My son, Sweet Potato, is six years old. He has always had a special interest in animals. They have always fascinated him, reassured him, and calmed him. When he was a toddler, he appreciated animals no matter how they were presented: in books, movies, at PetSmart, and the grocery store.
When he was two years old, we took one of our more difficult trips to the Publix supermarket. He liked to shriek so he could listen to his voice resonate. He reached for shelves and grabbed for products. I had to push the cart down the center of each aisle to allow for his wingspan.
I reached the end of the cereal aisle and saw the lobster tank in the seafood section. I leaned close to him, "Sweet Potato, do you want to see a lobster?"
"Yes! Lobster!" He squealed. I pushed the cart over to the tank and he squawked and pointed at the rubber-banded claw. He asked many questions, including where he came from, where did he live now, where were his friends, etc. We spent about 15 minutes looking at the lobster and watching the bubbles.
We named the lobster Lenny. Every time I needed to buy groceries, he would beg to go see Lenny. We ended up using Lenny as a reinforcer, "Put your toys in the toy box then we will go see Lenny!" At one point, he asked if he could buy Lenny and keep him at home in the bathtub.
Flash forward to last week. I had almost forgotten about Lenny. Sweet Potato's interest in animals has been satisfied by dinosaur books, toys, zoos, and documentaries. I had to get groceries and SP asked if he could go. We got the cart, rounded the corner, and he asked, "Mama, can we go see Lenny?" He was absolutely delighted to see that Lenny had some friends in the tank with him. He made small talk with shoppers about Lenny.
I was positive at some point along the way we discussed why Lenny resided at Publix and what people would do when they bought him. I think SP chose not to think about the details.
This evening, I was at the grocery store. The man ahead of me in line had two cardboard boxes that look like the kind you get at PetSmart when you buy a guinea pig. The red print on the side of the box read "Live Lobster". The man purchased Lenny and his friend so he could make lobster rolls.
I texted my husband, Mr. Baseball, that Lenny and his buddy were leaving the building. Forever. I felt relief that I was alone in the checkout line. I felt a little sad that my son's wonder at the miracle of an accessible lobster was so fragile.
Goodbye, Lenny.
Friday, August 25, 2017
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Smokin' Hot
Sweet Potato and I went to a favorite park for some fresh air and exercise this afternoon. We loaded up the Banana Split (my car) with dinosaurs, a cooler, and juice.
It was 93 degrees outside with bright sun. The bleached sand in the volleyball court was volcanic in temperature. It was so hot, the dinosaurs went extinct as soon as the playing began.
We encountered a friendly thirteen-year-old boy, who was skateboarding. Sweet Potato invited him to play Hide-And-Go-Seek and the kiddo obliged. Sweet Potato skipped a few numbers and ended up on the number 99. Skater boy grinned and did not correct him or argue against his methods. They hid behind trees, in play structures, and under benches.
When he saw the walking path intersect a stream and pond, Sweet Potato asked the kid, "Will you watch me near the water so if I slip and fall I won't die?"
The boy with the skateboard looked pensive, "If I am only watching you, that will not prevent that from happening." Sweet Potato started processing this, but got distracted by a squirrel (of course).
It's getting weird, I thought to myself.
The skater boy started chatting about school and abruptly said, "My dad has been really distant lately."
Sweet Potato was just about to ask "How far away is he?" when I answered, "It sounds like he's really busy. Has he been really busy?"
The boy answered, yes, his dad was busy, but he had managed to spend a weekend with his dad in a nearby city.
I work with children in a school. Many children speak to me about their parents' divorces, custody arrangements, and teasing. For reasons unknown, children have a level of comfort with disclosing feelings with me. The boy politely left the park for his home nearby.
Sweet Potato and a drove home. We passed by a Burger King. The smell of char-grilled burgers was thick in the 93-degree air.
"Mom! I'm allergic to smoke! I can't be here!" exclaimed SP, holding his nose. He was in a panic.
"Yes, that is smoke, honey. It is not cigarette smoke and it is not smoke from a fire."
"What is it?" He shrieked.
"That is the smell of Burger King. They char-grill their hamburgers and the grill has a smoky smell. When we turn the corner, there will be no more smoke."
He became quiet with relief. We continued our drive home.
It was 93 degrees outside with bright sun. The bleached sand in the volleyball court was volcanic in temperature. It was so hot, the dinosaurs went extinct as soon as the playing began.
We encountered a friendly thirteen-year-old boy, who was skateboarding. Sweet Potato invited him to play Hide-And-Go-Seek and the kiddo obliged. Sweet Potato skipped a few numbers and ended up on the number 99. Skater boy grinned and did not correct him or argue against his methods. They hid behind trees, in play structures, and under benches.
When he saw the walking path intersect a stream and pond, Sweet Potato asked the kid, "Will you watch me near the water so if I slip and fall I won't die?"
The boy with the skateboard looked pensive, "If I am only watching you, that will not prevent that from happening." Sweet Potato started processing this, but got distracted by a squirrel (of course).
It's getting weird, I thought to myself.
The skater boy started chatting about school and abruptly said, "My dad has been really distant lately."
Sweet Potato was just about to ask "How far away is he?" when I answered, "It sounds like he's really busy. Has he been really busy?"
The boy answered, yes, his dad was busy, but he had managed to spend a weekend with his dad in a nearby city.
I work with children in a school. Many children speak to me about their parents' divorces, custody arrangements, and teasing. For reasons unknown, children have a level of comfort with disclosing feelings with me. The boy politely left the park for his home nearby.
Sweet Potato and a drove home. We passed by a Burger King. The smell of char-grilled burgers was thick in the 93-degree air.
"Mom! I'm allergic to smoke! I can't be here!" exclaimed SP, holding his nose. He was in a panic.
"Yes, that is smoke, honey. It is not cigarette smoke and it is not smoke from a fire."
"What is it?" He shrieked.
"That is the smell of Burger King. They char-grill their hamburgers and the grill has a smoky smell. When we turn the corner, there will be no more smoke."
He became quiet with relief. We continued our drive home.
Say What?
Here's a roundup of some gems from the Sweet Potato:
" I don't want to be a ninja paleontologist when I grow up. Instead, I want to be rare."
(Thunder rumbled in the distance).
"Mama is that thunder or a stampeding herd of bison?"
"If I have 60 kids and I die, will you take care of my 60 kids?"
"Mama, is President Trump doing a good job?"
"People who live in forests don't have Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny."
"Do insects yawn?"
Sweet Potato: "Am I allergic to anything?"
Me: "You are allergic to smoke."
Sweet Potato: "Well, actually, I am allergic to wildebeest dust."
" I don't want to be a ninja paleontologist when I grow up. Instead, I want to be rare."
(Thunder rumbled in the distance).
"Mama is that thunder or a stampeding herd of bison?"
"If I have 60 kids and I die, will you take care of my 60 kids?"
"Mama, is President Trump doing a good job?"
"People who live in forests don't have Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny."
"Do insects yawn?"
Sweet Potato: "Am I allergic to anything?"
Me: "You are allergic to smoke."
Sweet Potato: "Well, actually, I am allergic to wildebeest dust."
Thursday, August 17, 2017
Holy Grounded
On Easter Sunday, Sweet Potato received candy (of course) and a storybook Bible with audio CD's. Every Christmas and Easter, Mr. Baseball and I make sure he receives one gift that represents faith. Well, this Easter, it was a homerun of a gift.
Sweet Potato has always been prone to obsessions. When he was 17 months old, he was obsessed with horses. When he first watched the Kentucky Derby (at 17 months old), he shrieked, squealed, and kissed the TV screen. He whinnied, snorted, and trotted around the house, holding his plush horse, aptly named "Neigh." He pretended he was a horse, he talked about them...constantly.
On the heels (hooves) of horses, came the obsession with Noah's Ark. It spanned 4 years with some remnants reappearing in times of stress. Sweet Potato collected arks (4 official plus numerous homemade ones). He constructed arks, every day, for years. I often joked with my husband that we should have named our son "Noah."
Every since Easter Sunday, April 16, SP has been obsessed with his Bible CD's. We listened to the Old Testament (he calls it the "First Testament") every car trip for months. Over and over. When I suggested another CD, he opened his eyes wide in panic and whined, "You don't want me to listen to...THE BIBLE?" Well, if you put it that way, I guess we can listen. I even tried putting a favorite song (Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite by REM) queued up, ready to play, in the CD player. Upon hearing the intro, he said, "Mama, I want the Bible." Ugh. Every attempt at redirection was met with, "Why don't you want me to hear the Bible?"
Finally, we ventured into new territory, "Mama, I'm ready for the Jesus part." He said, "I'm ready for the second testament." We have listened to the New Testament repeatedly and Sweet Potato can recite it verbatim. I have attempted to broaden his horizons by borrowing CD's from the library and listening to other stories on CD. Every attempt was met with the same reaction, "But I love the Bible."
This was becoming a problem for me because the CD readings are calming, and soothing. I have to be careful about maintaining alertness and not being lulled to sleep in the car. The sound effects were irritating my misophonia, the inability to process and tolerate some noises.
Recently, Sweet Potato had a behavior lapse of epic proportions. It involved the iPad. Need I say more? He had a tantrum that exacerbated and remitted over a period of three days. He had several unacceptable behavioral infractions, hitting and kicking in anger. He lost electronic screens--movies, videos, and the iPad. During the last little burst of the tantrum, after it appeared to be over, he called me a name, not a nice name. The only remaining effective consequence was...the Storybook Bible on CD.
Yes, I grounded my son from the Bible. He cried, wailed, and refused to get into the car. When the actual music came through the speakers he cried again. "I...cccan't....listen...to... to ...to ... my Bible...WAH!"
Shortly thereafter, he returned to his sweet, unique, positive self. I complimented him on his choices in behaviors and expressed my support for him calming himself down.
He earned back the Storybook Bible on CD quickly (within a few days) with good behavior. My guilt about using it as a consequence occasionally makes an appearance in my stream of consciousness. I think I'm the only parent who has done such a thing. I hope I'm not going to hell.
Sweet Potato has always been prone to obsessions. When he was 17 months old, he was obsessed with horses. When he first watched the Kentucky Derby (at 17 months old), he shrieked, squealed, and kissed the TV screen. He whinnied, snorted, and trotted around the house, holding his plush horse, aptly named "Neigh." He pretended he was a horse, he talked about them...constantly.
On the heels (hooves) of horses, came the obsession with Noah's Ark. It spanned 4 years with some remnants reappearing in times of stress. Sweet Potato collected arks (4 official plus numerous homemade ones). He constructed arks, every day, for years. I often joked with my husband that we should have named our son "Noah."
Every since Easter Sunday, April 16, SP has been obsessed with his Bible CD's. We listened to the Old Testament (he calls it the "First Testament") every car trip for months. Over and over. When I suggested another CD, he opened his eyes wide in panic and whined, "You don't want me to listen to...THE BIBLE?" Well, if you put it that way, I guess we can listen. I even tried putting a favorite song (Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite by REM) queued up, ready to play, in the CD player. Upon hearing the intro, he said, "Mama, I want the Bible." Ugh. Every attempt at redirection was met with, "Why don't you want me to hear the Bible?"
Finally, we ventured into new territory, "Mama, I'm ready for the Jesus part." He said, "I'm ready for the second testament." We have listened to the New Testament repeatedly and Sweet Potato can recite it verbatim. I have attempted to broaden his horizons by borrowing CD's from the library and listening to other stories on CD. Every attempt was met with the same reaction, "But I love the Bible."
This was becoming a problem for me because the CD readings are calming, and soothing. I have to be careful about maintaining alertness and not being lulled to sleep in the car. The sound effects were irritating my misophonia, the inability to process and tolerate some noises.
Recently, Sweet Potato had a behavior lapse of epic proportions. It involved the iPad. Need I say more? He had a tantrum that exacerbated and remitted over a period of three days. He had several unacceptable behavioral infractions, hitting and kicking in anger. He lost electronic screens--movies, videos, and the iPad. During the last little burst of the tantrum, after it appeared to be over, he called me a name, not a nice name. The only remaining effective consequence was...the Storybook Bible on CD.
Yes, I grounded my son from the Bible. He cried, wailed, and refused to get into the car. When the actual music came through the speakers he cried again. "I...cccan't....listen...to... to ...to ... my Bible...WAH!"
Shortly thereafter, he returned to his sweet, unique, positive self. I complimented him on his choices in behaviors and expressed my support for him calming himself down.
He earned back the Storybook Bible on CD quickly (within a few days) with good behavior. My guilt about using it as a consequence occasionally makes an appearance in my stream of consciousness. I think I'm the only parent who has done such a thing. I hope I'm not going to hell.
Friday, August 11, 2017
Wonderful World of Wildebeests
My six-year-old son, Sweet Potato, has the gift of imagination. He appoints roles, personalities, and functions to ordinary objects. This is truly a gift given his challenges. My husband, Mr. Baseball, and I both celebrate his creativity and find ourselves frustrated with the pervasiveness of this quality.
Sweet Potato received a souvenirs from Kenya from some family members. He has always had a fascination with Africa because he believes Africa has the best selection of animals. A buddy of his in Kindergarten told him that "everyone in Africa is brown", so he thinks that's something of a sign. Finally, he has seen a video of an African tribe, shirtless, wearing celebratory garb and he thinks that if he goes to Africa he can be naked as much as he wants to be.
Since receiving the goodies from Kenya, his obsession with wildebeest migration has returned. He requests to spend all screen time watching two British documentaries on migration of the wildebeest on the Serengeti Plains. He is speaking about animals with an English accent, even referring to zebras as "zebbras".
Years ago, Sweet Potato used spoons as wildebeests in our kitchen. The spoons began as evenly spaced, methodical animals. The were all oriented accordingly, handles pointing toward the oven. However, as my husband and I walked through the kitchen, they slid, pinged on the fridge and stove, and faced different directions. It was as if a lion had been hunting. Sweet Potato would yell, "No! You messed it up!"
Yesterday, he started using his Lincoln Logs as wildebeests on the wood floor. I am relieved that I don't have to wash spoons constantly, however, this is not without its challenges. The Lincoln Logs are the same color as the wood floor. We step on them. All. The. Time. The pain isn't as severe as LEGO-stepping pain, but the cylindrical shape adds an element of danger. We have had some near-misses, but no one has hit the floor...yet.
We know that anxiety about starting first grade, a new teacher, and a schedule change are mounting. The wildebeests have an important role, which is to occupy his mind while he adjusts. We are hoping this phase is like visiting in-laws; you're happy to see them come and happy to see them leave.
With the return of the wildebeests, there has been one side effect bothering me. I am prone to earworms and spoken languages. I spontaneously sing bars from songs. I adopted a Southern accent soon after my relocation from the upper midwest. When I was learning Spanish, native speakers often complimented me on my diction. My "talent", unfortunately, is also manifested in animal noises. I trip over Lincoln Logs and bellow "MMM...uuuh. grunt, snort." Mr. Baseball is hard-of-hearing, so all he has to do is turn down his hearing aids. Sweet Potato finally said, "Mama, is that stuck in your brain?"
"Yes, honey."
"Mama, you need a good brain like mine. Then that won't bother you."
And there you have it, good self esteem and theory of mind, hand-in-hand.
Sweet Potato received a souvenirs from Kenya from some family members. He has always had a fascination with Africa because he believes Africa has the best selection of animals. A buddy of his in Kindergarten told him that "everyone in Africa is brown", so he thinks that's something of a sign. Finally, he has seen a video of an African tribe, shirtless, wearing celebratory garb and he thinks that if he goes to Africa he can be naked as much as he wants to be.
Since receiving the goodies from Kenya, his obsession with wildebeest migration has returned. He requests to spend all screen time watching two British documentaries on migration of the wildebeest on the Serengeti Plains. He is speaking about animals with an English accent, even referring to zebras as "zebbras".
Years ago, Sweet Potato used spoons as wildebeests in our kitchen. The spoons began as evenly spaced, methodical animals. The were all oriented accordingly, handles pointing toward the oven. However, as my husband and I walked through the kitchen, they slid, pinged on the fridge and stove, and faced different directions. It was as if a lion had been hunting. Sweet Potato would yell, "No! You messed it up!"
Yesterday, he started using his Lincoln Logs as wildebeests on the wood floor. I am relieved that I don't have to wash spoons constantly, however, this is not without its challenges. The Lincoln Logs are the same color as the wood floor. We step on them. All. The. Time. The pain isn't as severe as LEGO-stepping pain, but the cylindrical shape adds an element of danger. We have had some near-misses, but no one has hit the floor...yet.
We know that anxiety about starting first grade, a new teacher, and a schedule change are mounting. The wildebeests have an important role, which is to occupy his mind while he adjusts. We are hoping this phase is like visiting in-laws; you're happy to see them come and happy to see them leave.
With the return of the wildebeests, there has been one side effect bothering me. I am prone to earworms and spoken languages. I spontaneously sing bars from songs. I adopted a Southern accent soon after my relocation from the upper midwest. When I was learning Spanish, native speakers often complimented me on my diction. My "talent", unfortunately, is also manifested in animal noises. I trip over Lincoln Logs and bellow "MMM...uuuh. grunt, snort." Mr. Baseball is hard-of-hearing, so all he has to do is turn down his hearing aids. Sweet Potato finally said, "Mama, is that stuck in your brain?"
"Yes, honey."
"Mama, you need a good brain like mine. Then that won't bother you."
And there you have it, good self esteem and theory of mind, hand-in-hand.
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
Action Figures
This evening at dinner, Mr. Baseball (my husband) announced that Sweet Potato was creating and producing scenarios that involved his villain action figures pursuing adoption. Sweet Potato excitedly chimed in, "Yeah, Mama! Everyone's adopting babies...and when they're done with the babies, they'll adopt pets!"
Sweet Potato processes adoption in five-minute bursts. We have always been honest, providing opportunities for questions. He is always welcome to see pictures of his birth family. I always imagined that he and I would snuggle and have an age-appropriate conversation about adoption; he would process the information and there would be elaboration as he got older. That's not how Sweet Potato works. His mind darts back and forth--to shiny things and back to himself. He asks profound questions, and two minutes later, he is demonstrating the sound a cape buffalo makes when threatened.
This evening at dinner, Sweet Potato explained that Lex Luthor and Poison Ivy adopted a baby and named the baby Sweet Potato. I gulped my food and glanced at my husband. "They named their baby Sweet Potato?"
"Yeah, Mama. Sweet Potato Ivy".
"Honey, I see where this is going," I said to Mr. Baseball from across the table. The good news is that I am Poison Ivy. The bad news is that we are villains.
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