eyelessgame

At the bus stop, this morning, with Josh. Two third-graders, two fifth-grade older siblings, one other dad.

The other dad is telling me about how someone plowed into a fire hydrant two streets over (that's why we're hearing sirens). His third-grade son: "Where does all the water come from?" Him: "From the main city water supply." Son: "Is it going to use it all up?" Him: "Yes. It's going to use up all the water and you won't get to have any. You'll be dead in three days."

The kid's eyes widen, not sure if his dad really means this.

Josh turns to me. "He's joking!" he says to me. I nod to him.

Watching fifth-grader to her third-grade sister: "Wow. The little boy understands sarcasm!"

I near bust a gut laughing. "Yes, indeed he does. He has an older brother and older sister and two parents who all use sarcasm a lot. He's had to."

I'll have more to write about Josh's teeball team -- the one I've been the manager for -- later, possibly this weekend, when I write up a postmortem.

But I had to mention this.

One of my players - Garen - would be a credit to a ten-year-old little league team. (He's six.) He can throw the ball from third base to first and hit the first baseman's glove. (He's six.) He can also catch a ball at home plate fired from the outfield by an adult. (Again, he's six. He's been telling me the things he plans to do when he's in the majors. I believe him.)

Today for about the first time we were playing with actual outs, in that if the team on the field got the runner out by normal baseball rules, he didn't stay on base but actually went back and sat in the dugout.

With runners on second and third, the batter lines the ball hard to third base. Garen, playing third, catches the liner on the fly. He immediately steps on third. He then turns, charges up the basepath toward second, and tags the runner.

I just watched a six-year-old turn a by-God unassisted triple play. One that he could very plausibly have turned against kids twice his age.

I'll remember a lot about this season. But that I'll definitely remember.

Poor Josh. He finished his skating lesson as Robert and Kate were starting theirs, and he told me he wanted a churro. I looked through the glass and saw four people in line waiting to be served at the snack bar, handed him $1.25 and asked him if he knew where the line was; he nodded. I finished packing my things up and followed him a minute later.

When I got there he was proudly walking away from the counter, holding a churro. The same four people were still in line.

Um, I thought. I congratulated him on buying the churro properly, but pointed to the line and told him (in a sympathetic normal tone, only loud enough that nearby people paying attention could hear) he was supposed to stand in line first -- "so you know for next time."

His expression crumpled, his eyes filled with tears. Sobbing, he handed the churro to me, telling me he didn't want it anymore. It took several minutes to convince him no one was upset with him, it was okay, five-year-olds are still learning these things, and really, no, it was okay, he could have the churro he paid for, and I knew next time he'd stand in line.

A ball game, a three-year-old chimpanzee, mondo shopping, WD-40, a star party plan, McDonalds, vomit, homework, plans down in flames, all in the same day. ( Read more... )

So my ears are almost all better. Unfortunately I've acquired the same bug Katie and Josh have (and Sherilyn's probably getting) -- 101.4 fever, nausea, loss of appetite. Fortunately the kids are almost over it, so let's hope in a day or two I'll be better too.

Read to Josh tonight -- or rather, he read to me, as he insisted on giving me his version of each page before I was permitted to read it. "Nah bah, nah fah, nah how, nah mou, da ba deh ANYWHAH!" "Day oo day oo Sah Ah Aahm!"

Sherilyn and I have discussed this on occasion: when a baby starts developing into a toddler, especially when he's pre-verbal, it's hard sometimes not to think of him as, essentially, a pet... not yet quite human.

This continues for a while even as he starts picking up language -- it's still kind of like how a puppy learns to scratch at the door to go out. He starts calling his big sister 'kay-ee' and his brother 'wa-wa', and puts words together to say what he wants: 'my tun!', and makes more and more words and gestures describing what he wants and thinks: when thirsty, he opens the fridge and carries me the gallon jug of apple juice (sometimes all the way across the house), or protests 'Hey! Tha' my!' when something's taken away...

For his brother and sister, I don't remember it happening suddenly; full sentences and their own imagination and questions gradually made me start seeing the human-level thoughts going on behind them.

But evidently you can pass the rubicon all at once.

Last night, as I was putting him in his crib, he sat, looked up at me, pointed to his chest, and proudly announced "I'm Joshua!"

Yes. Yes, you are. Hello, son.

Joshua got a deck of Wiggles cards -- they're for playing Go Fish or simpler games: about six of each of nine different cards with different Wiggles characters on them.

He was shown a sorting game and immediately understood. He would take the shuffled deck, take one card at a time, make nine piles with cards in the correct place. Not a big stretch for a two year old.

So he was playing this repeatedly on the floor in the den while I webcruised yesterday, and suddenly I realized he was saying something while he did it.... 'fie siss sewen aye nie ten ewevenn telv fawtee fitee'.

I don't recall anyone ever trying to teach him to count past ten... and it shows, of course, because he skipped thirteen... :) and no one had ever counted the Wiggles cards, so the idea that numbers are abstractions and can apply to anything has evidently provided him with no difficulty whatsoever.

Katie, on the way home from the park on Saturday, announced that she was "Not-Fall-Off-Bike Girl!" She distinctly pronounced the hyphens and the capital letters. I'm very amused. Yesterday, I took her to get her 5-year-old pictures taken. She was sulky and recalcitrant till we got in the car, at which point she perked up. At Walmart we had to sit for fifteen minutes, so she enthusiastically read me most of Hop On Pop, then charged in, perched before the camera, and posed adorably for every shot. Afterwards she was the very model of a perfect kid -- making me, by the way, look like a wonderful father out there in public (when around a kid in a good mood, you look like a good parent. It just happens). Later last night, however, she completely exploded when told she had to share a banana with Josh, and had to be sent shrieking and fighting up to her room for a while. Moods... Robert had the same sorts of moods at this age, and I fancy I'm a little better at dealing calmly with them than I was two years ago.

Josh, this morning, brought me a small rubber duck and announced it was a "Qwwcckk" (say "quack" without the vowel. Go ahead, try it. Sounds like clearing your throat.) Add this to his current word count -- 'wih-wih' (Wiggles), 'yah!', 'Da!' 'Maamaa', 'Uh-oh', 'nana' (banana), 'bahpah' (backpack -- from Dora), and a number of other less distinct or repeated ones. (And 'please', 'more', and 'all done' sign language, plus an endless number of distinct gestures, like fetching a plate for himself when he's hungry, pulling at the fridge door when thirsty...) Josh is also showing some signs of being a southpaw, like his dad. (And like one of my cousins, and my uncle for whom Robert is named, and my late eponymous grandfather...)

Robert and I had a talk while waiting for the bus this morning about why school was important. It struck me that he'd never had this talk before -- what you do when you're an adult depends on what and where you study in college; the kind of college you get into depends a lot on how well you do in high school; how well you do in high school depends partly on how well you learn the basics of english, math, science, society, and study habits in grammar school. His eyes were shining at the connectedness of it all by the time I was done, and he agreed that his schoolwork must therefore be very important. And he then told me a bit about how good a job he was doing. Knew already from teacher's reports and papers sent home, but nice to hear from him too -- he's often reluctant to say anything about his day at school.

Earlier today, I came out of the den for a break. Joshua saw me coming, took me by the hand, led me to the fridge, pulled on it to try to open it, then pointed and said 'Enh!'

Me: "Do you want something to eat?"
Josh: [shakes head]
Me: "Want some milk to drink?"
Josh: [eyes shining] "Yeah!"

Not the first time; he's been doing this distinctly, clearly, and discretionarily for a couple days now. It's his word. He shakes his head no, and enthusiastically chirps "Yeah!" for yes. But today was when I remembered why this moment is so special.

With each kid, there's been a moment of disorientation at the first real communicative word ('mummummum' and 'dadadadada' are more sounds than words, more emotion than thought; 'mummummum' is a needing-comfort sound, and 'dadada' is playful.) It's as disconcerting, in a way, as if your cat turned to you and said 'Hello.' This isn't an entity that talks, it's an entity that gets into things and gets talked /at/.

Up to this point, they're almost like pets; you take care of them, keep them from dangerous things, talk to them, humor them... but until they talk they're not really people.

Welcome, Joshua.