metaphortunate son (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
metaphortunate) wrote2014-05-14 09:15 pm
metaphortunate) wrote2014-05-14 09:15 pm
toys and sorrows
Seriously, what is it about tiny little scale models of things. I had a miniature house when I was in my tweens - okay, I didn’t have a house, but I had a nightstand next to my bed with two shelves and I filled it full of two stories of model furniture. I was too old for dolls, it’s not like I played with it, I just…liked having tiny furniture. For some reason. Going to the Michael’s was the biggest trip because maybe I’d be able to get a tiny chair or some freaking thing.
I remember one time we were flying home from visiting family in the old country and halfway through the Miami airport I realized I had left my brand new tiny tea set on the plane. We actually went back and tried to look, bless my parents, but it was gone forever. I was too old to cry at that point, I remember, so all I could do was be sad. That particular I-fucked-up-and-it-can’t-be-fixed sadness like something stuck in your throat. One evening recently the kids and I were on our way home, Rocket in the Ergo, Junebug in the stroller holding a balloon he had from daycare, when the wind blew hard and blew the balloon out of his hands and into the street and it was gone. I tried to run after it, but there’s a limit to how fast you can run with a 17-lb baby strapped loosely to you, and I couldn’t run too far and leave the Junebug stranded alone in the middle of the sidewalk.
So obviously he cried all the way home, because he is young enough to cry. And I know that sadness - and luckily, as it happens, at daycare right now they’re learning about emotions - so we talked about feeling sad. And about what might happen to the balloon. Maybe a squirrel would find it? Maybe a seagull would run into it. And not eat it, because it’s not food, that part was important. It didn’t cheer him up exactly, but I hope it made him think about more aspects to the loss than just the sadness. I feel better about losing things if I think that someone else might find them and get to use them. Like, at least the things can fulfill their purpose, if sadly not with me.
Anyway, I bring up tiny scale models of things because the Junebug now has a miniature coal-burning cast-iron stove and oven. I see these are going for like $40 on eBay, which is funny because my in-laws found this one for something like $5 at a garage sale, way back when the Junebug was so small that we couldn’t give it to him for fear that he’d choke on the small parts. But it was a gift, so we dutifully kept it, and then the other day I realized it was taking up space on my bookshelf so I gave it to him.
Holy shit, he loves it. What an excellent present. Let me tell you what is so great about it. He announces that he is going to cook “hot eggs”. Or hot bacon. Whatever - the point is, he tells me what’s going to be for dinner. Then he tells me that I have to move back because he needs to open the oven door and it’s going to be hot. No, I have to move ALLA WAY back. Then he tells me he’s going to put some bacon on my plate and I say “Yay! I want bacon!” and he tells me that he’s only going to give me a LITTLE BIT of bacon. And then he decides when we’re done and it’s time to go cook more hot bacon. And he gets to do this over and over, and I am confronted with the stark reality of just how much we boss this little guy. Because we have to, lord knows, but still. I’m very happy to have a toy that gives him a chance to boss me around for once.
Ugh, I had a parenting fail today, which I don’t have time to go into the details but the part that annoys me is that part of what went into it was a stupid assumption that he would be into the kind of thing I’m into, or was into when I was a kid, when I know that he actually prefers playing with different types of toys. And this bugs me because, I know that I have enormous flaws as a parent: I am too impatient, I lose my temper, I yell, conversely I can be a pushover at times when discipline is what would make everything easier for both of us, I get distracted by my phone; but, if there is one thing that I really, desperately want to do as a parent, it’s to see and love my kids for what they are actually like, not fall into lazy assumptions about what they’re like or what they should be like. And I try try try to do that. So I hate it when I trip up.
I remember one time we were flying home from visiting family in the old country and halfway through the Miami airport I realized I had left my brand new tiny tea set on the plane. We actually went back and tried to look, bless my parents, but it was gone forever. I was too old to cry at that point, I remember, so all I could do was be sad. That particular I-fucked-up-and-it-can’t-be-fixed sadness like something stuck in your throat. One evening recently the kids and I were on our way home, Rocket in the Ergo, Junebug in the stroller holding a balloon he had from daycare, when the wind blew hard and blew the balloon out of his hands and into the street and it was gone. I tried to run after it, but there’s a limit to how fast you can run with a 17-lb baby strapped loosely to you, and I couldn’t run too far and leave the Junebug stranded alone in the middle of the sidewalk.
So obviously he cried all the way home, because he is young enough to cry. And I know that sadness - and luckily, as it happens, at daycare right now they’re learning about emotions - so we talked about feeling sad. And about what might happen to the balloon. Maybe a squirrel would find it? Maybe a seagull would run into it. And not eat it, because it’s not food, that part was important. It didn’t cheer him up exactly, but I hope it made him think about more aspects to the loss than just the sadness. I feel better about losing things if I think that someone else might find them and get to use them. Like, at least the things can fulfill their purpose, if sadly not with me.
Anyway, I bring up tiny scale models of things because the Junebug now has a miniature coal-burning cast-iron stove and oven. I see these are going for like $40 on eBay, which is funny because my in-laws found this one for something like $5 at a garage sale, way back when the Junebug was so small that we couldn’t give it to him for fear that he’d choke on the small parts. But it was a gift, so we dutifully kept it, and then the other day I realized it was taking up space on my bookshelf so I gave it to him.
Holy shit, he loves it. What an excellent present. Let me tell you what is so great about it. He announces that he is going to cook “hot eggs”. Or hot bacon. Whatever - the point is, he tells me what’s going to be for dinner. Then he tells me that I have to move back because he needs to open the oven door and it’s going to be hot. No, I have to move ALLA WAY back. Then he tells me he’s going to put some bacon on my plate and I say “Yay! I want bacon!” and he tells me that he’s only going to give me a LITTLE BIT of bacon. And then he decides when we’re done and it’s time to go cook more hot bacon. And he gets to do this over and over, and I am confronted with the stark reality of just how much we boss this little guy. Because we have to, lord knows, but still. I’m very happy to have a toy that gives him a chance to boss me around for once.
Ugh, I had a parenting fail today, which I don’t have time to go into the details but the part that annoys me is that part of what went into it was a stupid assumption that he would be into the kind of thing I’m into, or was into when I was a kid, when I know that he actually prefers playing with different types of toys. And this bugs me because, I know that I have enormous flaws as a parent: I am too impatient, I lose my temper, I yell, conversely I can be a pushover at times when discipline is what would make everything easier for both of us, I get distracted by my phone; but, if there is one thing that I really, desperately want to do as a parent, it’s to see and love my kids for what they are actually like, not fall into lazy assumptions about what they’re like or what they should be like. And I try try try to do that. So I hate it when I trip up.
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I hear this. Wish I had something clever or useful to say about it but honestly the only thing I know to do is to carry it forward with me as a reason to do better next time.
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I have those moments sometimes with girly shit. Usually mohawk!bb's interests consist of puzzles and trains and climbing on things and loudly identifying notable passing vehicles, and I think that's awesome and give her all the positive feedback, but sometimes she wants me to help her dress a doll or something (or I babysit another kid who's more into girly shit) and I have to suppress the residual "FUCK THE ENTIRE COLOR PINK" instincts from a less enlightened time of my life.
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if there is one thing that I really, desperately want to do as a parent, it’s to see and love my kids for what they are actually like, not fall into lazy assumptions about what they’re like or what they should be like. And I try try try to do that
Dude, some people (*COUGH*MY PARENTS*COUGHCOUGH*) never even manage to ge that far. I think that's a really big thing.
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*nods* My three are all so different in personality and interests and emotional temperature that we have no choice but to do that, even if we hadn't been intending to anyway. Where I'm stuck at the moment is working out how all five of us can manage to live together while ensuring that everyone gets their own way some of the time and no-one gets their own way all of the time, without bringing up either doormats or selfish monsters.
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