A Good Morning

This morning was one of those beautiful half-days that I hope I'll remember twenty years from now. Outside it was crisp and bordering on downright cold, and James woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I got him up out of his crib at 7:45, he and his "entourage." His entourage is Steven, New Steven, and the stuffed monkey we've been calling George. James has fallen in love with the Curious George books, and so he loves anything monkey-related. He wants to wear monkey pajamas, make monkey sounds, and most of all to read "Curious George and the Birthday Surprise" about thirty five times a day.

"George" doesn't look much like Curious George from the books--he's too light, and the proportions are all wrong--but James felt it was important to have a monkey in his retinue, and insisted that we call him George. We visited the Pittsford Library last week, and in their splendid children's section there were two very authentic Curious George monkeys, along with about a hundred Curious George books. James toted the two library Georges around for an hour, and it was only with the greatest reluctance that we put them back on the shelves for the other library patrons to sneeze on. Our substitute George didn't seem as nice after that.

James' friend Alexa happens to own the exact same authentic George, and she brought it with her when we had a playdate at RWC the other day. Needless to say, James was the designated George-carrier all morning, and there were many tears at their parting. He howled and fussed and complained when we gave George back to Alexa.

I could tell right away that this morning was going to be a rough morning. He wasn't interested in his brand new Thomas the Train shirt. He tried to spill his cereal on purpose, he only wanted to beg for television and iPad time, and he fussed at anything that didn't go his way immediately. When he declined my offer to take him outside I wondered if he might be getting sick. "I think we need to strap him down in the stroller and take a long walk."

 "You know" said J "they sell the real G-E-O-R-G-E at Barnes and Noble."

And that was how we went outside. The sun was bright, the cold wind was behind us, and the leaves skittered across the sidewalks and crunched under our feet. We walked past Mt. Wegmans, circled round the grand plaza, and smelled the cinnamon brooms and pumpkin displays outside. We bought coffee beans and quinoa at Trader Joes, picked up hot drinks and Finger Lakes Coffee Roasters, and poked inside various shops. Then we went to the Barnes and Noble, and James set up camp with substitute George by the Thomas the Train toys. ("Dada, look, I have Thomas on my shirt!")

I browsed the children's books and thumbed through copies of Blueberries for Sal and The Mitten. We replaced our half destroyed copy of Chika-Chika-Boom-Boom, and debated whether or not to let him know we would by an authentic George. He found them on his own before we could decide, and attempted to carry off five at once. To his great surprise we told him he could take one, and he snuggled it tight as we made our traditional exit. (Go to the checkout counter via seven trips up and down the escalators.)

He wouldn't let go of the new George, and I had to hold him up on the counter, snuggling him tight, while the cashier scanned his tag. He snuggled new George (and old George) in the stroller in the face of the wind as we walked back home, and when we got back home he insisted on taking new George, old George, new Steven, and old Steven everywhere he went for the rest of the day. J pointed out that if we have another boy at some point he'll probably expect us to name him "new James."

He's been a completely delighted and delightful little boy ever since. I told J, "he knows this is the real George...George with a capital G."

"I think you mean George with a capital 'TM'."

Concerts

Did you know that classical musicians are adrenaline junkies? Underneath the neatly groomed exterior of a brass player--okay, neatly groomed might be an exaggeration--there is a daredevil who sits onstage in tails, holding a metal tube as several thousand people look on. As the rests click by and the strings saw away up front playing whatever it is that they're doing (mostly just filler material until the brass come in again) we sit in the back row thinking "in about ten seconds I need to somehow buzz into this metal tube and get a pitch to sound at exactly the right moment without any sort of impurity in the attack, and it has to be exactly in tune with whatever the strings are doing, and the tone needs to be powerful but beautiful, and to do this I'll have to mash my lips into the mouthpiece in a particular shape that, if it varies even by a nanometer, will produce the wrong note, and I need to do this in a way that somehow sounds effortless, and if I screw any of this up then some viola player will turn around and give me a dirty look and a snooty man in a bowtie will write mean things about me in tomorrow's paper.

It can be a stressful job.

I tried to convey the problem of performance nerves to my high-school aged students, and I don't think they believed me. Mostly they were giggling at the spit valves and developing ephemeral romances. Despite my concerns about their nerves, they did very well at their concert yesterday. A little stage fright does wonders for the general level of focus on the task at hand. Special thanks need to go out to:

Lux, who despite forgetting about the concert until an hour and a half before it started, managed to get himself down to Lima without a working vehicle or cell phone. He arrived with a tuba, but I fear that it was procured by illegal means.

Pax, who also did not have a working vehicle at the time. Congratulations, by the way, on your new Toyota Yaris.

Kylie, who watched a very VERY fussy James D Bear while everyone else was performing.

our friend David, who nailed all the horn solos in the Rossini

and J, who not only read down the piccolo solo in Stars and Stripes with no rehearsal and an unfamiliar instrument, but also sight-read the choral accompaniments in the concert.

I'm glad it's all over.

The most stressful part of the past 24 hours for me, though, was the Steven incident. We celebrated Steven's first birthday (and James' year and a half birthday) on Tuesday. We had cupcakes, candles, and a hat for the birthday bear. James thought this was great. This afternoon J texted me: I can't find Steven.

She knew he didn't come inside from the concert the night before, and presumed he'd been out in the car. But she looked there and didn't find them. Without letting on to James (who was completely oblivious to his absence) what she was doing, she searched all over the house for Steven.

Once I got the news, I went back to teaching and made a mental note that I'd have to help her look once I got home.

Just kidding, of course. I immediately ran out to the parking lot and looked under all the cars to see if he'd fallen out of the PT Cruiser the night before and spent the night outside. I also looked under all the pews in the sanctuary and dug through the lost and found box. (There were lots of sweaty boy's gym clothes in there. I think that some of the boys just "lose" their clothes when they reach a certain stink because they don't want to worry about bringing them home to launder them.)

As soon as I got home I searched the car, the laundry room, under the furniture, inside the furniture, and under his crib. When J came in I was digging through the kitchen garbage. (Sometimes James will throw things in there.) As I separated moldy avocado halves from the remains of old yogurt containers she glumly informed me that she'd already looked there.

He turned up in the garage. J had moved the stroller in there yesterday to make room for Lux's stolen tuba, and Steven was sitting on the little footbar where James will sometimes put him when he wants to go for a walk. He hardly even noticed when I brought him back inside. He even gave a look as if to say "What were you guys so worried about? I knew where he was the whole time."

I'm glad that stressful ordeal is over. Back to practicing Zarathustra calls.

Christmas Plunder

I'm sure you've all been wondering who "won" Christmas this year, at least in terms of awesome gifts received. Wonder no further, friends...the Smith household has triumphed again, thanks largely to the gift-giving talents of our amazing families. If your present does not appear in the list below or you feel the accompanying humorous comments do not accurately reflect our thankfulness for your gift, we will pay you back in leftover wassail and figgy pudding the next time you visit.

Stocking stuffers for James. The socks are easily the most exciting part. If you think that regular person socks are easy to lose, wait until you're searching for three missing matches of teeny-tiny baby socks.

This cow creature was also in the stocking. James was not sure what to make of him.

Various clothing gifts for James. The John Deere shirt says "Future Farmer."

Not only are we excited about the fun book, but we like to encourage the fun message that car trips are cause for excitement, and not whining.

Not sure how to rotate this picture. If you have trouble bending your neck, the title is Go! Go! Go! (This is James' motto in life)

Lots of clothes for James Bear. They're all great, but the overalls are especially fun because they have a TRAIN on them. (James' great-grandfather showed him a working model train in Maryland.)

A sled from Grandma and Grandpa Davis. James tried it out already with Grandma.

From left to right: The jumper cables we tossed inside when we were hurriedly emptying the car on Xmas day, a new toy tractor, a yarn ball from Aunt Pam, a magnadoodle, and a stuffed puppy that sings Sleigh Ride in an annoying sing-song voice. Naturally, this is all that James wants to hear whenever he sees the puppy. The puppy may have not last until New Year's.

Wonderful blankets from various family members. The musical one was made by Kylie and Pax.

More books (the Lewis Letters are for me, not James) and awesome boots from Aunt Kylie

Homemade jam from the Dudleys, specialty coffee from Dan and Emily, a harmonica from Sam and Kaitlyn, and an egg shaker from Papa. (Papa taught James how the egg shaker works on a recent visit.)

A stand clip for J's iPad, a stylus/pen, a Neil Postman book from Lux, a flashlight from Mom and Dad, a ducky sort of book, and lentil soup from Calvus and Beka.

An amazing handmade bag from Martha and a beautiful Robert Frost poem set in a picture she painted of a starlit night framed by bare tree branches. (Come see it in person if you haven't already)

New tupperware. J says No Bears Allowed

Delicious homemade fudge from Sam and Kaitlyn

My stocking stuffers. Many gel pens and cribbage, a game from my Northwestern days that I'm keen to learn again

Lots of Italian food and good music

I also received a bottle of my favorite wine from Mom and Dad, and J's father is in the process of finishing two gorgeous end tables for us. We took a look at the mostly-finished product while we were down visiting and helped pick out the final shade of stain. They are incredibly beautiful, even to we who are relatively ignorant about furniture. They will be far and away the nicest pieces in our house when they're finished.

But most importantly out of all of our gifts...

Steven Bear (left) and New Steven (right). We opened up New Steven while James was otherwise occupied and still haven't let on to him that we have a replacement. Still not sure how/when we're going to introduce him, but we are VERY thankful to Calvus and Beka for finding a backup.

 

 

 

Homage to Steven Bear

A dark, quiet room.

A man and a woman are sleeping silently in the early hours of the morning. There is no light but the faintest illumination of the moon, no sound but their slow and sleepy breathing. The air is cold, but the blankets are warm with several hours sleep.

All of a sudden, a cry pierces the night like a siren. Both parents stir, and the father rubs his eyes. The cry comes again, broken-hearted as only a child's cry can be. The baby wails again from the next room, even louder, and the father swings out from beneath the warm covers. He treads sockfoot into the nursery in the next room, where he a little boy is standing and sobbing in his crib, little tears glistening in the dim glow of his night-light.

Still half sleeping, the father sees the binky in the boy's mouth and kneels on the floor. The tears continue as the father crawls around the edges of crib and reaches blindly underneath. He coos soft comfort to the baby, but the little boy only cries harder until...the father's hand finds something soft and small. It is a grubby white bear, which he hands over the railing to the sobbing boy. Immediately the boy stops crying, presses the bear to his face, and hums a cheerful, satisfied hum. He kneels in his crib, then faceplants hard onto the mattress, using the bear as a pillow. With his bottom still sticking up in the air and his face buried, he returns to peaceful sleep in less than a minute.

Easier to love when you can't smell him

This is Steven Bear, and he is James' best friend in the entire world. Steven was a gift from Uncle Calvus and Aunt Beka last April, and he instantly became James' favorite toy. He has a little tag on his bottom that says "Steven Smith Company," so his name was obvious. The first full day of Steven's life with James was a six hour car trip to Pennsylvania, and James spent the entire trip snuggling Steven as tight as he could, as well as holding conversation in six month old coos. Steven instantly became James' bedtime companion, and held a powerful ability to instantly turn fussing and crying into happy snuggles when produced by a parent. He was, for the first few months of his life, a beautiful bright white.

Then James learned to crawl. And got his first cold. (Steven was probably more helpful for James' first cold than either of his parents...but in a really gross way.) I don't know what color we'd call Steven now, but it certainly isn't white. He's aging quickly. Sometimes we'll give Steven a "bath" in the washing machine, but if James is supposed to be taking a nap during this terrible time of separation we can forget about any kind of sleep. (Puppy and monkey, to whom James has shown some affection on occasion, are NOT acceptable substitutes, apparently.) Worried about this, J at one point called the Steven Smith company to ask about a "back-up Steven." Unfortunately, the Steven Smith company only sells in bulk. (Calvus tells us that our bear came from a CareNet fundraiser) This might explain why Steven is so flimsy...his neck is getting wobbly, his stitching loose, and he has a few holes in his fur. As James has learned to walk (and fall) things have only been harder on poor Steven, and James' latest teething trick seems to be biting Steven's nose. It's hard to know how much longer Steven will be with us before he needs some sort of major surgery.

With that said, J and I have grown to LOVE Steven Bear. It's really touching to see just how big James' little heart can be. Nothing makes him happier than finding Steven lying on the ground, and no playtime is complete without Steven playing along. He sings to Steven, snuggles Steven, and even talks to him. (His name is Dy-dy to James.) I think that James even understood what the word "Steven" meant before "banana," "binky," or "bath." Steven has become so much a part of our family that I'll say "I'll see all three of you later" when I head out the door for the day. J, who has been subject to pregnancy jokes from my brothers for our entire married life, doesn't think this is funny. I think James and Steven love it.

Back when he was actually white

Best friends sitting together

Ready for a trip in the carseat

Playing with the "stroller"

Deep in conversation

The only way to sleep