Mr. Independent

It's hard being 3. 3 is full of contradictions. You are mobile, but you are limited. You feel like you could fly high, but you are actually short. You are intelligent, but logic is confusing.

You are independent, but so very dependent... all at the same time.

Xavier, however, is hitting full on independence.

a week ago, Xavier didn't want help getting his sweater on. He figured out, with much frustration, how to put it on but then demanded that I start the zipper for him.

Yesterday, he made the decision about which restaurant we were going to dine at for dinner.

It's been about 3 weeks since he's willingly given me a hug and kiss goodbye when I drop him off at school in the morning. (cuellito sure, but no besos) All of these rapid changes are hard for me to accept. However, with it comes a new side to him that I didn't know existed.

Today, at the grocery store, Xavier heard the music playing and started dancing... I mean full on let's slide across the floor and groove. I think he would have tried to start breakdancing near the canned goods if I hadn't given him a funny look. The song was "Freak Out" and Xavier had the full on pointed fingers, footwork, etc. More than one of the other shoppers gave him the "oh my goooosh you are so adorable" face.

Now that he has his own room, he's showing all sorts of little trends. For example, he's all about letters. He's really paying attention to letters and starting to spell. (This will be easier once he's more confident in his letter sound recognition...) He practices writing his name on every piece of paper that colors on. He's also recently learned how to spell our last name... a feat not to be diminished considering most adults still look at me funny when I remind them there are two "h"s.

Today, he ran home from the corner of 53rd. I had to beg him and squeeze his hand to hold onto it as we crossed the street. Once we were at the corner, he bolted. Much to the bemusement of the other pedestrians.




We've done things the same way for so long, that it's hard to keep him back. I knew this was coming... I just didn't know it would be here so soon.

Times are Changing

Xavier has always been my little boy. He's been sleeping in my bed since he was about ... 2 days old. It started as him needing to sleep with me because I was too exhausted and sleep deprived from a hard labor and nursing all night. It continued because it was comforting. It continued because we spent so much time away from each other during his first two years, while I finished my education, that every moment together was precious. It continued because once we were finally together all the time, we shared a room. It continued because holding him close and listening to him breathe was the only thing that made me sleep when insomnia reared its ugly head. It continued because when he's cuddled next to me, he's still my little boy. He won't be little forever, and I have to savor these moments while they are still here.

Xavier is growing up. This weekend he will have his own room while living with me for the first time. We aren't moving to a new place, one of my roommates is. Once she returns to her home country, Xavier will have her room. It will be a big transition - more for me than for him.

Each day I notice more and more things that mark him a little boy rather than a small baby. Everywhere we go, he wants to be at the front of our two person line. He looks longingly at toys that are meant for 7 year olds. He even has developed patience - or a sense of delayed gratification. When we went to the teacher store, I was simply hoping he wouldn't touch everything in sight. He surprised me when he said, "Mommy, when you're done buying things, I'll play the fishing game, and then we can go bye-bye." He didn't really touch anything else, because he just wanted to play the game.

Yet, in other ways, he still is a baby. He still cuddles with me each Saturday and Sunday morning. He still sucks his thumb and plays with his belly button when he's upset or tired. At least I know he's still mine when he does that.

So, today, Xavier came out of bed and joined me on the couch. He cuddled next to me as I was writing. 5 minutes later, he stopped cuddling with me, found his coloring book, and is coloring Batman. While I'm working, so is he. Two months ago, he had no clue who Batman was, now I can't go anywhere without hearing about Batman, Spiderman or Ironman.

I've always wanted Xavier to grow up healthy and be happy with who he is. Yet, I suppose my worst fear is that one day, I'll wake up and I won't recognize the person he's become. I'll still be looking for my little baby when he's actually a man. He's changing so much that it's possible.

There are still a few gentlemen left...

... and today I met all of them.

Last night, I had my roommate put a reminder on my dashboard post-it collection to go into the shop and check the tire pressure in my car. I had noticed that it was eating gas, but the warning light came on last night and I had refilled the tire with air. Evidently, the post it reminder and intention to stop by the garage this afternoon wasn't fast enough for Xica. (Yes, I named the car)

2 and 1/2 hours of waiting later with a flat (read: completely ruined/blown out tire) on I-55 for the tow truck... I realized that this was the best of all possible bad Mondays. It was just a flat - the warning light came on again 30 seconds before it blew, and I had slowed down already when it blew. No massive accident or sudden shock induced swerving. No one was hurt, and no damage to the car.

Surprisingly, I met more kind people today than I do usually any day. Two different IDOT people stopped and checked that I was ok. A state trooper stopped by and asked if I had a spare (Thanks Ford! I in fact did not. An air pump is not effective in place of a spare when there is a gaping hole in the rubber...) Even the person who was dispatched to change the flat but couldn't without the spare was kind and helpful... [Does anyone else see a theme here?]

Once the tow truck arrived, I felt transported to a weird reality. It's been so long since I've been dependent on the kindness of strangers that it was disconcerting. As Xica was loaded up onto the truck, my sense of independence and willpower shrunk. I felt incredibly responsible and guilty. I wouldn't have gotten through this morning without breaking down in tears if I hadn't been for the multiple kind and gentle souls who helped me out.

Waiting by the side of the road, you can't help but see people pass you by. You start to count exactly how many are passing you by without seeing you in your moment of crisis. This feeling made me wonder what I want Xavier to be doing with his life.

How is it that you raise a gentleman? I want him to be the generous person who stopped for me today just to check and see if I was ok. I want him to be the kind person who gave me advice on what to do next. I want him to be the type of person who has empathy for others - especially those in crisis.

Today made me realize that it doesn't matter what Xavier chooses as his profession - it matters how he treats others. Sure, a college/grad school education would be wonderful, but ultimately, I want him to be a kind, generous, and considerate man. Because, I never want to believe that there are no gentlemen left.

His own driver's seat

Xavier, unfortunately, has become a terrible backseat driver. It hasn't been two days that he hasn't told me to go because it's green or stop because it's red. Often he wants to go this way or that way rather than our usual path. I understand that he is just learning the rules and vocalizing them often, but I don't remember doing this to my parents when I was three. Maybe when I was 10 and realized what those signals meant.

However, this shows me two important things about his development. First, he recognizes where we go as well as what else is nearby. He understands that point A is close to point B and that this other place that we've been is also in the same locale. Maybe he will inherit my ability to always find my way.

Second, he recognizes a sense of rules and applies them to himself, but not to others. He is observant and patient enough to wait for the light to change to green, but doesn't understand why I don't move if there are cars in front of me. He recognizes a simple red/yellow/green system, but can't comprehend that others are following that same system. It's great to know that he's paying attention to it, but it's astounding to know that he processes such information differently than I do.

How fast he's growing up.

Stoplights...

I feel like Xavier and I spend a great deal of time in the car. Whether we're on our way to the chiropractor, the grocery store, or even to get the oil changed, we end up living our lives in the car. I would like to think that it's not time wasted, and I do try to have entertainment in the car for Xavier that is productive.

So, during our latest trip to the chiropractor, Xavier interrupts the audiobook that is playing and tells me, "if you do that again you're going to be on orange." I think this is in response to him asking for the 14th time to have a piece of candy. His school (daycare) has just implemented the stoplight behavior chart. (green = all is well; yellow and orange are warnings and red is time out) In school, I would have never been on anything but green, and here is my darling son telling me that I'm really one step away from a time out. It was surreal. It also made me wonder - if Xavier gave me a grade as a parent, would I get all As? Or, would I not deserve that? Have I been doing a thorough enough job to even get one A? And, who is grading me? Society? Xavier? Other parents? his teachers?

What is it that makes a parent good and more importantly, how do I become that for Xavier? I'm the only parent he has, so I have to be there for him - through it all. That thought sends shivers down my spine. It's not only an incredible responsibility, but also the reason that I get up in the morning. I don't share him. He's mine. What good things he has gained in life, have come from me. I smile slightly and feel my breath catch and linger on this realization. It's then that the audiobook announces "END OF DISC 10", and I'm jolted back from deep parental consciousness.

My full intention is to move to disc 11. However in the process, we catch the Spanish pop station which is playing one of Xavier's favorite songs. (Who knew 3 year olds could like Enrique Iglesias and sound deliriously cute singing it?) We both sing. I'm sure the people who saw us dancing and singing in the car at the stoplights just thought we were crazy or weird. Yet, it's only when I let my guard down and experience life with Xavier that I realize what being a parent to him is about.

Five years from now, he's not going to remember the audiobooks or who was playing on the radio. He's going to remember that we were together and that it was fun. I want so desperately to do everything right for him, but I'm coming to the realization that it's not about the obsessive planning of playdates or organic menus... It's about making life and love palpable.

In As Good As It Gets Jack Nicholson's character says that line: "You make me want to be a better man". I've been thinking about it lately, I would say, "You make me a better [wo]man". Even if I'm on orange.

End of Summer Sadness

With every new school year, there is the twinge of excitement of sending kids back to school and recouping some personal time. At least for most parents. This is not true if you are a parent, and a teacher. Labor Day marks the end of summer, my end of "freedom" from the tyrannical rule of lesson plans and construction paper paper cuts. (I swear it's more serrated than typical paper) It also marks the end of peaceful family time. When Xavier and I might make a few day trips to go kayaking or visiting museums or just sit and do nothing on the beach.

However, the benefits of sending the Xavier off to school far outweigh the price. Yes, our time together is drastically cut. Yes, he's going to be especially clingy and not want to sleep. Yes, I'm going to hate making the choice between reading to him and giving him a bath before he needs to go to bed because we only have 2 hours together in the evening in which to cram dinner and playtime and ___________. Yes, it's difficult seeing him off every morning. Yes, it's going to be really hard when he is 5, for real - not him just telling people he's 5, and finally in Kindergarten.


It's simply bittersweet.


However, his hugs carry more weight. His kisses stay with me all day. His smile when I pick him up at the end of the day lights up my soul. Especially when it's attached to a hug that is strong enough to knock me off my feet. I even appreciate his lion kisses. (Thanks again to my lovely brother who defined a lion kiss as a lick on the face... really nice.) His big presence through small gestures isn't lost on me, even after a day with 30 6 year olds.

So, the school year begins and summer fades into fall.

I wouldn't last one minute as a deer

Xavier has shown me lots of things in life, and tonight he has made me happy that I am not a deer. In fact, I don't think I would cut it. I would be the baby that is captured right after it's born. I know this because my lungs were burning after 3 or 4 rounds of chase. I was the deer, Xavier was the leopard.

Yes, leopard. He found my old Halloween costume (tail and ears) from a couple years ago. He put them on and then tried to find a deer tail for me. He settled on me wearing his tiger tail - I suppose it's very important that prey be properly dressed for the occasion - and we were set for the chase. It started each time with me pretending to eat the rhododendron, Herbie, and starting to run when I spotted the leopard sneaking up on me. So we ran, and giggled as he chased me from one end of the house to the other. All along the way he was roaring, between the giggles of course. It also ended each time with Xavier making the kill and tackling me. The first time, I think I made it 10 seconds. The rest of them... maybe a minute. Laughs, giggles and many roars later, we finally settled down and played a game. Now that he's stretched out on the couch next to me, I've been reminded of one thing. Although my knees might ache and my lungs burn, my heart still beats for him. Despite being captured by his ferocious self.