Happy Valentine's Day

Yesterday was Andy's first V-day party at his school. He enjoyed a face full of frosting, and candy hearts galore. I simply couldn't put a stop to the sweets. There were too many and he was having too much fun, so I gave up policing and grabbed a cupcake myself.

Today we had planned a party for our Moms Club at the Center for Creative Play, but had to cancel. The Center was closed, along with 581 schools in the area, due to icy road conditions. Canceling the party was a disappointment, but since the roads were empty, Andy was able to tobaggon down our street with a neighbor! And the trees make beautiful icicles.

Brrrr

So, Andy had his first "snow day". His preschool teacher called to cancel because of the wind chill, which makes the temperature feel about 11 below, even though it's only -1. At least that's what Accuweather.com tells me.

Cassandra says she forgets what these temperatures feel like, even though she spent several winters in Chicago. To refresh her memory, here's my best description: when the wind is whipping your face with a sting that brings tears to your eyes, climbing into your frozen car feels like stepping into a warm sauna. It's that %$#@ing cold.

And yet, two of my friends here, one from Iowa and the other from Minnesota, tell me this is really nothing. I'll take their word for it, those two who save their bitching for more important matters, like potty training. ("Are you done whining about the cold now, because I want to tell you how my daughter left a turd for me on the stairs.")

Now you know why I like the gal from Iowa, because she drops words like "turd" into the conversation without a shred of embarrassment. The Minnesotan woman, her speech is less colorful, but I love the things she gets me to think about. Although I'd heard of the Montessori Method of education, her enthusiasm for it inspired me to learn more. Mike and I both read up on Montessori, and are now convinced this approach meshes with our own ideals, and seems to be an environment Andy would thrive in.

It's a shame that the local Montessori public charter can only espouse a small part of the philosophy. They claim to be 30% Montessori. Sadly, the system of grades and high stakes testing is incompatible with the crux of Montessori: that of the child's individuality and freedom.

It's Groundhog Day!

On Gobbler's Knob I see no shadow today.
I predict that early spring is on the way.

Andy and I hadn't heard Punxutawney Phil's prediction when we decided to head out to the Pittsburgh Zoo this morning, but we were right in feeling a celebratory mood. Temperatures hovered just below freezing today. An early spring!?

I suppose Pennsylvania could have treated me much worse in my first winter here, but these past two weeks have been cold enough. Oh, sure, the first few days of snow were enchanting. I was on a Lake Tahoe vacation! I would have been whistling "Walking in a Winter Wonderland", (if I could whistle). As it was, the song danced around my head as I drew Andy repeatedly to the window. "Look, son! Look at all the pretty snow!"

Soon, my mantra became: "Still snowing?"

Or: "The snow... It's still here? Cold, eh."

Then, it started to feel chilly even looking out the window. Our windows are drafty, that's part of the problem, but it actually became painful just to turn my eyes and gaze at the leftover, crusty, sludgy snow-stuff (never mind slipping and sliding and driving in it)... That's when I started missing California.

But, the zoo. Back to the zoo. Andy and I enjoy the zoo most at this time of year. We have it mostly to ourselves, and some of the animals are so active, it seems as though they put on a private show for us. Nothing risque, just a little more frolic and joy in their step. The tiger cubs and polar bears especially thrive in this weather, and seem to like the break from constant surveillance. They can let their fur down.

Still referring to himself in the third person, Andy expressed his desire to have a more hands-on experience with the animals: "Andy hug the Polar Bear. Andy pet the polar bear on the back, gently," To which, I replied: "The polar bears are wild animals, and don't like to be pet or hugged. They have sharp claws. They are in a special cage."

But, my heart did little leaps when Andy, defying all logic, attributed the powers of the gods to me, his mother: "Mommy take the polar bear out of the cage. Mommy take it out. Mommy let Andy hug the bear, gently. No hurt you."

Ahhhh, 'if I could, if I only could... I surely would.'

Nails and stuff

Call CPS! Yes, that is Andy on a bed of nails. He was unusually calm and patient as Grandma put him on the bed and the nails started to rise out of it. Didn't hurt a bit! This is one of the exhibits demonstrating risk at the Carnegie Science Center.

Here's a view out of our top floor window. It was a very rainy day with dark clouds, but the sun peeked through for a bit and brought out the color of the grass and trees.

Christmas 2006

Click here to view our holiday photos.

Small Favors

Andy and I arrived back in Pittsburgh yesterday, after five days in the Seattle area.

I had a couple of days alone with my grandmother after Pop's memorial service. These were long days, in which Gram mostly slept on her recliner, as the Cartoon network droned in the background, keeping Andy in his own docile haze. I don't know if Gram slept more because of her grief or if it was a consequence of her stroke, of aging. I puttered around her small apartment, wondering what I could possibly say or do to help her.

She told me she wanted to bawl her eyes out, but she never did. Oh, she cried. But something always pulled her back to the present moment. Often this was Andy, finding a ball of yarn and unraveling it all over her living room, or trying to insert a pair of scissors into an electrical outlet. And--unbelievably--she would smile. Laugh even. There was clearly nothing I could do to help Gram, but there was plenty that Andy could. If he didn't bring her to the present, he could take her to the happy past. One of her sons used to stick things in outlets, she recalled. (I thought this must have been my Dad or Jay, but no, it was Joe.)

I asked her, where did she think Pop was now? She replied "Oh, it's as the bible says... " and sighed, "But I'm not thinking of him. I'm selfishly thinking of me and how much I miss him. There's an empty place now, that hurts, way down here..." She longed for Pop to say he loved her again. They were married for 63 years. And they were happy years, she reassured me. "He was a good lover."

Gram asked me, was I scared, traveling alone with Andy? She wanted to know how I arranged for the car and if I minded sleeping in the cottage by myself. Gram is facing an empty bed for the first time.

I realized just how much I lean on Mike. He usually makes the flying arrangements, checks us in at the self-service kiosks, and determines which gate we are flying from. I appreciated this fact when I scrambled to find Gate "E" at the Pittsburgh airport. I managed to end up at a service elevator, where an employee took pity on me. He asked to look at my ticket.

"You're flying from gate B22," he told me.

"Not E?" I was flushed and flustered. Holding on to my active toddler's hand while balancing my purse and carry-on was about all I could manage. Getting both of our shoes on after sneaking his juice through inspections as he screamed for it had winded me. (They found the juice, anyway. After eyeing it suspiciously, it was returned to me.) Didn't I see E clearly marked on our ticket?

"No. I'm afraid the E stands for Electronic. As in, E-Ticket," he said quietly. But then, to make me feel better, added "It happens all the time. The gate number is actually very small...Right there, see? B22,"

"Oh," I thanked him profusely. He accompanied us on the tram, and pointed the way to terminal B. I felt like a complete idiot, of course, but grateful for the small favor. Actually, there were many acts of kindness toward us along the way. Like the rental shuttle driver, who found me a luggage cart, loaded it up with our bags, and sat Andy in the front of it, taking care that his legs were securely in. A different shuttle driver carried our bags all the way to the rental car and loaded them in for us. Sure, they could have been looking for a good tip, but I don't think so. I think they were genuinely pleased to help. As the employee who found us wandering at the wrong elevator mentioned when he said goodbye to us: "No problem. I'm glad I could do something worthwhile today,".

While Pop's presence was acutely missed in the Warm Beach apartment he and Gram shared--I often wondered what he would have said to lighten the heavy mood; it would have been clever and funny--Gram impressed me, as always, with her charm and grace. To everything and everyone, it was "Thank you, Dear." We left her apartment for an outing to Starbucks, and she noticed my rental car parked outside. "Is this your car? Good. I've always wanted to ride in a PT Cruiser," and she slowly climbed aboard, ready for another adventure.

Lynnton Houston Elwell 1920-2007

My Pop died last night at a nursing home north of Seattle. He had just turned 86. Up until a few months ago, he was living independently, with my grandmother, in a small apartment in a senior community. I am immensely grateful that we were able to visit Pop and Gram for two Thanksgivings, first when Andy was just two months old, and then a year later, at 14 months old. Sadly, we did not go this year.

My heart aches for my grandmother. She remained in her apartment, but went to visit Pop in nursing care for most of the day, even sneaking him into her dining room for an occasional lunch: the dining room where they had eaten their lunches and dinners together for the past several years. She took Pop there despite reprimand and despite the fact that he would sometimes pour juice into his coffee. How an 85 year old woman, barely ambulatory herself, managed to escort her mostly bed-bound husband to lunch is a remarkable feat in itself. I suppose she was insistent that their lives retain some shred of dignity.

I remember dining with Gram and Pop in the "Garden Room". To reach the entrance, we had to first walk through a passage way with a large window overlooking the skilled nursing cafeteria, where the more elderly and disabled residents would wait-- slumped in their wheelchairs, wearing oversized bibs-- for an aid to spoon pureed pears into their perpetually open mouths. Gram visibly shuddered each time we passed this sight. It seemed a cruel and needless reminder of what was inevitable. Gram expressed her hope that she and Pop would not end up there, and I think it was then that she told me: "Don't ever grow old, Barbara."

When I received the voicemail from my Dad, letting me know that his Dad had passed, I did not feel the sadness immediately. Physically, mentally and emotionally, Pop was suffering. He told Gram a few days ago: "Let's get some money and a car and get out of this place." When he had to end his life of service as a minister and teacher, when his sight began to fail him and he couldn't enjoy the pleasures of reading--and this was many years ago--that was when I began to mourn for him.

As a child, the highlights of my visits with Pop were when he'd make his signature drink for us grandchildren: gingerale and lime sherbet floats. He had an extensive wind-up toy collection, and once each visit he would wind each one of them up, so that the whole house came to life with little wheeling objects. My favorite was Santa Claus on a bicycle.

Pop had an incredible wit and sense of humor, that sometimes turned surly. When Jessica and I tried to use their old mop to clean their kitchen, we joked that it was time to buy a new one. He grew defensive and quipped that his old mop was a lot like our hair!

Pop needed to retreat often to the solitude of his study, to read and think in private. In fact, this is what I remember most about him. I have this same need, and I'm sure I get it from him. When I learned of his death, I had an overwhelming urge to be alone for awhile, to create this post for him. Some cyberspace equivalent of pen and ink, if not bricks and mortar, something to commemorate that he lived and he died.

I know he would be disappointed to hear it, but I have no idea where--or if-- he is, now. I did not inherit his faith. His passing is a reminder to me to appreciate the gift of life, to say the "I love yous", to write, read, think and be of service to others. To find the humor in situations. To get out the toys and wind them all up.

I think I will have a sherbet float and say a quiet toast to him. Maybe even a prayer.

Thank you, Pop, for your life. I will miss you.

Dec. 19, 1920-Jan. 1, 2007

First Movie

I took Andy to his first movie (Happy Feet) on a Father/Son outing today.

He kept a running commentary:
"Birds flying away" - after Mumble escapes some hungry birds
"Just elephants" - after seeing some initially scary elephant seals
"Silly penguins" - during some penguin antics
(while patting my arm) "Andy's Daddy" - seeing a girl and her father on screen
"Something else!" - during a scary avalanche scene

He was so inspired by the dancing penguins that he danced in the aisle during the credits.

Can't Win

It's past Andy's bedtime. Mike is on bath duty; I'm checking email. I hear squeals of delight coming from the tub. I peek my head in the bathroom.

The laughter ceases. "NO Mama! Just Daddy! Mama run away! Mama run away on the wall! Mama run away on the puter!"

I walk back to said 'puter, dejected.

Then, more cries from the tub:

"Mama! Mama come back!"

The Unhappiest Toddler on the Block

I sent the following email to my "Attachment Parenting Spirited Kids" Yahoo Group. I'm anxiously awaiting some responses!

Hello fellow parents in the trenches,

I need some advice for my spirited guy. Lately, it feels that he takes a contrary position to my every wish. Most tryingly, he opposes my wish to leave the house in the morning. He doesn't want to get dressed, doesn't want to eat, doesn't want to let me comb his hair. And his opposition is far from mild... oh, no... these are daily battles of Herculean proportion: screaming, back bending, tears, snot—-picture Cerberus with rabies.

Once we manage to arrive at our destination (preschool, a friend's house,) he is content--thrilled, even--to be there. The transition itself is the problem. I'm expecting him to forgo present gratification (warm, cozy jammies) in favor of an abstract event in the future, however desirable it may be (playing with friends). I try to reason with him: "We need to get dressed in order to go out and play", but it doesn't seem to help. I try offering choices of dress "the yellow shirt or the red shirt", but that doesn't help either. Most often, I wrestle the clothes over his writhing body, as he yells in protest. We finally leave the house, late, both in tears.

He is a typical toddler, but with an extremely persistent, intense and emotional personality. My personality isn't the most flexible, either! I have strong emotional reactions of my own.

What helps your spirited toddler get ready in the morning? Any advice is appreciated.

Pajama Party

Decorating Cookies with buddy Liam
  
More pics of our first snow, which has melted. We had a warm, 50 degree day today.
 
 

Winter Then and Now

Last year Andy enjoyed the snow at Auntie Chell's house. Now he has his own back yard where he can play in the snow.

Sadly, no pictures

...because, well, see my previous post for the reason I didn't take any pictures of Andy with my siblings.

Having Jess and Jake here for the week was a treat. All of our guests from CA have brought sunshine with them, keeping the real Pittsburgh winter at bay. The winter everyone says is inevitable, in a "just wait and see..." knowing way.

Before I persuade family to choose Pittsburgh over 300 days a year of sunshine, I must first survive a winter here. No, it may not be a Minnesota winter, or even an upstate NY winter, but it's certainly not a coastal California winter. I can tell that much already.

For one thing, there are really no evergreens to speak of, besides the dead pines and firs people put up in their living rooms! Christmas decorations go up earlier, and it makes sense in this climate. The landscape is incredibly beautiful, in a stark and dramatic way that leaves no doubt about the season. Hills are visible where they weren't before. From our upstairs' window, we can see the cemetery hillside and the rooftops of our neighbors' Tudor homes. The full folliage of summer and fall hid these sights from us, like a curtain that has now been drawn. Neighbors have waited until now to rake the leaves; no sense going through the effort until every last leaf has fallen.

Although Jess and Jake saw mostly blue skies this visit, we did get a sprinkling of snow on Monday. We were walking back from the Squirrel Hill shopping district when the snow began to fall. We stopped walking and turned our faces to the sky. We laughed and twirled and held out our hands. We taught Andy to catch snowflakes with his mitten paws. It snowed just enough to dust our hats and coats with white powder before melting. Just a fleeting glimpse of a different climate, another way of life. Winter magic.

Maybe Jessica and Jacob will be back for school here in the fall. Jacob toured the University of Pittsburgh; Jessica, the Western School of Health and Business.

If this winter does come in like a lion, I will just have to keep it to myself.

Night Observations

Where Andy gets his bed-head

Here are some things Andy has said to me at bedtime:
"Daddy's head on pillow."
"Daddy Andy's friend." (while holding my hand)
"Daddy a very noisy boy." (apparently I snore...)

Girls' Weekend

  
This is the last picture I took before dropping Mike's camera to the floor of the bar. (And we hit a couple more spots after this one.) Although we had fun, I felt so...........old.

Cassandra, who is the single gal in our threesome, wanted to check out Pittsburgh's nightlife. We hit a few clubs on the South Side. I think she liked what she saw of Pgh's men. (Too bad I already snagged the area's Number One Bachelor, The Most Forgiving Man In The World. Instead of yelling at me for dropping his digital camera for the second time, he thanked me for the excuse to get a newer model with more features. Model camera, that is.)

Thanks ladies, for a memorable weekend!

Collage

  

He Needs his Space

Mike was playing upstairs with Andy this weekend, and was surprised to hear: "Daddy go downstairs. An-ny need SPACE!"

His friend William has a tendency to get close and personal with other toddlers--touching their hair and face, and giving long, intense squeezes. Andy has heard William's parents say: "William, you're being intrusive. Andy needs his space."

In return, Andy has taught William the words "No!", and "pause" for the DVD. (I told them I'm very sorry.)

On the daycare scene, Andy has received several positive reports. His teachers tell us he has not yelled, pushed or hit in the last two sessions. He plays nicely, they say, has an excellent vocabulary, and enjoys the music they play. Yeah!

I'm really looking forward to Cassandra and Bernadette's visit this weekend... And next week, Jess and Jake... Safe travels, all of you!

The Wonderful Thing about Tiggers

Tigger made his debut at the library's Halloween party on the 30th. He listened to stories, colored a ghost puppet, and scored at the ball toss ("But he CHEATED!", the four year old behind him cried.) Andy had so much fun as Tigger that he begged to sleep in his costume that night.


He rose the next morning, his head a matted ball of sweat, and wore the costume again to day care. When I picked him up later that morning, I observed poor Tigger in a time-out for pushing another kid. Tigger stayed in the time-out chair, but he cried the entire time. He asked his teacher for a hug afterwards, which broke my heart. It was difficult to watch someone else discipline my spirited guy, even though I was grateful she did.

Andy came home exhausted, but refused to take his costume off. After a nap, he was off to a Moms Club party. Finally, he made a surprise "Trick" stop at Grandma and Pap-Paps' house. Mike and I positioned Andy in front of the door, rung the bell, and dove behind some bushes. Pap-Pap answered the door, wondering where the parents of this orphan tiger had disappeared to. It took him a few seconds to recognize his grandson! Clever disguise, eh?

A New Friend

Andy's monologue before yesterday's playdate with his new friend:

"William! No hurt you! William. William hug you. No hurt you. Excited! An-ny big boy. William!"

William is known to give frequent hugs and affectionate (but slightly rough) pats on the head. Andy is fiercely protective of his personal space, and pushes anyone away who gets too close. They're an odd couple, but something clicks between the two of them. They are drawn to the same rocks (to climb), berries (to squish and examine), and trains (to fight over). They laugh at the same toddler jokes.

I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship....

Snow flurries!

The online weather report says overcast, 37 degrees, but it must be colder than that! We have our first flurries of the season! (Do native Pittsburghers get excited about this, or does it take a Californian?) As I'm typing, I'm looking out the window at the thick snowflakes blowing furiously in the wind, beginning to melt on their way down, where the ground is too warm for them to stay.

Well, we have officially run our poor Subaru into the ground with transmission problems. Not sure what car will be next, but I do know this: no manual transmission, and it must have seat warmers and an automatic starter!

In other news, we're learning that Andy's possesive nature is not limited to his toys and things. On Saturday, at a family get together, a visiting 16 month old (distant cousin) toddled over to Mike and put her hand on his knee. Andy was furious: "No!" he yelled, "An-ny daddy!" (Hmmm, we've had the toy sharing conversation many times, but hadn't thought of how he might have to share his Daddy.)