Patience is an ocean

On the first day of our vacation, I took Noah to the beach. Just us. Jason was putting out one last work fire. Ezra was...well, he was eating, having already figured out that 1) all the food here was delicious, and 2) he could get into the kitchen via an always-open back door, and that there was ALWAYS someone in there cooking something, and they were ALWAYS happy to give him a taste, like an over-eager puppy begging for scraps.

So Noah and I went to the beach. I might as well have taken him to the dentist, because he did not want to go to the beach, because of the ocean. He did not want to go near the ocean. He did not want to look at the ocean or hear the ocean. NO OCEAN. He stood as far back on the sand as he possibly could, practically climbing up a wall of rocks in his bare feet, adamant about the NO OCEAN part.

The ocean in Jamaica is not like the ocean here, which knocked Noah over two summers ago and he has refused to go near since. (He holds a mean grudge, I've learned.) It's calm, shallow. There's no undertow and the breakers barely come above your knees. But he didn't care. NO OCEAN. I went in the water without him. I waved and cajoled and explained. I tried to talk him into sticking just a toe in, or to just come a little closer where we could build a sandcastle.

NO OCEAN. He said he wanted to go back to the house.

And I felt that familiar feeling. I was frustrated and annoyed, even though technically I understood. Technically. But still. COME ON. It was like the end of every birthday party or disastrous outing, the miserable ultimate conclusion of something that was supposed to be fun. I felt that tired old instinct to throw up my hands and say FINE. WHATEVER. WE'LL LEAVE. To give up.

Most of the time at home, I admit: I just give up.

I sat down next to Noah and tried to think of what else I could say. He was throwing sand, something we're always scolding him about at the crowded Maryland beaches, where there's wind and other people to annoy. He looked at me, waiting for the rebuke. Instead, I picked up a clump of sand and hurled at the water's edge.

"YOU DON'T SCARE ME, WATER." I shouted.

Noah looked at me like I'd lost my mind. But he smiled. I did it again.

"YOU DON'T SCARE ME, WATER."

Another smile, this time with dimple. He picked up some sand and threw it at the ocean, repeating my challenge.

We did this for awhile. Then I crept closer and stomped on a wave as it lapped up the beach. "YOU DON'T SCARE ME, WATER." I kicked at it, sending a spray upward. Noah laughed.

And he came over and kicked the next wave. "YOU DON'T SCARE ME EITHER, WATER," he shouted.

After awhile, I picked him up and took the plunge. We waded in. He clung to my neck and howled. The water touched his feet and he screamed.

I smacked at the water, making another huge splash. "YOU DON'T SCARE ME, WATER."

Noah raised his head from where he'd buried it in my shoulder and watched me splash again. I walked in a little deeper and he hesitantly reached his hand out to hit the water's surface. It splashed back over both of us...and he laughed.

"YOU DON'T SCARE ME, WATER."

And from that moment on, it didn't. 

 

 

They're Two, They're Four, They're $64.50

We arrived at the Thomas & Friends Presents: Day Out With Thomas: Great Discovery Tour 2008, Brought to You By LEGO/DUPLO, the Choice for Exxxtreme Plastic Interlocking Block Building, just as the life-sized Thomas engine pulled into the station. Noah managed to catch about a half-second glimpse and promptly lost his mind.

"THOMAS!" he screamed. "THOMAS! THOMAS!"

I thought for a second he was about to plum pass out from the excitement. Even the will-call ticketing folk, whom I imagine are sick to death of Thomas and Percy and Sir Topham Fucking Hatt after the 17th consecutive weekend of dealing with this nonsense, smiled at Noah's Beatlemania-level enthusiasm. Jason and I smiled like big old dweebs, because WE RULE. MAXIMUM MAGICAL SPECIALNESS ACHIEVED! GREATEST. PARENTS. EVER.

By the time we got closer to Thomas, Noah was speaking in tongues.

Thomas! from amalah on Vimeo.

And. That's probably when we should have turned around and gone home.

Note to the Greatest. Parents. Ever: when your child says no, he does not want to ride on the train, don't fucking make him ride on the train. Oh my God.

Then again, I'd ordered the tickets weeks ago for $18 each. Plus $3.50 in processing fees! Each! You are riding that train, child, and it will be MAGIC and SPECIAL and we will talk about the memories of that MAGIC and SPECIAL time we paid $64.50 to ride on an old MARC train for 25 minutes through some fields in Baltimore while a tinny Thomas singalong CD was pumped through the loudspeakers and the brakes on our car made a non-stop disconcerting grindy sound, and we will talk about these memories for YEARS, dammit. YEARS.

Noah's been doing so well with his little sensitive sensory quirky issues lately -- he's actually about to get kicked out of Early Intervention, the little smartypants valedictorian -- but oh, the train drove him batshit. He screamed and panicked and kicked and wept and he did not CARE that we were riding a train that was tangentially connected to a big blue Thomas engine, although technically Thomas was up THAT way and the train was moving in the OTHER way so...hmm. I am beginning to suspect that the Day Out With Thomas Great Discovery Thrash Metal Rock n' Roll Tour 2008 is possibly kind of a racket.

REST OF THE WORLD: Welcome, Amy! So glad you could join us.

Since we were 1) surrounded by families with toddlers, so like, eff them, right? and 2) $64.50! Sixty-four-fifty!, we did not get off the train during Noah's freakout but gritted our teeth and kept muttering that he'd be fine once the train started moving, oh God, just MOVE ALREADY. It was at this point that a elderly woman walking by felt the need to inform us that our child was "not happy."

What?! Not happy?  For real? Why...that means we've been doing this entire parenting thing COMPLETELY BACKWARDS this whole time? Dude, we're such BONEHEADS. And here I thought this was just laughter through tears.

Noah did settle down once the train started moving (slowly, without any realistic chugga chugga woo woos, and yes, I WAS looking forward to some realistic chugga chugga woo woos), so much so that he laid down on our laps and tried to go to sleep.

Back at the station, the gift shop was sold out of the preshus little conductor caps that we'd had our hearts set on for our non-hat-abiding toddler, the concessions were closed so I couldn't spend $5 on bottled water and when Jason went to inspect the family photos we'd had taken in front of Thomas post-train-ride he happily told me that they were ABYSMAL and we all looked LIKE ASS, and therefore he DIDN'T BUY ONE. Then we high-fived because SUCK IT, Thomas & Friends. We done outsmarted you in the end, we did.

Of course, Noah did have fun. He climbed on a Thomas made out of LEGO/DUPLO BRAND INTERLOCKING BUILDING BLOCKS! and got walloped by a 12-year-old on the moonbounce got involved in a turf-war/choo-choo-hoarding incident at the train table -- you know, the same train table WE HAVE AT OUR HOUSE -- and did you know that antique trains come with built-in Naughty Steps for overstimulated toddlers?

Woe.

Noah called this one "Mommy Thomas," and now all his trains at home are "Baby Thomas." That would be freaking adorable except for the fact that I just want to punch all the Thomases in the face right now.

Don't worry, she doesn't mean it. I still love you, Creepy Pixelated Uncle-Sized Thomas.

Fading...

Fading...

Done

After the World's Longest Nap I tried to get Noah to tell us about everything he'd seen that day, like Mommy Thomas and all the Big Trains and the Bouncy Slide and That Train Ride That Wasn't Really Death on Grindy Wheels After All. He seemed to be drawing a blank on it all. Except, of course, for the windmills. The windmills were AWESOME.

This is a windmill. It's...probably best if you don't argue with him on this one.

Confessions of a Gymboreeaholic

This week's Insurmountable Odds Standing Between Amy & Gymboree:

1) No car. Still. We've had zero time to take it in for repairs, so just to let the poor useless thing know we haven't abandoned it entirely, I like to go outside and kick it occasionally.

2) No stroller. In Jason's car, despite the three separate reminders this morning to put it in my car, plus the way I chanted "stroller stroller stroller" as he walked out the door. He rolled his eyes and got all kinds of testy with me, because OKAY. GOD. And then he walked outside and was promptly distracted by "some kind of crazy pothole-filling machine" and forgot to move the stroller.

3) No house key. Realtor has it. Jason forgot to get a copy made; I forgot to steal his off his keychain.

4) No morning nap. Self-explanatory, although I do wish I was technically proficient enough to upload an MP3 of Noah's EEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYEEEHHHHHHEEEEAAAAHHH shriek-fest, just to really give you the full multimedia experience of this one.

So obviously, I called Gymboree and scheduled a makeup class, because really. I can take a hint. Right?

Ha! No, I totally did not do that. I called Jason instead, and tearfully told him that I just HAD to get out of the house today, I just HAD to. So he came home at lunchtime and drove us to Gymboree.

Yes, I am nuts.

To be fair, somebody needed to be home this afternoon to meet the realtor and sign some other thing in the endless stream of things that need signed (we're officially on the market TOMORROW. somebody come buy our place. bring money.), so Jason got to work from home all afternoon, which is fun and I think makes up for the fact that I never really told him I can schedule makeup classes anytime I need to.

Here's the really scary thing: I kind of love Gymboree. It's...actually pretty fun, which I guess proves I've gone as low on the mommyscale as one can sink. The nanny-to-mother ratio has balanced out over the last few weeks and I've met some really cool women. Almost all of us work part-time-ish at home, and we all kind of eye each other with the same hungry, will-you-be-my-friend-wanna-go-to-Starbucks-circle-yes-or-no kind of look. I love being around all the other babies and I love the way everybody treats every kid like their own: we praise and cheer and cuddle and kiss boo-boos indiscriminately.

There's one little girl who has been kind of lagging developmentally (she wouldn't crawl or walk). Today she WALKED into class, and we all burst into applause while her nanny teared up in relief. I love looking around the room at all the women -- mothers and nannies alike -- who all seem to be finding such joy in raising these hilarious little people, even while we roll our eyes at singing the same stupid songs AGAIN, God.

But I love that Max and Hannah and Anya give me hugs every week. I love watching Mia come out of her reserved little shell a little more every week. And I love -- LOVE -- watching Noah shriek with delight over each new activity and watching him master a new skill with every class. I love it so much that after our class I take him out for lunch and then return an hour later for the "open gym" playtime so I can watch him crawl through tunnels and up ramps to his heart's delight.

There. Whew. That felt good to confess. It's not cool to like stupid parenting shit like Gymboree, I know. It's probably a sign that I need to Get Out More and Find An Identity Outside Of The C-H-I-L-D before my brain turns into mushy stay-at-home-mom mush, but there it is.

Gymbo the Clown can still bite my ass though.