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.

Sam's Peops: A Few First Timers

There are some key peops in Sam’s life who have not appeared on the blog (and some of those still aren’t—hopefully a trip to the west coast will somewhat help with that). But this entry includes some of Sam’s favs—Great-Uncle Billy, our Starbucks buddy Mary, and Ava.

 

Ava is Sam’s first friend—they’ve attended music class, concerts, farmers markets, etc. If this is starting to read like a personal ad—SWM dates SWF that’s because their relationship has been prearranged (or was that preordained). If you notice behind Sam and Ava are two looming presences—the Grandmothers/Chaperones. Please don’t let me give you the wrong idea, I don’t think my mom and Nancy (Ava’s Grandma) have been conspiring: I’m not suggesting, they might have met with Cam Miller (the officiant at both Ava’s and Sam’s parents’ respective weddings) to perform some sort of joining ritual; nor would I want anyone to think, Mom and Nancy are staging a revival of “Matchmaker” although I have heard Mom humming, "Matchmaker Matchmaker make me a match”. And it has been noted that Ava is older than Sam which is the way of both sets of their parents.

 

What I am saying is--they are friends and very sweet together. Last week Sam pushed Ava in her stoller around the Bidwell’s Farmer’s Market. That’s all I’m saying.

The Back of Sam

I decided to do a back of Sam series.  Now that he’s sure (or rather surer) on his feet, he’s a man on the move. This is the view I see most. He runs runs runs away and into everything.

 

For my 32nd birthday, my hubby took me (and Sam) to Palmyra, NY (where Joseph Smith founded Mormonism) to find us a sister/wifeJ. Actually, I’m interested in the American West and that means knowing about the Mormons (so no Sister/Wives and I'm a wee bit older than 32). We went to the grove where Joseph Smith encountered Jesus and God. The Mormons consider this spot the 2nd most holy place (note to self—what is the first most holy place?). We decided to go on Sunday because we thought the Mormons would be in church. Fairly far into our walk through the grove, we spotted teen-agers tucked into the woods. Dressed in their Sunday best, they sat on benches and blankets, writing letters, praying, and crying. (I think) they were missionaries about to embark on their missions, writing goodbyes to their families, and seeking a revelation in the same grove where Joesph Smith saw his. It was like being on a Mormon Safari. Sam was enthralled and started running up to them, yelling “Hi Ya, Hi Ya, Hi Ya.”

 

So, where in the What to Expect books, do they make suggestions on how to teach your child that while s/he might be mommy and daddy’s little revelation, s/he isn’t anyone else’s personal revelation? The Mormons kids were ever so polite and gracious (of course), but unfortunately didn’t break out into a chorus of I’m a little bit country/I’m a little bit Rock n’ Roll (and now I'm revealing the real reason for my fascination with the Mormons).

Sam Gives Good Face

Sam has arrived into toddle-dom with an ear-piercing, repetitive shriek. As I write this he's unwrapping parchment paper. He’s walking, talking, climbing, head-butting, running and he’s weaned. He ain’t a baby anymore.

 

My father, who never lectures me, did lecture me about allowing Sam to bust up the joint. Sam will empty the kitchen cupboards, jettison the bottles of specialty cooking oil, pitch eggs out of the refrigerator, and leap for the stove knobs. He's well supervised and we are baby proofed but my father fears that in my attempt to grab him before he crawls into the oven, I'll slide on a baking sheet and end up yolk soaked. My father envisions Dave, Sam, and my life as a Three Stooges short.

 

Dave bought a gate for the back of the kitchen so while I’m at my housewife station, Sam can be in the kitchen with me without fear of pratfalls.

 

The first few times behind the gate, I distinctly heard Sam chant, “Att-i-ca, Att-i-ca.” He then launched his toys over the gate. A pretzel finely soothed him. He’s full bore toddler.

 

There are 2 more entries so scroll on down.

What Sam Does Now that He's One

SamSpeak

When the pizza delivery man comes to the door (who else knocks and then doesn't just come in), Sam says in cadence if not words, “Who is it?”

 

He’ll pick up any object as if it’s a phone; put it against his ear and say, “Hi”. He has received very little in the way of role modeling for that behavior--as phone phobic as I am. Perhaps he’s trying to tell me something.

 

He says, “Bye” with accompanying fanfare. If he says bye to you, he’ll get shoes (his, yours, anybody’s), he’ll escort you to the door, wave and blow kisses at you from behind the glass and then shut the door behind him. Again, super polite but not role modeled behavior.

 

My favorite word which he refuses to repeat very often is “kiss”. We were at Lowes and I gave him a kiss and said, “Kiss”. I stepped away and he said, “Kiss” and then presented his forehead. He slays me. But of course in the tradition of all mothers and sons he melts me with his charm but refuses to perform on demand.

 

He also says Hank (the greyhound next door) which means dog. On the Grammar ToDo List learn the difference between name vs. noun.

Sam's Peops: The Fam

This spring we’ve been busy with the family get together—Easter, Brayden’s Baptism (my first Godmother stint) and in the Ferguson clan it’s the Birthday season so there are lots of family photos. I decided that since I’m spending so much time recording Sam’s life, blogging and going to endless family functions (oops sarcasm slippage altho I'm not sure why I'm complaining since I'm always suggesting another one) that I might need to learn how to take better photos so this spring I’m taking a pt. and shoot class. Can’t get enough of Sam's blog? There will be so much more of this to come.