The Buddha is Sleeping

I kissed Daniil goodnite tonight and pointed out the postcard of the Buddha that I lean against our digital clock to block out the gleaming green light. I said, “The Buddha is sleeping and smiling." (The Buddha's eyes are shut on the statue depicted on the postcard; likely he's meditating, but it's a bit early to introduce that term to Daniil.) "The Buddha will be sleeping and smiling next to us all night long," I continued. "You are my little Buddha.”

Immediately Daniil rolled toward me to give me an enthusiastic kiss and we clonked heads for the one hundredth time. “Bumping Buddha,” I exclaimed, smiling. "Bumping Buddha," Daniil repeated and laughed, then repeated again and laughed again, delighted. He was asleep in record time: 12 minutes after turning out the light.

Fyi: I don't consider myself a Buddhist, but I do try to walk a Buddhist path of equanimity and awareness.

Popcorn and Pete

Sometimes you just gotta break out of the box, even in little ways, to remember you have agency in your own life. My and Daniil's latest itsy-bitsy revolution: cantaloupe and popcorn for dinner tonight--popcorn loaded with B vitamins from nutritional yeast and Bragg's amino acids sprinkled on top. While munching away, Daniil and I listened to Pete Seeger--beats Raffi any day. Pete accompanied himself on solo bango and sang classic children's folk tunes like Jim Crack Corn, I Know a Little Girl [in Red Pajamas], Skip to My Lou, Shoo Fly, and The Train is A-Coming.

Click here to hear Seeger sing Skip to My Lou, while learning how to play it yourself on the banjo. I really love this 5-minute clip which points us back to the simple joy of making music. And, while you're on this mini-folk roll, click here to listen to Malvina Reynolds sing "No Hole in My Head." Yes, indeed, I hope to raise a boy who has a head of his own, even a boy who chooses to play banjo rather than fiddle or guitar.

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Photo is of Daniil taking Harvard Yard by storm last Wednesday, Fisher Price garbage truck in hand.

English Update

Latest on language acquisition: Daniil has created a joke Russian pet name for me: Ma-ma-ma-myashka. I joke back: Da-na-na-nyashka. Today we were going back and forth like this when Daniil paused and gazed upward, clearly thinking, and came out with: "Ma-ma-ma-pancake!"

Daniil is also keen on punctuating observations with an exaggerated "Wow" as in, as we are driving down Route 28: "Another dump truck! Wow."

After peeing this afternoon, while reaching to flush the toilet, Danill spontaneously said: "Goodbye, yellow pee." Finally, he's got yellow down pat.

And this morning upon waking and opening his eyes, Daniil turned to me with a big smile and said with gusto and nearly perfect enunciation: "Good morning, Mama." We haven't even worked on this salutation. English is simply seeping in.

Stellar Day

A day of more "firsts." First swim lesson. Daniil literally dove right in and cried when the lesson was over. I suspect this is often the scene in the kiddie pool at the YMCA. Tell me, what three year old, in his or her right mind, would want to get out of a warm-like-a-bathtub pool where you can kick and splash to your heart's content and get Mama or Papa all wet in the process?

First acquaintance with a real goat, real rooster, sheep, pigs and turkeys at the Long Pasture Audubon Sanctuary in Barnstable. The pigs chased each other round and round, like dogs. I never realized pigs had such gumption and get-up-and-go. Daniil and I read about farm animals night after night, identifying them and mimicking their voices and sounds: "Baa... Maa... Moo... Oink... Woof... Quack..." I've been wondering, really, how relevant is all of this in a day and age when most of these animals are crammed into corporate slaughterhouses, not grazing on green pastures? Obviously, I'm not going to have this cynical and depressing conversation with Daniil anytime soon, but I do find it bittersweet to sing about "Old MacDonald."

First playdates, two in one day! The children in today's first playdate were inclusive, fun-loving and kind, but later in the afternoon, one of the boys exhibited a mean streak and was quick to lay blame on his younger brother or on Daniil. Perhaps he was simply "having a day," as we all do, so I want to be wary of passing quick judgment. I certainly wouldn't want someone to write Daniil off, or me, after a single interaction. Time will tell, as it always does. But if meanness or cruelty persist, I certainly won't be shy about exercising social discretion on my little boy's behalf.

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How I wish I could make this my full-time job. 5 weeks to go until I return to work. Every day's precious, not a moment to waste. Next week we add yoga and art classes to the mix, along with gymnastics and music and pre-school on Mondays and Thursdays. One big part of my parenting job, as I see it, is to expose my boy to the world. To supply him with a multitude of experiences--in the arts, in nature, in the country and the city, with people from diverse backgrounds--so that he feels well-versed and "at home" every and anywhere. I also see my job, as Lisa Belkin wrote in a recent New York Times article, as making myself unnecessary. Already, I strive to give my three-year-old as much independence as he can handle. For instance, although it would be much quicker if I lent a hand, I try not to put on or take off Daniil's clothes when he is fully capable. I don't cut his pancake, when he can easily get his knife through soft substances. I don't succumb to his pleas and carry his pail and shovel to the beach when he has two strong and capable arms of his own.

Attachment

Three weeks into Mamahood and I can't imagine life without Daniil. The "primay attachment" psychologists reference is indeed happening, on both our parts. My love for my son and amazement by him deepen day by day, minute by minute.

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I've been reading up on attachment, as this is such a big issue in many adoptions. Here's what Deborah Gray has to say, a celebrated "attachment therapist" from Portland, Oregon.

For children adopted beyond infancy, Mom and Dad should be the ones who do all the nurturing. Your new little one needs to experience you as the safe person who is sensitively meeting his or her needs. I generally make an exception for grandparents who hold a special place in the family. You can explain to other friends and family members: "My child is just learning what family is. Right now he thinks anyone could be Mom or Dad. We have been told to strictly limit visitors at first, and to be the only ones to provide his care, so he can start making a connection with us."

I watch Daniil struggle, especially with men, to figure out with whom and how to attach. Ove the past few weeks, I've had to step in on several occasions to ask people to take a big step back. There's the gas-station guy, for instance, who gives Daniil lollipops and invites him into the station--without my permission. The other day, he said to Daniil, holding out a bag of lollipops: "You are going to come to my house." Yikes! Although I think this guy is harmless, these words could come out of any predator's mouth, and of course Daniil, so innocent and unsure of the English language, would immediately comply. Needless to say, we don't visit this gas station any more. Then there are the family friends who visited and stayed overnight. Daniil became so attached to the husband, he refused to hold my hand. Afterwards, he went up to every man he saw, called him "Dea-dea" ("Uncle" in Russian), and asked to be picked up, including a repair man in the grocery store and a strange man in a cafe whom Daniil wanted to accompany to the bathroom. Another big yikes!

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One friend advises that I take Daniil to a male therapist. Her rationale is that Daniil needs to bond safely with a man over the course of a year or more. Great idea, but costly and likely hard to find a male psychologist who specializes in play therapy on Cape Cod. (I'll look around.) On an up note: Daniil is establishing a relationship with "Pop," my mom's husband Jerry, and this is a healthy and good thing. Right now the relationship is characterized mainly by goofiness: funny voices, funny faces, and the like. I'm sure it will evolve over time. And I sure wish my own father lived closer as he is great with kids and would be another safe male role model, very loving and sensitively attuned to Daniil's bright spirit. He will visit in a few weeks, so I'll get to see how the two hit it off. Perhaps the advent a new (and only) grandson will convince my Dad to move closer.

"I Want Ice Cream, Please."

Language acquisition: this is what Daniil and I are all about, along with the essential task of bonding and loving. The poor kid, his Mama narrates everything he does, asking him to name every object and repeat, repeat, repeat.

In fact, he's not a poor kid at all; Daniil relishes his new vocabulary as it gives him power. He's got probably 50-60 nouns under his belt at this point, everything from body parts--all of them, believe me--to barnyard animals to more sophisticated people, places and things including sunglasses, umbrella, zinnia, and watermelon.

We're running low on adjectives--big, small, tall, and short--but what more do people need, really, other than a palette of colors? A strong verb trumps an adjective any day.

Just today I taught Daniil the key verb: "want". Up until now, he has expressed wants in Russian and the objects of his desires in English, such as "hoechesh banana," "hoechesh pee," "hoechesh eat." Last week I taught him to say "banana, please," "pee, please," "eat, please," a step forward into both manners and English only. But now, as of late this afternoon, my son can express his will powerfully and directly in a complete, unequivocal sentence to anyone he meets.

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Daniil was sitting in his car seat, having just endured long rides in a shopping cart through Stop & Shop and CVS. "Hoechesh ice cream," he said several times over, as I loaded grocery bags into the car. I decided to gamble, betting Daniil would hang in with me for yet another English lesson given the strength of his desire for ice cream.

llllll"Repeat after me," I directed, turning around from the front seat so that he could see my lips as well as hear my voice.

llllll"I," I said in a strong voice, pausing and pointing to myself.

llllll"Want," I said, nailing that final "t".
llllll"Ice cream." I playfully sing-songed this noun, one Daniil already has under his belt (pun intended).

llllllI repeated this simple sentence several times over, waiting for him to repeat each word after me. At first, Daniil slipped other non-sensical syllables inbetween "I" and "want," but eventually he got it.

llllll"I want ice cream!" he exclaimed with a confident smile.

llllll"Yes, moy mishka. Your desire is my command. Let's go get us some ice cream."
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Desire. The cause of so much good in the world, the drive that propels us to explore and accomplish and pursue our deepest dreams and imaginings. And the cause of so much suffering too, especially when our desires aren't heartfelt or consciously considered, but driven by Madison Avenue or by our own unconscious needs for quick fulfillment or escape. May I teach Daniil how to distinguish between the two.

What do I most desire today? The patience, wisdom, humor and/or insight to respond to Daniil in ways that always leave him feeling intact, honored. Even when he decides to whip out his penis in the middle of our living room and pee in his Home Depot tool box, as he did just the other day, may I never lose sight of this boy's soul. Even in the midst of the most exasperating situation, may I have the eyes and heart to see this as an opportunity to teach Daniil a vital lesson about how to get along in the world. And to teach him about a Mama's love, even when she has to set complete, unequivocal limits.

For Real

One way you know you're for real, in America at least, is when you can carry one of these around in your pocket: a bona fide Social Security card. Daniil's arrived in the mail last week.

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Another way you know you're for real: when a little boy crawls all over you, pretending to be a dog, wearing his doggie pajamas, while you are lying next to him on the bed in the dark, trying to get him to settle down and go to sleep. You realize there's no other place you'd rather be in the whole wide world.

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Here is Daniil in the afore-mentioned doggie pjs, hand-me-downs from my colleague Bethany, along with his hip, brand-new, New-York-City boots, his top choice every day since he received them.

First Day at Pre-School

Daniil spent four hours at the Laurel School today. I was with him the entire time. He took to school like a hawk to an updraft, shifting effortlessly from task to task. I plan to ease him in over the next month, just two days per week to start, so that by the time I have to return to work, he'll be ready to spend entire days without me. Honestly, the thought of leaving my boy at school from 7AM to 4PM makes me want to weep. But such is the requirement of single motherhood. At least Daniil will be with a caring teacher and the most lovely little playmates. Three year olds lay it all out on the line, holding nothing back: their hearts, their vulnerabilities, their humor, their curiosity, their impulsiveness. We adults have a lot to learn from them about being in the moment.

Intimacy Beyond Intimacy

A few years back "Mountains Beyond Mountains" made the book-group rounds. Give it a read, if you haven't already. By Tracy Kidder, it tracks the work of epidemiologist Paul Farmer and his work fighting infectious diseases around the world. This sounds like a kill-joy, I'm sure, but it's not. The man's devotion, especially to the poor in Haiti, in Russian prisons and elsewhere, is awe-inspiring.
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What does this have to do with me and Daniil? For one, the connotations suggested by the title. Always there's a next mountain--be this a next suffering person to understand and reach, a next challenge to tackle, a next rewarding vista for your ongoing efforts. Translate to Daniil and me: a next spark of emotion, a next need for understanding, a next moment of intimacy that I never could have imagined before becoming a Mama. The journey's never done, the trail twists and turns unexpectedly, there are impasses and dead-ends--and it's totally worth it. Once you've set out, there's no turning back. The trek, be it up a mountain, or heeding a call to wipe out tuberculosis, or motherhood, becomes a daily devotion.

Some new keepsakes along this devotional path...

Meal times. We start every meal with a short prayer, often after Daniil has already dug into his flaxseed-loaded pancake for breakfast or bowl of chicken soup at lunch. "Dear God, thank you for this food." Daniil's words come out all wrong, but his intention is clear. Both of us then say the gentlest "Namaste," our hands directed toward one another. "Namaste, Daniil," I say. "Namaste, Mama," he says in return, blessing me a smile that takes me aback with its genuineness. I was floored by how Daniil took to the word "Namaste" when I nodded one morning toward the Buddha statue in our dining room. (For those of you unfamiliar with the term, "Namaste" roughly translates as "I salute the divinity in you.") Daniil mimicked me with no hesitation--this was on Day 2 after his arrival--and with surprising solemnity and focus for a toddler. I've always been skeptical about reincarnation, but my boy's naturalness with this ritual gives me pause.

Bath time. Baths began as pure joy, Daniil squealing with delight, dunking his head under water, sticking his bottom under the running faucet, squeezing and squirting his plastic seahorse, frog and duck. Then they took a distinct turn for the worse. Baths became a battleground for our two wills. Daniil decided it would be hilarious to spit bathwater at Mama, sitting outside the tub. My stern "nos" and "all dones" had little effect. He resorted to kicking full force with his legs, splashing water all over the room. I'd lift him up from the tub, ending his game, he'd cry, what a rotten way to enter bedtime. This became a running pattern three nights in a row. The more upset and uptight I got, the more vehemently Daniil dug in. This is so classic, it's embarrassing! Try as I might, I couldn't "unhook" from my wanting things to go a certain way, my way. I put out a call for help via Facebook. My friend Cara from New York City supplied the winning solution, so simple it had never crossed my mind: close the shower curtain and let him spit, let him splash, let him have his fun while I'm safely out of range and dry outside. Do I really care that Daniil splashes? Is that the issue? No, not in the least! I'm sure I'd want to do the same if I were three years old in the tub. Isn't that what water's for? And there's been an unexpected benefit. With the shower curtain closed (Mama peeking in to make sure there's no drowning or other danger), Daniil independently washes himself, spits once or not at all (I removed the rinsing cup), has a blast kicking for 15 seconds or less, and the bath is over, happily, in no time. "Do you want to put on your pajamas and read your spider book?" I ask. "Da... Yes, please," Daniil has answered for four nights in a row at this point. He stands up, beautifully buck naked, and holds out his arms for me to whisk him him up out of the tub. I wrap a huge white towel around my dripping-wet mishka, and off we go to Eric Carle (The Very Busy Spider) and a cuddly goodnight.

Goodnight, Watermelon... I will write more about our tender goodnights in one of my next posts. Once again, it grows late and I need to turn in.

First Art

This is the first day Daniil has shown interest in drawing. He spontaneously picked up chalk I've left in a little pail on the back steps and drew self-proclaimed "samalyote" after "samalyote": airplanes in five different colors. I can see them, can you? Single lines, followed by two slash marks. Lacking even a teaspoon of drawing ability or interest, I never would have thought of this.

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I'm fascinated to discover my son's talents and inclinations and, as he's adopted, I make no assumptions that they will mirror mine through some kind of genetic transference. So far Daniil is groovin' on music--he plays harmonica, while I play blues riffs on the piano. He loves whacking the wiffle ball off the "T" stand and appears to be ambidextrous. And all things "truck" trumps all else.

Best Toy Store Yet

Home Depot