Archive for August, 2013
When I was a young girl, I loved Greek mythology. There are things in Greek mythology that could be considered disturbing– a father eating his own children (Cronus); a great and menacing beast devouring young men and women trapped in a dank, dark maze (the Minotaur); and good ole wholesome bestiality (Zeus and Leda, Pasiphae and the bull).
But the story that resonated with me the most, the one that provoked the most visceral reaction of disgust was the story of The Graeae Sisters. The hero Perseus encountered them on his way to kill Medusa. The Graeae Sisters were three terribly old women. Between them they had one tooth and one eyeball…so they took turns. I don’t even like seeing someone else’s used chewing gum in the trashcan. I can’t imagine sharing a tooth…or worse an eyeball.
The Graeae Sisters took the beautiful concept of sharing and made it into something really, really icky.
The Graeae Sisters (Image Courtesy of Ray Jackson)
And that brings me to my sons. The other week, I was giving infant Dyson a bedtime bath. Older brother Sagan was helping me out by supervising and pumping out the soap. Eventually, Dyson realized he was getting a bath.
“Baby crying,” Sagan announced.
“That’s right, Dyson’s crying,” I said as I picked up my pace.
All of a sudden, Sagan pulled the pacifier out of his mouth and offered it up to Dyson. SLUUURP! Dyson immediately accepted the gift and started sucking away.
Now this was an amazingly kind and thoughtful gesture for a toddler, particularly one who is completely binky-obsessed. Extremely sweet. Externally I kept my cool. But internally, my reaction was akin to the one I have when I think of those shriveled old women passing around a tartar-covered tooth and a slimy cataract-ridden eyeball:
P.S. The artwork above by Ray Jackson is available as prints and notecards at RedBubble.com
When I see little Dyson’s face while he is asleep, he reminds me of my paternal grandmother. Specifically, he reminds me of a plaster cast that was made of her face years ago. It has hung in my grandparents’ den for as long as I can remember. Well, we had a mini family reunion at my grandparents’ house in early August. I went ahead and took a quick comparison shot.
Maybe it isn’t the features of the face I find so nostalgic. Maybe it is the pose. : )
I let Sagan strike his toy garden tools against the garage floor. As he was playing I encouraged him.
“You are good at smacking that hoe!”
Then I realized how awful that sounded. 🙂
This year for Mother’s Day, Ryan and I took 22-month old Sagan over to Occoquan’s Paint Your Heart Out one Friday afternoon.
We picked out coffee mugs and sponged on some background colors. Then it was Sagan’s turn to participate. He plopped his handprint on each mug. After that, Ryan and I did our best to embellish the handprints and make them appear like peacocks. The proprietor of Paint Your Heart Out has a little girl two months younger than Sagan. That meant the tiny table full of toys was of great interest to Sagan while his parents worked.
While I don’t think our final products are going to make the rounds on Pinterest, we were pleased with the results…as were Sagan’s grandmothers. : )
And the whole process got to impress Ryan and I with Sagan’s memory retention. We didn’t pick up our pieces until nearly a week later. Sagan, of course, accompanied us on that outing as well.
As soon as he saw the mugs he said, “Peacock!” and he quickly followed it up with “Haaaaaaaaaand.”
So he not only remembered that we made peacocks, but that it was constructed out of his hand to boot.
Dyson slept through the whole encounter, but when he was three weeks old he did get to meet one of my first “babies”.
Dyson, meet the American chestnut. American chestnut, meet Dyson.
I love this post from Bipolar Athlete on lap swimming. My favorite line: “It was like a cross between flying and being held.”
In the 3rd trimester of my 1st pregnancy, with that scary labor and delivery getting ever so closer, there was nothing more empowering and calming than lap swimming. Every time I left the pool, I would leave thinking, “Yeah!!! I can do this!”
AND…when my father died last year, it is no coincidence I disappeared to the pool before the flurry of services and sympathetic faces. There, I had an hour of just my thoughts and the rhythmic sound of my breath.
It’s amazing how grounded one can feel in the water.
My two year old son Sagan is now at that age where he will suddenly have a request when it is bedtime, presumably to delay the inevitable. Usually his requests fall into two categories.
- “One More Simpsons” (A The Simpsons episode)
- “More Ponies” (A My Little Pony Friendship is Magic episode)
- “More Song” (he wants Ryan or I to sing a song, which is more often than not from the They Might Be Giants album “Flood”)
- “Bubble juice” (grape juice watered down with Seltzer water)
- “Nana” (banana)
- “Grits” (Yup, he often asks for grits while laying in bed)
The other week, Sagan momentarily stumped me with a bedtime request.
“What?” I asked him.
He repeated the same mysterious word.
“Take your paci out and say it again.”
He followed my instructions, but it was no use. I still had no idea what he was trying to say. I could make out two syllables. The first started with a “B” and the second started with a “W”.
He repeated it a couple more times before I thought of a word that fit that criteria, but it seemed very unlikely.
“Bagworms?” I asked.
He got a big smile on his face and nodded. “Yes,” he said.
“You want to go out and collect bagworms?”
More nodding, followed by another “Yes.”
THIS is Better Than Going to Sleep (Photo by Michael J Curtis)
I was stunned. When you’re chasing after an active toddler while you have an infant in the MobyWrap, sometimes you have to think outside the box to find chores you can effectively accomplish. One thing I had found easy to do is to pluck bagworms off of infected trees. Although the activity kept Sagan’s attention, it never struck me as “fun” for him. I guess that goes to show how much Sagan does not want to go to bed. : ) (It also shows he knows his audience.)
He may have momentarily taken me offguard with his request, but in the end my answer to Sagan was the same.
“Uh… no… It’s night night.”