Lift Up Your Hearts!

Great-Grandma Landeen came for lunch yesterday, and Jonathan had fun playing trains with her, and reading the new books that she brought him. I had been worried about an "elderly lady" slipping on the train track pieces that covered most of the family room floor, but she nimbly navigated them and without hesitation sat down on the floor to play!

On Friday Jonathan and Heather had accompanied us the park for our regular running date. While Dad-o ran, the rest of us walked around the trail. Sometimes Jonathan is enthusiastic about running, and we thought he might enjoy it here, but he was not in the mood. In fact, he wanted to be carried from the beginning. With encouragement, he walked about 0.7 miles before I gave him a piggy back ride the rest of the distance to the playground.

Monday we returned, and this time as we were walking the trail, he spontaneously began to run, off and on, pausing to check out the various fitness stations. When Dad-o sped past us, I commented, “Dad-o runs fast.” Then Jonathan took off, declaiming, “Jonathan run fast!” In spite of, or more accurately because of, his new enthusiasm, we did not push him so far this time (following the “stop before he asks to stop” rule), but took a shortcut to the playground. There he indulged his passion for swinging (“swing fast!”) while we took turns getting upper body exercise pushing him. He particularly liked Dad-o’s enthusiastic pushes.

There are several forms of slide at that playground, and once again we observed his challenge–retreat behavior. When we arrived, he headed directly for the tall, curly slide that he had tried last time but not had the courage to slide down. He climbed up eagerly enough, but hesitated at the top, pronouncing this slide a “tough one.” Finally, he announced that he was climbing back down the ladder, and he did. He then proceeded to a slide in which the down part was low and easy, but climbing up difficult. The ladder had only three “steps,” but they were single rungs far apart and had to be climbed like a jungle gym with arms as well as legs. At first he asked for help, but before we left had figured out the problem and could make the climb himself. He also returned to the curly slide and mustered the courage to launch himself down. It was a wild ride, and both elbows needed kisses where he banged them against the sides of the slide, but he was pleased with himself and shed no tears. That was enough of that for today, however, and for the next several slides asked to ride on Heather’s lap. That still represented progress from earlier in the hour, when he had refused that offer and insisted on climbing down the ladder.

While swimming today, Jonathan consolidated and expanded recent gains, hand-walking (along the wall) more than halfway to the other end of the pool, and having a blast swimming with Mommy, showing her his prowess.

Jonathan is not accustomed to having to leave the house before 7 a.m. for church, but he managed to be only one of the Seven Dwarves—Sleepy but not Grumpy. He had no comment on Father Tom’s sermon, having chosen that time to be out of the room, but happily received his blessing at the altar rail during the Eucharist.

In the afternoon we visited the Orlando Science Center; since we are members and thus didn’t feel any pressure to get the most out of the admission price, we happily toured at Jonathan pace, which meant we actually saw little of the museum. It was the water that first caught his eye, and we watched the fish and the baby alligators and the turtles for a long time. We continued to explore the first floor until we reached Kids Town, which is designed for children under 48 inches tall (and their parents). It was fun to have an excuse to see it, but having done so, my recommendation is to pass it by. Jonathan did have a great time playing with the trucks, and the boats in the water, and talking on the telephones, but he could have done that at home. On the other hand, our house does not have a simulated sewer to run through, which he did at least half a dozen times.

During the IMAX movie about India, Jonathan first watched with interest, then nursed himself to sleep, much like his Aunt Janet at the Exxon (dinosaur) ride at EPCOT. The movie was interesting, but that did not stop me from following Jonathan’s lead in places—minus the nursing.

Porter suggested we stop at The Cheesecake Factory on the way home, and that idea was greeted with resounding enthusiasm by everyone but Jonathan, who didn’t know any better and preferred to sleep through most of our meal. Thus he missed the fabulous Avocado Egg Rolls, but he awakened in time to chow down a couple of pieces of chicken, an entire asparagus stalk, and a few French fries (“dip in ketchup!”).

Our day was so long and so busy I thought we might not swim, but Jonathan thought otherwise, so he and Grandma saw the sunset from the pool. We swam, and swam, and played the usual games: throwing the rings, sweeping with the pool brush, and a game he invented totally on his own, “Dinner ready!” He sits on the step in water up to his chin, asks another person to sit with him, and announces, “Dinner ready!” Then we discuss what we will eat: popcorn, asparagus, cheese, broccoli, carrots, ice cream, bread and milk and blackberries.

For a while I thought we might finish this swim with no new accomplishment to report, but Jonathan had other ideas. We have a large, ring-shaped float that he has been playing with on the steps. He had watched the adults float with it, but found it too big for his comfort. Nonetheless, he enjoyed sitting in the middle on land, or on the first step of the pool, and once again I observed his process of challenge–retreat. Tonight, standing in the middle of the ring with his arms holding the side, iron cross-style, he announced, "Here comes Jonathan!” and floated himself off the steps. He held on for maybe half a minute before tiring and wanting to go back to the steps. He repeated the exercise a few times, then asked to be helped to hold on to the front (a more comfortable position) and float to the deep part of the pool. This we did, ending at the little seat at the other end, and sat down to a triumphant game of Dinner Ready.

Jonathan has grown so comfortable and happy in the pool that he must be watched carefully, but I note that it is not a careless self-confidence he has, but rather a secure trust. He is very good about staying out of the pool or on the steps when there is no adult in the water, and is quite careful when he is on his own. But let a trusted adult be near him in the water, and he will enthusiastically launch himself into deep water, confident loving arms will receive him.

Having learned that it is now possible to ride along the bike trail from our neighborhood to the bridge over I-4, Heather wanted to make the journey. We have only two bicycles, and no bike seat nor bike trailer for Jonathan to ride in, and no helmet for him to wear. So he was sadly disappointed, because when he heard the words, “bike ride,” he became very excited: “Jonathan go bike ride!”

His disappointment did not have long to last, however, because when Dad-o and Mommy set off on the bicycles, Grandma and Jonathan headed for the pool. I had thought we might swim for a while, and then maybe play with the Brio train, or read stories, or ride in the red wagon, or maybe go to the playground. However, when Dad-o poked his head over the fence some three hours later, we were still swimming! And Jonathan continued swimming while Dad-o and Mommy joined us, and after Dad-o got out, and after Grandma left to fix dinner. Only Mommy’s suggestion that he might like some milk eventually enticed Jonathan out of the water.

I love the freedom of being a grandmother. I can have no agenda, no discipline responsibilities beyond setting and enforcing some basic rules (e.g. “you may throw the rings into the pool, but not the rock”), no need to teach him anything in particular, no reason not to let him be the writer, director, and producer of our play. In the pool, Jonathan is the boss.

Today he decided, on his own, to work on holding the edge of the pool and walking with his hands along the bricks. He practiced several times: jumping from the steps into my arms, having me help him swim to the side, then inching his hands along until he could reach the steps with his feet again. The trickiest part was negotiating the corner, but it did not take many sessions before he was confidently holding on with one hand and making large reaches with the other. He also discovered that the returning water jet tickles his belly!

 

We pretended Jonathan was a whale, who liked to “jump and splash” in the water. The downward splash frequently wet his face, and he made further progress in getting comfortable with having his head partially submerged.

In addition to the usual way of jumping off the side, which is into my arms with his head remaining above the surface, we tried “super jumps,” in which I let him go all the way under before catching him. After several times, he decided, “no super jump.” That was fine with me; I know now that he will file the experience away and bring it out again when he is ready.

He also asked to practice floating on his back, and we added a new version: being held in my arms in a reclining, though not completely flat and definitely not relaxed, position while I spun “’round and ’round!” first one way, then the other. I’m not sure what it accomplished, other than giving him another opportunity to be semi-supine and feel the water splashing in his face, but it was fun, and great vestibular stimulation for both of us.

Once again—typical of most children, it seems—he was reluctant to show Mommy and Dad-o his prowess when they returned, but he has advanced so much that some of it was apparent, anyway. He wouldn’t “show” Heather his hand-walking along the wall, but did it naturally when they went to the deep end and that’s how she moved along the wall herself. She also noticed his greatly increased confidence, as she had to adjust her reactions; he no longer clings to her, but eagerly projects himself from her arms, trusting she will follow.

Jonathan has several pictures of Louis Comfort Tiffany stained glass windows that he likes to look at, so we were excited to give him the opportunity to see the real windows at the Charles Hosmer Morse Museum of American Art in nearby Winter Park. Much to our disappointment, many of his favorites were unavailable, being prepared for a special exhibition in New York. So he was unable to see Girl Picking Gourds, one of his favorites, and see the transformation of Butterfly Window between transmitted and reflected light at the push of a button. However, not all of "his" windows were missing, and his eyes lit up when he encountered Young Woman at a Fountain. He delighted, also, in "Tombment!" (The Entombment) particularly since that exhibit featured several studies leading up to the finished window.

It did not take me quite so long this time to remember the lesson I had learned when we visited the Phipps Conservatory in Pittsburgh: When Jonathan wants to be carried and there's no obvious reason for him to be tired, it's often because he wants to see from an adult eye level. The museum is not arranged for the height of a not-yet-two-year-old, even one as tall as Jonathan. Once I realized that, he enjoyed looking at many of the Tiffany vases as well. How glad I was that Heather politely declined the admission clerk's repeated offer of a stroller for him, from which he would have seen little and appreciated less. Only once did he need to be told, by a polite docent, that reaching into the roped-off area could set off an alarm—and not much later she had to say the same thing to an adult.

He enjoyed most of a video about how Tiffany's treasures were rescued from destruction and restored for this beautiful museum; he was not happy to leave before it was finished, but some other people came into the little theater at that point, and we no longer felt free to let him wander around while enjoying the film. So we headed for home, very pleased with Jonathan's first visit to an art museum. "Girl Pick Gourds" will wait for another day.

One of the joys I remember from Heather and Janet’s childhood is hearing them quote back and forth to each other sections of dialogue from plays and movies, from The Pirates of Penzance to Henry V. Jonathan has started already. No, he’s not quite ready for Gilbert and Sullivan, let alone Shakespeare, but his conversations are replete with quotations from his favorite books, particularly Dr. Seuss. “no, Pat, no sit on that!” “hop on pop, stop!” (Hop on Pop), “in a box, wif a fox” (Green Eggs and Ham), “boom, boom Mister Brown makes thunder”) (Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?), “bread and milk and blackberries for supper” (Peter Rabbit), and many others I can’t identify. Since coming to Florida he has increased his repertoire, having discovered The Cat in the Hat on our bookshelves. That is his favorite story request now, and we are already hearing “up, up, up, fish!” “look at me, look at me now,” "have to know how," and more.

Yesterday we also went to the neighborhood playground, Heather and I walking, and Jonathan sometimes pulling, mostly riding in, the little red wagon which had last seen service on Independence Day as the water wagon for the Greater Geneva Grande Award Marching Band.

The playground has been modified several times since our children pitted my maternal instincts against my desire to let them explore freely. Fear of lawsuits clearly drove the removal of our favorite tall, curving slide, then the great merry-go-round, and most of the climbing equipment. These were replaced by lawyer-safe, wimpy, plastic constructions, more suited to a McDonald’s than a park and of minimal interest to any child over three. So I was thrilled to discover that yet another metamorphosis had occurred, and the new playground equipment is great! It retains many of the safety features of its predecessor—constructed of cooler materials set on a soft, flexible base—but definitely provides a challenging environment. The play set labelled for five to 12 year olds actually was for the most part too challenging for 22 month old Jonathan, and the set for younger children provided sufficient adventures in climbing and sliding. My only complaint is that neither had a brachiation ladder, which is high on my list of bare minimum playground equipment, but the addition of a small version of an indoor climbing wall almost made up for that lack.

Today we went to a different playground, where Jonathan opted for vestibular stimulation in the form of about 20 minutes of continuous swinging, which also provided good exercise for the pushers, since even the slightest slowing down of our efforts provoked the imperious command, “Fast! Fast!”

The pool continues to be a big draw here, with Jonathan swimming as much and as often as he can convince someone to swim with him. Ah, the delight in having time and opportunity to observe the learning process! Since the YMCA has regrettably abandonned the wonderful Infant Swim and Gym program that we enjoyed, Jonathan is not as competent in the water as his mother and aunt were at 22 months of age. But he is taking full advantage of this opportunity to narrow that gap.

What impresses me most is the benefit of allowing him freely to explore the boundaries of where he feels comfortable. This involves both not pushing him and not restraining him. The latter category included allowing him to play freely at the very edge of the pool. He would walk around the brick border, stopping occasionally to paddle his hands in the water, or to play with water toys. He was supremely and amazingly competent at knowing his limits and his center of gravity, sometimes leaning out over the edge, sometimes lying down on his stomach so he could safely reach further. It reminded me of the times when our children would climb fearlessly on the playground, not only to the tops of the apparatus meant for climbing, but also those that weren’t, including the swing sets. Sometimes I would have to sit on the bench, eyes glued to my book, allowing myself only occasional peeks at their activity, in order to keep my fears from infecting them. Of course with him near the water we had to watch Jonathan all the time, but Heather showed admirable motherly restraint as she let him explore.

And equally admirable restraint in not pushing him to experience more than he was ready for. She would periodically offer him opportunity to explore new skills: “swimming” while firmly supported by Mommy’s hands, swimming between Mommy and Grandma—which amounts at this point to little more than being passed from one set of hands to the other—hanging by his hands from the side of the pool, jumping in, floating on his back, lying on his back on the steps, blowing bubbles in the water. He was only comfortable with the first of these, and she never insisted.

He loved to sit on the steps and play around, and here the learning process was most obvious. Gradually he, himself, extended the range of what he was comfortable with. A great breakthrough was discovering that he could hold himself up with his hands on a step and let his legs float freely behind him; from this position he could kick his legs enthusiastically and experiment with the motions of swimming. He would push himself slightly deeper, slightly further away from the security of the highest step, coming back periodically to the safest position, as if to reassure himself that he could always get there if necessary. He experimented with jumping into the water, from a sitting position, being caught by Heather before he face went under water—most of the time. Occasionally he would end up further in than intended, and would take in some water. He handled that well, not fussing, but retreating to a more secure level of play before regaining courage and reaching out again.

Yesterday afternoon he had exhausted everyone’s desire to swim except Grandma’s, whose desire to stay warm and dry was outstripped by her desire to please and observe him. This time he spent a lot more time playing on his own, not being sure yet that Grandma was a reliable substitute for Mommy when it came to holding him in the water. So he experimented, and played, and I watched. (And fetched the rings he kept throwing in to me.) He played for hours. At one point we both were out of the water, and he played for a long time with the pool brush, sweeping both the pool and the deck. He played, that is, until he noticed that I had wrapped a towel around myself: “No towel! Go swimming!” and back we went to the pool with renewed enthusiasm. That was his response every time I suggested he might want to go inside and get dressed.

After one such scare that I might make him go inside, Jonathan suddenly decided, completely on his own, to try out many of the experiences we had introduced him to earlier. He flung himself off the steps into my arms so we could “swim.” He wanted to swim to the side, then to the other side, “other side, “other side.” (Head still above water, but legs and arms flailing.) Upon reaching each side he happily held on for several seconds while I let go completely. He asked to swim to the steps, then for me to help him “lie down on steps.” This put him in the floating position, with his ears under water and his feet floating freely, but with his head and back securely on the step, and my arms holding him. After trying this for a few seconds several times, he announced, “self,” and lay down without being held. Then he wanted to do the same on the second step down, which meant that I had to hold him, as he was really floating completely—so we drifted away from the steps and floated around in the pool! He never did relax, and is not close to true floating on his own yet, but what a tremendous step he has taken. Heather prepared the soil and planted the seed; unobserved, Jonathan tended the growing plant; I was privileged to be there to see the bud begin to open!

Jon has graciously lent us Heather and Jonathan for a week! They arrived yesterday. I met them as they were descending the escalator; Jonathan saw me and shouted, “Grandma!” quickly followed by “Dad-o?” We reassured him that he would see Dad-o after we drove home. On the way he announced, “Aunt Jan't 'Pan!” He knows we’re associated with Aunt Janet, but he can’t see her this trip because she’s in Japan.

By the time we arrived, Jonathan was asleep, so he didn’t get to see Dad-o until he awakened. When he did, he walked into Dad-o's office for a joyful reunion, though he was quickly distracted by the view from Dad-o’s window: “Swim!” At this point I was at the grocery store, so he had to wait about 20 minutes, but as soon as I returned I heard, “Grandma home! Go swimming!” So we did.

Jonathan was a good sport about getting out of the water before he was ready, and about eating our pad thai dinner with chopsticks. At first he called a piece of shrimp “mushroom” but adopted the corrected name as soon as I informed him. After dinner we went shopping and Jonathan now has a lovely new pair of running shoes—a.k.a. sneakers.

After we pulled into the garage, Jonathan asked to be able to “’tend to drive.” So I stayed with him in the car while he took over the driver’s seat and pretended to drive. All went well for a while, as he talked about fastening the seat belt, and pointed out to me that his feet couldn’t reach the pedals. He steered, and adjusted the knobs, and learned how to turn the overhead lights on and off. Then the garage light, which is turned on when the door opens and turns itself off after a while, suddenly plunged us into darkness. I turned on the car light, but Jonathan was unsettled enough that he decided it was time to go inside and find Mommy.

Then I made a mistake. I asked him to stay where he was while I got out of the car and turned the garage light on so we could see to get into the house. The mistake was in shutting my car door. I turned on the light, and Jonathan, in his effort to open his door, locked himself in the car! I wasn’t really worried, since the keys were inside the house with Heather, but tried to talk him through unlocking the car. He knew exactly what to do, and kept pressing the button, but he was pressing it in the “lock” position. Finally, through chance or thought or instruction, I know not which, he pressed it to “unlock,” and we went into the house.

There are several contrasts to their visit a year ago. For one thing, Daddy's not here, and for another we're not locked down by a hurricane. We’re sad about the former, but the latter is a great improvement. This year, Jonathan made himself at home immediately with the toys in “Jonathan’s Cupboard," took them out, called them by their names, and began to entertain himself for long periods of time, providing delightful running commentary along the way. His language and vocabulary have grown so much, even since we saw him in July. Heather and Jon’s habit of not modelling baby talk is evident. One exception is “choo-choo train,” which he occasionally uses instead of “train.” He picked that up from a book; some authors have a lot to answer for.

One of Janet's classes was discussing the causative have, such as "I had my hair cut" and "I had my bike stolen." She noted that the latter can make it sound as if the person caused his bike to be stolen, though that is not the way it is normally used. That set me thinking. To me,

I'm glad I learned English as a child, when accepting such subtleties was still easy! Any comments, grammar experts?

It began when I said to Porter, "I'm riding to the post office; do you want to join me?"

The post office is less than two miles from home, so as part of our effort to make our gasoline supply last as long as possible, I had decided to go by bicycle to mail an important package. Porter was happy to come, but suggested we continue on and see how far we could get on the nearby bike trail. Bear in mind that our bicycles had seen but little use for a long time. Intrepid or foolish, we filled our water bottles, figured out how to work our new helmets, and took off.

For those to whom this has meaning: we crossed over the I-4 bridge! And went a bit further, to one of our churches, then turned toward home. I'd like to tell you how exhausted I was when I finally glided into our driveway, and how every muscle in my legs was throbbing...but Janet climbed Mt. Fuji this weekend and I'm sure after I read her report I'll feel a little silly...and a lot wimpy.

It was a lot of fun, though.

It was a triathlon, in an out of shape, over 50 sort of way.

We still haven't been able to fill up the cars since the gas panic Wednesday night. Not that we tried very hard, but the one station we pulled into on our way home from choir rehearsal Thursday night was out of gas. (It's not that our choir meets two nights per week; we sing with two churches.) So instead of driving to the park for our thrice-weekly run, on Friday we rode our bicycles.

1. Ride to the park.
2. Run (or walk/run in my case)
3. Ride home.
4. Jump in the pool.

Works for me.

The terrifying power of panic to disrupt and destroy was best illustrated this week in Iraq, where the stampede provoked by rumor of a suicide bomber killed and injured innocent people in numbers exceeding the wildest expectations of any individual with a bomb in his backpack.

As a far-off planet reflects the fiery sun, panic made its power known here on Wednesday, also. Driving to choir rehearsal on Wednesday night, we could have filled our gas tank easily at any of a number of stations along the way, for the price of $2.69/gallon. On the way home it was a different story. While we had been happily singing, word began to spread that Florida was running out of gasoline. The Orange County School District cancelled all non-essential bus service (sports, field trips) and announced that even with the cutbacks parents might have to begin driving their children to school in another week. This was enough to convince half of Central Florida that they needed to buy gasoline, NOW. Those calm, quiet gas stations we had passed earlier in the evening now had lines of waiting cars that stretched for blocks, and police officers on site to keep order. Prices had jumped at least 10 cents per gallon. A few stations had no lines—because they had run out of fuel.

We chose not to join the snaking lines, trusting that our 3/4 full gas tank would see us through until the situation stabilized. During hurricane season, the recommendation is that you don't let your gas tank get below half full. Maybe that's a good idea year 'round, because it wasn't Florida's disaster that caused this shortage.

Even before Hurricane Katrina, when we were paying around $2.55 for a gallon of gasoline, the adjustments made necessary by the increased price fueled many a news story. From the tone of the reports, one would think we were in a crisis of terrible proportions, but their content was encouraging. People now had to think twice, it was said, before making a trip by car. They were combinging trips, carpooling, using public transportation, walking, and riding bikes. All of which looks like good news to me.

News reporters, it seems, are most enthusiastic when reporting bad news, and love to expand problems into disasters. I don't believe you can call our fuel problems a crisis, even post-Katrina, any more than I believe we have an obesity crisis, although most Americans are undeniably overfed and underexercised.

Nonetheless, I will use the media's terms and make the encouraging prediction that if we don't interfere with the process too much, the energy crisis may go a long way toward curing the obesity crisis.

If you have contacts in the Mississippi area, please check out this friend's plea for locating missing relatives.