Shanamadele’s Coffee Break
Pet Peeve #162Archive for Butternut
How about now?
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.
See the end of that tunnel up ahead?
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.
That’s my boy!
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.
How small children survive to adulthood
Last night, after the usual mix of whining, mess making and tantrumming, Butternut decided he wanted giggles at bedtime.
“Giggles” is new. It seems to mean that kissing Mama (and being kissed by Mama) with exaggerated, noisy kisses is the funniest thing you can possibly imagine, leading to cascades of giggles. Thus the name.
After a couple of rounds of giggles as we were settling into bed, I said that we would have to stop but could start again in the morning.
He remembered, of course. What a wonderful way to start the day!
Deep, Petty Sigh
Today, Butternut got invited to the birthday party of another child in his daycare. I think it’s the first birthday party he’s been invited to (aside from two for children of close friends).
We’re not going to go, and I feel like a big stick in the mud, but….
The party is being held at a local amusement park in two weeks. Participants must pay to attend — $14.25 per person to ride unlimited attractions, so if the kid won’t ride alone, you’re ponying up $28.50 to attend some three year olds birthday party, and that’s without a present.
So tacky.
If it rains, they will move the party to Chuck E. Cheese. (You know, I just hoped for a couple more years before we got an invite to the Chuck E Cheese tot casino.) Pumpkin refuses to go to a party for a 3 year old there.
It’s a dilemma. I like the kid, and I think Butternut does, too, as much as any 2.5 year old likes any other kid. I want to be a fun parent. But, man, I would just never, ever do this to other parents. Like, okay, I might marginally be interested if they were paying. I might drag myself to a party where there is no pretense of interaction because that was want the parents wanted to do for their child if they were willing to pay for it.
This is one of those fundamental friendship dilemmas, I think. It’s not the kid’s fault the parents are tacky. He probably won’t really notice if Butternut isn’t there. We can easily just say that we are so sorry but we are unavailable to join them without any explanation. Hell, I’ll even buy the kid a present, because I like the kid and I think it’s sweet that we were invited. But I feel bad because I am keeping Butternut from this party that he might enjoy even if I don’t approve or value it. Plus, I know that this isn’t going to be the last time that we get an invitation like that, and at some point everyone is going to notice.
I’m interested, Gentle Reader, in your thoughts.
