My Favorite Gift So Far

Of all the gifts my son has given me, a renewed sense of wonder in the world may be my favorite.

Somewhere along the way, my sense of wonder faded.  It was like a glow stick that is rather magical in the beginning and completely nonessential in the end.  Much of the time my wonder was inactive and superfluous.
I didn't really miss it.  I had mostly forgotten how it felt.

Then we met Landon, lighting up our lives with more wonder than a hundred glow sticks could contain.  Each year we got to live life anew through his eyes, and there was so much to see.

There was so much to hear.  To taste. To smell.  The world cracked open again and the exploration of it with someone experiencing it for the first time is one of the best parts of parenthood.

I used to point out everything I could to him.  I didn't want him to miss one butterfly wing or double rainbow or dandelion puff.  I didn't want to miss his discovering these things for the first time.  I wanted to see his expression when the sandpaper tongue of a kitten licked his hand, when he heard the haunting notes of a cello, when he rode a carousal.  All of it brand new, all of it ageless, all of it full of wonder for us both.

I thought I was giving him these gifts, wrapped in my renewed interest and enthusiasm. Look at this!  Did you hear that?!  Have you ever seen anything so lovely?  Have you noticed this?  And maybe a little bit, I was.  I wanted to tag the whole world as his--to explore and cherish.

But in the end, he has given it back to me, more beautiful and mysterious than I ever remember it being before.  He asks his questions and increasingly, they are about things I have never once considered.  He fuels my own curiosity the way I once thought I was nurturing his.

This is what I mean:

We have started learning about the human body, beginning with the circulatory system.  I love, love love this topic, and Landon does, too.

"What will you want to learn about the circulatory system?" I ask him after several overview-giving conversations.

He mentioned some stuff.  A few days later he told me, "Mom, what I'm really wondering about, though, is if
the deox-a-nated (deoxygenated) blood is blue, how come I've never seen any blue blood come out of my body?  Why don't I see blue blood?

I sat there silently pondering this.  I felt dumbstruck.  My mind has never wandered there, but it seems like such a reasonable and interesting question.  I find myself admitting (as I am doing more regularly these days) that I'm as curious as he is, that I don't really know, and I'll need to do some research before I can answer the question.  I pose a guess that maybe when it hits the air it gets oxygen then?

Google mocks me.

As it turns out, we don't have blue blood running through our veins. It is, in fact, all about how light is reflected through the surface of our skin and is kind of a trick of the eye.  Even though I read several articles, I was never really able to get my mind entirely around it.  Except to understand that there is no blue blood, with or without oxygen.

Those circulatory charts sure do stick in your mind, though, don't they?

That's what I mean when I say Landon fuels my curiosity as much as I think I'm nurturing his.  Maybe my brain was like a kite and his is like a submarine, because he takes me places I never once considered.

My favorite part is that everywhere we go, the world is full of wonder.

I'd like to trade in my "wonder-as-a-glow-stick" paradigm for a new one.  As a parent, I'll trade it in for a Wonder Colander, able to collect and share wonder with equal ease and unprecedented joy.

So if you see us spinning and grinning in a field of green under a great big sky of blue and billowy clouds, look closer.  I'll be holding my invisible Wonder Colander--my favorite gift my son has given me so far.

These are the Conversations that I Love

Both of these exchanges happened today with Landon.  They go in that, "The World According to Landon" file that I like to add little stories to because I know if I don't write them down, I probably won't even remember them next month....and I'd really like to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mom, do you know what is Russian War?"

What piece of current events has Landon been inadvertantly exposed to now?  And how did that happen?

"Well, buddy...." I trail off, because I don't really want to give details to something as dark and confusing as war. "What do you think it is?"  It's an old standby, but sometimes it helps to gauge where he's really at before I pull out my verbal textbook.

"A mountain.  Carved with presidents in the rock.  Do you know this?"

It turns out Landon merely wanted to find out if I knew about Mt. Rushmore.  Not a Russian War.

Smiles and relief all around.

"Yes, buddy, I do know that about Mt. Rushmore.  I'm glad you know it, too."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have recently decided that the Tooth Fairy will get to spread her joy around here when the time comes. Landon very rarely, if ever, goes in for flights of fancy. (He's the one who told ME (very gently) that Santa Claus was not real)  He is a lover of "true-fact" books and reality is in very sharp focus for him.  I've mentioned how anytime we pretend anything together he frequently stops to remind me, "just for tends, Mom."

So when he asked me today if the tooth fairy was real, I told him he should just wait and find out. He didn't seem convinced, but wasn't going to push it.

I pulled out one of his library books from the basket.  It was called Put Screws to the Test and showed a man using a large screw to drill a hole in an icy lake.

Trying to be funny I said, "I think this man is using this screw to find one of his lost teeth to give to the Tooth Fairy."    And I was rewarded because he laughed.

"That's not true, Mom," he predictably replied.  "Grown-ups don't lose teeth."

And then I laughed.  Maybe the Tooth Fairy has a chance around here after all.

The World According to Landon

In an exceptionally curious mood, Landon was asking about everything he could see out his window on the way home.

Since I was a passenger, too, I had more attention to give, more details I could provide.  

Horses spotted: "How big can horses get?"

"Different sizes.  It depends on the breed.  Draft horses, for example, are really big."

"Oh, WOW!  Where do those live?  In Africa?"

I am completely confused about what is so exciting about draft horses, and why he randomly guesses their home to be Africa.

"No, they live here, buddy.  In the United States."

"I've never seen a giraffe-horse before.  Do you think some day we could go see them?"

What?!   Ahhh, DRAFT horses, not giraffe horses.

Yeah, your idea was cooler.

~~~~~~~~~

Landon poked his head into the laundry room and said,

"Do you know what concerns me about this room?"

Did my four year old really just ask me that?!

"No, what concerns you?"

"That pipe.  I'm really wondering what it is, where it goes, and stuff."

Yep.  That's a concern, alright.

I kept folding clothes.  He proceeded to narrate a complicated life story for the mysterious pipe to himself.  I think when it was all over, torpedoes, flooding, and catching air were all involved.

It sounded like he got his concerns resolved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Me: They will bring the bad guys to justice.

Landon: Who's Justice?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mom, I am creating a wheelchair accessible firetruck!

Why, buddy?

So when the firefighters rescue someone in a wheelchair, this little lift thing can help them onto the truck.

Cool.

Wait, when did he learn the phrase, "wheelchair accessible"?!  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mom,  what happens when you die?

Okay Then.  Here we go. Biggie in the middle of a random moment.  Let me collect my thoughts.

Oh, I know, actually.  Your body stays still and your spirit self rises up in a little ball and says goodbye to everyone and then goes up in the sky to heaven.  Just like in Epic when that flower queen died.

I think we can go with that one for now.  Thank you, Epic. It was a rather lovely way to show it.

Midnight Santa Sightings

"Give Mom a goodnight hug and kiss, too," Bill says to Landon.

"I don't have any more hugs or kisses left today." he answers with a giggle.
"Can I just squeeze one more out?" I beg, going in for a tickle.

"No, Mom.  I have to go to sleep and get some more put into me."

Awww....that is so cute.  And such a good reason to go to bed.

And then he adds,

"Yeah, Santa Claus sneaks into our house and gives us each hugs and kisses to share with each other."

Wait....what?? What's Santa Claus doing in the narrative in June?

I've studied Greek and Roman myths. I've read some Norse ones, too.  I've read African folktales and Native American legends.

But it is Landon who introduces me to this new way of explaining the world: the hybridization of everything he takes in....and then he mixes it with love and makes the world go round.

Micah and mini-Micah

The newest member of my family made his grand debut six days ago.  A post after such a momentous event could take so many different tones: rapture, delirious sleep-deprived nonsense, contentment and gratitude, angsty hormone-hectic overload, awed wonder...and likely some like those are still to come.

But today,
It is funny.

And yes, it is Landon, and not our sweet little baby who never ceases to amuse. 

I read somewhere that one way you can help your child adjust to a new sibling is by involving them as much as possible in the pregnancy and care of the newborn afterward.  Let the older make some choices for the baby (Landon has picked all of Micah's sheets each time they get changed: "I'm going to let him have this one, Mom, because it is mine and he will like having a big-boy sheet.") Landon enjoyed putting lotion on Micah's cracked feet, feeding him a few drops of breast milk they had me pump at the hospital, taking his picture, and "holding" Micah on his lap while studying his teeny parts.

My mom intuitively knew the same advice because she showed up at our house with a plastic doll that Landon could help take care of to get in on the action.  He was thrilled to learn he could wash his baby in the real baby bathtub, put a real diaper on it, and dress it in real preemie newborn clothes that we don't need.  He calls it his "premiere" baby.

I was charmed.  Bill was uncertain.  Landon seemed enthralled.  He oh-so-creatively named his baby Micah (that's not confusing or anything) and miniMicah began draining the battery on the baby swing, borrowing receiving blankets or hanging out on the boppy for the next few days. 

He and my mom discovered that miniMicah could take a bottle (medicine dropper) and he would "pee" out the other end.  Landon was exclaiming with such nurturing delight over this; my mom said it was quite endearing.  Bill might have said, "See?  You are feminizing him with all this babycare stuff!"

He needn't worry.
Just after his delight to discover miniMicah's abilities to fill a diaper Landon said,
"Now let's squirt water up his butt to see if it comes out his mouth!"

Not Color Blind

A woman Landon has met once came up in conversation because she taught the Music & Movement class Landon attended, and I was telling him she would be leading the story time we wanted to attend, as well.  She's a curiosity to him because she works at "my" library doing "my" job, but now he gets the benefit of enjoying me at these programs in a different way.

"Mom, she is so pretty--she reminds me of hot chocolate.  And I really love hot chocolate."

"I know you do, and you're right, buddy, she is so pretty."

"Will our baby have skin like hot chocolate?  Or maybe we could get one like chocolate milk, maybe?  That would be nice...could we, Mom?"

"I don't think we will, Landon.  It's a nice thought, though."

"What color will our baby be?"

"Probably something close to your skin color, hon."

 "Oh.  Well I guess that will be ok.  What about our baby's hair?  What color will that be?"

"What color do you think it will be?"

"Purple?"

He lives in such a possible, beautiful world, my three-year-old. 

He Could Be Amelia Bedelia's Cousin

Discussing Thanksgiving details with me, Bill's dad said, "I'm going to fix the turkey..."
And before he could continue the menu Landon pipes up, "What's wrong with it, Grandpa?  Why you need to fix it?"

Watch out, folks.  We've got a tool-lovin', problem-solvin' toddler on the loose--and he might just want to help you fix what you didn't even know was broken.

(I suddenly am seized with the urge to just give him a bunch of broken appliances and electronics from the thrift store with a few more real tools, safety goggles and wire cutters and say, "Have fun, my little fixer man")

and don't plug anything back in when you're done

Taking a Millimoment to Ponder the Solar System

My neighbor's backyard is a birthday cake whose trees are the candles that flame up in staggered succession.  It's like all Autumn they have been making good wishes for our house's 40th birthday this year.  At least, that's how I see it.  How I had time to see it because Landon and I were sitting quietly on the deck watching the sun make dappled patterns as it moved across the sky.

"Hey!  Where did the sun go?" he asked.

"It has moved across the sky," I told him.  (Yes, I know this is inaccurate but I'm ok with that for now)  "It's going down." I continued.

"Under our deck?"

"No, to the other side of the earth."

"What's earth?"

"The planet we are on, out floating in space."

"I don't feel us rocking, mom."

I pause. I've lost the thread.  Ahh, yes.  "Floating" would suggest that we're on some kind of boat.

"All pretty amazing, don't you think?"

"Yes.  It is, mom.....Hey!  Can we get out my water guns?!"

Annnnd, he's off!

Lolly

As my father-in-law has said on more than one occasion as our family story unfolds, "History has a way of repeating itself."

Her name was Janice.  I met her when I was five.  I found her homeland in The Illustrated Encyclopedia Britannica that held a place of honor in our home.  There it was, an illustrated map of Africa, with little icons of of what notables each region produced.  Sometime later, Janice immigrated to the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, and I would think of her fondly or give my family updates on her when we passed the stone structure I considered her home.

Janice and I kind of lost touch after awhile, but she was always such a faithful, obliging, imaginary friend, I still think of her fondly today.

Enter Lolly.

I started hearing about Lolly a few weeks ago when Landon wanted to cite who had taught him something or to attribute experience he wished he had to someone.  "Lolly knows how to fly a plane, Mom." or "I need to start learning math in a couple weeks.  Lolly knows Math."

Lolly is funny and mischievous with a real fondness for talking about all things poopy. Tonight I heard an elaborate story in which Lolly was caught in an elevator for four hours.  "She had to sleep in the elevator until a doctor came and fixed it and got her out."

"What did she think of that?"
"She thought it was funny."

Yep.  I bet she did. And now I'm pretty sure I know what happened to Janice.  She grew up and had a kid who became Landon's first imaginary friend.

The Dreamer and the Scientist

The tears came fast.  The tears were real.  I looked up with Landon to discover that his helium balloon had escaped the trunk and was well on its way to becoming a blue speck of a memory.

To everyone but him.

Tonight (three days later), as we were driving home Landon said, "That balloon is not going to Heaven, mom."

I suddenly recalled an unconsidered remark I had made about the balloon in my attempt to comfort him: "Bye, bye balloon.  He'll go to heaven."  (Yes, I personify everything like that. A childhood habit that still threads itself into my adult life.)  "We'll get another balloon sometime, buddy.  We're sorry that happened to you."  Even though it was small, nearly meaningless to me, I could tell Landon was sad.  It was his first run-in with the fleeting nature of helium balloons.

"You're right, buddy.  That was pretty far-fetched to say it was going to Heaven. Kinda far for one little balloon to go.  What do you think will happen to it?"

"I know what will happen to it."

I wait. I love to learn the things Landon 'knows.'

"When the gas comes out of that balloon it will come down and land back by the storage unit for us."

Dumbfounded silence.

I have been calling the storage unit, "a big garage thing we are keeping our stuff in" and not giving lessons on helium gas and its interactive properties with the permeable surface of a rubber balloon.

So who is this three-year-old who sorts it out with more realism than his whimsical mama who wants to imagine that blue balloon joining up with the "Balloon Ball in the Sky," by serendipitous invite only.  I want to imagine them all gathered in a swaying bouquet of wishes, each allowed to share who they are meant to honor, what party they graced, what carnival they attended. Our little blue one would chime in,  "I showed up at a guy's work and announced that  his wife is carrying a son.  You should have seen his grin, and the way he swooped his family up in a big family hug when he figured out why I came floating in!"

While I'm writing fairy tales about talking balloons going to Heaven my little investigator is quietly making sense of this world.

So would it be too mean if I tied another blue balloon to our storage unit with a note that says, "Loved the trip; glad to be back"?

Royal Preference

We recently stayed in a hotel for a mini stay-cation.

Of course, sleeping arrangements needed to be discussed and decided long before bed.

I told Bill that I was happy that two Queen beds were the same price as one large King bed.
Call me picky, but I'm kinda partial to the no knees or elbows in my back style of sleep.

Landon pipes up, "I can't sleep in this bed!  I'm a boy!"

I truly didn't have a clue.

Upon further investigation, Landon explained that he was a boy, so he should be in a king bed, not a queen bed for girls.

I explained that it was meant to designate size.

"They should call it an Everybody Bed, then," he decided.

I agree.  And then only you should sleep in it.
Not all of us.

Oh, Never Mind

My family is in a gypsy mode, displaced from our permanent home and still waiting for the next.  This is a good thing, since we sold our home, packed our belongings in storage, and spent time racing around the Front Range looking for a new house like party-goers playing an expensive game of musical chairs.  Just when we would muster the guts to put an offer on one, boom! By morning it was gone; we had waited too long by wanting a mere eight hours to go by before committing to such a significant decision.  Our agent said maybe we should bring the offers to our first look appointments.

As you know from other posts, neither Bill nor I are "fall in love at first sight" kinds of folks.  At least, not with something as big as a house.  Sure, I can be bedazzled by a layered fudge-chocolate-mint-concoction of all things delicious and declare it my instant new favorite, and Bill can see the latest model of something drive by and decide it is worth a serious investigation whether it belongs on our family's dream list for a future car, but this is not the same as being willing to plunk down our entire savings on a twenty-minute whirlwind tour.  Sometimes I was just trying to disassociate myself from the thematic decorating and the unusual pet? smells to really form any opinions at all!

So the process continues. But in the meantime, we have sold our house that was the midpoint between our significant commutes.  We are road warriors, Bill and I, and if it seems melodramatic to you that I would use the word "warrior" to reference my commute, it means you have never been one.  (A road warrior, that is, not a commute)  Bill moved in with his parents, closer to his job in the south, and Landon and I  live with my mom, closer to my job almost two hours north of his.

Until I got the brilliant idea that we should go visit him and all have a slumber party at his guest quarters this last Thursday.  Yes, that's a school night for those of you who don't know that Bill is a teacher. Who thinks these are ever going to be good ideas?!

Well past bedtime we are still trying to get our dearest little boy to settle down and go to sleep. But the house is not his home, and the noises that we can disregard become monumental to my three-year-old.
This transcript seems funny to me now, but at the time I was cringing--would it ever end?!

"I can't sleep!  It's too noisy!  What's that noise?  Daddy, what's that noise?"
"It's a big fan, Landon, go to sleep." (they had an attic fan blowing outside the door of our room)
"A pig fan?  What's a pig fan?  Where are the pigs?  I don't hear pigs."
"It's not a pig fan, Landon, it's a big fan.  It the attic.  Go to sleep."
"What's an attic?"
"Go-to-sleep."
"Why a fan?  What's it doing?  Why it so noisy?  What's an attic?"
"You know, a fan, with blades spinning around, trying to cool us down.  GoToSleep."
"Knives?!  There are knives?  Why there knives daddy?  Are those for the pigs?  It's too noisy.  I can't go to sleep."

Pigs and knives and noisy attic fans.

We might be gypsies with a little bit too much imagination.

Cooperative Water

Landon's shirt was soaked because he was watering the grass with a hose.
"This will dry, Mom," he assured me as I buckled him into his carseat.
He explained, "It will just cooperate into the air."
"Evaporate?"
"Yeah, evaporate.  It will evaporate, mom."

How did he learn about evaporation?  I was lost in my own thoughts about it when he piped up from the back seat some time later, "How does it evaporate, Mom?"

I couldn't help myself.  I launched into a lesson on the states of matter: solid, liquid, gas (steam), carefully explaining each one with examples from our kitchen.

Since I was driving, I couldn't tell if he was intently listening or zoning out, but since he was so quiet I decided it was worth the effort.

Landon is my little sponge, and if he wants to soak up knowledge, I'm happy to oblige.  I figure I must be a true-blue nerd if I started dreaming about the science lesson we could create with the ice cube trays and tea kettle to really demonstrate all these states of matter.

Kinda makes me want go check out a book from my local library and read up on it.

Landon's World

"Who are those people up there, mom?" (in an overhead walkway to the light rail)

"I think they are passengers from the train."

"What are passengers?"

"People who ride a train.  Or a plane.  Or a bus."

"Oh, so their name is people and their middle name is passenger."

Something like that.

~~

We were doing our Memorial Day Annual Puzzle (though I can't remember if we've only meant to do this every other year), when Landon spilled his drink over half of it.

During the clean-up Bill said, "Landon, I could use a hand here."

And oh, so earnestly, Landon held up his hand in Bill's direction and kept it there.

Got you covered, dad.

Oh!  And now I must go b/c a certain favorite little boy just came in and said, "I can read now!" with a book in hand.

This oughtta be good.  

Dot-to-dot(ish)

I live with a boy who is always making connections.  He takes new information and tries to connect it to something he already knows.  He tries to find a category, to classify and sort.  Sometimes I can follow his thinking and see the picture he is making.  Other times, his dots connect in ways I can't follow.

Today the hairdresser gave him a Dum-Dum.  Just for being a good boy.  (Thank you, sweet lady, for making this easier for us next time.)  When I handed the unwrapped candy to him he said, "It's Earth," and I admitted to seeing the likeness.  I would have picked Saturn, with its fat ring in the middle, but still, how does a person tottering on the edge of three even know how to make comparisons to something as abstract as our planet?!

We bought a book detailing everything you'd ever want to know about sharks for Bill's fifth graders.  It turned out to be the book Landon desperately wanted dad to read to him as a bedtime story.  It is a fat book, with lots of text, and I could tell Bill was wondering how to wrap it up without it feeling too abrupt to a little boy who would've preferred to read that book all night.  He read something about the shark's prey.

"What's prey?" Landon asks.
"Yes, let's pray.  Good idea, buddy."
The dot just went off his page, but I think Landon will overlook it this time.
He's probably gotten used to these little misunderstandings now and again.

I live with a boy whose curiosity leads me to learn things, too.
"What's that man doing?" he asked me of a trucker who was parked in the same lot as us.
"He's writing on his clipboard,"
"What's that on his truck?"
"What's what?"
"What are those cords on his truck for?"
I don't really know.
And I say that a lot around this guy, because he has a lot of dots he'd like to connect.

So I'm out of the car, calling up to trucker man,
"Sir, hi, sorry to disturb you but I have a little boy over there who is really curious about you and your truck and is wondering what the cords coming out of your cab are for...?"

And this kind man hops down and tells me, one is electrical, and one is air.
"What do you need air for?" (and this time I'm the one whose curiosity has been stirred)
For the brakes.  They're air brakes.
Air brakes...that have a cord pumping air to them? How does this work?  I wish I could hear more, but I don't want to push it.

I report back to Landon, whose interest is rewarded with loud horn blasts that make us both kinda jump, and then laugh.  (Thank you, trucker man, for showing my little man that his curiosity can be satisfied.)

Now Landon asks me every few days, "Where is that trucker man?  What he doing today?"  and I make up stories of his deliveries to Kansas, or coming home to eat dinner with his family or washing the truck.  When he sees trucks with cords connecting the cab to the freight he calls it out, "Three cords!" or "Two cords!" and I sit in wonder that I could go my whole life and never notice that all these huge trucks have those cords connecting their parts.  I've certainly never wondered about them, and what they might do.

Landon drew that dot in for us.
I connected it with him.
And the picture of our world gets a little more detail.


 

The World According to Landon

Landon's prayer over dinner:

Dear God,
Thank you for God
And thank you for the movie we're watching after dinner.
Aww-men.

"Did you say anything about a movie after dinner?"
"Me neither."

Let the record show that no prior mention of movies was made before this prayer.
He's a funny one, my preemptively grateful optimist.

~ ~ ~

And also pretty easily diverted, too.  As we got ready to follow my after dinner plans for him (a bath), Landon asked me, "Where's the Coke?  Please I make a soda?"

"Do you want to play with the funnels in the bath?" I asked, confused.

"No, you said we could make a soda in the bath."

Ahhh...yes.  I had said we needed to put baking soda in the bath.

Now I get why bath time had seemed a more intriguing option than a movie.

~~~

Remember Three Ways to Unravel in which I mentioned the tribulation we also call bedtime?
I caught a glimpse of light at the end of that tunnel.
Tonight, in the middle of a game he was playing, Landon abruptly stopped and said, "Please I go to bed now?" and grabbed his bear and snuggled into bed.

And that was that.

I sure am crazy about that kid.