Growing Up

One of the joys and of course, heartbreaks, of having kids is watching them grow up. It makes me sad that my youngest child is rapidly leaving babyhood behind (he’s almost four)! And today, Jasper wanted to sit on my lap to read a story. He is almost seven, and still very snuggly, but for whatever reason today he just seemed huge. He was heavy, and his body, as I was pulling him on to my lap, felt so thick. I looked down at his hands and was shocked by the long fingers, the fingernails that are almost as big as mine, and by how strong and thick his hands seemed. The skin was even a little rough. I wrapped my arms around his bigger-than-I-remember chest and attempted to peer over, and then around, his head to read the story. It must have been a comical sight, because I felt like I had someone the size of myself on my lap. I probably squeezed him just a little too tight right then, trying to really drink in the moment, just because I still could.

One aspect of them getting a bit older though is that there is more that you can share with them on a higher level. The knowing glances I might exchange with Jim or a friend when I know they are thinking the same thing as me in a social situation or when I know they will find something funny, I can now share with Jasper.

Jim has been traveling so the other day Jasper, Hugo and I were eating dinner together. Hugo said, “mommy, after dinner can we wrestle?” I replied, “oh honey, mommy doesn’t really wrestle, but if you want we can snuggle after dinner.” He thought about that and said, “okay, we can snuggle and then maybe snuggle-wrestle.” Jasper looked very amused and said, “Hugo, what is snuggle-wrestle?” and Hugo answered, “when you snuggle rough!” Right after which point he hopped up on the chair behind me and grabbed my shoulders and started yanking them back and forth. It was so sudden and silly and unexpected that Jasper and I just looked at each other and burst out laughing. We laughed and laughed and Hugo just kept yanking my shoulders, laughing too. Jasper was giggling so hard that he could hardly breathe and every now and again would squeak out a “snuggle rough! Ha, ha, ha, ha,” and I had tears in my eyes unable to stop giggling and to stop Hugo from shaking my shoulders. Then, Hugo lost his balance and plummeted to the floor and landed with a huge THUD. Jasper and I glanced down at him, and it was clear he wasn’t hurt and we burst out laughing again. Hugo, who is practically made of bricks, enjoyed how entertaining he was obviously being and started laughing again too.

I thoroughly enjoyed just cracking up like that with my kids, but also really enjoyed how although we were all laughing together, Jasper and I were able to share how funny we thought Hugo was. Hugo is a really funny little kid. He is expressive and enthusiastic and earnest, and is at a stage where he is constantly misusing language and trying to sound authoritative. For adults, he can be just hilarious to be around, but I love how more and more, Jasper appreciates and gets a kick out of his little brother just the way his father and I do.

 

I feel a little sad every time I trade their clothes or shoes for the next size up, and sometimes I miss having a little baby to hold, but I am also really looking forward to seeing what kind of people they turn into as they grow up and have our bonds evolve from hands-on care to intellectual connections.  

Boys, again

I know I’ve written about having boys in the past, but it continues to be a source of fascination and confusion for me to be mother to two of them. One of the most difficult realizations I have had to make is that when I am watching a group of boys in action, I am utterly at a loss of how to interpret what I see. What I think I see is a group of mean, wild animals. I see two boys grab another boy, whip him around and fling him down. I see that boy (perhaps my son) get up fiercely and grab one of the perpetrators and spin him and toss him to the ground. I see those same boys chase another and tackle him to the ground. “How horrible!” I think. I must intervene. They must be miserable and someone is sure to get hurt! But then, just as I feel confident that I have assessed the situation accurately and that someone must intervene, I see all the boys involved laughing, and then my son, who I thought might be scarred for life by the mistreatment, literally skipping away with a big smile on his face. I listen to friends with older boys say, “oh, I don’t get involved unless there’s blood.”

“Okay,” I think. “I didn’t really read that situation correctly. I guess they like playing that way, I guess that’s their idea of fun.” The next time I see similar play I feign a laid-back attitude. “Oh sure,” I tell myself, “that’s just the way boys play, they love this kind of thing.” I stand back and smile as I watch the boys pounce on each other. But wait! There’s a boy crying, he got hurt. “I want to go home!” I hear him shriek. Once again, I got it wrong. I truly never, ever know whether what I see when boys play is: a) really great; b)okay, but could turn ugly; or c) horrible and requires intervention right away.

It’s more challenging for me because even though my oldest, Jasper, is almost seven, I’ve really only see boys play like this for the last year or so. Prior to this, most of his playmates were girls. His basic nature is very calm, so watching him enter this world and interact with it fills me with trepidation. Deep down I don’t feel that he’s really equipped to deal with all the roughness, especially when so many of the boys are older than him, but it’s interesting to see that he more or less stands his ground. It’s also been interesting to observe that when things get really rough, he tends to go off on his own. This happened today, and when I saw him off, way off, playing by himself, I went over to him, sure he would be upset and wanting to go home. When he saw me he said, “we don’t have to go home now, do we?” “No,” I tried to say casually. “Because I’m having fun and don’t want to go yet.” I wasn’t prepared for what he said, but didn’t want him to know what I had been thinking because I didn’t want to influence the situation. He told me that two boys tried to throw him in the bushes, and two tried to defend him. He said that one kid in particular is always mean. We discussed various possible ways of handling the situation. He didn’t really seem upset though, just content to play on his own for a while. I was sad that although there was a big group of kids playing together, he was alone. I was worried that maybe he wasn’t fitting in. My husband had a different take on it—he thinks it’s great that Jasper isn’t willing to be anyone’s punching bag. If it gets too mean or he’s the target of the cruelty, he would rather go off by himself.

I can appreciate his reasoning, but I do still wonder if he’s “fitting in” in the boy world. I wonder if he’s as tough as he needs to be. Honestly, I can’t, by observing, tell whether he is or not.

I know I won’t worry about Hugo as much. He’s almost four and seems to instinctively love the rough and tumble play. He always leaps on top of the boy pile, even if the kids are four or five years older than him. He has a high tolerance for pain and doesn’t seem to take things personally. I know I’ll be more used to this kind of play as he gets older too.

It always makes me wonder though, as the kids get older, will it be more of the same? I think of how girls have deep friendships and share their feelings. I see how Jasper has deep friendships with his female friends. I have never understood male friendships, but it sort of seems like they hang out and do activities and beat on each other, and then, over time, decide who the “good guys” are that they really like and trust. I will never be part of that world, but I do hope that over time I can watch them interact, and understand a little more about what I’m seeing. Maybe I would get a little more sleep. 

A Blip In Time

I was having a chat with my parents the other day about plastic surgery, and mostly about the horror of poorly done face-lifts or people that have had too many, and consequently look like scary wax statues from a creep show and not like real people any more. I was trying to not be overly judgmental since I’m not yet forty and don’t know how I’ll feel about all this 20 years down the line and try to avoid being a possible hypocrite in the future by condemning something that I don’t know how I’ll feel about then. I said to my parents, “well, I don’t know how I will feel since I’m still sort of youngish” to which they instantaneously responded, rather fiercely, “you’re not even 40! You’re very young! If you live to be 95, 40 is very young!” I will admit, a flash of what I might possibly look like after aging another 55 years did pass in front of my eyes (and a face lift, even a bad one, didn’t seem like such a bad option), but more, I thought about all that time I potentially have left in life to live, and, of course, work. And this brings me back to a frequent obsession of mine, which is, will I ever be able to re-enter the work force? This concern just paralyzes me sometimes, and often because I think of graphic design as such a young, hip, field. I feel that approaching 40 almost guarantees a degree of obsolescence in the field, and that maybe I should go hang out with 40-year old Hollywood actresses that can’t get work any more or can only get roles being cast as Keira Knightly’s mother or a bitter old alcoholic nun.

However, my husband keeps pointing out that in less than two years I will have a LOT more time, and consequently will be able to work more, or work on building a business, and it’s really, really unlikely that nothing would ever happen on that front. It seems really unlikely that I will sit there for 53 years or so without being able to find any interesting employment whatsoever. Even older people, who often own companies, need graphic designers. And they may actually prefer working with someone who can spell because I have not spent my youth TM-ing people and does not have a nose ring or my parents negotiating my hourly rate for me.

I am realizing what a blip all this is, having children that are really young. Jasper, at almost 7, is starting to exit the “really young” phase and in a few years Hugo will be almost 7 too, and although we will still be parents until our time on Earth is done, we will not have “really little” kids ever again. So, I will try to live in the present (I try this every so often) and enjoy my little kids and the time I have with them. In a couple years I hope that I can resume my career, or perhaps one day even switch to a new one. The time I spent minimally employed will be hard to remember 5, 10 or 45 years down the road. I won’t regret the time I spent with my kids way back when, though I wonder if I will be reminiscing about these years with an oddly waxen expression on my face.