The Rainbow Man

Jack started drawing faces recently, as I mentioned in the past. He's stepped it up recently, using different colored crayons to create a single face. An orange eye, a green eye, a blue nose, a purple mouth. He calls it The Rainbow Man.

It's absolutely great. They all -- I think he's drawn about 20 or 30 over the past week -- have the rainbow element in common, but each one is slightly different. A misshaped oval head that looks like anything from a balloon to a potato to a peanut. (The best ones, in my opinion, have big ol' chins.) Two fried egg eyes, usually different sizes (but not always). A big round W.C. Fields nose. And then a loopy, crooked grin that starts below one eye and goes all the way down to the bottom and curves up again. Three hairs sticking up straight from the top of his head. Eyebrows sometimes. Ears, on occasion; sometimes yes, sometimes no. All the faces are happy, goofy, beautiful. He could make 100 or 200 and I'd never grow tired of them. Rainbow Man.

Tonight he asked me to draw one, and I agreed. Got out a bunch of different colored crayons ("Get a lot of colors, Daddy," he said), and then drew one much like his. Only not. It was awkward. The head was too normal shaped. The misshapen eyes too intentional. It was like an adult trying to copy a child's work, which of course it was, and it doesn't work.

I said to Jack, well, you make much better Rainbow Men than Daddy. But Jack was very encouraging. "That's good, Daddy. I think you made a very nice Rainbow Man." That might have been the best part of the whole thing -- Jack trying to make me feel better about a picture that was obviously nowhere near as awesome as his own.

I have one hanging on my wall. There are a bunch on Jack's wall -- he keeps wanting to hang more -- and a stack on the dining room table. Perhaps I'll make them into a book one day.

Rainbow Man.

Apples

We went apple picking today. It's a great thing to do with kids, evidently, because everyone there was doing it with their kids. Anyway, Jack was really into the idea, and the Rosenfelds go every year, so we got in our car and headed out, I guess in Fairfield or somewhere.

First we rode in a big cart being pulled by a tractor. That was kind of cool. Went out in the middle of this orchard where I had images of a Steinbeck novel. Whose title I've forgotten, but it had something to do with apples. I wore the Baby Bjorn with Kate in it. We picked an apple as we walked along. I took a bite. Put it in front of Kate so she could kind of take a bite. Then handed it to Jack.

As Jack took a bite, she started to protest. AAAAaaaaAAAAaaaaAAAAA! She said. I got the apple back from Jack (Emily got him another one) and gave it back to Kate. Who clutched it in both hands and gnawed it contentedly.

We spent about the next 45 minutes walking around the apple orchard. She did not let go of the apple. She was quiet, contentedly gnawing it, gumming it, biting it with her four total teeth. Still holding it as we walked along, finished picking, got back in the tractor cart, and rode down to the parking lot.

By the end it was a little, wet, lumpy, gummed-over apple core, that had been mashed and bitten and de-juiced.

And Kate was happy.

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We were getting ready for bed tonight, in Jack's room, and Kate crawled in. I've already forgotten if I was singing, or the Fun Fair was playing music. Anyway, Kate stood up, feet planted, and started dancing in place. Sort of swaying and grooving, feet not moving, body rocking side to side. Jack was also dancing, kind of running in circles, which he does sometimes.

I said to Emily, when she came in, "Kate was doing the twist."

Jack looked up from his running in circles, and said, "Mommy, I'm doing the round."

Mr. Clean

Jack went up to his room today. He was tired of Kate playing with all of his toys (even though about half of them, at least, were her toys that she'd gotten the previous day for her birthday), and Emily said, if you don't want her to play with them, you're going to have to go upstairs. So he gathered up some toys, mostly hers, and went upstairs.

A little while later he came down to tell us he cleaned his room. Emily went up with Kate, then called me up to see. He'd cleaned his room! Really! The thing was spotless. Granted, his two huge stuffed things, monkey and duck, were in our room, but still. The floor was entirely cleared; things were up on top of his toy chest, books put away, etc. Amusingly, as I walked in, he played a note on this little laptop computer toy Kate had gotten for her birthday. The note went, "Ta-daa!!!!"

As we were marveling, Jack got onto his bed with this little laptop toy and said, "I have to work at my computer now. Goodbye, family." (This is apparently something I say at times.) And so we left. Pretty funny.

Day care

It's Kate's birthday tomorrow. And then Monday, she starts day care.

I know parents feeling guilty about bringing their children to day care is a cliche. and the fact that Jack has been going there almost his whole life and we think it's been great for him makes it seem particularly silly. But I do feel guilty, and worse, I think I'm going to miss having her around.

I work from home, and it's a challenge with her here full time, as she's always been. I work during her naps, and then I work late at night and sometimes early in the morning. I manage. Her not being here will make it easier on me, so I won't be sitting here working at 10 at night on Friday.

But, she also won't be here to make me laugh by laughing.

To crawl over to me and force her way into my arms or lap.

To do her little dance while holding onto her table, listening to some silly music.

To pull all of Jack's toys off his shelves that I'd just put back half an hour earlier. To pull all the magazines off the coffee table, one by one, that I'd just finished stacking there an hour earlier.

To make her hourly beeline for the stairs, where she'd start to crawl up them, stop, and look at me, as if to say, "Better come get me, or I'm going to crawl up the stairs. Look, I'm on the second one. I'm not stopping. Still going up." And then I go get her.

To inhale slices of avocado at lunch.

To greet me with a big smile and giddy laugh at her crib when I go to get her after her nap.

To soil her diaper within 10 minutes after I changed it.

To kick me while I change her diaper.

To go to the supermarket with me and draw oohs and aahs from the checkout ladies and other customers. To sit patiently in the cart while I'm picking out corn or fruit or bread.

To join me when I go pick up big brother Jack at day care.

To sit, enraptured, while I read Dinosaur's Binkit, or Moo Baa La La La. Then to protest if I don't start reading again.

To yell at me from her high chair if I'm not bringing her food quickly enough and there's a few seconds when she has no food in front of her. She actually yells.

To crawl to me, either happy or sad or angry. Again and again and again.

I think day care will be good. I think I need to get work done during day time hours, and maybe even get out on my own every once in a while to go to the gym or something. I think she needs to interact with other babies and toddlers, other little kids (I don't know a lot of Moms to have play dates with).

But I'll miss her. I miss her already. I think she'll be going home early sometimes, just so I can have her with me to keep me from working, and make me smile.

Random

Jack climbed into bed this morning. He said, "Remember when I had my surgery?" It was just a shade over a year ago. Yes, Jack. "Remember when I got those three bears, because I was so brave?" He'd gotten 2 (actually) little stuffed bears. Yes, Jack. "And remember they had little shirts on? I don't know where those are." Then: "I can still see my surgery." He has very, very faint scars. Yes, a little bit. But not much.

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When I pick Kate up out of the crib, she kind of does a full body hug, pressing her face and neck into my shoulder. That's nice.


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She claps when she's happy. Sometimes it's in response to something, like us laughing or clapping, and sometimes she just all of a sudden smiles and claps, like she's thought of something wonderful.


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She's standing up a lot now. On her own. Not walking yet. I sit facing her, when she's standing, and hold my hand out, to get her to walk. What she does is take one step and then flop forward into my arms, laughing. She's getting there.

Catching Up

Sometimes you get busy, and there's not enough time to take everything down. It's too bad, because the stuff you forget to write about can be pretty memorable....

Kate likes to play peek-a-boo, and normally she initiates it, cracking herself up. With her dress when I'm changing her diaper -- she yanks it over her face, then flips it down again. I say "Peek-a-boo." She burbles with laughter.

Jack drew a picture yesterday that floored me. It was a face, a big head with two fried-egg eyes, a round nose, and a crooked grin. So many of his pictures, he just likes to scribble. Which is fine and all. But this was an actual recognizable image -- I couldn't believe it. I still can't.

Kate also plays the game standing up, on all fours, like a bent over newspaper. She peeks between her legs, sees me, I say Peek-a-boo, and she gurgles happily.

Today Jack drew a picture on his easel that looks kind of like a jellyfish, or a big bug. Again, with a face, eyes, a nose, a wide, looping smile. "And lots and lots of legs -- LOOK at all his LEGS!" said Jack. Indeed.

Last week I was alone with the two of them for almost the entire week, plus I had twice as much work as normal. The great thing is that they actually do play together, kind of. Which is to say, Jack plays with something, and Kate elbows her way into the game, usually to Jack's dismay. Kate's not really ready for Lincoln Logs, as a for instance. Still, it was fun seeing them kind of play. They play with this musical "Fun Fair" together, that Jack got when he was a year old. Last week we discovered new music from it. Kate kind of sits on her knees and bounces slightly to the music. Jack plays a tune, runs off and does something else, comes back, plays a new tune. They kind of played with this Martian game that Jack got on his third birthday from his Irish cousins. For whatever reason, Kate loves the little Martians -- they're the right size to hold in her hands, I guess. She crawls around clutching them. They go whack (pause), whack (pause), whack (pause) on the floor. It's pretty cute.

Jack didn't nap all week. Plus they both had runny noses for much of it. Kate slept well at night, exhausted. Jack woke up too much, didn't sleep enough, and was exhausted, a little bit more with each day as the week wore on. By the end, he was a real mess. Now he's back at school, and napping. Whew.

I'll try to catch up on some more stuff next time.