Q. What’s possibly our most fitting Yiddish word ever?
A. “Naches” (pronounced “NAKH-es”), meaning “Emotional gratification or pride, especially taken vicariously at the achievement of one’s children.”
We might have to rename the blog “Micronaxx & Meganaches.” L’chaim! 🙂
Our friend Maria once gave us Tickle Monster plus a pair of “tickle mitts.” On her recent visit, though, bare hands–with an assist from Henry’s “Bushy-Tailed Menace”–got the job done:
First, a few background details:
Finn uses a little wagon in the basement to transport his big cardboard blocks back and forth to the “quarry” in the far corner.
We read a lot of Babar books, which contain fascinating, arcane details like getting “vigorous rubdowns with alcohol and soft brushes” when one is cold.
Baby cousin Jenna has been discussed as being too small for quite a few activities.
We overheard Finn sticking up for his little brother at Bouncyland the other evening, when a 5 year-old was trying to tell him that Henry was too small to jump in one of the bounce houses.
Now, the story, verbatim, that John overheard Finny reciting in the basement yesterday morning while playing:
“I have a son who’s about 20 months. He keeps wanting to come to the quarry with me, but he’s just too small. Maybe he can come in 5 months, or 7. His name is Alcohol. He’s at my home with the mom. Her name is Beagle. My name is Sir Bobbiter.”
I’d hardly call G-Man a bold kid. He’s the guy who, for example, fears that house cats are going to eat the PJs off him. This explains my surprise & delight when he spied Danny the Dragon walking around Happy Hollow, cried “Danny!,” hopped down from my arms, and chased down the big green guy. Go Hen go! Check it out:
The sight of our lads gleefully engaging in low-speed chases around the kitchen island makes me think of this old Far Side cartoon. (Every so often I play the role of the hunted butterball. ;-))
…and I do mean demands!
Finny has entered the wonderful stage of making earnest, repetitive, targeted demands. And, since nothing gets by Mr. Henry, he is definitely aping his brother’s less-than-polite tactics for getting what he wants. It’s as if we haven’t been reminding them to “say please, say thank you” repeatedly day after day for years! Some examples (and believe me, this is a sharply abridged list!):
Finny:
“I want more milk! I want cinnamon toast! I don’t want toast, I want cereal! I want to watch Thomas! Mom-o, stop talking to me! Henry, stop playing with my trucks!”
Henry:
“I want truck videos! I want my trucks! I need my two Ollies! I waaaaaaant iiiiiiit! I dropped my _____, get it for me! Wipe my hands off! ” And, immediately upon waking the day after Halloween: “I want candy!”
It just goes on and on. I imagine being on the receiving end of the constant demands must feel somewhat like an old-school stockbroker shouting and signaling futilely in the middle of the insanely crowded trading floor. We stand firm and don’t move a muscle until there’s a “please” added to turn the demand into a request!
[I think Finn might actually need conflict right now, for whatever reason. He can be what seems like deliberately crazy, trying to get a rise out of us. For example, after trick or treating the other night, while I was putting Henry down Finn silently helped himself to a huge pile of M&M’s. I wasn’t pleased, but I didn’t make a big deal of it, and I said he could have more in the morning. “You said I can’t have any in the morning!!” he wailed, over and over, despite my protests. It was so irrational, so arbitrary-seeming, that I figured he must somehow need the battle. (Well, that and his poor tired bod was undergoing an epic sugar crash!) –J.]
Henry despises having his hair washed. He hollers, cries, squirms and complains about getting his hair washed Every. Single. Time. We’ve had him watch his brother stay calm and cool during the whole process, hoping he’d observe and learn. We’ve tried all sorts of techniques to make the hairwashing more pleasant. We’ve even tried to wash his hair as infrequently as possible, but he’s a little boy, and the grime builds up fast!
Finally, we came up with a bribe (a chocolate-covered raisin) and an accompanying chant (a bathtime chanty?) that goes a little something like this: “Calm and cool and you get a RAI-sin!” We sing it over and over while we wash Henry’s hair, to remind him that he can stay cool, and also to try and distract him from the proceedings. Finny even sings along with us. The phrasing is based on one of the guys’ favorite cartoon characters, Fireman Sam, whose theme song admonishes listeners to stay “cool and calm” when they hear that fire alarm. The little song actually seems to work for little Hen, who tries very hard to settle down, knowing that the coveted raisin is coming!
We find that we’re advising the guys–and ourselves–to stay cool and calm quite a bit these days. Two-year old Henry, Â who already has his Master of Histrionics degree, and Finny the three-and-a-half year old who’s struggling for total independence, tend to lose their cool more frequently than we’d like. There are many reminders to “use your words” instead of going from zero to instant hollering/whining, reminders to share, reminders to ask for things nicely instead of grabbing and snatching, and reminders to stay cool and calm in order to achieve one’s desired results.
Every once in awhile, we can see our hard work paying off. Last night, as Finny erupted into a fit about something at the dinner table, I calmly & coolly told him his options were to chill out and stay at the table, or go to his room until he could be nice to be around. He of course chafed at his options and began to reload the barrels of his whine cannon, until I gave him The Look (you know the one, the “I mean business” look). At which point, he hopped off his chair and retreated to his room without another word. John and I looked at each other in amazement. We may have even high-fived! And when Finny came back a couple minutes later, cool and calm prevailed.
John nudged me and whispered, “I think we deserve a raisin!”
Poor Calvin’s dad. Growing up I never understood why, when asked over & over to read Hamster Huey & the Gooey Kablooie, he’d groan & roll his eyes. I get it now.
For the last several weeks (months? millennia?), Henry’s insisted that I “tell the Mater story,” recounting Rescue Squad Mater (see below) from memory. I’m a pretty transparent guy, and I guess I must’ve muttered some complaint after the thousandth telling. Today as I put him down for a nap, I thought I’d gotten away clean–until from the darkness I heard “I would like the Mater story, Dad-O!” As I was busy palming my face and heading back into his room, Henry added gleefully “…again and again!” Busted! ;-P
Ah well; someday, I know, the last thing the guys’ll want is to hear stories from the old man. For now I try to enjoy it, again and again.
As Finny might say, “Ay Dios mio!” A couple of weeks ago at “pre cool”, Henry lost his beloved little owl blankie, better known as Ollie. When John arrived at Pasitos to pick the boys up at the end of the day, Henry immediately told him about his missing buddy. None of the maestras had been able to find him after searching high and low. John told Henry that perhaps Ollie had decided to fly home and would meet Henry there. And after a quick, surreptitious text message to me, I grabbed one of our spare Ollies and had him ready and waiting!
Henry, of course, was none the wiser, and was amazed that Ollie had “flown” home on his own! Now, John and I were slightly worried that the original Ollie might show up at preschool again, and we were hoping the maestras would be savvy enough to hide him if they found him, so we could stick with the idea that there was only one buddy.
The following week, the boys went to school with buddies in tow. This time, when Dad-o arrived to pick them up, he was in for a big surprise…He walked in the door and was met by an ecstatic Henry, who exclaimed “Two Ollies!” Turns out Henry found Ollie #1 tangled up amongst his nap gear (mat, sheet, blanket), and of course he was already cuddling Ollie #2. We’re not sure if he came up with this on his own, or if one of the maestras planted the seed, but Henry came to the conclusion that the two Ollies were brothers, and that one of them had flown to preschool during the lunch break. And rather than being confused about double Ollies, he was joyful! Now he had two buddies to snuggle – what could be better?!
Ever since, Hen’s been vigilant about having both Ollies around for naptime, playtime, and bedtime. Of course, that means that we now have yet another buddy to keep track of, but it’s worth it. It is absolutely adorable to watch him cuddle both guys wearing an ear-to-ear grin.
File under “Things That’s Embarrass the Guys in a Few Years.”
Lately we’ve been spending a good bit of time with our friends the Wiggins, and I’ve advised dad Michael: Hide your ladies!
Recently Margot walked by Finn’s room and heard him singing in his bed, crooning what sounded like “The Ju-li-aaaan-a Song.” When asked to repeat it, he turned a little sheepish. Later, though, he grew more bold: “Mom-O,” he announced, “I’m going to marry Juliana!” Margot explained that Juliana is already married to Michael, but Finn was unfazed. “That’s okay,” he said, “In a week or so, when I’m a man, I’ll marry Juliana.” (Knowing this “marrying” stuff–whatever it is–gets a laugh, he now claims he’ll marry Michael, marry his brother, etc.)
Henry’s a little more realistic, setting his sights on little Hazel. He and I had a fun little exchange a few weeks ago as I entered his bedroom:
Henry, waking, greets me: “Who is it? Is it ladies?”
Me: “No, it’s Dad-O.”
H: “Oh. I was dreaming… of ladies… ladies in my crib.”
🙂
Random bonus: My German colleagues sometimes say “Mach’ keine Fisimatenten,” meaning don’t do anything stupid/any nonsense that could lead to harm. Apparently the phrase dates back to when occupying French soldiers would call out to German fräuleins, inviting them to “Visite ma tente” (visit my tent). Thus German parents told them not to do any “Fisimatenten”. I thought of this phrase when Henry was showing Hazel the tent that’s set up in the basement. No fisimatenten, little lady!
This past Monday, Dad-o celebrated his 36th birthday. We treated him to pizza at one of our favorite local joints, Willow Street Pizza (also known as “Mega Bot!” for their delicious fresh-baked loaves of bread you can snack on while you wait. Bot = bread, of course).
The boys would have much preferred to skip the pizza and get straight down to the business of eating Dad-o’s birthday cake, which was chocolate through and through. We showed Dad-o the cake before we left for dinner so he’d know to leave some room for it afterwards.
I think the guys were also pretty excited to sing “Happy Birthday” again since it’s one of their current favorites! They helped him blow out the candles, and then got involved in some serious enjoyment (photos) of the chocolate bounty. For Henry, the experience was only slightly marred when he bit off a piece of candle, expecting it to be delicious candy, and discovered it was not delicious at all! (Note his expression in the final shot in the gallery.)
While Dad-o was away in Chicago this past weekend, the boys and I had a jam-packed weekend full of adventure. On Saturday morning, we visited our local fire station, where the dudes got to explore and sit in the pumper truck, tour the station, and see a fireman come down the fire pole (twice!). They also tried on some helmets and got to chat with the fire captain and firemen on duty.
Afterwards, we headed home to host a playdate at Fort Nack (a.k.a. the new playset) so Finny and Henry’s friends and their parents could enjoy the new swings, slide, fort, and trapeze. I think everyone had a ball–there were lots of kids clambering around, Finny was giving them a tour of the newly-dubbed playset-as-fire truck and explaining to the other kids how he would put out fires. There were kids on the sandbox, kids in the fort, kids on the grass, and parents enjoying the gazebo and grass for a picnic lunch.
Sunday morning found us “bageling,” our traditional Sunday-morning stroll to the neighborhood bagel joint for apple juice and cinnamon raisin bagels with cream cheese. Then we strolled home through Palm Haven with a pitstop at our favorite rock garden, which is filled with interesting small succulent plants and wee garden sculptures. After naps, we headed over to San Jose State University for a free “Pops in the Park” concert, featuring famous movie theme music, another picnic, lots of grass to run around in, *free* ice cream, and more time to hang out with our buddies big and small! It was also our friend Malachy’s 3rd birthday (thanks to his mom Shay for hipping us to the concert!), so the boys also got to enjoy cupcakes and watermelon courtesy of the birthday boy. The guys had an absolute blast and were so worn out that Finny asked to leave the concert early so they could come home and get ready for bed!
We all missed Dad-o while he was away, but we sure had a nice weekend with lots of activities to keep us busy. We were also a little sad that Dad-o couldn’t be around to party with us, but we did snap some pictures to share with him and with you. (See also some concert/picnic pics from our friend Tara.)
On Monday night as Margot & I were watching a movie, a little blonde man suddenly appeared in the doorway. “I wanted to snuggle with you guys upstairs! I couldn’t find you up there!” he declared. As I escorted him back to bed, he was eager to show me his open door: “This is where I creeped out!” Afterwards as we laid in the sack, he struck up conversation:
“Dad-O, what if your back was broken and there was a hole in it where we put food?”
“Uh… what do you mean, buddy?”
“I mean what if you were a food truck, and I was a table?”
“You were a table…? Where would you be?”
“I’d be in the kitchen, by the stove.” [Duh, dad!]
“Oh… and who would eat off of you?”
“Mom-O and G-Man. [Double duh!] You’d pull up outside, and I’d go out to unload the food.”
“Ah, okay. Would you walk on all fours, like a bear, or regular person-style?”
“I’d walk person-style.”
“Okay. You’d probably have to be careful not to dump off the food when you stood up.”
“Yeah… Hey, what if I was just wearing a table costume, instead of being an actual table?”
“I think that sounds like a pretty good plan, buddy. Okay, ready for some sleep?”
“Sure. May you rub my back first?”
“Sure, pal.”
[Aaand, *scene*]
Recently I decided to try a new strategy on our histrionics-prone Henry. He really seems to enjoy crying at the drop of a hat to express how he’s feeling about things. Don’t like getting your dipe changed? Bring on the caterwauling! Don’t want to eat what you requested for breakfast? Time for crocodile tears! Feel like protesting before your day at preschool? Cue the shrieking. You see where I’m going with this…
Time for a change, I thought to myself. So this weekend, after Henry cried and screamed his way through having his hair washed (as usual), I talked to him about what it might be like if he chose not to cry. l said, “If you could stay cool and calm during hair washing, things would go so smoothly! And quickly! And you could have a treat like an Oreo or something.” He sort of seemed to understand the no crying = treat idea.
Then I thought it might be worth prepping him with the same idea before preschool on Monday. Lately he’s been crying quite a bit at drop off and sporadically during the day. He can be such a sweetheart but he’s starting to become known as “the kid who cries a lot.” Not great. So on Sunday I talked to him a couple times about preschool, and how he could decide to be a happy guy and not cry at preschool. I reminded him how much fun it was, how Finny was always there to help him out, how he could have Ollie if he needed him, and how much the nice Maestras like him. I said “really, there’s no reason to cry, Henry. Preschool is fun, and it will be even more fun if you decide you don’t want to cry, and that you want to enjoy yourself.”
Lo and behold, success! In the car on the way to school, I heard Henry quietly repeating (unprompted!) “I’m not going to cry at preschool.” When we got to school and he was taking his hat and shoes off, he repeated “I’m not going to cry at preschool.” He wailed for a minute when he asked for a snack and I told him we just arrived and it wasn’t snack time yet, but then I encouraged him to go find something fun to do. He quieted right down, went off to play, and after smooches, I departed with zero histrionics! When we came to get the boys yesterday afternoon, I asked Maestra Yolanda how Henry did. She said he had a really good day and she even heard him saying “I’m not going to cry at preschool” a few times. (Apparently he also said “I’m not going to nap at preschool,” but his weary bod won that battle!)
That’s my boy!
[Update: Hen did even better today, not peeping even once in protest when I dropped off the guys! Way to stick the landing, kiddo. As Borat might excitedly say, “Great success!!” –J.]
Yesterday the Finnfatha & I tried a little “Freaky Friday”-style role reversal: as I tried to get him to nap a bit (okay, to let me nap, too), we decided that he was the dad-o & I was the kid. As I laid on the couch he relished bringing me blankets: “I’m putting them onto your chest & stuffing them under your chin, like a bib!” When he eventually laid down at the other end of the couch, he noticed that his “Looen” Leo was MIA.
“Kid!” he said. “Your looen is missing! I think he’s in the basement!” (meaning I’d need to get up and open the safety gate)
“Oh Dad-O,” I said in falsetto, “It’s okay. I don’t need my looen right now.”
“Yes you do, kid!” he insisted. “If you don’t have him you’ll cry and cry!”
Oh boy. So up I got, opened the gate, laid back down & shut my eyes. Soon, through the floor, I could hear Finn cackling to himself. Up the stairs he came, laughing all the way. As he came to the doorway he said, “Ki-iiiid, I have a surprise for yo-oou!!”
With my eyes still shut, and with some nervousness, I asked, “Um… is it a looen?”
“It’s NOT a looen,” he declared triumphantly, “It’s a DIPE!!” And running over, he placed a (thankfully unused!) diaper on my chest (and thankfully not elsewhere!).
[PS: As I was finishing this post, Henry spied me Googling for pictures of diapers. Now he’s convinced that this crazy diaper-helmet kid is Finny. “It’s *not* Finny!” protests his bro, to no avail. –J.]
We have had quite the exciting day today. At 7:30am, our nanny Coco called and said she couldn’t make it in, since her daughter Tiffy was in labor and was due to give birth. Coco was headed to SF to look after Tyler (a.k.a. the T-Man), Tiffy’s 2 year-old, while Tiffy was in the hospital.
Since we found ourselves in the position of juggling childcare between Mom-o and Dad-o, after our morning meetings we thought we’d treat the guys to a viewing of Pixar’s “Cars 2” at the movie theater. The boys were so excited they couldn’t WAIT to get into the Ocho and head for the show. (We bought tickets online early, so we had about 2 hours of “when do we leave for the movie?” to deal with. And we’ve been hearing Henry say “I’m Mater, Dad-o” for weeks on end!)
This was our first visit to a movie theater with the guys, and we all love the Cars characters, so the four of us were pretty jazzed. Once we got out of the car and walked towards the box office, Finny kept saying “I’m so happy this is my first time seeing a movie at the movie theater! I’m so excited!” Not surprisingly, once we made our way towards the theater, Finny spied the popcorn, so of course we had to get a big bag to snack on. He was very concerned that I was giving too much of it to Henry and Dad-o, and that there wouldn’t be enough left for him (Impossible! It was an enormous bag!)
We settled in to watch the movie (Hen and Finno on booster seats–thanks AMC Mercado!), and both boys were absolutely rapt. Henry got a little freaked when there was fire in one scene, and had to take a couple short breaks, but Finny hung in there for the entire movie, only moving to come sit on my lap halfway through. They both really enjoyed it–and I get the feeling Finny’s going to be asking to go to a lot more movies! The movie, by the way, was a lot of fun–another great flick by the Pixar gang!
The boys and I treated Dad-o to what I consider a “Big Adventure Father’s Day” this year. The festivities started super-early with our PJ-clad dad (above) opening presents Finny and Henry picked out: tons of fun boxer shorts including the requisite “greatest dad” and “#1 dad”, and a couple of fun T-shirts.
Then after a quick breakfast we climbed into the Ocho and hit the road for Dennis The Menace Park in Monterey. It was a beautiful day, and since the boys woke up so early, we made it to the park by 9am…well before any other families. We had the entire park to ourselves, and in particular the giant (real) steam locomotive that the guys love climbing on. Our busy engineer and conductor spent what must have been almost 90 solid minutes playing on the engine*, with only a quick break for a snack and a very brief tour of the park’s other attractions. If you’re an SJ local and you haven’t gone to this park, make haste! It is well worth the drive. It may be the Best Park Ever.
Soon it was lunchtime, so we drove over to a little cafe for pizza in their beautiful courtyard. As Dad-o was finishing up his pie, Finny and I snuck away for one last secret treat–a quick walk down the street to a French bakery, where we picked up a sackful of delicious little chocolatey and nutty cookies. After a lovely driving tour of the seaside all along the Monterey Peninsula, we headed home.
Our last treat of the day was meeting up with our friends the Wiggins and their kids for a taco picnic at Rolly Slide Park. Everyone was absolutely spent by the end of the day, and after a quick bath, the guys hit the hay and Mom-o and Dad-o were not too far behind.
[ *Engineer Finn just wouldn’t be lured by other stuff: “We’re going to focus on the engine,” he informed me. –J.]
Both guys have been singing up a storm these days. I’ll often hear Henry bust out fragments of the ABC song (“A B C D… play with me”–talk about concise!), and I’ll frequently catch Finn making weird little mash-ups (“Bob the Builder, done dirt cheap!!”).
Now Finn has, just like his nutty parents, started spicing up his dialog with little song fragments. Both boys love Fireman Sam, the theme song to which includes the line, “Keeps it cool & calm.” Yesterday as I chased Finn through his room threatening to gobble him up, he wheeled around, threw up his hands like a Jedi knight projecting the Force, and declared, “Keep it coooool & caaaalm!!” It was such a genuine little moment of laugh-panic, I was floored (literally) and haven’t stopped chuckling since.
How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child. — King Lear
“You know what I was thinking today?” asked Finn as we walked away from our first baseball game.
“Uh, what?” I asked, kind of taken aback. (I’d never heard him initiate that kind of question.)
“You say too much silly stuff, Dad-O. It’s a bunch of jibber jabber.”
Now I was really surprised. “Well, I’m just trying to be funny, bud. You don’t like it?”
“I like it,” Finn replied, trying to humor me, “but… it’s just not cool to listen to.”
And thus a very small fist landed in my solar plexus.
Later in the tub, I broached the issue again.
“You don’t like it when we joke around, Finny?”
“No,” he shook his head. “It’s just too nonsense-y.”
Now, I’m sure that anyone who has kids older than 3 will say that this is about the mildest rejection/rebuke one could experience at the hands of one’s child. Still, though, “the first cut is the deepest,” and it’s hard to hear of one’s uncoolness–especially from such a young guy!
Not to worry, though: Finn’s with me in the gazebo now, firing off streams of jibberish and proudly declaring, “That’s Spanish! I’m talking like a baby speaking Spanish!” There is no escape from the old man’s weird undertow. 🙂
John has been away in Germany all week, so I have been solo-parenting. This sometimes means that the guys get to watch a little more TV than normal because it lets me get a few things done around the house either before I leave for work or before the kids go to bed. They’d watched a couple pre-bedtime episodes of “Mighty Machines” (so Mom-o could clean up the kitchen and get laundry going without stumbling over toddlers!), a program they really enjoy. Basically they’re 30 minute-long shows about various gigantic vehicles in action–in mines, at airports and fire stations, in forests, and at cement plants. To say the guys love Mighty Machines is an understatement.
Last night, our last solo-mom night, Henry had already gone to bed, and Finny approached me.
F: “I want to watch Mighty Machines before bed!”
M: “I don’t think so, buddy. It’s pretty late, and besides, you’ve watched a lot of TV this week already. I think we’ll skip TV tonight.”
F: “But I want to watch TV before bed every night like you and Dad-o do.”
M: Speechless. Sort of ashamed, and embarrassed! Thinking about what a lame role model I am! Seriously reconsidering my TV-watching habits!
BUSTED.
