Parents Strongly Cautioned

When my mother rented Robocop for my brother and me, she was probably just thrilled that we were able to agree on something.  I can still remember the look on her face and the shrill "TURN THAT OFF RIGHT NOW!!" as the main character is brutally (and graphically) gunned down towards the start of the movie.

While the movies rating system was introduced in the late 60's, not many paid very close attention.  Tom and Jerry were as violent as any movie we could have watched, so what was the difference?

For our generation, we are hyper-aware of the ratings the government places on our movies, television, and music.

Well, at least you think we would be.

I am the first to admit that I am constantly confused by the ratings applied to movies:

Shrek is rated PG, but Monsters, Inc (released the same year), with its growling hairy monsters only earned a G rating.

Anastasia and A Bug's Life earned G ratings in the late 90's, but movies with similar content (with regards to the violence, fighting, and innuendos) earn a PG rating today (see: Kung Fu Panda and How to Train Your Dragon).

This past Saturday, we went in search of a movie that was playing to which we could take our 4 1/2 year old son.   He has already seen Mr Popper's Penguins (PG), Cars 2 (G-huh?), and Winnie the Pooh (G) was not going to be released for another couple of weeks.

The only thing that was even close to what we'd find interesting was The Green Lantern (stretching the boundaries with a PG-13 rating).

Me being me, I went in search of reviews that might give me some insight on the movie's content and if it really deserved to be rated so close to the edge of R.   Most of what I read listed it as "not so bad" and "nothing so terrible."  There were mentions of no sex, little foul language, and just some cartoon-ish mahem.

It was armed with this that we went forth to see The Lantern.

Idiots.

The fact that there were NO other children in the theater should have tipped us off.  The first part was fine.  However, as the movie progressed, it was clear that we had made a bad decision.   Older children would probably be fine...as in the 13 and older recommendation made by the Motion Picture Association. As for our son, two thirds of the time was spent with closed eyes and covered ears.

It leads me to question the toys that are geared towards younger children.  We are behind told that toy makers want you to play with the toys that represent the movies you should probably avoid taking your kids to see at the theater.

A mixed message of merchandising that goes right along with the mixed message of the ratings system itself.

Now, let me point out that I do NOT expect the government to tell me how to parent my child.  Last time I checked, that is the job of the hubs and myself.  It is our duty to determine what Z should and should not be allowed to see.

I count this experience as a lesson learned.  No parent gets it right all of the time. Many may think that I should have known better.  Again, I point out the flawed ratings system that is supposed to help me determine to what I should expose my son.

At the end of the day, everything is up for inspection.  I know that I cannot shelter my son from all of the world.  He needs the life experiences to grow and develop.  However, if there are any questions about what he'll see, then it's off the table until hubs and I can watch it ourselves and make a decision.

Parents Strongly Cautioned indeed.





 

Pure Imagination

Come with me

And you'll be

In a world of 

Pure Imagination

With each passing day, I grow more and more amazed at the little person gifted to me.  

One of my favorite things to watch my son do is create his own world.  Today, it is talking dinosaurs and invisible flowers (a gift just for me).  He is constantly creating his own games with rules that change.  He is able to take something as simple as a cardboard box and small figures and create a whole world.  

With each generation, it seems that the time for children to BE children gets shorter and shorter.  Whether it is circumstance of life or simply the way of our world, it saddens me.  

As Z gets older, I find the changes bittersweet.  I love watching him develop and grow.  At just over four years old, he can get dressed on his own and has an opinion about everything.  Even with that, he still is little boy in that he lives for his blankie and loves to cuddle.   He gets wound up and runs like a madman...and then curls up to snuggle to sleep.

Right now, I fight to keep his imagination alive.  I nurture the dreams and build the cities.  I enter the world he creates and allow him to build his dream world around us, taking us to magical places with magical people.

And for every day that he builds this world, I will come.  I will build the forts and feed the animals and pretend that we are the wranglers and dinosaurs, cats, turtles, and lobsters.  

Because, at the end of the day, "we are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams."

Pick One

It never ceases to amaze me the boxes we try to put each other and ourselves in.  We want categories: black, white, gay, straight, fat, thin, short, tall, smart, not-so-much...boy, girl.

I am not now, nor have I really ever been, a fan of the box ideology.  I don't get why I can't just be me, whoever that is.  And I will be the first to tell you that it probably changes daily.

That's also why I try to prevent putting my own child in a little box.  Take this afternoon for example. We have started a family tradition on Sundays.  After church, we hit the Big M for a happy meal.  They are very known for carrying two different toy campaigns at once.  Currently, the choices are Transformers figures or Sanrio watches.   This, of course, leads to the economical way to ask which toy a child would like.  When I placed my order today, I got the expected "is that toy for a boy or girl?"

The manager I worked for was quite unique in this regard.  When I worked for the Big M in high school, she  was adamant that we asked in terms of the campaign.  She wanted no parent to feel compelled to place his/her child in the gender box.  So, today, when I was asked that question, I responded with "a Sanrio watch, please."

I won't put my child in a box.  He watches Dora AND Diego.  He has Transformers AND Sanrio watches.  He likes Scooby Doo AND Disney Princesses. He plays with cars AND cuddles his teddy bears.

I don't want my child to pick one.  I want him to be free to like what he likes and be who he is.

Whoever that is.

And even if it changes every day.

Four

肆


४


ארבע


๔


Four.  


Today, my son is four.   And I am blessed,  For four years, I have been gifted with this wonderful human being.  I have been allowed to watch him grow, learn, and love.
  

Since Ziggy isn't to the point of asking for a birthday party as yet, we have decided to forgo that activity until he does. Instead, we continued the family tradition of  birthday dinner.  To make sure everyone could attend (well, all six of us anyway), we had dinner yesterday.  Ziggy opened presents, which really consisted of two Pillow Pets...which he has been asking to get for about the last six months.  

Since it was birthday time, Nana and I obliged.  My son later said something to me that marks this transition from toddler to little boy more profound than anything else could have.


He told me he was thankful for his gifts.  

This morning, the other man in my life (hubs) did what has to be the sweetest thing.  Since Z had gotten his presents yesterday, he didn't have any for today.  I had already planned a surprise trip for him, so I didn't think about it.  To make sure he also got something on his actual birthday, Dad brought Z the balloon to the right and a Scooby Doo DVD.  Having grown up with a single Mom and a father whom I haven't seen since I was ten, I am continually amazed by how thoughtful a good Dad can be.


As for today's surprise, that occurred after Z dutifully posed for his four-year-old pictures this morning.  

A few weeks ago, my mother had brought me some coupons.  In that stack of coupons was one for Chuck E. Cheese tokens.  So, we went.  160 tokens, 2.5 hours, countless helicopter rides, three photos, 430 tickets, and several prizes bought with said tickets later, we headed home.   We played, we laughed, and we spent that time just being together.  






Four years ago, I walked into a hospital full of anticipation, fear, trepidation.  Soon, a doctor was going to bring my son into this world and give him into my safekeeping.  Such a daunting task.  For the previous 42 weeks (he wasn't in any hurry), he had been cuddled: safe, warm.   Not a care.  Not a worry.  No concerns from me about how I would make sure this little creature never had those cares or worries.


Four years later, there are sometimes cares.  There are sometimes worries.  I make mistakes.  I learn from them, and I move on.  


But, more importantly, there is love.  There is laughter.  There are moments when I wonder how I was chosen for this task.  I wonder what I did to be so worthy of the gift that is my son.  No longer a toddler, he is now and will always be my little boy.   


And that makes me the luckiest Mom on the planet.

Like A Weed

"At 3 years and 11 months:

your child is 36 pounds, and that is in the 54th percentile for weight.

your child is 42 inches, and that is in the 84th percentile for height."

In just over two weeks, Ziggy will turn four.  I am NOT ready.  I know it really doesn't matter if I am, it's going to happen.  Today, on a shopping trip for new Sunday morning clothes, I realized that my toddler is on the cusp of becoming my little boy.

And I wanted to cry.  (Still do, truth be told).

That 84th percentile in height means that Ziggy has to wear a size larger in pants to make sure they are long enough.  While an almost-4-year-old is "supposed" to wear a 4T, Ziggy has to have a 5T.  When I wandered into the toddler section of a store today, I was hit with a stark realization.  The clothes for children carried by this store stop at a 4T. This means that I had to look for clothes in the little boys' section.  In an instant, my toddler ceased to be my toddler.

As I perused the little boys' section, the last five years of my life replayed.  I still remember the day I discovered I was pregnant. This discovery followed nearly five years of tests, medication, mood swings, migraines, saying goodbye to my first son, and more negative pregnancy tests than I care to remember.

My mind flashed through first nights with no sleep, months of teething, numerous ear infections, tubes, testing, and allergy shots.  I remembered crawling, toddling, walking, running, jumping, playing.  And giggles...smiles...hugs...kisses...cuddles...and hearing my little boy tell me he loved me for the first time.

While I would love for time to slow down, I wouldn't trade one minute of the last (almost) four years.  I would  not give back one moment of time I have been gifted with him or trade any of it for all the riches of the world.  And I won't worry about stores that do not allow me to stay in the toddler section just a little while longer, clinging to the last precious moments of toddlerhood.

I will just shop at the ones that do.

Day Out with Thomas

For 60 years, Thomas the Tank has been delighting children.  Mine is no exception.  He is SO enamored with the Island of Sodor and its steam-driven inhabitants that about a year ago his room became a stopping point for the entire "Can-do Crew." Two days of painting, stenciling, stickering, and sweating later, and his room was transformed into a Thomas and Friends wonderland.

About the same time last year, we wanted to take him to a program that travels around the country called "Day Out with Thomas." Sadly, timing was off, and we missed it.

Thankfully, Ziggy's seriously AWESOME Nana (aka Mom) happened along an advertisement for the program and learned it was coming back around this year.  Would we miss it again? Pass up the opportunity to foster the Island dreams of our special boy?

Nay.  Not if I could help it.  So, tickets were purchased, and we were set.    Two days before our journey in into Thomas heaven, a friend from my childhood posted a status on Facebook saying he would be driving Thomas!

When we were kids, Shaun lived three doors down from me.  To say he was obsessed with trains would be the largest understatement in history!  His entire upstairs had the most amazing model train set.  If I was ever looking for him and he wasn't at home, I knew I could find him at the tracks.  When we were in high school, this of course became something used to tease him, but he stood his ground, loved what he loved, and continued to foster this love.  He remains one of the few people I know who had big dreams as a child and LIVES those dreams as an adult. He was one of the first "brave ones," facing ridicule and enduring it to later prove that he would do what he wanted and be successful. 

So, a couple of FB messages later, and we had plans to ride Thomas and to see the locomotive that drives him (actually on the other end of the train: kills the mystery, I know).  It proved to be the BEST part of the day.  Ziggy got to pull the horn, sit in the engineer's seat, and dream locomotive dreams.  If you ask his favorite part of the day, it isn't the big slide, the ride on the train, seeing Thomas, or anything else we did today.  It is getting to see the "big train" with Shaun. He was so entranced that he asked to see pictures over and over again. 

In the end, the adults had just as much fun as Ziggy did.  He got to see a train close up and will go to sleep dreaming engineer dreams.  And I got to reconnect with a friend who inspires me to be who I am, no apologies, and might just inspire me to get moving on that book... 

The Birds and The Bees

Before you start to worry, this isn't THAT kind of post.  Ziggy isn't even four yet, so I am REALLY hoping I have some time before I have to navigate that discussion.

Lately, Ziggy has taken to imitating animals.  He goes so far to explain to me that I am the Mommy (insert genus/species here), Hubbs is the Daddy (ditto), and he is the little (last time).

I have learned that the type of animal he chooses is directly related to his mood.  If he is irritated (normally after I have told him to do something for the umpteenth time), he is a lion.  When he's sleepy and wants to cuddle, he is a puppy or a kitten.

Today?  We started out as parrots.  Why?  I have no clue.    I have yet to really be able to pinpoint what mood he was in.  He was happy.  We were headed out to the store, just me and him.  He was hungry, so a stop for nuggets and fries was in order (and a toy).  We ceased being parrots for a little while.

Our second stop was at our favorite warehouse sized store.  There were a lot of people in the store, which tends to lead to complete and total silence in my son.  Ziggy did not follow in my personality footsteps.  I like people (for the most part).  I tend to smile at strangers politely as I pass (although even I don't go so far as to speak to them in check out lanes).    My son?  Not so much. He generally elects to simply stare at those who choose to try to engage him in conversation.

Today, instead of silence, we morphed into bees.  The more people tried to draw him out, the louder the buzzing.  The higher the pitch?  The happier the bee apparently.  I ran into a coworker and her husband while in the store, and the little bee who had overtaken my son's body actually nodded at questions and smiled.  This is a rare occurrence in his world and means that he likes the person with whom he is speaking.  Like hubs, he has a great sense of people.

So, would other people find it weird?  Probably.  Do I care?  Absolutely not.  In this day and age, children grow up way too fast.  Imaginations are squashed in favor of realism.  We tell our children that they have to see the world in black and white and shades of gray instead of helping them remember that there exists a rainbow of colors.

And it is for this reason that my child is going to keep on buzzing, roaring, squawking, meowing, and yipping through his preschool years.  The promise I make to him is to allow him to be a carefree little boy as long as I can.  And to make sure that he always gets to see the rainbow.

Little Einsteins

Okay...I know this is technically yesterday's blog.  Blame it on a late night schedule.  But, I am taking up @bluebelleinbg's challenge and am going to try to fulfill the NaBloPoMo's mission to blog every day in September. Even if I am not really that interesting and am not sure I have that much to say.  So, we'll see how it goes.  In the interest of playing along with the theme, I am writing my first (and probably only) "art" themed blog. 

My son is very single-minded in purpose.  I cannot imagine that there are many toddlers who aren't.  He doesn't ease into a new interest.  He jumps in full force and head-on.  He sees something new and the family is subjected to it repeatedly for weeks.  Thankfully, the fervor does die down and while he doesn't forget, he does ease up.

This week's "new" thing?  Little Einsteins.  

I had never watched it before this week, so imagine my joy when, during the first episode, I learn that it is a show geared towards teaching children about music and art.  And not just the crappy music and fingerpainting.  Instead, classic art and classical music.  Andy Warhol.  Smetana.  Van Gogh beyond Starry Night.  Beethoven.  

And he LOVES it!  Since I have been singing since I was little and have been addicted to Van Gogh since I was a child, I am thrilled with his latest obsession.  We might be inundated with it for the next few weeks, but at least it's education beyond the normal shapes and colors. 

525,600 Minutes

How do you measure, measure a year?

Or in my case, three. In just over 24 hours, Z will turn three years old. As I sit here, on the eve of this momentous day, I think about time. God has, so far, gifted me with 1,576,800 minutes of time with my son. When I look at that number, it seems like such a large amount. In reality, it is so very small. I know that every parent says the same thing, "It seems like only yesterday that he was born." Cliche as it may be, it is also very true. I feel like I blinked and here we are.

The day he was born, I had been eagerly awaiting his arrival. We had been trying to have a baby for almost six years at that point, and we had sent our first son, Aidan, home to be with Jesus. I had spent 42 weeks waiting to meet Z. I had a relatively easy pregnancy and expected labor to be the same. Not so much. Fourteen hours later, my doctor decided that since Z was not coming on his own, he would go get him. I was not allowed to have my glasses, so it would be another few hours before I was able to meet my son.

Another cliche proved to be true the moment the nurse brought his bassinet through the door. "Love at first sight" does not even begin to describe how I felt about my son. He was bundled up in the hospital blankets with a hat that had been crocheted by hospital volunteers. He was sleeping so very soundly and looked so peaceful. My heart and mind were overwhelmed with love for him.

Now, three years later, I still struggle to comprehend how it is possible to have this much love. I watch my son and husband play in the floor, listen to Z tell his dad to stop, run away, and then run back for more, and I think I am the luckiest woman in the world. Over the last three years, we have endured ear infections, tubes, allergies, shots, bumps, and bruises. But, even more important, we have seen crawling, walking, learning, growing, and more giggles than I can ever count (which, I have to say, is my favorite sound in the world; it beats ANY music ever composed).

Only God knows how many more minutes He will grant us in this life. All I know is that I will not waste even one that I am given. I will love my family with all that I am, give them all that I can, and not look back on any moment with regret. I pray that God will give us as much time as possible to be together and be thankful for all the time we are granted. I will ensure that Z and his Nana get their time together. Most of all, I will continue to give God the glory for all He has done for us and remember that all gifts are from Him.

For now, it is time to spend the next 60 minutes or so building a mega block birdhouse.

The dulcet tones..

...of an almost 3-year-old fill the house tonight. He is learning to compose music on a plastic shopping cart while attempting to sing in tune. He has found "drumsticks," and he is proceeding to beat on every surface of our home. There is only quiet in my home when he is asleep or has just woken up. And I have to tell you: I LOVE IT!

From his curly head to his above-average feet, he is everything I have ever wanted in a child. He makes up songs as he goes along. He still sometimes speaks in gibberish that only he understands, while trying to convince you that you have to know what he wants. He tries to get the non-fuzzy green bunnies to come out from under the bush where they are hiding because they are scared. He kisses the boo-boos on everyone in the house (some of which he creates) and offers the BEST cuddles (one of which was just offered to me as I was typing this).

He is at times shy and soft, at others loud and rough. He is me at home and his dad in public. He knows the rules and follows them, sometimes. When asked if he is Mommy's Boy, the answer is always a resounding "uh-huh." He usually remembers to say please and thank you. He lives for chicken and "cheese" fries (which do not actually contain cheese). I try to convince him that it is time to go to bed, and he thinks it's time for another round of Fireman Sam. My son is teaching me so much. I learn patience from him. I am normally getting that lesson at 7:05 am when we are running late, and he wants to unlock the car door. I get that lesson when he is saying "Mom" for the seven-thousand, three hundred, forty-second time. We are learning together, and that is definitely the best part!

As I look at him, I wonder how in the world I have been so lucky. What is it that I did in my life that was so deserving of a reward that God gifted me with this child? Whatever it is, I will not question it too deeply and continue to thank Him for the gift.