It's Almost the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

One more before the weekend:

I love Fall! The days are shorter, you can eat pumpkin flavored everything with abandon, the leaves are changing color, and the air is cooler... a bit... in the morning. OK, so the temps still soar to 90 in the afternoon(leading me to question Hubs' decision to clothe The Boy in a long sleeve tee and heavy trousers this morning)...

But we're at least practicing for Fall. And the way The Boy practices is by pretending to rake leaves.

Yup, my kid has a thing for gardening. He gets all excited on the day the gardeners come by to mow the lawns and trim the hedges, he points out "gardening trucks" when we're out and about and he spent most of last Spring wearing my socks on his hands and saying they were gardening gloves.

He's so into gardening that my mom got him his own gardening tools for his birthday

And if you're wondering what he has to rake in our sparse plot of concrete, we have one of the few deciduous trees for miles(not really) right by our back gate so The Boy got 2 of his neighbor buddies to help him clean up on the weekend. OK, it was mostly Hubs, but the 3 wee boys helped.

Anyways, back to Fall. At least it's not so bleedin' hot any more that I can't imagine what it's like to want to bundle The Boy up in a hoodie over his long sleeves and drink a hot apple cider while he rakes up the leaves - however inexpertly.

It's the End of An Era

The high chair era, that is. After more than a year and a half of taking his meals in his "high chair," and I use quotes because it wasn't really a high chair but one of those strapped to a regular chair dealies, he has finally moved on to sitting in a booster seat. We started with a Minui HandiSitt - which has been mostly awesome - but, as his knees have been up by his chin and he's been able to release the latch for months, we have moved him to to a Prince Lionheart Soft Booster Seat.

The last few weeks have been lousy with milestones: turning the car seat around, getting The Boy's hair cut for the first time, converting the crib into a toddler bed and now seating The Boy in a booster instead of a high chair. Sniff... Next up his a foray into potty training.

I can't believe he's getting so big. Though his energy, vocabulary and temperament are definitely that of a 2 year old, I still look at his little baby face and think that he's, well, a baby. He's still got chubby baby hands and arms, baby soft hair and skin, and he still possesses that incredible baby smell. I can't believe that, despite all of that, that he's becoming more independent and more of an actual, individually defined person.

Sigh.

Anyway, happy weekend and happy October!

This is Depressing

::Controversial opinion contained within - Writing whilst emotional::

Just yesterday I read Christina's lovely words about her fears for her Lovie's future. I commented and commiserated, but it wasn't until today that I read an article that really sums up my second to worst fear for the future - that holier than thou able bodied types will think my life not worth living. This article in my beloved Guardian Comment is Free has left me utterly dejected.

I am pro-choice and pro-everything else that gives someone control over their body, up to and including suicide, but the idea that people with no experience of disabilities would assume that the life of someone rendered motionless and mute by an accident or illness is, by default, not worth living scares the bejeezus out of me. That may be the case for some and I would not begrudge them the right to take their own life but, to me, my life is worth something. Even if, God forbid, I was made completely disabled by this shitty-ass disease that's constantly eating my myelin I cannot imagine not wanting to see my boy grow up, to watch him start school, to fall in love for the first time and everything else his childhood has in store for him. I also want to see what kind of person he'll become.

Maybe it's selfish of me to not expect my family to kill my crippled ass off when I become more of a burden than an asset, but there it is. I will make no apologies for loving Hubs and The Boy enough to want to stick around.

And Polly Toynbee can kiss my ass!

If Only This Were True

Art appreciation, sort of

I used to have such ambitious plans for The Boy - French classes starting at 6 months, music lessons at 3, weekly trips to a museum/gallery/concerto or whatever. 2 years in and I've (sensibly) scaled back my plans. Instead of French classes at Alliance Francaise I practice French flashcards with him in the style of Pepe le Pew. The music lessons are still a possibility - though I have really fallen behind in exposing him to classical music. And the museums etc.? We give it a good go, but have really slacked off.

We took him to the Tate Modern and the Science Museum in London. He's been to The Museum of Contemporary Art here in LA once, the Getty twice and the Page Museum(La Brea Tar Pits) once. That's it! It's something, but still.

Anyway, we did manage to get out 2 weekends ago and took a trip to the LA County Museum of Art. I don't think I'd been there since high school, Hubs and The Boy had never been there and we were accompanied by an art historian friend of mine who actually used to work there. It was awesome!

The Boy's favorite part was the bit that we saw first

Our art historian friend told us about some crazy Spanish cats and explained the room with all the Baby Jesus's, but the best part - in my opinion, anyway - was the French Impressionists - at least I think they're Impressionists. Monet, Cezanne... those guys. Anyway, a trip to The Getty a year ago led us to find Make Van Gogh's Bed, a book much loved by The Boy that narrates famous works of art in childhood verse and makes something tactile within the paintings - fabric on Van Gogh's unmade bed, Degas' ballerinas tutus, Monet's lilies and, as observed by The Boy, Cezanne's fuzzy peaches.

And then, as has become our tradition on our rare cultural excursions, we hit up the gift shop. This time we bought a block puzzle with 6 different self portraits painted by Van Gogh and another book by the creators of Make Van Gogh's Bed; Catch Picasso's Rooster. The Boy insisted on carrying the bag himself.

So The Boy isn't super keen on the puzzle, we've had to put it away since he mostly likes peeling the picutures off the cubes, but he LOVES the book. Yay!

Nap Time

Seriously? Why does my kid think this is acceptable? Or even comfortable? First I thought sleeping with his butt in the air was weird, then it was the sleeping on the floor. But the sleeping standing up seems to defy several natural laws, gravity being the least of them.

I posted a pic of him sleeping whilst standing in this post, but I thought that was a blip. At least in that one he was leaning on Hubs.

Anyway, strange. Very, very strange.

"Kisses for Mama"

The Boy says that to me, "kisses for Mama," and my heart melts into a puddle of goo. I've been teaching him Eskimo kisses and butterfly kisses, so now on top of the slobbery regular kisses I get there are "butafy" kisses, with a chubby cheek turned towards me, as well as Eskimo kisses, a word we still don't know but indicate we want by shoving a wrinkled up little nose in my face.

So yeah, "kisses for Mama" now shares the top spot for favorite things anyone says to me with "huggle Mama."

Happy weekend!

Furry Friday - Or a Boy and his Cat

I actually started writing this post earlier in the week, but the loss of some online friends furbabies reminded me of just how important it is to properly introduce Cat to my little blog.

Here is a picture of my cat

We got her at an adoption fair a few months before The Boy was born. Not long before that my very much worshipped and adored calico cat died suddenly of kidney failure. As heartbroken as I was, I wanted my son to grow up with a cat, to never know what it was like to NOT have a cat. So we went to the adoption fair and found the awesomeness that is our cat. She was 2 at the time, had been in a foster home for 6 months and considered un-adoptable because "people want kittens." WTF? Whatever, we thought. It's everyone else's loss.

Fast forward 2.5 years. Cat and The Boy are buddies. He follows her around meowing and she tolerates his "love" in head-butting the tummy form. They jostled for lap space on Hubs when The Boy was wee, still do actually. He's a pro at petting other cats and dogs because of being told from the time he could wave a little arm and clench a little fist to "be gentle with Cat."

::There were a couple of pics of Cat from The Boy's infancy and early infancy that I planned put here, but Hubs asked that I not. Grrrr::

And cat is equally gentle with The Boy. Even now, when he's old enough to know better and big enough to really hurt her, she refuses to swat at him, enduring whatever kind of attention he's showing her until she turns on her delicate paws and moves out of his reach. But never for very long. She's always the first on the scene when he's sad, circling his crib(sorry, bed) if he's crying letting off a cheerful meow when he climbs into bed to let him know she's there.

That's not an exaggeration, they're really that cute with each other.

She really his The Boy's cat, and I love the fact that he's growing up with her. It makes me incredibly proud to see how well The Boy treats her and, because of learning to treat her well, how well he treats all animals. The sight of the 2 of them together makes me go all "aw shuksy." Even as I write this they're both napping on either side of me, making me thank my lucky stars for my little family.

Some thoughts on discipline...

Or rather, my deficiencies in discipline.

I am loud. I am opinionated, intense and often pushy. I'm also particular about how I want things done. Hubs is low key, mild mannered and exceedingly quiet. He's not only a man of few words, he's a man that is often difficult to hear because he speaks so softly.

Before parenthood, or even after parenthood but before toddlerhood, I never in a million years would have that that I would be the soft touch when it came to dealing with tantrums and other 2 year old nastiness, but I am. While Hubs excels at giving "the look" and calming The Boy down with a stern talking to, I flail about uselessly - issuing time outs, warnings of time outs and rhetorical questions like, "are you trying to drive me crazy/give me a heart attack/make me cry???"

I find myself spending what seems like half of every day negotiating - "you have to wear shoes to play outside," "if I spend 20 minutes reading to you can I have 10 to clean," "you can't have a bite of ice cream unless you have 2 more bites of broccoli," and this weeks new favorite, "I'll only read your bedtime stories if you stay in your bed."

It's slowly dawning on me that I am weak. I try to explain the importance of patience when he wants something done NOW, but I usually end up giving in - especially if what he wants is a book read to him. I do my best to explain consequences, patience, rules what-have-you, but I so often feel like a failure. The only thing I seem to be able to get him to do is to pick up his toys if he wants something in return, but with so much of the rest of it I feel like I'm turning my happy little guy into a spoiled little brat. He's totally not a spoiled little brat, but it often feels that way.

Part of my feeling like I've slacked off is that I have finally learned to pick my battles - or been forced to choose my battles, whatever - as opposed to micro-managing every. little. thing like I did when The Boy was younger. It's easier now to let him take his shoes off if he's in his stroller or to wear his shirt backwards if he really wants to. He wants to do things his way, and I'd rather put my foot down when he's throwing his toys around or demanding more ice cream than with dictating his sartorial choices. He really is well behaved for a 2 year old, but I still can't help but feel like I'm doing a bad job at disciplining him when he IS bad. I feel guilty thinking I'm letting him get away with stuff.

So yeah, I'd heard about the self-doubt that afflicts parents but always thought it was hooey or that it wasn't something that deserved any amount of sympathy. Now I know how wrong I was.

This shit is hard!

I haven't done this in a while...

Wordless Wednesday

Our Big Weekend

Saturday, September 17, 2011 - I got carded whilst trying to order a glass of wine with dinner. I wrote the whole date because I wanted to remember it lest it's the last time it happens.

My best friend/brother was visiting from India so we Hubs, Boy and I joined Bro, my dad and step-mom at Buca di Beppo. The company was awesome, the food was okay, The Boy was in fine form and I was asked to show that I was born in at least 1990, when I was born in 1973!!!

The funny thing was that before I was asked for my license my dad said I looked radiant and asked, "are you pregnant."

But I digress. Here is some Boy cuteness at dinner

And then, we came home to put The Boy to bed in his newly converted toddler bed

It went pretty well on Saturday. Last night, after a super active day and a very short nap, didn't go too well. Overly tired baby was waddling around in his sleep sack asking for hugs and talking to the cat before the threat of a time out(at bed time???) by Hubs made him come to his senses and climb into bed. So the jury's still out on our move away from the crib, but it had to happen sometime.

What a big week - forward facing car seat, big boy beds visits from our favorite uncle. Awesome!

The New View

After 25 and a half long months of staring at himself in a mirror or watching scenery move backwards, The Boy's car seat was finally turned around.

I thought he'd be over the moon about it, but he really didn't seem too impressed. Oh well, at least his knees aren't up by his ears anymore.

10 Places I Love

In honor of a post by Peeper who posted in honor of Her Mama, I have made a list of my 10 favorite places.

1. The bedroom I share with my boys and my cat. It's where we start the day, with The Boy calling from his crib, "Up Dada!" And where we end it, with The Boy running around before we bathe him, then climbing into bed while he "reads" his books and we snuggle. The cat settles at the foot of the bed as we put The Boy in his crib, then I actually read him his bedtime stories. Heaven!

2. Prague. I have a picture of the Vltava River, Charles Bridge and Prague Castle as my desktop, so whenever I turn on my laptop The Boy goes, "Pog!" Then when I open up a window and it disappears he goes, "Where's it, Pog?"

Prague and I have an awfully long history together. I first read about it when I was still in high school and it was still in Czechoslovakia. I've lived there a few times, visited countless times and am beyond excited about the prospect of one day taking The Boy there.

3. Paris. I mean, who doesn't love Paris? I was lucky enough to visit a few times when I was young and poor, but I really fell in love when Hubs and I lived in London and I would make an annual trip on Eurostar across the Channel.

And it's not the usual touristy things that I love about Paris, and miss now that I rarely get to go there. I miss being able to sit in cafes for hours, lingering over a teeny tiny cup of coffee without being hassled about leaving. I love sitting on the banks of the Seine during the Summer Solstice festival(Fete de la Musique) and walking the streets of my beloved 9th arrondisement - the slightly dingy district between Montmartre and the Grands Boulevards.

4. San Francisco – It started out as a glittering Bohemian alternative to my dry, suburban Southern Californian childhood and became the place where I met and fell in love with Hubs. I coveted living there when I was a young’un, went clubbing there when I went to university across the Bay and worked in nearly every building in the Financial District while I was temping just out of college.

Along with the myriad places I love in San Francisco – Caffe Trieste in North Beach, the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park, City Lights Bookstore in North Beach and Green Apple Books on Clement Street – I really loved the commute I had to the last job I had there. I took the bus along Union, then it turned onto Columbus, passing the old people doing Tai Chi in Washington Square. We’d then whiz through North Beach before I’d get off on Market.
For a long time I’d hop on Bart to get to my job in Oakland. Starting almost exactly 10 years ago, spooked by the idea of taking the Transbay Tube, I would get myself a bagel and a coffee, hop on a nearly empty ferry and sail east across the Bay watching the sun rise over the Oakland Hills.

5. Berkeley – Where I went to college and the only place I have ever lived on my very own.

6. London – It’s big, it’s crowded, endures occasional riots and I still absolutely love it. Hubs and I lived in West London for years. For one of those years I had to take the Piccadilly Line clear across London to Bloomsbury for grad school. It was awesome, especially in the Fall when the leaves fell on the gray streets and Bloomsbury Square, and the cold weather practically demanded that you nip into a pub for a pint.

7. The back of The Vault Martini Bar in Redlands, CA. Strange, since I hate every thing else about my hometown and would rather stick needles in my eyes than ever move back. That said, the courtyard of the Fox Building in downtown Hometown played a pivotal role in my early adulthood. While it’s currently the back of The Vault, it had been attached to several cafes in a different part of the building for a million years. The first café to occupy the location and claim the coveted inner courtyard was Fleur de Lis – site of my first real job, where I had my pre-prom pictures taken and countless scenes of debauchery.

8. Berlin – Berlin is awesome! A sprawling metropolis and living museum, I spent the whole of the 90’s living in fear of it – and Germany in general – only passing through on my way to Central Europe. Going to Berlin to study German for grad school showed me what I was missing. It is old and new and beer gardens and art co-ops, I mostly love it because it’s the first place Hubs and I decided to go together though.

9. Budapest – Because it’s awesome. Viennese-style cafes and Catholic churches that were originally mosques. What’s not to love.

10. Vancouver – Not only was it voted the best place to live in the entire world for a million years running, it was where Hubs and I conceived The Boy. The countless cafes made up for the pubs I missed since leaving London, and the its distance from our friends and family was kind of made up for by the views and the affordability.

I Am Capable of a Great Many Things

I read a quote by Annette Funicello yesterday. It was, "Life doesn't need to be perfect to be wonderful."

True words. And I'm not just saying that because she's been crippled by the same disease that cripples me, but because she's absolutely correct. Things happen, accidents occur and people get sick, but that doesn't mean we have to ignore all the beautiful, amazing and, yes, wonderful things in life. I mean, I've already been crippled physically by MS, should I let it cripple my psychologically, spiritually and emotionally as well? It's not like being pissed off and angry and living my life like I'm biding my time till there's a cure or I die and am reincarnated as a marathon-running octogenarian is gonna make anything better. It's just gonna waste what I have. And what I have is quite a lot.

I'll Start with The Hubs. He's awesome. We've known each other for 13 years and been together 12 and I still can't get over his awesomeness. Gorgeous, brilliant and funnier than he usually lets on, Hubs has always been amazingly tolerant of my neuroses, malaise and impusivity. He's also proven himself a saint in dealing with my disease. I really, really lucked out with him.

Then there's The Boy. I was never really a kid person before I met him. I held babies awkwardly and cringed when seated next to them on planes or in restaurants. I'd never changed a diaper or even looked after an infant for any amount of time before having him, so deciding to start a family - to bring him into our lives, was a gigantic leap of faith. And it paid off. He's beautiful, smart, sweet and funny. He's also everything a 2 year old is - grumpy, tempestuous and very, very active.

It's that last bit, the active bit, that is really starting to make me even more aware of my disability. He wants to run, I want to sit. He wants a piggy back ride, I want a cuddle. He wants to go for a walk, I have to remain in the back yard and send him out with Hubs.

As sad as that sounds, we're still incredibly lucky. I may not be able to run around with him or hold his hand on long walks, but I can stack blocks with him, roll round on the floor with him, create art with him, practice counting and ABC's with him and I can read to him. I will, in all seriousness, read a half a dozen books 20 times in one day, with all the passion and intensity of James Dean, Marlon Brando or the guy from Blues Clues. My kid can count to 10(minus the 9), say 20 or so letters of the alphabet, say "Please," "thank you," and "bless you" because of me. He's gentle with animals because I've taught him to be so.

So yeah, things may be far from perfect, but I will never be able to get over how wonderful our life is.

Big Boy Bedding

The Boy hasn't always been a fan of sleeping. He was an atrocious sleeper as an infant - like, waking once an hour on a good night, atrocious - and is only a moderately good sleeper now. He stays up until 9:30 or 10, fights Hubs putting him down for naps on the weekends and is often prone to sleeping on the floor, standing up or with a limb hanging precariously off the sofa.

So with so much thought about The Boy sleeping as an infant/young toddler, I've been finding it hard to contemplate him sleeping on his own, in a bed in his own room - yes, he still sleeps in our room. It's weird and hippiesh and co-dependent. See above comments on The Boy's sleeping patterns to see why I don't care.

Anyhoo, I've been casually perusing boy bedding for a while, not really caring. Until last week... I never knew I could be so excited by bedding, but I just got The Boy's duvet cover and sheets for his first big boy bed and I think I'm in luuurrrve. Seriously, we're not even ready to turn his crib into toddler bed, so who knows when he'll be ready to sleep in the full-sized bed that's now functioning as our guest bed, but I am so darn pleased with my purchase I can't stand it.

This is what it looks like

The thrift store loving me from 10-15 years go would be cringing. "Why be so effing ostentatious?" I'd say, or "How will he even notice? He doesn't seem to have minded the $10 Winnie the Pooh stuff from Target that he's been sleeping on for the last 2 years. Sellout!"

In my current self's defense, the bedding was on sale.