It's the end of the world as I know know it

Issac has figured out how to climb out of his crib, walk downstairs and help himself to his toys, thankfully he cannot open the fridge yet or I suspect he might have made himself breakfast too while waiting for his Papa to get up yesterday.

I know that I should be happy that Issac is growing into a new phase of independence, but instead I am a bit verklempt, and not all in a good way.

Soon the days of putting him in his crib for naps or quiet time will be gone and then Mama will really have no time to herself at home since my wonderful, glorious son stalks me daily if I am anywhere in the house.

As soon as the bath is drawn and I quietly ease into it, or just as I am about to sneak a solo bathroom break or a delicious phone call from my best girl. . .

a door flies open, a hand comes through the smallest part of the child-proofed door, or I get to witness a delightful concerto of MAMA, MAMA, MAMA until I exit or he is allowed to enter. 

I did try hiding in a dark closet yesterday so I could catch up with a friend.  We laughed as I whispered and silenced myself completely when I heard him opening doors and looking for me.  (bad mama)

Somehow I know I should treasure this time because I know that it will not last. 

At least I still have his high chair that I can strap him into.

 

You really thought you could hide from ME?

Bilingual Child

Ok, so have I mentioned that Leo and I are attempting to raise Isaac as a bilingual child? 

They - whoever they are- say that it helps with brain development and lord knows, I do not want to disappoint my MIL or husband since they are both fluent.  I do wonder at times how much my son will have an opportunity to speak Russian where we live. 

Even so, I have been the one to tell Leo to continue when he was ready to throw in the towel.  I am happy that Isaac seems to understand us both in two languages, and has busted out a paka, da, and spasiba from time to time. 

I have wanted to learn Russian, but it is a doozy of a language so I have been able to skirt the issue until this week. . .

A friend of mine just secured an inexpensive Russian Rosetta stone for me in Asia, so now I am on the hot seat.  I hope I can find time for my lessons between job searching, writing, creating the new online blog here for the local paper that now has been added to all of the mountain area webistes (yikes- can you say writers block), waiting for my real estate license to transfer so I can begin to build that business, being a wife, mother, carving out an hour to myself a week, and cleaning up my car after the projectile vomiting episode with Isaac this weekend when we attempted to have a nice day in the city.

Don't get me wrong, I have wanted the Rosetta Stone for awhile, but now I will have no excuse not to attempt to learn Russian even if I get a headache just looking at its unusual letters.

Truth be told, the headache can really be blamed on the memory of my first and only trip to Russia with Leo.

No disrespect to Russia, it is a lovely place, but when you are sitting in a room full of Russians who all love to hear themselves talk, and then you realize that a week has gone by without you hearing ANYTHING that you understand, and suddenly your husband breaks out of his trance and appologizes for his family and friends and you realize that aside from one person at the table, everyone speaks English, you can get a little violent.

Perhaps those are the same sentiments that surface when I hear others saying that Isaac is a little delayed in his speech.  HE IS LEARNING TWO LANGUAGES.

In any case, I am trying to stay calm, but the next person that mentions his development in this area may well find one of these in a place they are not expecting it.

Dear Isaac

Happy 25 1/2 month birthday, it is amazing how much you have grown and how loud you can scream.

I guess if you only have one child, the rule must be that you get all your karma with that one child. 

It is a good thing you are so cute, or you'd be in real trouble.  I do love how you love to read books, are flat out obsessed with playdough, and are already a foodie who looks at me as if I have lost my mind when I offer you plain pasta and kids food while my salmon and goat cheese salad is staring at you from my plate.

Even though yesterday I nearly duct taped your mouth so you could not whine anymore, I have to admit that the most interesting adults were willful children and it did feel good to get a call today saying that you were missed in gym class "because you are the only child there with any personality."  Jana's words, not mine.

Rock Star

Isaac is an old soul with an incredible sense of humor, and is one of the coolest peeps on the planet.  There, I have finally said it out loud, I am relieved that the secret is out.

Because I know his brilliance and the sense of style waiting to be expressed, I cannot bring myself to put any kind of Disney, Sesame Street, Diego or other cartoon characters on his body or play any Baby Einstein or silly baby CD’s for him. I have been this way and ready to defend it since Day 1.

G-d bless all who sent cute little baby blue outfits with poodles and lions, hats with frogs, matching Noah’s ark sweat suits, and baby CD’s, but Isaac was born too cool for them and I have to respect that more than I have to worry about hurting your feelings.

Maybe it is just that I am a horrible snob when it comes to those things and I am projecting my own need to have a cool son on him, in any case, I hardly think that matters and know if you meet him you will understand. (It better be true with the number of hours, days, weeks and months I have spent searching for cool boy clothing to spare him and his soul of the others hanging in his closet.) I even contemplated creating a line for myself and the other mothers who know what I am talking about. Is it wrong that I love him more when he is dressed so cute?

The best way to experience and realize his musical talents is to be present when I or the Ipod sing to him and hear him join in with his own riff.  He cannot help himself, he just HAS to sing along with it and has been mesmorized by music since I played Aretha Franklin to him daily while he was in my womb.

Lately he seems taken with Bob Dylan, but if he hears flamenco guitar or any other world or instrumental music, he “writes his own lyrics” which to anyone else his ‘words’ are indistinguishable, but to me it is a masterpiece waiting to be recorded. A few of you have been able to hear it when I call you on the cell in the middle of his latest composition - though I am not sure that you truly appreciate it in the right fashion.

As Edward Lewis (Richard Gere) says to Vivian (Julia Roberts) in Pretty Woman trying to explain opera, “The first time someone goes to the opera, they either love it or hate it. Those who love it will always love it, those who hate it might come to appreciate it, but never truly love it”       (Ok, so it has been awhile since I have seen the film, and I may not be remembering it verbatim, and of course I could give a dissertation on the moral and structural problems with the film, but being the forever optimist who can find something good in everything, call me cheesy, but I liked that scene.) 

In any case, I may be the only one so far who loves Isaac's operas from the start, but you pedestrian folk may learn to appreciate it one day.

Isaac, I do not know if you will notice and appreciate the time and effort mama put into making sure that you were dressed adorably each day when you look at your baby pictures or not, or if you will be thankful that she played world, classical, jazz and R&B for you rather than nursery rhymes, and G-d knows, most folks where we live don’t notice or say much about how freakin cute you look everyday, or your taste in music..

But after yesterday, I feel somewhat redeemed….

Your teacher at school finally said…”Isaac has the coolest clothes, he looks so great everyday”, (needless to say, I have a crush on her now), and even though it is a huge no-no Leo and I got a few of the teachers to admit how cool you were and that even though they couldn’t really say it publicly, they admitted that you were their favorite.

and THEN…. Your teacher went on to tell me that her mom calls you “The rock star” and I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Finally someone outside the family understands your brilliance.

The truth is, no matter what you choose to do in your life, you ARE a rock star. Something I have known all along....and so what if it took me buying a hat and t –shirt that say ‘Rock Star’ for other people to realize it..

              

Papa's not allowed near the scissors again