On drapes, adjustments, and villains March 5 - 10, 2006 Getting "curtens", (un)adjusting to school, being a villain for $500 a month

	Tom's new drapes (in Chinese: curten)

	Granny's new drapes (in Hippo language: pajamas)

Our new windows came with a catch -- they're taller by nine inches, compared with the old ones, yet that would not automatically and spontaneously extend our existing blinds. Finally we run out of excuses and HAD TO further beautify our small bedrooms. The American system with most windows having standard sizes (i.e. six or eight feet wide) and drapes being sold to size, just hang them, appears to me very humane and merciful (especially with housewives of my type, who shun miscellaneous sewing, knitting and tidying). Alas, the same system also counts on everyone longing for some heavy velvet horror, embellished with fringes, crowned by a thick mahogany (if at all possible, hand carved) traverse rod. After I had spent twenty minutes circling with two loudly protesting children inside a drapery department, I succeeded in cornering a clerk. I floated a question whether they carry something for a children's room. The lady turned on her professional cuteness sensitivity mode and asked if it was to be a baby girl or a baby boy. I sensed a disaster in making and I told her without further ado that I neither wanted anything sickly pink, nor beset with footballs -- and that I wanted normal drapes -- only somewhat more cheerful that the local rule seem to dictate. Her smile quickly faded and she said that really, nothing would come to her mind, yet in the end she managed to find a piece of relatively merry striped cloth and assured me that they have it in both regular size (all the way to the floor) and in sixty three inches. I hesitated, but given that there was not much to choose from, I bought two pieces of drapes, which Sid promptly nicknamed "pajamas".

Now that granny's room, currently occupied by Lisa, was out of my way, I turned my attention to Tom's room. For some two year I have been keeping in a cabinet, drapes from our other granny, from Brno. Since I did not have an idea when our windows would be re-done and how they would end up looking, I did not bother to do any dramatic changes that might convert the drapes to American sizes. The newly established market situation required some sacrifices, and so I measured everything -- and took the drapes around the corner to one Chinese woman who does "alteration". The person was minimally fluent in English, but when I produced a piece bought here, in the U.S., she agreed to alter the European piece exactly so (i.e. cut in half, shorten, and add loops); she gave me a receipt for an order of curten; within a budget slightly higher than what a purchase of new drapes for the room would represent. Well, since I refuse to allow my children to live in (local) style, I must pay up. Despite the language barrier our curten turned out exactly as I wished them. Sid then, with much mumbling, installed simple metallic rods, and both our small bedrooms finally look like a human habitation. As we don't have carpets, all our rooms tend to suggest priestly cells -- it's surprising how a piece of textile makes it all much cozier.

	Seymour Center - at the entrance to the Aquarium

	A dolphin at the Seymour Center seemed in a good mood.

Besides installing drapes on the weekend, we managed to finally visit the aquarium in Santa Cruz in the time of day, when they give a tour through their dolphinarium. The Seymour Center is foremost a research facility -- displays for the public are a kind of byproduct of their mission. Nevertheless the fees are acceptable and we like the tiny exhibition. There are no heavy crowds, no hassle with parking, and no fears of losing Tommy in their one and only hall. The guided tour has been interesting, although not so much with a two year toddler. Tom was bored, drove around with his toy car and so he missed most details about a whale skeleton, and about the skills of elephant seals, who can -- apparently thanks to their ability to slow down their heart function -- dive almost a thousand feet deep. They keep two dolphins in their tank, but the animals did not show us any tricks. The center is no circus after all, and we would have to go elsewhere to see trained sea mammals. Tom knows dolphins from books and statues, he began to tell them from fish, and so I hope that this visit has strengthened his knowledge in animal biology.

Regular days followed the weekend and Tom was ordered to attend his pre-school. Unfortunately, this time he understood that we were serious, and his reaction was severe. On Monday, Sid had to leave him there crying, and after an hour the teacher called me to come, for Tommy cried on and on, and nothing would move him. I left my unfinished laundry be, tossed Lisa into my car and drove quickly there. On a first glance, the situation did not look critical. Tom was sitting in a cart, and was being pulled around the yard by a four-year-old girl. Only as soon as he saw me, he refused to get separated from me again. Evening was worse still -- other times so favorite daddy became a villain. Tom pushed Sid away, telling him to leave, and demanded to be with mama alone. My Hippo declared that such a pre-school appears to be the quickest way how to become a complete outcast for five hundred dollars a month.

We thought that perhaps Tom would refuse his dad out of the impression that his father is the one who abandons him at the school. I admit that I had planned to have Sid drop Tom off there, it seemed a great idea -- I would avoid morning journey with both kids, double strapping and unstrapping of the car seat belts etc. On Wednesday, then, we executed plan B -- Sid stayed at home with Lisa and I took Tom there. We got as low as to bribing our junior with promises that his good father would come for him at noon and take us all out to lunch (a hippo, however small, is easy to bait with food). This plan worked, at least partially. Tom really lasted at the pre-school by himself till half past eleven -- but he did not look any happier for it. A four-year-old Harrison reported to us that Tommy would not stop crying and even the teacher admitted grudgingly that he may be "only a bit better".

	Hand painting One of our "artsy" experiments.

	A snapshot together Tom loves photo flashes, Lisa expresses serious objections

I have thus abandoned my hopes that Tom could attend the school three times weekly, and I have been trying to switch his days from Mondays and Wednesdays (registered thus with the outlook to soon add Fridays), to Tuesdays and Thursdays. This means simultaneously re-schedule swimming classes from Thursdays to another day -- one hesitates to believe how complicated life of a two-year-old young man can be... I can further forget to let Tommy leave with his daddy, which would allow me to enjoy nightshirt mornings twice a week. Well I know I would not be able to just relax anyway, and I'd go and work on something. But the idea to BE ABLE to idle is very tempting.

Then there's a theory that Tom's changed behavior lately mostly originates in his age -- and that all other problems get simply escalated. You surely remember me complaining about our junior's manners in Europe, which I had attributed to the change in time and climate. Since getting back from Europe, some things have improved, but angry yelling is ever more commonplace in our household. Sometimes it's simply Tom's trying to format us into having his way -- e.g. he says he wants a yogurt; I give him a choice, he nibbles three times at the one he picked and starts to hang himself on the fridge door and scream that he wanted the other one, as if he did not eat for a week. Other times he argues who is it that may change his diapers or take him to his bed -- and we're getting in a slippery position -- are his preferences consequences of his pre-school trauma, or is it another attempt to dictate? We are often unsure and don't know what is a common symptom of "terrible twos" and what's a response to a changing regime.

Then again on some days, Tom is back, being our familiar positive, cunning and cooperative child. Suddenly he can not only take off his clothes, but even put them back on, eats without making a mess around himself, is happy to take a walk and is generally being very nice and cute. At out favorite grocery store, where they have small shopping carts for children, he would fill one up with our purchases, does not run into people and racks, and in the end goes without talking back and returns the little cart back into its place, sorts out all the carts into a neat row and does not demand to take the cart back home with us.

	Our Lisa is frisky and resolved to keep up with her brother

	Lisa is quite at home in Tom's room

Lisa has been perhaps Tom's most favorite member of our family. He keeps a close watch of his sister -- we thought that his expression of disagreement when a strange woman on an airplane held Lisa, were inconsequential, but Tommy really does not tolerate others being interested in his little sister. When we drive out on a weekend, he makes sure that everybody comes along -- "tata", "mama" and "Lizi". He naturally keeps ripping toys out of her little hands, but Lisa counters with shrieking, which threatens to rupture one's eardrums and/or window panes. I am not afraid of her being unable to fight back. Now that Lizzy became quite mobile, they sometimes play "catch" - Lisa furiously crawls all over the house and Tom does peek-a-boo around corners, and they cackle madly. The other day Lisa tried to crawl up onto a mattress, and Tom rushed to pull her up by her sweat pants.

Lizzy insists to crawl on her stomach -- on our carpet-free hardwood floors she's lightning-fast, and I fear that there won't be anything forcing her to get up on her knees. Strangely, she has mastered our only step -- as I found out one afternoon. Tom slept and Lisa managed to escape me about four times over the step into our hallway, where she sped towards Tommy's room. She must have found her mother too boring. If only she would express her courage do disconnect from mama in other places than at home, that would be life!

The last news of this week is my apparent end with nursing. Lisa and I reached a stage when after an hour of feeding I feel all chewed up, and she stays unhappy and hungry. She keeps wanting to bite into mama (especially when she's tired and want to cuddle more than anything else), but is would seem that a bottle became her new friend. She does not have much choice -- and I'm telling myself that if I cease to be the only acceptable source of nutrition, perhaps she stops being so attached to me. Well I should know better, but I can hope, can I not?

Copyright © 2006 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.