Sam's Peops: The Next Edition

 

It's been awhile since the last entry...lots of doings--Halloween, the holidays, lots of classes & Sam turned TWO. WooHoo.

 

Sam and I have been attending a Waldorf Nursery Group. One of the things we’ve learned is to use song to move from one activity to the next. I had already tried this a bit with lullabies, but I decided to branch out and use it for other stuff: When it’s time to leave the house—“Grab your Coat and Get Your Hat, Leave YourWorries by the Doorstep”); time to nap—“Oh Lord, Won’t You Buy Me a Mercedes-Benz”; time to eat (I’m just instituting this one)—“Get out of the way! Old Dan Tucker, You're too late to get your supper”. Yes, this is slightly ridiculous but surprisingly these songs have stopped the whirling dervish of toddler meltdowns. Someday Sam will catch on that his mother has a horrible singing voice but for now I’ll…”Just Direct My Feet to the Sunny Side of the Street”.

 

AOL changed the layout of their Blogs. Whatever. The rant against corporate America is in the next entry. If you want to see a bigger version of a picture just click on it and a new window will come up. You have to close that window to get back to the blog. It doesn’t do a slideshow anymore. So stupid. There are two more entries so scroll on down.

Tags: Sam Ferguson, Samuel Hawk Ferguson, Lesa Ferguson, Dave Ferguson

Sam InDesigned

Sam’s 2nd birthday brought a wave of big boy stuff into the house—tunnels, books, Lincoln logs, blocks, clothes, and Cars stuff. By Cars I mean both toy cars and toys associated with Cars, the Pixar movie. Once upon a time, he pointed to the TV, said “Off” and then turned it off (so boring); now he jams DVDs into the player—all because of Cars. But Cars isn’t just a movie, it comes with stuff.

 

I’m conflicted by how corporations  electronically swoop into homes and brand children. Movies are sometimes reduced to bait for consuming. Children are used as corporate billboards and shills for marketing departments. They’ve managed to get children to both promote and consume.

 

And for those of us who love movies, because children’s movies come with stuff, children’s movies get the money to get made. No one wants a Laura Linney The Savages’ doll—complete with angst and a Dad who writes with his poop.

 

Did I say I was conflicted???

 

Because I am…I totally love watching Cars, Nemo and Sesame Street with Sam. I’m a story junkie. He and I have already discussed how Cars is a classic story with a hero who makes a bad decision because of his character flaw which then lands him on his adventure. OK, maybe Sam didn’t completely follow that but he can say “McQueen” and someday he’ll get the Steve McQueen reference. Plus, I like the Tin Lizzie, Doc Hudson toy cars. They’re zoomie. And forget about the Lightening McQueen sweatshirt. I want one for myself.

 

I guess that’s the problem…when I was a kid, I wanted to go, Boldly Go, where only those who lived in big cities got to go…A Star Trek Convention. Star Trek, Kiss and Star Wars started this merchandising phenomenon and don’t you know I was hooked on all three. In my 20s I finally got to go to the Red Lion Inn out by theSeaTac airport to see Lavar Burton and all the other Trekkies. Obviously, I'm a lost cause.

 

And yet, I still want Sam to want to read books and watch old movies and for his clothes to be a logo free zone (except for that sweatshirt), for him not to want new sneakers even when he’s busting out of the ones he has, for him to know why trees are more fun than toys. I don’t want him to be someone's shill.

 

Maybe if I just fast forward through the McDonalds' ad (they’re a sponsor of Sesame Street now L) and go right to Elmo...I may not be able to forgo the Elmo doll, but I have no weakness for ¼ Pounders. 

Tags: Samuel Hawk Ferguson, Sam Ferguson, Lesa Ferguson, Dave Ferguson

Mommy's Hobby

For Christmas this year, my brother gave me a subscription to Photoshop User. I tend to hole up in our back bedroom to do tutorials and photoshop tricks. So Fun. So not fun for Sam or Daddy—this is not their favorite part of the day. And, I'm sure Sam won't like it later when he's getting ready to go out on a date...picture it—me, a digital scrapbook, the unsuspecting Date indulging the Mom, and Sam utterly embarrassed. I'm merely strategizing for those teen years…a Mama’s got to find her edge in advance.

Tags: Sam Ferguson, Samuel Hawk Ferguson, Dave Ferguson, Lesa Ferguson

A Boy for All Seasons

For Halloween this year, Sam will be a cowboy. This choice of costume wasn’t inspired by my interest in the West—I’m not foisting spurs on the boy so he can enact Charlie Goodnight driving a herd up to McKinley Pkwy.  Sam came up with this all by lonesome…well not quite all alone.

 

The first time Sam really laughed, a true belly laugh at something in the world rather than from a belly full of gas, his father mimicked Woody from Toy Story by pointing his fingers at him and saying, “Reach for the sky”. It’s hard to resist your baby’s first belly laugh…And I did try…this all seemed a bit politically incorrect…playing fake guns with a baby? Suddenly I wished Sam had picked up a Barbi (she's not all that anorexic, right?).

 

Regardless of my resistance, this little pantomime kept evolving especially when the Rec Teacher at Hopevale gave my father a Woody hat to give to Sam. Dave found an old hat…good theater needs costumes.

 

Then Sam learned to point and say "pow" and when he did any adult he pointed to would fall down even Holly the church toddler group leader gave an Oscar worthy performance at the park (I’m not sure how she stands on guns or Barbi). The falling down routine was big fun at the lake when Uncle Billy and Gram would fall and kick and splash.

 

All the while Sam laughed, Sam studied especially his Uncle Ken’s performance which involved an “Uh, you got me”, a grasp to his belly, folding over, then down on his knees and splat.

 

After learning from all these great performance my boy developed his own sketch and whenever anyone would shoot him—he circled a small area and said, “Uh”, then folded over, fell down on his bum and splat. One day he put his swim shorts on his head. It’s the first time Sam made me laugh—a big grown up laugh—not from parental joy, happiness nor condescension just someone did something hilarious. It’s hard to resist your mom’s first big belly laugh…he didn’t even try to resist.

 

Now, his dad has taught him different stunts…like what to do when you get shot in the bum. Sam grabs his bum and says “Uh, Uh, Uh” or his toe which he picks up and tries to hop while holding one foot.

 

And whenever I start to worry that all this fun will lead to a propensity to guns, I think of what my departed children’s/high school acting buddy Cooper would have said to me, “He made you laugh.”

 

There are two more new entries, so scroll on down.

Tags: Sam, Sam Ferguson, Samuel Hawk, Cooper Lewis

Sam's Peops: Girls! Girls! Girls! (and some Boys)

Sam mostly hangs with the older girls (see July's blog), but he has a couple younger boys he hangs out with (I didn't get permission from their parents to put them on the blog so no pics). They have cigar chomper names--Sam, Max, and Zac. I'm hoping they start their own Hollywood Studio System. Next blog time around, I'll get permission.

Although, I must say having the oldest kid at the toddler group makes Sam seem a little hooligan-ish. Max's and Zac's parents are very sweet about Sam's behavior but I didn't realize how fast and strong Sam's arm was until I tried unsuccessfully to intercept a block heading for Zac's head. Hopefully the older and more mature Ava will join the group and teach Sam good toddler group etiquette.

A Boy and his Da (& one with his Ma)

As a modern mother, I receive regular emails with parenting tips from parenting magazines i.e. what is perfectly normal for your toddler to be doing and when to race him to the nearest specialist. Mostly the tips help, for instance I was reassured that hitting is normal toddler behavior and not a sign that his mother’s/grandmothers’s/great grandmother’s/great grandfather’s temper is necessarily twisting down along the ol’ DNA. But the articles about how Daddy will get all the love (or whichever partner isn't home all day) were especially comforting. Sam is all about the daddy. Even the way he says “Daddy” is infused with joy and fun.

 

He says, “Mom” (never mommy) and he uses a deeper, more authoritative voice than his normal one. He doesn’t need to say, “Hey Mom, will you wake up and get me out of this crib" just “MOM” and “Mooooom”. His meaning is all in the inflection. I worry sometimes his vocabulary won’t increase; instead he’ll get creative with syllable stressing.

 

The first time I realized this Daddy-love might be an issue happened before Sam was even born. I was visiting my friend Shannon’s house around dinner time. An internal clock must have gone off in her daughter Emma’s 3-year-old head because she was ecstatic over her father’s imminent arrival—like he was Daddy March returning from the War in Little Women. Excitement is one thing but an Epic everyday at 5pm is a little much. It was an omen.

 

Don’t believe me? Check out the pictures (or read the articles).

On Becoming Mom

What I haven’t mentioned thus far about being Sam’s mom is the anxiety. I don’t mean panic attack anxiety; I mean a kind of anxiety that keeps things a little surreal. I don’t know if my anxiety stemmed from the years (and years) of waiting to have a child or from the miscarriages and infertility treatments or from a life long battle with anxiety. But often in the last year and a half, I seemed to be stuck in a fusion of anxiety and awe.

 

The only experience I can relate it to is the time when Phyllis led me up this mountain side. I had quit smoking and she wanted to show me that now I could go where the cigarettes had kept me from going before. While I appreciated it, my lungs didn’t. By the time we arrived at the meadow, I was out of breath. The view was worth it. It was awesome and the light headedness contributed to the wonder.

 

That’s sort of what it has been like with Sam—wonder and awe and a fear that I’d never again catch my breath. That’s how it was until last week.

 

At a garage sale, I picked up a toy tool set. Sam has been very feisty lately; full of his own bad self and his impulses to hit and kick so maybe the hammer wasn’t the best choice. Sure enough when I wasn’t looking he hammered my shin. Wow, it stung. The kind of hurt that makes a mother forget Dr. Sears and Dr. Spock and every other baby doctor. Enough sting to trigger an impulse to swat. But I didn’t. Thankfully. Instead for the first time since his birth, my breath caught. For the first time, I got off that top of the world feeling. I wasn’t in awe of this little wonder of mine rather fully present and bruised.  

 

With one swing to my shin bone, Sam seemed to say, “Aw Mom, SNAP OUT OF IT.”

 

And so I did. And with it came that visceral rush of love that sometimes awe and anxiety can keep at bay…not at that exact moment but later after I stopped limping.

 

Right then, I thought, “I’ve got to teach this little pisser not to hammer me.”

 

There are two more new entries so scroll on down.