On most days, we fail to live up to our ideals: we change Pampers instead of one of the many cloth diaper options out there (long story); we throw the occasional plastic bottle into the thrash when it is late and we are tired and we do not feel like washing so we can then recycle it; we let Sava play with the hose even though we know that water is a precious resource; the list goes on.
We seek redemption by educating our four-year old about landfills, walking with him to the store instead of driving, and shopping with cloth bags--almost unfailingly--in order to save paper and plastic. We also gratefully recycle friends' free hand-me-downs for our children, and we rarely buy new clothes for either of them; but when we do, we delight in good finds such as the thirty four shirts we bought this week for Sava to the tune of sixty dollars.
A local mom advertised a whole batch of five-year old clothes. I had half-committed to buying the whole thing before seeing it, but when I got to her home discovered that I didn't care for at least a dozen items. In order not to disappoint, I ended up getting more than I needed, which is how I ended with thirty four shirts total: short-sleeved, long-sleeved, and polo. When I got home, washed them, and folded them, I stared in wonder as I tried to figure out why on earth anyone would buy so many shirts for a child in the first place, especially since she told me that these were the best of the stash, and the rest she had already given away to charity. I try never to think in terms of us versus them when it comes to our immigrant perspective on American culture, but it seems that this propensity to accumulate--to have a lot of everything, regardless of need--is pretty uniquely American. We find it puzzling and wasteful, even as we sometimes unwittingly end up being its beneficiaries, getting thirty four shirts for under two dollars each, for a boy who will outgrow them before he can wear half of them. Thankfully, we have friends who can make use of them, and passing clothes on for free to other little kids is one of the best parts about having too many ourselves.
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In other news, let's talk about Legos.
One of the best things about sharing this parenting gig with Rado is that we pretty much agree on everything. (It's ridiculous.) And one of the things we most agree on is that, when it comes to what interests our kids, depth counts for a lot more than breadth. We'd much rather Sava spend one hour playing intensely with Legos than kick ball for fifteen minutes, draw for ten, do a puzzle for twenty, and then finish with Legos for another fifteen. Extrapolate to the future, and I see us dodging as hard as we can the rat race to fill our children's resumes with every conceivable activity, even at the risk of curtailing their chances to get into the much coveted Ivy League. Still, when the all-important question of what counts most in life comes up, our answer invariably is: doing what gives us the most pleasure, and doing it well, to boot. We are so glad to see that, so far at least, and without knowing it consciously, Sava shares our instincts. So, we celebrate his obsession with Legos, and we applaud every new plastic contraption which he invents--
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In still other news, Raya likes crackers. She won't eat too much of them, but she loves holding them, mashing them, and making a big old mess. She hasn't figured out what to do when she reaches her fingers and there is still half a cracker in the palm of her hand, so she either gives up or starts eating her fingers.
Crackers are now one of four foods she eats willingly, along with oatmeal & mommy milk, sweet potato, and winter squash.
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We had one picnic lunch at the park this week, which included Raya on swings--
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Sava's discovery of Rado's Noogler hat (given to all N(ew) (G)ooglers upon initiation) gave us quite a few hilarious moments this week; he insists on wearing it everywhere even though it fully obstructs his vision--
And even as he is learning to read, counting to two hundred, and saying stuff that makes him sound like he is twenty-four (Mommy, I think the juice wanted to be spilled! when I chastise him about spilling his morning cup), he still believes that if he can't see us, we can't see him either. So, on walks around the neighborhood, he can be seen running ahead of us and lying down in the grass next some random mailbox, hands tightly glued to his eyes, believing himself to be invisible--
--then jumping up and trying to scare us when we approach; he cracks us up and amuses himself mightily--
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Speaking of Google, it still gives all of us a thrill to go for lunch there, especially on a week when school was out--
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I wish I had time to look for some old pictures of Sava with this blue towel, in order to demonstrate how much Raya looks like him right now; with her steroid chub gone, and a toddler face emerging, she and Sava look, as one friend put it, "like they came out of the same factory"; indeed they did--
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They love each other. They really do. I hope as she grows up Raya continues to appreciate the gentleness and affection of her brother--
--the same gentleness and affection that he most surely inherits from his dad--
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And this week they discovered one more common play theme--Sava's old push carts. Raya has figured out how to drive one, and the two of them have a blast cruising around and playing--
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