The subject of smarts

The books say that the more a child sleeps, the more the brain grows and develops. Believe me, I did a lot of research on sleep after 6 months of absolute misery with Asher. Sleep train? No way! He’ll sleep when he’s ready. Surely, he’ll make it through the night one of these days. Nature will see to it. He woke up every 2 hours round the clock for the first 6 ½ months of his life. I’ll save the complete story for another time. The point is that we finally did some sleep training when we couldn’t take it anymore and upon learning that sleep helps them learn, grow, develop, etc.

Once we committed to sleep training, our Asher would go to bed at 7pm and wake up at 8:30am sometimes 9! AND he would take a nap midday that was at the very least 2 hours long. One might think that all this sleep would make him incredibly smart. And maybe he is. I’m sure he’s got that kind of genius that standardized tests don’t measure. He’s got that kind of genius that a mother recognizes while the world around her smiles politely though, to be honest, I have yet to recognize it myself. This intelligence is bound to demonstrate itself…one day. He has always taken his time with all things. He didn’t walk until he was 19 months. He certainly wasn’t the first baby on the block to –fill in the blank -. All that sleep but no visible examples of genius. Having said that, he was one of the very early masturbators in our baby group. Some boys did not discover their willies until months after Asher. So proud. And man, did he take to his craft with gusto! We were sure he was going to rip that poor little member right off. So far-still attached. I might be tempted to confess that the apple never falls far from the tree, but I’ve got family reading this blog! Clearly a talent that comes from the donor.

Some women pay an extra fee when purchasing sperm from sperm banks in order to find donors who have PhDs. We were happy to focus on physical appearances. Let’s face it. It’s not enough to be smart in this world. You have to be super smart and know what to do with your super smarts in order to rise above the masses. But, if you’re cute, you’ll be tracked for success from pre-school on. It’s a fact. I realize that I make up 50% of the equation, so it’s doubtful that our children will resemble Brad Pitt or Isabella Rossellini, but we can at least hope for not-too-ugly sprinkled with a good sense of humor. If he’s smart, great. If he manages to get by, fantastic. Intelligence is over-rated…I should know. ; )

Unsurprisingly, Asher has not astounded anyone with mental brilliance. While some 3 year olds were asking “Is a dog happy to be a dog?” or “Where do the ocean and sky meet?” Asher was satisfied with the life around him and did not feel the need to question anything. He did not play with other children either. He would stay close to my side while other children discovered the joy of interaction. Asher found all the companionship he needed in a hand puppet who lives at the end of my left arm. Her name is Jessica, and she is a member of our family.

I used to draw eyes and a mouth on my hand, and Jessica would keep Asher occupied in restaurants and waiting rooms. After a while, Asher requested that Jessica be drawn on a daily basis. He would ask passing strangers for pens so that Mom could draw Jessica on her hand. I found myself writing over faded eyes and lips that I couldn’t seem to wash off completely. We’d be on the playground, and Asher would yell, “Watch me slide, Jessica!” People must have thought I was either a nanny or a new age Mom who lets her kid call her by her first name. Thank goodness we didn’t name her Larry. We have Brooke White to thank for the name. She was hoping that we’d have a little girl and that we’d name her Jessica. She hoped out loud just to irritate me knowing that I did not want to have a girl.

There’s nothing wrong with girls. Some of them are nice, I guess. It’s just that I come from a long line of dysfunctional mother-daughter relationships. If I knew during pregnancy that I was having a girl, I’d have to start therapy 3 times a week immediately in order to prepare for what would be a troubled relationship at best. Ebay is another option. Thankfully, Jessica is a hand puppet and not a daughter.

Asher turns 4 next month, and Jessica is fading. She used to be a part of every meal, every activity and every conversation. I stopped drawing her on my hand but that didn’t seem to bother Asher. He would address my featureless hand anyway. I didn’t change the intonation of my voice when she spoke, but Asher still treated her like an independent entity. And now, her appearance is requested maybe once a week at most. When Asher does page her, I extend my arm with mixed emotions. She was always more of an inconvenience to me than anything else and occasionally an embarrassment, but I humoured Asher out of love. Now, I’m almost happy to see her. She was always so helpful to me and such a comforting friend to Asher. And maybe she was proof that Asher is highly imaginative and clever and smart. … or maybe she is proof that Asher is destined to prefer imaginary people to live ones, and he’ll live in a cabin somewhere in the woods by himself. Time will tell.

Parenting in South Orange

We had a new friend over today with her 3 ½ year old son and her 3 month old daughter. The year that we’ve been here has simulated orientation week at university. We’re taking part in various social activities and trying on lots of people to see if they fit. Sometimes, they feel soft and comfortable and sometimes they bunch up, and I need to pick them out. This new friend, we’ll call her Violet, and I have been here less than a year and we are looking to find friends for ourselves and, more importantly, friends for our kids. This is always a challenge for me because Asher doesn’t care for most people. To add insult to injury, Asher is just about finished with his one and only nap which means that he is out of his mind by 3pm. During our play date, Asher must have repeated the question “When is he going home?” no less than 23 times. I felt the urge to shove a sock in his mouth 22 times.

In order to make my guests feel at home, I do feel the need to compensate for my son’s inhospitable disposition. A batch of cookies for guests. Healthy snacks for the children. A blind eye when children hit our house like a tornado and I spend hours cleaning up. I have to admit that I don’t blame Asher for taking a dislike to most children though I’d like to think that I’m a little more forgiving than he is.

That first play date is incredibly stressful. You never finish a conversation, you’re trying to keep your kids happy, and you are doing everything possible to look like the model mother-while sizing up the other parent. Such pressure in this hippy dippy town. So how do I fare? I freeze my own baby food but defrost it in the microwave. I use disposable diapers but petroleum-free diaper balm. Levi is still nursing, but I’m cutting him off at a year. We have just as many wooden toys as we do plastic. Asher watches television. Levi plays with toys that are not age appropriate. I believe in sleep training. I don’t compost. Ok composting doesn’t have that much to do with parenting, but I felt the need to confess.

Parenting is a lot like following a religion-lots of picking and choosing. I’ll subscribe to this. I’ll make the educated decision to ignore that. I can’t believe they’ve decided to do this. I wish I could find the time to do that. But no matter the sect of parenting and no matter what you feed your kid or how much sleep they get, I’m convinced that kids are wired to be who they are from birth. Violet was well impressed with my homemade, mango popsicles, but she was probably not to happy about the fact that Asher refused to share his trains and tried to escape the house on more than one occasion. I had to lock us in and hide the key because Asher knows how to work the lock. Asher was miserable most of the time while demonstrating slivers of polite behavior very occasionally. After 3 hours of Asher’s mood swings and whining, it was time for Violet and family to go home. We saw them to the door, and Asher said, “Asher had a good time. See you again soon!” Go figure. Violet said she had a good time, too. I didn’t believe her, but she has called since to schedule another play date. We passed inspection!

Will we make lifelong friends here in South Orange? I hope so. But we’re going to have to schedule a lot of play dates in order to finish one thread of conversation. And who knows if we’ll ever manage to talk about anything else besides parenting? For the foreseeable future, new friendships will be born out of play dates and all things relating to our children. I wouldn’t mind meeting people whose approach to parenting is similar to mine. Play dates are much more comfortable when everyone is praising, admonishing and ignoring the same stuff. But ultimately, anyone who brings Asher out of his shell is welcome in my house any day-whether they feed their children Spaghettios or whether they compost.

On a completely unrelated note, why do the ladies in professional tennis look like they’ve been hit in the face with the ugly racket while the boys are so pretty?

Road trip to Toronto

What a weekend we had. My favorite sister, Rachel, left her 2 sons with her husband to come and watch our boys while Gabriella and I skipped town. We rented a PT Cruiser convertible and headed off to Toronto with some snacks and a rockin’ road trip CD provided by our friends. I’m not sure which one of us was Thelma and which one was Louise, but we felt free and wild as we tore down the highways with the top down and the music blasting louder than is probably legal.

Has anyone ever seen tent caterpillar webs?! We drove past a couple of miles of trees that were completely covered in these massive webs that looked like cocoons large enough for bats all over every branch of the trees. Creepy. I’ve decided to burden you with the images that haunted us all weekend. Go to http://www.biokids.umich.edu/images/signs/build/tent_caterpillar_nest.jpg and
http://www.hort.wisc.edu/.../insects/ETC/etc.htm

We went to Toronto so we could be a part of the premiere of the film “The World Unseen”. Our friends Hanan & Shamim decided that Shamim’s novel should be a film, so they made one. Incredible. They set up a production company and made a movie…’cause they wanted to do it. I’m not talking home movies on a digital video camera. This wasn’t Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney putting on a show in the barn. These ladies took Shamim’s award winning novel and turned it into a real movie-wrote, directed, produced and cast their own film. They were invited to screen the film at the Toronto International Film Festival, The Venice Film Festival and the BFI London Film Festival. An incredible task if you ask me. If you haven’t read “The World Unseen” by Shamim Sarif, yet, get on it-a winner for any book club-guaranteed. You’ll have the opportunity to see the film once it premieres at various festivals and it sells to the highest bidders. Until then, http://www.amazon.com If you’re interested, you can also learn more about their accomplishments at http://www.enlightenment-productions.com

The weekend was fantastic. How could it not be? Our kids were having a great time with Auntie Rachel, and we were enjoying time to ourselves-a treat no matter where we were. We loved Toronto. It was never on our top 10 or even 20 places to visit, but we’d like to go back. It is, however, a very young city. Walking around, I kind of got the feeling that we had been transported to the City of Domes in “Logan’s Run” and that we had to keep moving before we were discovered and killed for being over 30. Even I – being just a hair older than 30 – felt old in a sea of grungy kids in their 20s. Fortunately, we were escorted by our young hosts, Jenni & Hans, who protected us from the Sandmen. If you don’t know the reference, you’re too young to read this blog.

Toronto is known for being one of the most multicultural cities in the world and is the safest city in North America. Impressive, modern architecture. Lake Ontario. Streetcars. Sushi with brown rice. Independent book stores. Great restaurants & shopping. I managed to buy an outfit the day of the film premiere. I confess that I enjoyed my evening much more after sporting my trendy premiere ensemble instead of the conservative, ladies luncheon outfit I had packed. And given that the more you pay for clothing, the smaller your size, I was more than happy to part with the cash.

As much as we wished the weekend would go on and on, we did miss our boys. We got home Monday night after they had gone to sleep. In the morning, Asher joined us in bed and said, “I’m so excited it’s Tuesday!” So were we.

Girls raising boys

I hate the word fart. It’s juvenile and crass and it sounds horrible. We were visiting friends when Asher had a little wind. “Asher, did you fart?” asked our friend. “He doesn’t know that word,” I said. Gabriella said, “He has wind. Or he toots.” “He TOOTS?!? He’s going to grow up, go to school and say TOOT? You can’t be serious! He’ll get beaten up for sure.” “Of course he won’t grow up saying TOOT just like he’ll eventually stop referring to trains as choo-choos.” But in the back of my mind I’m thinking that there are some things that 2 women need to consider that many inter-gendered parents don’t. Let’s face it, girls tend to inject more of the etiquette into child rearing. Two girls are less likely to introduce or encourage passing wind audibly let alone referring to it as farting. I realize I’m making huge generalizations about girls, but when have you known me to not make huge generalizations? Write your own blog if you don’t like it.

Before we had children we discussed all the challenges two women would face. We knew it wouldn’t be easy but then again, when is it ever? We tried to anticipate some of the questions our kids would ask, and we tried to prepare answers to have at the ready. We contemplated some of the ignorant people and ugly situations they may meet in their lives and discussed how we would empower them with education, love and confidence. We’ll surround ourselves with a supportive community and hope for the best. But we didn’t talk about how we would refer to wind.

Then there’s the British/American debate. In the UK, wind is used more often than fart. In the UK, children wee. In the U.S., they pee. In the UK, a boy’s member is his willy. In the U.S., nicknames are out – penis all the way. Asher spent his first 2 ½ years of life in the UK, therefore he has a willy and he wees and very occasionally he has wind. Do we need to revisit these terms so that he is not ridiculed? Or will other kids teach him the necessary lingo? Will he be judged more harshly because two women are raising him to speak funny?

Our very good male friend who shall remain nameless confessed to us that when he is at other people’s homes, he sits down when he wees. He even sits in his own home out of respect to his wife. He explained that no matter how careful the boy, standing up is a messy operation. In order not to defile the toilet seats of friends, he sits. In public restrooms, he stands. Good for him, I say. It’s a habit we’d like to pass on to our boys. Until Asher can climb on to the toilet himself, he stands. Much to the horror of our friends, we even had Asher using a bit of toilet tissue after each session to take care of any residual drops. “I told my husband that Asher wipes after he wees,” said our dear friend during a phone call the other day. “He says you can’t do that anymore!” “But if there’s left over wee, he should wipe it away,” I say. “Why should we put up with dribble and underwear stains?” Her husband is yelling in the background, “You can’t do that to him!! Shake-don’t wipe!” So we caved. Even though it would be more hygienic for everyone to wipe away any excess just as we girls do, we’re going to go with the flow so that life is that much easier for our boys.

We do appreciate the men in our lives who are great advisers and role models. We are counting on them to show our boys a world that we can not even if that means a world of belching, farting and arm pit noises. Actually, I am very good at making arm pit noises, but I think I’ll leave that out of my motherly instruction. So bring it on, gentlemen.

But I still hate the word fart.