And that's when I started to realize the importance of the upcoming winter show.
"Okay," his teacher said. "But tomorrow the gnomes have rehearsal at 11 and he needs the practice. Unless he's extremely sick, bring him to rehearsal tomorrow."
To pass the time on Monday, I filled in a gap in Dietrich's technological knowledge. I taught him how to use a mouse. Or, rather, the fine folks at sesamestreet.org taught him how to use a mouse.
We're pretty no-tech around here when it comes to the kids. Dietrich can't turn on a DVD on his own. He doesn't know how to use the remote. We don't have any video gaming systems. And I've always been too nervous to let him touch my computer. It seemed akin to letting him touch my brain -- and, actually, these days, my computer's more reliable than my brain. (Insert stuck-up Mac-user quip here.)
But last week, we had a friend over to play. And, while they were arguing over who got to write on the chalkboard, the friend suggested that Dietrich have computer time while he wrote with chalk. "Dietrich's not allowed to play on the computer," I said. The friend, age 5, looked shocked.
I decided I'd better get with the times.
In other Monday news, Lev started babbling. He's been a mostly silent kid, but all of a sudden on Monday, in a fit of frustration, he threw himself back and said, "Da, da, da, da, da!" However, when I say "ma, ma, ma" to him, he still laughs at me like I'm crazy.
By Monday night the fever was gone, but to be on the safe side, I took Dietrich in to school later, in time for rehearsal. On the way in, I ran into another mom bringing her daughter late.
"Are you sick," I inquired.
"No, but the winter show is what we work for all year," she said. "I don't want her to get sick before it, so we're only coming for rehearsal this week."
This was my second sign that the winter show is a Big Deal.
My third sign came when I picked Dietrich up an hour later -- and so did three other moms, all of them wanting to avoid pre-show illness.
Well, I didn't really know this was an option. But, given Dietrich's weakened immune system, I decided to do the same. It worked out great, and gave us a little extra time to do some craft projects for his teachers (cotton-ball snowmen) and some friends (macaroni art, inspired by this game).
Thursday was the day of the Big Show. Pre-show was (as always) chaos: Moms (or grandmas) come to help the kids get dressed, and there really isn't space for that many extra bodies in the changing room. No matter how early I show up, I never seem to be there early enough. Some of the little girls have curled hair, lipstick, eyeshadow -- the whole glamor-shot look, so that certainly takes more time than slipping on a gnome (dwarf) outfit.
Dietrich doesn't do well in crowded chaotic situations. I'm pretty sure he learned to dislike these moments this from me. So, our pre-show pictures are pretty glum.
But the performance was great!
This was Dietrich's first time performing with a small group -- just four dwarfs and a Snow White. The only glitch was at the end, when everyone else went to sit down, and Dietrich stood in the middle of the room until his little friend Sasha caught his attention and directed him to sit.
Also, Dietrich opted to play peek-a-boo with his shovel during the poetry part of his act. Really, I can't blame him. There was a LOT of poetry.
Lev and I only made it through about the first 40 minutes. Soon after Grandfather Frost (the Slavic Santa Claus equivalent) showed up, Lev had had enough. Interestingly, when Grandfather Frost entered the show, the kids remained rather non-plussed. I expected screams of delight. Or terror. Or something.
That night, Eric took Dietrich on a special outing to get a present for me. They came home with flowers, and Dietrich "accidentally" announced one of my other Christmas gifts. That kid loves him the revealed secret.
While they were out, I peeled, steamed and pureed a squash that had been sitting around for a while. You see, well past his six-month birthday, Lev still hadn't tasted anything other than mama milk. I planned to wait until the next day and make a big deal out of his first "solid" meal. You know, camera, special bib, dad and big brother cheering him on. A repeat, if you will, of Dietrich's first meal.
But as I portioned out the squash, I looked at my finger, coated in rich, orange puree, and then I stuck it in Lev's mouth. No camera. No witness. Just me and my hungry baby, eagerly grasping for another fingerful.
Friday morning, I finally realized how you know you're a grown-up. You call your teenage babysitter at 9:12 a.m. on Christmas break. And, when you confess to your husband (via Skype, because you're not so grown-up that you still use a regular telephone) that you woke her up, he replies:
[12/24/10 9:35:01 AM] eric brandon oldenburg: you're officially old. you called a teenager on a day with no school before noon.
[12/24/10 9:57:04 AM] eric and josie oldenburg: i know. i'm so embarassed
[12/24/10 9:58:16 AM] eric brandon oldenburg: don't worry about it. as much as we'd like to think otherwise, i'm sure becca and benjamin and all of them see us more like their parents than like their friends.
E-gad! More like their parents?!? But their parents are adults! How has this happened?
We also walked to the street corner and picked out a Christmas tree on Friday, aka Christmas Eve. (Trees are part of the New Year's tradition here, so they're hard to find and pricey if you get them early. We pick out our tree on Christmas Eve and decorate it on December 25. Eric describes the rest of our unusual holiday schedule here.) It was Dietrich's special Advent treat to choose the tree, and he picked one with a wee pinecone growing on it. I was totally charmed.
Saturday, we opened stockings and a family present -- "Toy Story 3." We ate fancy breakfast, decorated the tree, had family movie time, went to church, Skyped with the grandparents and aunt and uncle, and just generally enjoyed Jesus' birthday.
Somehow, we managed to skip reading Jesus' birth story on December 25, so we made up for it then next night, when we had friends over for dinner, Christmas cookies and a showing of "A Charlie Brown Christmas."
3 comments:
Charming,as usual. And who does like crowded chaotic places?Happy New Year!
Best post ever. Best photos ever.
Yup. The teens (and younger children) think you're more like their parents than like them. I realized this horrible truth when I began spending time in classrooms.
A big part of it is children are simply not attuned to how old people are. They understand ages only in terms of what their siblings are. Everybody else is too old, and irrelevant to their concept of growth. I remember a teacher asking a 6-year-old how old he thought I was. He squinted at me, and then guessed, 13? I said I was much older than that, so he revised his estimate to 30.
I feel I am guilty of the same thing when it comes to people older than I am. Unless I know a person well, anyone older than 45 is pretty much my "mother's" or "grandmother's" generation. I'm sure people in their late 40s are quite horrified to be lumped in with people in their 60s by me!
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