Stuff I WANT to Like

Since I obviously have some first-world angst about owning too much stuff, I should at least like the stuff I do own. But some stuff is just hard to love. It's not you. It's me.

Fish hooks: Paul loves fishing. It's as if he's been fishing his entire life the way he grabbed hold of the fishing pole, stuck on the worm and proceeded to catch TWENTY-ONE fish in our little pond. And theoretically, fishing is a relaxing, calming endeavor where, again theoretically, Mama could sit on a towel with a book while Paul channels his inner Huckleberry Finn. Unfortunately, there's the little problem with those TWENTY-ONE fish and the fact that they are caught with hooks (as opposed to magnets, which is what they use in the preschool class and of which I heartily approve). Paul can't manage to disengage the fish from the hooks, yet, so Mama must "Help. Help, Mama. Fish stuck." I just hate the way those fish gape at me while I'm apologizing for the hole I'm making in their lips trying to extricate them from the hooks. I'm seriously thinking of replacing all the fish hooks with magnets. If I also glue magnets to the bluegill in the pond, it just might work.

The first of about a gazillion fish. He's the fish whisperer.

Hot Dots, Jr: Paul loves to tap things, and he's a very hands-on learner, so I thought this game would be a great way to encourage him to practice all those kindergarten readiness skills like colors, shapes, numbers and letters. There's a cute blue dog, shaped sort of like a pen, that gives feedback when you tap him on the black dots on the fun-looking educational worksheets. Unfortunately, Paul really doesn't care whether the dog says, "Oops, sorry!" or "Way to go!" he just thinks it's funny that the dog talks at all. So he ignores the fun-looking educational worksheets altogether and walks around the house tapping the dog on any and every surface. Which turned into its own science experiment, I suppose, because Paul discovered that the dog will say, "Way to go!" when tapped against anything with iron. So instead of learning his alphabet, Paul has learned where every screw in the house is located.

Kindergarten readiness questionnaires: You know the ones that tell you what your child needs to know before entering Kindergarten? These questionnaires used to seem straightforward, but it turns out some of the items are tricky, tricky, tricky. For example: Child knows full name. Well, hunh. Paul is quite clear about his nickname and he uses it ALL the time as he refers to himself entirely in the third person. "Mama, watch Paul!" "Dis is for Paul." "Paul can do it." However, he looks at me skeptically when I use his African name (which, yes, we're planning on keeping). He isn't quite sure about his new surname, either. "Whadisdis Thompson?" Another item: Child knows address. We're focusing on countries, at the moment, okay?  ("Paul 'Merica.") City and state is a bit trickier. Street address - seriously? He may not know the name of our street, but he can tell me if I go the wrong direction (which, sad to say, happens quite a bit.) "Mum, where going? No turn, Mum. Straight." Why can't the readiness questionnaire include useful items like: Child can carry groceries into the house on his head and Child can strip a chicken leg down to the bone in ten seconds or less. I've decided that I'm going to be one of those parents who expects the teacher to teach my child everything he needs to know. (Unless a teacher and/or principal is reading this, in which case we are diligently working on every single item on that readiness sheet. Ah-hem.)

You can take the child out of Africa,
but fortunately you can't take Africa out of the child.

My car when it must go anywhere Paul has not been at least a dozen times before and/or anywhere Paul hasn't decided is "Fun, no tsaba (scary)." This limits us to our house and the YMCA pool, which, surprising to us because it is crowded, crowded, crowded, Paul loves. If we go anywhere else, even somewhere he's been before and wants to go again, the minute we get in the car it's a constant, "Where going, Mum? No, no go. Ready home." We've learned that once we arrive wherever-it-is and he can hang out/observe with us for fifteen or twenty minutes, his anxiety level drops and he's usually eager to stay and explore. And will want to go back the minute it's time to leave. But getting there is not super fun in a car without a built-in DVD player and reclining seats and individualized air conditioning (thanks to my friend who has this for introducing my son to these wonders). Counselors recommend preparing your child in advance for trips, which we do and have done, but this just seems to expand his anxiety to the pre-travel stage, too. It seems to work best to just say, "We're going for a spin. Would you like some gum or a chewy in the car?"

Gum: Chewing gum is supposed to help reduce anxiety. Which it does seem to do, at least for Paul. (Doesn't work so well for me.) And gum is sugar free, so it's better than chewing a starburst or a mentos. And full disclosure, Paul is GREAT with chewing gum. We haven't had a single problem with gum in the hair or gum on the ground or swallowing gum or anything. So this fear I have of gum in the hair or gum on the ground or swallowing gum is all my own neurosis. It turns out adopting a child is a GREAT way to discover lots of one's own issues which one thought had been worked through years ago. Which is probably why the counselor in town who specializes in adoption issues is booked out several months. (We're scheduled for an intake July 24. I'm looking forward to it very much.)