About A Boy

This morning we were on our way to "school".  He loves to look for trash trucks, school buses, fire trucks, anything big, preferably with flashing lights.  He always tells me he has his "eyes open" for a train and a peacock.  Along the route we travel the odds of either are about the same, zero, but he looks every day.  Today we were talking about what school buses do and how someday, when he is big, he might ride a school bus to school.  "Uh huh" he agreed from the back seat "And, Nate get so big, Nate use that lawnmow just like DaddyDactyl."
It brought a little tear to my eye, that enthusiastic endorsement of his dad and the cool things he gets to do.  It seems that you don't have to be a baseball star, (or even a trash man, Dave) to earn the earnest admiration of your son.

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He has another obsession besides heavy machinery.  Poop.

Mommy: "What do you want for dinner?"

Nate: "How 'bout some poop?"

Mommy: "What book should we read for bedtime?"

Nate: "A poop book."

Mommy: What song should Mommy sing while I brush your teeth?"

Nate: "Um . . . a poop song!"

You get the idea.  I am choosing to view it as a logical move in the direction of potty training, but I am just plain tired of talking about the potential production of any one's butt.  It seems like every few seconds, but is probably not nearly that frequent, that he announces that he is about to poop.  And then, cheerfully, "No, just some gas."

Does he want to sit on the potty?  Um, no.  Or in his words, "not yet."

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He spends so much time in his imagination right now that I think it was foolish to provide him with actual toys.  A few nights ago he played, for easily 20 minutes, with a small blue Care Bear (a gift from my other boy, Noah, on the occasion of my wedding) and all he did during that time was multiple repetitions of a pretend diaper change.  He would pick the bear up, squeeze his tummy, and make a little grunting noise.  "I smell somepin" he would singsong.  He checked for poo between the bear's legs and then ran around the living room gathering imaginary wipes and "a new Elmo" as we call the character emblazoned diapers in our household.  Then began the ritual of cleaning and applying cream.  ("That cream is nice and warm.  No little cold cream.  Yucky, yucky" - To which I reply - "sorry kid, you live in Pittsburgh in an 80 year old house.  Cold butt cream is the least of our problems.")  Eventually, with butt thoroughly cleaned, the bear moved on the a raucous game of "Rock-a-Bye-Baby" in which the baby bear repeatedly fell with a gleeful "Plop!"

But he doesn't use his creativity only for matters of the lower intestinal tract.  He vividly imagines food and drink as well.

And ceremony.  On Friday afternoon I picked him up early and we had Shabbat about a million times.  Solemnly wearing a fabric Frisbee as a kippa he took us through an entire Shabbat service.  Candles were lit, prayers were sung, wine poured and imbibed, Challah covered, lifted, unveiled, and greedily consumed.  All there on our couch with only some coasters and a paper towel.  I was impressed, proud, touched, and a little guilty.  After all, he didn't learn this nuance and detail from our spotty home Shabbat celebrations.  This is the product of school and Michal and the blessing that is the education and stimulation he gets when he is away from us.  (And yes, this is true, no matter how much I blather on in my coming post about my frustration with the above "school".)

All in all he is a joy.  Sometimes he is stubborn, difficult, demanding, and unreasonable.  But he's two and those two sides of the coin are what being a two year old is all about.