What's a Mom Blogger to Do?

I've been finding it really hard to blog lately.

Partly it's because my free-time has shrunk to nothing ever since I picked up a part-time job a few weeks ago.

And partly it's because I've lost my voice.

They say blogging is easiest when you clearly know for whom you are writing.  Who is your "audience"?

I've always assumed it was my close friends, but now I'm aware that Judah may one day stumble upon these pages.  And that thought fills me with terror.

And shuts my virtual mouth.

On the inside, Judah is exactly like me.  I know his every thought before he speaks it.  I understand his every eyebrow raise and nose wrinkle.  I have a Vulcan mind meld with my inner mini-me.  Words are entirely unnecessary.

And I know what he would think as he reads these entries. (And being already 7, he can actually read them all).

He would ignore all the references to love and joy, and dwell only in the dark places.  He would feel betrayed that I shared his thoughts (however slight and trivial) with others without his permission.  He may never forgive me.

So what's a mom blogger to do?

Damn myself further with another privacy-violating entry?

Take down this blog and make sure it never again sees the light of day?

Share only things that would be unobjectionable?

But then I couldn't share my favorite things - like how 2 days ago I caught Judah standing in front of the bathroom mirror, with only his undies on, flexing and posing.  How I reminded him, "brush your teeth! It's time for bed."  And how, without a moment's hesitation or thought, in all seriousness, he replied "but I'm practicing my ninja poses and counting my abs."

He can't wait to achieve the "six pack."

My big kid - the end of a blog era!

***p.s. With great resignation and reluctance, I took down the perfect picture of the kids posing in their undies and replaced it with the totally non-embarrassing and inoffensive picture above.  Because Judah.  (And child porn web crawlers.)

Logical Larry

I'm starting to realize what a tight little logical mind Noah possesses. It's fascinating to me to watch my kid's inner mind unfold - one of the best things about parenting: figuring out who the heck they are and how they think.

Noah, much more than Judah, loves categories and distinctions. I caught a glimpse of this last year when he pronounced in a musing tone - Mommy, mommy...your penis is a vagina...but...our butts are the same!

It was a revelation to him.

Logical Larry in an outfit that defies logic

A delightful categorization of unmentionable parts - the stuff we hide behind undies and the distinction between genders. What is different? What is the same? I considered blowing his mind right then and there by telling him that males and females actually have the same kind of genital tissue, but at the fetus stage, various hormones cause the tissue to develop into a vagina or penis...but women technically have "under-developed" penises and some people are hermaphrodites.

But then I remembered he was 3...so I'll save it.

Last week, Noah revealed more of his love of logic in the car, this time on the topic of ciphers. He randomly asked me - Mommy, what is A + B?

This is a guy who has been doing simple arithmetic with numbers for over a year now so I know he was trying to extend that logic to a new category.

I answered..."AB"? "A, B"? Not wanting to guess the obvious punchline - C, so as not to steal his thunder.

He answered reliably - No, it's 'C', Mommy!

Oh! I said, pretending to be amused and surprised.

Yeah, he said, because A = 1 and B = 2 and C = 3.

Okay, I thought, he has a mind for ciphers. Which is amusing because never in his life did we ever talk about or play any games relating to ciphers.

And then, much to my further amusement, he went on - Mommy, what is C + D?

I thought, hmmm...I wonder if he's going to say the cop out answer - E? Would he just be lazily sequential instead of doing the hard work of logical consistency?

I don't know, Noah, I said, waiting for him to answer.

He paused for a good long minute and mumbled and finger counted and finally shouted out - G!

Why yes, my boy! My logical, cipher-loving, math-pondering boy!

And just to show me how he did it, he explained - Because C = 3 and D = 4 and 3+4 = 7 and G = 7!

And I thought, yes, my son. MY son. I have always loved logic and found the application of it to be wonderfully cleansing, something akin to that clean squeaky feeling you get when the dentist blasts each tooth with a water pick and scrapes all the plaque off your gums.

And then today, driving in the car, Noah's logical mind made me want to stick a screwdriver in my eye. He kept asking me, again and again, to explain the strange phenomenon he witnessed over the weekend.

We had attended a kid's musical of Willy Wonka and Noah was perplexed by the girl in the violet fat suit who was blown up with an air pump. She was not the same girl who played the "normal" Violet Beauregard, as the costume change was too quick.

Again and again, Noah pondered how she got so big, so round, and slightly taller in one second...on and on his questioning went for what seemed like an eternity to me.

Logic, a double-edged sword.

The Six Year Old Version

Judah recently turned the big SIX and I'm still reeling at the thought.

Almost every day concludes with me staring at this tall lanky boy and wondering - did I ever cradle you in my arms? (yes) Were you ever ridiculously chubby? (yes) How can you be such a fully formed human being when for so long you were just a sweet little blob?

As a baby and toddler Judah was incredibly demanding, constantly talking, wanting to be interacted with, eschewing all toys for PEOPLE. REAL PEOPLE ONLY! Okay, actually, it was more like MOMMY. MOMMY ONLY. ALL THE TIME.

I used to despair that I would ever get more than 10 seconds of breathing space from him. No seriously, I often Googled "emotionally needy child" in search of relief.

And now. Now, he is my flexible, easy-going, mellow, compassionate, eager to please guy who is happy to spend long hours doing his own thing. I don't even know this guy. Seriously, some aliens came in the night and replaced him.

So here he is at Six!

See the resemblance? The night you turned six, in the blink of an eye.

At the beginning of his 5th year Judah was sure he wanted to be a ninja assassin and therefore would not get married as to not risk leaving his poor wife bereaved, you know, an assassin being such a dangerous line of work.

Judah and sweet friends at his much belated party

And then, all of a sudden, in the middle of his 5th year, Judah declared he was going to be a home-stay dad (he means stay-at-home dad), a throw-back to his aspirations from his 4 year old self. Just like that, he wanted a life of domesticity and care-taking.

And then, just a few weeks ago, Judah announced that his one goal in life was to be a jungle survivalist. He wants to learn how to live by himself in the wild - hunt, build fires, make camp, forage for food, etc. I have to say, this last career change has really caught me by surprise.

And I'm a little sad that he so badly seeks isolation. So I asked if I could accompany him on his jungle adventures and he said, yes. But only me.

And then I remembered how I wanted to be a cowgirl and live 3 hours away from civilization on a remote homestead in which I grew my own food and raised and butchered my own livestock and suddenly, Judah's aspirations aren't seeming so weird to me anymore.

Noah takes out all his jealous rage on Judah's pinata - he still claims it was his "worsest" day ever.

It makes even more sense when I realize that Judah, like me, is extremely sensitive to other people's feelings. Judah will often do things that he doesn't innately want to because he's worried the other person will be mad at him. He is a classic people-pleaser and will avoid conflict at all cost.

This makes it extremely easy for Judah to make friends and get along with pretty much anyone. Even in the most heightened competitive situations (which happens often with 5 year old boys who will turn everything into a "race") Judah will purposely let the other party win out of pity and concern for that person's feelings.

But it's exhausting. You feel like you're never free. Always beholden. Constantly on alert. Though Judah got along well with all his kindergarten classmates, he never considered anyone a safe place to land. A haven of free expression. A let-it-all-hang-out, come-just-as-you-are, just-be-yourself kind of friend.

I feel for him. Cuz I know all too well. It's a long lonely road for the likes of us.

And a shy road. Judah loves singing and praying but he will rarely do it in front of us. He will share his most silly or non-personal songs, but the most heartfelt ones about loving Jesus and caring for the poor, he reserves.

I find the best way to get Judah to open up about his personal life is to go for a walk. Something about stretching our legs towards a stretched out world loosens the jaw and vise-like grip he constantly has on his heart. I can see a lot of hiking in our future.

Because I can sense that Judah is slowly walling himself off. Self-consciously editing. Already he is critical of his own natural self.

He tells me he hates the shape of his face. He wishes it were rounder, not so long and sharp. Rounder like me and Noah.

He tells me he hates his dark skin tone. He wishes it were lighter. Peach toned, like me and Noah.

He is ashamed that he can't do the monkey bars and can't swim yet. So ashamed he told me he never wants to set foot near a pool again, although he absolutely loves playing in the water.

And of course it breaks my heart, but at least he tells me.

At least, for now, he tells me.

I wonder how much longer he'll permit me to accompany him on his lone survivalist wanderings.

Stick a Fork in Me

We are at the tail end of Summer and I'm feeling the burn.

Seriously, I think my skin is actually crawling and itching every time I look around my chaotic house where nothing is in the right place and no cabinets are in order (just crammed to the gills with junk). And the garage. Oh, don't even get me started on that sinkhole.

Although Judah has started 1st grade last week, Noah has yet to begin. I have one more week doing childcare duties 24-7 and honestly, that may just be one week too long. It may just break me.

After being a mom for 6 long years, I finally know where I stand when it comes to time with the kids. Some moms thrive on being with kids all day every day. And I used to think something was really wrong with me for not feeling the same way. But now I get it. I'm a "less is more," "good things in moderate doses," "I can't be with the kids more than 6 hours a day and still feel sane" kind of person.

Unfortunately, I've learned this too late to do much about it and so things like a loooooooong Summer with the kids are just about killing me. Kill. Ing. Me.

But one more week. One week more! I am counting down the days until I get more than 10 minutes of uninterrupted time. Oh the bliss of that glorious thought!

Meanwhile, Judah's had a good start to first grade. At first he was really nervous about being in school a "full" day instead of just the 3.5 hours of kindergarten, but he now realizes the time goes by pleasantly enough. He was also worried about bullies and having to do work that was too hard for him.

I now fully realize that Judah is an anxious child and that he confronts all new situations in his life with worry and fear. He's a classic Nervous Nelly. Exactly like his mom.

Poor little guy. You got a long road of fear and dread ahead of you, my friend. I know all too well.

Curious Guy and Shy Guy

It's update time!

Noah

Noah is really into asking about my favorites. Not like as a followup to me first asking him about his favorites - just as a random opening conversation question. It's weird to me because Judah never once asked me what my favorite anything is. Judah is definitely more passive and Noah more active when it comes to finding out about the world.

Every day Noah asks things like:

Mommy, what's your favorite color?
Coral
What's your second favorite color?
Sky Blue
What's your third favorite color?
*seriously, my third one?* Magenta
What's your fourth favorite color?
*what the heck is wrong with this kid?!* Uh...Grass Green

Sometimes he asks what my favorite animal is.
Or my favorite number.
Or ice cream flavor.

Today he asked me my favorite shape.

I replied - Circle.

He said his favorite was a cube.

I was pretty sure he meant square.

But then he talked about the time we made cubes out of toothpicks and marshmallows. Okay, you win Noah. I'm sorry I'm always underestimating your knowledge. You're still my baby!!!!

Judah

Judah is so shy it's kind of unbelievable. Except I totally believe it because it's EXACTLY me.

As a kid I used to wait until everyone was out of the house - then I'd put on my special dancing outfit (pink long t-shirt pajama tied with my mom's pink bathrobe tie) and put on techno music and dance my heart out.

And then the other week I put on some dance music and watched Judah start grooving for a second only to freeze and say - Mommy, I'm embarrassed. I love dancing but I don't want to do it in front of you.

WHAT?! THAT'S ME!

I've always hated being ashamed of my self-expression - what's the good of dancing and singing if you can't do it WITH others? So I tried my best to coax Judah out of his shyness. And with the help of Taylor Swift, before I knew it, we were twirling around the playroom doing all kinds of made up "real" moves - twirl, spin-around, break-apart, under my legs!

It made me feel redeemed.

But Judah's still too shy to sing his made-up songs in front of me. Instead, the most I can get him to do is take my smartphone to a secluded room, record the song by himself, and then hand me the device while he goes back to hide in said secluded room as I listen to the song he just recorded.

For that one function alone, I'm glad I got a smartphone.

It's filled with the fingerprints of his soul - a barely braved whisper of his true self.

The Deeper Magic From Before the Dawn of Time

Last week Judah told me his classmate believes in magic.

Do we believe in magic Mommy?

Uh, that's a complicated question with some interesting nuances, son.

Of course that's just what I was thinking in my head. And what I was also thinking was it's your bedtime and I don't want to drag it out by getting into a discourse full of interesting nuances...so, short answer - Nope! No, we don't believe in magic.

We don't believe in the tooth fairy, and witches, and wizards, and Santa Claus and all that jazz, I reaffirmed to Judah. BUT, BUT, I warned sternly, many kids do believe in all that so let's not take away their fun by telling them there really is no such thing.

Judah nodded in understanding.

The only problems is, I do believe in magic.

I believe in the kind of magic that makes cold lifeless statues come to life. That makes inanimate stuffed bunnies real. That reaches into the darkest pits of despair and plants a seed so potent, a hundred flowers blossom on it's eventual branches.

I believe in the magic of Love.

And no more do I experience that magic than in the daily, extravagant displays of affection from Judah and Noah. The light in their eyes. The warmth from their smiles. I am their mom and their first true love. I believe that if I love them well, it will set a seal on their hearts and protect them for all time - like the flashing talisman on Harry Potter's brow.

A few days ago, we were getting ready to go upstairs to start the bedtime routine and I started turning off all the lights downstairs. The only lights remaining were from the Christmas tree and (battery-operated) candles on our mantle. How beautiful and magical, I thought to myself. What a sentimental sap I am.

And then I heard Judah's little voice - Mommy, let's sit on the couch and huggle snuggle and enjoy this Christmas magic!

Oh my sweet child. You read my mind. You share my heart.

You know me. I know you.

And I think we both most definitely believe in magic.

Raising an Underachiever

It's funny how you start to recognize your child.

At first, Judah was a colicky, demanding baby. A total stranger to me in every way.

And then his personality slowly emerged as he was more able to express his inner world of thoughts and feelings. Until now, at age 5, I have fully realized that Judah is exactly me (on the inside).

He is extremely sensitive.

He is driven by fear that others will be mad at him.

He is utterly embarrassed by any attention whatsoever.

And in a nutshell, he is a people-pleaser extrordinaire.

My sweet, (extremely) anxious, (overly) sensitive mini-me.

It's pretty freaky how much we're alike. Every posture and inclination he has finds complete resonance in my own heart. I'm now a big believer in Nature over Nurture.

So when Judah complains about going to school, I tell him things I'm pretty sure most parents would never tell their own kids.

I instruct him often: Don't try your best Judah.
And he objects: But Mrs. Hawkins will get mad at me if I don't do my best work!

It's especially hard to convince him to ease-up when his school actually recites a pledge every day, which includes a promise to do "your personal best."

But I know Judah.

I know the pressure of perfectionism is sucking all the joy out of school. I know his extreme efforts at forming the perfect upper and lower case letters completely stress him out. I know he kills himself to color intricately within the lines for fear. I know the kid who LOVED preschool doesn't want to go to kindergarten anymore because it's become a place of unbearably high anxiety born out of his desire to please his teacher, whom he loves.

So I implore him daily to NOT try his best.

But I can tell Judah is utterly confused by the blatant contradiction between my instructions and his teacher's mantras. And sometimes I wonder if I'm giving Judah the right message - don't try too hard, relax...I literally told him just to put in "HALF your best effort" because I didn't think he understood any other percentages.

Did I just basically tell my kid to half-ass everything at school? Does this make me a bad parent?

Poisoned

This week and weekend has been pretty rough.

Judah's been dealing with a horrific all-body rash that has turned his face into a cross between a puffer-fish and Quasimodo.

Kinda looks like a pro-activ "before" pic from hell.

Oh my poor, deformed, rashy son.

It started around Tuesday and I finally took him to the doc on Friday. The doc wasn't that impressed (probably since it didn't look that bad yet) and told us it wasn't contagious. Well, that's a relief.

The prevailing theory is poison oak (or ivy or sumac), but to be honest, we have no idea when or how Judah came in contact with the offending plant. He is forever trampling through shrubbery and hiding in it so he can gleefully watch us hunt for him, so it was probably inevitable that he would get this sooner or later.

Either way, I realized I do not handle watching my child suffer very well. I went through wild swings of imagination - what if it's strep? what if it infects his blood and organs? what if he goes into shock from the allergic reaction? what if the rash leaves horrific scars for life? what if he stops breathing? Pure. Torture.

But Judah has handled it all with surprising grace and equanimity of spirit. At his most uncomfortable stage one night I was patting him with cold water compresses, and he sighed in relief each time the cool cloth was draped over his burning skin. "I have the best mommy in the world," he cooed.

He is so much like me - blessing physical discomfort if it brings emotional consolation.

Up to No Good

I went to upload some pics from the ol' point and shoot and discovered some blurry random shots of our house.

Was a little puzzled until I came to this shot:

So Judah has figured out how to use the camera. And how to not tell his parents that he did something of which they probably wouldn't approve. 

I believe there are 'honest' people and not so honest people. The former are compelled to say the truth at all times, even if it's against their interest. They just can't help it. They are constitutionally incapable of not being truthful, however inconvenient. My spouse is one such person.

But I don't think Judah's one of those people. Which totally serves me right. I was the most dishonest sneaky kid in the history of kid-dom. It was just so much easier to do what I wanted and then lie about it, than to be honest and face the consequences. Rational, right?

In other news, the first monkey selfies have surfaced this week and it bears a remarkable resemblance to my human monkey's selfie, no?

Proof that preschoolers and primates are not that different I suppose.

Learning: A Hate Story

Today I bravely plucked my over-grown Shrek eyebrows, slapped on some make-up and trudged down the street to a new playgroup.

I hate meeting new moms and their kids. You never know how awkward it's going to be (and it can get pretty awkward). So, how old is your child? Oh, yay, 2! *silence......................*

But despite the potential awkwardness AND being sick as a dog, I forced myself to go with the kids in tow. And before I get into the 'why', can we just talk about how totally sick and horrible I've been feeling?

I caught some ungodly germ and have been sick for about 4 days now, but I only seem to be getting worse. Last night I wanted someone to mercifully cut my over-congested head off. It felt like every single possible cavity in my head was pregnant with octopulets (ah, I miss octo mom, wonder how she's doing, can you imagine having octopulets!...sorry, I digress)...what was I saying? Oh yeah, I was congested like a mother up in there and when my nasal drip finally traveled down to one nostril, thereby clearing the other, I could breathe well for about 2 seconds before my one clear nostril felt like the hot-smelting furnaces of Mordor resided there.

It hurt to nose-breathe. But it also hurt to mouth-breathe (as my throat was also on fire and totally sore). But breathe I must...musted? So I lay in bed, in agony, and slept maybe a good 2-3 hours last night.

But why didn't I take Nyquil or Sudafed or any of the other modern miracles of medicine that would've made my congestion much more bearable? Because none of them are FDA approved for nursing mothers. Yes, I'm still nursing. Longish story, we can talk about it another time. Maybe. Kinda boring story really. So maybe not. But this is a mommy-ish kinda blog so maybe yes. Whatever, let's get off the subject of my breasts.

So where was I? Oh yes, this morning, totally sleep-deprived, feeling like road-kill, trudging off to an awkward new playgroup.

Why?

Because a few weeks ago I found out that one of my neighbors is a native Mandarin speaker and early childhood educator. And basically, to this Chinese-American mom who is trying so hard to teach her (completely resistant and non-cooperative) preschooler Mandarin, my neighbor was my savior.

She was, to me, the answer to all my Mandarin-language based prayers. A miracle that dropped right in my backyard--close to literally!

I asked her to please, please, please host a Mandarin-language play group in which she would lead the kids in Chinese songs and stories and to my extreme delight, she said YES! YESSSS!!!!! So I invited some other moms to come and, fast forward to today, we finally met and did it!

It was everything I envisioned it would be. A song, a story, some flashcards, some finger-puppets, and a very basic lesson using 4 key vocabulary words. Perfection. Except...(and of course there's an "except." You know by now this blog isn't filled with success tales)...except...I learned that Judah transforms into a total monster when someone is trying to teach him Chinese.

I already knew that about him with respect to myself as his teacher, but I thought it would be different if someone else taught him. He's such a social guy and he's so great at paying attention to his teachers in preschool, but turns out, nope. He just hates learning Chinese.

I really can't explain this picture. Maybe Judah heard a Chinese word.

I just don't get it. He's happy to learn about dinosaurs and outer-space and every superhero that ever lived, but when it comes to a new language he completely melts down. Does he feel threatened? Does he feel too challenged? Does he feel too much implied pressure from me?

Of course I asked him all these questions, just like that, and got a very intelligible response--I DON'T WANT TO LEARN CHINESE!!!!!!!

Sigh.

It made me recall my own childhood experiences with learning Mandarin, and another dreaded subject, playing the piano. I hated both. Absolutely hated them.

Why? Because it's boring? Because it's hard? Because I didn't have a natural interest in either? Probably yes to all the above.

But kids have to learn a lot of things they don't naturally want to learn. Heck, if learning was fun and painless, we'd all be Rhode scholars by now. So my parents did what any other Asian immigrant parent did back then. They forced it on us.

I remember sitting at the piano at an early age--maybe 5 or 6, tears running down my face as I was being forced to practice my pieces. My vision was so blurred by my tears I could barely make out the notes in front of me. Which made me feel so sorry for my poor, young, privileged self. I vowed, like many kids I'm sure, that I would never be so cruel as to force my kids to learn something they hated.

And...fast-forward to today. I was about ready to strangle Judah and threaten him with certain death if he didn't stop whining and crying at the Mandarin playgroup and causing The Biggest Scene Ever.

But I didn't. Because I wonder if there's a better way. How do you get a child to learn something they really don't want to? How do you do it gently? Humanely? Even, gasp, enjoyably? Certainly this kind of resistance is not going to stop at "peripheral" subjects like a second-language or musical instruments. Kids hate math. Kids hate science. Kids hate reading. Kids hate school!

They have a lot to learn.

I have a lot to learn.

Sigh.

Time to consult Dr. Child Expert--Google.

Heart of My Own Heart

Mommy, the sky was so beautiful, Judah recounted to me. It was blue and pink and purple!

Mommy, I love nature. Let's go on a nature walk. Nature is so beautiful.

Judah on a "nature walk" cira 1.5 years old.

I'm sure we all feel stirred by the glory of the skies, but very rarely do I hear people talk about it, and even more rarely do I hear little kids have self-originating, completely unprompted thoughts on it.

When I was in elementary school I first became aware of how my heart felt like breaking while staring at cumulus clouds slowly sailing across a piercing blue sky, or the rivers of gold in a vermillion sunset. I often exclaimed to friends, "Look at that sky! Gosh I love nature! Isn't it so beautiful?"

I've rarely if ever said that to Judah, maybe because I'm too distracted making sure he (or Noah) isn't eating dirt or about to get run over by a car. So to hear him echo back the unspoken beats of my own heart was pretty trippy.

I guess he really is mine.

My Child, My Self?

Needy, clingy, attention-whore, leaky-holed love bucket...

These are not words I would use to describe myself, but I would very readily attribute them to Judah.

I could spend (and have spent) 2-3 hours of pure, unadulterated, one-on-one time with him and it's still not enough.  As soon as I break off and do something else or pay attention to Noah, Judah melts down and whines "You never play with me Mommy!  You never love me!  I'm soooooo saadddd"

He's been like this all his short life.  Yep, even as a baby he would make darn sure you know he HAS to be the center of attention or there were consequences.  Very unpleasant scream-filled consequences.  So it's definitely not a "phase."  It's just Judah.

Photocredit: NanDPhotography.net

But I had a jarring realization these past few weeks.  Now that Judah can express himself pretty articulately, I'm shocked that he sounds like...me!  Except that I've never said these words out loud.  I'm a pretty quiet, passive person (Judah's loud verbosity is definitely not from me), but every thing he says I've thought.  A lot.  Especially as a child.

It brought back flashes of memory that I hitherto had completely forgotten about.  How much I craved attention.  How much I craved praise.  How much I wanted everyone in the room to look at me.  Look at me!  Look at me!  Tell me I'm special!

Once in preschool I remember learning about bloody noses.  A classmate got one and all of sudden there was a flurry of excitement surrounding her like some warm angelic penumbra of love and care.  Oh how I wanted that too.  So...of course I punched myself in the nose repeatedly to try to make it bleed.

Turns out that just gives you a sore nose without a single drop of blood.

Realizing that Judah gets his attention-neediness from me has made me so much more compassionate toward him.  My poor kid.  Inherited some tough traits.

And it's given me so much more compassion for the Spouse.  So often we have recurring arguments wherein I accuse him of not spending enough time with me and he is completely baffled how I could come up with that conclusion.  He's always insisted I was a leaky love bucket and now I know exactly what it feels like to be on the other end of that bucket.

Filling it, filling it, and filling it again.  Only to turn around 3 seconds later to find that it's completely empty!

It's always hard to know what part of you is really you and what part of you was shaped by your environment and upbringing.  I'm realizing that having kids is kinda like an amazing internal mirror--helpful and revealing...but not very flattering.

He, Me and You

One of the funnest and trippy-est (yes, Ms. English, I know those are not words) things about having a kid is seeing parts of you and the spouse in him.

Everyone is always so quick to point out that Judah looks EXACTLY like his dad--long face, skinny and tall, gravity-defying hair, etc. Seriously, we get stopped by total strangers in the grocery store all the time saying (mostly to the spouse)--Yep, definitely yours! Can't deny that one! He looks just like his dad!

We live in an urban ghetto area and even had HOMELESS people stop us on the street and comment that Judah looks "Just like his dad!" Ok, I get it. The resemblance is obvious.

But you know what? I think Judah looks a lot like me when he smiles.



Me, not sure when but definitely before I turned 2.



Judah, right before he turned 1.

But even more than physical resemblance, I think Judah takes after me in a lot of crucial ways.

First, he loves music, loves dancing, singing and drawing. These are things the spouse has never cared for a day in his life. Seriously, I've known my spouse for 15 years and NEVER, not ONCE have I seen him bust a move. Ever. For any reason. Judah, meanwhile, has been shaking his booty to the beat since, well, since he could stand on 2 feet.

Second, Judah is a total extrovert, loves socializing and has more empathy in his little pinky than my spouse has in his entire body. He's a people person. I first realized this when Judah was barely 1 and started to wince in sympathy anytime my spouse or I clumsily hurt ourselves. Seeing others in pain makes Judah feel awful.

Once the spouse was trying to pop a really deep zit and wincing in pain.  And Judah kept saying "No, no, no, Daddy, no more!"  He just couldn't handle it.  Sweet boy.

As I was making these mental notes, I realized...hmmmm...I'm only noting the "good" traits that Judah supposedly resembles of me. I wonder what bad traits of mine he picked up?

And because I'm a selfish, delusional, conceited person, I couldn't think of any. Ha!

But of course I could think of lots of bad traits he picked up from my spouse!

But to show some measure of self-criticism and objectivity, I'll say this.  Judah can sometimes be quite selfish and possessive.  He loves to grab his toys and say "Mine! Es mio!"  Even when no one is challenging him and it's just me and him.

Dude, I BOUGHT you that toy.  Technically it's MINE.

And sadly, I'm pretty sure Judah got that trait from me.  I've always known the spouse to be a generous person, but I can be kinda grabby.  A little catty.  A little possessive.  A little jealous.

But isn't every girl?

Ugh, it was so much funner (yes, I know that's also not a real word!) pointing out the 'good' traits.

Be Nice

Hi!  It's me, just real quick.  I'm buried under piles and piles of work.  But I just HAVE to get some things down.  Cuz if I don't I'll explode, or rather, I'll just keep thinking about how much I want to blog about you and be completely distracted and inefficent at work.

Last Sunday you were a cranky screaming banshee.  You started an epic meltdown 90 minutes before your usual bedtime and I took that as a sign that you were pretty darn ready to go to bed right that minute!  You screamed and wailed no matter how I tried to soothe you so I decided I should just put you in your crib, close the door and walk out.

As you saw me turning to leave, you turned up your meltdown to high-terror-alert RED (which I've never seen before and definitely scared the crap out of me).  Your voice got 50 decibals louder and you started jumping up and down like a frantic lunatic.  So of course I stayed in your room and tried to calm you down.

And as you laid in bed wailing, you said "Mommy, no leave.  Mommy, be nice.  Be nice."

That took my breath away.  You've always begged me to stay, but you've never asked me to 'be nice' before.  It seems you've graduated to another level of cognition--not just asking for physical acts, but appealing to my psychological motivations--asking me to find it in my heart to be kind and stay with you.  Unbelievable.

Lately, in general, you've just been so much more expressive about what you're feeling too.  You've gone from merely describing things like "This is apple.  This is blue," to actually talking about how you feel about them.  Now you'll exclaim "I love it!  I love it!" or "This is yummy!  I like it!" or "This is fun!"

Or my favorite, which you'll say at random times "Mommy, I so happy."  Awwww, I'm happy too baby.

You are quite the little communicator!

I guess it's no surprise as your dad is one of the MOST talkative people I've ever met, heck he does it for a living.  And your mom ain't a quiet person either!

Exhausted

Judah is constantly learning/picking things up from watching me.

One thing he's learned quite well is this:

He'll lie down on the couch or floor and exclaim "I tired!" or even better sometimes "Exhausted!"

Proud mommy moment--my 1 year old knows the word "exhausted"!
Sad mommy moment--my 1 year old knows the word "exhausted" because I'm constantly modeling a lack of energy in front of him.  Ugh.

Oh Judah, if only you'd lie down for more than 0.25 seconds.

What can I say? Most days I AM tired and exhausted!

Candy Man

Judah loves candy.

Hmmm...a rare vintage, I'm getting a hint of apricot...maybe a whiff of late Summer white peach...

So far we've introduced him to gummy bears and lollipops.  Of course, being the anal, over-protective parents we are, they are made with only organic fruit juices and no preservatives or high-fructose corn syrup.  But let's face it.  Candy is candy.

My hands are being raised in rapture and ecstasy.

Judah hates to eat so we sometimes bribe him with candy.

Lollipops are amazing!  I've never been happier in my entire short life!

Recently we've been giving him one lick of a lollipop for each bite of food.  I've never seen his face light up so brightly as when we place the lollipop in his hand for a lick.  These pictures do not do it justice.

I guess I'm not surprised.

My earliest memory involved savoring candy.  As a toddler I had frequent reccuring dreams about a giant bag of candy hidden in my house somehwere.  I was almost lured away by a kidnapper once who was offering me...you guessed it...a bag of candy.  And oh yeah, I used to hoard it under my pillow.

Apparently inordinate love of candy is genetic.  I just hope the kid also inherited my robust cavity-repelling teeth.  He's gonna need it!