Like his mother (and unlike his father), Isaac is very fair-skinned. When he was born, there was absolutely nothing interrupting his pale skin -- no moles, freckles, or birthmarks. This isn't the case with his mother and father. Neither of us has freckles, but we have perhaps more than our fair share of moles, and Craig was even born with one on his forehead.
When Isaac was six weeks old, I asked his pediatrician when moles would appear, and the doctor said at two years of age. Well, now Isaac is two and a half, and I think he has his first mole. It's on the back of his left hand, almost on the wrist. It is a tiny, flat, light-brown freckle. It's pretty cute.
- - - - -
Apparently moles are present at birth in only about one in 100 people. Did you know that most moles develop by the time you're 20 years old, although more may appear during pregnancy, and that they last about 50 years before vanishing? Did you know that most people have between ten and 40 moles, and that having more than 50 moles means you're at greater risk of developing melanoma? Without even getting up off the couch to count, I can see that I have 36 moles on my arms alone! Yikes.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Red spots
"Don't know why they have red spots," Isaac said today.
I knew the last word, which sounded more like "tee-opps," wasn't actually "spots," but I couldn't understand what he was really saying. However, I thought I'd figure out the subject of the sentence first, so I asked, "Who has red spots?"
"Don't know why the tree service guys have red spots," he said.
I thought I had figured it out. I asked, "Did the tree service guys have red shirts? Are you saying shirts?"
"No," Isaac said. I was puzzled. The tree service guys had come on Friday while I was at work, so I didn't know what color their shirts were, but I also didn't have any idea what else of theirs might have been red. Chainsaws? Sawdust? Chippers? (I knew their trucks were green and yellow.)
"Try it again," I said. "What was red?"
"Spots," Isaac said.
"I'm sorry, honey," I said, "but I don't understand what you're saying." He tried a few more times, but he wasn't any clearer, and I had to keep telling him I didn't understand.
"Mama isn't listening," Isaac said. He sounded both sad and accusatory.
- - - - -
This total failure to communicate doesn't happen very often. Even when Isaac was much littler, we usually found a way to understand one another. (In fact, I can only find one other blog post about a communication breakdown -- and it was another situation where Isaac tried to tell me about something that happened while I wasn't present.)
We narrowly avoided a misunderstanding last night. Isaac kept asking me what the cow was saying, and I kept answering "moo." As he continued asking the exact same question, however, I began to realize that something was wrong. I finally answered in the form of a question: "Moo?"
Then he said, emphasizing each word, "What the yellow Beetle is saying?"
Ah. Not cow, but car. (A toy Volkswagen, to be precise.) It's a little awkward that he pronounces "car" exactly like "cow." Maybe we should teach him to say "automobile" and "bovine" instead.
- - - - -
It turned out, according to Craig, that the tree service guys had red straps to attach them to the trees to keep their hands free. Isaac did his best with "straps," considering he can't pronounce S at the beginning of a word, and he can't pronounce R at all.
I knew the last word, which sounded more like "tee-opps," wasn't actually "spots," but I couldn't understand what he was really saying. However, I thought I'd figure out the subject of the sentence first, so I asked, "Who has red spots?"
"Don't know why the tree service guys have red spots," he said.
I thought I had figured it out. I asked, "Did the tree service guys have red shirts? Are you saying shirts?"
"No," Isaac said. I was puzzled. The tree service guys had come on Friday while I was at work, so I didn't know what color their shirts were, but I also didn't have any idea what else of theirs might have been red. Chainsaws? Sawdust? Chippers? (I knew their trucks were green and yellow.)
"Try it again," I said. "What was red?"
"Spots," Isaac said.
"I'm sorry, honey," I said, "but I don't understand what you're saying." He tried a few more times, but he wasn't any clearer, and I had to keep telling him I didn't understand.
"Mama isn't listening," Isaac said. He sounded both sad and accusatory.
- - - - -
This total failure to communicate doesn't happen very often. Even when Isaac was much littler, we usually found a way to understand one another. (In fact, I can only find one other blog post about a communication breakdown -- and it was another situation where Isaac tried to tell me about something that happened while I wasn't present.)
We narrowly avoided a misunderstanding last night. Isaac kept asking me what the cow was saying, and I kept answering "moo." As he continued asking the exact same question, however, I began to realize that something was wrong. I finally answered in the form of a question: "Moo?"
Then he said, emphasizing each word, "What the yellow Beetle is saying?"
Ah. Not cow, but car. (A toy Volkswagen, to be precise.) It's a little awkward that he pronounces "car" exactly like "cow." Maybe we should teach him to say "automobile" and "bovine" instead.
- - - - -
It turned out, according to Craig, that the tree service guys had red straps to attach them to the trees to keep their hands free. Isaac did his best with "straps," considering he can't pronounce S at the beginning of a word, and he can't pronounce R at all.
Natural history lesson
"Come on, juncos!" Isaac says. "Eat those voles!"
We do seem to have a vole infestation in our yard, although the juncos are not going to be much help.
Isaac knows what birds do eat meat, however. "Great horned owls eat voles, skunks, and big monsters," he says.
- - - - -
Also, this might help: every night when we look out the window of his room just prior to pulling down the shade, Isaac says, "Good night, voles! Don't eat our plants!"
We do seem to have a vole infestation in our yard, although the juncos are not going to be much help.
Isaac knows what birds do eat meat, however. "Great horned owls eat voles, skunks, and big monsters," he says.
- - - - -
Also, this might help: every night when we look out the window of his room just prior to pulling down the shade, Isaac says, "Good night, voles! Don't eat our plants!"
"Why?"
In the past week we have entered the world of "Why?" It's a lot less fun than I had imagined.
Well, sometimes it is fun. You may have noticed that recent posts have addressed why people get married and why tree service workers wear straps. Not only do those questions have answers, but they're entertaining, too. However, increasingly often the question "why?" leads to a dead end.
I've always enjoyed his curious, engaged, intellectually demanding queries, and I am thrilled to answer those. But today we got these questions: Why did we leave the party? (Because it was time to go home.) Why are we going home? (Because it was time to leave the party.) Why are we going home in the car? (Because it was too far to walk.) Why is it too far to walk? (Because the party was in Oakland, and we don't live in Oakland.)
I read somewhere that the relentless asking of "why?" is one way small children engage in dialog. They don't know how else to keep the conversation going, so they ask "why?" I can understand that, and I'm learning how to derail the "why" train by answering a related question, one that I actually want to answer, and one that moves the conversation in a productive direction. I've also had some success in asking him a question in return, if only to exact some pale vengeance by making Isaac answer "I don't know" himself.
But sometimes it's clear that he really does need to know why -- or at least that he doesn't understand the situation at hand, and his continued asking of "why?" means only that our answers don't do anything to lessen his confusion. This might explain why he asked "Why did Daddy stop?" at every single stop sign between our house and the party we went to today. He understands stop lights, but apparently stop signs are more puzzling.
- - - - -
He also asks "Why did Daddy get a flat tire?" nearly every time he notices a truck with a spare tire mounted on the back. He also frequently asks "Why do cars break down?" and "Why do cars smell like exhaust?" I've answered these questions literally 25 times, and yet he's not satisfied.
- - - - -
No, not all of his questions are vehicle-related! These are just the ones I remember right now. I guess I might be getting a little vehicle-obsessed myself.
Well, sometimes it is fun. You may have noticed that recent posts have addressed why people get married and why tree service workers wear straps. Not only do those questions have answers, but they're entertaining, too. However, increasingly often the question "why?" leads to a dead end.
I've always enjoyed his curious, engaged, intellectually demanding queries, and I am thrilled to answer those. But today we got these questions: Why did we leave the party? (Because it was time to go home.) Why are we going home? (Because it was time to leave the party.) Why are we going home in the car? (Because it was too far to walk.) Why is it too far to walk? (Because the party was in Oakland, and we don't live in Oakland.)
I read somewhere that the relentless asking of "why?" is one way small children engage in dialog. They don't know how else to keep the conversation going, so they ask "why?" I can understand that, and I'm learning how to derail the "why" train by answering a related question, one that I actually want to answer, and one that moves the conversation in a productive direction. I've also had some success in asking him a question in return, if only to exact some pale vengeance by making Isaac answer "I don't know" himself.
But sometimes it's clear that he really does need to know why -- or at least that he doesn't understand the situation at hand, and his continued asking of "why?" means only that our answers don't do anything to lessen his confusion. This might explain why he asked "Why did Daddy stop?" at every single stop sign between our house and the party we went to today. He understands stop lights, but apparently stop signs are more puzzling.
- - - - -
He also asks "Why did Daddy get a flat tire?" nearly every time he notices a truck with a spare tire mounted on the back. He also frequently asks "Why do cars break down?" and "Why do cars smell like exhaust?" I've answered these questions literally 25 times, and yet he's not satisfied.
- - - - -
No, not all of his questions are vehicle-related! These are just the ones I remember right now. I guess I might be getting a little vehicle-obsessed myself.
Happy Anniversary
Today is our eighth wedding anniversary!To commemorate the formation of our family, here's a photo of us at a wedding (appropriately enough) we attended this weekend.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Round and round
A number of Isaac's disparate interests and enthusiasms came together today in a sort of toddler synchronicity. I don't know if he found it surprising to find these various elements merging, but I certainly did:
At first he painted slowly and carefully. He had four containers of paint at his easel, and he dipped into each one sequentially. He put up a blob of yellow paint. He put up a larger teal blob. He painted a green line. He painted a longer blue line. Then he started back over again with yellow. He made about seven different marks, all at the top of the page, and none of these marks touched.
Then he loosened up. He added larger areas of color to the page, and he began to push the existing paint around with vigor. He also worked with increasing speed, moving so quickly that the paint flew off the page and splattered his jeans. Then he began to move the brush in a large circle, covering most of the page, and he began to sing:
- the street sweeper in the book Night Shift, which we've been reading repeatedly for the past two weeks
- a street sweeper driving right in front of our house, which happened this morning (and which has never before happened, to my knowledge, in the six years we've lived here)
- a sudden interest in drawing at the easel, which started only last night
- the song "Wheels on the Van" in the book Punk Farm on Tour, which we've been reading repeatedly for the past two weeks
- the song "Wheels on the Bus," sung by a man with a guitar performing at Studio Grow this morning
At first he painted slowly and carefully. He had four containers of paint at his easel, and he dipped into each one sequentially. He put up a blob of yellow paint. He put up a larger teal blob. He painted a green line. He painted a longer blue line. Then he started back over again with yellow. He made about seven different marks, all at the top of the page, and none of these marks touched.
Then he loosened up. He added larger areas of color to the page, and he began to push the existing paint around with vigor. He also worked with increasing speed, moving so quickly that the paint flew off the page and splattered his jeans. Then he began to move the brush in a large circle, covering most of the page, and he began to sing:
The brush on the street sweeper goes round and round
Round and round, round and round
The brush on the street sweeper goes round and round
All over town
Hi, Grandpa!
Today I was trying to push a wheelbarrow full of compost through our back yard, and there were a variety of toys blocking my way.
I said, "Isaac, would you please move your golf club out of the way?"
He studied the ground carefully, and eventually said, "I don't see any golf club."
I said impatiently, "So what's that red plastic thing right there?"
He said patiently, "It's a putter."
- - - - -
Well, he likes to be precise.
I said, "Isaac, would you please move your golf club out of the way?"
He studied the ground carefully, and eventually said, "I don't see any golf club."
I said impatiently, "So what's that red plastic thing right there?"
He said patiently, "It's a putter."
- - - - -
Well, he likes to be precise.
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