Rough play

As a child, I learned two versions of that song, "Oh Little Playmate."

 

There was the girlie-girlie one that sang of rainbows and dollies and jolliness.

Then there was the darker version that referred to fighting and BB guns and I didn't understand why such a version would exist.

 

Now that I have a son, that grittier version is now all too clear.

 

Recently, my son attended a birthday party for a preschool friend and one of his favorite playmates was there too. Both boys have such sheer joy in their faces when they greet each other.

 

Then they get to play with each other. About an hour into the festivities, my son smacked the other boy squarely in the back. Both boys laughed hysterically. Then the other boy smacked my son. More laughing. This went on for about four rounds before one of the smacks actually hurt and then it wasn't funny anymore.

 

Later on, they had a blast running around the backyard with the sprinklers running and the pool toys scattered about. I don't know who struck whom first, but before I knew it, both boys were dueling each other, with pool noodles. Yes, those 6-foot-long foam bars that are great learning aids for new swimmers.

 

They thrusted and parried with great vigor, yelling and grunting, and chasing each other around the yard before the fighting would start anew. It was an epic battle, like Darth Vader vs. Luke Skywalker, with both contestants trying to out-noodle the other.

 

The boy's dad and I could only watch from a distance, seeing how our sons were so intent and so thrilled to have this fight.

 

And neither of these boys comes from a household where violence is tolerated or glorified. Yet when the Y gene clicks in, that need to fight comes roaring out, regardless of their upbringing.

 

Nature versus nurture? Clearly, nature rules this particular drive and it'll take a lot of nurturing to redirect this.

 

 

Something fishy going on here ....

My son came home from a birthday proudly displaying one of the cake toppers he got to bring home.

 

In his hand sat the red-headed Disney mermaid, Ariel

 

It was quite a competitive prize, I understand, since there were only 4 of these cake toppers, and when my boy got one, it pushed one of the other covetous little girls to tears.

 

I smiled, not really certain what provoked this. My boy is all boy, trucks and trains and weapons, and he has never seen any Little Mermaid movie trailers, or books.

 

He pointed out her "nursies", discreetly kept in a green bra. Hmmm. We had to go over that particular clarification, yet again, but it made me think for a moment that maybe he got her because he thinks she's attractive.

 

About a day later, I found him with his legs tucked into his pillow. "Look, Mommy, see my tail. I'm a mermaid."

 

Then it clicked. His love of sea creatures has led him to a sea creature that is part human that he now wishes to emulate.

 

I tried to fix the vocabulary slightly. You can't be a mermaid, sweetie. But you can pretend to be a merboy.

And henceforth, I became MerMommy.

 

Soon we were in his room, legs wrapped in pillow cases, pretending to swim around and look for fish. Then we wanted to play trains, but I had to explain that merboys don't have trains since trains don't go in the water. My son thought about that for a moment and abandoned his tail.

 

 

Decisions, decisions

How fickle are 4-year-olds.

 

At the moment, my Halloween preparations are in limbo because my son can't make up his mind on what he wants to be.

 

He is still obsessed with superheroes, so I was totally game on Superman.

 

He even got a cape for his birthday, so I thought putting together the Superman jumpsuit would be a piece of cake.

 

Then came the Robin Hood video and he wanted to be Robin Hood. My husband even made him a bow and I bought a sewing pattern on eBay for a Robin Hood outfit.

 

Then he changed his mind and wanted to be a Knight.

 

Then it was back to Superman. Then he wanted to be a pirate.

 

The pirate idea lasted more of a week, so I decided to act and started bidding on eBay for a pirate costume (which are cheap and plentiful these days).

 

Then he changed his mind again and I couldn't hold back a little bit of annoyance.

 

"I'm sorry, Mommy," he said. "I really want to be Batman."

 

Thankfully, I got outbid on the pirate outfit so I started looking for sewing patterns for a Batman outfit. (You'd think I would have learned my lesson by now).

 

Then I chatted on the phone with my old college roomie, who has two kids of her own, including a boy who is 4 months older than my son. That boy is Power Rangersobsessed.

 

So on my end of the phone conversation, I asked, "So he's going to be a Red Power Ranger for Halloween?"

 

My boy overheard that, so that was it. Now he wants to be a Red Power Ranger. Never mind that he has never actually watched one of those shows.

 

I think I may need to set a finite deadline on his ever changing moods so that I will actually have enough time to buy an outfit or buy a sewing pattern for it.

 

 

 

Go with the flow

I tried to sneak out of the house without explaining to my son where I was going, but it was no use. I guess he could read the Chinese letters on my shirt.

Mommy, I want to go to Tai Chi. I really want to go.

I had been expecting this day for several weeks, from the moment he
first became
obsessed about swords and interested in fighting. I spoke to my Tai Chi teacher, who is also a Kung Fu master, who agreed to let my son visit for a class, though he rarely teaches kids that young. But my little guy freaked out two other times that I had offered to take him.

This time, the boy was ready.

So I had a serious talk with him, explaining that he would have to listen to everything I said. And then I was ready.

Most people were thrilled to see him. When he was first born, I carried my boy in a Maya wrap to class so I could get back into Tai Chi. I kept bringing him until he was climbing out of the Maya wrap and wanting to run into everything. That makes it almost three years since he last came.

This time, he stood by my side. I taught him the primary stance for greeting everyone and starting forms. He imitiated that well.

Then we started the exercises. He alternated his imitations of Tai Chi to playing with his newfound friend.

See, that's the other reason why I was willing to do this Tai Chi experiment. I knew that there was likely going to be a 5-year-old there too, tagging along with his grandma. And I had been impressed at how much Kung Fu he had picking up from 3 or 4 classes.

The two of them were just thrilled to have each other and soon they were watching each other attempt some Tai Chi and then they got distracted together.

After an hour, though, it was more play than Tai Chi and a lot of Mommy chasing around the boy, trying to keep him out of trouble and harms' way when students were practicing their swords. It was tough, though, since really it was the swords that brought my son to Tai Chi.

Still, it went along much better than I would have guessed. No temper tantrums, no serious transgressions against Mommy.

And the boy was pleased too.
Mommy, That was a good Tai Chi. Let's do that again.

What comes next? Geometry lessons at the pool table?

I had been waiting for the day that my son's basic counting lessons extended into the realm of double digits. I guess it's the secret math-head in me.

I never would have guessed the day would have arrived courtesy of NASCAR.

If you don't already know, my husband is a fan, Daytona born and bred and though he's not an intense fan, and as a well-educated, vegetarian liberal he doesn't fit the fan mold, he follows the races every Sunday.

One day, he bought our son a toy racing car for driver Carl Edwards. A day later, my husband pointed out Edward's car in the weekend race. My son was hooked.

Now, Edwards' racing number is 99. It was the first double digit he learned to instantly recognize (though he was already able to comfortably count into the teens).

Then my boy tried to count, using the 99. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,15,99!

No, darling, I explained to him. There are a lot of numbers in between.

Pushing him on a swing some time later in the day, he started counting. Then I took took over when his number knowledge stopped and he repeated after me. So we went through the whole number sequence, reaching that final prize of shouting out 99!

Another funny part of this, given his interest in race cars, I've been pointing out all the different numbers on the random cars in his collection. And it seems he remembers those numbers easier than other ones.

Today's lesson

It seems a sad sign of the times that a 4-year-old boy couldn't escape today without learning of the seminal event of my lifetime, a tragedy that happened before he was even conceived.

Still, I wasn't upset that his teachers discussed 9/11 in his class. He needs to know, I think, to understand why things are the way they are these days. I try to be frank with him, to put these kind of things in terms that he can understand.

The subject came up the way these things always do, very suddenly, while we were in the midst of doing something else.

Mommy, the plane hit the building.
Yes, it did, sweetie.
And then the fire engines went there, but then the fire engines all died. (He often says fire engines, when he means firefighters.)
Yes, darling.
But, why, Mommy?
Oh, honey. I wish it were easy for us to understand that.

Top 10 signs your child is obsessed with weapons

10. He refers to the 8-year-old down the block not by his name but as "the boy with all the swords." This is because the 8-year-old, bored with his array of weapons, graciously loaned a sword to your son.
9. He is thrilled when Daddy loans him a tool holder (which attaches with a belt) because it is a perfect sword holder. Then he specifically wants to wear pants with belt loops so that he can wear the sword holder and sword all day long.
8. A broken gun-shaped remote control for a toy car is now called a gun.
7. A toy drill is now called a gun.
6. During a round of Lego building, he interrupts your attempt to make a truck and notes that what you have in your hand is a gun. Then he takes it, because obviously, he doesn't have enough toys converted into guns.
5. During a round of Playdoh rolling, he interrupts your attempt to make words and points out that the "t" you just made is shaped like a sword. He takes the Playdoh "t" and waves it against imaginary thugs by the front door. When it flops over, he calls it a floppy sword.
4. He then asks for more floppy swords in all the available Playdoh colors.
3. He has started taking all your clothing hangars to use them as archery bows.
2. During bath time, he opens negotiations to find out exactly what chores he would need to accomplish so that Mommy and Daddy can buy him a real bow and arrow set.
And the number one sign that your child is obsessed with weapons....
You spent an entire Labor Day with your son killing off at least 30 different monsters, bad guys and everyday thugs in your house. You never realized that your house was so unsafe.

Not a merry man

In the fickle mind of my 4-year-old, Superman has ceded his prominence to that legendary benefactor of the proletariat, Robin Hood.

 

We have an animated, non-Disney-fied version of Robin Hood, which features British accents, a more complex dialogue and a plot line that sticks close to the original legends.

 

And what little boy wouldn't love Robin Hood's life in the forest, his skills with the bow and the sword, and his noble cause. And I've always been fond of all things medieval, anyway.

 

My son has reguarly requested Robin Hood for his allotted TV time but last night's airing surprised me.

 

Watching the final sword fight behind the outlaw and the sheriff of Nottingham, my son took the drama very personally. At one point, Robin lost his sword, provoking a fit of tears from my son.

 

"Mommy, Robin lost his sword. He needs his sword," he cried, fearful for what could happen. Never mind that he had already watched this scene at least four other times.

 

Mommy ran to his side, assuring him that the resourceful woodsman would figure out what to do. And he did of course, using somebody else's sword to counter-parry his way to victory.

 

I just didn't know my son would take this fight between good and evil to heart so much.