Three Feet & More

Jeremy grew 3/4 of an inch in the last five weeks, now measuring at 36 and 1/4 inches. Must be all of the pasta he inhales. Yesterday, he was served the finest macaroni and cheese EVER. Farfalle noodles swimming in melted sharp cheddar cheese. This was at the Crab House on Pier 39 in San Francisco. The three of us rode the train from Sacramento to the City for the day, where Jeremy petted some small rays and a leopard shark at the Aquarium, rode a very clunky merry-go-round, and barked with the sea lions. Today, he was treated to a visit with his beloved Nanny and Poppa.

Camping Out

Labor Day Weekend + Webkins = Camping at Bucks Lake high up in the Sierra Nevada mountains in Plumas County. Jeremy ran a alot. He ran forward and backward and forward again. He pushed dirt around with his shovels and his dump truck. He blew pine needles and other stuff with his leaf blower. He played in the water. He helped his Uncle Jim stoke the campfire. He gazed at the billions of stars in the mountain sky. He clenched his teeth through his first powerboat ride across the lake, and then relaxed in the front seat of a two-seater kayak with his fingers grazing the cool water along side the hull. He hiked a lakeside trail. He got really filthy. He slept deeply in a tent. He got carsick on the winding road up to the lake. He spotted deertracks and raccoon tracks. He loved every minute. And then when he got home, he sat glued to the TV as if he had been in the wilderness for a few days.

Fun at the (new) Nut Tree

For folks that have travelled I-80 in Northern California any time in the last, oh, 80 years, the Nut Tree has always been a much anticipated and sentimental stop for food, relaxation and a little shopping. Sadly, it closed several years ago, but now has "reopened." It is entirely different, so it really only bears the historic name. In its current incarnation, it is a sweet little amusement park that is most appealing to kids under 10.

Jeremy went yesterday and had a really good time riding the Merry-Go-Round, the train, and the rocking horses.

The most favorite ride of all was the "Flight School," which he went on at least a dozen times if he went once!

Mallory and "Gary"

I read The Boy At the End of the Road and winced at the memory that it evoked of Mallory last summer.

One evening as we were finishing our Chinese take-out dinner, the door-bell rang. It was Mallory, a talkative eight-year old entrepreneur from “nine houses down the street” imploring us to come to her yard sale. Never mind it was Wednesday night. You see, her mom planned to take her and her brother Colton to Toys R Us on Thursday, and Mallory wanted to sell some of her toys today to increase her spending power tomorrow. And she thought Jeremy “might want a little kid’s toy.”

So we took an after-dinner stroll, Barb and I on foot, Jeremy in his car, and Mallory chattering non-stop. Frankly, we could only hear every fourth word or so over the din of the car’s plastic wheels against the concrete. Mallory stopped her monologue at one point, though, to ask us directly, “Are both of you Jeremy’s mothers?” Without hesitation, I replied, “Yes, and we think Jeremy is pretty lucky to have two moms.” Mallory said in a nonjudgmental voice, “That’s weird.” She paused for a few beats, and then said quietly and matter-of-factly, “My parents are divorced, and I have a mom and a step-mother, and I don’t feel lucky.” Then she resumed her monologue, querying whether Jeremy would want the stuffed Scooby-Do (with a small hole) for $2, a wind-up Happy Meal car for $1, or the little dragon for fifty cents.

When we arrived nine houses down, there was no sign of a yard sale. There was sign of her father and step-mother, standing with hands on hips and glaring at Mallory.

Them, angrily: “What are you doing going off down the street and leaving your things out front?”

Her, chirping: “Going to get customers!”

Them, still angry: “Yard sale’s over. Get in the house.” Mallory scurried away into the garage.

Just as we turned Jeremy around to head home, though, Mallory scurried back with the little blue plastic dragon in her hand. She held it out to Jeremy. “I want him to have it for free.”

Them, loudly: “Mallory! Don’t give your things away!”

My heart was torn. Do I praise her for her generosity, or reinforce Their rules, since they are the parents. Even Jeremy sensed the tension. He examined the small dragon, and then purposefully handed it back to Mallory.

Me, sad for her: “Mallory, that is so kind of you, but your parents don’t want you to give your things away. Thank you for playing with Jeremy this evening.”

Mallory’s face twisted up, all blotchy. She spun on her heels and ran into the house without another word.

Who needs Toys R Us?

When you have a hose?

He's So Beautifully Two!

Anyone who has experience raising a two year old, please answer me this:

Why does Jeremy refuse to let Barb (aka "Bumble") to put him to bed, only to fidget and squirm and refuse to lay on his pillow for MamaNay, a nightly script where the penultimate scene depicts Jeremy hitting MamaNay in the face -- for suggesting that it is time to go to sleep -- and yelling at the top of his lungs for Bumble?

AAAACCCCCKKKKK!

Mind you, this is not a situation where the mommies are making the boy go to bed unreasonably early (even if we have fantasies of doing so). This all happens around 9:45pm or so. It doesn't matter what we do and how early we "go up to bed." He doesn't fall asleep until 10pm.

And, yes, he is tired enough. Today's activities included an hour's worth of non-stop paddling in the pool, his music/dance class, and tromping through the park. Most two-year-olds would be crashing around 8 or 8:30pm after the activities we put Jeremy through.

Why won't he just drift off to sleep gratefully?

Flyin' to Zion

The Webkins went to Zion National Park for a quick getaway last week. Jeremy is a master traveler and budding explorer.

A Bumble By Any Other Name ...

I am a few days late for the annual Blogging for LGBT Families day, but, as mombian.com concedes, things happen during parenthood which beg for forgiving the belated blog entries....

There is probably not a parent alive who didn't spend some time worrying over what his or her child would "call" him or her. For same sex parents, though, the worry is magnified. Needlessly, probably, but most parents will use any excuse to worry.

For Barb and I, we decided early on that I would be Mama, and that she would be Mommy. The rationale is because I have long carried the personnae of Mama Hawk. It's a long story, stemming from my days when I was seventeen and in boot camp for the US Air Force, and 34-year-old women were hanging off of me for emotional support. But, for reasons unexplained, it has been hard for both of us to cement those names in our psyche. I often refer to myself as Mommy and to Barb as Mama, and Barb is just as prone to misspeaking, all which must be confusing to little Jeremy. We consoled ourselves, however, by reasoning that kids will come up with their own names for their parents that make sense for them.

Proving that he is smarter than us, he has never been confused with my name. I have always been Mama. Among his first few words was Mama, and he is clear that Mama is me. Barb wondered, though, what his name was for her. It took a little longer for him to settle on it, but a few months ago he did.

Barb is Bumble. As in Bumble from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Jeremy fell in love with that movie several months before Christmas last year, and became obsessed with the abominable snowman. One time, Barb was play-acting the part, and the nickname stuck. Ever since, she is affectionately the Bumble.

So, Barb & I are Bumble & Mama to little Jeremy. And that's what makes an LGBT family.

Dunking the Buddha

It started out so innocently.

Our church, a Religious Science or “New Thought” congregation that follows the Principles of the Science of Mind, was invited by the Buddhist monastery across the street to participate in their Bathing the Buddha ritual. The City of the Dharma Realm is an orthodox order of Chinese monastic nuns that ironically inhabits property formerly known as the El Rancho Hotel, which began as a Spanish architecture destination resort in the 1950s before joining the many motels catering to down-and-out, pay-by-the week tenants along West Capitol Avenue in West Sacramento. Our minister described the opportunity to Bathe the Buddha as especially enjoyable by young children.

So Barb & I & Jeremy joined the small herd of members from our Center for Spiritual Awareness to make the trek from our church over to our Buddhist hosts. When our crowd arrived, the Buddhist service had already begun, so we quietly floated into the meditation hall as the saffron-robed, bald-headed nuns chanted in Chinese. While the chant unfolded, we were able to gaze upon the ornate altars in the hall dedicated to Buddha, Kwan Yin, and other gods and bodhisattvas important to the Buddhist faith. We taught Jeremy to hold his hands as the Buddhists do while they pray and offer respect to the Buddha.

After some minutes, a nun spoke in broken English, welcoming us as neighbors and spiritual friends. She explained to the congregation that for our benefit, she would be introducing the Bathing the Buddha ritual in English rather than the native tongue. She then explained the Bathing the Buddha ritual as an annual celebration of the Buddha’s birth, and as an opportunity for remembering the Buddha’s teachings to purify our inner selves. She reminded us to use our bodies for good, and not for evil. She invited each of us to take turns to approach the altar, offer bows of respect, kneel before the twelve-inch-tall statue of a standing Buddha, and then ladle three scoops of fragrant water on his shoulder to wash away our sins.

The nun then began singing a simple mantra, and we all joined her, singing the mantra over and over and over … and over … as dozens of people took turns Bathing the Buddha. The hall was filled with peace and reverence. Jeremy relaxed in my arms, his head on my shoulder, and chanted along. After about twenty minutes, our turn was nearing. Barb took Jeremy from my arms. I haven’t asked why, but I like to think that she did so to allow me to fully experience the ritual unencumbered, knowing of my affinity for Buddhist teachings.

Jeremy had other plans, though. As he often does, he decided that the three of us should be joined at the hip as we Bathed the Buddha.

Barb had already approached the altar with Jeremy when he turned back to me and implored me to come. To avert an outright protest in front of Buddha, I rushed forward, offered my bows quickly, and then endeavored to kneel to the left of Jeremy and Barb. The kneel board, however, was built for one, not three, and only the outer half of my right knee was solidly planted. Barb was holding Jeremy firmly with both hands, probably to keep him from plucking the petals off of the hundreds of carnations skirting the Buddha’s feet. Holding onto Barb with my right hand for stability, I grabbed the ladle in my left and dipped it into the lavender water. And then, as I lifted the scoop up towards the Buddha’s shoulder, it happened. The ladle bumped the Buddha. And in the slowest of motion, the Buddha began a stiff fall forward and splashed into the drink.

I froze. Barb froze. Thank God (or Thank the Buddha) that Jeremy froze. With lightening speed, several options raced through my head, none of them good. One thing I knew for sure was that no hands other than a nun’s of the highest precept should touch the water or the statue. Swiftly and silently, and thankfully, a nun swooped in to rescue the soggy Siddhartha. As she righted him back up into his vertical pose, I felt the giggle begin in my toes. It rumbled up my legs and through my gut, full of humility, irony and timid horror. The only reason it didn’t explode is that I stifled it somewhere deep in Jeremy’s hair. I did not look at or acknowledge Barb, because I knew that the instant I did, we would be rolling on the floor in uncontrollable laughter.

Instead, silently, we tried completing the last two ladle-fuls (yes, the first ill-fated one counted). By this time, Jeremy blurted out his newest two-word phrase: “Take turn!” as he lunged for the ladle. That nun was onto us, however, and was not about to let the beloved Buddha get a second dunking. With a disciplined “No!” she took the ladle away from all three of us. We scooped ourselves upwards, bowed to the dripping statuette, and shuffled quickly to the nearest exit. Not a word between Barb and me. No glances between us. Just shuffling quietly, purposefully, quickly, to the place where we left our shoes. I slipped on Jeremy’s sandals. As Jeremy began prancing down the Spanish-tiled hallway like Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer after Clarice tells him he’s cute, I finally shared eyeballs with Barb. Our embarrassed laughter burst out and propelled us out of the Dharma Realm, across the parking lot and over the wide boulevard to the sanctity and crazy safety of our own church where our spiritual clumsiness will be considered whole, perfect and complete.

A New Way of Potty Training

Fierce Love

Can a mother's love get any stronger? Can two mothers' love get any stronger? This little boy is so special our heads and hearts almost explode. Daily.

It's so hard to articulate. But I'll try.

I find blogging is getting increasingly more difficult as Jeremy grows up. One reason is that, as he becomes more and more a conscious individual in his own right, I feel less and less permission to talk about him without his express permission. If that makes any sense. On a daily basis I witness the development of his own sense of self. Every time he yells "mine" or "me" or protests in order to assert his own agenda, I become more respectful of his own choices. And that includes his choice to publicize his life. How would I feel if someone else -- like my mother -- decided to blog about my temper tantrums or my potty habits? Hmmm?

Another reason is that, as Jeremy grows, and grows up, it is more and more challenging to document that trajectory. Okay, MamaHawk. Step up to it!

Lastly, and probably most importantly, the more Jeremy expresses the incredible person he is, the more I realize the need to talk about my role as a mother and the tortured dialogue that persists within me as I strive to be the best parent I can be to help Jeremy realize his highest potential. As much as this blog started out to be about him, I am finding that in the end it may be very much about me and my perspective and what I can do to enhance Jeremy's life.

Is that bad or wrong? Is that to be expected? Is it of any interest to you?

It's Spring!

This morning on the Sprout channel, the theme was "winter" and how "cold" it is right now. Jeremy was confused. He looked outside, then up at me with his face twisted into a question mark, and asked "Cold?"

Poor boy. Here in Sacramento we have had a couple of weeks of sunny days reaching up into the 70s and 80s, which means that Jeremy has spent a lot of time outside at the parks, in our back yard, in the dirt and mud, and even stargazing at night in shirt sleeves. He is right to question that silly ol' TV.

Today I threw him in his Kelty backpack and we walked from our house down the river to the park. The middle picture above is Jeremy's first self-portrait! I am quite impressed with his inspiration and composition. I note that he rightly employed a soft-focus to minimize the dried snot under his nose. (Bad Mama! Where's your wipes?)

Jeremy is twenty-seven months old, and using more and more words all the time. He proudly announces that he is "Two!" And he can finally say his name! He pronounces it, "Marry Me!"

P.S.: Thank you, Rae, for nudging me to post again! This one's for you and the other MamaNay!

A little over the top...

Today was a bit much.

Jeremy is enrolled in a mommy-and-me gymnastics class for two- and three-year olds. The class meets once a week for 45 minutes at Planet Gymnastics, which is a reputable local business offering basic gymnastics courses for children and youth, and also trains a handful of fairly talented kids who are serious about the sport. The gym is located in Land Park, a desirable older residential neighborhood near downtown filled with many yuppie families eager to enroll the next little Nadja Comenici.

The class is a tad bizarre. Teacher Medie starts the class by demonstrating the "skills" to be mastered on each apparatus around the "circuit." As if toddlers are going to concentrate on pointing their toes and move around the gym in an orderly manner. No. For the most part, Jeremy and his classmates run full tilt with abandon, bouncing off the padded ramps, screeching with joy in the pit, and rearranging the circuit to fit their own imaginations. Truly, this age group is but one step up from wild banshees. Mid-way through the session, the kids gather on a parachute and Teacher Medie leads about three minutes of stretching exercises, which at best are a great way for the kids to learn body parts. It also introduces these little people to the concept of group instruction, even if their attention span is w-a-a-a-y to short to master it.

Even so, I value the classes for Jeremy for two reasons. First, he needs any opportunity he can get to practice his balance, and how to fall (which he does often) in a way that minimizes the hurt, and build muscle on his skinny little skeleton. Second, in the winter the gym is like a dependable, if expensive, park outing.

Today was the end of the current eight-week session. Apparently the older kids have "shows" during the last class of the session, to demonstrate the physical progress they have made. This time around, the gym thought that the tiny tumblers should have their own show today, too. Teacher Medie told us about it last week, with her tongue firmly set in her cheek, and offered that the kids would just be doing a ceremonial circuit around the gym during the last five minutes of class. But clearly the irony was lost on most of the other (college-educated) moms.

When we arrived today just minutes before class, not only were Jeremy's classmates there along with their moms, most of their grandparents were there as well! With Sony Handycams focused on their special little angel! Even some fathers were there, having scooted over from their downtown offices, to witness the talents of their offspring. Many of the tiny tumblers were decked out in their Planet Gymnastics t-shirts and leotards. And there stood Jeremy and I, just wanting to play. I think Teacher Medie was a little flabbergasted as well, when the humorless, expectant expressions of the moms, dads and grandparents conveyed that they wanted a "show," by golly. She adjusted well, and encouraged all of the extended family members to participate in the class. Which of course made the gym very crowded. One grandmother whose video camera was fixated on her own beloved angel obliviously ran right over Jeremy and sent him flying. Thank goodness the class has taught Jeremy how to roll, and he bounced right up and happily took off in another direction.

For a moment, I felt guilt pangs over being a bad co-parent and even worse mother of Jeremy's grandparents' grandson. I hadn't told Mommy Barb or any of his grandparents about this winter pageant. I had deprived them of the opportunity to witness this seminal event in Jeremy's life. After all, he won his first blue ribbon! How? For raising his hands over his head at the end of class and shouting, "Ta da!!!"

Big Boy Steps

The last twenty-four hours have been stellar. Jeremy did four things, each one of which puffed his mommies' hearts up to oversized proportions. The fact that they coincided all on the same day made January 24th one of those giant leaps up the child development ladder.

1. Jeremy voluntarily handed over his pacifier before leaving for daycare. This is HUGE. He still loves his paci, but we limit it to sleeping at night. Being the smart boy that he is, he avoids things like eating and brushing his teeth as long as possible in the morning to avoid the inevitable traffic congestion in his mouth and enjoy a few more suckles. Usually, though, getting the paci away from him involves sophisticated distraction and bait-and-switch tactics by Mama Nay, so he really doesn't participate in the relinquishment. Yesterday morning, though, it was time to leave the house and the paci was still between his lips. So, I sat down with him and asked him to give it to me. After he didn't respond, I told him I wanted to give him the chance to give it to me for safe keeping, so I didn't have to take it away from him. He thought about it, hesitated, and then, just as I thought he was going to pretend he didn't hear me, Mommy Barb offered him a drink of milk. He looked at the milk, then back at me, and then, very slowly, took the paci out of his mouth and handed it me. HOORAY! He took a sip of milk, and then walked to the front door. Not a tear was shed.

2. On the way to daycare, Jeremy yelled his provider's name with a huge smile on his face and his hands thrust in the air. Even though he plays happily at daycare and apparently rarely cries, the transition to daycare can be tenuous. It usually ranges from tentative to very very sad. Certainly never happy, nor excited. But yesterday, mere moments after the voluntary relinquishment of the paci, I asked if he wanted to go see Jen, and he screamed "Jen!" so loud it startled me. When we arrived, he took off his coast and, instead of his usual clingy reversion to a nine-month old, he walked over to Jen, grabbed her finger and led her towards the playroom. Almost as an afterthought, he cast me a backward glance, and I smiled with a "See you later, little dude." And I left.

3. At the dinner table, Jeremy said, "Noodles, please." Completely unprompted. Not only was this one of his first two-word phrases, it shows good manners!

4. Jeremy slept through the night, all night, in his own bed, without crying, until 6:30am this morning. We cannot even remember the last time he did that. Oh wait, yes we can. It was in August. The bonus? He came out of his room without his paci.

The Music Man

Sorry for the unplanned hiatus, but we didn't foresee the number of waking hours that we have spent since Christmas watching the Music Man. Jeremy's fans know that he latched on to Julie Andrews in his first months of life, and reveres The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins. Liza Minelli, Patsy Cline and the ballads by American Idol runner-up Katherine McPhee have likewise captured his rapt attention. So, for Christmas, Santa delivered a copy of the Music Man DVD to our humble abode. Not even Santa was omniscient enough to predict what would happen next.

On Christmas morning, after watching the entire movie, Jeremy asked to see the marching band scene again. And again. And again. We stopped counting at 26 times. Seriously. I shudder to think how often our boy has watched the movie in the last 25 days. If it was VHS, it would have been stretched out beyond its limits by now.

Jeremy is absolutely captivated, enthralled and intoxicated by this musical. But don't get me wrong. It is not passive. He matches the percussion riffs on his drums. He conducts the imaginary band along with Professor Harold Hill. During the parade scenes, he grabs the nearest stick and marches around the house with the impeccable, proud form of a drum major. He is even memorizing the choreography and dancing along with the ensemble. It is truly remarkable. And infectious! We spent the Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend with eight friends at a vacation home on the Russian River in Sonoma County, and by the end of our stay, every one was humming the Wells Fargo Wagon song and stepping out to Seventy-Six Trombones.

Jeremy's OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Drumming) syndrome is proving to be educational, too. Even though we have been to the California Railroad Museum here in Sacramento 5 or 6 times, I never saw the display celebrating the 1920 Union Pacific Railroad Marching Band until today when Jeremy spotted it from across the exhibition hall and drug me over to it. First, he gesticulated wildly at the band uniform on the manikin. Then, he pointed at the big, vintage percussion instrument, and yelled, "Dum!" The smile on his face was worth a million bucks.

Aside from the musical immersion program, Jeremy has been busy learning and laughing. The Christmas and New Years holidays were full of happy gatherings with all sorts of family and friends. Mommy Barb baked about 10 pies, Mama Nay gave the play room a face lift (new paint and base boards) and Jeremy demonstrated his total appreciation by devouring the pies and dancing in his play room. As of late, play dough consumes a significant portion of Jeremy's waking hours. And he has decided that he likes sleeping with his mommies. He still humors us by going to sleep in his bed, but it's a rare night that he doesn't ask to come join us by 1am or so.

Steadily, steadily Jeremy is expanding his vocabulary. Just today, he added "star" and "circle." And this week marks fairly consistent use (with gentle reminders, of course) of "thank you" and "please." He also is now happily smiling for the camera!!!