Just In Case

When I don't have any small worries on my mind -- like, where Django's other shoe went, or how to get the rabbits to stop eating his books and pilfering his snacks -- I find my thoughts wander to the big worries. Will he grow up to be a stalker? A soldier? Or, worse yet, a Republican?

I'm already armed to handle Django's potential substance abuse problems, depression, low self-esteem, unconscious sense of racial privelege/entitlement, lack of tact, and disrespect for authority, i.e., permanent teenagehood -- I mean, takes one to know one, and I know one (or more) very well.

But I'm really not sure what I will do if he ends up a homophobic meathead. My only idea, so far, is to keep taking lots and lots and lots of photos of him loving, loving, loving his friend Max. And to keep playing Michael Franti, because I think he said it best: "Cuz it ain't about who ya love, who ya love, who ya love. See it's all about do ya love, do ya love, do ya love?"

Kids Say (& Sign) the Darnedest Things

In this series of photos, it may look like Django is picking something out of his hand and then sticking it in his ear, but believe it or not, this is how he tells me he wants more juice. It always comes with sound effects, too: "Mo dooz."

I'd been thinking all Django's new signing and talking over the last month or so was getting pretty impressive, but when I finally sat and wrote it all down, it completely blew my mind. Here are the lists I made.

THINGS HE KNOWS & SAYS WITH TOTAL ACCURACY: eye, hi, knee, baby, bubble, mama, in, on, wow, whoa, yeah, home, meow, boom, earring,ow (as in hurt), "o" (as in the cereal that's o-shaped)

THINGS HE KNOWS, SAYS & ALSO SIGNS/GESTURES: hot, cheese, milk, done, down, go, bye teeth, toe, shoe, nose, hair, ear, eat, juice, yogurt, play, time, kick, bus, please, hop, more, swing, bath, grapes, straw, hat, cow, dog, duck, tree, ball, change, up, water, apple, cookie, berry, egg, noodle, bounce, dance, spoon, stomp, bad, fish, car/driving, rabbit, orange (as in the food)

THINGS HE KNOWS & TRIES TO SAY BUT DOESN'T SIGN: key, door, tongue, stroller, help, open, off, tv, towel, drop, banana, kitty, diaper, out, block, sock, book, dig, boat, dump, kiwi, avocado, bucket, money, Tedra, Max, Honey, Alfie, Sug

THINGS HE SIGNS/GESTURES/MAKES SOUNDS FOR BUT DOESN'T SAY: cook, frog, bird, monkey, vacuum, train, clean, heater, phone

I'm fully aware that I understand all these things he communicates because I spend most of my days trying really hard to figure out what he's saying when he says it, but I swear to you that you don't have to be fluent in Djanguage to understand that this kid knows what's what about a LOT of stuff.

Heaven help us all when he actually starts being able to repeat exactly what I say, because I know I did not stop cussing near soon enough!

Early Oedipal

There are plenty of activities at which I coach Django, heavily at times -- take the catch-practice video below, as a prime example. But I swear I never, ever, not even jokingly showed him how to put my undergarments over his head! That 'skill' must have simply come with his wiring. Now it's become his usual way of helping with the (yes, clean) laundry.

Right after 'helping' me this weekend, he crawled up onto the couch and instead of doing his usual bounce-dancing there he started rolling around making all these bedroom eyes at me. I couldn't help but pull out the camera.

I don't know much about Freud and his theories, but if he's right about the Oedipal complex -- and Django loves me as much as I think he does -- it's a darn good thing I'm a single mom.

Days of Water & Sand

I'd love to able to say I think the balmy mid-winter weather in S.F. is nothing but delightful. Trouble is, it disturbs me. My mind goes all Apocalyptic, flashing grim scenes of a plant & animal-free future in which all the surviving humans have ashen skin and have to wear special airtight suits to go outdoors. Of course, my mind also flashes weird skeleton pictures at me whenever I have dental x-rays taken, so it may simply be I have a mischievous mind.

Anyway, Django does not seem to have inherited my mental madness -- yet. He's thrilled by all the days at the beach, whether authentic beach or brilliantly crafted facsimile thereof. Sand and water, in case you've forgotten, are totally amazing. Not so easy to walk in, though.

Sleep Like a Baby?

Bleh!

I'm having one of those 'moments' that have been remarkably more common since I've become a mom -- and since I've edged my way to near 40, who knows which is to blame. It's the kind of moment where you find yourself attempting to start 4 sentences at once, none of which you're certain to finish. Anybody feel me here?

Leaning heavily on a natural segway as the way out of my problem tonight, I've decided to include some questions in each of my blog posts from here on out. I did it without thinking at the end of the last post, but later realized I like the idea. Clearly, I write this blog primarily for one person -- one who doesn't even usually hold a book right-side-up as yet -- but I try to imagine an audience of other readers, i.e., you. And I try not to bore you to death, while being sure to include enough saccharine detail for the boy to know he's truly adored.

Part of the reason I like the idea of asking questions of you -- the imagined other reader -- is that I turned the first year of this blog into a hardcover book as an Xmas present for Django this year, and realized that most of the official "comments" came from only one source: Unk Jon. Even though I'm sure this blog doesn't have anywhere near the following that the Dalai Mama or Stuff White People Like blogs enjoy (and deserve,) I feel pretty confident in assuming there's more than one reader. So, if you are not Unk Jon and you are reading this now, consider yourself called out. You are part of our extended family, whether we know it or not, and we would love to hear from you.

As for the other 3 sentences I wanted to start as I sat down to type tonight, I can now only remember one, and that is: where the hell did the expression 'sleep like a baby' come from anyway? I mean, sure, babies are GREAT sleepers when they have a mind to be, but the rest of the time, they suck -- and I mean that literally, as well as figuratively. In terms of an analogy, that's like saying "cooperative as a donkey." Doesn't make sense to me at all.

In other, unrelated notes, Django is so, so, so, so, so, so very happy Winter Break is over and he gets to spend most of his waking day with his friend Max (who he calls, Maaah) again. I think the almost-2 weeks with almost-only me as a playmate bored him to tears. At least Santa (and the cousins) brought him some new, exciting toys, like the rocking horse in the photo, and he had a chance to go out and feed the birds with his Nana. Whew.

Resolved

Inspired by the "12 Days of Christmas" I decided to make a 9-part resolution this year...Be it hereby resolved, in 2009, I will (at least):

- Bake 9 different types of healthy muffins

- Commit 8 random acts of kindness

- Send 7, handwritten, snail-mail letters to friends

- Drink 6 glasses of water every day

- Exercise at the gym 5 times each month

- Find 4 (hopefully wonderful) men for 4 (hopefully wonderful) dates

- Dote on each of my 3 rabbits for 3 minutes a day

- Read 2 books that have over 200 pages each

- Get back to Djournaling for Django an average of 1x each week, so he will continue to know all I can find time to tell him about these first precious years of his life that he won't otherwise stand a chance of remembering on his own.

How about you? What is/are your resolution(s)?