So, we cut my son’s hair for the first time about two weeks ago.

He went from this:

and this

to this

My beautiful, wild baby is now an ordinary little boy. Beautiful, but tamer. I expect quieter, more settled, more mature behavior. I’m shocked that he’s still three.

Nothing, of course, has really changed, except that he no longer has all the hair he’s ever had. But the haircut also marks a transition into his childhood of formal schooling, with its reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmatic, as well as expectations that his moral training begin.

I fear that he will be cut less slack for being incapable of understanding, empathizing. But he is still three, despite the haircut. The internal changes will not come as quickly and dramatically as the external ones.

Can’t seem to sleep. Been meaning to write about my son’s Upshirin, about cutting his hair for the first time, about taming his wildness, finding my expectations of him changing based on his new look.

Not going to do that. At least not right now.

Instead, go look at this blog, especially Unpackging the Jewish Knapsack.

No train – a genuine light.

We have a family bed — all of us sleep together in a king-sized futon and have each night since Butternut was born.

About a year ago, we got a twin-sized futon to put at the end of the big bed. Our goal was to slowly move out of that room and eventually discard the king-sized futon.

Last night, Butternut declared that he wanted to sleep in his own bedroom. “Do you know what that means?” asked Pumpkin. “I will sleep for hours and hours by myself,” said Butternut.  Actually, we were thinking about the part where he goes to sleep by himself and told him so. I did not tell him how my heart leapt with joy (followed by a twinge of mama guilt) at the hours of evening we might suddenly be gaining.

We’ve talked with him sporadically about having him have his own room, but this feels really out of the blue. After leaving him for about 15 minutes, Pumpkin went up to find Butternut lying still but awake in the quiet dark and sank into bed next to him after cries of “Papa, I need you.”

Still, the precedent has been set. We are progressing toward having adult time again. I am losing the closeness of his small body snuggled next to mine after hours of separation during the day. This phase of separating from our son is bittersweet.

5 a.m. Get up. Find clothes to wear. Wash a few dishes, pick up clutter in public living areas.

5:30 a.m. Shower, dress, etc.

6:10 a.m. Make smoothie, coffee, pack lunch

6:30 a.m. blow hair dry

6:40 a.m. Leave house to pick up van pool

6:50 a.m. Drive van to work.

7:50 a.m. Analyze, argue, read, consider, discuss (10 %). Oh, and meet and write memos (40 %). Also, put out fires (50%).

noon Over lunch, hit the interwebs or head to yoga, if not continuing with 7:50 a.m. pursuits.

1 p.m.  See 7:50 a.m. Repeat.

5 p.m. Leave for van

5:10 p.m. Ride home – hit the interwebs or read or fail to escape chatty van rider.

6:15 p.m. Eat dinner with family. Endure tantrums, enjoy giggles, clean up. Possibly go for a short walk.

7:30 p.m. Begin bedtime routine.

9 p.m. End bedtime routine. Good night: climb sleepily out of bed and clean dishes, fold laundry, pick up house, clean until 10 p.m. Most nights: fall asleep and fall woefully behind.

Rinse, repeat. Weekend variations include longer walks with kid during the day, play dates, playground visits and menu planning and grocery shopping. W00t.

Today, I am grateful. I am. And it is easy today to feel grateful

Yesterday, the day before, the week before, for a while, I could not find the gratitude.

That’s why there are blessings. That’s why there are religious and meditative practices. Gratidtude must be cultivated. I must cultivate gratitude.

Must?

Only if I want to be happy. And I do want to be happy. I want to be happy.

I’m grateful for the sunshine of the last few days.

I’m grateful for this long commute, which is allowing me to check things out, write, think. (I am also grateful for the other vanpool driver.)

I’m grateful to be headed home — my beautiful home with my loving partner and sweet, healthy Boo Bear.

I’m grateful to have had the luxury of spending my lunch hour practicing yoga.

Butternut’s first mom and her girlfriend were over for Shabbes dinner, along with Aunt B. and Aunt L. (Who are somehow both “B.” to Butternut. It’s not the first time he’s had trouble differentiating among the couples in our lives. For a long time, Aunt F. and Tio S. were just “S.” But now they are different people.)

The thing I like best about this is how normal it is — at least, if I don’t think about it too much. R. comes over periodically. Sometimes she comes alone, sometimes she brings her girlfriend. They are, in many ways, just another couple in our lives. Butternut knows R. is special — he talks about and interacts with her differently from the other adults in his life. We don’t talk often with him about adoption, and he does not seem that interested himelf in talking about it, but we look for opportunities. (“Look, Butternut, here’s a picture of R. when she was carrying you in her uterus.”)

I am reluctant to draw conclusions from this, but I am also drawn to writing about it. I am so curious how Butternut is experiencing his adoption, and I get very few glimpese into it. Having R. around, in our lives, helps.

Two stories:

The other night, we ran out of the dreamy chocolate-mint macaroons a friend delivered to our second-night Seder. The only treat-y thihg we had in the house for Passover was the butter-sugar-chocolate-matzoh concoction we affectionately call Maztoh Crack.

We consider this to be too decadent for Boy.  So, it was necessary to make meringues. Orange/almond, since that’s pretty much what I had in the house.

The next “I wanna macaroon” was met with an offer. We could make orange cookies, but they wouldn’t be ready until the next day to eat. Okay?

Butternut agreed to my terms. We disappeared into the kitchen, grated an orange, beat some egg whites, chopped almonds, added sugar, and popped about 20 globs of goo into the oven.

We proceeded with our bedtime routine, and Pumpkin turned off the heat at the appropriate time. Butternut went to bed without incident.

At 5 a.m., our alarm went off. Butternut slept through it, which was a relief because the day before he’d gotten up at 5:10 a.m.

At 5:30 a.m. cries of “Mama, Mama” crashed down the stairs. Pumpkin reached The Eminator before I did. “Papa,” he asked sleepily, “do you know where the cookies are? I want an orange cookie.”

___________________

Last night, we put Butternut to bed as we (usually meaning Pumpkin) have done every night for years. We read stories while we all lie down together in bed until Butternut slips into sleep.

Butternut closed his eyes. Pumpkin got up and headed toward the door over creaking floorboards. Butternut’s eyes opened. Pumpkin turned back toward the bed, preparing to once again get beneath the covers. Butternut looked at him and said simply and unambiguously, “Go,” before wearily once again shutting his eyes.

From reader Debbie Schwartz — who commented on my 12/09/08 post re: judaism and adoption. (If I were a better blogger, I’d have some links…)

Just stumbled upon your posts from Dec. 2008 about Judaism and adoption and thought you might find it of interest to know that we are running the first annual Forever Families Weekend for Jewish Families Touched by Adoption from June 12-14, 2009 at Camp Nah-Jee-Wah in Milford, Pennsylvania.  A detailed description of the program can be found on the website (entered above) or by visiting the NJ Y Camps website at http://www.njycamps.org/families/html/forever_families.html.  We will be exploring what it means to be part of the Jewish community and part of the adoption community at the same time – all while enjoying the best that Jewish summer camp has to offer!

Pumpkin and I went on a date last night. It was a true celebration of our geek love — a trip to Burgerville followed by a run through the Da Vinci exhibit at OMSI After Dark, a monthly adult-only event our local science museum holds.

It was really nice to just hold my sweetie’s hand and see the smile on his face when he looked at (and operated some of) the re-creations of Da Vinci’s inventions. There were some cool things to see. I also felt a little jaded about the exhibit because the tone was very block buster-y (“25 Secrets Revealed about the Mona Lisa”) and everything was a reproduction. You know, when you’ve seen an actual painting by Da Vinci, a digital reproduction just isn’t that interesting.

Boy seemed to take our leaving him with our (and his) best friends for the evening pretty well. He keeps asking us why we went to the science museum without him.

Some time ago, I asked my boss how a person becomes a manager here.

He’s delighted in my interest, and I’m happy to say that he’s working with me on a plan to have me become the lead researcher over the next six months.

I feel awkward about it when I think about the other people on the team who have been here longer and have more technical skills than I have. But, as my boss reminds me, he can’t teach them the management, communication and leadership skills that I already have.

About a week ago, our support person left. She had her own cube, while most of the rest of us worked together in a four-cube pod. (Can you guess where I’m going?) We took this change as an opportunity to move me out, in part because the new staffer has some skills my boss wants her to share with the other researchers and in part because he felt it would increase the likelihood that others in the division will start to see me as set apart from my colleagues.

I don’t know that it is true.  I do know that I feel set apart and more autonomous somehow.