Sorry about the unintentional cliff-hanger. What happened was that after Isaac got so sick, I too got so sick. Then we entered travel hell. If you want tips for how to entertain a three-year-old at the airport for 8 hours, let me know. (Here’s a sample: “Overpriced toys? Sure! Sugar? By all means!”) It’s a long, gruesome story, an experience which tired me enough that I’m STILL too tired to talk about it. Suffice it to say, the nose cone strut was broken. (“But WHY is the nose cone strut broken, Mama??”) All the flights to Minneapolis we already packed in like sardines. I stood in a line holding Isaac in my arms for two and half hours, which made me feel like a Communist shopper or a sad refugee of some sort. We waited a long LONG time as they (Northworst) led us on with false promises, and finally gave up and came home on a commuter train sans luggage and coat. (Isaac had his, I had stuffed mine in my luggage before checking it.) Perhaps this helps explain why the next day I was 100% sicker. We flew to Minneapolis eventually, and had a nice Christmas although somewhat subdued by the shortness of our visit and sickness, especially mine as Ben didn’t get it and Isaac recovered well. Since we got back, I’ve been somewhat in a stupor and in hiding as I try to recuperate. Getting all too friendly with my new neti pot. Isaac has been fairly subdued also, only just in the last few days beginning to show signs of cabin fever.
Along the way there was this incredible teachable moment, the sort of thing parents LIVE for. Isaac walked up to me and said, straight out, “I can’t read very well by myself. Will you teach me to read, Mama?” At which point the heavens opened, the room filled with a clear golden light, and angels began to sing. He wants to learn to read!!
Just one problem.
It was about 4:30 a.m. Isaac had been awake and running around in circles for the previous hour, and I had been alternately trying to get him to sleep through all known strategies and trying to get him to somehow PLAY something or WATCH something or DO something by himself. Ben was totally unconcious, only rearing up now and then to issue threats and make demands for quiet. I was sick as a dog, my sinuses apparently inhabited by some sort of vicious monster bent on fighting his way out through my upper teeth. A different monster was devoted to clawing up my trachea, while madly pulling out all the wiring of my lungs.
And THIS was the moment Isaac chose, of all moments in life, to ask suddenly to be taught to read. How could I say no? But on the other hand how– physically– could I say yes? I truly was NOT ABLE to teach him to read right then. I moaned from under the covers, “Not right now, honey. Let’s do it in the morning, when our side of the Earth turns to face the sun and it’s daytime.” (We always speak in astronomical terms around here.)
“No! Teach me to read right now!!” he insisted.
But I said nothing. Finally he relented and came into bed with us and went to sleep. Later that day, when all seemed a lot more manageable, I suggested, “Can I teach you how to read now?” Of course, the window of knowledge had closed by then. “No,” he said. “Maybe next day.”
What else?
We went to the pediatric dentist for his check-up cleaning. For a while there it seemed really bleak. The dentist and I met in this little room while Isaac played with toys someplace else. We went over his entire medical history, and when we came to the part about his breastfeeding until age 2 1/2, the dentist, “Well, maybe that did it right there.” (If this blog were read more widely I would hesistate to even repeat such words, due to the avalanche of upset e-mails it would generate.) Knife to heart! I had been harboring a secret, secret fear that breastfeeding him at night, and coating those little pearly whites with sweet milk all the time, had caused the damage to his tooth enamel.
But in fact after the exam was done, it turned out to be a major cheerleading session for prolonged breastfeeding. His facial structure is “class one” (the best kind, apparently). His jaw, his bite, the distribution of his teeth in his jaw, the set of his chin, the facial muscles, all of it is just fantastic, the dentist reports. He says that Isaac’s chances of having braces are almost nil. And he said, “All this is probably due to prolonged breastfeeding.” So– yippee!
And the cavities? Well, not too bad. First of all, the dentist made a point of saying that his are NOT breastfeeding related cavities at all. (Not “breastfeeding caries” as they are called.) They are just regular old cavities. And there are only TWO of them. And they are both TINY, like the size of the head of a pin. He said that what the regular dentist was looking at was just mostly staining from all the iron supplements that Isaac has had to combat his anemia and lead exposure (and he’s had enough iron to make at least one or two anvils). But that his teeth are basically in good shape. We’re going next Friday to get them– yes– filled. There will be nitrous oxide and a local, and I will not be in the room. But I think (hope) it will be okay. Isaac didn’t really like it there (he said the dentist didn’t know anything about construction machines), but he didn’t seem at all traumatized by the cleaning. He said, “The dentist had a machine that tickled my teeth!” Well, he’s going to get his teeth tickled a bit more and then hopefully we will be done, and done with all this.
I don’t know what all went on in the room while I was not there, but apparently Isaac managed to convey the breadth of his knowledge on several subjects. The dentist remarked that in terms of cognitive ability and intelligence, Isaac was at the top of the scale as compared to all the other three-year-olds he’s ever met. While I was there I did notice that Isaac pointed out that a rather crudely carved bird on the wall was a woodpecker, and then added, “A DOWNY woodpecker!” Although I also noticed that it was in fact a red-headed woodpecker, I can see that a lot of kids would have just said “bird.”
At the same time, though, in the interest of fair and balanced reporting, I should add that I’m noticing that more and more people are also making remarks about Isaac’s “impatience.” And things like, “he sure is demanding, isn’t he?” and things like, “This is such a difficult age.” And things like, “He’s a real handful, isn’t he?” Usually because Isaac finds it nearly intolerable for me to have even a two sentence conversation with someone else, thus becoming distracted from my proper 100% focus on HIM. Such was the case as the dentist was trying to give me the run-down on Isaac’s jaw and teeth and facial musculature. Interruptions every other word or so, and increasingly shrill. At times I can get him to wait, and at other times he’s impossible. I don’t know if this is the usual thing at this age, but I do know that it taxes my resources.
Anyway, on to more important subjects. Like farts.
Isaac is FIXATED on farts. I mean, like a lazer beam. He will sit and entertain himself for long periods of time with this sort of monologue: “Fart… [snicker]… Fart!… [raspberry sound]… I farted!…. [giggle]… stinky fart!…[hee-hee].” I feel that my job is to provide him the information HE wants, whether or not I personally find it appealing. So to help him nourish this area of interest I went out and bought him “The Gas We Pass: The Story of Farts” which is part of the “Everyone Poops” series. And basically what it does is teach about the digestive system, cleverly disguising the information amid pictures of farting lions (with the zookeeper running away and holding his nose), and farting people in a bathtub (“bubbles rise, plip, plip, plip”), and a farting cat appearing here and there. I’m hoping that this fart book will inspire him to want to learn to read again.
This morning out of the blue, he observed, “If I was a castle, I wouldn’t fart.” And this made me laugh and gave me something to ponder. It’s one of those true statements that somehow sheds a whole new light on something that would seem obvious, but really isn’t obvious at all.