Posts Tagged ‘mirror’

Ripple Mirror

1 January 2011

Dear J-

We broke one of our semi-traditional traditions today and didn’t go to Coronado as we had the past couple of years; the beach is a nice place to seek out renewal and peace on a winter’s day, waves bringing and removing sand indifferently to our efforts.  Although we did get some more sleep than we typically do, it was bought at the expense of figgy’s illness — one of these winter colds has laid her low and so today was unusually quiet.

Calcifer is, theVet claims, smiling at her occasionally.  Thus far all I’ve drawn is a scowl or, more often, a howl depending on how close I am to disrupting his routine of eating and pooping.  His routines, in fact, have dictated our radius of action, and thus we go only as far as the nearest feed-friendly area is (often home, so we’ve gotten to know the neighborhood a lot better lately).  It’s another strike against going to Coronado, though.

The real fun to be had is in looking into the half-size and thirty-years-earlier mirror that is figgy; as crabby as I get, she matches the depths and heights and is generally unafraid of roaring as needed to get her point across.  I suppose that these may not be the most socially-relevant things to be teaching her, but I should probably call my parents to figure out how they dealt with me.  It’s a fine line between crushing the spirit and toeing the line.



Small Scale

8 May 2010

Dear J-

There’s an old Peanuts cartoon where Charlie Brown gets a phone call and, when prompted, tells the caller that he’s watching the bottom half of a movie — Snoopy is hanging out on top asleep with his muzzle overlapping the top half of the screen. This was back in the day when the typical TV came in a floor console and was the sort of furniture you planned a room around, so that’s how things have changed since then (growing up I still remember our console TV and how it became a flower stand in it’s next incarnation).

Likewise we gave her the birthday presents a few days late; she was, as we predicted, thrilled with the toy stroller and baby we got for her. She loves playing at being grown up even at three — the kitchen has gotten regular play, and she has made much exclamation over how poopy her dolls get (often using language that I unfortunately recognize as originating from us). So on the surface it’s all about imitating us.

On the other hand there’s little attention paid to the actual responsibility behind the actions — she’s got feeding the new doll down pat, but doesn’t know why. It’s watching the lower half, or going through the motions without understanding. There’s a charming disconnect between the actions and intent; it is with rueful ears and eyes that I watch my skills played out on a small scale day by day.


Sleep Struggle

29 May 2009

Dear J-

We have a tiny bit of weather today, low clouds or a heavy fog, depending on how you see it, making the shoulders wet and reminding us that we aren’t out of spring quite yet.  In contrast to last week, the campsites we pass on the way south aren’t packed to the gills, traffic is moving rather generously, and we all have our minds on weekend activities already.  I’m trying to think of different potty-training strategies, and completely failing; they say that you should start around eighteen months, when they’re still interested in pleasing you.

I try to remind myself that diapers have an upper limit, and that calms me only as ling as I remember how difficult it is to convince figgy to try anything new; in that way, however, I suppose it’s just like peeking in the mirror.  When I was younger (and really, even today), my most voluble arguments were with my mom, neither of us willing to give up ground

So some traits come shining through, regardless of what you do as a parent.    Here’s hoping that life continues to bend over to her will.


Mirror Mess

9 May 2009

Dear J-

One of those many ways the great unnamed they say your life changes upon reaching parenthood is no doubt the ordered chaos that spreads throughout your world. It’s not just the messes made (children are inherently leaky, let’s say, and various fluids can appear in copious amounts from unexpected places), it’s also the tableaus and arrangements you never could have anticipated.

Magic Box 2463 -sm

This morning, the figgy construction crew was hard at work making native art installations all over the house, here a window display of food and milk, there a pile of rocks just so. It’s hard to tell if pulling all the tissues out of the box is art or if it’s malicious, wanton destruction, but the results are the same nonetheless — a long trail of things to be set right. As I type, I take note of the cups neatly stacked around me, a spoon in each one — one spoon per cup.

Perhaps it means that her mind is wired like mine, though; growing up, I was notorious for having to have everything just so. It’s like looking into a mirror some days; I wonder what her earliest memory will turn out to be, later on.