Magical Thinking

As a parent, I feel obligated to look back fondly on all of my child's development (except maybe that whole colicky (Bry), sleep-deprived (us) period - perhaps we can just forget that ever happened). But this stage right now strikes me as particularly wonderful and also particularly challenging. Never mind that wonderful and challenging are probably apt descriptors for any stage of parenting.

At least once a day, Steve and I chuckle to ourselves about Bry's absolute faith in our abilities to conjure up anything his heart desires. Sitting at a stoplight, Bry has been known to say, more than once, "Green, please!" Or on his less agreeable days, "Cars stuck! Move cars!" He seems to fully expect us to alter the space-time continuum (or traffic laws) in order to meet his unique, ever-shifting needs. Like his need to see particular vehicles on the road right! now! Even if, on the off-chance that we happen to pass by an excavator, garbage truck, or semi truck within the time frame that Bry deems acceptable, he is usually not satisfied by a passing glance. "Closer, maybe!" he shouts. Or "another one!" Or "again!" I choose to view these demands as wonderfully affirming of my skills as a parent (or maybe as a magician). Sure! I can find a logging truck in the midst of downtown Minneapolis! Why not?

But, since Bry has yet to comprehend the limited capacity of the universe, or his parents, to magically present whatever he desires at any given moment, failure to produce sometimes leads to, shall we say, extravagant displays of will on Bry's part. Responses seem to alternate between whining and shrieking. Hence the challenge. There is no reasoning with a toddler who is dead set, say, on magically warping from daycare to home. From the backseat, I'll hear cries of "Home! Home! Home! Home!" which will continue unabated until I acknowledge, "Bry wants to be home right now!" "Right now!" he echoes. His distress never seems to lessen when I explain that my faster-than-light drive is in the shop for repairs. All the touchy-feely* parenting books we've been reading emphasize the importance of acknowledging kids' desires, even when they are impossible, per the laws of physics, while maintaining that, no, we can't find a water tower at this particular moment. For example. A lot of the time we fudge it, saying, "You want to find a [insert construction vehicle here], huh? We can try to find a [insert construction vehicle here], Bry." This satisfies him for a few moments, and he'll chime in, "Hmm. Excavator? (in a sing-songy voice) Hmm. Excavator hiding." But I'm afraid he's catching on that, "We can try to find [insert construction vehicle here] is code for, "Sorry kiddo, mama and daddy just aren't as magical as we might like to be."

Fast-forwarding some years to when Bry will surely see us as magical only in the Midas sense of turning everything he finds fun into something that is disallowed, I think I'll miss these days when he believes that we are really magical. Even if he doesn't think of it in quite those terms.

*In the positive sense.

Progress Report

Each day, Bry's teachers fill out a sheet recording how much of each meal he ate, when he napped, a description of his mood, and a brief note outlining the days' activities. Comparing notes from his first week with more current notes highlights Bry's gradual adjustment to his home away from home. His first day:

Bryson was busy pushing and dumping out the big trucks in the sand. He was excited about checking out the gym. Bryson would get a little sad but then find another toy to play with. He also liked to clean up the toys that were on the floor. Bryson was sensitive during and after lunch. It probably didn't help that we had another very sensitive toddler at that time. Even though he was mad and sad, he organized the dishes. Bryson let me rock him and we looked at a book before nap.

And last week:

This morning after breakfast Bryson went for the fire trucks! Played with them for quite awhile. Very excited about going outside - went right for the trucks in the sand. Lots of chatty talk about what he was playing with. Great mood today!

It's nice to see him getting used to the routine, especially now that the desperate clinging to mama and crocodile tears at drop-off are gone. All the same, it makes him seem older and more mature than his 21 months, older than our baby whom I could have sworn we just brought home from the hospital last week. Sniff, sniff. (Cue "Sunrise, Sunset" and all that.)

Taking advantage of his maturity to try to sneak him into the upcoming election.

It's also been interesting to watch Bry engage (or not engage) in the social process at school. It's still mostly all parallel play, but most days he comes home chattering about some event with one of the other kids. Usually said event involves repeating what one of the teachers must have said when someone broke the rules. One day he came home reciting, "Please not throw balls, Jayeon" over and over and over. Last week it was, "Ella! Ella! Ella! Please not push Bryson! Move away! Sit on couch!" That one drew a little (okay, a lot) more attention, mostly from mama. Someone pushed my boy? Let me at her! I could totally take her!

Bry also makes plenty of cute comments about his classmates. When I went to pick him up one day, he was amidst a jumble of kids waiting their turn for the slide. As the little girl ahead of him went down, he shouted, "Jayeon down slide! Wheeee! Yay, Jayeon!" He seems to have a thing for Jayeon.

Observing Bry among his peers also highlights his particular quirks and characteristics. Since we only have one kid, Bry has pretty much had the distinction of setting what we believe the norm is for all kids. Seeing that he is, in fact, the only one of his classmates who seems to constantly narrate what he is doing: "Pots. Pans. On stove. Over here. Build tower yellow blocks. High! Smash!" has been eye opening. Kids don't all talk nonstop from the moment they wake up until 10 or 15 minutes after their heads hit the sheets at night? Huh.

Bry's teachers had picked up on his love of cooking and trucks from the get-go. And it only took them about a week to notice his fondness of having things just so. They tell us that he loves to clean up, and specifically that he likes to put everything in its proper place. One morning at drop-off, Bry spied a rake in the classroom that clearly belonged elsewhere. He cried out, "Rake! Sandbox!" until one of the teachers acknowledged that, yes, rakes do go in the sandbox! Most of the time I just shake my head and cite daddy's genes for this trait. It sure doesn't come from his mama, who relies on an elaborate filing system of piles and more piles. Good thing he got his good looks from mama.

All in all, we've seen about a 4000% increase in Bry's tolerate-daycare-routine meter readings. And that's nice, because it frees up precious cognitive energy that can be used for important things, like writing my dissertation catching up on Battlestar Galactica. (Bry, you heard it here first! Your parents are nerds!)

Summertime with the Bry

Crikey, it's Steve again, with an unprecedented three in a row! Here are some highlights from Bry's summer...

Bry's Wake up Routine (archival footage)

Steve here. This next video is rather old. I made it last February, in fact, as a side project while putting Bryson at Work together. At the time, I didn't think it was that good and therefore didn't bother to post it. But watching it again several months later, I have decided that I was wrong.

There was a brief period when this was pretty much how every morning began for us. Bryson was just beginning to talk, just beginning to walk, and just beginning to become slightly more independent. Watching it brought back a flood of memories and reminded me just how much he has grown in the past 7 months. So if you bought the Bryson at Work DVD, consider this your bonus feature.

Cannin' with the Bry

Steve here. It's been a while since I've posted a video. I would like to blame my busy summer work schedule, but, well, you'd see right through that. The reality is that I have taken hours and hours of footage this summer and the prospect of sifting through all of it and condensing it down to a 3 minute video has been a bit daunting. Laziness has also surely played a role. At any rate, here is the first of what I hope will be several videos highlighting Bry's summer adventures. This footage resulted when Bry decided to "help" us unload the dishwasher. Enjoy!

Last Days of Summer

This is going to be a reminder (especially for mama) of how beautiful Minnesota can be in not-winter. We decided to take advantage of the waning warm weather by strolling around Grand Avenue this morning and visiting approximately 17 toy stores. And CVS, after Bry spotted the "jack-o-terns" in the window. After Bry didn't nap this afternoon, we hit the beach with Aunt Sheila and Uncle Mike for one last go at the sand and water before it's all snowed under. Sigh.

School: The Verdict

Note: I wrote this post last week, but forgot to publish it. Things have changed (for the better!) since then, and I'll write an update, but I thought I'd post this anyways, 'cause it definitely fit for the first three weeks of school.

It's painful. And it's also wonderful. So I guess if you average it out, the verdict falls somewhere in between.

The painful part is at dropoff. Bry hates, hates, hates being dropped off at school. He's gotten into the habit of emphatically saying, "Stay home!" in the mornings as soon as it looks like I'm starting to pack up. Pretty much every day he also pleads, "No thank you, mama work." In other words, "Don't go!" It's heartbreaking. We get through the 20-minute drive in high spirits as Bry calls out the changing traffic lights, "Green! Go!" tells me when we're almost to the freeway ramp, and looks out for every manner of truck imaginable: dump truck! excavator! bulldozer! cement truck! garbage truck! semi truck! oil truck! tow truck! mail truck! Fed Ex truck! (yes, really) crane! bucket truck! And so on. As we pull up to the building, Bry's excitement at glimpsing the two trailers that are permanently parked in the parking lot (it's not quite as country as it sounds) is quickly eclipsed by his dawning realization that mama is going to take him into the building and leave him there.

Some days he tears up a little as we're getting out of the car, but recovers when he sees the trash can outside the door. What can I say? The kid likes trash cans. We say hi to the fish in the lobby and sit on the climbing steps. Then we walk past the "red room" where the babies are, to the "green room," Bry's room. Outside the door we examine all of the art that's been posted and find Bry's drawing on the wall. Then we go into the "foyer" (this daycare is particularly fond of naming all of the different areas), where I fill out Bry's daily sheet, sign him in, and try to untangle his limbs from my body long enough to put his coat in his cubby.

At this point, the fact that mama is leaving imminently must become very, very real for Bry, because he asks, nay, demands, "shirt! blanket! lion!" and frets while he warily scopes out the other kiddos in the room. We still haven't worked out a good goodbye routine. The teachers are great at trying to coax Bry into joining whatever activity is going on - scooping sand in the table, reading stories, drawing with chalk - but Bry's response is always the same: "No." Eventually, after we've read a story or built a tower, I let him know that I need to leave and most days, one of the teachers has to physically take him from me, and I leave as he's crying out. Most days I make it to the parking lot before I start tearing up myself.

But, for the past few days, I've waited out of Bry's line of sight, and he always calms down within about 30 seconds of me leaving. His teachers report that he is content, busy, chatty, and at times, sensitive, especially when other kids are noisy or crying.

By the time Steve or I pick up Bry in the afternoon, he's usually engrossed in whatever he's doing - digging in the sand, going down the slide, stacking blocks - and not so interested in leaving. This is heartening, but the mornings, well, the mornings are still difficult. Someday he'll get used to this, right? We hold out the hope that someday, the pain of leaving won't be so acute. We think to ourselves that that hope is for his sake, but really? Really, it's for our sake too.