Another year, another license

This past weekend I celebrated a birthday. I didn't dwell on it too much; Any day that is set aside for celebrating life and eating things like cake is okay in my book. We celebrated with a quiet morning at home, and a quietly joyful evening at my parents'. I don't feel old, I feel liberated; "Fitting in" no longer concerns me, I'm getting much better at leaving mole hills to their original size, and at the same time I still feel really young and with it.

This was that once every few years that I had to actually go into the Secretary of State to renew my driver's license. Expecting the usual long wait while the government workers behind the desk shuffled from one computer to another, spendng ten minutes to do five minutes worth of work, I prepared Calvin for the event and packed a bag full of books. I was right, too; we got through most of the fifteen books we'd packed before we were finally called for our turn, then I signed a paper, paid for my right to drive, and was ushered (with surprising efficiency) to the camera for my new mug shot. Calvin stood between my legs, smiling indulgently at the camera aimed well over his head towards my own smiling face, and then we were done. It was actually thirty easy minutes and an errand well done. Then I got my new license in the mail today, and you know what? I look a lot older than I thought. Oh well.

We had to try twice to get a picture of the candles on the cake—the little boy sitting on my lap blew them out the first time before the pan had even hit the table.

Home grown

September, 2008 compared to November, 2009

He takes showers instead of baths, he feeds all the pets by himself, including maneuvering the basement stairs alone, and he answered the phone the other day with incredibly adept politeness. And, when he sets the table before dinner, he insists on handling the chore solo from start to finish, including getting the silverware from the drawer. A year ago that wasn't possible without the aid of a stool, and I could have sworn that was true even last month, but now it requires just a little help from those tippy toes. Getting the mail all by himself has been another of his shining moments.

And now you'll expect me to go on about how time flies, about how hard it is to see him growing up, or about how poignant a thing this growth is when it's happening to your own offspring, etc. & etc. Instead, let me just say that showers use less water than baths, that it's a real load off to have another person in the house who can help with chores without our assistance, and that from now on the telemarketers had better watch out.

Big boy class

As time marches on we repeatedly find ourselves face to face with childhood milestones (first tooth?  Check.  First step?  Check.)  There was a time, I believe, when I thought that we were running significant milestones to achieve (first word?  Check.  First haircut?  Check.) and it's true that they are now fewer and farther between (first bike?  Check.), but they are becoming more momentous (first ER visit?  Check.) and more meaningful (goodbye diapers?  Check.) as time goes on.  And that brings me to this morning when I all but dropped Calvin off at his first big boy class (first parent-free social situation?  Check.), a special 2 hour art, dance, and music extravaganza with the same fantastic teacher he's had for music since he was only a year old.  Of course, you'll notice that I said "all BUT" dropped him off, and that's because it was, after all, the first day of class and all moms were invited to stay and observe.  So I did.  I stayed, and I observed my son completely ignoring me while he played musical games, created three very saturated washable paint masterpieces, made a hat out of a paper bag and insisted on wearing it, snacked on all the foods offered (including the garbanzo beans and broccoli that were shunned by the other kids), built a very imaginative train station out of wood blocks, and became totally engrossed in his teacher's very spirited reading of books for some calm down time right at the end.  At that point, after the final book closed, he remembered that I was there.  What a very fantastic first class.  For both of us.

Meet Mouse

It has been on my mind for a while now to share this with all of you, and having just written about Friendship at (the age of) three, I think now would be ideal.  You see, friendship isn't always what meets the eye, and I'd like to introduce you to Mouse, Calvin's very special, very invisible, friend.  Mouse has been part of our lives for a few months now, and his presence kind of snuck up on us.  When Calvin first mentioned him I lumped him together with all the other imaginary beings, usually animals, that Calvin had cared for briefly on a regular basis over the past year or so.  It had not been uncommon to hear him fixing meals in his kitchen for the "mama chickadee" or the "daddy finch" or the "baby bunny" but a few things should have stood out to me from the beginning: first, that Mouse was, well, just Mouse, not a mommy or a daddy or a baby; and second, that "Mouse" appeared to be a moniker as opposed to a species (Mouse, according to Calvin, is big, and, other than his gender, that is all I really know about him).  But even if those things weren't unusual about Mouse, his recurring nature, visiting our house or our conversations almost daily over the past few months, has set him apart in our minds as that childhood gem–the imaginary friend.  And let me tell you, I love Mouse–he's everything an imaginary friend should be: Calvin cooks for Mouse when he is hungry, tucks  him in when he is tired, makes sure he gets his medicine when he is sick, and his vitamin when he's not;  Calvin comforts Mouse when he (Mouse? Calvin?) is afraid, and encourages him when he is frustrated; When Mouse wants to do things that are dangerous (ride in the car without his seatbelt) or bad for him (eat a doughnut) Calvin admonishes him and offers a better choice.  But, you ask, how do any of those things make Mouse a good imaginary friend?  They don't.  They make him the perfect imaginary friend because Mouse is clearly helping Calvin mirror the good values that he (Calvin) sees in the world, and work through the things that he (Calvin) is most concerned about.  And the best part is that he is not doing it alone...and yet, he is.

Milestones

I try not to post anecdotes that have the potential to be embarrassing to any of us at any time down the road. It can be difficult to find the fine line between telling enough of the story to get the point across and telling enough to make you wish you hadn't ten years from now, and with this post I know I am pushing my luck, but I am posting anyway because Calvin is so excited that he's sharing the news with everyone (and I do mean everyone) who will listen anyhow–the news that he is now using the adult toilet. And, in usual Calvin fashion, that really is the right terminology, too. We got him a nice little training potty and ourselves some books on the process of potty training, but we'd heard that boys tend to be slower with this milestone and I'd been in no hurry to enter the realm of having to know, at all times, the location of the nearest bathroom, so we'd been dragging our feet on actually starting any potty training process. Calvin, however, had other plans.  Two weeks ago today he woke up and said that he was "going to use the potty like mommy and daddy now," and that was that–we haven't washed a diaper since (except for overnight safety net diapers).  The first day was easy, since we happened to be at home, and the second day was just as flawless, even though we walked to the library and had to use their bathroom there.  Since we left for vacation on only the third day I was pretty sure we'd experience some backtracking, but I should know by now that my son is determined (later in life we'll refer to this as hard headed), and first vacation, then a full day at the Art Fair went by without a hitch.  So today we are celebrating two full weeks out of diapers.  This could be my favorite milestone yet.