Run Austin Run!

The incredible thing about raising children is seeing things through their eyes. You see how they see things for the first time. You have to put to words concepts that you had assumed were innately understood, like “competition” or “yield.” You shout for joy when your three year old reads (from memory) “watch your step” on the bus. You encourage imaginative play like it’s your day job.

You see all the bad, too, like when you miss the hunger or sleep cues and pay for it.

This week we made some adjustments to the evening routine. I’m no longer coercing Austin into walking the dog as soon as we get in the door. He has been angry quite a lot these days. It turns out when we don’t walk the dog and instead feed Austin real food instead of snacks at 6pm he is in much better spirits. It turns out his mercurial behavior is linked to his exhaustion and hunger. D’uh! And yet as a creature of habit, I tried to force him to keep the routine.

Jeter is unimpressed with this arrangement, of course, but he will soon realize he has to wait until daddy gets home for his walk. We have later afternoon walks for him, so it’s not a matter of urgency.

Last weekend Austin ran his first race. Hayden was building it up, but we were both nervous that his soccer team meltdowns might reoccur if he didn’t perform well. Wonder Woman, his current favorite superhero (don’t know why ;) was there, along with Batman and Captain America. That helped, but we were still nervous. “Just have fun Austin. It doesn’t matter if you win.”

Well, he won. He beat everyone in the three year old heat including the big kid up there on the right. He kicked it in to high gear down the stretch of the considerable distance of 100 yards and, with literally hundreds cheering him on, he WON!

The video we took is priceless. A real parenting fail/win with glimpses of Austin’s determination and perfect running form interspersed with long periods of shaky video of pavement and my off camera high pitched shrieks above the crowd. It was all there: utter devotion, utter angst, utter joy and utter relief. All in 45 seconds. Indeed, parenting is living life at 100%!

Fishy Fish

"Mama bear" is, at least for me, an affectionate and deeply accurate description of a mother's love for her child. I am an avowed and proud mama bear.

Therese, who came back to babysit last week, laughingly teased me about the difference between her first day with her new family and with us. She said she found it odd that the new family didn't call to check-in during the day. However, she also reminded me that she found it hilarious that I rushed in after the first day (during which multiple check-ins were made) and cried out "MY BABY!" I have no memory of this, but it sounds like me.

I also know that if I see a photo of a sick child or hear a story of a sick or dead child I have a visceral reaction. I am immediately overcome with empathy and grief. I literally cannot take it.

To lighten things up and further my point, my motivation for today's blog came from this week's email from Mrs. Mukendi, Austin's teacher. 

"First, I would like to introduce our newest member of the class: Peanut Butter. He is our class Betta fish. The children voted, and the name Peanut Butter beat out other contenders such as "Clean Up" and "Fishy Fish."

I immediately teared up and stood up from my desk at work with the impulse to run to my child. You see, the name suggestion for the second runner up, "fishy fish" was clearly a suggestion from Austin, who's very own Fishy Fish was recently flushed out to sea. I knew in that instant that my child experienced rejection. He lost the competition and I couldn't help him.

There are worse defeats, 'tis true.

Indeed, he will survive this setback in the popular vote.

We did not discuss the anguishing loss when I picked him up. In fact, I asked, "how's peanut butter?"

Austin got a big smile on his face and said, "great."

He never need know about this mama bear incident!

First day of school

Well, we have a school-aged kid. As Austin has been saying for a while, "I'm not a baby, I'm a big boy!"

On Thursday morning, We got ready, packing up his new dinosaur backpack with a few snacks and toys, a change of clothes, and I hid a couple of pacifiers at the bottom, just in case.

We had a photo session in front of the house, where Austin proudly displayed his sign for the new year.

We trouped over in our 4.5 minute walk across the street and jumped into the fray. Billions of children and parents scurrying about. The new principal was there in the thick of it, directing traffic like an old hand even though he isn't, with just 3 weeks on the job. We spotted Austin's two teachers, Mrs. Mukendi and Mrs. Keeno, who visited our house the day before. We joined the procession into Austin's classroom, where we dropped off his backpack in his cubbie, which was the first one. We know Austin Aaronson will likely always be first on the list, which is fun.

Breakfast was laid out for the kids, a cheese omelette, milk and orange juice. Austin took a seat at a table set out for 4. Isla, a neighbor kid, took a seat next to him. We were happy to see a familiar family. Kids were in various stages of sitting at the tables. Some, like Austin and Isla, tucked in, others were exploring the new toys and others, like Calder (the new Kyle?) were up and down and back and forth and all over the place. Austin asked to go to the bathroom and was delighted to discover a kid-sized toilet. "Mommy, my feet touch the ground!" Seeing it from his perspective suddenly brought into relief the inconvenience of an uncomfortable throne.

We'd have made it out of the classroom ok, but then came the domino effect. One little kid started crying...and at first I thought, "ok, our kid's got this! No crying!" Then another kid started. We sat Austin on the rug on the rooster circle. "Look Austin, a rooster. Your pop pop loves roosters." He seemed to buy it. We hugged and walked away. He looked skeptical. My voice failed me as my throat closed up. I walked away, waving and praying the tears welling up would not betray me. A few more steps toward the door and a few more waves. Austin went from skeptical to concerned as a few more dominos fell. The teachers were running out of lap space. A little girl was about to head out the door looking for her mommy and as I stopped to block her, Austin came running. He jumped up and clung to me. The dam of tears held for both of us. He was absolutely stoic. 

His teacher took him from me. I choked out, "Mommy will be back" and ran out the door, where Hayden waited with red rimmed eyes.

I watched the phone all day and rightly assumed that Austin survived. 

At 3:15, anxious parents paced back and forth at the playground where pick up was as classrooms emptied out of the building. His was the last class out. He spotted me immediately and jumped up into my arms. He didn't cry, but it took him a few minutes to say anything other than one word answers to our pepper of questions.

His teacher said he did great and as the evening unraveled we got details directly from him that confirmed that. "We brushed our teeth and I got a red toothbrush." (his favorite color!) "I was on the jungle gym." "Isla is my friend."

He didn't nap, and passed out with his "baby" in his mouth around 5pm. We figured we could all let the rules slid for the sake of comfort and familiarity on this big day.

When he woke up and went to the bathroom, he said, "mommy, I like the toilet at my school better. And, I thought, "well, that's something!"

Bye Bye Therese

Well, today was the day. The last day of an over three year nanny-share with our beloved nanny, Therese. Kyle was in rare form or actually quite typical form: shouting, spitting water, rolling around on the floor, throwing stuff, shouting some more. Austin admonished alongside Therese, “no, Kyle, no.”

Therese has cared for our son better than we could have imagined. As I have said repeatedly, at the end of the day, what I realized I needed in a nanny, Therese taught me: someone who was going to love our son. Taking care of him every day is something Therese did, because it was her job. However, the above and beyond care that she provided was because she loved him dearly. Each morning since she began, she came into the house, washed her hands and then Austin would give her a hug and they each said good morning. This may sound ordinary, but it established love, respect and routine all in one simple gesture. Tonight, when Austin was struggling on his own in the bathroom and we were encouraging him to figure it out on his own, he said, “Therese says, ‘First try it yourself and if you can’t do it, I will help you.’” Well, why didn’t we think of that phrase?

In her way, she disciplined Austin and of course Kyle. Clear authority with the patience of the saint she is named after. For instance, she walked in the other day and Austin had his “baby” in his mouth. We have not been so strict about the pacifier and it has become a deeply entrenched habit/addiction. One word from Therese and he took it out without hesitation or complaint.

Each day for the past three years she got the boys ready, packed up the yellow bag with fruit, snacks and water and headed out in the double green stroller. When we bought that stroller I was so afraid that if we bought one of the types with one kid in the front and one in back that Therese would somehow forget that Austin was there, because Kyle being Kyle would dominate all of her attention. I insisted on the side by side double stroller. As if Therese could ever forget Austin or miss a single moment! She was a juggler of babies and toddlers and little boys. Kyle usually demanded more attention or demanded attention more loudly, but Therese never let Austin feel forgotten. I never once came in the door in the evening and worried that he was neglected. On the contrary, he’d bound over to meet me, happy as a clam and eager to share details of his day with Therese and Kyle.

Their routine was that on Mondays it was story time at the 7^th Street NE Library and on Thursdays it was Boogie Babes at Eastern Market. On cold or rainy days, they sought refuge in Sherwood Recreation Center. Every other day it was to Lincoln Park or one many playgrounds in the neighborhood. They were back for lunch and then nap time. They ended the day playing in the house or across the street at Miner.

Today we exchanged some gifts and promises to keep in touch. The adults in the room shed a tear, truly feeling the end of such an important and beloved era and truly grateful for this wonderful woman. The two boys ripped through presents from Therese and scarfed down cupcakes in her honor (but mostly in theirs). They barely skipped a beat as they hugged their cherished nanny Therese and parted ways tonight as if tomorrow would be no different.

The Scrimmage

I stood on the sidelines of my kid’s Capitol Hill Under 4s soccer practice and assessed the various 2 and 3 year olds’ abilities to dribble or focus. Austin was CLEARLY the best out there. No roaming to the nearby playground mid-drill for this kid. No picking up the ball or picking flowers (or noses). He listened to every word from Coach Arthur and executed like a pro. Feigning humility, I smiled sympathetically at Sawyer’s mom when Sawyer wandered into the middle of the circle before the whistle blew.

“Aw, she’s adorable,” I cooed (like a badger).

About 23 minutes in, my superstar’s sparkle dimmed a bit.

“Mommy, can I have some apple sauce?”

“Austin, you need to wait until the water break.”

“But I want it noooow”

“Austin, listen to Coach Arthur!”

“No!”

“Ok, here’s some apple sauce. Now get back out there, kid!”

Noted, by Sawyer’s mom.

Coach Arthur blew the whistle to start the scrimmage. Austin got the ball and had a breakaway. He shot, he scored! With equal parts irony and pride, I started screaming “that’s my kid, that’s my kid!” It was an homage to my mom’s unironic cry at my soccer games growing up and even when I was 21 and played in college. She had no shame on the sidelines and the force of her cries always spurred me into action.

Now it was my turn, I thought. Then I thought, relax, he’s three. And then I thought, but he’s so good. Don’t be crazy.

He celebrated his goal as the opposing team ate animal crackers or hugged their mommies or picked up sticks. He went after the ball again. Another kid got it. He got grumpy and came over to me.

“Get back out there!”

He went charging back in and got the ball. Another kid took it. He got grumpy and came over again.

“Get back out there!”

“No!”

“C’mon, you’ve got to help your team!”

He ran back out, got the ball and got knocked over. While physically fine, he launched a meltdown like I had never seen. He was inconsolable and had to be carried off the field…and all the way to the car. He was done with soccer, possibly forever. He did not want to cheer in a huddle at the end with Arthur. Even the playground was dead to him.

No amount of cajoling could coax him out of meltdown. Finally, the back-up reserve, break in case of emergency candy gummies bribed him out of tears. My little Lionel Messi needs work on his mental game. And, perhaps I do too!

The Green tomato

My son is so smart. I realize every mother says this, but in my case, it is true.

Tonight Austin came running into the kitchen from outside. He had been playing volleyball with Hayden. I went out to peak earlier and Hayden was asking, "When did you learn about volleyball?"

"Mommy, mommy, I need to show you something!" Close behind him was Hayden, affirming the urgency of the forthcoming marvel. I followed them outside, wondering what it possibly could be, as I had just been outside 4 and half minutes prior.

He pulls me over to my little garden and then with great hand gestures (arms spread wide and waving toward the plants, says in his best magician impression(?): "I now present to you...the green tomato!"

Well, we were pleased to see the tomato, but Hayden and I were floored by Austin's use of language and staging.

I have been around a couple three year olds lately and I'm certain they could not have pulled off such pageantry AND linguistic dexterity.

There are countless examples like this on a daily basis. This is but one. I wanted to capture it here before it fades as newer, more amazing moments barrel into view.

The terrible threes

Tonight Hayden and Austin were watching Roger Federer play Stan Wawrinka in the Indian Wells tennis tournament final. Roger had match point and Hayden was besides himself. "Come on Roger!" He shouted. Austin, standing right there with him, shouted "Come on Rafa!" And giggled like hell. "What?!" Hayden shrieked while his eyes didn't leave the tv. Austin giggled some more. A few minutes later and second match point, again Hayden shouted for roger and again Austin shouted for Rafa.

It was hilarious and perhaps what Hayden deserves for brainwashing gone awry! Austin has become, "a big boy," to use his oft repeated description. He makes poo poo jokes and teases his dad and his mommy. "Mommy, do you see my red socks?" A direct reference to my stated hatred for the Boston baseball team.

We were at friends' last night and a child there who was the same age was impossible to understand. In other words I am bragging about how smart and verbal Austin is. He is ahead of the curve.

Alas, let me also be the first to say that he is not perfect. In fact I have discovered the secret toddler ritual that should but does not make the headlines: the terrible threes!

Upon inquiry with several parents I have learned that this is indeed a thing, and it is worse than the terrible twos. 

Austin takes us on an emotional roller coaster 117 times a day. Yesterday, for example, Hayden walked down in the middle of our carefully choreographed-on-eggshells breakfast routine and suggested it was preposterous that Austin was scooping coffee into the french press. "Quiet" I hissed. "Just let him do it." "No he is making a mess." He proceeded to take the coffee away. 

Mistake.

Big mistake.

Austin's feelings were hurt beyond repair and for the next 6 minutes (which felt like years).

Aust, do you want to make the coffee?

NO!

C’mon

NO

Austin, I need your help.

NO

Aust, how do you feel?

MAD

Come on, let’s eat breakfast.

NO

Such is the delicate balance of things these days.

Five minutes later, he was chowing down on his oatmeal and Grandma’s granola, talking about super heroes with not a care in the world and no recall of the trauma of moments before.

"Mommy how does Spiderman climb on walls?"

"Does he have a web?"

"How do his feet stick to the wall?"

I try to answer these questions by recalling as best I can my passing interest in Spiderman from thirty years ago, while recovering from the coffee drama.

He is my best boy.