Always Happy To See You

My twenty-one month old son, Jordan, is a very happy and outgoing boy.  He has the “joie de vive” (joy of life) that most children his age exude.  He never fails to bring smiles to even the grumpiest of faces.  Jordie is just so excited to experience life that he can’t seem to contain himself.

            Take church, for example.  Jordan begins his rounds soon after the service begins.  He makes his way up and down the aisle, stopping at each pew to shake hands, smile and wave to those he can’t get to.  You can almost see the ripple of delight spreading over the congregation.  If he notices someone missing, he points to the empty spot and babbles urgently, as if to ask why that friend isn’t present.  Once he hears music, he races back to our family, opens a hymnal and begins caterwauling at the top of his lungs.  When the song is over, he snaps the book, shouts “All done!” and cheers loudly, much to the entertainment of our music director.  He then resumes his rounds, sometimes offering his greetings two or three times to each pew.

            Jordan is also extremely exuberant in other public situations. At dinner last night, he burst into the restaurant shouting, “EAT! EAT!” to the surprise of both the servers and diners.  He immediately ran to an empty table and yelled “Sit down!” to his grandmother and me.  He didn’t quite understand why we had to wait when there were lots of empty tables.  OK…neither did I.

            Once seated, Jordie took one look at the children’s menu, pointed to the pictures of the food and again screeched “EAT!”  He then promptly balled the menu up and threw it at his unsuspecting brother, bouncing it off his head.  When the server brought his lemonade, he pointed to the kitchen where saw food coming from and again shouted “EAT!”  Nothing his grandmother and I could say or do could quash his enthusiasm.

            Every time a server passed, they were greeted with a jubilant “HI!” and a two-handed wave.  If they were carrying food, they received thunderous applause and cheers of “YAAYYY!!”  It didn’t seem to matter that the food was going to another table – he was just happy that somebody, somewhere got to eat.  By the time our dinner arrived, all the servers gathered around for the presentation of Jordan’s chicken strips.  He was unusually quiet for a moment, then broke into a huge smile and yelled “Tet oo!”

(Thank you).

            When we came in, the servers were harried and just a tad aggravated.  When we left, they were smiling broadly, laughing and waving.  I’m not saying that Jordan is some sort of eternal ray of sunshine spreading giggles in his path (sorry – I had a Rainbow Brite flashback there).  What I am saying is this – next time you see an exuberant toddler chirping and flapping over his latest discovery, let some of that joie de vive rub off on you.  Take a look from a little one’s perspective and enjoy a few moments of innocent joy.

           

End of summer....

Jared and I have just finished reading the original verion of "Through the Looking Glass" by Lewis Carroll.  It was a challenge for Jared, but he really enjoyed it...although he did tell me more than once that the author was a nutjob (haha - if he only knew).

I'm not a big fan of poetry, but I really, really loved the poem at the end, and I thought you all would too.  Before you go, "Whatever!" and stop reading here, give it a shot.  It's a great piece about the end of summer and the end of childhood.  A nice finish, I think, to Jared's babyhood.

Untitled, by Lewis Carroll

A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July -

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear
Pleased a simple tale to hear -

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn  frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me phantom-wise
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream -
Lingering in the golden gleam -
Life, what is it but a dream?

Jared Says...

I asked Jared to put a load of clothes in the washing machine for the first time tonight.  He came out with a grin and said, "Mommy, I put the clothes in and put lots of green sauce on top!"  I managed to keep a smile on my face and reminded myself that he was trying to help.  I went to investigate and discovered that green sauce = laundry detergent. The clothes are going to be really, really clean.

Random thought while unloading the dishwasher...

I used to worry because my silverware is an unmatched hodgepodge.  Tonight it hit me...if you're going to compare your silverware with everyone else's, I don't want you to come over to my house anyway.

Dima Says...

Jordan broke our mop recently (don’t ask how – I don’t), and our floors and feet have been suffering.  I bought a Swiffer WetJet, and Captain Cheapo wanted to know why I would buy a $22 baby wipe on a stick with squirty cleaner jets vs. buying a $3 mop.  I told him that the chances of someone in the house other than him actually cleaning the floors now is much, much higher since the boys think the squirty wipe on a stick is great fun.  He thought about this for a moment and complimented me on my smart purchasing decision.  He’s learning.

Karma

I taught kindergarten for seven years.  In those seven years I went through seven first days of school.  They were all pretty much the same – the stress and tension of getting through without losing anyone, while remembering that this one was allergic to chocolate milk, finding out whose parent decided at the last minute to switch the child from bus rider to car rider, and eventually falling into bed at 5PM totally exhausted.  In the frenzied blur of those memories, I always remembered mothers anxiously hovering over their child as they waited for the bell to ring, taking pictures, whispering last minute instructions and warnings.  I remember that many cried as if the child were leaving on a plane and never returning.  My head would shake in disbelief, and I would chuckle in derision at how ludicrous these mother-helicopters were.  The child was five years old, for Pete’s sake…what, do you think I’m going to lose your precious baby?  I know you only met me briefly at orientation, but I have a teaching certificate!  I know what I’m doing, and your child is no different from the two hundred or so other kindergarteners that I’ve taught.  Suck it up, lady…he’ll be fine!

Karma, however, has come full circle to bite me in the butt.  My firstborn, my sweet baboo, my precious Jared will be going to k-k-kindergarten in just a few short weeks.  I am tearing up even as I type this.  Forgive me now, baby boy, because I am going to cry such a river that you’re going to have to kayak to lunch.  You’re only five years old, for Pete’s sake.  Only five short years ago I was swaddling you tight and kissing your thick black hair that smelled so new.  I will only meet your teacher briefly at orientation.  So what if she has a teaching certificate?  Does that certify her to have common sense, to have compassion, and to get you to the right place at the end of the day?  You’re so different from all the other children she’s ever taught…you’re brilliant, funny, loving, and gifted in so many ways.  Will she recognize that your sense of humor is a gift, and that your sarcasm is your coping mechanism?  Will she recognize that you aren’t trying to mount a hostile takeover of her classroom and depose her, but that the majority of your life has been spent in a preschool being raised by your family of teachers?  Will she understand that you only wish to help her, and that you are more than qualified to take the class if she needs to make a quick trip to the restroom?

I can only hope and trust.  I will be waiting impatiently with all the other kindergarten mothers at 2:30 that first day, straining my eyes to see a familiar, chubby little face beaming at me.  He will make it through, and so will I.  Maybe.

Four Imaginary Walls

Humans are strange, strange animals.  People in close proximity with each other, say, in a waiting room or elevator, seem to practice the utmost decorum and inoffensive behavior possible.  For instance, it is an unspoken rule that you must always leave an empty chair between yourself and others.  Always stand a respectful, moderate distance behind others at the reception desk.  Step back to allow the elderly to get where they need to go first.  If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that nearly everyone follows these guidelines out in public (except New Jersey divas, but that’s a different post).

Elevators require even more militant self-control.  Never, ever make eye contact for any reason.  If you do happen to be caught looking at someone, immediately dart your gaze to the digital readout above the doors showing the floor number.  I do not know who decided that looking at another person in an elevator is akin to having your fly unzipped – I just know that it is an action acceptable only from small children, those with diminished capabilities and nice little old ladies.

The Golden Rule of elevator etiquette however, is the control of bodily functions.  To belch, pass gas, clip your toenails, clean your ears or pick your nose is a crime punishable by death in many countries.  Don’t be shocked…possession of boogers alone will get you twenty-five years hard labor in North Korea.  Watch “The Colbert Report”.  It’s where I get all my news and political information.  But I digress.   How many times have you gotten on an elevator and the lone man on it suddenly stuffs his hands in his pockets and stares at the ceiling like “Sports Center” is up there or something?  Never, ever shake hands with such a man.

This brings me to my point.  I know, you’re thinking, “Fourth paragraph in…finally!” Why is it that when you put a windshield, metal doors, and some windows between people on the road that they completely lose their mind and all the

aforementioned good manners? 

Always stand a respectful, moderate distance behind others.

I can usually smell other drivers’ coffee they’re so close.  I have never understood the need to wait bumper to bumper at a traffic light…we’re all going to get to the next light at approximately the same time, no matter how fast you peel out.  If you want to see this stacking phenomenon in action, visit a preschool class and watch them line up.  They are usually packed so tight on top of each other that the line leader has to get extra stickers for combat duty.  I feel like a broken record sometimes…”Slow down.  The playground isn’t closing.  We will all get there at the same time.  Back up and let the line leader regain blood flow to her extremities, please…” (I actually talk to them like that.  They usually giggle a bit and resume crushing the line leader).

Wait a minute.  Maybe there could be a sign at intersections…”Slow down.  Back up. Taco Bell isn’t closing.  We will all screech to a stop at the next light in approximately 45 seconds.  You are causing the retirees in the Grand Marquis to strap on their oxygen tanks…”

Step back to allow the elderly to get where they need to go first. 

Well, there is a valid argument with this one.  There are approximately 950,000,000,001

senior citizens in Central Florida.  If we let them all go first, the nineteen of us left that are under fifty would be trapped in our driveways.  As long as we can avoid the 30 mile per hour traffic rush during the early bird special at Golden Corral we might make it.

Never, ever make eye contact for any reason.

HA!  Put up four imaginary walls around someone and they turn into Forrest Gump gawking in a store window.  I cannot tell you how many times I’ve glanced over at another car at a traffic light and caught them staring at me, slack-jawed.  I’ve actually checked the mirror once or twice to make sure my nose was still on straight.  I mean, unless you’re next to the Elephant Man at an intersection, what in green gravy could possibly cause you to stare at them like something is spurting out their ears?  Is it just me?  I know I’m not a raving beauty that garners random adoring gazes – the only adoring gazes I get are when I show up somewhere with dessert.  Sometimes I just want to roll down my window and yell, “WHAT????”

I can’t, though.  With my luck, Jared of the Big, Unfiltered Mouth will think it’s hysterical and do it to an unmarked patrol car, carrying an equally unmarked patrol officer.

To belch, pass gas, clip your toenails, clean your ears or pick your nose…

OK folks, these are what floor me.  Granted, we can’t see you belch or fart, and if you can clip your toenails while driving…well, we won’t go there.  But come on….we can see you picking your nose!!  Really!  Would you stand in a room full of giant windows and mirrors with people passing you on either side, trying to find your brain through your nostril??  No?  Then why do you think the four doors of your Corolla form some sort of imaginary force field that no one can penetrate or see through? 

            What is it about those steel sidebars that so drastically changes our behavior and demeanor?  Would you flip Granny the bird if she picked up the copy of “Field and Stream” you had your eye on in the waiting room?  Well of course not…but it’s perfectly OK to scream at her and utilize sign language (not the kind for deaf people) when she isn’t moving those Hush Puppies fast enough across the street. 

Most people just seem to view their cars as an extension of their bodies.  If that’s so…then back up!!!!