I Made This for You

Over the past few weeks, my son has begun to periodically bring me random objects and announce to me, “Mama, I make you this [X].” For example, he will hand me a plastic mixing spoon from the kitchen and tell me, “Mama, I make you this fork.” (He’s still a bit confused about the difference between a spoon and a fork. I’m scared to introduce him to the concept of a spork; he’ll never get it right after that.) This afternoon, my in-laws came over to celebrate my mother-in-law’s birthday, and when she walked in the door, my son proudly told her, “Bammy, I make you a cake!” (Her birthday cake was a gourmet cheesecake we’d bought at the store – although, in his defense, he had helped his big sister bake some cookies the night before.)

The point is, he understands that giving someone something that you made yourself makes it extra-special. On a few gift-giving occasions, my husband helped him to “sign” his name on a card he had either bought from the store or printed on his computer. But more recently, we’ve helped my son to make a whole card himself, by folding a piece of paper, drawing on it, and “writing” his name at the bottom. He recognizes that a card like that is special – more like another gift rather than merely a card.

For my birthday last year, my husband took my son to a “paint your own pottery” store and let him pick out a refrigerator magnet for me. My son got to pick out all the colors of paint (I understand that was quite a serious and painstaking process) and paint most of his chosen fish all by himself, in beautiful, even, sparkly stripes. Daddy added in a few details like eyes, but the vast majority of the project was done very, very carefully by my son. The magnet is in a place of honor on the refrigerator, way up high where he can’t accidentally knock it down and break it. (He was unhappy about its location until I explained that I’m pretty tall and where it is way up high is right in front of my face so I see it every time I go to the fridge.) And every once in a while when we’re both in the kitchen, he’ll point to it proudly and say, “Mama, it’s your present! I make that for you!”

It reminds me of all the gifts my sister and I gave my parents over the years. I remember helping to pick out Daddy’s birthday tie, but I remember the tie going into the closet while the handmade card sat on the mantelpiece in the living room for a month. In junior high, I made my mom a (hideous) cast aluminum spoonrest in metal shop, and it hung in a place of honor in the kitchen for years, while the Hallmark card got tossed a week later. I never understood why my parents adored stuff that I recognized was not the highest quality. But now that I’m a parent, I can see why a handmade gift is something so very special.

A gift says, “I was thinking of you.” A handmade gift says, “I want to do things for you.” But a handmade gift from one of your kids says, “I love you.”

It's a Pillow, It's a Pet - It's a Pillow Pet!

Ryan has always been very tactile – he’s fascinated by things that are scratchy, or smooth, or shiny, or fluffy. We have a very soft giraffe-print blanket that he loves to snuggle in and rub his face on. So it’s no surprise that he adored the two birthday presents he just got that are soft.

One is a stuffed beaver, which is not only soft but has the added advantage of a tail which doubles as a convenient carrying handle. And it’s just the right height so that when I set it on the table at the bottom of the stairs, it’s exactly at Ryan’s eye level when he marches past. Which means he generally comes to a screeching halt in front of it, stares in its eyes for a moment, then buries his face in its belly. And then marches on, only to do exactly the same thing on his next circle past. It’s good for cuddling in the playpen, too. It has chewable appendages. And it’s a good transportable size.

The second soft present he got is something I’m sure we’ve all seen on TV. Sing the jingle with me, everybody: “It’s a pillow…it’s a pet…it’s a Pillow Pet!” That’s right, Ryan got an official Pillow Puppy. In “Pet” form, he nuzzles it nose to nose and tries to tuck it under his arm like a football. But in “Pillow” form, he wrestles it like he’s in a Roman arena:

Not only does he nuzzle it with his face, he gives it the full-body nuzzle, he throws himself on it, he rolls over it and makes it roll over him. He immerses himself in it. He hugs it, bonks it, drools on it, sits on it, hugs it, and stares at it. (I haven’t decided yet if this means we’ll definitely have to get a dog when he’s older, or that we should under no circumstances get a dog when he’s older.)
 
But for now, he’s contented to roll around and wrestle with his Pillow Pet instead of a real pet. And considering that the bruises he accidentally causes when he rolls around and wrestles with me were beginning to get considerable (and painful), I’m happy to relinquish my Wrestlemania role to Puppy. Although whenever he needs a wrestling opponent who actually wrestles back, I suspect that Daddy (who carries noticeably more muscle and is considerably more bruise-resistant than Mummy) will still be happy to oblige. Which makes every one of us – THE WINNAAAAAAAAAH!!!!