Advertising or article?

C and I are trying to instill un-merchandised joys in our kids. We decided that we couldn't teach our kids that the best things in life aren't things you own while supplying them with lots and lots of things. God knows they have toys and games, but we try to err on the generic, open-ended, unbranded side. We don't have Transformers, Spiderman, Zhuzhu pets, and the like. A has some Disney shirts and that's about it for the branded things. (Toy brands we have: Lego, Playmobile, Melissa & Doug, bring it on.)

I was reading a magazine with A and he started asking me about the articles, specifically, a "Top Twenty-Five Toys This Christmas" kind of article. I explained to him that it looked like an article but it was actually an advertisement, which is a picture or story to get me to buy something from a company. [Note: I know lots of this is whoosh, over his head. But I didn't talk down to A when he was a baby and I'm not going to start now.] We tried "guess the ad" through the rest of the magazine and that's difficult for a grownup, let alone a four-year-old.

We drove to school that morning and A saw a picture on a billboard that had been in the magazine and pointed it out. So then we had a discussion about advertising again and all the ways companies advertise: magazines, radio, Internet, movies, billboards, clothing. I tried explaining to A that when he wears a shirt with someone else's picture on it, he's advertising for that company, and that I thought he was special enough that the only shirts we let him have with people or characters on them were the ones he really liked: Buzz, Pooh, Tigger.

He thought about this, and then said, "I want a shirt with all my friends' names on it so I can advertise them."

We do have the sweetest boy in the universe. Amazingly, adorably sweet.

Four is not a discreet age

A and I had a conversation recently. He said, "L has such pretty hair that I think he should be a girl."

And I explained that yes, L had pretty hair, but that no, it didn't work that way. L was a boy and he would remain a boy. "But we can make him a girl," A said so I explained that L had a penis just like A did, that boys were boys because they had penises, and that L was going to continue to have a penis and be a boy just like A.

Of course, per Chekhov, you don't put a gun on the mantel in Act 1 without it being fired in Act 3.

So I picked A up from school yesterday and the aide stopped me. "Your boy is so funny." Apparently, there had been some gender divisions on the playground, where the boys were going to do some things without the girls and there was some discussion as to who qualified. Never fear, A was there.

"Listen everybody," he announced. "Wait and listen to me. Boys are boys because they have penises, and girls are girls because they do not have penises. So the boys have the penises." The aide apparently whooshed them all inside without further discussion--or gender verification--but she wanted to know where he'd come up with that bit of information.

"Mommy, I am not ruding you!"

Another month, another entry. Little L just rolled 9 months, thus starting his period of being out longer than he was in. He's quite the little character. He's such an amazingly good-natured baby, but I think he's going to be the mischievous one. He just has that glint in his eye sometimes. No real signs of separation anxiety yet, but he has gotten to the ever-annoying "drop things to see if they fall" stage.

A is back in preschool, same teacher as last year. I've been told that all the boys chase the girls at recess, "except A, because he is sweet." That he is.

At lunch today, we rearranged our chairs on the patio so everyone was out of the sun (ah yes, California, where all meals are eaten on the patio every day in our gorgeous, gorgeous weather). A had his feet up on my chair and I asked him to move them since we sit upright to eat our meals.

Then he started laughing. I looked down and he'd put his feet under my seat.

"I'm sticking my big toes out at you, Mommy!" he said. Indeed, he was. "I am not ruding you, Mommy; I am just silly." Somehow, rude has become a verb in this house.

Mean mommy

Today, I told A, "After you have a nap, we can make some cookies. But if you don't take a nap, then we won't make cookies. No nap, no cookies."

Well, he wasn't taking a nap. He was playing quietly in his room (which is the accepted alternative to naptime) but wasn't napping.

About the time his nap should have been done, he came in to me and said, "Mommy, I'm done not taking a nap. Can I go downstairs and not make chocolate chip cookies now? I don't get any cookies since I didn't take a nap."

I know consistency is the name of the game, but I almost want to give him cookies for his demonstration of logic.

This has got to be a children's book

[scene: downtown San Diego. In car, driving.]

A: Look, Mommy, pigeons.

me: Uh-huh, pigeons in the street.

A: Mommy, I want you to hit a pigeon because then I can take it home and take care of it.

me: Uhhhhhhh, no. I don't think I want to hit a pigeon. We can get you something to take care of without hitting something. Would you like to help take care of the cats?

A: No. I want to take care of a pigeon. No, a lot of pigeons.

me: Uh-hmmmm.

A: But maybe we should have three cats.

Underpants revisited

"Mommy, my underwear aren't wearing."

"What?"

"My underwear." [Enter bathroom, discover boy trying to pull up not only pants and underpants, but pants and two pairs of underwear.]

"Why do you have two pairs of underwear on? Did you have an accident at school?"

"No. I wanted stripes and Mr. Incredible."

Tour guide

A knows most of the animals in the zoo. He knows what they are and what the little placard says and anything else we've talked about. So now when we go to the zoo, he plays tour guide.

Example: Yesterday we were walking through Elephant Odyssey's bug section when someone said, "What is that?" And A stopped to say:

Those are diving beetles. They swim down, down, down here to get some food and then they swim up and get air. Then they swim down to get food, and up to get air, and down, and up.

[This is all him narrating while pointing at a particular beetle who was kindly illustrating his points.]

Little pitchers

I was stopped at a light at intersection. The little red hand that means "Don't Walk" was flashing when I first noticed the little old lady with her wheelie cart of groceries, and when it stopped she decided to walk out across six lanes against the traffic.

"Oh, you stupid lady. Stupid, stupid, stupid," I said to myself, but of course the three-year-old in the car heard me.

"Yes, that's a stupid lady," he said from the backseat.

"Hey, you can't call her a stupid lady," I started, all a-fluff, then I thought about what to say. I didn't want to say "Don't say stupid," because some things in life just are, and I didn't want to say, "Don't call old ladies stupid," because some of them are and hey, I just did that, you know?

I said, "Why do you think I'm calling her stupid, A?"

"Because the hand is red and she's crossing the street. And you have to wait for the white man to cross so you are safe."

"Yes, A, that's right. That's exactly why she's a stupid lady. But Mommy wasn't yelling at her; Mommy was just worried and nervous for her."

"The trees, damnit!"

A has discovered that books are made of words and words are made of letters. He spends a lot of time pointing to signs and saying, "A for me!" But this also means he wants his texts strictly adhered to without deviations when you read them, and he follows along with a finger to try and figure out what's going on.

Recently, I was nursing L while A held The Lorax. I couldn't quite hold the book and read it to him how I was sitting, so we were turning pages while I asked A to tell me the story. He's getting good at story telling, so this was fine. We turned to a picture of the Lorax knocking on the Once-ler's new office door, and I said, "What's the Lorax saying here, A?"

"He says, 'The trees, damnit!'"

He is a reader, by gum.

"Mommy, there was a boy and he put this in his roast beef." [A waves comb around]
"A comb?"
"Yes."
"He put a comb in his roast beef. Hold on, sweetie." [call up Amazon, type in "comb in roast beef" and get a hit on If Roast Beef Could Fly by Jay Leno]
"Is this the book?"
"Yes. Can you get it out of the library for me?"
"Yes, sweetie."
"On the computer. You get it on the computer."

Conversations with the three-year-old

"Mommy?"
"Yes, A?"
"Are you taking care of me?"
"Yes, A; I'm trying, anyway."
"Thank you for taking care of me, Mommy."

Conversations with the three-year-old

A is sitting on my lap as I try to type.
A: "Look at me! Let me see your blue eyes!"
I laugh.
A: (Staring deeply into my eyes, an inch or so away) "Let me see your smile!"
I smile.
A: "Oh, what a beautiful smile!"