Educational Food

Since my son tends to be a bit of a messy eater (he looks everywhere except his fork when he's eating), it's only very recently that I've introduced him to the joys of soup. I love to make soup, so his first couple of soup experiences were soups that I had made and tailored specifically toward his tastes (he loves corn, carrots, and rice). But when my husband picked up groceries the other week and brought home a can of alphabet soup, I knew it was time to introduce my son to Campbell's for the first time.

Because of his messy eating habits, when I do give him soup I go light on the broth and heavy on the other ingredients. So when I presented him with his bowl of alphabet soup, it was mostly a pile of chubby pasta letters with a few carrots, peas, and corn dotted here and there, with just a tiny puddle of liquid at the bottom. As is often his habit, my son barely glanced at what was in the bowl before absent-mindedly scooping some up while looking elsewhere. But when he peeked at the spoon before he shoveled it in his mouth, his eyes grew big. "Mama! Letters!" he said in astonishment. "Letters in my spoon!"

Being raised by an elementary school teacher, I find teaching opportunities in everything, especially things as obvious as alphabet soup. So naturally, I asked him what letters he saw in his bowl. Every letter he named, I told him something that started with that letter. He pointed out a "B"; I told him that "B is for ball." He found a "T"; I said, "T is for turtle." Then I started asking him to find a particular letter: "Is there an 'R' in your bowl? R is for Ryan! Can you find an 'M'? M is for Mama!"

I laughed at myself a bit for finding an educational opportunity in a bowl of soup. But then, it wasn't the first time I've used food as a teaching tool. We often count how many peas are on his plate, or how many pieces of cheese. I tell him that his peaches are a fruit and that they grow on a tree, and that his carrots are a vegetable and they grow in the ground, and that they both need water and sunshine and soil to grow. I tell him that candy is sweet and we only have it now and then as a treat, but we need to eat meat and vegetables and milk and bread every day to keep our bodies strong and healthy. We talk about how banana slices are circles and wedges of pineapple are triangles. We talk about apples being red and canteloupe being orange and grapes being green or purple.

In our house, food isn't just something you eat to give you energy or because it tastes good. It's something that can teach you colors and shapes and numbers and letters and agriculture and nutrition. Oh, and don't forget all those wonderful food vocabulary words: tasty, yummy, delicious, and scrumptious!

Boy Oh Boy Oh Boy!

My two-year-old son has discovered the difference between boys and girls. Well, he’s discovered that some people are boys and some people are girls, at least.

I’m not sure exactly what made this knowledge click in his head. Ever since he could talk – ever since he could walk, actually – his father has pointed out other children by saying, “Look at that little girl,” or “Do you see those boys?”, or encouraged him to say hi to other children by saying, “Go say ‘hi’ to that boy,” or “Go tell that girl your name.” And without fail, my son trots over like an obedient puppy and proclaims, “Hi, boy!” or “Hi, girl!”

When his baby sister was on the way, we explained to him that he was going to be a big brother, and that he would have either a little brother or a little sister very soon. When she was born, we informed him that he now had a big sister and a little sister. I think I may have even explained that girls are sisters and boys are brothers. And I tell him all the time that he needs to be careful of his baby sister because she’s just a little girl and he’s a big boy.

Every now and then, he proves how much he understands the concept by asking me to confirm who’s a boy and who’s a girl: “Mama, you’re a girl?” “Mama, Daddy is a boy?” “I’m a big boy? No, I’m a little boy!” And lately I’ve even been able to quiz him on a whole list of people he knows, asking who’s a boy and who’s a girl: “Is Pappy a boy or a girl? What about Uncle Steven? Auntie Susan? Pastor We? Is your friend William at church a boy or a girl? How about his sister?” He gets nearly all of them right, although occasionally is answer is phrased as, “She’s a boy” or “He’s a girl”. But at least the girl or boy part is right.

He had never really showed that he made any distinction between boys and girls. He’s as happy to play with a little girl as with another boy. He’s never shown any preference between boy relatives and girl relatives (his big sister can roughhouse with him as easily as any of his uncles). He’s never showed any confusion at seeing a boy doing something that he’s only seen girls do (like a commercial showing a dad having a tea party with dolls) or a girl doing something that he’s only seen boys do (like a video of a Powderpuff football game). But yesterday morning, as his father was changing his diaper, he protested, “No! I want Mama to do it!” and when asked why, he answered, “Because she’s a GIRL!”

I’m not quite sure of the logical connection there. His father jokes that I’m the “soother” and he’s the “enforcer,” so maybe my son associates “girl” with gentleness, and with hugs and kisses. Or maybe it’s the flip side, and he associates “boy” with roughhousing and discipline. I’m a bit apprehensive about the first time he asks a more specific question about the difference between boys and girls. It’s not as simple an answer as it once was. Back in pioneer times, the answer could have been that girls wash clothes and bake bread and take care of babies, and boys plow the soil and milk the cows and build houses. But today, boys wash clothes, bake bread, and take care of babies nearly as often as girls, and girls are just as capable of plowing, milking, and building as boys are. In my grandmother’s childhood, a valid answer would have been that girls wear dresses and boys wear pants. That explanation doesn’t work these days, either.

Maybe I can get away with, “Boys grow up to be men, like Daddy,” and “Girls grow up to be women, like Mama.” That should buy me a few more months to come up with a better explanation, anyway.

Excuuuuse Me!

As I have mentioned previously, I have worked very hard to teach my son manners and using polite words like “please” and “thank you.” I have taught him to say “please” when he asks for something and “thank you” when he receives it. I knew he’d taken those lessons to heart during his last doctor visit when the nurse struggled to draw his blood and when the ordeal was finally over and she gave him a bandaid, he tearfully told her, “Thank you.” I went on to teach him to say, "Excuse me" when he burps and "Bless you" when someone sneezes, and to say, "I'm sorry" when he bumps into someone or hurts anyone by accident, and when he's been disobedient.

The next round of manners lessons has been through formal family dinners in the dining room once a week. Although we try to eat together as a family as often as possible, more often than not we sit together on the playroom floor. And because of my husband’s varying work schedule, he sometimes gets home late so I feed my son an earlier dinner either alone or with me. But as good as my son is when we go out to restaurants, I wanted more opportunities to teach him proper table manners in a quieter, less distracting atmosphere. So every Thursday, we have a dinner lesson.

My son helps me set the dining room table with the fork on the left on top of the folded napkin and the cup behind the plate on the right (he gets a “big boy” cup instead of his usual spillproof sippy cup), and then Daddy lights the candles, lowers the lights, and turns on some soft music. We all begin by carefully placing our napkins in our laps, then we solemnly (and gently!) clink our glasses. We practice good table manners like chewing with our mouths closed, not talking with food in our mouths, eating small bites, not slurping our drinks, putting our forks on our plates between bites, and placing our cups on the far side of our plates.

Pleasant conversation is encouraged. My husband often asks my son about his day, or he’ll ask him to tell us a story. My son’s story usually involves a truck, or occasionally Goldilocks or the Big Bad Wolf (and a truck). When he finishes, he’ll often ask one or both of us to tell him a story. And of course, my husband and I use dinner time to tell each other about our days, as well. And of course, every time one of us is talking, my son wants to interrupt.

After the first few times he loudly interrupted our conversation, we had a discussion about how to politely get the attention of someone who’s talking. I told him to say, “Excuse me,” and then he would get his turn to talk in a moment. He understood the “excuse me” part right away, but the part about waiting for his turn was a bit more troublesome. What he usually says is, “Excuse me. [brief pause] Excuse me. Excuse me excuse me excusemeexcusemeexuseme EXCUSEMEEXCUSEMEEXUCUUUUUSEMEEEEEEEE!!!!” So last night I continued the lesson by explaining that after he says, “Excuse me,” he needs to wait patiently until Daddy or Mummy says, “Okay.” The next time he interrupted, he said “Excuse me!” and then looked expectantly at us with a playful smirk as if to say, “See how polite I am?” I was excited at how quickly he had caught on – until I took a split second too long to give him a turn to talk and he broke into his multiple “excuse me” patter again.

Oh well, it’s a start. And if he doesn’t quite have perfect manners yet, it’s my fault. So excuuuuuuuse me!

He Goes to Eleven

My son learned the difference between “soft” and “loud” at quite an early age. My husband and I taught him as a survival tactic for our eardrums.  

It was my fault, really. I’m pretty sure it all began when I taught him the concept of “echo”. The stairwell in our house has a great echo, so I taught him that if you called out the word “echo,” you got great reverb. He tried it, then he tried it louder, then he tried it yet louder. And then he discovered that if he shouted it loud enough, he could hit the correct frequency to make the remote control doorbell in the basement ring. Once he discovered that, his volume knob was permanently set to 11.

Very quickly I realized my mistake and attempted to teach him to whisper. Unfortunately, whispering is much less exciting than shouting to a two-year-old. So I tried to outsmart him. (Ha, fat chance.) I figured that if I taught him to contrast shouting and whispering, he wouldn’t need to shout so loud to get the same effect. So together we would shout the word “LOUD!” then whisper the word “soft” over and over. I tried to fool him by shouting a little softer each time but he didn’t fall for that. In fact, he soon discovered that this game was more fun the louder you shouted the word “LOUD.” (The volume of the word “soft” was basically irrelevant. And often as loud as the word “loud.”)

I tried another tack, trying to teach him that there are times when you need to be loud, like when you’re calling to someone who’s at the other end of the playground, and there are times when you need to be quiet, like at a restaurant. He does seem to have gotten the idea of being quiet out in public, for the most part. And he takes advantage of the lesson that his “outside voice” can be much louder than his “inside voice,” and screeches when he’s on the playground or shouts “echo” at the top of his lungs in the parking garage. But for some reason, when he’s playing at home, all those lessons go out the window and the volume knob goes right back to 11.

Lately, he has taken to pointing out to anyone in the room where he is, as if we had misplaced him in the half-second since he’d been looking one of us in the eye. “Mama, here I am!” he’ll shout from two feet away. “Dada, I’m over here!” from the other end of the couch. But the best is when he is actually touching you physically, whether leaning against your back, sitting in your lap, or his latest trick, leaning around you as you’re sitting on the floor or couch, literally touching his nose to yours, and shrieking, “Here I am! Do you see me?!!” No, in fact, I cannot see you, since my eyes cannot focus on an image three microns away from my retinas. But you can bet I can hear you, because

Someday, when my children are both grown and gone, and my house seems empty and quiet, I might miss the days of volume 11.

But probably not.

The Boom Boom Room

My son approached me very excitedly a few days ago and demanded, “Mama! Play ‘Boom Boom’ with me!” I had no idea what he was talking about, so I asked him to show me. He carefully backed up to the other side of the room, then ran at me at full speed, crashed into my legs, and announced, “Boom! Boom!” And then laughed maniacally. He immediately did it again, knocking me down. At that point, he knew I was at his mercy and he sailed through the air like a pro wrestler, aiming directly for my gut as I lay turtled on the floor. Luckily, I had just enough wits left about me to catch him, or at least to slow his descent towards my vital organs.

I often joke that we should have named him “Crash,” since he loves to crash into things – walls, doors, furniture, small children, large adults. Fortunately, he’s pretty tough and although he usually remarks, “ow!” after a crash, he rarely causes any actual damage. Well, he rarely causes damage to himself. Damage to other people, particularly other children, is a whole other story. The difficulty in teaching him not to hurt other people is that since he is so tough, he doesn’t understand how knocking someone over hurts them. He’s not hurt when he falls over, so how could they be? In fact, he thinks it’s fun and he just wants to share the fun by playing Boom Boom with the other kids.

I was vaguely mortified by his Boom Boom behavior at his gymnastics class yesterday. He (and the whole class) had behaved really well all through class, so at the end of the session the teacher let them play on the “tumble track,” which is like a long, narrow trampoline that the kids can run back and forth on. There were a couple of new students in the class for the first time, and they were both a bit young and fairly shy. My son is very social and loves to walk up to other kids and introduce himself: “Hi, boy. I’m Ryan!” So I was not surprised when he tried to play with the two new kids on the tumble track. The trouble came when he – without warning – plowed into a petite little new girl, knocking her down and making her cry. And to add to my embarrassment, her mother (who was right there and saw the whole thing) just happens to be my eye doctor. I immediately pulled him aside and scolded him, then made him apologize to her, which he actually did very politely and even a bit penitently. I think he was genuinely confused by her reaction. Boom Boom is a fun game! You’re not supposed to cry!

There are a lot of advantages to having a big, solid, tough kid. He doesn’t hurt himself easily. You can roughhouse with him without fear of hurting him (no comment on any fear of him hurting you). He can shoot hoops with a full-size basket. You can completely skip the Cozy Coupe, Big Wheel, and tricycle stages (he’s too tall to reach the pedals without chewing on his kneecaps) and go directly to a bike with training wheels. He can already use a full-size toilet. (Even standing up!) By the time he’s 10, I won’t need a stepstool to reach things on the top shelf, because he’ll be able to get them for me. And he’s got a pretty good chance at some kind of athletic scholarship someday, whether it be basketball, football, wrestling, hockey, rugby, or lacrosse.

But the disadvantage is his complete lack of awareness of how different he is from most other kids. He loves it when you beat on his head like a drum, so he wants to do the same to his baby sister (bad idea). He likes it when he sits in a chair and you sit on top of him and squish him, so he wants to do the same to other children (also a bad idea). And he loves running full tilt into anything and anyone who doesn’t jump out of his way (even worse idea).

So I’m trying to teach him that being big and strong is a wonderful thing, but when you’re bigger and stronger than someone else, you have a responsibility to be careful with them and treat them especially gently and kindly. Come to think of it, that’s not such a bad lesson for a child to learn. Come to think of it, that’s not such a bad lesson for an adult to learn, either.

Oscar Fashion 2012 - Part Two

A very faithful reader of my blog expressed his disappointment in my previous blog entry discussing this year’s Oscar fashions. He requested that I post a review of the fashions similar to my Golden Globes blog of some weeks ago. So I am pleased to present this review of the red carpet fashions, using (mostly) the same categories as I did for the Golden Globes, including a few nominees plus a winner in each.

Best Slightly Avant-Garde Without Going Over the Top

Angelina Jolie, in a black velvet gown with an asymmetrical bodice and thigh-high slit which she insisted on poking her thigh out of at every opportunity, vivid scarlet lips, and no jewelry save a single diamond ring

Rooney Mara, in a very haute couture white trumpet dress with a deeply plunging back relieved with a few narrow straps, a plunging décolleté, and heavy jet black bangs and deep red lips

WINNER: Rooney Mara

The Close But No Cigar Award

Sandra Bullock, in a black-and-white satin dress with an unflatteringly baggy, cap-sleeved white top, black trumpet skirt with a train, gorgeously patterned rhinestones at the waist and shoulders, a dramatically plunging, draped back, sleek jet black ponytail, and drop earrings

Cameron Diaz, in a champagne-colored mermaid dress with a wedge of ruffles and metallic fringe inserts in the skirt, messy, frizzled hair, and unfortunate tan lines on her chest

Livia Giuggioli, in a bright coral ball gown with puffy chiffon full-length cuffed sleeves, an oddly-projected shelf at the bust, matching lipstick, severe hair, and an adorable beaded clutch with a little gold bow

WINNER (LOSER): Sandra Bullock

Best Red Dress

Michelle Williams, in a fitted orange-red, ruffly strapless gown with a peplum, a charming rhinestone bow at the waist, a strange flesh-toned corset back, and a short train

Natalie Portman, in a strapless red-with-black-polka-dots gown with a full skirt, V-shaped diamond necklace, loose, barely waved hair and natural makeup

WINNER:  Michelle Williams (provided you don’t look from the back)

Best Black and/or White

Jessica Chastain, in a perfectly fitted black dress with intricate gold embroidery setting off her loose strawberry-blond locks, and a small train

Milla Jovovich, in a silvery-white, single-shouldered, fitted sheath with diagonal draping, a barely-there train, simple diamond jewelry, deep pink lips, and a softly waved, tousled bob.

Gwyneth Paltrow in a simple, sleek sheath with a long, cape-like jacket, a diamond-encrusted cuff and oversized ring, with simple hair and natural makeup

Rose Byrne, in a single-shouldered, impeccably fitted black sequined sheath with just the tiniest bit of ruching along the sides, and a perfectly smooth, shiny chestnut bob

WINNER: Milla Jovovich

The My Granny’s Dress Award

Shailene Woodley, in a long-sleeved, high-necked, literally buttoned down and possibly polyester dress complete with a prim, high bun not worthy of the term “chignon”

WINNER (LOSER): Shailene Woodley

The You Should Always Wear That Color Award

Emma Stone, in a flowing sleeveless magenta gown with a wide belt and a disproportionally large bow at the neck

Viola Davis, in an emerald green strapless column with beading at the top of the bodice and a daringly open notch, flaring pleated inserts in the skirt, matching green earrings, and a stunning rhinestone cuff

Ellie Kemper, in a copper sequined sheath perfectly matching her heavy copper bangs and just-messy-enough chignon, matching sparkly earrings and double cuff bracelet

WINNER: Ellie Kemper

The Big and Beautiful Award

Octavia Spencer, in a loosely fitted white gown with a round neck and cap sleeves and beading radiating out from the waist, and a smooth chignon and chandelier earrings

Melissa McCarthy, in a pale mauve chiffon gown with elegant Grecian draping, flared ¾-length sleeves, and rhinestone belt and neckline, with a loose, wavy updo

WINNER: Octavia Spencer

The Totally Boring Award

Kristen Wiig, in yet another shapeless, skin-toned sack with torn-looking bits covering a skirt that should have been flared but wasn’t, and tired-looking locks

Maya Rudolph, in a bland, round-necked eggplant sheath with rhinestone cap sleeves and belt, intricately beaded back, and nude makeup

WINNER (LOSER): Kristen Wiig

Most Elegant (Under 40 Division)

Berenice Bejo, in a pale seafoam green, long-sleeved flared sheath encrusted with bugle beads, a short train, deep emerald drop earrings, and her red tresses in an intricate braided and twisted updo

Stacy Kiebler, in a beautifully draped gold lame sheath with a large rosette at the hip, a single wide off-the-shoulder strap, tiny train, and simple waved tresses tucked to one side with an elegant coil at the nape of her neck

WINNER: Stacy Kiebler

Most Elegant (Over 40 Division)

Penelope Cruz, in a silvery-blue off-the-shoulder gown with a full, sweeping skirt, simple diamond jewelry, and a softly waved bob

Glenn Close, in a perfectly fitted, deep emerald mermaid gown and matching jacket with satin cuffs and lapels, and just the tiniest bit of bling on the train

WINNER: Penelope Cruz

And I would like to throw in a Special Judges’ Award for Christopher Plummer, who at the age of 82 was still one of the sexiest men in the room, wearing a spectacular deep purple velvet tuxedo jacket, a perfectly tied bow tie, French cuffs, and a tiny Edelweiss pin in his lapel.

Oscar Fashion 2012

The red carpet fashions at the Academy Awards this year were, much like the awards ceremony itself, memorable only in being unmemorable. There were no over-the-top dresses, no cutting edge styles teetering between the ridiculous and the sublime. Where was Helena Bonham Carter in her mismatched shoes? Bjork with a fake dead swan draped around her neck? Lady Gaga in a dress made of bacon? Yes, there were some lovely fashions, but nothing that hasn’t been done before – and better, or at least more dramatically.

In fact, instead of merely rating the hits and misses as I did with the Golden Globes earlier in the year, I want to compare this year’s red carpet to red carpets of Oscars past, to remind us all of who did it before and who did it better.

 Showing Skin

There weren’t a lot of overly-revealing fashions this year, and Jennifer Lopez definitely was at the forefront of the double-stick tape contingent in this sartorial concoction, which could have been improved if the modesty panels on the shoulders didn’t keep wrinkling up like sagging pantyhose.

But when it comes to an avant garde, memorable showing of skin, the award definitely goes to Cher for her legendary Bob Mackie spiderweb gown from 1986.

Or, for sheer beauty and subtlety of showing skin, how about Halle Berry’s elegant 2002 peekaboo gown with the strategically placed hand-painted flowers?

Looking Like Oscar

Several attendees this year wore lovely gold gowns reminiscent of Oscar himself. Stacy Kiebler managed to be noticeable even on the arm of George Clooney in this draped column with a giant rosette on the hip and a subtle puddle of a train:

Best Actress winner Meryl Streep took gold lame in a very different direction in this wrap dress with a plunging but age-appropriate and flattering neckline.

Both of these gowns are lovely, but no-one will remember them a few years down the road. But I bet most of us remember Lizzy Gardiner’s (who? I have no idea, either – but I remember her gown) sheath dress made entirely of gold American Express cards.

Maybe not the most beautiful dress that ever graced a red carpet, but it’s creative, it’s interesting, and it makes a statement.

 Plunging Necklines

Both Jennifer Lopez and Meryl Streep wore lovely gowns with plunging necklines, but Elizabeth Taylor did it first – and better – in 1962:

Basic Black

Judy Greer (who?) chose a very simple, basic black gown with a metallic insert down the center. Pretty, flattering, and showing off a lovely figure, it still pales in comparison to Julia Roberts’ similar gown from 2001.

Basic Blue

I’m not generally a fan of Penelope Cruz’s looks or style, but she was at the top of my ”well done” list last night in an understated, old Hollywood glamour gown, a soft, marcelled bob, and subtle makeup and jewelry.

But even so, the styles of the Golden Age of Hollywood are best carried off by those who created the Golden Age, including the divine Grace Kelly, who won a statuette in this elegant blue gown in 1955.

Fantastic Flops

We all enjoy seeing gorgeous gowns on the red carpet, but let’s admit it: we love the spectacular disasters even more. As the saying goes, “If you must sin, sin boldly.” And there have been some very bold fashion sins over the years. The top of the list has got to be Bjork’s infamous swan dress from 2001:

Or how about Demi Moore’s self-designed biker shorts in 1989?

Or Tilda Swinton’s one-armed oddity from 2008?

Sometimes even a celebrity known for her spectacular gowns has a spectacular disaster, like Gwyneth Paltrow’s unsupported shapeless dress from 2002 or Uma Thurman’s frothy white mess from 2004:

These ladies all missed the mark, but at least they took a risk with a bold fashion choice. This year’s celebrities played it safe and didn’t give themselves a chance to succeed spectacularly because they didn’t risk failing spectacularly.

Most Improved

I do want to call out a few actresses who stood out a bit in the dull crowd this year. The above-mentioned Penelope Cruz was my favorite of the night, but the actress who caught my eye was Melissa McCarthy, for being most improved over her Golden Globes gown. Some of you may recall my Golden Globes blog, where I scolded her stylist for putting her in this unflattering sack:

Apparently she took my advice because she shone in a much prettier and more flattering gown last night, with a more elegant and flattering hairstyle to go with it.

Meryl Streep also gets credit for improving her look over the Globes, where she donned this cowboy travesty (pockets, Meryl? Really? POCKETS??!!??):

A few actresses get a couple of lashes with a wet noodle for dressing better at the Globes than at the Oscars, most notably Emma Stone, who went from this beautiful, flattering gown:

To this gorgeously colored but ultimately overwhelming dress:

Note to all starlets: When people notice your gown and not you, it’s not a success.

Even the dog from “The Artist” knew to up the ante from the Globes to the Oscars by adding a bit of bling:

The bottom line from this year’s Oscars, in my opinion, is that it was a year for playing it safe. There were no spectacular flameouts, but no spectacular successes, either. Let’s hope that next year a few more celebrities decide to take some fashion risks. After all, fashion is what the Oscars are all about, right?

A Beautiful Mind

Unlike some 2-year-old boys who tend to be the strong, silent type, my son is a talker. He talks night and day. (Literally. He even talks in his sleep.) He has an impressive vocabulary for his age, and he is fascinated by new words. And the bigger, the better. “Humongous,” “articulated,” “stabilizers,” and “breakable” have all had their turn on his list of favorite words. But the top of the list by far this week is the word “beautiful.”

I’m not sure exactly what appeals to him about the word “beautiful.” Perhaps it’s that he can say it quite clearly. Perhaps it’s the sheer number of things to which it can be applied. If I dress up to go out to dinner with my husband – heck, if I put on earrings – my son informs me that I look beautiful. He likes to snitch diaper wipes and use them to clean off his toy trucks, telling me, “Mama, now my snowplow is beautiful,” or “I have a beautiful garbage truck.” While watching an episode of Curious George, he will announce, “George is a beautiful monkey,” or “That is a beautiful big yellow hat.” When he puts on his own yellow play hard hat, he asks, “Do you like my beautiful hat?”

It amazes me when he understands how a word can be used in a context in which he has never heard it before. I’m sure that when he’s seen me dressed up, my husband has told him, “Mama looks beautiful!” And somehow from that, apparently he’s figured out that “beautiful” can refer to an improvement over day-to-day looks; hence his application of the word to toy trucks that have been freshly washed. And he understands that “beautiful” is something special, so he describes Curious George as beautiful (a term I’ve never heard him apply to his stuffed monkeys) because he knows that George is an unusual and special monkey. Some things that are especially dear are called “beautiful,” so his beloved yellow hard hat is beautiful.

Occasionally, I am privileged to hear him talking through a new word as if to figure out how it works. He tends to be rough with toys and dishes, tossing them around carelessly, so I’ve cautioned him that some things are “breakable” so he needs to be extra-careful with them. I pointed out that Mama's coffee mug is breakable. I told him that he can’t step on his smaller toys because they’re breakable. I explained that some things in our house, like vases and candlesticks, are kept on high shelves because they’re breakable. So yesterday when we were having lunch with my father-in-law, my son went around the table carefully identifying various items by their breakability status: “My [plastic sippy] cup is not breakable. Pappy’s [glass] cup is very breakable. Mama’s [glass] cup is very breakable. My [paper] plate is not breakable. That [pointing to a glass vase of flowers] is very breakable.” It’s quite impressive to me that he was able to figure out, entirely on his own, that things made of plastic are usually not breakable and things made of glass almost always are. And when I warned him not to touch a figurine on the windowsill, he immediately understood why, asking, "Oh, this is breakable?"

His fascination with any particular word or concept also seems to help him fit it into the correct context because he uses it at every possible opportunity. When the word “happy” was the word of the week, he would ask me, “Mama is happy?” at least a dozen times a day. (Often out of genuine curiosity but occasionally out of pure hopefulness after he had misbehaved.) And he would inform me, “Ryan is happy!” at least a dozen more. My favorite example of his use of the word happy has to be from a few nights ago when he was being naughty right at bedtime and got sent to bed without his usual bathtub playtime. I was listening to him on the monitor and couldn’t help but laugh as he laid in bed and tearfully protested, “I want to be happy in my tubby!”

The idea of sleeping and being awake is another recent interest, although he applies it to trucks and buildings more often than actual people. When I come down for breakfast, he rarely fails to ask, “Mama, did you have a good sleep?” He announces, “I had a good sleep!” after every nap. When he asks if we’re going to church and we tell him, “Not today,” he inquires if the church is sleeping. On days when we don’t have gymnastics class, he tells us that gymnastics is sleeping. If I try to clarify things by telling him that the gym isn’t sleeping, he just isn’t going there today, he nods and says knowingly, “Oh, gymnastics is NOT sleeping. Gymnastics is awake!” If we pass a work site where he had seen some kind of construction vehicle within the past month and it’s not there, he announces that the backhoe/excavator/skid steer/bucket truck must be sleeping.

I love introducing him to new words, and I love watching him try them out, wrangle with their meaning, and quickly master them in every context. It is, as he might say, a beautiful thing.

I Am the Best of Moms, I Am the Worst of Moms

Being a mom means having to make countless choices every day about what is best for your child. You have to decide whether to let him come to the store wearing blue and green plaid shorts, a red polo shirt, and mismatched grey socks, because that’s what he picked out, or force him into slightly more mainstream clothes. You have to decide whether to make him eat a banana for breakfast or stick an Eggo in the toaster. You have to decide whether to bundle him up and take him to the park or stay inside out of the rain. You have to decide whether to hold his hand on the balance beam or let him fall off and get back up again.

And after you make every single one of those decisions, you second-guess yourself. If you gave him the waffle and he’s hyper all day, you should have gone with the banana. If you take him to the store looking like his closet threw up on him and you run into the most elegant lady from church, you should have picked out his outfit yourself. If you take him to the park and he catches a cold, you should have stayed home. If he falls off the beam and gives himself a shiner, you should have held his hand. Any time something goes wrong that a different decision might possibly have avoided, you think to yourself what a horrible mom you are.

But on the flip side, when your decision makes your child happy, you know you’re a great mom. When he gives you a sticky, syrupy kiss after breakfast and says, “Thank you, Mama!”, you know that good nutrition can wait until lunch. When he grins with pride from ear to ear as he looks at himself in the mirror wearing his painfully garish outfit, you don’t care about anyone else’s opinion. When he shouts, “Look at me, Mama, look at me!” over and over from the top of the slide, you don’t care any more than he does that his nose is red with cold. When he gets back on the beam after a fall and walks the whole length by himself without hesitating, there is no question in your mind that you made the right choice to let go.

And isn’t that really how every part of parenthood goes? Every decision you make can lead to heartbreak or ecstasy. You teeter between triumph and disaster every day like a human pendulum. And if this is what it’s like now, I can only imagine how it will be magnified when my children are teenagers. Right now the worst disaster of a poor decision on my part is likely to be a black eye or a disappointed tantrum. A poor decision ten or twelve years from now could end up resulting in someone sneaking out of (or into) the house in the middle of the night, or a really bad tattoo, or worse.

It’s a good thing I’ve got a decade of practice between now and then so I can up my percentage of good decisions.

I'm Not Wearing Any Pants

As is true of most small children, both of my children like to be as naked as possible at all times. My son is very good at undressing himself, including taking off his diaper, so it is not that unusual a sight to come into his room in the morning or after his afternoon nap and find him running around naked as a jaybird. Or occasionally naked as a jaybird wearing shoes.

He has also mastered the art of timing an escape from the changing table so he gets to run around either naked or in just a diaper for a few minutes until I can catch him. (The changing table is on the floor – he’s not quite agile enough to escape from the other changing table that’s on top of the dresser. Yet.) He’s also been known to thrash and kick to avoid wearing pants. Apparently, any degree of nakedness is preferable to wearing clothes.

And his sister is getting to be the same way. She is getting so active that sometimes she manages to wriggle her legs up inside her sleeper so they get stuck. And now that she’s pulling herself up on everything, slippery socks or sleeper feet are very inconvenient, not to mention downright dangerous. So she also prefers to solve the problem by simply being naked.

And as much as I’m a bit embarrassed to admit it, I let them be naked whenever I can. After all, how short is the part of your life when you can run around naked without shame? And how beautiful is a completely uninhibited, naked child? They’re not worried about cellulite on their thighs, or a jiggly belly, or upper arm wattles. They’re not concerned about what anyone else thinks about them. They have pure joy in their own bodies. In fact, as you can see from the above photograph, they find their own bodies endlessly fascinating, as well they should.

So get naked while you can, little ones. All too soon you’ll start seeing some perceived imperfections instead of the perfect, beautiful gift of a strong, healthy, amazing body. While you still see yourself honestly and without shame, go ahead - take off your pants!