The Evolution of our Little Agassi

This year vs. last year. Look at the change in his confidence!

One thing that continues to amaze me about kids is what a difference a year makes. Jonas just finished his second year of pee wee tennis lessons at Leeper Park. Last year, it took him 3 of the 6 lessons to work up the nerve to utter a word and halfway participate in the games the coach had planned. Matt and I spent the first lesson coaxing him from the sidelines (and even on the court) to participate. Thankfully one of the instructors took him on as her special project and thanks to her one-on-one attention, he began to loosen up a bit. By the end, he had warmed up to the point where we didn’t think we had completely wasted our $35.

He has matured a lot since last year, so we assumed this time around would be different. But, being a natural introvert, we didn’t know what to expect. Thankfully he had no problems getting involved. He played the games and even spoke to the coach on his first day! Duck-duck-goose no longer looked like a form of torture. He actually smiled and giggled as he ran around the circle of other little tennis players.

As much as I secretly (and even publicly) hope he will be a stellar tennis player some day, these lessons were about more than forehands, backhands and serves. As he proudly exited the court today with his completion certificate in hand, I realized how much has changed in a year. Slowly but surely, my shy little boy is turning into a more mature, confident kid. We definitely got our money’s worth this year. 

Inaudible Vocalitis

I’ve begun hearing a voice. It’s that of my own. It’s either that I’m hearing voices or that I’ve developed a rare, yet annoying, disorder known as Inaudible Vocalitis. The symptoms of such a disorder are that, while you can hear your own voice and believe fully well that you are speaking audibly, no one around you seems to hear or acknowledge your vocal efforts. Not even the dog.

As rare and unheard of as this disorder may be, I believe I have contracted it. I mean what other explanation is there for the fact that I have to repeat myself incessantly for the kids to move into action? Not to mention our previously well-trained dog has begun ignoring my commands. Instead of lying down when asked, he looks at me as if to say, “Really? You don’t mean it, right? I’ll just stand here and see how serious you really are.”

And so, I’m sure you’re wondering what the cure for IV is. Well, I’ve done quite a bit of Internet research. It appears that the only cure is a long vacation in a beach locale with only a good book and myself. Husband welcome, as long as audible recognition is a go.

Empathy Over Annoyance

I was listening to NPR this morning and heard a story about airline innovations that will be displayed at the upcoming Paris air show. They talked about the possibility of glass floors and ceilings, and adjustable seats that contour to the individual. The reporter ended in jest by saying, “Now if they can only block out the sound of the crying baby from the seat behind you.” I have to admit that as a parent of small children, I was mildly offended. Have I flown with my little ones and subjected strangers to their cries and whines? No. Do I enjoy being on long flights with other people’s noisy children? Not really. But what offended me is this societal view that children should be seen and not heard. Well, if we’re being really honest, they shouldn’t even be seen except in designated areas, such as a fast food restaurant’s play area that is enclosed with sound proofed walls.

A few months ago, I had the pleasure of carrying a crying 2-year-old out of a restaurant. It was my first such experience. She had been playing around, slipped and got hurt. As Matt and our friends paid the bill, I removed Kenna from the situation. As I walked through the restaurant, I could not believe the glares I received from other patrons, some who had small, loud children of their own sitting right beside them. I felt I was doing the right thing by removing Kenna, but apparently the others did not want to be bothered by even a momentary cry of discontent as I quickly exited the premises.

Again, I am not an advocate for noisy children in public locations. But, as a parent I am frustrated by the annoyance other people see in small children. I have to admit that before having kids, I didn’t want to be bothered by other peoples’ kids. I kept my distance and appreciated the unspoken societal segregation. I just assumed that once I had kids, I’d figure things out. Suddenly I would welcome the noisy, sticky creatures into my life and things would be fine…even though I’d spent my adult life trying to steer clear of them. Of course instead of that smooth transition, I was left clueless since I’d spent my life apart from children.

So now I’m thinking, why can’t we be more inclusive? Why can’t we encourage parents and welcome little ones instead of ostracizing both? Why can’t we better mingle and offer support or even a helping hand to that mother who is trying her best to juggle two little ones through a supermarket, while sticking to a budget, making nutritious decisions and trying to keep her kids from making a sound above a whisper? After all, most of us have been parents in that situation at some point. And more than likely we were a tired, whiney, crying child frustrating our own mother at some time.

So as we look to the future of air travel, perhaps what we need isn’t individual sound barriers, but onboard nannies who can lend a helping hand and assist the parents who are in distress as much as the little one is. But until that day comes, if you are seated next to a small child, perhaps try a little empathy instead of jumping to annoyance. Chances are, the mom is already stressed by the situation herself. She doesn’t need your judgmental glares on top of everything else.

Sticky Reminder

Even being nearly 5 years into this parenting gig, I still have moments when I look at my kids and think, “So when are your real parents coming to get you? Surely I’m just the babysitter, right?” But yesterday I had a visual reminder that I am a parent. And thanks to my 2-year-old it was a reminder that I shared with the general public.

So what was that reminder? Was it my greased back ponytail? The dark circles under my eyes? Or the toddler holding my hand? No, it was the banana sticker on my back. I’m pretty sure that before kids I did not walk around in public donning produce stickers. Of course the fault was my own. As we were hustling to get out of the house, Kenna requested a banana. I know she likes to put the stickers on me and I try to remember to remove them immediately. And yet the combination of time crunch and mommy brain allowed me to sport the sticker through 3 stores and for 7 hours until Jonas saw it and removed it. Perhaps my fellow shoppers thought I was participating in some new guerrilla marketing ploy, acting as a roving billboard for Chiquita banana. But more likely they smiled to themselves and winked at Kenna as we passed by.

Dummy Lights

I really wish kids came equipped with dummy lights. I figure if a light on a car’s dashboard can alert you to the need of an oil change, why can’t a kid have a similar feature that lights up and tells you what’s going on? Imagine deciphering a newborn’s cries with a quick glance. Then you could proceed with a diaper change, sleep, food or comfort according to the necessary remedy. Of course the lights would change as they age. But, oh, think of the sanity they would save!

Our family has been hit by some sort of chest cold/bronchitis. For the past week, the kids have been hacking up lungs and leaving us to ask a myriad of questions:

• Will his cough settle as the day progresses?
• Is he too sick for school?
• Should we give them cough medicine?
• Is he as sick as he is acting or is he overly dramatic?
• If we go to the zoo as planned, will they hack all over every exhibit and child they encounter?
• When is it necessary to go to the doc?
• Are antibiotics really the answer?

I typically favor the wait-and-see approach, but the waiting is often wrought with endless questions and second guesses. I finally gave in and went to the doc. And the answer was as anticipated: It’s probably some virus that needs to run its course. If a simple light would’ve alerted me to the diagnosis, I could’ve saved that insurance claim and time juggling two little ones at the doc. But until those indicator lights become standard issue, I suppose I should rely on that motherly instinct I am supposed to be equipped with. Unfortunately those pesky questions usually cloud that instinct.