Floating Upstream: hump day nuggets, 9/21/11: roar

This post will be of the light garden-variety sort, since time is precious these days and there don't seem to be enough hours between rotations of the earth. The terrible twos are upon us, and our days--meaning everyone's days, even Sava's--pass in the grips of two conflicting torrents of emotions: wanting to hold up the almost-two-year old and laugh out loud, and long, at her wicked, verbose, and side-splitting antics; or wishing to shove her in solitary confinement and throw away the key, in the hopes that when we open again in a few months, she will emerge sensible, sane, and self-controlled.

Much of the time we manage to laugh, even if only at our own impatience. Sometimes we even let her get away with it.

After a relatively peaceful trip to Costco earlier tonight, Raya lost it in the parking lot. I don't recall why she ended up on the ground next to the car screaming, which naturally means that it was something insignificant. After I forcibly put her in her seat and, with Rado's help, buckled her while she continued to howl/screech, Rado looked at me smiling, and remarked, in what has become the usual bantering tone on this subject at our house, Not my genes, honey.

Five seconds later, as we all settled in and started the drive home, Sava said, Not my genes. Your genes, mommy!...and after uproarious laughter from the adults in the car, he added, in a most earnest voice: What does that mean? By that point the general laughter had lightened Raya's mood, and in her tireless search to command everyone's attention, she announced, I'm a tiger! I'm a jaguar! Then she roared.

Such is life with this almost-two-year old.

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We're coming to terms with the fact that she is ahead of the game verbally, and while that may not justify her behavior, it may at least explain some of it. Books I am reading and people I talk to tell me that kids who can verbalize a lot, and who wish constantly to verbalize even more, find the daily experience of being a small incompetent person profoundly frustrating. She now says effortlessly things like, "I'm gonna read books tonight with this green hat," or "Let's go to the library and get such and such a book," or "The daddy is going to the moon with a red rocket." Her English has almost caught up with her Bulgarian in about a month, and while she still mixes languages, it is happening less and less. I know I repeat myself, but it blows my mind.

During our Sunday hike, we asked her if she was tired of riding her scooter, and offered her a ride in the stroller instead. After some brief thought, she replied, I'm almost tired, then proceeded to scooter the whole rest of the hike.

:::

Sava continues to look for that one special friend in Kindergarten. We have a playdate with a girl from his class tomorrow, and it would be fair to say that his heart palpitations are the most endearing thing to witness.

I'd give anything for our sweet boy to find a dear friend, and I am sure that in time he will. I am proud of him for being willing to look long and hard. Friendship is the hardest thing, and the most worth our best efforts.

:::

He's been asking us to stay with him in bed until he falls asleep at night, which has not happened since he was an infant.

I fought the impulse to say "no" for about five seconds the first night, and then yielded to the heart-breaking realization that my son is not going to ask me to stay with him until he falls asleep for a whole lot longer. So, stay I did, and will continue to do, for as long as he needs the closeness. His steady, slowing breath gives me a much needed transition from the day work of parenting to the night work of teaching prep.

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After a cool summer of breezy days and chilly nights, the uncanny late-September heat of Northern California is well upon us. We've spent the last four afternoons in the pool, where Sava is learning how to move his body through water thanks to a 2T-sized vest bought for him three years ago, and Raya drinks about half the pool, jumping in whenever we are not looking and trying every possible way to "hide in the water" or "swim by myself!"

It warms my heart to see this boy who just a year ago feared to go past the steps on the swimming pool explore the water fearlessly and joyously now at his own pace.

His sister lacking any common sense when it comes to such mundane dangers as drowning probably helps ease his own mind and allows him to laugh in moments when otherwise he might be anxious.

I wish we could do this every day, and I wish we had a cook who could make dinner while we frolicked in the pool.

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Raya's been a bit discombobulated by my wacky teaching schedule, and for the most part refuses to nap when I am not here to put her down. She cried when grandpa tried to put her to sleep on Monday after lunch, and when I came home in the afternoon, I found her playing with a magnetic doll, declaring in a loud voice, Emily is crying!... When I asked why Emily was crying, she replied, Because dedi (grandpa) put her to sleep.

Seriously?...

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A few days ago Sava asked why there are separate restrooms for men and women. After some hemming and hawing, Rado and I explained that some people feel strange or uncomfortable going to a bathroom with people from the opposite gender, and that this was a custom most countries in the world follow. After some earnest thought, he replied, If a boy I don't know comes into a restroom it's not less strange than if a girl comes...I assured him that I felt the same way, which seemed to give him a great deal of comfort.

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Our Sunday hike took us to yet another portion of the Stevens Creek Trail, where Sava and I spent a good deal of time talking about the word "portion." An article on the well-established trend of dropping verbal scores among young American children has me more determined than ever to expose my kids to more of language and to less of everything else during their childhood.

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When it comes to climbing, hanging, sliding, diving, you-name-it-she's-done-it-without-any-consideration-of-danger, Raya is fearless or reckless, depending on one's perspective