Birthday and Ghosts October 21 - November 2, 2006 Tom is three; first trick or treating

	Tommy is blowing out candles -- quite professionally

	Tom harnessed his new scooter very quickly

Tom's third birthday fell on Tuesday. We had decided to celebrate it on the weekend before, as Halloween adjoins the following weekend and we like to separate these two events. This year, we gathered only in the nearest circle of the family. With Jitka and Petra having moved out, our list of friends with kids of adequate age had dramatically thinned out; we were not into organizing a pompous party on which no one would show up, in the end.

It was nice and warm on the Saturday afternoon, and we took the kids out in our back yard; Tom twice blew off his cake candles completely professionally, and rushed to the presents. First he claimed that there was a "big roller" among the packages. Fortunately he soon forgot about it and disappointment did not arrive. He got a book about fish, with which they sell a tube of little plastic sea creatures. I was surprised how many Tom knew to name. For me, a Central-European, the ocean remains forever mysterious; our Californian son reckons it a natural part of his life. His second present was a biking helmet -- which, of course, relates to the third present, the main one: a scooter.

We might have introduced a dangerous precedent, but Lisa received a present as well - a bouncing elephant. She keeps on climbing all over us, asking to be rocked and shaken; we reckoned that such an elephant could ease on our parenting duties. Indeed, she now loves to ride it, but having an elephant did (naturally) not diminish her wanting to bounce on her parents. Tom demanded to be immediately released out to ride his new scooter, and masterfully made a full circle around the whole block. I put my hopes into the scooter that while it takes somewhat less space than a tricycle, we can take it more often along on trips to playgrounds and walks.

	A bouncing elephant - - a consolation prize for Lisa

	Present from our neighbors

On Sunday we talked Tommy into a trip WITHOUT his scooter, and drove to Davenport Landing Beach. Unfortunately, we just coincided with a high tide (our Central-European instincts don't help us here; it would seem that some tides are higher than others), and we simply could not reach our favorite flat rock. Huge waves rolled with infernal speed and eventually caught up with Sid -- in a moment when he was balancing on a rock in the middle of a creek, with Lisa in her arms, having nowhere to run. So now he sloshed in his rubber boots and cursed, and while I made fun of him, the next wave caught me and Tommy. Our son yelled that he got wet, I swallowed the cuss, and SMILINGLY explained to him that it was all fun and that we would change in the car. That's because I had packed spare clothes for the kids -- unlike for us. They had to wear things that I don't give them normally; Tom ended having sweat pants with a hole on a knee -- but he was dry. I suffered my yucky cold wet jeans -- I typically take nylon trousers, which would dry in minutes, but for just this one time I did not take them, obeying Murphy's Law.

A Greek restaurant in Santa Cruz became the target of our lunch experiment. We adults had enjoyed it, but the children were visibly unimpressed. They got apparently spoiled by Asian specialties; European cuisines aren't so popular with them.

	Tom's birthday is a starting marker of Fall Holidays This year the end of October was warmer than most of September.

	Darkness comes early -- good that the kids can entertain each other.

Tom had celebrated his birthday at his school on Tuesday. I made an arrangement with his teacher that I would bring a fruit cake for everyone's snack break. Tom blew off the candles, children sang a tune, we distributed little bags with minuscule gifts (which I find a much healthier custom than handing out candy). Tommy was very "important" and the whole affair took only a few minutes, then they all rushed to run outdoors. Then, however, in the afternoon came our neighbors and brought Tom the most amazing present of them all -- a huge blue garbage truck, which ALL BY ITSELF can lift a toy dumpster. The scooter fell into oblivion and our days were governed by the noble craft of garbage collection. The truck had even a DVD attached, Where the Garbage Goes, which had impressed us all (!!!). A minimum of talking heads, all action -- garbage truck drivers, dump trucks, loaders, compactors, elevators, recycling plants -- we gained yet another popular night story to watch.

Shortly after the birthday I took the kids to Tom's annual medical exam. Being told that we were going to the doctor's, Tom responded that there would be fish (an aquarium in the anteroom), a blue button (automatic door opener for paraplegics) and drains. He watched with interest as a nurse measured and weighed him (three feet and three and half inches, or 100 cm; 33 pounds and eight ounces, or 15.2 kg). Blood pressure test was a fun game. He told the doctor everything. That he's three (in English), and that he got a blue garbage truck (in Czech). He also explained that he helps me with dishes, he even boasted that he had been bad (the night before, he meticulously spooned half of his tub out on the bathroom floor). For most of the exam, Lisa clung to me like a tick, but by the end almost kissed the doctor, which had lit a spark of hope in me -- perhaps, on one remote day, she shall grow out of her mother-attachment.

	I'd be interested whether girls, who DON'T have an older brother, also climb on fences?

	Fall decorations in Roaring Camp.

The wonderful times of birthday (and beautiful presents) advances into Tom's rather unpopular Halloween. Last year, he was horrendously scared of all decorations; I'd somehow counted on him being older and thus better. Expecting no evil, I took him along when visiting our neighbor Fionnuala, with whom I had something to arrange. Tom had become fond of their daughter Siobhan, and he was looking forward to it. I showed him their huge inflatable pumpkin that they had installed in their front yard, and I missed a small talking head on the garage wall. Naturally, the thing began to croak just when Tom passed by. In the same instant, my son was wrapped around my neck crying that he wants to cross the street and go home now, and could not be consoled. Fionnuala reached into her Halloween stash and tried to compensate Tom with a plastic ring with a pumpkin; I attempted to explain that it's just a game and a talking toy, like his talking garbage truck, and there's nothing scary about it, as it is meant for kids who, when they arrive there in the evening, get a present -- but to no avail. Tom just begged to go away.

I had yoga in the evening. It works thus: I serve dinner to the kids, pack them in the car, and we drive to Sunnyvale, where we meet with Sid on his way from work (he works five minutes away from the gym where the yoga class is held), I go yoga and Sid switches over to our bus and drives the kids back home, where he bathes them and puts them to their respective beds. After yoga, I take Sid's car home. Oddly enough, it seems that the children enjoy this evening commute, and certainly have fun without their mother behind their back every evening. This time, however, Sid had to assure Tom several times that there was nothing scary in our house, before Tom dared to enter.

A similar scene happened at our favorite Pumpkin Patch -- Tommy refused to go home, kept suggesting more and more activities. It did not strike me as if he were having much fun though, he had looked stressed out. Eventually he mentioned that he was afraid to pass by a dancing skeleton by the entrance. He had feared it the year before already, and I thought that he did not notice it this year. Well, he did. In the end we were leaving with me carrying my three-years-old Tommy in my arms, while completely unfazed Lizzy trotted beside me right under the skeleton. I began to get the idea that neither this year would be good to start trick-or-treating around the neighborhood. Yet we had already arranged it with friends, and so I decided to try it with the option to take Tom home immediately.

	Water for the engine We could not miss such a view to see.

	A school bell -- makes so much loud noise!

On a weekend before Halloween, we were all decimated by various intense colds. Sid was worst -- and so on Sunday I drove out on a trip without him. I checked carefully that the Roaring Camp Railroads would not hold any scary show (they did, on Friday and Saturday), to avoid traumatizing Tom and pushing through the crowds. Due to daylight time saving switch, we had arrived in Felton so early that no one was yet manning the parking fee booth. The Roaring Camp was only slowly waking up into a beautiful Sunday -- and was being only gradually cleaned up from scary decoration leftovers. Luckily, Tommy had already carefully studies his book My Human Body, so we examined the skeletons, concluded that there was nothing scary about them, for we each have one, too. The main scarecrow in the covered bridge (through which we had to pass) sported a wide smile in his pumpkin face. I tried to brush it off by claiming it was a "happy scarecrow". Tommy agreed to everything, but held on tight to me, just in case.

I had planned to take the children on a walk through the adjacent redwood grove -- but in the end we had no time. They have a table with toy trains at the local gift shop -- we had to go there twice, actually. Then we were crossing the tracks many times, rang a school bell, watched ducks, walked atop walls, some (especially Lisa) enjoyed going up and down stairs (such rare beauty, which we don't have at home) and running up and down a disabled's ramp, the kids fiercely climbed up a tree, and we watched how a real steam engine gets a drink of water. This phase in a child's life is actually quite pleasant -- everything is new, interesting, the kids are easy to entertain, sometimes just with a small stick. Furthermore, they faithfully absorb mother's learned lectures. I do not look forward to puberty.

The actual Halloween fell on Tuesday, hence Tom had experienced a celebration at his school. Parents were permitted to attend, so I dressed Lisa into Tom's old spider set and we went. Tommy was ecstatic that I came to see him in school, but it was quite hard to convince him to change into a little devil's costume. It seemed to me that he was confused and did not understand what I wanted from him, and why. Fortunately I had counted on his resistance and had decorated myself with cat's ears and attached a fancy cat's tail -- I then talked Tom into having a tail, too. My kids completely ignored the masks' parade. Lisa requisitioned a toy car and for twenty minutes was getting in and out of it. Tommy, equally focused, bounced on mats.

	Tom the little devil

	Lisa is at her happiest when she can decorate her head with something.

In the evening, I packed my children in several layers, these I covered with costumes. Even California does not offer much warmth at the end of October, but this year I was really feeling sorry for all those little princesses and ballerinas. The weather has been like on the surface of the Moon -- easily over eighty by noon, and close to freezing at night. Tommy had refused to gather with everybody else in front of Fionnuala's house; he waited on t he other side of the street. We slowly moved from one house to another. To my surprise, Tom quickly gathered courage and competed with a batman Tyler of the same age, who shall first ring the bell. I have to say that I eventually had to calm my rude boy down -- he started to attack bowls with goodies without asking and loaded with full hands. In one moment he declared that he wanted to go home and eat all the candy, telling me right along that he won't have dinner. Well there I was -- having worried myself that my boy could be traumatized by Halloween for the rest of his life.

We went home early mostly because I stopped being able to carry Lisa. She did not fear the ghosts, but it was too much for her anyway -- too many strange people, too much excitement, so she insisted on hanging safely on her mother. For short periods, I managed to stuff her into her stroller, but it would not last long. I also began to feel quite cold. Back at home, Tom attempted to stick to his earlier resolution and dine on candy, which I intercepted, being his evil nemesis. Later at night I went through his collection and ejected all chocolate, which makes him hyperactive, and left behind only lollipops, smarties, and some crackers. Luckily, it would seem that his plastic Halloween pumpkin with candy now became a common object and Tom stopped to raid it so much. I appreciated his collection containing things like small bowls with play dough; from his school, Tom brought some stickers and pencils. I find it a pleasant alternative to pounds of chocolate and candy in general.

	New old stroller

I may be an evil mother, but I try not to give my children much sweet stuff. Of course I don't tend to have their stomach pumped whenever they spot an M&M, but we generally don't buy any candy and don't have a ritual about it. It's actually healthier for Sid and me as well. Our climbing has been rather suffering lately. Since granny has left, we have no sitter and taking kids along to the gym requires complicated organizing and (very) steady nerves. First, we have to find a volunteer (usually Martin), who would climb with us in a trio -- i.e. one climbs, one belays, and one is watching the wild game. Climbing in three people takes longer, before all get at least semi-tired, and by the end the children usually start being difficult, which still worsens the climbing conditions. How can I deliver some performance, when my toddler cries pitifully at the low end of my rope, "mama mama". It's a test on the subject of being an evil mother.

Alas, my back has been quitting its job unconditionally; I need to get my body together a bit. Thus I seek alternative sporting opportunities. One of them has been my yoga on Wednesdays. Then there were our hikes with neighbors, but those are now over. Children have become so heavy that carrying them on our backs over hills smells like repetitive injury. The girls (read: mothers -- Sid's note) had started to walk with strollers along a trail that leads behind our back yards. It's a dirt road -- flat, yet impassable with my old stroller. So after three years I gave up and bought a jogger. I had no idea how easy it would be -- I jumped on the internet (craigslist), scanned through a few ads, responded to one, and on the next day I was bringing home an older, but apparently not very used jogger, for a fraction of its original price. It's been great for our trail -- it's spring-loaded, has a hand brake, a relatively large cab (which stops sunshine from bothering Lisa) and big wheels with tube tires. I tried to use it on pavement and it was not as convenient -- compared to the usual stroller construction it's too heavy and clumsy. Still, I bought it very specifically for terrain riding, and there's really no reason for complains -- and Lisa has been looking happy in it. Now I can only hope that my neighbors' sporting resolve is going to last.

Copyright © 2006-2007 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.