Bear Binky's Corner

My Little Pidgin

2005-09-06T23:12:00.000-04:00

As it turns out, TJ speaks Gullah.

We never would have known, since he's never been within 100 miles of the islands off the coast of South Carolina, but he's begun to speak a language all his own. Call it Teejish.

When I taught public speaking, I told my students to avoid saying, "Um." TJ has blown right past that-- when he needs to fill in between words, he's just created his own: "Umsah." Plus he seems to have created his own grammar, sort of a shorthand for English. So you get something like this: "Umsah....umsah....bring Bear Binky...umsah...umsah....Bear Binky me."

For those of you who don't speak Teejish, that's "Please bring Bear Binky to me."

His linguistic creativity, interestingly, doesn't hide the fact that he has a giant little heart. After the hurricane, one day I came home and he said, "Umsah....I money....umsah...I money fireman's shoe....umsah...people ho-pital Grandma house."

So, with some translation help from Emily, eventually I figured out he was saying, "I put money in the fireman's shoe for the people in the hospital near Grandma's house." With a second bit of translation, I realized with a start that he was telling me he donated money to the firemen on street corners for the victims of Katrina. (For those of you who are new to our program, "Grandma" is Emily's mother, who lives in a New Orleans suburb.)

After a bit of reflection, I came to the conclusion that it doesn't matter if he talks like Shakespeare or Yoda. His heart's already matured.

Anguish

2005-09-02T22:31:00.000-04:00

Normally, of course, I post about the kids. This one's a little different.

You may have noticed in my last post that we flew from New Orleans (Emily's hometown area) to DC. Of course, approximately 30 hours later Hurricane Katrina blew through and changed the course of history. Simply put, there was the world, and New Orleans, before the Great Storm of '05 and there was the very different city after. As of now, of course, we don't know what that new city will look like, whether it will manage to retain or redevelop the character, culture, and color it's known for. After this week the image of New Orleans will likely be flood waters and snipers shooting at rescue helicopters. (Who DOES that, anyway?)

I'm not a disaster junkie, but this is different. I've never felt my heart break like I have this week, and I can only imagine what it's like to be in the city as it pulls completely apart. Sometimes disaster brings out the best in people, and certainly that has been true in patches around the Deep South. Unfortunately, however, to the greatest extent possible this disaster has brought out the worst in humanity.

Em's folks live in Covington, on the North Shore of Lake Pontchartrain, and we didn't hear from them for almost three days. They're fine, as is our dog, Henry, who we had sent to live with his grandparents about two weeks before the worst natural disaster in US history. (Sorry about that, H. Dog.)

I'm from the north of the state, so I don't want to overstate my connection to the disaster, but several of the touchstones of my life happened there: Em and I were married there, and both the boys were baptized there.

It's hard to explain New Orleans to people who've never been there, and I'm not the right person to try, except to say that it's a different kind of place....it's just not like any other city in the US, maybe in the world. Along with the Big Sleazy reputation and the image of New Orleans as Party Central, there's just a casual, comfortable culture there that you don't see anywhere else.

An example:

One summer a few years ago, Em and I were in New Orleans with a friend of hers. We were in Jackson Square, and Em and her friend were looking through a clothing store, so I wandered down to a Ben and Jerry's to get some ice cream. I walk out with my ice cream, and out of nowhere a young woman-- maybe 20 or 21-- approached me. There was nothing special about her; she was just a N'awlins girl out on a Saturday afternoon. She wandered up and said, apropos of nothing, "Can I have a bite of your ice cream?" She wasn't a street person, and she probably could have gotten her own, but for some reason the request didn't seem strange to me at all. So I said, "Sure," and handed it to her. She took a bite, gave it back to me, thanked me and walked off. It wasn't until three or four weeks later, when I was back home, that the incident struck me as strange. It didn't seem weird that she asked, or that I said yes. It just happened.

Only, I think, in New Orleans.

Flight of the Damned

2005-08-27T21:14:00.000-04:00

I've never been the parent of That Kid before.

You know the one I'm talking about, The Kid in the restaurant who smears stuff on the wall, or The Kid in the mall who throws a tantrum in front of The Gap...or, worst of all, The Kid who pitches a two-hour fit on an airplane (or The Baby who won't stop screaming from takeoff to touchdown).

Today, it finally happened. TJ's usually a good kid. He really is. But don't tell that to the lady who sat in front of us on the tw0-hour flight from New Orleans to DC, the one whose seat TJ kicked for 90 minutes (despite threats, orders, spanks, bribes, treats, and all the rest). Or the other folks around us who had to listen to him whine, scream and cry at semi-regular intervals throughout the flight. Sigh.

We walked up and down the aisle.....and Teej smacked some guy on the elbow. We checked out the back of the plane....and Teej tried to open the door. (That would be the outside door.) When I told him "no," he asked why, and I had to explain to him the meaning of "35000 feet to the ground, sans parachute."

Usually when I fly alone, I try to block out That Kid and pretend s/he's not screaming/crying/kicking/barfing, but it's hard to do that when he's in your freakin' lap. Ah, well.

He really is a good kid. Usually. At least, I keep telling myself that.....

Power to the People!

2005-08-25T15:18:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm back.

After everyone breathes their deep sigh of relief, let me apologize for my short sojourn through slackerdom. I wasn't out of the country for 4 1/2 months, as the last post and my following absence might suggest. I wasn't taken hostage, I wasn't climbing Mount Everest with nothing but a sherpa and a Diet Coke, and I wasn't hanging with Dick Cheney in his undisclosed location.

Nope. I was just lazy.

And, of course, while I was napping on my couch, the boys were doing some serious growing. Jackson now brushes his gums with a vibrating purple elephant (more on that in a moment) and TJ talks like a Ph.D. candidate (which I should know-- I was one, during the longest 6 years of my life, but that's another story).

Let's start with Jackson. He has occupational and physical therapy multiple times per week, and I got the chance to take him to his session yesterday. The first 90 minutes were the usual thing-- making him stand, getting him to roll, having him practice gripping stuff-- but the last 20 minutes blew my socks off. The little guy was sitting in a high chair, working on feeding himself (dip hand in pudding, rub in hair, shove in mouth, repeat) when the therapist put a vibrating purple elephant in his hand. I asked what it was-- "Is it a toothbrush?"-- and she said, "Nope, it's a vibrator." I let that softball float on by, then watched in amazement as Jackson began opening his mouth wide and diving at the elephant, grabbing an ear in his mouth so it could vibrate against his gums and teeth. Now, I know this doesn't sound like much, but you have to keep in mind that I've never seen Jackson make this kind of effort for anything. He opens his mouth for food, and occasionally grabs at a light chaser, but that's about it. This was virgin territory for me. He ducked and bobbed and weaved like Arturo Gotti and grabbed that poor elephant like the TRex grabbing the raptor at the end of Jurassic Park. All in all, a bravuro performance. Mark Daddy as suitably impressed.

Then there's the Teejinator. He talks in somewhat complete sentences (which isn't bad, considering he just turned two) and knows the answers to questions like, "What beds can we jump on, TJ?" (Answer: "Hotel beds!") And he says some weird stuff that nobody can quite figure out. Example: If you point at Jackson and ask TJ "What's his name?", he says, clearly and articulately, "Jackson!" But if you ask TJ "What's your brother's name?", he says, just as clearly and articulately, "Oink, oink!" That's right....TJ's brother is named "Oink, oink!" Go figure.

So anyway.....we're back and as weird as ever. More later.

Gone Fishin'....

2005-04-24T13:16:00.000-04:00

I'm going to be out of the country for a couple of weeks, so I won't be posting until sometime around May 7. I've got my arm loaded up with my Typhoid and Tetanus and Polio, and all the other good stuff, so here I go....

First Chink in the Armor, Ted....

2005-04-24T13:04:00.000-04:00

So we're at swimming yesterday, and I give TJ his snack pack (otherwise known as the "30 minute killer"). Unfortunately, someone (and I'm blaming him) didn't open it quite far enough, and he can't get his little fingers in there to get his Teddy Grahams out. Next thing I know, there are 10 little bears drowning in the staid puddle on the ground in front of us, and TJ's giving me a look (painfully familiar to me, unfortunately) somewhere between pity and outright disgust.

Long story short, the 30-minute killer lasts only about 10 minutes. Next thing I know, TJ's running around, playing, up and down the bench, and then, suddenly, he jumps in the water and begins to swim like Mark Spitz!

Okay, I made the last part up, but the rest of it's true. And it's also true that he tried very hard to fall off the bench and hit his head on the floor, but luckily I grabbed him. Anyhoo....luckily Em wasn't around to see most of this, or I'd probably be writing from my hospital room....

A Little Navel-Gazing

2005-04-20T17:10:00.000-04:00

I'm new to the blogosphere, and in fact until relatively recently spent more time disgusted with them than interested in them. (I think the phrase I used was "self-interested navel-gazers....") But now that I'm in the blogocracy, and the blogometer is running, it occurs to me that it's entirely possible I enjoy navel-gazing more than most.

Here's what I mean. I'm endlessly fascinated by the doings of my kids-- right now, particularly TJ. Remember, 12 months ago he was a screaming little red menace, not quite devoid of personality but not quite swimming in it either, and now he seems to gain new words and ideas and possibilities daily. For quite a while he relied on some stock phrases in his conversation, but now he seems to have branched out and gained the ability to be more reactive.

"TJ, how's your nose?"

"Running!"

"TJ, how's your bottom?" (Necessary info: He had a diaper rash.)

"Okay!"

"TJ, what'd you do today?"

"Ghoshi's house!" (More necessary info: Ghoshi is the pet name for his babysitter, used by the kids she keeps.)

Meanwhile, I think I drizzle away more time watching him turn into someone interesting. It's sometimes very hard to believe how much he changes, and how quickly; it's also sometimes very hard to remember how he was as an infant. So much has changed (not least his color-- now that he's not screaming all the time, he's not red nearly as much).

I'm not sure if I'm accomplishing anything-- putting off necessary work, like studying-- but it sure is fun.

The Lone Arranger?

2005-04-19T02:02:00.000-04:00

TJ has the heart of an actuary (they have hearts, don't they?). He doesn't play with his toys, he arranges them. When he was younger, he would just stand or sit there and pick up as many as possible, like he was trying to categorize them. ("Okay, we have two purple blocks, one purple dinosaur....")

Now he just organizes, like a little Trapper Keeper with feet. On Saturday mornings, when we're trying to get a little extra sleep, he makes what you might call "toy runs" between the living room and our bedroom. Rather than getting one of his thousands of toys to play with, he just brings them and lines them up behind me on the bed. If I'm awake enough I can hear him, but often I'll just wake up and turn over to a toy car, a fake cell phone, a veterinary play set, a couple of random puzzle pieces, a fake thermometer, all lined up in perfect order like they're waiting for pickup. It's like I went to sleep and woke up in Santa's workshop-- I even have the little elf running around.

So does he grow up to be something thrilling, like a skydiver or a cowboy, maybe an Extreme Fighting Champion? Or is he destined to be an accountant, or (yikes!) a librarian, or maybe a Major League Baseball statistician?

The Little Red Lord of all Evil

2005-04-16T16:15:00.000-04:00

It's probably good for TJ that he stopped being an infant. I've been on airplanes and in restaurants with bad babies, but I think I can say definitively:

He was the worst.

Consider this an open apology to anyone who ate, walked, talked, flew with or just sat in mute, stunned silence within 50 yards of us when he was an infant. My friends alternately called him Stewey (for all you "Family Guy" fans) or "The Little Red Lord of all Evil." We were certain he would grow up to be evil, manipulative, and obnoxious.

As it turns out, we were right. And wrong.

He's becoming a much more sensitive kid than I would have expected. He's very attuned to the people and circumstances around him, and he has amazing observation skills. (Also, as I noted previously, he's one hell of a mimic.) He's also manipulative, a little obnoxious, and potentially evil. On those, I'm just not sure yet. Like Anakin in Episode II, he could still go either way.

Cross your fingers.

Swimfan

2005-04-16T16:00:00.000-04:00

On Saturdays we take Jackson for swimming lessons at our local community center, and we've sorta turned the lessons into family outings, since both Emily and I enjoy watching him swim. Of course, "family outing" means "bringing TJ," which can be something of a challenge. Fortunately, my wife is a good deal smarter than I am (shhh....don't tell her!), as I would have probably spent the 1/2 hour rolling him back and forth in his stroller and talking soothingly to him. That worked when he was 4 months old, but not so much now.

So Em brings one (one!) of those Ritz 100-calorie snack packs, and we give it to him once the lesson starts. For me, those are good for ripping off the top and dumping the contents in my mouth, but for Teej they're a 30-minute project. He sits there for 1/2 an hour, his stubby little 21-month old fingers working around the pack, stopping about every ten minutes to ask for a sip from his water cup. Genius, I tell you-- genius!

The point? As always-- it's good to marry up.

And now for something completely different....

2005-04-15T21:51:00.000-04:00

To the hundreds upon thousands of you breathlessly waiting for my next post (well, okay, the three of you who are related to me and who I browbeat into reading this):

The blog was interrupted last night for the return of baseball to DC! While I've only been here for a few years, it was clearly a phenomenal night in the history of the area. People in this area don't agree on anything, as you can probably imagine...but they all love the Nats. As a lifelong Braves fan, I'm going to be torn....but it's gonna be easy to pull for the locals.

Back later...I gotta teach TJ to Tomahawk Chop.....

From the "Dose of Perspective" department:

2005-04-14T02:39:00.000-04:00

One of the interesting things about having a child with severe disabilities (and, yes, there are many) is the way it skews your perspective on children in general. With our oldest developing at a certain, shall we say, stately pace, our youngest seemed like Superbaby. (Of course, I took the credit.)

"Babbling? Already?"

"Standing?"

"Whaddya mean, he's got a cell phone and a pager? He's 18 months old, for God's sake!"

It wasn't entirely a matter of perspective-- TJ did begin talking pretty early, and he does seem like he could be a really smart kid. (Again, thanks to me.) Some-- a lot-- of our outlook on his efforts, though, almost certainly come as a result of watching Jackson develop more slowly and with significantly more effort.

Obviously, a comparison such as this is entirely unfair to both kids-- and in many ways is apples vs. oranges. However, it's hard not to see what might have been for Jackson in the things TJ does so naturally.

It's also easy to see what kind of effort it takes to develop as a kid. I mean, I remember it being all playtime and ice cream and Bugs Bunny. But it's work! Not, of course, that I'll ever admit that TJ when he gets older and starts asking for rewards.....

(One other side note....some may wonder at the tone of this post. How, you might ask, can I stand to think about my son so....so clinically? And I would answer that....I don't have a really good answer. Maybe it's just part of how I stay sane? I dunno. If you have a better answer, let me know.)

Flinch...Jab

2005-04-13T02:40:00.000-04:00

Something stirs me at 3:00 AM. In the distance I hear Jackson wail once, then again, long and mournful like a solo wolf. I lay there for a few seconds, figuring there's a 50/50 shot he'll turn himself over, get situated and go back to sleep. Emily sleeps next to me.

Another wail.

Next to me, Emily flinches. Not a jump, exactly, not a twitch, certainly not voluntary, but a certifiable flinch. And I know what's coming next.

Wait for it.....wait for it....

*Jab* Right in the ribs, from across the bed, in the dark, 3/4 asleep. Perfect shot. (Well, it should be, she's been practicing it our entire marriage.) Then, in a sleepy mumble, "CanyougoseeifJacks'sokay?"

Sure thing, and off I go.

Now, there's no problem with this whole little incident-- like I said earlier, it's been happening for the better part of a decade now. But it points to something endemic to our relationship-- and, I think, to marriages in general: The Spousal Rules of Conduct when Children Require Attention. The rules go something like this:

1. Upon realization that a child requires attention, one spouse (generally the wife) shall quickly notify the other, generally by means of an innocent-sounding question. (Ie, "Can you feed X?")

2. The second spouse (known colloquially as "the unlucky one") shall be obligated to respond in the affirmative, and take care of the problem.

3. In return, the second spouse can become the asking spouse for the next incident, or can arrange some sort of negotiated settlement. (Ie, "Yeah, I got it....will you give him a bath when I'm done?") As above, the first spouse is obligated to respond affirmatively.

Now...this can't just be us, right? I mean, seems to me they should just add it to the wedding vows:

"I, John Groom, do hereby take you, Jane Bride, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, and I will always take care of the kid when you ask, for richer or poorer...."

Because, for some reason, they don't tell you this ahead of time. It's not like the priest or minister or rabbi or spiritual healer or Elvis Impersonator says, "Now you know about the Kid Attention Conduct Clause, right here in Paragraph 19, right?" And it does go both ways...like I said, you can negotiate.

The point, I guess, is that it's organic and grows in the relationship. In other words, I'm sure there are some husbands who have mastered the art of avoidance....I'm just not one of them. Nope....guess I forgot to read the fine print on the marriage license.

Swooper, no Swooping!

2005-04-13T02:25:00.000-04:00

TJ's an addict. He can't help it. He tries to fight it, but he can't. It draws him like a moth to a flame, forcing him to stand and stare helplessly for hours at a time as the human drama plays out on the screen before him.

That's right, TJ's addicted to Dora. The Explorer, that is. Every Saturday morning he comes into our room (criminally early, I might add) and starts begging for his favorite DVD. Me being the responsible parent, I figure it's okay to turn my kid into a slave to the tube at this tender young age (hey, don't look at me-- at least I'm not sending him off to Neverland), at least long enough for me to get more sleep.

It started one day when TJ was about a year and a half old. We're walking through a Babies 'R Us when we hear him say something we've never heard before, and with a great deal of enthusiasm.

"Dowa!"

Emily stops and looks at me and says, "Did he just say Dora?"

"I dunno. Who's Dora?"

"You know, the Explorer?"

"I thought that was Amelia."

"Who?"

"Ear-- never mind. TJ, what did you say?"

"Dowa!"

Sure enough, he's pointing at a Dora backpack, and the obsession was on. Honestly, it's not the Dora obsession I worry about-- I mean, at least she's a girl, right?-- but the fact that TJ's favorite character on the show is actually not Dora, but Swiper the Fox (or, as Teej calls him, "Swooper!"). If you've seen Dora, you know Swiper's the bad guy. He always tries to swipe Dora's stuff (leading, of course, to TJ's favorite line, "Swooper, no swooping!")

So my question is...what does it say that my son's already into the Dark Side? What's next? Darth Vader? Marilyn Manson? Robert Novak?

*Gasp!*

He's gonna be a Republican, isn't he?

Self-Made Man

2005-04-12T02:45:00.000-04:00

I want to expand just a little on a point I made before, about Jackson being a "self-made" kid. Here's what I mean: nothing has come naturally to him. Every kid (at least all of them not born on the planet Krypton) comes out of the womb unable to do anything besides smile, cry, sleep, eat and go poop. Unlike most kids, though, if it were left to nature, that would still be all he could do. He didn't attain any other skills naturally. He can sit up, stand (with some assistance), sign, and make and signal choices. None of these skills are God-given for Jackson; rather, every one of them came through his own hard work (and that of my wife), and him fighting through the various impediments that Nature has thrown up in his path. And that's why I say he's the ultimate self-made kid, and why I say he's the toughest kid I've ever met. Of course, I'm completely objective....

And I shall call him....Mini-Me!

2005-04-12T02:15:00.000-04:00

So my younger son TJ is either the greatest natural mimic on the planet, or....a 21-month old. I don't question his talents, I question his judgment. Despite all the great role models out there-- the political leaders and celebrities (yeah, that's tongue in cheek!) the teachers and firefighters-- for some reason he's decided to mimic-- me! (I'm guessing it's proximity, and only good until he figures out I'm a jackass.)

What's this mean for me? Let's just say that driving is an entirely new experience for me now. I finally understand why my father called every other driver on the road "Turkey-Bird." You come up with creative ways not to curse when you know somebody's just waiting to record and replay in the back seat, ad infinitum.

Quick example: one night he was fighting sleep (shocker!), and I picked him up and said we could snuggle on the bed-- I thought I was being creative in my parenting. Oops. He laid there next to me for a while, got quiet, and finally got to sleep. Unfortunately, he also got ideas. Now, whenever he doesn't want to go to sleep, I hear "Iayana nuggle bed!" "Iayana nuggle couch!" Over and over, nonstop, like a tiny little funhouse version of my cunning self. Yup....I'm a frickin' shark with a frickin' laser on my head....

The Worst Parent in the World?

2005-04-11T23:15:00.000-04:00

Every parent's had that moment, right? The one where you question whether God's really much of a judge of character, given that He/She/It allowed you to be responsible for the welfare of a little person? It's not just me, right?

Saturday we're at a restaurant hear our home in Northern Virginia. Jackson's sitting next to me on the booth, and TJ's in his high chair. (Since Jackson's basically immobile, there's usually little risk in this setup...until now...) Jackson's got such low muscle tone, he's able to pretty much fold himself in half, to the point that sometimes we'll see him asleep on the floor, sitting and bent over at the waist, in full faceplant. So Saturday he's sitting, and the wife and I are chatting, and TJ's being TJ (that is to say, a 1.5 year old), and suddenly we hear a large WHUMP! from under the table. I thought TJ's cup fell out of the bag. Um.......not so much.

We both look down and see the Pie in a heap on the floor, blood seemingly coming out of every opening north of his neck. Em grabs him, and we make a dash for the hospital.

Long story short....(or at least not much longer)....he's okay. The blood was all coming out his nose, and a small cut above his eye. The ER docs tell us he's all right, just a little sore. Of course, he looks like he lost a fight.

So....how guilty should I feel? Until now, I can't say I've ever done anything (or not done anything) toward the Pie that would make me feel guilty. Generally we take really good care of him, and we're pretty attentive (all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding). My wife is a rock star of a mother.

Again, I ask....how good can the cosmos' judgement be? After all, it let me be a parent.

Sweet Little Pie

2005-04-11T23:05:00.000-04:00

Our older son, Jackson, has a genetic syndrome-- (4p-) or Wolf-Hirschhorn Syndrome, for all you geneticists out there. He's a tiny thing-- less than 20 lbs soaking wet-- but he's the toughest kid I've ever met. He's taken more knocks in three years (hell, he had taken more in the 9 months before birth) than a lot of people-- yours truly included-- take in a lifetime. But he keeps smiling and working, and he keeps making good things happen. He's a self-made kid, that's for sure.

When he was in utero, our OBGYN told my wife Emily that he thought the best thing that could happen would be for her to come in for a visit and there just not be a heartbeat. Needless to say, he doesn't get a Christmas card from us most years. Rather, as Em says, we're just waiting for the day when Jackson can walk in and give him the finger. Hell hath no fury like a sweet little Pie scorned!

Bear Binky's Corner

2005-04-11T22:49:00.000-04:00

Hi there--

My wife and I have two little boys (ages 3 and 1), and so many funny and interesting things seem to happen around kids that I thought it might be fun to post a running log of our story as it develops. Hopefully somebody out there will find this as interesting (and funny) as I do-- but if not, that's okay too.

Bear Binky (for those of you who are wondering) is a little bear-shaped blanket that our younger son TJ carries around with him obsessively. I've wondered on a number of occasions what Bear Binky might say if he got the chance to share some thoughts. Maybe I can channel him every now and again....

Please post comments or stories if you find this interesting....a kid's world is a funny place.

Bear Binky's Corner

My Little Pidgin

Anguish

Flight of the Damned

Power to the People!

Gone Fishin'....

First Chink in the Armor, Ted....

A Little Navel-Gazing

The Lone Arranger?

The Little Red Lord of all Evil

Swimfan

And now for something completely different....

From the "Dose of Perspective" department:

*Flinch*...*Jab*

Swooper, no Swooping!

Self-Made Man

And I shall call him....Mini-Me!

The Worst Parent in the World?

Sweet Little Pie

Bear Binky's Corner

Flinch...Jab