Sometimes They Teach You.

I have been trying rather sporadically to introduce Clara to the art of drawing with very little success.  She would wave the markers around and look at me as if to say: "This is supposed to be fun?  Lame, Mom."  The noted exception was Gerald's birthday card in January which Clara helped me with.

I love drawing.  I studied art.  I want Clara to love it too.  This morning as I was doing some work at my desk Clara came over and started pulling stuff off the bookshelves, as she is wont to do.  After a few minutes I looked down.  Clara had discovered a package of markers.  They were scattered around her and she was holding one in her hand, cap off, poised to draw.  

Amazed, I opened up a pad of paper for her.  I showed her how to draw with a green marker.  And that was it - Clara was drawing.  A dash of yellow, she would throw the marker away and grab another.  There were some stops and starts as she tried to figure out which end to put to paper and she colored her skin as much as the paper. But there she was - drawing.  She took a break to toddle around and try to eat the marker, then she went back for some finishing touches.

After she was finished with her matserpiece, she promptly went down for a nap.  I guess all those artistic brain synapses firing for the first time wore her out.

Yay!  We have art for the refrigerator!

The First Pass.

Finishing Touches.

The Masterpiece.

Clara, don't do this.

A short piece I wrote about my childhood was published in the 2013 Summer issue of The Southampton Review.  Reading it makes me remember at how much trouble my sisters and I got away with as children and in hindsight, it’s all extremely funny. But then I tallied  up all my bad kid karma points and  wondered when my “what goes around, comes around” karma will come back to haunt me.

And then it hit me.  Clara.

She’s a kid, like I was a kid.  I have been witness to the mischievous glint in her eye as she toddles over to the nightlight and contemplates pulling it out of the socket. Looking at me with a sly smile that seems to say: “You lady, just look over there for a minute, will ya’?” 

All I ask is that Clara waits a few more years before discovering how awesome matches can be.

Here’s the  story from my childhood. (Clara…don’t do this)

Water Bombs

By Jeannine Jones

A friend made on the other side of the building first introduced us to the thrill of throwing something out an open window.  Katherine would glob up a giant wad of toilet paper with her mother's Noxema face cream and throw that hellish snowball out the window onto unsuspecting passerby on Broadway. From her eleventh floor apartment we could occasionally hear the faint cries of outrage as Katherine's Noxema Bombs hit home.

            Back home in our ninth floor apartment, Becky and I lacked the courage to throw anything out the window that might actually hit someone.  Lucky us, our dining room overlooked a nearly-always empty courtyard.  The (almost) sure knowledge that no one was ever down there proved an impossible temptation to resist.

            Our weapon of choice began small - the foldable sandwich baggies we used to pick up our dog's poop up off the street, due to the recently passed Curb Your Dog law. One small baggie filled with water, dropped out the window made a satisfying PLIP. This was soon followed by two, then three, then even four at once - increasing the PLIP to a CLAP as the water made contact.

            Friends invited over for playdates and overnights would marvel at our daring.  Weren't we afraid of being caught?  The answer, simply, was no.  Located conveniently one apartment below us were two brothers, close in age, whose parents got regular visits from the doorman complaining of water bombs in the courtyard.

            Over the years, the sound of small, water-filled baggies striking the ground was no longer novel.  We graduated to plastic produce bags (THWACK!) and even to the larger bags our groceries came in (WHUMP!).

            One night, inspiration struck. I ran to the kitchen to get a trash bag.  Not one of those wimpy white ones for small apartment trash cans, but a HEFTY Lawn and Leaf bag.  With the help of my friend Rob, we filled it as far as we dared in the bathtub. Double knotted and too heavy to carry, it undulated across the floor like the Blob as we pushed it towards its demise.

            It hung there a moment, suspended in the sill, as if deciding which way to go. It slowly gained speed, oozed out the window and sailed into the night air. Endless seconds of silence passed.  Then - like a cannon firing off a shot we were greeted by a reverberating BOOOOOOOOM that rattled windows in their frames.

            We stifled screams and hysterical laughter and hid beneath the Dining Room table - safe in the knowledge, that in a few short minutes, the boys who lived downstairs would be getting a knock on their door.  I would like to say this was the juvenile act of a child.  I was 19.

Milestones They Neglect To Mention

For the most part I have tried to stay away from the books and blogs that inform you (in excruciating detail) what your child should be doing at this or that age, and whether the vaguely alarming rash on your baby’s butt means “allergic to laundry detergent” or “symptom of smallpox”.  I have to admit,  I have occasionally  flipped through my What to Expect in the First Year and gotten some good tips out of it. 

For example: I never would have thought to start playing catch with Clara as soon as I did had the book not recommended it. And I got some good ideas about how to transition Clara from our room to the crib.  Other than that – any other reading I do seems to be of the alarmist DON’T DO THAT! OH NO! variety and I try to avoid it.

Occasionally, though, something happens to me that I think they should put into these books because my 37 years on earth have not prepared me - in any way, shape or form -  how to respond.

Take this example.  The other night I was giving 13-month old Clara her nightly bath while Gerald put the dinner dishes away.  She was happily splashing and drinking bathwater out of a cup.  I was sitting on the edge of the tub talking to her. She moved into a semi-crawl position, and I chuckled to see a tiny air bubble fart rise to the surface and pop.  Before my chuckle had a chance to fully emerge from my throat – tiny baby turds started shooting out of Clara’s butt with machine-gun rapidity.  Suddenly she was surrounded by at least twenty, floating poop balls.  I shrieked incoherently for Gerald and stood up – flapping my arms in horror. Gerald arrived to help.

 “What?” He asked.

“Poop!  There’s poop!  Grab a towel!”

I scooped up Clara and handed her off to Gerald and the towel.  Clara’s shrieks of displeasure at a bath cut short faded away as Gerald carried her off to her room and I kneeled down and spent the next ten minutes fishing poop out of the tub with my hands.  Yes – my bare hands.  I wasn’t thinking – I was operating of some basic animal instinct to clean.  I guess. Where is that in a book, What To Expect people???!!!!  I would have like a little heads up for this horror show.

But after I gave myself a chance to stop hyper ventilating, I began to think about what had just happened.  In a weird way – it was kind of awesome.  Here is this little baby – totally uninhibited -  totally incapable of controlling her bowels – but she doesn’t care.  She’s cool with it.  It’s Mother Nature, man. 

When was the last time you felt uninhibited and relaxed enough to poop in a pool of warm water? (A long time, I’m betting)  Here I am – someone who would rather die holding it in than go to the bathroom in the woods – and I have a little girl who just rolls with it.  Good job, Clara.  Never be embarrassed by anything.  I mean, please don’t poop in the tub again, but don’t get held back by societal inhibitions! 

High Heels for Little Girls - what are we teaching our daughters?

While sitting down and watching Spongebob with my one year-old daughter, Clara, I saw 2 advertisements for Skechers shoes – one aimed at little girls, one aimed at little boys.

The advertisement for girls featured little girls pretending to be rock stars while wearing sneakers that hid a 2-inch wedge heel.  So these little girls could be taller and no one would know. The ad starts by saying: “Do you want to get taller?” and “have a secret wedge that only we girls know about?” Throughout we watch cartoon girls in short skirts sing on stage.  This is it: Skechers Wedge Commercial

In the next commercial block I watched a second Skechers ad for Air-Mazing Shoes.  It shows cartoon boys doing all kinds of stunts and sports.   It asks: “Are you a kid who runs fast, jumps high and plays hard?” At the end of the commercial two girls dressed as cheerleaders swoon over the boy in the cool, athletic sneakers.  This is it: Air-Mazing Commercial.  

This prompted me to visit the Skechers website to find out more about these shoes.  The Air-Mazing sneakers are only available in boys sizes – preschool through grade school.  The Secret Wedge Seakers are only available to girls – preschool through grade school which sport a 2-inch hidden heel.  There is also an adult woman version with a 3-inch heel.

Does anyone else have a problem with the fact that Skechers is marketing shoes to little girls by asking them if they want to be taller?  I know that as a parent I don’t consider teaching my daughter how to navigate in high heels as a toddler a priority or something that should be encouraged. Doesn’t this feed into the media obsession with super tall, size 0 models – an ideal that is almost impossible to imitate?

I was equally disturbed by the fact that Skechers is marketing an athletic sneaker solely to boys.  Aren’t there plenty of little girls who can run fast, jump high and play hard?  This commercial also sexualizes the boys by showing scantily clad cheerleaders swooning over the boy.  Clearly sending the message that if you have cool shoes, pretty girls will love you.

I would have less of a problem with the commercials if they were more inclusive.  I am sure as a teenage girl I would have liked the idea of a wedge sneaker but I also would have wanted a real sneaker to play basketball in.  And why isn’t there a male version of the wedge shoe for all the insecure boys out there that wish they were taller?  You might laugh at that marketing campaign but I would argue that we should be laughing just as hard at marketing a wedge sneaker to little girls.

In both commercials the girls are dressed in close-fitting outfits that show off incredibly healthy curves and busts for pre-pubescent girls.  Conversely the boys are depicted wearing comfortable clothes appropriate for playing sports.

As a woman who played sports as a little girl I am offended by this marginalization of young girls. I guess only little boys can be “amazing,” the little girls have to worry about learning how to walk in high heels.

In a discussion on this very subject it was pointed out to me that Skechers is only selling what the consumer will buy.  They wouldn’t be selling the shoes if people weren’t buying them.  True.  I think we as consumers have to consider what we are exposing our children too – especially our little girls.  If we didn’t buy the products they wouldn’t be made.  But I think these companies have to be more aware of the narrative they are telling with their product.

I remember that talking Barbie doll that said: “Math class is tough,” reinforcing the stereotype that girls have trouble doing math.  When consumers complained, Mattel removed the doll from the market.  We are all responsible for what we expose the malleable minds of children too. I would hope that Skechers might feel the same way.

Will Walk for Carrot

So after Clara's epic first few toddling steps she happily reverted to cruising, standing, and crawling.  It seemed that she would ony brave freestanding steps for Gerald until he let me in on a little secret.  Clara totally toddles towards his glowing smartphone.  She is entranced by the lure of the glowing button on the touchscreen she has figured out how to swipe and unlock.  She giggles and walks faster when Gerald turns on the camera and she can see herself walking towards herself.  

Baby.  Carrot.  Toddles.

The other day I was sitting at my desk drinking out of a one liter bottle of seltzer.  Clara happens to love drinking out of anything that's not a baby bottle.  She was hooked.  I rolled about five feet away and held out the bottle.  Clara exclaimed:  "Ticka gooey ticka AGOOOO!" and miraculously took ten steps towards me, all by herself, to get a swig out of that bottle.

Baby Carrot. Toddles.

Bubble.

So two days ago, Clara decided it was time to try walking.  She toddled towards her Daddy in the hallway of our apartment while I was upstairs visiting the newborn twins of our neighbors.  I guess she didn't want a big audience.  But she happily gave an encore of her solo toddling when I came back downstairs.  She was exactly one year and one week old.

As if that wasn't enough, the following day Clara decided to take her first word out for a spin.  She crawled into the bathroom, pulled up on this little storage unit we have, picked up the bubbles that I have been entertaining her with at bath time, handed them to me and said:  "Bubble."

This time it was Gerald who wasn't home for the amazing event.  Clearly, Clara is relishing divvying out her milestones to her amazed parents.

The old saying: "They grow up so fast." has taken on new meaning this week.

D is for Drum.

Here's a picture of Clara playing with some vintage toys. The TOMY typewriter was mine when I was little. The typewriter actually advances and dings when you reach the end. When you push it to return it advances to the next letter. Clara is learning valuable skills with a manual typewriter that will come in handy when the technology grid shuts down in some future apocalypse where our Ipads no longer work. Note the wind-up Fisher Price Clock radio in the background. Sure, that toy only plays Hickory Dickory Dock but Clara will know how to hand-crank her portable radio when the zombies come.

Birthday.

After a wonderful party with family, Clara ended her birthday with a much needed bath. Celebratory bubbles were in order, much to Clara's delight.

Birthday.

Tomorrow Clara Jane will be one year old.  It's been an amazing year of firsts.

Not only did Gerald and I get to be parents for the first time, Skip and Susan and Debbie are first time grandparents, and Samantha, Becky and  Margaret are first time Aunts. Everyone gets to join in the  'firsts.'

Clara is constantly doing new things for the first time.  Smiling, clapping, waving, sitting up, crawling, cruising, laughing, being ticklish, babbling, playing, and most recently, standing on her own.

As the year went on Gerald and I got more sleep, and so did Clara. Watching her grow over the past year from a newborn into a sturdy little kid has been incredible.  I now understand what parents mean when they say: "there is no greater gift than your children."

There are many milestones for a baby, and for her parents.  One year.  That's pretty big.

Happy Birthday, Clara.

Worms.

I have fond memories of digging for worms in Riverside Park with my sister Becky.  We dug to find the worms and look at them wriggle.  I loved watching how they dug themselves back into the dirt.  I did not, as in many a childhood memoir, revel in cutting them up to see how many parts could survive.  I just loved to dig in the soil, discover them, and set them free. My mother, probably knowing how much I liked to do this, put some worms in a large potted rubber plant she had in the house.  That way, Becky and I could dig for worms in the comfort of our own home.

The building I live in in Washington Heights has lovely front gardens.  I have noticed recently, that when it rains the earthworms rise up out of the soil and strand themselves on the cement walkway.  I don't know why they do this but I can't stand to see them struggle and eventually die away from the moist soil.  So, I rescue them.  I pick them up and put them back in the garden where they belong.

Today when I was coming home from a Long adventure in the park with Clara I saw two lively worms in the path looking for a way home.  I scooped up the first and deposited him in the dirt.  Then I paused.  What would Clara think? Before returning the second worm to the garden, I scooped him up and showed him to Clara.  She was intrigued by this tiny, wriggling being.  Finally, someone smaller than her.  She reached out a tentative finger and touched him with a gentle 'hello.'  I explained to her what I was doing and returned the little guy to his home.  

I have succeeded in creating a second generation of worm excavator and protector.

What Just Happened!?

So this happened today while Clara was playing at my mother's house...

Without any prompting or encouragement, Clara stood up and let go of the furniture.  For a little over a minute she shook her hourglass toy while standing, perfectly balanced.  I felt like whooping and screaming but instead tried to imitate Clara's nonchalance. (I snapped these pictures with my cel phone when she wasn't looking) Here she is doing something amazing, something she has never done before, and she's cool as a cucumber.  Not only that, she ups the stakes by playing with a toy at the same time. 

After she finally sat down, my mother and I applauded.  Clara looked at us like: "Seriously?  You're clapping at this?  You guys are sooooo EASY."

I am amazed.

Awesome.

Clara will be one year old in a little over three weeks and she continues to amaze me and her dad on a daily basis.

Yesterday, while getting her ready to go out I said to Clara: "We're going to see you friend Amado and your friend Billie."  To which, Clara replied: "Billie!"  Does she actually know Billie's name?  Was she just repeating what she heard?  If so, I have never head her say anything close to those sounds before.

After I left for work this morning, Gerald was sitting in the glider chair in her room while Clara played with her toys.  Without any prompting from him, Clara picked up the chicken puzzle piece from her Melissa and Doug farm puzzle, held it up for her Daddy to see and said: "Cluck. Cluck. Cluck."

Needless to state, Gerald was thunderstruck and immediately called me to impart the news.  Now, Gerald and I do a lot of holding up the pieces for Clara and saying things like: "The cow goes Mooooo." But up until now it has been just the adults saying the "Baaaaaaas, Neighs, Oinks, and Cluck Clucks."  All I can say, is it is much more impressive when Clara does it.

Fall Down Go Boom!

Clara has been crawling and cruising for a month and a half now.  It wasn't enough for her to just crawl - she had to start pulling up and walking along the walls and the furniture the same day she showed off her crawling skills.  She's incredibly fast.  My (so far) successful attempts at childproofing the entire apartment have created a large space for her to bullet back and forth in.  I will walk out of her bedroom where she's busily playing, traverse the apartment to the kitchen and  30 seconds later Clara will appear in the the doorway of the kitchen.  She is that fast.

She's so good at the crawling and cruising it's easy to forget that she's a baby who's only been doing this for 45 days.   She sometimes is in such a hurry her oversized baby head gets too much momentum and topples over her arms resulting in a bumped head on the floor and many tears and cuddling.  The advent of two front teeth also resulted in a cut lip during one of her quick-crawl head over arms mishaps.  Seeing Clara bleed for the first time was a heart-stopping moment.  Clara was less upset and recovered more quickly than I did. 

Babies are resilient and babies do everything so fast.  Clara was 19 inches when she was born.  Today she's 30 inches.  That means she has grown 11 vertical inches in 11 months.  If I grew 11 inches in 11 months I think I'd just stay in bed in my pajamas and watch romantic comedies.  But Clara takes it all in stride - except for when she naps. She goes from an energized baby doing laps around the apartment to flat-out sleep in about 30 seconds. These are her power naps.  Restocking up her supply of super speed for the next few hours of the day.

It takes her a while to wake up from these deep-sleep naps.  This is her, sporting great nap-hair, yesterday afternoon.

She looks like...everybody.

As Clara approaches the 11 month mark, I am constantly amazed at how much she changes on a daily basis. I feel like I can almost see her growing - it's that fast.

As she plays, and crawls, and cruises around the apartment I catch glimpses of other people.  Sometimes when she smiles, I see my twin sister Becky.  Just the other day I was marveling at her eyebrows which have just a tinge of red...(where did that come from?) and in that instant I could see my sister Sam.  Her eyes - a deep blue-green hazel eyes are her own unique color but they are shaped just like her father's.  In fact, all of Gerald's family seem to share that slightly cat-lidded look.  Happily, she also seems to have inherited  her father's toes but her tiny mouth is pure Mama. My mother is convinced the swirl of hair on top of her head in from me, and just this morning Gerald showed me a baby picture of his father and it turn's out, Clara has Skip's cheeks. Clara loves listening to music and people singing and she's getting that gene from both sides.  Directly from her father, and more distantly on my side from my two sisters.

As she crawls around using her left leg as a propeller I wonder if she will be left handed.  Myself and her paternal aunt and grandmother are all left-handed. Gerald scoffs at this and points out that she usually uses her right hand when eating.  We'll see about that!

For all her similarities to her family, Clara's personality is one-of-a-kind.  I love watching that grow the most.  She constantly makes me and her father, and everyone around her smile - and that trait is unique to Clara.

Babyproof House

In my ongoing quest to baby proof my apartment there is one thing I have been trying to give Clara. Freedom.  I want the entire apartment to be her domain.  Apart from crawling inside the stove or the fridge, or putting her finger in a outlet,  I want her to be able to go anywhere and do anything.

My mother's biggest piece of parenting advice was "Never say no." I will addend this to "try to never say no."  I will have to say "No" if she foils my childproofing of the stove and tries to crawl inside.  Seriously. But I have made it okay for Clara to do some things in the apartment that I could try to forbid. 

Clara's current favorites are:

1) Pulling out shoes from under our bed and making piles of them all over the floor.

2) Pulling all the stacked diapers off the changing table shelf, and flinging the diapers everywhere.

3) Pulling books off the bookshelf.

4) Opening her one of her drawers and pulling out all of her hats.

5) Pulling open a door on our dresser and pulling out all my stored maternity clothes.

6) Pulling colanders and bowls off a lower shelf in the kitchen and playing with them while I am cooking.

Does it get a little boring putting the books back on the shelf, or re-stacking the diapers?  Well, yes. But judging by her laughs and coos and the tiny rebel gleam in her eye, she is having a good time and I can save my "Nos" for bigger, more serious things.