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brace yourself

Hijo has entered that fabulous stage of life that we used to call "having braces" and which is now known as "endless orthodontia treatment." They like to get 'em young these days, and treatment comes in stages. One stage coming before all the permanent teeth are in, and the next stage after. This maximizes the duration of your relationship with the orthodontist, which consists of you writing checks to him.

So, while Hijo does not yet have braces, he does have a bite plate, a sub-lingual arch, and head gear which he wears from the time he gets home from school until he wakes up the next morning. It's nice that he doesn't have to wear the head gear to school, because although it is relatively discreet, people do, of course, notice it. And some of them feeled compelled to comment on it. This is harder on me, I think, than on Hijo. We were in the grocery store the other night and some young dude was so astonished at the sight of Hijo that he stoped in his tracks and said, "What happened to you?" And when Hijo didn't hear him, he walked over to us, put his hand on Hijo's arm and asked it again.

I am really wishing that Hijo had replied that he was part robot or something, but of course I didn't think of this gem until two days later. Instead, we patiently explained a bit about getting your teeth straightened, while the mothe of this young dude didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed for her kid pointing out loudly and in public something he found odd about my kid.

It wasn't horrible, and I realize the young dude was genuinely curious and not malicious, but it bugged me. It bugged me because I don't want Hijo to have to deal with ignorant people bothering him as he goes about his day. It bugged me because I used to have braces and so I am projecting a lot. It bugged me because I am reminded that I am dependent upon my mother, who is actually the person who is writing the checks to the orthodontist, not me. (Which I'm of course very grateful for, but it shows one way in which I'm falling short as a parent: financially. Which is certainly fodder for a post of its own some day.)

I keep reminding myself that in the big scheme of things, this is good for Hijo. It's good for his mandibular health and it's yet another good way for him to learn about how to deal with people and not take things personally.

And I got to say "mandibular."

first piano lesson

Hijo had his first official piano lesson yesterday.

Due to unusual circumstances, I was able to tag along. The teacher sat him down at the piano and asked him if he knew how to play anything.

"Sure," he said and proceeded to play, not perfectly, but adequately, a Coldplay song that a friend of his had taught him.

"Well," the teacher told him, "I can tell you're going to be really good." 

Hijo smiled. I smiled. Even if that piano teacher says that to every kid who sits down on his bench*, I was grateful that he said it to Hijo. He was feeling pretty confident in his ability to learn to play, but having your teacher share that confidence with you within the first five minutes is really important.

The teacher pulled out a simplified version of Michael Jackson's "Beat It" which he gave to Hijo to take home and "see what he can do with it." Then they opened the beginner's book and Hijo learned the names of the keys and notes.

Watching Hijo start piano (and also band in school) has stirred up all sorts of memories and longings in me. Music seems to be one of those things that you abandon as an adult, because you have too little time, or you feel that if you aren't fantastically talented at it, it's not worth doing.

What happened to doing something simply because it's fun, because it brings us joy?

That's what I've been thinking about.

*bench=three small plastic orange schoolc chairs stacked on top of each other.

ten for ten

I've been telling everyone since Hijo's last birthday that I really like ten, that ten has to be the best year yet. A friend asked me why, so I decided to enumerate the reasons here.

1. At ten Hijo takes a shower all by himself. He doesn't even need me to set the water temperature anymore.
2. He will grab a book and read even if it's not for homework. He likes to read side-by-side with me as I read.
3. He likes to talk about his (and my) dreams. Every morning that's the first question he asks, "What did you dream?"
4. He has great taste in music. (Fatboy Slim, Spearhead, Ozomatli)
5. He's articulate. He's always had a pretty good vocabulary, but now I find him expressing himself in a way that just seems so grown up.
6. He says things like this.
7. He still loves to be tickled.
8. He can desconstruct a TV commercial.
9. He writes songs to play on his keyboard. Good songs.
10. Even though he seems to get more sophisticated every day, he's still a kid.

on car washes & parenthood

I knew a toddler once who loved to go through the car wash. Something about sitting in the car as it moved slowly through the soapy water, watching the brushes whirr around and the big strips of fabric sway back and forth across the windshield comforted or excited her. It got so that every time she rode in the car she called out from the back seat, "Cah wash, mommy, cah wash!" And if they weren't in any particular hurry, her mom would often oblige.

I think about the scene in The Sweet Hereafter when the character played by Ian Holm gets stuck in the car wash. It's late at night, it's dark, his car isn't moving, the car wash is running, he eventually decides to just get out of the car amidst the chaos. Of course he gets completely soaked. His daughter is addicted to drugs and calls him from time to time, desperate and sobbing. He's been through it so many times before that he doesn't let himself get too caught up in her drama, but it breaks his heart, his inability to do anything to help her. He's completely powerless as she destroys her life.

Hijo recently won first prize at the art fair for 4th graders in his school. He led me through the halls to the place where his class had hung their work. He scanned the wall, looking for his piece. "It's not there!" he said. "Are you sure?" I asked him. "Yes! It was right there," he told me, pointing to a spot up high. We looked around a bit, and I wondered aloud if there might be another wall for 4th graders somewhere. Had someone taken it down? But why? Hijo was getting a bit worried (as was I). We walked some more until we came to the prize wall where the work that had been chosen for each grade level was hung. And there was Hijo's piece next to a big blue ribbon. They will frame it and keep it at the school to show at the art fair each year.

What a great kid, I think. I'm lucky. When things go particularly well for Hijo, I tend to give him the credit. When he stumbles, I usually think it's my fault, my bad parenting. But that isn't fair. I know it's a complicated brew, the things that make Hijo who he is. As he grows, my ability to affect his life will lessen. He might break my heart. Every time he leaves the house to go to school, I feel that sense of letting go, and a bit of panic rushes through my veins. Let him be OK, let him be OK, I whisper. Of course he'll be OK another part of me asserts. Of course.

Of course, I don't know what will happen to him, what choices he will make. I don't know what he might do to make me feel powerless or proud. All I have is that boy on the couch insisting that now is the time to be tickled. "Cah wash, mommy!"

adventures in soccer mom-hood

It was my turn to bring snacks to the soccer game today.  I've been totally obsessing over the snacks ever since one family brought sliced organic water melon (served from a ceramic bowl) followed by gigantic fudge brownies. Whatever happened to big bags of unpeeled oranges sliced into wedges?  That's all we ever got for snacks at my soccer games as a kid.  Every single week. They were impossible to eat without getting juice all over your soccer jersey, and bits of pith were always getting stuck in my braces.

I was worried I would forget to buy snacks, then anxious that I would forget to pack all the snacks, or that I'd buy a snack that some kid was allergic to, or I wouldn't have enough blue blocks of chemical-filled plastic to freeze and keep the snacks cold enough. I mean, who cares about the economy tanking, I had important social status cues to send out via my choice of half-time athletic nibbles.

Of course, everything turned out just fine.  The weather was once again golden October glorious and our team trounced the other team and Hijo played well. Nobody fainted in horror at my food choices and I even shared some juice with the team of three and four year olds on the field behind us.

The game was in a remote town at the edge of Olympic National Park, and so afterwards we visited Rocky Brook falls, which are quite spectacular (rated four stars doncha know) and then drove up Mt. Walker to take in the even more spectacular view from its 2800' summit.

(I must confess to a certain guilty fondess for moutnains that have vehicular summit access. It's cheating, but at the same time, it's so awesome. I ascended Mauna Loa on Hawaii in a similar fashion and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Plus, the oxygen deprivation got me totally high.)

Soccer is way more fun than little league, both for Hijo to play and for me to watch. There's no endless adjusting of the pitching machine, no long waits in the outfield or to get a chance to bat. Plus, Hijo is a lot better at soccer. I'm a little bit sad that the season is almost over.  But at least that means I don't have to buy any more snacks.

things I am no longer allowed to do, by order of Hijo

Call him or anything related to him, especially his clothes or hairstyle, cute.

Kiss him.

Hold his hand as we walk down the street.

Think that he will stoop to watching Finding Nemo or any of the other "babyish" DVDs we have.

Take his foto. (!)

Eat anything without sharing it with him. Oh, wait, that's been the case since he started eating solid food. Glad to see some things never change.