Letting Go of the Cape

I realize the LG is pretty young to give up on anything, but perhaps it is time that I, as his mother, stop pushing him into things he is not interested in. The cape just isn't sticking. I am sure this is just the beginning of the unending disappointment I will experience when the qualities I envisioned in the perfect child when he was still in the womb are picked off my master list one by one until I am left with nothing, NOTHING!

So he isn't going to be a superhero. It's still a really long list, so I guess I don't have to give up my dreams of him winning the Heisman and World Cup, conducting the Philadelphia Philharmonic, discovering the cure for AIDS, winning a Nobel Peace Prize for negotiating a successful resolution between Israel and Palestine, and building the first Fortune 500 company built solely on "green" products and services....at least not yet. Oh, I forgot to mention the 10 languages he will speak.



It looks as though instead of pursuing a career flying through the friendly skies, he is more interested in becoming a Ninja. Honestly, I just don't know what he is thinking (especially since he can't talk yet). I just can't bring myself to buy the proper bamboo staff. As you can see below, he is using anything he can find to train himself. I know that at 11 months I should just be thrilled that he has engrossed himself so thoroughly in anything, but I just can't let go of the cape.

Pumpkin Man

Crazy week. That's what it has been around here. We were in NYC for 2 days with the LG. I tell you what - I love NYC, but not with a stroller, which by the way, is NOT a Maclaren, something I hadn't ever thought too much about until our little visit to the big apple where every stroller pushing nanny (didn't see to many people who were the same color as the kids) was pushing the finest in toddler transportation. The LG and I had a great time for a couple hours at the Natural History Museum as you can see below. I particularly like the look on his face - it reminds me of a photo my mom took of me years back in NYC when she was trying to get us to smile after being dragged from one tourist destination to another (love you mom ; )

After our train arrived back in DC 45 minutes late around midnight on Friday, we got home and to bed around 1am. Up at 6:30 with the LG. Cleaning and packing all day before leaving on an evening flight for a quick weekend in Portland without the LG. This was the first time leaving him for more than one night (and that one night was with my mom). I am not really a worrier, or super mushy about many things, but I missed the LG, and worried, and couldn't wait until those 48 hours of freedom were over and those little Michelin arms around my neck.

Lest you think I am getting too mushy, let me get on my soapbox for a minute. This woman sitting next to me on the flight back, had this bag with a picture looking something like this, except that it said, "Anti-War, Pro-Kittens". Okay, aside from all of the creepy images I had of her stowing like 50 kittens in that bag, COME ON. Seriously. I don't even know how to respond to the stupidity of this statement. Since I don't know where to start, I won't, but let me just say that in my quest to find a picture to illustrate, I discovered that there is a whole movement dedicated to this asinine cause. The only thing keeping me laughing is that this picture makes me think of them dropping kittens instead of bombs, and our enemies being so perplexed by this strange change in tactic, that they actually run screaming for their lives. Kittens. Come on.

Back to the real reason for this post - I wanted to share a fabulous pic of the LG with his first "Jack" O' Lantern. Check out the Michelins, and all those teeth. As you can see, he is very proud of that orange gourd.

Fighter

I used to be a fighter. I used to love to get into it with people about ideas - particularly politics. You know, pull out the fists, get in a little tongue lashing here and there. Other than getting into it with the love of my life every now and then about global issues like dishes, who gets to do the grocery shopping, and who is most tired, I think I have put the gloves away. Retired. The fighter has been put to bed. The question is, what does that mean? Am I now an uber whimp? Has my mind turned to mush? Am I no longer me? What happens when the fighter moves on - is my mind now destined to become a big blob of gelatanous goo? That's what happens to football players who retire (especially the ones from high school who don't ever exercise again). Something has to move in to the vast caverns where muscle once dwelt (huh? - sometimes I don't even get what I am saying). Don't get me wrong - there are still things that get me going, but I can't quite think of what they are just now. On the other hand, there are always a few people who know just how to light that spark. You know who you are. Bring it.

Superhero Training Take #2

Having conquered pushups, situps, and squats, we are moving onto flying. Ambitious you ask? Not at all. Simply a natural progression in any superhero's training regiment. All it takes is a little bit of speed, a cape and sheer will power. Nothing a 10 month old superhero in training isn't capable of. So to hasten the process, I purchased the best in training technology. The contraption provides stability and a handlebar to keep the user from flying into the ceiling - you know, keeping him a bit closer to the ground where he can be supervised.

(Sorry for my incompetence in turning the video around the right way, and not figuring out how to shut the sound off.)

Now, I will tell you that I am not super impressed by the results. There have been numerous attempts at flight. Plenty of speed. The backwards bib should suffice for the cape, and I have seen his tantrums - no question of will power - but each time it looks as though he might just take off, he flies...right into the ground. Depending on how closely I am supervising, this event can often be followed by shrieking, bruises, and once a bleeding lip.

In fact, rather than using it to fly, it appears as though he is using it to walk. He seems to enjoy this a lot more than the flying. Plus, he doesn't really like the cape - as you can see from his "bare" bones approach to clothing. Even the underpants would be optional if it were up to him. He likes the walking so much in fact, that he doesn't even think he needs the contraption. I have advised him otherwise, but he insists. Walking on his own already. Quite absurd, but perhaps I do need to revise the training curriculum to more accurately fit his super strengths and interests. Looks like I need to return the blue tights, red cape and gold belt along with the defunct contraption. That's what I get for shopping on the internet.

Supermom Syndrome

It's 6:30am. I'm sitting in my car waiting to take a call for work. Waiting to win the supermom award. Figured it best to get the call out of the way before superhero training starts this morning. Too bad the call is running late. Too much time to sit and blog. I've decided in these brief 10 minutes that there is no such thing as a supermom - I mean there certainly are super moms, but no Supermoms. You know, the women who supposedly do EVERYTHING - work, raise their children, clean their own homes, sit on committees for church, have gourmet dinners waiting on the table when their husbands get home, weigh as much as they did in high school, serve as President of the PTA. You know the type - the type we all love to hate. The thing is, there are women who come close, and I certainly commend them, but the truth is we all only have 24 hours in a day.

Something suffers. Even if it is just ourselves. I have been thinking about this a lot lately. I only work part-time, and it isn't so much the working - in fact sometimes it is extremely rewarding, stimulating and challenging - it is just the fact that I am responsible for one more thing. Now, if I could replicate myself like in that stupid movie with Michael Keaton, it would be one thing. So the question is, if I could replicate myself, which me would I be? If I could outsource everything else, what would I do? Not sure I could handle focusing my energy on any one thing. So Supermom syndrome wins out, just so long as we are clear there is really no such thing.

So it is 6:50am. Call is now 20 minutes late. Superhero training starts in 10. Better go brush my teeth.