"Daddy, turn on the blue light!" "Alright, Noah. Are you ready to strike a pose?" Noah spread his arms wide and puckered his lips. Then I flipped the switch on his fluorescent blue light to reveal his uncanny resemblance to Ben Stiller's Blue Steel. Our little Zoolander loves to be dramatic, and he has helped me revive my own inner ham.
Together, Noah and I have slow danced to High School Musical 3, led lively parades around the house, pretended to be monsters and robots by putting blankets and empty boxes on our heads, scolded stuffed animals for their inappropriate behavior, and sung our hearts out cause "We all need somebody to lee...ean on."
Although I wasn't exactly afraid to go vogue before Noah, fabulous was certainly not the adjective people would use to describe me. I'm sitting here writing this in my first ever pair of jeans that aren't gigantic, hiding the actual shape and size of my body. I think they're the only pair I've bought in the past 10 years. Noah, on the other hand, often looks handsome and stylish, thanks to Mary's inclination for fashion.
Considering his outgoing personality, showmanship, strong individual will, and utter exuberance, Noah will be turning heads wherever he goes. Throw in his forced smile that looks like he's being simultaneously attacked by a spotlight and a barrage of neck and chin tickles, and he's downright unforgettable.
Nobody knows how much his imaginative, unfettered charisma will affect me, but as long as he's conducting, I'll let my body move to the music. There's really nothing to it.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Breath Taking
When you hear me or Mary tell Noah, "Take a breath," you know that his emotions and/or body are totally out of control. The first time I made this request, I was mostly reminding myself to cool down before I dealt with our little guy whose will is inversely proportional to his undersized figure. Taking a breath together became routine, and he even began instinctively asking for a second deep breath.
This week, when there was still time left before dinner, Noah was eagerly awaiting his bath. I agreed to let him splash in the tub earlier than usual, but his excitement got the best of him. I was trying to start the water and undress him while holding Ari in my other hand, but his impulses took over. He turned the cold water handle all the way up over and over, despite my repeated explanations of why he probably wouldn't want to take a cold bath. I told Noah that he had one more chance to listen to me or he could forget his bath that night. I immediately took Ari to a safe place to put her down so I could focus on Noah, and by the time I returned he had TP'd our bathroom. Bursting from frustration, I called off the bath.
Following in the footsteps of his attorney ancestors, he protested, "I listened!" Technically I hadn't recently reminded him of the rule against playing with our toilet paper, but we had discussed this behavior many times before. After a period of wailing and convulsing, he walked down the stairs and ran to the kitchen. From a distance I heard him plead, "Mommy, I want to breathe with you." After a period of silence and a hug (my will power to deny Noah now being sucked out of my body with the exhale), he looked at Mary and asked, "Can I take a bath now?" Though he was clearly playing to his audience for his own benefit, it was still a sweet moment and a sign that our efforts to help him center himself were at least being recognized.
Whether his problems are complex or simple, lasting or fleeting, dire or trivial, I hope he continues to ask us to breathe with him for years to come. When it comes to my family, despite my asthma, I will never have shortness of breath.
This week, when there was still time left before dinner, Noah was eagerly awaiting his bath. I agreed to let him splash in the tub earlier than usual, but his excitement got the best of him. I was trying to start the water and undress him while holding Ari in my other hand, but his impulses took over. He turned the cold water handle all the way up over and over, despite my repeated explanations of why he probably wouldn't want to take a cold bath. I told Noah that he had one more chance to listen to me or he could forget his bath that night. I immediately took Ari to a safe place to put her down so I could focus on Noah, and by the time I returned he had TP'd our bathroom. Bursting from frustration, I called off the bath.
Following in the footsteps of his attorney ancestors, he protested, "I listened!" Technically I hadn't recently reminded him of the rule against playing with our toilet paper, but we had discussed this behavior many times before. After a period of wailing and convulsing, he walked down the stairs and ran to the kitchen. From a distance I heard him plead, "Mommy, I want to breathe with you." After a period of silence and a hug (my will power to deny Noah now being sucked out of my body with the exhale), he looked at Mary and asked, "Can I take a bath now?" Though he was clearly playing to his audience for his own benefit, it was still a sweet moment and a sign that our efforts to help him center himself were at least being recognized.
Whether his problems are complex or simple, lasting or fleeting, dire or trivial, I hope he continues to ask us to breathe with him for years to come. When it comes to my family, despite my asthma, I will never have shortness of breath.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Treading on Thin Vice
Mary and I finally joined a gym this week, now that we feel comfortable leaving Ari in a playroom for an hour. To be honest, I felt a little deceitful telling Noah about the cool place we were going and how he could play with other kids. Throughout my life I've gone through periods of overdoing things like tv, video games, food and other mostly tame vices. Exercise is my latest insatiable craving.
I got my first taste (in a long time) about two months ago when I started playing basketball on Sunday nights. Never in my life have sore muscles felt so good, and I think I'm actually going to miss the feeling once my body is in shape again. My skills were rusty, but I made up for it with some gutsy defense and creative play making.
I have had varied relationships with the gym over the years, even though the literal experience has changed very little. As a young teenager I was excited to develop pro wrestler-sized muscles, checking myself out in the mirror between each set. I soon became embarrassed in front of the varsity athletes as I failed to move up to the all-important 45 pounders. Then in college I always had a few other things I felt like I should be doing instead. When I finally had more free time than anyone can imagine, living with two roommates and working 9-5, the gym routine had become mundane, and I was only trying to maintain my level of fitness and strength. Thus, an excuse or distraction was easily rationalized.
Although the playroom at our gym certainly isn't Disney World, Noah made some friends, and he displayed a reasonable level of satisfaction with the situation. He thought my muscle-building activities were pretty cool, and he pointed out all of the machines that he was gonna try.
We try to keep our self-focused activities to a minimum, but both Mary and I would admit that our entire family is better off if we treat ourselves a little bit. Sometimes when I feel like I can't take any more of Noah's antics, his behavior probably wouldn't sound utterly horrible to an observer; however, our state of mind, fatigue and health can easily swing our reactions from slightly annoyed to infuriated. As we sneak in a few seemingly simple treats every week, we will continue to balance our desires and our energy, responding to our young children's needs.
Maybe it's the surefire predictability of the activity or the forgotten memory of dripping sweat or the chance to actually accomplish a goal that I set, but the once loathed activity of the treadmill has now become a steadfast gateway to new heights. Or maybe it's just the music blaring out of the hip hop dance class. Either way, "I've got a feeling..."
I got my first taste (in a long time) about two months ago when I started playing basketball on Sunday nights. Never in my life have sore muscles felt so good, and I think I'm actually going to miss the feeling once my body is in shape again. My skills were rusty, but I made up for it with some gutsy defense and creative play making.
I have had varied relationships with the gym over the years, even though the literal experience has changed very little. As a young teenager I was excited to develop pro wrestler-sized muscles, checking myself out in the mirror between each set. I soon became embarrassed in front of the varsity athletes as I failed to move up to the all-important 45 pounders. Then in college I always had a few other things I felt like I should be doing instead. When I finally had more free time than anyone can imagine, living with two roommates and working 9-5, the gym routine had become mundane, and I was only trying to maintain my level of fitness and strength. Thus, an excuse or distraction was easily rationalized.
Although the playroom at our gym certainly isn't Disney World, Noah made some friends, and he displayed a reasonable level of satisfaction with the situation. He thought my muscle-building activities were pretty cool, and he pointed out all of the machines that he was gonna try.
We try to keep our self-focused activities to a minimum, but both Mary and I would admit that our entire family is better off if we treat ourselves a little bit. Sometimes when I feel like I can't take any more of Noah's antics, his behavior probably wouldn't sound utterly horrible to an observer; however, our state of mind, fatigue and health can easily swing our reactions from slightly annoyed to infuriated. As we sneak in a few seemingly simple treats every week, we will continue to balance our desires and our energy, responding to our young children's needs.
Maybe it's the surefire predictability of the activity or the forgotten memory of dripping sweat or the chance to actually accomplish a goal that I set, but the once loathed activity of the treadmill has now become a steadfast gateway to new heights. Or maybe it's just the music blaring out of the hip hop dance class. Either way, "I've got a feeling..."
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