On Being Present

One of the greatest gifts that kids give us --and I think the younger they are, the better they are at doing this-- is forcing us to live in the moment.

When, for example, as just happened here when Big came into the bathroom announcing that he had to go to 'go potty!' and I hastily ripped off his pants and diaper and when he immediately got up off the potty announcing that he was 'all done' and while subsequently directing his attention to washing his hands, went "number 2" directly on the floor, well, you are forced to focus on the moment. And I don't even mean the immediacy of cleaning up the dropped "number 2", I mean, the moment prior to that one in which you must make sure that he doesn't proceed step in the "number 2" that is, now, directly under the place that is intended for his foot as he steps off of the potty-turned step-stool.

I mean to say you can't be on your Blackberry at that moment or fiddling around with a playlist on your iPod. No. You're THERE.

Yesterday at lunch I found myself savoring some time with Big in a way that I never, for example, savored while reading Marx in the library at grad school (in retrospect, I wish I had savored that time a bit more than I did. You don't realize what a regular teaching load does to extra-curricular reading, that is, reading that is not DIRECTLY tied to productivity somehow). He doesn't usually sit long for lunch and so we usually grab a couple of bites of cottage cheese or a yogurt stick and we're off to coloring or playing cars or something before nap-time. Yesterday, however, I introduced him to Alphabet Soup!

He was mesmerized.

He sat on my lap and we dug our spoons into each other's bowels, fishing for "W"s and "S"s and "M"'s like a persnickety fisherman in an overstocked pond. "What's dis?" he would ask. "I think that's a broken 'U' or maybe a 'J'!" and he would gobble it up.

We did this for what felt like an hour and when it was all gone and I had put away the bowls, he asked "More soup!"

What could I do but oblige?

Geese on Calhoun

 

The Three Questions

So, I'm getting signals that my academic department will not be supporting my request to work part-time (one semester per year).

That means that I've got to face the hard choice (possibly one of the hardest of my life): either continue commuting year round (three nights per week away from the kids essentially since I get home around 9pm on Thursdays) or resign.

As you can probably guess, I'm in a soul-searching mood.

One colleague, in response to my obvious agony over the choice said something to the effect of having worse choices. A friend of his, apparently, had a choice between chemo and another year or two of life-with-pain, and a month or two of life-without-pain.

Thanks for the, ahem, clarification about how difficult this choice is. . . Relatively.

I recognize that this is not life or death. And I recognize that I am privileged to even get to have this choice. But JHC, it is heart-wrenching. What can you say about such sunk costs: 6 years of grad school and 6 years toward tenure? Then, what, nothing? Being an adjunct for a fraction (and I do mean a fraction) of the salary, with no benefits and no security? It's that or Starbucks. Oh, or being an over-involved mom at the school. Now I'm just feeling sorry for myself.

I'm looking everywhere for clues to figure out this life-riddle.

Last night I read the book The Three Questions by Jon Muth (based on the story by Leo Tolstoy)to the kids. I should say kid as Big couldn't focus on it at all.

It's just the kind of book I like. Meaty philosophical questions, references to Russian literature, all in a sort of Eastern, holistic stew.

Yum.

It starts out like this:

There once was a boy named Nikolai who sometimes felt uncertain about the right way to act. "I want to be a good person," he told his friends. "But I don't always know the best way to do that." Nikolai's friends understood and they wanted to help him. "If only I could find the answers to my three questions," Nikolai continued, "then I would always know what to do. . . ."


His three questions were:

When is the best time to do things? Who is the most important one? And [w]hat is the right thing to do?

He really nails it, doesn't he?

He wrangles with his friends for a bit, who really don't do much in the way of providing him any real advice at all. So he decides to go to "Leo, the turtle" because "He has lived a very long time. Surely he will know the answers I am looking for."

While visiting the turtle, he offers to dig a hole for the frail reptilian, and while doing so a storm brews and he witnesses an injured Panda and her baby, both of whom he then rescues.

In the end, Nikolai revisits his unanswered questions and is told by the turtle that he had witnessed his answers in his deeds. Had he not acted out of kindness and dug the hole for the turtle, he would not have been there to help the panda.

Remember then that there is only one important time, and that time is now. The most important one is always the one you are with. And the most important thing is to do good for the one who is standing at your side. For these, my dear boy, are the answers to what is most important in this world.

This is why we are here.

Thwarted Irregular Monthly Newsletter: Month 25

Okay, so a 25 month newsletter seems a bit ridiculous, I'll acknowledge that. And then there's the fact that I can't keep up with all of your changes. I've written parts of this newsletter at 3 a.m. in my head in bed, no pen or paper in sight, only to remember the next day that I had started writing this newsletter and thought to myself, 'now what was I trying to say there?'

Today you were sitting on the kitchen floor playing with a truck or maybe you found some remnants of the breakfast cereal that you had let fly the other day. I dunno what I was doing. Some mindless soup preparation, or laundry folding, or toy fetching. Whatever.

You looked at me and squinched up your face and non sequitured (and yes, Jen Fischer, I just made up a word. We bloggers can do that!) "NOT FAIR".

It was so awesome to see you do that in such an absurd context.

Seven often resorts to this line of (ill)argument and she is sometimes right at some level. (As an aside, I used that phrase of speech 'at some level' with her the other night and she followed up by saying to me 'how many levels are there?'. . . . I'm doomed.) Often the argument comes at bedtime. Or at mealtime. Or at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday. And it is either because Big got some thing or privilege, or a handful of nuts. Or that one of her classmates either got a Webkinz or gets to watch Hanna Montana on t.v. Sometimes I react and sometimes I giggle at the absolute absurdity of a) me standing in front of a kid who is saying that to me. . . That I am actually PARENTING someone of the age to recognize the FAIRNESS of a given situation and b) that there is still someone out there who has the idea that life is, in fact, fair.

Dude. I want to say. Even in Communist Russia there was a gender wage gap! Talk to Marx about 'fair'!

So anyway, Big. Thanks for keeping things real with me.

I've attached this video for all to see if interested. I know that it is totally narcissistic and self-indulgent, but (at least to me) it is laugh-out-loud funny. I was sitting with him one recent afternoon after he had woken up from a long nap. We were waiting for BioMom and Seven to come home from work/school and I started singing the ABC's to him. Once I got started, he started belting it (or something not really resembling the ABC's) out at the top of his lungs! I had never heard him "sing" before, so I quickly grabbed the camera and tried to replicate it. This video comes close! Focus on the audio though as the video was taken during the gloaming, with him on my lap and me holding the camera out and to the side to try to capture him singing. I think that he ends up looking like an ultrasound or something.

Misogyny Abounds

I'm starting to think that I might vote for Hillary IN SPITE of Hillary.

J.H.C. I'm sick of the way that people are treating her. Oh, and have I mentioned my little crush on Echidne of the Snakes? In addition to having a lovely sharp political wit, she's also an economist. Yum.

Anyway, check out her post on recent shenanigans in the New York Times op-ed pages and the Washington Post's cartoon-central.

I've got one word for them both: Yuck.

She got the cartoon from The Reclusive Leftist (whom I've just discovered!) who also posts the following interesting quote, as well as this commentary from The Seattle Times.

Women have no idea how much men hate them, said Germaine Greer. You have to raise your head above the parapet to find out, or let some other woman raise her head. And then you see. Then you really see.

Oh, and here's the email address of the ombudsman at the Washington Post: ombudsman@washpost.com

A Bit Overwhelmed and Are Americans More Sexist or Racist??

Sorry for the lack of postings as of late. I've been working on updating and substantiating a course for those pesky uber-curious and talented Macalester students (I should wish such a problem on all professors: interested and talented students!). Check out the resulting course here and let me know what you think. I have about tripled the reading in terms of length and difficulty, so we'll see (oh and any typos pointed out would be great too -- Fischer! I know you're out there editing this as I write!!). The topic is pretty much my specialty, and the class is pretty much my baby, so be gentle.

I have been avoiding commenting on Hillary and the whole debacle that is this primary season for fear of repeating what's already been said out there in the blogspohere (I have been, recently, re-infatuated with Echidne of the Snakes (so much so that I have actually assigned one of her discussions to my class). She is not only a great source herself, but also she reads some other great blogs (oh yeah, and other news sources) and has really great and voluminous comments.

I got the following from her after Hillary teared up in New Hampshire and, although I'm not sure I'm on the Hillary wagon, I can't help but feel for her that she is getting the short straw both with her sex and her last name. From a cogent analysis by Matthew Yglesias of Steinem's NYT op-ed piece supporting Hillary:

"But here's where being black is less of a handicap than being a woman. American society is awash in certain negative stereotypes of African-Americans, especially African-American men. But it's possible for any individual African-American to "transcend" those stereotypes by simply not living up to them. So Barack Obama can't afford to show the kind of populist outrage John Edwards expresses lest he be deemed a threatening radical, but if he avoids falling into pitfalls of stereotype he winds up getting praised in a somewhat condescending, but still helpful to his political career, manner as "one of the good ones."

A woman faces a very different problem. A woman who's seen as possessing the stereotypical characteristics of femininity won't do well in presidential politics. But a woman who's seen as lacking those characteristics will be penalized as well. The female politician can't be too femme or too butch, and she can't be androgynous either."

Heading off to the Econ Nerd Conference

I'm heading off to the Annual Econ Nerd Conference, so wanted to apologize in advance for the lack of posting over the past two weeks and over the up-coming days.

One of my New Year's Resolutions is to post "early and often" in anticipation of this glorious upcoming election.

If you're going to the conference yourself, meet me at this session (it should be a good one!):

Jan. 6, 8:00 am - 10:00 am

AEA
Marriage, Divorce, and Fertility

Presiding: LISA A. GIDDINGS, University of Wisconsin-La Crosse

KASEY BUCKLES, University of Notre Dame--Understanding the Returns to
Delayed Childbearing for Working Women

KRISTIN MAMMEN, Barnard College--The Effects of Children's Gender on
Divorce and Child Support

BETSEY STEVENSON, University of Pennsylvania--Divorce-Law Changes,
Household Bargaining, and Married Women's Labor Supply Revisited

JUNGMIN LEE, University of Arkansas-Fayetteville and IZA, and AMY
FARMER, University of Arkansas-Fayetteville--Impaired Fecundity,
Fertility, and Married Women's Labor Supply


Discussants:
JOYCE P. JACOBSEN, Wesleyan University
LISA GIDDINGS, University of Wisconsin-LaCrosse
SHELLY LUNDBERG, University of Washington
LUCIE SCHMIDT, Williams College

Like Iowa, Big's Caucus Results are In

December 2006

December 2007

Our son seems to have a particular political leaning. Or, maybe he's just learning how to ask for what he wants more effectively.

These past two weeks have been lovely. BioMom has been off of work, we've spent time with her family and mine (my newly betrothed nephew and his fiance came up and spent a few days with us) and we got away to our usual northern new year's getaway, this time taking Fourth-of-Four (Seven's contemporary) with us as well!

Big seemed to really enjoy the time with both BioMom and I home. So much so, that when he was wanting or needing something for one of us, he would contract our separate monikers (Mama and Baba), certain that at least one (or even both) of us would respond.

Sometimes this was prefaced with an "Oh", so, altogether it sounded like:

"Oh BaMa! . . . BaMa! . . . BaMa!"

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Let's just say that we don't worry about him falling down the stairs anymore!
Have a great holiday everyone!

Be Careful What You Wish For

So last night BioMom attended a shwanky dinner hosted by the economics department of the uber-liberal college that is my current place of employment.

I was ecstatic to get the invitation as my home department has never hosted a similar event in the last seven years of my employment there. Last night's event was in direct contrast to the usual hor'dourves (less extravagant than a dinner) hosted by the college (less intimate than the department) at the college itself (less intimate than a restaurant) from 4-6 (more casual than the 7-10p.m. timing of the dinner last night).

I hadn't seen BioMom in what felt like weeks what with end-of-year meetings, my finals, and Christmas performances at our little Catholic school, so when she met me there, and the chair announced that we could not sit with our spouses, I was a bit disappointed. But we went our separate ways (she is a whiz at schmoozing, and I (ahem) wouldn't mind some further opportunities at this little liberal oasis within an even liberal-er metropolitan area) and made the best of it.

At dessert we were split up into odds and evens and asked to move a second time. This time around I felt lucky enough to sit next to the old-timer teaching/consulting/entrepreneurial/Rolodex-for-student guru. He's the teacher alumnus come back to visit and is the person on the epitaph on which their bequeathment is dedicated. He's popular. If he had Web lectures he'd be the economics version of this guy.

And it started out okay.

I asked him about his teaching. I asked him about his consulting work, his super-star lawyer-wife, his plans for retirement.

You get the picture.

Then it went downhill like a mudslide in Southern California in April.

"So. . . I was talking to [BioMom] over there and she was telling me that you have two kids. . . Can I ask you about that?"

All the guy wanted to talk about was insemination and sperm. How you buy it. Where you buy it. How you choose it. Does it cost more if you have smarter dudes? Etc. Etc.

I am generally open to such questioning. And I wouldn't have minded this at all from this relative stranger had it been a one-on-one sort of deal, but there were two other people at the table. Two other people that I didn't know very well. Again, it's not that I mind the topic, but it was just a bit awkward when I became aware that the other two's conversation had dwindled and that it was now appropriate for us to open our discussion up for the table's consumption, which meant that I had to 'bring them up to speed' so to speak.

Of course, the old-timer had his own version of 'I have friends that are gay, so, you know, I'm open to it' that he interjected two or three times.

When he started in on a story about witnessing insemination among cows somewhere in West Texas I thought to myself: No job is worth this!, and got up to excuse myself to the bathroom to rendezvous with BioMom.

He said: Oh, you'll miss the good part! I'm just getting to it!

If only I had had Bethany Laccone's t-shirt. Then maybe he would have left me alone.

Mr. Not-So-Big

So the urban myth of height and weight for kids is that you double their height and multiply their weight by five, when they reach age 2, to get their adult height and weight.

I would have bet a dollar that he was 40 pounds, but he turned out to be the same both height and weight-wise: 34 lbs, 34 inches.

That translates into an adult man coming in at 5 feet, 8 inches and 175 lbs.

In other words, a man who buys expensive convertibles, rounds up when referring to their own height ("Oh, just under six foot"), bulks up in the gym, and tries BASE jumping*, to compensate

From the Urban Dictionary: Short Man Syndrome, AKA Napoleon Complex:
1. "The obnoxious, chauvinistic, arrogant attitude often taken on by short men -- seems to be an attempt to make up for their short stature."

2. "A very annoying and obnoxious syndrome. Short men come down with this when they realize they will always be the smallest adult in the family, group of friends, or place of business."


*From Wikipedia: BASE jumping: a sport involving the use of a parachute to jump from fixed objects. "BASE" is an acronym that stands for the four categories of fixed objexts from which one can jump: Building, Antenna (an uninhabited tower such as an aerial mast), Span (a bridge or arch) and Earth (a cliff or other natural formation).
The acronym "BASE" was coined by film-maker Carl Boenish, his wife Jean Boenish, Phil Smith, and Phil Mayfield. Carl was the real catalyst behind modern BASE jumping, and in 1978 filmed the first BASE jumps (from El Capitan, in Yosemite National Park) to be made using ram-air parachutes and the freefall tracking technique. While BASE jumps had been made prior to that time, the El Capitan activity was the effective birth of what is now called BASE jumping. BASE jumping is significantly more dangerous than similar sports such as skydiving from aircraft, and is currently regarded by many as a fringe extreme sport or stunt.

BASE numbers are awarded to those who have made at least one jump from each of the four categories. When Phil Smith and Phil Mayfield jumped together from a Houston skyscraper on January 18th, 1981, they became the first to attain the exclusive BASE numbers (BASE #1 and #2, respectively), having already jumped from antennae, spans, and earthen objects. Jean and Carl Boenish qualified for BASE numbers 3 and 4 soon after. A separate "award" was soon enacted for Night BASE jumping when Mayfield completed each category at night, becoming Night BASE #1, with Smith qualifying a few weeks later.

During the early eighties, nearly all BASE jumps were made using standard skydiving equipment, including two parachutes (main and reserve), and deployment components. Later on, specialized equipment and techniques were developed that were designed specifically for the unique needs of BASE jumping.

(R)eliev(ED)

Seven's school is, to our great disappointment, even less racially diverse than the general metropolitan area (if that is even possible) so I am keenly aware that our kids aren't exposed to many people that are too different from them and try to expose them as much as I can to things/people/ideas outside of our little family unit as possible.

Tonight while walking out of the little school after picking up Seven, one of the two African American fathers was walking into the school. I noticed his big, red WISCONSIN jacket and held the door for him as we were leaving (you need a key card to get in, which, I can attest, are easily lost or misplaced).

Big saw him coming toward us and announced: Red guy!!!

He responded: That's me!

Economics and Art, Quite Literally

I ran into a piece of art the other day by economics graduate Tino Sehgal without really knowing that I had run into art at all.

I was walking through the Walker Art Center (reason number 521 why to marry a lawyer: often their holiday parties are at really cool locations with great food and drink and, in this case, very nice extracurricular activities: docent tours through the Frida Kahlo exhibit!) when, out of nowhere one of the guards started singing. Loudly.

My immediate response was that she was either bored or crazy.

And then I text'd HFRM#1 to tell her that one of the museum guards in her workplace was, clearly, intoxicated.

Turns out that it was work created by Sehgal and that other people have reacted similarly to his work. Yasmil Rayomond, the curator of the Walker show described a visit to the Biennial in Lyon, France where she also did not realize that a piece by Mr. Sehgal was on display. I quote from an article from the New York Times:

"He had a Dan Flavin, a Larry Bell and a Dan Graham in the corner," she said. "The minute I entered the space, the guard came in and started stripping. I slowly crawled behind the Dan Graham. I was so embarrassed I didn't know what to do with myself. I wanted to know the title of the piece, and I had to wait. At the end when he takes of all this clothing, he says the title and then puts his clothes back on. It was called 'Selling Out'."

The artist is 31 years old and lives in Berlin. He creates what he calls "staged situations" that include the following:

"This Is New": where an attendant quotes a museum goer a headline from the day's papers and only a response from the visitor can trigger an interaction between the two, concluding in the work's title being spoken.

"This Success/This Failure": kids play in an empty room and attempt to draw visitors into their game. Only the kids can decide whether it is a success or a failure.

"This Is So Contemporary": where a uniformed museum guard dances around the room singing "This is so contemporary contemporary, contemporary."

"Kiss" where a couple in an unbroken embrace recreate kisses from familiar works of art.

His work does have some interesting economics to it, both literally and figuratively.

His pieces can be sold (and in fact, have received five-figure sums!). But he stipulates that the exchange cannot involve the transformation of any material in any way. No written instructions, no bill of sale, no catalogs and no pictures.

The artist claims political influences from John Kenneth Galbraith, Walter Benjamin, Bruce Nauman and Felix Gonzalez-Torres.

He studied dance and economics and says that a touchstone belief is that his generation must 'come up with alternatives of producing in different ways'.

Wheaties

My mom is probably rolling in her grave tonight.

I made her incredible sugar cookies with the kids but, being a good lesbian household, we only had whole wheat flour (white in color, but wheat in effect).

BioMom was nonplussed even though they tasted fairly innocuous.

Here's the recipe for you, dear reader, to enjoy. Disclaimer: it is probably best enjoyed with white flour AND the reported butter-flavored Crisco. Nothing better than the infinite combinations of sugar and fat. . .

Bertie's Sugar Cookies
2 and 1/4 Cup Flour
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 cup shortening (butter flavored Crisco (!!) )
1/2 tsp vanilla
1/3 tsp salt

Mix eggs, sugar, shortening and vanilla. Add the flour mixture. Roll and cut into fun shapes, decorating as you desire. Bake at 375 degrees for 10-12 minutes.

Big Hill Attempt No. 2

ECFE Winter Session, Day No. 1: "I'm taking the class to learn how to get my kids to listen!"

We started the winter session of our ECFE (early childhood and family education) class today.

It is the fourth consecutive ECFE class we've had and the first one with a significantly different mix of parents. Our first class, nearly a year ago, was a GLBT parent class.

I'll never forget that first day last year. Only Big and I went at first. I had hoped to get into a class during the week, but only got into the Saturday morning one. We went, and I was unprepared for it to be a course in which half was spent with the children, and half was spent separated into an adult-only room in which the group of adults talked about parenting issues with a facilitator.

That time marked the end of an eight month period in which I had not been working, spending my days with Big, watching him turn one. I was to return to school (albeit only two days per week) the following week, so this was my first taste of separation and it was unanticipated and I was uncomfortable.

The first day was great though. The facilitator, it turns out, was (and is) incredible. She has this great ability to weave themes of parenting through the 10 week trimesters without having a detailed linear curriculum.

The parents, too, have become invaluable members of a community in our lives and we followed and became close with several families in that class and then we all continued to sign up together. This session, however, we lost a couple of couples (I think they didn't sign up in time) and the course is filled with new people.

We went around the room, introducing ourselves, giving a little personal background, had we taken an ECFE course before? and what we expected out of the course, etc. etc.

We got around the table to a very friendly couple with whom I had connected during the child play-time. They seemed very interesting and interested in parenting generally, and in creating a community. When it came to the husband's turn, he joked that he was here because "the boss told him to come" (it was really a joke) and that he wanted to learn how to "get his kids to listen."

The teacher (ala parenting guru) responded by saying that, in fact, we'd probably be learning how to listen to our kids, or, exactly the REVERSE of the man's goal.

When at least two other occasions, the man repeated his goal for the class, those of us who had had this particular instructor before chuckled amiably. Although the instructor is incredibly gentle in her techniques, it is, I believe, her sincere belief and obvious intention for our evolution as parents to become more intuitive with our kids. To grow in relationship to them, to increase our connection, to respect their beings and to foster their inner selves and gently support their self-esteem along the way. The two books that have been recommended during the course (one of which I first heard about on Lesbian Dad) perfectly reflect her philosophy are Unconditional Parenting by Alfie Kohn and Kids are Worth It: Giving Your Child the Gift of Inner Discipline by Barbara Coloroso.

This, clearly, does not boil down to 'getting them to listen'.

We'll see how this class evolves. I'd be lying if I didn't hope Seven and Big listened a bit more!

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: Month 24

Hello Mr. Two-Year-Old!

Two Years Ago Today



Last Year Today


This past month was one of three or so in which you seemed to have become aware. You have emerged. You and your personality have essentially burst onto the scene that is our little family. You now have preferences that you verbalize. Well, you probably always had preferences, but you would just never verbalize them. I'm just lucky that I seem to forget most of the negative aspects of this new coming-of-age portion . . . .

Some preferences include (in your dialect/translation):
Watch. Tee Vee. ("watch t.v."). This is usually followed by (because we watched the Charlie Brown Christmas episode):
Chah-lee Brown? ("Charlie Brown).
Meehr Milk. ("More milk")
Peas? ("Please.")
Help you? ("Will you help me with this?")

And the most recent addition: "GIMMIE MEHR!" No translation necessary.

You say Seven's name quite well and it is usually said urgently, followed by some request from her. You love being around her and are in some obvious heaven when she actually gives you the time of day.

She, on the other had, only gives you the time of day when she needs to be focused on something else, like, perhaps, getting dressed for school. Then she's all: Hey, Big! Can I help you with those cars or trucks?

You're quite polite. The other day we attended a little story time at the library. You were playing trains with a few other kids that were there and one of the trains kept breaking. You would go over to an older kid who was clearly enjoying the job of "fixer" and say: "Fix! Fix" followed by "Tanks, kid!"

You're starting to develop a somewhat wicked sense of humor which, when combined with that little twinkle in your eyes, can be a lethal combination.

The other night we were well into our bedtime routine. On the bed we laid in order: Biomom, Seven, you and then me, first focusing on your little board books (you're favorites at the moment are "My first truck board book" and "Oops!" by David Shannon

At one point, Seven reached over the book to show me something and inadvertently knocked it out of my hand.

I couldn't resist but to tease you all with a last name other than my own (well, BioMom and Seven in particular) about their well-known (and well-documented) clumsiness. Much giggling and more teasing ensued and Seven started knocking the book out of my hands on purpose just to get back at me a little.

Well, as you can expect, Seven, not being able to understand yet when a joke has worn out its humor, continued knocking the book out of my hands well after the laughing had abated. I (perhaps) began to get a little fed up about it all and said that I'd head downstairs and continue on with my own business if it was knocked out of my hand again.

With that clear, I proceeded:

David's first word was "Ball!" and . . .

CRASH!

You (Big) had reached over and knocked the book out of my hand and then, with that little sparkle in his eye, laughed hysterically.

No joke in the world has had more perfect timing.

A negative aspect of your burgeoning personality is your alpha-maleness. I've seen it erupt only in certain, rather unpredictable circumstances. You seem to grow antlers around a friend from our ECFE class, crashing into him whenever you decide that its "my turn!" and the other day at your little gym class I witnessed you tear after a little boy with your hand up. Before I could reach you, you had hit him and I was mortified by what followed clear as day: "STUPID!"

I am highly aware, now, of where and when BioMom and I use that word.

You started the same sort of behavior the other day with a little girl who met your intensity and you two had fun chasing each other around a gym testing out each other's power.

Do you have any suggestions for how to socialize that aspect of you without squelching your little spirit? We do live in a society along with other people, after all.

Lastly, because I'm getting to know you so well, and because I would personally like to do some cross-country skiing this year, we got you, for your birthday, a little pair of "fun skis". Initially when I took you sledding, you were unwilling to actually sit in the sled and be pulled. It is as though you refuse to be a passive participant in anything. So, while you were willing to ride on my back while skiing last year, I know you won't be able to stand just watching us three ski with you in the backseat. I've created a little course in our backyard for practice, and I'm taking you on your first round there tomorrow. Soon, I suspect, you'll be an Alpine king (pictures forthcoming).

I find myself at the end of the day spent with you exhausted and drained, only to be followed after about ten hours of recuperation practically running into your room to grab you out of that crib at the first hint of "Baba! Baba!"

Happy Birthday, Big!!

Big turned two today (irregular monthly newsletter is forthcoming).

He loved blowing out his candles and kept asking for them to be re-lit so that he could blow them out again.

It was as though he was making my wishes rather than his own come true every time:

Oh. . . Let me see him do that again!

First Time on the Big Hill

Good Grief!

In true Peanuts holiday spirit, Seven said to me the other night:
Can I have a Mastercard for Christmas?