I was nursing William on the couch a few days ago, and when I looked down, this is what I saw:
Hmm. Methinks our boy is growing bigger. At least, his toes are. I’m a bit sorry to retire this suit — I remember Jeffrey wearing it, and it’s rather snuggly. Even with the added bonus of easy toe access, it’s not worth keeping anymore. Sigh.
Last Sunday, Jeffrey and William spent a long time playing together on the living room floor. I had to get a shot of them together:
Let me tell you, Jeffrey is WONDERFUL with his baby brother when he’s in the mood. He had set a variety of toys out for William to play with, and spent about twenty minutes playing peek-a-boo and singing songs. Jeffrey even dragged out his big Star Wars book from the library and spent time “reading” it to Wimmy, who was busy chewing on his own wooden baby-book.
“Look, Mom!” Jeffrey called. “William and I both love books!”
Oh, happiness!
Later, Brian jumped down for another sweet photo op. Eleanor was napping during all this, in case you’re wondering:
Last Sunday evening, we were on the way home from a friend’s house, and Eleanor saw something outside her window.
“Look! It’s the moon!”
It was just barely recognizable as the moon, in my opinion — a bright, thin eyelash of a moon, tipped directly upwards towards the sky. The dark side of the moon could be seen clearly above it, a circle of not-quite sky, the color of a faded black T-shirt. It gave me chills.
“Mama, I’m going to fly up to the moon,” said Eleanor seriously, still gazing out the window.
“Oh, on a rocketship?” I asked.
“No,” she said firmly. Eleanor is particular about her fantasies. “With my wings.”
“Will you take a walk on the moon when you get there?” Eleanor was puzzled by this question.
“No, I will fly up there with my wings and grab the moon with my two hands,” she explained.
Oh, now I understood — and I was delighted. I couldn’t help but think of the princess in James Thurber’s Many Moons, who insists that the moon is the size of her thumb, is made of gold, and can be worn on a chain around her neck.
On our car ride, Jeffrey and Eleanor continued to chat animatedly about the moon, and said “Goodbye, Moon!” or “There it is again!” as the moon dipped in and out of our view. I was thrilled again, remembering doing just that when I was a child.
As a parent, there are so many happy things I’ve remembered from my own childhood that I’ve gone out of my way to pass on to my kids — the fingerpainting, the digging up of treasured picture books, the carefully preserved Halloween costumes my mother made for me — that I sometimes forget that some of them, like DNA, will be passed down quietly to them, as a matter of course. As gently and quietly as moonlight streaming through a water-streaked window.
If you haven’t read this one, go directly to your library and find it. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200.
Many Moons by James Thurber, illus. Louis Slobodkin. Princess Leonore is ill, and says she won’t get better unless she can have the moon. Her father the king is in a dither: each of his blustery assistants, including the Astronomer, the Mathematician, and the Magician, insist that the moon is too large and heavy for this to be possible, and recommend a series of solutions, each more comically outlandish than the last. Only the court jester, who spends time listening to Princess Leonore’s own theories about the moon, can save the day. This is a big-time classic — renowned author, Caldecott-winning illustrations — and on my personal list of Books That Must Be Read By Age 13. BUT — and this is a big but — it’s long, so save it for reading aloud (it must be read aloud) until your kid is six or seven. Or relish it all on your own.
A few weeks ago I checked out Ty Burr’s new film guide, The Best Old Movies for Families. Burr, a film critic for the Boston Globe, is clearly a man after my own heart: this book is all about getting kids to enjoy films from the early ’60s and before. I LOVE the vintage-y vintage, and our Netflix queue is now clogged up with things like Bringing Up Baby and Easter Parade and The Adventures of Robin Hood.
So far, we’ve had great success with Singin’ in the Rain. It took us a couple of days to watch it, and at first the kids were kind of puzzled by the whole thing, but by the time we got to the “Broadway Melody” sequence at the end, Jeffrey and Eleanor were dancing around the room, trying to imitate Gene Kelly and Cyd Cherisse step-by-step. (Really — Eleanor wouldn’t just wiggle her hips to the music, but she would earnestly attempt to mimic the style of dance she was seeing, whether it was tap, ballet, or
jazzy-jazz-hands-ness.) When Kelly picks up Cherisse and spins her around, Jeffrey tried to do the same with Eleanor. Unfortunately, he kept grabbing her around the neck and shoulders, so it didn’t quite work out.
Eleanor also really liked the “Beautiful Girl” song, where different models show of fashions of the ’20s. She’d pose in front of the television, her blankie artfully draped around her body in imitation of flapper chic. Fabulous.
Meet Me in St. Louis has gotten mixed results — the kids were scared of the Halloween sequence, although they love the “Bamboo Tree” song, and Eleanor has been holding a cup up to her ear in imitation of the 1903-style telephone sequence. As for Laurel & Hardy’s The Music Box, Jeffrey thought it was hee-lar-i-ous, but Eleanor didn’t get it. I just love the pompous professor, a classic comedy stock character if ever there was one.
The only fly in the ointment so far is that Netflix doesn’t carry any Busby Berkeley films.
!!!
I know! There was a big box set that came out last year, for pete’s sake. It’s exactly the kind of thing that Netflix was MADE for. So, we have to content ourselves with watching the dance routines on YouTube.
We all love “By a Waterfall” from Footlight Parade. Brian and I dropped our jaws to the floor the first time we watched it.
But the kids’ favorite has to be the Carmen Miranda “Lady in the Tutti-Frutti Hat” from The Gang’s All Here. And can you blame them? Anything that involves a banana xylophone has GOT to be good.
Yesterday Jeffrey had to have major dental work done — cavities filled, and two crowns on his molars.* He had to go under general anesthetic to get the work done, and he was majorly woozy and exhausted afterwards. On the way home, we told Jeffrey he could pick out any movie he wanted to watch that afternoon. Sleepily, Jeffrey wobbled his head up from the collar of his puffy winter coat.
“I want Singin’ in the Rain, Mommy,” he said softly. The boy couldn’t have made me happier.
*Yes, YES, we DO brush his teeth. Assiduously. And we said good-bye to juice a long time ago. Jeffrey has simply inherited the soft teeth gene from his dad. Let me just state for the record that Jeffrey was amazingly well-behaved for the procedure and didn’t fuss or cry a bit, even though he wasn’t allowed any breakfast that morning.
A few months ago, Brian and I began teaching the kids about “knock-knock” jokes. I figure that they, along with such other basic elements of comedy such as the horn nose and pie-in-the-face, would be easy for the kids to understand. Then they could make up their own jokes.
Yes, I knew it was a dark path to go down. Because most little kids don’t quite understand what it is that makes a joke funny — the wordplay. For them, a knock knock joke consists of some back-and-forth dialogue, and then some random statement, and then you laugh.
But I say, knowing when to laugh at the end of a joke is an important social skill. In about a decade I’ll get them into Advanced Joke Theory, which includes the false smile and the courtesy laugh.
For now, though, Eleanor tells ONE joke and ONE joke only. Spoken in a single breath, it goes thusly:
“Knock knock, who’s there? It’s a bunny rabbit stuck in the joke-joke tree!”
Yes! Original, indeed! Can you tell that she made it up herself? I can’t quite capture the timing of the thing in print, but the delivery is more like “It’s a BUNNY rabbit stuck in the JOKE JOKE TREEEEEE!”
She repeats this at least once every other day or so. You’d think I’d get annoyed, but it’s become such a running gag, and she says it with such relish, that I can’t help laughing at it. Plus, who can’t find the charm in the idea of a “joke-joke tree”? It’s something cultivated in a Humor Garden, I suppose.
My parents tell me that the joke I told repeatedly as a three year old went along the lines of “A squirrel went up into the tree! And said, Ha ha ha ha!” If anything, I hope this proves that a sense of humor is something that can improve with each succeeding generation. Just watch out for that bunny rabbit.
Today I taught Jeffrey the concept of letter-writing. Or, that is, the concept of e-mailing.
Given a list of possible people to e-mail, Jeffrey chose his friend Liesl. Here’s what he wrote (I did the typing):
Dear Liesl,
George Washington died, and he’s dead. Are you playing with a Spider Man mask? I will be a Lego builder when I grow up. And a guy who throws a pie. Why didn’t you play lightsaber fighting on a warm sunny day? If you play with a lightsaber, tell me. I love Vikings. I saw a big wedding cake, and someone fell down on it. I’m making a story and I hope it turns out well. I wish you a happy birthday!
Your friend,
Jeffrey.
Okay, here’s my interpretation — for this e-mail, I prompted Jeffrey to both think of questions to ask Liesl, and to tell about the things he was doing. The references to Spider Man, George Washington, and Star Wars are obviously inspired by his current fantasy play obsessions. Building with Legos is also a favorite pastime. As for the “guy who throws a pie” and the person who fell on a “wedding cake,” I’m guessing these are references to the big pie-fight scene in The Great Race. But I’m only guessing — we haven’t watched that movie in months. And who can resist ending a letter with good birthday wishes?
So, you see, the thoughts of Jeffrey aren’t as random and bizarre as you’d think. There’s an explanation for everything!
Um, except for the Vikings. No idea where that came from.
Probably the best book that involves letter-writing would have to be:
Click-Clack Moo: Cows That Type by Doreen Cronin, illus. Betsy Lewin. The cows are on strike! The chickens, too! There will be no milk or eggs for Farmer Brown unless they come to an agreement, which is met via a series of typewritten notes. This book not only has an appealing premise (what chore-despising kid doesn’t dream of going on strike?) but has a smorgasboard of early-literacy goodies: fun repetitive catchphrases, little notes to read, examples of characters reading and writing . . . good stuff.
William’s latest quirk is to rapidly flick both of his wrists whenever he’s . . . well, experiencing some kind of emotion. He’ll hold up both hands and just flick flick flick, as if he’s conducting some invisible hyperactive orchestra. People keep asking me if he’s learned how to wave “hello.” Um, no. . . although it is tempting to fib and let on that he’s preternaturally brilliant. But this is how it usually works:
William’s upset about being set down in his crib! flick flick flick
William is in his highchair, and Mommy is bringing out the mashed bananas! flick flick flick
William sees his favorite bead-bear toy being held a few inches in front of his face! flick flick flick . . . and then grab
It isn’t an indication of pleasure or pain, it’s just . . . like the wrist equivalent of seeing gears turning in his head. Like he’s experiencing so much emotion or thought at once, he has to burn off the excess via his wrists.
Jeffrey is continually under the impression that I’m pregnant.
I mean, can you blame him? During the five years of his life, I’ve been pregnant for 1 1/2 of them. That’s, like, a third of his life. That’s like me knowing someone who was continually pregnant for TEN YEARS.
He keeps saying thing like this:
“Mom, when is the baby brother in your tummy going to come out?”
Or, during prayers:
“Please bless my toys and Eleanor and my next baby brother that’s coming,”
Or, during playtime:
“I’m going for a ride in a boat. Just me, William, and my next baby brother.”
What baby brother was that?
“The one in your tummy, Mom.”
He wasn’t all that fazed when we explained that Mommy’s tummy was, alas, unoccupied. Then we gave him a hypothetical choice.
“Which would you rather have, Jeffrey,” Brian asked. “A new baby brother, or a boat?”
Oh, he answered immedately.
“A boat. A big one.”
Regarding new siblings:
My Baby Brother Has Ten Tiny Toes by Laura Leuck, illustrated by Clara Vulliamy. So many “new baby” stories choose the “jealous older sibling dislikes baby” plotline that this book is positively refreshing. Here we have Big Sister proudly boasting about all the things she loves about her baby brother, from banging spoons to backyard tea parties to the twirly ring mobile above his bed. Really, though, anybody would fall in love with a baby as depicted in Vuilliamy’s watercolors. Twinkly blue eyes! Chubby pink cheeks! Darling curly moppety hair! Mmmmm, now who’s baby hungry?*
(*Oh, so not me. Hah.)
On the way home from Valley Forge, we decided to stop in Hershey and do the free tour of the chocolate factory.
Well . . . you don’t tour the actual factory. You go on a ride that shows you simulated factory scenes. And singing animatronic cows.
To tell the truth, I went on this same tour back in the mid-90s, and it was vastly different then. More like a chocolate-based “It’s a Small World” ride. I prefer the cows.
But the fun thing this time was watching Jeff & Ella’s reaction to the ride. They didn’t quite understand what was going on, until our little cable car turned a corner and revealed rows of conveyor belts towing wrapped candy bars along. Then. . .
. . . well, it was like they had had some immense epiphany. They smiled and cheered rapturously, and burst into spontaneous applause. “So that’s what this is all about! To make CANDY!”
At the end of the ride, we told Jeffrey he could pick out one piece of candy from the gift shop for the ride home. He said he’d rather just go on the ride again. So we went again . . . and then again. After which, I was ready to kill the cows. But there was applause every time.
President’s Day was a while ago, but here’s what we did to celebrate:
In order to keep up with Jeffrey’s ongoing interest with George Washington, we went to Valley Forge. The park holds a birthday party for George every year, complete with historic reenactors, a capella singers, and a cake made from Martha Washington’s recipe. (Which I obtained a copy of, and which starts with 40 eggs and 5 pounds of butter and moves on from there. People must have had high demands of cake in Ye Dayes of Yore.)
The best part, however, is that Jeffrey and the other children there were all able to join the Continental Army for the afternoon. This activity is done at Valley Forge on the 1st Saturday of every month, and it appeared to be done in conjunction with the local Boy Scouting organization. Kids were divided into groups by age, and given toy muskets to do drills with.
Batallion leaders in period uniform taught the kids to march and shoulder their firelocks in the right way. They were accompanied by a long tail of picture-snapping parents.
When they reached the parade grounds, everybody “loaded” their muskets, attatched the “bayonets,” and then pointed them at an invisible enemy while screaming. HUZZAH!
Kids were told up front that if they pointed their gun at another person, or poked or hit someone, it would be taken away. Jeffrey took this very seriously.
After drilling, General Washington did an inspection of the troops . . .
Deliciously in character, he kept making comments like “I must speak with the quartermaster about the irregularities in uniform here” and “I’m a bit dismayed with the age of these new recruits.”
Kids who participate in this activity for 3 months get promoted to sergeant, and General Washington promotes them, and gives a little speech, and talks about “writing to Congress to ensure the proper payment of $12 per annum” or some such. And keep in mind that he wasn’t just George — he was George in 1777. The man was probably a little too into his job; later I saw him pigeonholing people and giving long talks about threshing methods at Mount Vernon.
On this trip, be read:
George Washington’s Teeth by Deborah Chandra, illus. Brock Cole. Probably the most accessible book about Washington for preschoolers. A series of rhymed verses recount the loss, one by one, of Washington’s teeth during the major events of his life. Brock Cole’s detailed comic illustrations are gorgeous as usual. Oh, and get this: he apparently never wore wooden teeth.
Casa Camisas 
