think are fantastic, can't seem to check their own recognition that one of these things is not like the others. Each morning when we arrive, they greet Edith by commenting on her looks. She is told she is pretty in her pigtails, that her outfit is cute. Yesterday the "What I Did Today" section of her daily box score started, "Edith was so lovely in her dress..." If that's an action at all, credit goes to her father for dressing her.
I don't want to complain and sound humorless when everyone is trying to be nice. On the other hand, I worry that the message will sink in pretty fast that her looks are very important, much more so than the boys'. It's amazing to see the kind of social conditioning you swear you won't tolerate unfolding before your eyes. Any one instance seems harmless, hardly worth getting worked up over. But taken together, they start to seem damaging. At the same time, I don't plan to dress Edith in camoflauge sweats just to make her blend in. I just wish they'd ask how she was feeling, or what she ate for breakfast.
More then and now photographs. Edith has spent a lot of time with her good buddy Harrison this past week (in addition to the 40 hours/week they spend together at daycare). Friday night his parents graciously had us all over to dinner, and the next morning the first word out of Edith's mouth when I went to get her out of her crib at 5am was "Harry!" with a pointing lunge in the direction of his apartment.
They are starting to enjoy annual traditions together, too. At last fall's neighborhood block party, they were still in that somewhat stiff get-to-know you phase:
This year they were much more relaxed, chatting independently over a few drinks, happily free of the chaperones required when they couldn't yet sit up:
This is not a political blog. You all probably have your favorite such and don't need another. But tonight I had to post on something that profoundly affects Edith's future, and yours and mine: the Senate's craven vote today in favor of Senate Bill 3930. This bill was President Bush's proposal. It grants his administration the right to arrest, detain, and torture anyone anywhere that it deems an "enemy combatant," including U.S. residents. People so labeled have no recourse to civilian courts or to any of the fundamental legal protections granted by the Constitution.
Both of my senators, Frank Lautenberg (D) and Robert Menendez (D), voted in favor of the bill. Senator Menendez will not receive my vote in November. I am suspending my contributions to the DNC. I urge those of you who live in New Jersey and other states whose senators voted in favor of this disastrous bill to write them immediately voicing your dissent. Admittedly, it would have been much better to raise a protest before the vote. Nevertheless, Congress needs to hear from American citizens that they cannot continue to sell out the Constitution to save their own hides--and hope to continue to represent us.
Congress is charged with acting as a check on the executive branch, and each member of Congress, with upholding the Constitution. Today it absolved itself of both those responsibilities.
The New York Times ran a scathing editorial today that analyzes the bill's flaws point-by-point. Please read it.
Edith's short-term recall is developing. In the mornings she returns from a walk with Dad and Bismarck while I'm still in the shower. I know they're back when she bursts into the bathroom and tells me something she saw on her walk: "Mah mow-uh!" or "Bay-ug!" (Flag is getting more recognizable). Or this morning: "How-ahs!" Hauerwas is the type of dog name you get in a seminary community.
(Speaking of seminary communities: The other day I started singing the Sesame Street song "Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood?" to Edith while we were walking down the street. When I got to the part where you choose a profession, I realized that "Oh, the minister is a person in your neighborhood" would cover at least 50% of her neighbors. Or even better, "The student is a person in your neighborhood," in which case you'd cover parents and children alike and get at least 80%. Funny place, this. Let me know if you come up with the rest of the lyrics for either of those verses.)
In the evenings, when I'm nursing Edith to sleep, her dad will come into the room to say goodnight. When he does, she stops what she's doing, turns to him, signs "I love you," and watches him until he leaves the room. Then she returns to nursing. It's the best moment. If only we all remembered to pause from the task at hand each day to sign "I love you" to someone.
More on Edith's growing attachment to people and things in the next post.
Edith visited her friend Julia this past weekend. Their relationship has evolved considerably since they first met last December.
Then:
Now:
And because Julia's sweet face doesn't appear in either of those shots very well, here's one more:
We took a picnic down to the Hudson River, where Edith tried to fit in with the hip urban baby crowd (as did Mama, trying out the famed Ergo carrier for the first time). Ultimately we gave ourselves away, though, by gawking at the constant stream of helicopters overhead.
Edith picked up revolutionary ideas on her trip to the metropolis. The next morning as we were preparing to go to church, she presented us with a copy of Mao's little red book. She was shocked that we'd subjugated her to propaganda and lies for so long, obscuring Truth, and reminded us that little comrades are watching their parents at all times...
