Butterflies, Spiders, and Insects Galore

February 18, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

What could be more beautiful than an iridescent blue butterfly alighting on one’s hand? A lot of things, according to my toddler, and it didn’t even land on him. While I smiled the moment it touched my skin, he shuddered. Fortunately, it flew off before he had a more extreme reaction. While the trip to the Smithsonian’s Museum of Natural History’s butterfly exhibit didn’t quite go as planned, it was still worth the trek out in some frigid weather.

The temperature on President’s Day in Washington D.C. was in the single digits. And yet, I knew I needed to get out of the house; cabin fever sets in on me quickly. I had planned to go to the butterfly house for weeks, so I wasn’t going to allow a little chill stop me.

So we bundled up layer upon layer, complete with a fleece blanket over Sprout in his stroller. While we shivered our way to the museum, it turns out that the butterfly exhibit is a great place to visit in the winter. Because many of the butterflies are tropical, the museum has to blast the heat to keep them active. I had to strip off my fleece jacket to keep from sweating.

Entering the exhibit, I expected to set Sprout down and have him hold my hand as we walked. I also expected him to enjoy the butterflies – butterfly is actually one of the few signs he knows. But I underestimated the sensory overload butterflies cause in a toddler. Instead, he just wanted me to carry him the whole time. On my hip, he displayed his typical watchful eye. As I pointed out the flying wonders perched on leaves and flowers, his attention followed. He was like a little field biologist, seemingly making mental notes about all of the things he saw – blue morpho, Viceroys, blue-banded swallowtails. But that interest didn’t dispel his dislike of their unpredictability. The few times butterflies came close to his head, his whole head twitched. I told him several times, “I know they seem scary, but I won’t let them hurt you” and added, “They’re more afraid of you than you are than them” for good measure. That was, until Chris pointed out that insects probably don’t have a sense of fear. Thanks for the scientific insight, honey.

Sprout seemed to like the hornworm caterpillars better, which looked similar to the eponymous Very Hungry Caterpillar and were safely contained in a glass jar.

In contrast to the seemingly innocuous butterflies, Sprout was much more enamored with a creepier creature – a giant tarantula. Elsewhere in the museum’s insect zoo, a volunteer was feeding the big spiders. Maybe because the fat, happy, fuzzy spider didn’t move or because it was in a box, Sprout had no problem peering in. Guided by the docent, I explained to Sprout that like the character in one of his favorite books, the Very Busy Spider, this spider also builds webs. But instead of building a web on a fence post, tarantulas build webs on the ground and even make little caves to hide in.

Elsewhere, I continued to connect his favorite stories with animals we saw. Pointing to a crab, I said, “It’s like the one in This is Not My Hat, that gives away the hiding place!” Looking at chrysalises, I commented that they were like the little houses that the Hungry Caterpillar and Squiggly Wiggly build for themselves. In the wilderness photography exhibit, he “maaaaed” at a photo of mountain goats that looked just like the Three Billy Goats Gruff. I love drawing those lines between stories and nature, showing him how science and narrative are not separate things.

But his absolute favorite thing in the entire museum was both unexpected and heart-warming – the model of the right whale. As we walked through the Ocean Hall, he stopped, looked up, and started yelping at it in excitement. Hilariously, he was making his “roar” noise at the gentle creature. I suspect he associates roaring with any large animal, whether it’s a lion, dinosaur or whale. As I wanted to be a marine biologist for years before moving towards science communication in general, I adore the fact that of all things, the whale caught his eye. I can’t wait to bring him on a real whale watch.

In the coldest weather, it was great to enter a different, warmer world outside of our house for a little while.

Kindie Rock Ahoy!

February 12, 2015October 17, 2022 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 3 Comments

Remembering one’s first concert is often an exercise in teenage nostalgia, full of the haze of hormones and overwrought emotions. Unfortunately, we’ve already denied Sprout such pleasure, as we brought him to his first concert this weekend. But then again, my first concert was Sharon, Lois and Bram and the only lasting effect was a life-long love of music, so I think he’ll be okay. (My first concert without my parents was Santana, where there was definitely a different kind of haze.) On Saturday, at the pre-nap hour of 10:30 AM, we joined the audience for Marsha Goodman-Wood, part of the Junior Jams series and a “kindie rock” artist.

The venue, the FNDTN Gallery, was a small space in a local antiques district, crammed between a furniture store and a fussy, white tablecloth restaurant. Not exactly where you’d expect to a have a children’s concert. In fact, I would have walked right past the entrance if another parent hadn’t given me directions. Most of it was hardly wider than the single door that made up the storefront, a long, narrow hallway with chairs on both sides. Near the stage, it stretched out a bit, a bench with pillows lining the back wall. Despite its odd shape, the venue was warm and intimate. The walls were decorated with colorful, psychedelic paintings and there were art figurines lined up on one shelf. It was so small that there wasn’t a bad seat in the house.

As the musician did sound check on her guitar and the start time approached, more and more families filtered in. While some parents took the seats – particularly those with smaller children – a number sat on the floor, giving their kids lots of freedom to move. We sat in seats right near the front, so Sprout could dance if he wanted, but could sit on our laps if he didn’t.

Finally, after extended tweaking of the speakers and a surprising amount of patience from the kids, the music got started. From the beginning, it was clear that Marsha Goodman-Wood was no ordinary children’s singer. Contrary to stereotype, she was very, very good. Her clear voice reminded me of Carole King, as did her very curly hair. Her stage presence was lively without being grating, a highly delicate balance for a children’s performer.

And the lyrics to her original songs reminded me of They Might Be Giant’s Here Comes Science album, a high bar to clear. (I’ve never seen anything else on Amazon related to kids that actually has 5 stars.) In a song called “Why Can’t We Dance on Jupiter?” she explains that because it’s made of gas, there’s no dirt or grass. However, with 68 moons, “there has to be one where you can groove.” Along with random facts, she also did an adept job of explaining scientific theories. She opined that “gravity’s not just a good idea, it’s the law” and reinforced the fact that invertebrates have no bones about 20 times in a catchy number about giant squid. The music was fun too – upbeat, with her on guitar accompanied by a drummer.

In addition to her original songs, she also did some covers. I recognized “All Around the Kitchen” from one of Sprout’s Music Together classes. She also sang Jason Mraz’s Sesame Street adaptation of his famous song, which I think I like much better than his original.

As the music was quite danceable, plenty of kids took advantage. Marsha Goodman-Wood encouraged it, of course, suggesting possible moves that included imitating spaceships, astronauts, sea creatures, penguins and roosters. While some kids tried to take direction, most just wiggled their little bodies to the beat (sort of). But the absolute cutest thing that happened during the entire concert was three little girls that joined hands and twirled in a circle, like a nerdy version of Ring Around the Rosie.

While many kids were grooving, Sprout watched with an focused but rather blank expression on his face, chewing on his hand. This isn’t exactly unusual – when he likes something but is still processing it, he tends to just stand and stare. In fact, it was the same expression he had for most of Disney World and when I read to him. As he insists that Chris or I read at least 15 books a day to him, I know this is not an expression of discontent. But despite the rational part of my brain telling me otherwise, I was still anxious that he wasn’t enjoying it. How his stillness contrasted with the other kids’ energy just made me tense, even though I knew it wasn’t his fault. Thankfully, my anxiety ebbed when he climbed up on my lap and receded further when the musician handed out bells. While he wasn’t super-enthusiastic in his bell-ringing, he did show some interest.

While Sprout’s reaction to his first concert wasn’t the stuff parental dreams are made of, I do think it was worth it. After all, we all enjoyed it, in our own way.

Bedtime Stories for Grown-Ups

February 3, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 5 Comments

Every night, I read 3 to 4 different books out loud to Sprout before I put him to bed. Of course, this is a cherished parental tradition. But recently, Chris and I were talking about reading the “A Song of Ice and Fire series” by George R.R. Martin and I jokingly said that I’d only read it if it was out loud to each other. I had been hesitant to read it for a number of reasons: the books are physically large to bring on the Metro (and I don’t like e-readers), I’m not a big fan of either courtly drama or high fantasy, there’s a fair bit of sexual violence, and most importantly, Martin is an achingly slow writer. The first book in the series, A Game of Thrones, was released in 1996. I don’t have the patience to wait for two more books; it makes Harry Potter seem absolutely speedy. But reading aloud solved, or at least minimized, many of these issues. Reading was time spent together, rather than alone. With such a slow reading speed, Martin might be done with the next book by the time we finished the series. Besides these anticipated benefits, I’ve found a number of other elements I enjoy.

This isn’t the very first time we’ve read aloud to each other. Once when Chris was horribly sick, I read Tolkein’s The Silmarillion to him until he fell asleep. While I didn’t get past the first story, I still remember the experience fondly today.

Like that first time, reading together now is a bonding experience. Of course, this is so obvious in hindsight, considering how much we (usually) love reading to Sprout.

If nothing else, it requires that we go to bed at the same time, a hallmark of a strong marriage. Reading before bedtime forces us to slow down and spend a few minutes together. There’s an easy intimacy to lying in bed and listening to each other, with no agenda, no issues, no reminders of the day before or the day ahead. Just a good, shared story.

Reading the same book simultaneously also gives us a topic of conversation apart from work or Sprout. Often, when we read the same book, it’s weeks, months or even years apart. Either way, it’s no longer on the top of the first person’s head, itching away with a vital urgency, by the time the second person finishes it. Being literally on the same page, we can share our enthusiasm.

While I don’t think marriage counselors ever suggest reading out loud to each other, instead talking about “date nights” that require childcare, perhaps they should. It’s a lot cheaper, if nothing else.

As we go, I also find that I’m enjoying the text more than if I was reading it on my own. Martin’s prose occasionally wanders into the silly, so I can snark on it a little instead of thinking of something clever and having no one to tell. (I do try to minimize the commentary, so I’m not totally obnoxious as a reading partner.) Even though we’re only 100 pages into the first book, he’s already shown a tendency to “Joss” his characters, named after Joss Whedon’s affinity for killing off his most beloved characters. Talking to Chris afterwards relieves my frustrations, instead of just stewing in my annoyance. We’ve already had a few, “Did he just do that?!” moments.

Listening instead of hearing also makes me slow down and truly pay attention to the words the first time. I’m a very fast reader, so I often have to go back and re-read sections because I half-skimmed them by mistake. I’m also a very verbal person, but listening gives me the space to visualize the scene much more than if I was reading. Saying the words and thoughts of the characters out loud further engages me in their world. For just a moment, I am embodying them, speaking their lines as if I’m in a play. It’s much more intense than reading alone would be. I can’t skip past or rush uncomfortable parts – everything must be given appropriate weight and time.

It’s just a small amount each night – four to eight pages, on average. And yet, this little bit of reading together makes all the difference.

Play with Your Food!

January 29, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

In high school, my husband was the slowest eater I had ever met. Although his future as a professional cook seems like a surprising turn of events, I often comment that they actually had something very important in common – Chris playing with his food. While that observation is half-joke, we both like to think of cooking as play instead of a chore. We want Sprout to enjoy cooking healthy, delicious, sustainable meals as he grows older rather than merely tolerating it. With this in mind, we gave him a toy kitchen and food for Christmas. What we didn’t realize is how many real-life skills we could teach him as a result.

I spent a lot of time researching and considering the options for toy kitchens before I made my final decision. I wanted one that was sturdy, gender-neutral (along with the pink drenched options, there are also ones designed to be acceptable to “manly” dads), had a lot of different play options and looked somewhat realistic.

What I like about the one I bought is that it functions in many ways like a real kitchen. There’s a “cutting board” and sufficient counter space (with “granite” countertops!) for preparation, which a surprising number of toy kitchens lack. It has a knife block with tiny chefs’ knives so we can discuss the proper storage of kitchen cutlery with him. It has a little sink that you can pretend to fill up a pasta pot or (ugh) wash dishes. It came with different types of pots and pans, allowing you to match the right kind of dishware with cooking techniques, whether that’s boiling water in a pot or searing a burger in a pan. To help Sprout learn good safety techniques, I cut apart an old dish-rag so he can use little towels to take items out of the oven. The kitchen even comes with little baskets that you to collect and empty “food waste” into the invisible compost bucket.

Unlike most toy kitchens, this one even has “food waste,” even though it’s non-compostable plastic. In addition to the hamburger and hot dog that came with the kitchen, I bought my little (sometimes) veggie-lover a basket of toy produce that requires preparation. You can peel and section the orange, cut the tomato, peel the banana, cut the cauliflower, and shuck the corn. All of the pieces are held together with Velcro, so they’re easy to put back together. What’s really neat about it is that you can introduce actual knife techniques with them. Pushing down on most play food with a play knife usually causes it to slip and cause what would be a nasty gouge in real life. In contrast, this set rewards good knife skills – cutting with the curved “sharp” side is much easier than the straight, “blunt” side. The toy food also allows us to teach him safety skills, like choking up on the knife to improve control and curling under the fingers on his holding hand so you don’t slice them. While he’s far from that level of comprehension, it’s absurdly cute for now to watch him “cut” through fake vegetables with his little plastic chef’s knife.

To further practice his skills, we recently allowed him to help us prepare a snack. A few months ago, we found a recipe for Chocolate Almond Date Energy Balls, which we found were both delicious and semi-healthy. We originally found the recipe on Sweet Happy Life, but because she’s taken down her blog archives to protect her kid’s privacy, I’m going to share our version (slightly modified from hers) here.

Based on an original recipe from Sweet Happy Life (Ariela Pelaia)

Ingredients
1 cup whole, raw almonds
3 tablespoons chocolate chips
1 cup dates (can often get from the bulk section in natural foods stores)
¼ teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ cup almond butter
1 to 3 tablespoons water
4-5 tbs shredded coconut

Instructions
Using a food processor, grind the almonds, chocolate chips, dates, vanilla and almond butter, until it the combination creates large chunks that separate out from each other. If needed, add water slowly until it reaches that consistency. Pinch off a good-size chunk and roll into a ball with your hands. Roll each of the balls in the shredded coconut. Eat immediately (although they’ll be a little sticky) or refrigerate.

The first time we made the Energy Balls with Sprout, he was very engaged and enjoyed sprinkling coconut over the balls. This time, he was a little more distracted. He didn’t really want to form the balls and seemed more interested in pushing the coconut off of the plate than anything else. Oh well. We’ll keep trying to teach him to play with his food.

Book Club: Goodnight Moon – Absurdism for Toddlers

January 26, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

My Book Club – quirky critical takes on children’s literature. Otherwise known as what happens when someone interested pop culture analysis has read the same bedtime story for the 100th time.

As anyone who has met a toddler knows, they have a very different, warped perspective on the world, at least in comparison to adults. Which is why absurdism is such a perfect match for them. So it makes sense that Goodnight Moon is a beloved favorite of that age group – it’s a master class in absurdism in only a few hundred words.

Wikipedia actually provides a surprisingly good, concise definition of absurdism: “Absurdism focuses on the experiences of characters in a situation where they cannot find any inherent purpose in life, most often represented by ultimately meaningless actions and events that call into question certainties such as truth or value.” Common elements include dark humor, nonsensical elements, irrationality, and situations that have little or no meaning. They generally have no moral conclusion and make no judgment on the character’s actions.

Goodnight Moon has many of these elements in abundance. There are hardly any characters, much less those who have an inherent purpose. The little bunny and “old lady whispering hush” appear to be the only things with any decision making ability, and even as they gradually change positions, there’s no clear explanation as to why. The best guess that can be made is that the little bunny is the nameless narrator, saying goodnight to all of the things in his room before going to sleep. As anyone who has ever tried to put a toddler to bed knows, this process will certainly bring certainties of truth, value and sanity into question.

The absurdity is further heightened by the number of times the narrator says goodnight and what they are saying goodnight to. More than half of the book consists of the narrator saying goodnight to some object or another. While a child saying goodnight to stuffed animals and perhaps the moon makes sense, saying goodnight to “nothing,” “air,” and “noises everywhere” indicates either a disturbing personification of ubiquitous objects or an endless echo of goodbyes that have no endpoint. Either is enough to force a grown adult to confront the irrationality of living with a small child in the first place.

The narrative further serves to disorient the reader and warp their perception of reality by having a slightly shifting visual perspective. At first, it appears that the book switches back and forth between showing the bunny’s bedroom and highlighting various objects in the bedroom, from a picture of the three bears to “a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush.” However, the bedroom setting changes slightly over time, showing the old lady saying “hush” there and then randomly not, the room getting dark, and the little bunny (finally) settling down to sleep. In addition to the changes over time, there are also slight changes in the framing of space. The frame of the page subtly zooms in and out of the room, creating an unsettling effect where you aren’t quite sure if what you are seeing is what you saw before. The pages that highlight objects often leave out key details that are in the larger picture. For example, the page focused on the mittens shows only the mittens on the drying rack, even though the larger picture shows the socks also on the rack. The Ugly Volvo hilariously deconstructs all of the other disturbing elements of the “great green room.”

Credit:Burbanked tumblr, Goodnight Moon photobomb Prince

Goodnight Moon even shows hints of postmodernism. As Jed at My Little Po-Mo says (yes, it is a critical analysis blog focused on My Little Pony): “Most of the time, we are unaware of the constructs that shape our reality, so postmodern works try to draw attention to the constructs in play, usually by subverting them.” Goodnight Moon touches on the construct of “what a classic piece of children’s literature is.” It does so by explicitly referring to three different children’s stories in the text and pictures. The first, the “three little bears sitting on chairs,” obviously refers to Goldilocks and the Three Bears, a story that most children in English speaking countries know. The second is the picture on the wall of a mother bunny “fishing” for a baby bunny. Unlike almost all of the other decorations, this is not called out in the text and may not be something that many readers recognize. It is actually a picture from a different book by the same Writer/Artist team, The Runaway Bunny. The third reference is to Goodnight Moon itself, a copy of which is tucked away on the nightstand. These last two references are in clear comparison to the first, suggesting that the authors’ own works are comparable to Goldilocks. As Goodnight Moon has sold millions of copies, it certainly seems like their textual playfulness was prescient.

What makes Goodnight Moon brilliant is it’s use of absurdism to illustrate the toddler mindset. While the book can baffle parents, the utter ridiculousness of the repetition and overall approach seems perfectly normal to them. After all, they’re used to falling asleep in one place and waking up in another, an experience that would be terrifying for an ordinary adult. The world in general is radically weird for little ones; Goodnight Moon helps us enter their very strange perspective for just a little while.

Spinosaurus, Pterosaurs, and Crocodiles, Oh My!

January 22, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

Looking at my kid’s room, you might get the impression that he loves dinosaurs. Dinosaur blanket, dinosaur decals on the walls, dinosaur pajamas, a now-deconstructed dinosaur mobile. But of course, any decor intended for an infant reflects the parent’s interests, not the child’s.

The truth is, I love dinosaurs. I’ve been fascinated by them since I was little going from my initial childhood interest to an adolescent Jurassic Park obsession and into adulthood. So when I heard the National Geographic Museum was doing an exhibit on Spinosaurus, the largest predatory dinosaur ever found, I was really excited. After our bonkers December, we were finally able to visit it this past weekend. As a result of my overly-high expectations, I was a little disappointed. Nonetheless, it was a fascinating look at one of the biggest discoveries in paleontology in quite a while.

Beyond the creature’s sheer size, the skeleton has a unique history. Before WII, a German scientist discovered a somewhat complete fossil skeleton. Against his wishes, the Nazis refused to move it from a museum in Munich and it was destroyed when the Allies bombed the city. It remained a mystery for decades until it re-emerged in a Moroccan marketplace. An enterprising paleontologist spotted it briefly and didn’t quite know what it was until a colleague of his showed up with a partial skeleton. Through a combination of luck and persistence, the paleontologist tracked down the original seller and found out the location of the dig. It wasn’t until 2014 that they were actually able to escavate the site and publish their findings.

The first part of the exhibit told this story, through a series of videos, panels and dioramas. Unfortunately, Sprout does not yet have a strong (or any) interest in history. While I couldn’t get him to watch the movies, I did appreciate that they included a few “touchy-feely” elements, including a fossil cast and items similar to those sold in the Moroccan market like fossils and minerals. I knew the term “trilobite” was way too advanced for him, but I enjoyed mentioning it anyway.

The second half of the exhibit was all about the Spinosaurus itself, with the centerpiece being a huge reconstruction of the 50 ft beast. The display of the skeleton was quite good – it was in a dynamic position, ready to swallow a large saw-toothed fish. Around the room, there were plaques explaining the unique aspects of the Spinosaurus’ biology, from the sail on its back to its jaw full of sharp teeth perfect for eating fish. There were also a few other exhibits showing skeletons and models of dinosaur species that lived in the same region around the same time. I especially enjoyed a pterosaur overhead, looking like it would dive down any moment.

There were also some neat things about the set-up of the exhibit. The skeleton itself wasn’t the actual fossil – it was a 3D-printed model, made out of plastic. Also, a small comment at the end of the exhibit noted that when it finished, all of the fossils would be returned to Morocco. As the British Museum still has a patronizing message posted about how they can’t trust Greece enough to return parts of the Parthenon to them, I appreciated that consideration.

Nonetheless, there were some aspects that didn’t quite fulfill my high expectations. The exhibit was rather small, limited by both the lack of space and the fact it mainly focused on one species. It wasn’t very interactive, with only the aforementioned small “touchy-feely” aspects and a couple of iPads that repeated the same information on the panels. While I went to the exhibit because I was personally interested, I could see the fact that it wasn’t designed for small children could be frustrating for some parents. The history part would probably be dry to anyone under 10 and the discovery is so new that there’s simply not that much we know. Unlike the Smithsonians, the National Geographic Museum has an entry fee, so it seems especially important for its exhibits to prove their worth.

My frustration was undoubtably compounded by the fact that I had to cater to the whims of a sleep-deprived toddler. As Sprout refused to nap earlier in the day and we were in a museum, I was a little nervous about setting off the Whines. So I tried to read as much as I could while also following his lead. Unfortunately, he wasn’t interested in anything for more than 30 seconds, so I could only read dribs and drabs of text before being dragged away by an insistent little person. The panels weren’t very long at all, but some of them required me making two, three or even four passes to read. I came away with the impression of having read a series of tweets instead of a cohesive story. While I could have passed him off to Chris, I entertained hopes of a mommy-son museum bonding experience over dinosaurs. By the time I realized those hopes were misplaced, Chris was so far behind in his leisurely perusal that I couldn’t find him. Plus, as he’s Sprout’s primary caretaker, I like giving him a break on weekends and spending that one-on-one time with my son.

When Chris finally caught up – as I tried to manage the tiny bull in the gift shop – we went over to the museum’s other exhibit, Food: Our Global Kitchen. Needless to say, this was an extraordinarily broad topic. While I skimmed most of it, there were a couple of notable attractions. They had a series of kiosks where you could push a button and smell a food, including garlic, fennel and cinnamon. Sprout very much liked both smashing the buttons and sniffing the air. There was also a “test kitchen” that offered different samples each day. Much to my surprise, Sprout loved their green smoothies, to the point where he tried to lick the empty cup and fussed when I threw it away.

I do wish that we could have come when Sprout was a bit older and could appreciate it more, but the exhibit closes this spring. But considering the National Museum of Natural History’s Fossil Hall is closed for major renovations until Sprout is 6 (although some skeletons have been relocated), the Spinosaurus exhibit was a good hold-over.

A Love Letter to my Grandmother, Who Suffers from Severe Dementia

January 19, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 7 Comments

Dear Grandma,

A Love Letter to my Grandmother, who suffers from severe dementia

I’m posting this letter to my blog because I know that if I sent it, you would not be able to read it. Even if you did read it, you would not remember it or for that matter, perhaps even remember me. I’m writing this because when I saw you a few weeks ago I realized that even though I could have told you all of this in person, it wouldn’t make a difference. I realized that you wouldn’t understand my love for you, only the confusion and frustration of dementia. So I’m writing it here so that other people can know how amazing you are, even in your absence.

Grandma, you are one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. The story of how you came over from Poland as a three-year-old with Babcia with the image of the Statue of Liberty as your first memory is woven into my life tapestry. Your story of seeing your father for the first time at Ellis Island reminds me of the beauty of family and the need to love each other in even the most challenging of times.

Grandma, you are one of the most adventurous people I’ve ever known. Your early travel must have instilled a wanderlust in you, because you were the epitome of a well-traveled person for me for decades. From Asia to Australia, hearing the stories of the places you visited instilled that desire in me. I doubt I would have lived abroad or ventured to the Amazon without your example. And knowing that you did it all after you retired illustration that travel is not just a young person’s game, that even parents and grandparents can adventure if they truly want to.

Grandma, you are one of the most generous people I’ve ever known. Knowing that you left your formal education to go to work because your family needed financial support is staggering, especially considering your love for learning. Taking my aunt and newborn cousin in when my ex-uncle decided he no longer wanted them in his life was another example of your giving spirit. Contributing so much to my college education and even the down payment on my house were acts of generosity I can never fully express my gratitude for. In every case, you did them without bragging or calling attention to them. Something needed to be done? You did it. My commitment to my family and larger community is no doubt inspired by the example you lived.

Grandma, you are one of the smartest people I’ve ever known, putting you in the company of Oxford laureates. Your lack of formal education just meant that you valued learning even more. You were always interested in what I was studying in school, asking me questions about it. Always knowing I’d have something to read when I visited your house, I spent hours flipping through back issues of National Geographic and Reader’s Digest. Despite your lack of education, you had a long and fruitful career that enabled you to save money and invest it intelligently.

Grandma, I know the person you can present to the world now isn’t the person you truly are. I mourn that you can no longer access so much of your true self. But I remember and keep all that you taught me in my heart. I know that you were and are beautiful and brilliant. So know that you live on in the stories and values I teach my son and try to live out myself every day.

Standing in the Bath…Thinking

January 16, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 3 Comments

A few months ago, Sprout decided he would no longer sit in the tub. Needless to say, this was not a decision that Chris and I welcomed. In fact, it was extremely frustrating. Besides making him much more difficult to wash, it was straight-up dangerous. I had to hold firmly on to his arm throughout the entire bath to prevent him from walking or randomly slipping. What was one of my favorite parts of the night became this weird power struggle between us for six whole weeks.

On the surface, this was the first real instance of him pushing limits and testing boundaries. While we’ve always had issues with sleep and he was a picky eater for a while, this was really out of nowhere and not a typical toddler behavior. It seemed one day, he thought, “What would happen if I stood up in the tub?” and then didn’t stop. It was so arbitrary.

At first, we had no idea how to react. I’m against using physical force for compliance in all but the most dangerous of situations, like yanking a kid out of the way of a car. Also, whenever we tried any physical encouragement, like putting gentle pressure on his shoulder or lifting his legs up to encourage him to sit, he squirmed violently. Our cues only increased the danger of the situation. There wasn’t a clear role for punishment, as it isn’t useful for kids that little, especially if it isn’t obviously and clearly connected to the problem. Trying a more positive tack, we praised the wonders of sitting, like being able to play with his toys. But he didn’t seem to care one bit. So we weren’t left with a lot of options.

We finally settled on allowing the natural, uncomfortable consequences of standing in the bathtub to play out on their own. Through no to little action of ours, he was choosing to be cold and have a short, boring bath. He couldn’t play with his toys or splash. I wanted to minimize the time spent in this risky situation, so I washed him as quickly as possible, leaving out the fun interaction we used to have. The one thing we purposely took away was the time we normally spend playing on the bed after his bath while I dry him off. I didn’t want to make it seem like a reward for standing. Plus, when I was that frustrated, I didn’t really feel like singing or playing.

While this seemed to be the best course of action, I felt like I was missing something. Sprout clearly didn’t enjoy his baths anymore – he looked stoic most of the time – but he still wouldn’t sit down. Was this a case of exceptional toddler stubbornness or something else?

I hit upon what that “something else” might be one day when Chris was showering. Since our Disney World vacation, Sprout has been into imitating the “big people.” I guessed that one of the times Chris stuck his head out of the shower to talk to Sprout, he got the idea that big people don’t sit in the bath – they stand. It wasn’t that he was adamantly against sitting in the tub in and of itself, but against doing something for babies.

To prove to him that adults do, in fact, take baths, we actually had Chris take a bath with him. It was pretty cramped – Chris is tall and our tub is not – but it worked! When I put him in with Chris, Sprout was skeptical, but eventually sat down. Since then, he’s stayed sitting when I put him in the tub and hasn’t expressed any great interest in standing up.

I feel a little guilty that he was uncomfortable for so long before I hit upon an alternative explanation. But on the other hand, I don’t know if he would have acquiesced if Chris had demonstrated the first night. Maybe he had to experience how unpleasant the alternative to sitting was before mAking that choice. But it did illustrate once again to me how different his perspective is from mine and how difficult that can be to express when you have very few language skills. It made it clear how all the more important it is for me to truly listen to him, even if his communication isn’t always in words.

A Snowy Day

January 12, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

Being from upstate New York, I have many fond memories of snow days. Last week, we had the first big snow of the year and Sprout’s first chance as a toddler to experience it. While he’s been in the snow before, he was barely crawling at the time. My in-laws bought him a snowsuit for Christmas, so we were eager to try it out. Plus, he really loves the books The Snowy Day, about a little boy wandering around the city after a snowstorm, and A Snow Day for Hannah, about a dog playing in the snow. With me working from home due to the weather and having my lunch hour free, it added up to a perfect time to wander around in the snow.

It didn’t start out auspiciously. He absolutely, positively did not want to put on his snow boots. He screamed and kicked like a banshee, fighting the new, bulky, restrictive clothing. At least the very good hood on his new coat meant that we didn’t have to put on a hat on him.

As soon as we opened the door, the whining halted. Sprout gazed out on the white expanse and slowly stepped outside. We carried him over the icy steps and placed him on the lawn – where he immediately started crying again. I tried to show him how to walk on it and even made a snow angel. He just looked at me and frowned. He obviously thought the snow was interesting, so we brainstormed to figure out what exactly was wrong. We realized two things: one, he was still uncomfortable in his clothing, which we couldn’t do much about and two, he was having difficulty walking in the snow, which we could help with. As soon as I offered my hand to him to hold, he grasped it and smiled.

Holding his mittened hand in mine, we explored this new world. I pointed out the animal tracks patterned across our yard, explaining that they were made by a cat. We trundled up the little hill behind our house and back around to the front door, Sprout working hard. He’s so short that he dragged his feet in even the few inches of dry snow, his boots making long, thin lines alongside my crisp larger footprints.

When we looped around the yard, I thought we were going to head inside, but Sprout kept pulling me towards the road. I picked him up and we crossed the street to the cleared sidewalk on the other side. I still held his hand, but he seemed much more comfortable walking on a firm surface, rather than a crunchy, unsettled ground. As we walked, we looked up at the trees, snow frosting the bare branches. The squawking of a large black crow kept attracting Sprout’s attention, although I don’t know if he could quite see what it was, outlined as it was against the bright sky.

We walked down the sidewalk, until I couldn’t stand my feet becoming any colder or number. While I thought Sprout understood we were going inside, apparently he wasn’t paying attention. The moment we closed the door, he started crying again. Even though he wasn’t fond of the clothing or the feeling of the snow under his feet, he really did enjoy being outside.

He promptly forgave us when we introduced the last element of our adventure, one of the best simple pleasures in life – hot chocolate. His reaction was a little like that of the characters in the Hunger Games – surprise, then wonder, followed by pure pleasure. Chris gave him the warm liquid in his sippy cup, so he was expecting milk. Once he realized that it was so much better than milk, he drank it almost without stopping, only pausing to breathe. Next time I drink hot chocolate, I’ll have to stop and savor it like he did.

Like the boy in The Snowy Day and Hannah the mountain dog, I’m glad that Sprout can appreciate the adventure in the wonder of a snow day.

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