Ordinary Moments from the Weekend:

Mommy, let’s sing a song!

Ok honey. What song do you want to sing?

Let’s sing the “ba-da-ba-da” song.

I don’t know that song.

MOMMY!!!!! You know the ba-da-ba-da song!

No honey, I don’t. Is that a song you sing with Beatriz?

NO MOMMY. You KNOW that ba-da-ba-da song.

Liana, I don’t think I know that song. Why don’t you sing it for me.

She looks at me with that “why are you being so dumb” look that will taunt me during her teenager years… a preview of what is to come. And she starts to sing.

Ba-da-ba-da world so high, like a diamond in the sky…..

…………………………………………………

An ordinary moment. An idyllic mommyhood moment. I’m making a big pot of lentil soup. I’m chopping up onions and garlic and tomatoes and mushrooms and cilantro. I’ve got Liana set up a few feet away at the kitchen table, working with bright blue play doe. Youtube is playing mommy-music for a change… Franklin’s Tower and a 9-minute version of Scarlet Begonias. We are both singing as we work on our various projects. Then the play doe gets dull, and she comes over to see what I am doing with all those interestingly-colored veggies on the counter. She asks to be lifted up, and I lift her up to see. She looks, and I put her back down and continue chopping. She asks to be lifted again, and I stop chopping, lift her again, and then put her down to continue chopping. She is not pleased. She wants to watch me chop. I explain that I can’t hold her and chop at the same time. She walks out of the kitchen with determination. A moment later I hear her dragging something. It is her step-stool from the bathroom. She drags it all the way to the kitchen, and places it next to me. Then she steps up on it, and watches me chop. Now is she a great little problem solver, or what?

On the topic of monsters and dinosaurs and things that go bump in the night…..

Liana and Carol and I went out to brunch a couple of weeks ago. The plan was for her to pick my brain about social models in utopian fiction, since she knows that it is my favorite literary genre and she had decided to try her hand at some fiction writing. The plan was a brunch discussion, followed by a trip to the book store in which I would introduce her to the work of Kim Stanely Robinson and she would introduce me to the work of Octavia Butler and her ladyship would get some books about… well… ladybugs and whatnot.

But during brunch, neither Carol nor I managed to finish more than one consecutive sentence. Liana DOMINATED the brunch conversation with long, detailed and entertaining monologues about monsters and dinosaurs.

The go ROOAARRRR. The have the big eyes…two eyes. The nose, the ears, the mouth, the teeth. (pointing to each body part in an animated manner) One, two, three, four, five teeth. The have the claws and go ROOOAARRRR. The dinosaur no eat the apple. The crocodile at the apple. He go chomp chomp chomp. Then the go ROOOAAARRRR. The say yummy. He bite it. The teeth. BIG teeth. The go ROOOAARRRR.

And on. And on. For nearly an hour and a half, Liana monologued about monsters and dinosaurs and other scary things.

Kind of anti-utopian fiction, I guess.

Some day, on one of those rare occasions that Liana is actually asleep, perhaps I will read Carol’s work. In terms of discussing it…. Ummmmm…. That does not seem like something we are going to do now.

“No be afraid Mommy. You stay here. I look for dinosaurs.”

“Ok Liana. I’m not afraid.”

“Ok Mommy. Stay here.”

“Ok.”

So I stay under the blanket “tent” while Liana goes off by herself to explore the deepest darkest depths of the bedroom to find out if there are any dinosaurs lurking in shadowed corners.

She returns, pats my arm, and says “No be afraid Mommy. There no dinosaurs.”

“Oh good. Then I’m not afraid. Thank you Liana”

“You welcome mommy. Want to sing a song?”

I’ve been doing some reading about three year olds and monster fears. Liana will be two and a half in a couple of weeks, but being the advanced child that she is, she seems to have developed this fear early. Or perhaps her strong verbal skills are just helping her articulate them. I don’t know. The books and articles say not to try and be logical, not to belittle the fears, but to just reassure the child. Liana likes to be in control, and so she has decided that reassuring me will help the situation. So I play along.

Thought I'd share some of the cute things that Liana says.

Holding a blanket that she is about to put over her head. “I hide, you say BOO, ok?”

Arriving at daycare Monday morning, Liana’s 3 year old buddy Layla is arriving at the same time. Liana turns to greet her, and says “Hi Layla. How are you? How was your good day the mommy time?” I guess she was asking about her weekend.

She’s working on a project on the coffee table in the living room. She decides she needs to get something from her bedroom, and starts running to her room. As she passes the cat, who is seated on chair, she slows down, turns to him, and says “I’ll be right back Sage!”

Remember the opening line of One Hundred Years of Solitude/ Cien Anos de Soledad by Gabriel Garcia Marquez?

"Muchos anos despues, frente al peloton de fusilamiento, el coronel Aureliano Buendia habia de recordar aquella tarde remota en que su padre lo llevo a conocer el hielo."

"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, General Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice."

I’ve been thinking about that quote a lot in the past few days. Since Thursday. When Liana discovered the ice.

The ice was not on display by traveling gypsies. It was discovered in the form of an icicle hanging from a tree en route home from day care. But the resulting obsession seems no less profound.

Actually, there were a series of icicles. The ice cubes came later. The first icicle was so small that it melted in Liana’s hand before we entered the lobby. She thought that she had lost it, and insisted that we go back and get another. I explained that it had melted, and that we were going to watch the larger icicle melt as well. We ran into a neighbor, and Liana proudly announced that she had a “bicycle” and that we were going to watch it melt. I told Liana that we were going to watch it melt, and that it would get smaller and smaller and that it would disappear and turn into water. But she was not prepared for it to really disappear.

After the second icicle melted, she wanted to go back outside and get another. I was kind of not in the mood to put on hats and gloves and boots and coats and head back out into the cold in search of an icicle, so in a moment of brilliance, I produced an ice cube from the freezer. We watched that melt. And then Liana wanted another. And another.

She woke up on Friday morning, and the first thing she wanted was a “bicycle.” I told her that we would look for icicles later, and asked if she wanted an ice cube instead. She nodded enthusiastically. When we got to daycare, she told Beatriz all about “bicycles” melting, and apparently insisted on tending to at least one ice cube over the course of the day.

As I write, it is Sunday morning, and we are on our third ice cube so far. It’s melting! It’s melting! It’s turning into water! Mommy!!!! Look!!!!

Who knew?

Warning! Spoiler Ahead

If you have not read the book, don't worry about the firing squad. It turns out ok...but not for many many many pages.

Liana’s evolving syntax is a constant source of entertainment and amazement for me. As someone who has spent decades helping adults acquire foreign languages, I am really in awe of Liana’s language acquisition.

For example, the word “just” entered Liana’s vocabulary a couple of weeks ago. Just is a word that ESOL teachers don’t even worry too much about incorporating into a student’s active vocabulary. But Liana is suddenly using “just” and seems to understand all of its nuances.

JUST: A Tool for Persuasion

“Just one more cookie mommy?”

JUST: A Tool for Civil Disobedience.

“Come on Liana. Let’s put on our coats. It’s time to go.”

“I just sit here play my puzzle.”

“Liana!!! We have to go! Let’s put on our coats.”

“Mommy, I just sit here, ok?”

JUST: An Indicator of Sub-par

We are walking down our hallway, and we hear a door opening. Sometimes, Jonny is on the other side of the door. Liana LOVES Jonny.

The door opens. And Liana says:

“Oh. It just Olga.”

The nuance was not lost on Olga, who knows that Liana was hoping to see Jonny.

Liana is standing on her footstool in front of the sink, getting ready to brush her teeth. For some reason, she looks at the faucet from a different angel than usual, and sees her blurred refection.

Mommy!!!!!!! A picture of ME!!!!

Yes Liana. That is your reflection.

No flecter. Picture of ME!!!!!

The very next day she found another “Picture of ME!!!!” on the metal trash can in front of the elevator.

Liana’s pictures grace not only the refrigerator, mommy’s computer screen, and her very own picture books, but her images are also scattered throughout the world, appearing randomly on faucets and trashcans and nighttime windows.

Is she truly the center of the universe? It seems that the evidence is clear.

The other night Liana was watching Miss Spider on TV. It was a flashback episode to the time that Miss Spider first laid her eggs and was waiting for her first babies to hatch. Liana was watching the episode intently, trying to follow the plot. At a certain point she furrowed her brow, turned to me and declared:

“Eggs for eating. Not for babies.”

Oh my. BIG question for so late in the evening.

My head started spinning as I tried to figure out a way to approach the enormously important issues of life and birth. As she waited for my response, my confirmation of the fact that eggs are in fact for eating and have nothing to do with babies, I sorted through my huge internal database of information on the subject, struggling for the simplest way to explain LIFE. Finally, some words came out of my mouth.

“Liana. Some kinds of babies grow in eggs, and some kinds of babies grow in women’s tummies. People and other animals grow in tummies, and birds and insects grow in eggs. But the eggs we eat are for eating, not for growing babies.”

I considered moving on to discuss fertilization of eggs, and the fact that women have eggs in our bodies and that they are similar to eggs that are not inside of animals bodies… but before I could go on, she humored me, as she often does when I give absurd explanations, and responded by simply saying

“Yup.”

And then she turned back to the TV.

Not sure I handled that as well as I would have liked. She’s a bright kid. And she is keeping me on my toes, with increasingly insightful questions about the world around her.

We have so many adventures of discovery ahead…..

Hope I'm up for it!!!

“My turn read Hop on Pop.”

“Ok honey. Your turn to read “Hop on Pop.”

She opens the book, and turns to a page. She stares intently at the words, and runs her fingers along them. Mimicking me, mimicking the older kids at daycare, she points deliberately at each word.

“House. Mouse.”

She moves to the opposite page. Again, pointing to the words, not the pictures, she says

“Mouse. House.”

She turns the page.

“All tall.”

The opposite page…

“All little.”

I giggle to myself. How interesting. She is focusing on content, “little” rather than remembering the rhyme, which should read “all small.”

She turns the page again.

She frowns. Furrows her eyebrows. Stares intently at the page. Touches the words. Finally, she turns to me, and declares, with both surprise and frustration,

“Mommy. I no can read!”

Awwww.

“No honey. But you can pretend to read. You are still learning the alphabet. But when you get bigger, you will be able to read.”

Everything associated with bedtime continues to be a nightmare. Even the mere declaration that bedtime has arrived brings on the possibility that my sweet little angel-girl will turn into the exorcist-child, writhing and screaming with a strength and volume that seems impossible for such a little tyke. Sometimes the breakdown happens when the lights go out after we’ve read our books. Other nights she falls asleep without incident, but then wakes up screaming… sometimes from nightmares, sometimes night terrors… and other times just because I have snuck out of the bedroom.

There are safe moments in the bedtime ritual. We get into bed, drink water, arrange the stuffed animals, and prepare to read our books. But for the past couple of weeks, this stretch of the process has been wrought by fear of “ghosts.” As Liana arranged her stuff animals on the bed, she would exclaim that she saw a ghost, and that she was afraid of ghosts. But she didn’t cry or scream, so I just pushed through, insisting that ghosts were make-believe, or asking if it was a nice ghost, or whatever.

Last week, she saw a ghost and jumped on top of me and clung tight, chanting “afraid of ghosts, afraid of ghosts, afraid of ghosts.” So I asked if she could point out the ghost, and she pointed towards her pillow, saying that it was gone. But just as she pointed, she jumped and screamed “there the ghost!!!” I pointed towards the pillow, stating that I did not see the ghost, and as I extended my arm, she squealed again “There!!! There!!! There!!!”

And I saw it.

It was not, however, a ghost. It was the shadow of my arm, being cast on the pillow.

How could I have missed it? For weeks?

“Oh Liana… that is not a ghost! That is my shadow. See?” And I moved my arm to make the shadow move. Intrigued, but not completely convinced, she waved her own arm. When she realized that she had the power to make the image move, she was delighted. So we played with the shadows a bit, making funny shapes and rhythmic motions. She laughed, over and over again.

“Mommy! They just like us!!!”

What a bright little girl. “Yes Liana, that’s right. They are just like us.” The content of her observation… the syntax…. her giggles…. the joy that she felt as she exercised the power of control over the shadows, that were not longer scary… oh… all of it made me just gush with love.

The next day we went looking for shadows on the street. Shadows are fun.

And one, little nighttime problem has been resolved.

Well after a quiet Christmas day at home, we spent today running around being tourists in the city. I had actually planned to go see the Miro exhibit at the MoMA, but the weather was unusually warm, and it just seemed like a day to be outside. We went to see the trains at 51st St, the tree at Rockerfeller Center, and the merry-go-round at Bryant Park. We ran into outdoor sculpture exhibits, fought our way past camera-crazy tourists on 5th Ave, and just had lots of fun.

Liana is such a happy, easy-going kid. She didn't blink about the change in plans, and the only moment that she was a little upset was the end of the merry-go-round ride, because she didn't agree that it was time to get off. But we went and got back in line, and bought another ticket, and saved the day. Life is good.

Liana's first Christmas in NYC.

Liana’s first Christmas in NY. And mommyhood is good.

So. We’ve got a small tree. She LOVES her tree. She loves all Christmas trees, and gets excited when she sees one, but each time she says “My Christmas tree at home, mommy!” I’ve explained to her that we honor the evergreen on the longest nights of the year, when all of the other trees have lost their leaves, and cover the evergreen in light and color with the expectation that light and color will return to the earth. Don’t think she’s absorbed too much of my explanation, but she is a bright kid, and when she hears it again next year it will start to click.

I’m trying to keep everything as clear and honest as possible. I’ve told her that many many years ago, there was a very good man who gave gifts to people that he didn’t even know. He was called Santa Clause or Saint Nicholas. I’ve told her that in honor of his goodness, we give gifts to the people we love. And that many people dress up like Santa Clause, to remind us to be kind and generous.

She has no idea that when she wakes up tomorrow morning, her stocking is going to be full, and there will be gifts under her tree.

I am so not consumeristic. But I cannot even believe how excited it am.

Ok honey. It’s late. Let’s put on your socks.

Ok mommy.

Do you need help?

No. I do it myself.

Ok honey.

…..A few minutes later….I’m putting my coffee cup in the dishwasher…..

Mommy! Mommy! Sage eat the my cheese!!!

Ok honey. You’re right. Sage shouldn’t eat your cheese. Let’s clean up your plate and get ready to go. Liana? Where are your socks?

Liana? Time to put your socks on.

No. No want to.

Yes Liana. It’s time to put on your socks. It is late. We have to go.

Ok mommy.

Do you want help?

No. Do it myself.

Ok. Here they are. Sit down right here and put on your socks. Ok?

Ok mommy.

……A few minutes later, I’m in the bathroom…..

Mommy? I put on cream?

Not right now Liana. Where are your socks?

The don’t know.

Liana!!!! You need to put on your socks.

But mommy. The need help.

You need help?

Yes please.

Ok. I’ll help you put on your socks.

Ok mommy. First mommy go pee pee in the toilet, then I put on my socks.

Ok.

…..A few minutes later…..

Here honey. Let me help you put on your socks.

NO!!!!! I do it MYSELF!!!

We’re getting better at eating veggies. She has really liked broccoli for a long time. Asparagus is starting to meet her approval… as is zucchini. And she likes the flavor of garlic. If I put fresh garlic in couscous or barley or rice, she likes that. Glad she likes garlic! I can stick tofu in just about anything, and she eats it. She LOVES fruit, and eats it in enormous quantities. I am hoping that the fruits make up for the lack of veggies.

Salads? My daycare provider says that she eats salads at daycare, but I don’t seem to have any luck with them at home. I used to eat a big salad about every other night. I’m not talking about lettuce tomato and cucumber salads. I’m talking about grilled Portobello mushrooms over baby greens with warm feta cheese and walnuts. I’m talking about an overnight marinate with a dozen different cubed veggies, served over crisp watercress and cilantro. I’m talking about those summer days in which you find the PERFECT tomato, and you cube it and toss it with fresh basil, a little cubed mozzarella, and lots of olive oil and black pepper. Or tabuli, marinated overnight with lots of lemon juice and tomatoes and mushrooms and cucumbers and scallions and zucchini and whatever else is sitting around in the fridge, and served over chopped fresh herbs. It has been months since I made myself one of those salads.

I try to make things that we both like. Which means we eat LOTS of pasta. We both love pasta. So we eat too much pasta.

But the one food she loves more than anything in the world?

Black beans.

She could eat them every day. I really used to like black beans. At this point I am so sick of them, that if I never see another black bean it would be too soon. Not pinto beans. Not kidney beans. NEVER lentils. I love lentils. She finds them offensive.

Black beans.

Black beans.

Black beans.

We put on her pretty holiday dress, black tights, red socks, and dress shoes that were just a little bit too big. She looked at herself in the mirror and said “Mommy? I look like the big princess?”

“Yes you do honey. The big princess.”

“The no be shy mommy. The see mommy’s friends.”

“That’s right honey. We are going to see mommy’s friends. You don’t have to be shy. But it’s ok if you feel a little shy.”

“Ok mommy.”

“Eat cupcakes mommy?”

Uggg. We don’t eat much in terms of junk food. But we ate cupcakes at last week’s party, and now she thinks that’s what we do at parties. Somehow, I suspect that the Asian Fusion place hosting my agency’s holiday party is unlikely to serve cupcakes with pink frosting.

She did get shy when we walked in the door. Then she warmed up a bit. So many people who wanted to say hello. It is overwhelming. Then Rachid arrived, and she absolutely STALKED him. If he left her sight, she demanded that we look for him. He wanted to have a warm reunion with his former staff and colleagues. She wanted him to hold her and play.

I did get some nice photos of her dancing with my boss Mary. And we strutted around the large restaurant over and over again. She loved going for walks. And she really liked watching people dance. She ate a little… not too much. And did not even ask for cupcakes once we got there. We stayed really late. 8:30!!!!! Just as I realized it was getting to be about time to go, she threw herself on the floor, in that pre-tantrum civil disobedience mode. Dennis grabbed her stroller and rolled it through the crowds, and I got her in and tossed her sippy cup and stuffed sheep into her hands while I collected stuff, and off we went.

“Have fun at the party, mommy. See the mommy’s friends.”

“That’s right honey. We had fun at the party. We saw mommy’s friends. We danced. We ate food. And you were such a good girl!”

“Yup.”

She puts her index finger to her pursed lips. She furrows her brow. She looks off into some indefinite point in space, and says “Hmmmmmm……”

She pauses. Contemplates. Clearly she is considering a complex question of considerable importance. Then, brow still furrowed, gaze still steady, she puts the question into words.

“Which book should we read next?”

No. This isn’t some pompus grad student attempting to appear profound. This is my two year old daughter.

Where on earth did all of that come from? The gestures? The intonation? Well, it had to have come from me. Not that I am even familiar with myself using those gestures. But I must.

She actually looked just like my dad, not my image of myself. My sweet, gentle, contemplative father died several years before she was born. But I guess his gestures and intonation live on in me.

And in her.

I’m a positive-reinforcement kind of mom. I believe in modeling good behavior, giving lots of praise, and removing temptations and dangers that might necessitate lots of “no’s.” And Liana has always been a pretty agreeable kind of kid, so my natural style worked pretty well with her from the time she was a baby. I remember at 13 months old, when she would do those little baby slaps when a kid would touch a toy she was playing with, I would take her hand and rub it gently on her intended victim and say “suave, suave,” and she would rub the kid gently and I would praise her. When I was preparing my home for her arrival, I did careful baby-proofing, so that she could safely have the run of the place to explore. When she got a little older, and would get that tragic look on her face and raise her arms to be held and start whining, I would say “No reason to whine! You want a hug? Say ‘big hug!!!’” And “big hug” was one of her first phrases. When she started with the “no’s,” I taught her to say “no thank you.”

And then the 2.x age emerged.

And the number of things that I have to say “NO” about in a given day has increased exponentially.

Of course, there are the safety issues. And as she has gotten so much bigger, my initial baby-proofing has become obsolete. And her increasing dexterity has brought forth a whole new set of temptations. Safety issues are firm “No’s!”

But I never imagined how many non-safety things I would find myself saying “No!” to.

“No! You don’t take the top off your sippy cup and pour the juice on your shirt! You drink your juice, you don’t pour your juice out!”

“No! You don’t take the toilet paper off the roll and toss the entire roll in the toilet!”

“No! You don’t take your soup bowl and pour the soup over your head! Soup is for eating, not for pouring on your head!” (She didn’t do this as a baby! Why is she doing it now?)

“No! You don’t draw with your crayons on the wall. On the coffee table. On the bookshelves. On the TV screen. Paper only. We only draw with crayons on paper. Here, draw on the paper. Good girl!”

“No! You don’t put pasta in the cat’s food dish. He has cat food. He doesn’t want to eat your macaroni and cheese. It is nice to share, but it will make his tummy sick”

“No! You don’t throw mommy’s phone on the floor. You’ll break it, and then mommy won’t have a phone.”

“No! You don’t press the buttons on mommy’s dishwasher.”

“No! You don’t put your dollhouse furniture in mommy’s coffee cup.”

And so on. And so on.

Don’t get me wrong. She’s a good kid. An easy going kid. Most of the time. But she is driven by curiosity and experimentation… and it is that very curiosity and experimentation that leads to so many things to say no about.

My neighbor across the hall came over last week because I wanted to show her something on the computer. Liana, Antonia and I were sitting in front of the computer, and Liana looked at Antonia and said

“Antonia? You drink tea coffee?”

My daughter is offering refreshments to visitors? At two years old, she is a better hostess than I am? She has often seen me make a cup of tea for Antonia, but this was a short visit.

The other new thing is kissing boo boos. Not only that she wants to someone to kiss her boo boos. But she wants to kiss other people’s boo boos. Last night we were in the hallway, and Antonia’s door closed a little fast, and she caught her hand. Not hard. But she said “ouch.” Liana looked at me very seriously and said “Antonia hurt the hand. Get a boo boo. Need kiss?”

Absolutely honey. Go ahead and kiss the boo boo.

Liana is very interested in bras. I know that this is an odd blog topic. But bear with me. There are two good Liana stories tucked in here. I promise.

When she and I go shopping, Liana likes to sit in her stroller and hold stuff. Diapers, crackers, whatever it is that I am buying. So when I was bra-shopping, it seemed perfectly normal to give her a bra to hold while I was looking for a second one in my size. I heard the salesclerk gasp, and I looked down, and she had proudly slipped her arms into the bra, and there she was… my two year old. Sporting a bra on the outside of her jacket. “The MY bra,” mommy, she proclaimed.

******************************************

Now I’m not the world’s best housekeeper. And last night when I got home from work, I slipped my bra off and tossed it on a chair. A few hours later, I was at the computer, the bra was still on the chair, and the cat was happily sitting on top of it. Liana was not pleased. She called me over, to show me that Sage was sitting on my bra. I told her it was ok. But she would have none of it. She pulled a bit on a strap, but she didn’t have a good angle, and he sat there, defiantly challenging her to do something about it.

“MOMMMMMY!!!!”

“Yes Liana?”

“Sage sit the mommy bra!!!” wagging her finger for emphasis.

“That’s ok honey.”

We went back and forth a few times, and I thought that she had given up. She wandered off to the kitchen, which usually means she is rearranging the alphabet refrigerator magnets holding up her artwork. I returned to the computer.

A minute later she came back out, and announced that Sage’s food dish was empty and that he needed food and agua. Ok. So I got up, and his dish was pretty low on dry food. I poured some more in his dish, and of course, the sound got him all excited and he dashed into the kitchen to inspect the quality of my work. As I was putting fresh water in the other dish, Liana came strutting into the kitchen triumphantly, with my bra in her hand.

“Sage no have the mommy bra now mommy.”

“Ummm. Thanks honey. Will you put that in the dirty laundry for mommy please?”

“Ok mommy!”

Now does this kid have exceptional problem solving skills, or what?