BABIES ARE SMART

My children's self-pronounced godfather, Steve, told me about an article in The Onion. Apparently, the satirical magazine set out to once and for all prove that babies are officially "not smart". They tried this hypothesis with a variety of tests, one being that they put a baby in a boat, took the boat out to sea, and supplied the baby with GPS equipment to find it's way back. Needless to say, the stupid baby was nothing more than lost at sea.

I, however, have a story that will debate, if not dispel, The Onion's theory of stupid babies.

It all started a couple of weeks ago, when the babies started sleeping through the night. After three months of broken, tormented sleep, we were ecstatic to wake up to the screams of our children and read the glowing red time of 5:00, 6:00, sometimes as late as 7:30! This after putting the babies to bed at 8:00!

One night, in the light, half-sleep that occurs after 4:00 (still just waiting for that cry), I heard a scratching in the room. At first I just listened. We've been know to have "critters" scraping between the walls . . . but this was different. Was it Layla, pacing the floor, also waiting for that cry? No, nothing like that . . . I lay in bed, eyes staring into the dark and concentrating, holding my breath to hear the sound again. Yes, it's almost like scribbling! But that's just crazy.

The next night I hear it again, faint scribbling noises. Remember sitting in a classroom during a test composed of essay questions? The room is filled with the quietly deafening sound of pencil on paper? I actually get out of bed to look around. Nothing.

By the morning, these incidents are long forgotten. I hit the ground running, literally, once I hear a cry . . . to the refrigerator, out go bottles, mugs in microwave, babies unswaddled in crib, quick prayer that they don't cry before their bottles are warm, microwave beeps, bottles in mugs, carry to nursery, blankets on floor, boppies on blankets, babies in boppies, bottles in mouths, breathe.

About a week after the scribbling incidents, I am collecting dirty laundry. The babies are sleeping in the swings and I am tiptoeing around, tossing sour baby paraphernalia into the hamper. I reach into the crib to inspect the crib sheet. Feeling that it is no longer soft, but spotted with thick layers of hard, dried spit up, I carefully remove one corner at a time and gently pull back the sheet. I've already tossed the sheet before I spot something out of place in the crib. I lean into the corner of the crib where there is a thin slice of yellow showing between the mattress and bumper. Leaning over the rails, I pull at this yellow sheet, unfolding multiple pieces of construction paper and bringing out a small, dull pencil. WHAT THE HELL? My thoughts are scrambling . . . how could this get in here . . . how stupid is Brandon to lose a PENCIL in the crib . . . why is he HIDING things in the nursery???????? Then I catch the writing. Not Brandon's concise, girly print at all. It's small, neat, blocky and all caps. I don't recognize this print. Then I start reading what appears to be a list of some sort. Each line beginning with a time (11:00 am, 11:30 am, 12:00 pm . . .) that is followed by a two letters. LJ. ZB. The letters are then followed by actions. The paper reads as follows:

6:00 AM LJ MODERATE CRY/GRUNT
6:15 AM LJ SCREAM/ACT STRANGLED/GASP
(LJ BEGIN EATING BY 6:20 AM)
6:25 AM ZB GRUNT
6:30AM ZB ACT STRANGLED/SCREAM
(LJ AND ZB SCREAM AND CRY UNTIL BOTH TANDEM EAT)
6:45 AM ZB SPIT UP 1/3 BOTTLE
6:47 AM LJ SPIT UP 1/2 BOTTLE
6:48 AM ZB SPIT UP A BIT
7:10 AM LJ SPIT UP/ CRY/ RUB EYES AS IF SLEEPY
7:11 AM ZB MODERATE CRY/ RUB EYES
(LJ AND ZB IN SWINGS WITH KARO DIPPED PACIS BY 7:15)
7:17 AM ZB SPIT OUT PACI/ CRY
7:18 AM LJ SPIT PACI/ CRY
7:19 AM ZB SPIT OUT PACI/ CRY
7:22 AM LJ SPIT OUT PACI/ CRY
7:25 AM ZB SPIT OUT PACI CRY

. . . and so on . . . the list goes on like this until 8:00, which reads:

8:00 PM LJ AND ZB SLEEP

4:00-6:00 AM LJ AND ZB PLAN/ WRITE CHART

All of this time I thought that their less than perfect timing was just a coincidence. My luck is always compromised. Life is often a constant test of my patience. Things are never "normal" and "easy" like I plan . . .

No, babies are smart. So smart that they allow us to think they are stupid, all the while smirking and pointing behind our backs. Watching us fall over their every whimper, running for bottles, sleeping upright with neck cramps that can't be stretched "lest we wake the baby", holding and walking and shushing for hours on end, skipping meals, losing sleep, forgetting hygiene, singing the same horrible ten word song seventy-three times in a row because the baby is "almost" asleep. Cheering over dirty diapers, loving the smell of sour milk, bouncing and bouncing and bouncing. Holding breath, holding pacis in mouths, holding terribly heavy car seats (one for EACH arm) with equally heavy babies inside, holding bottles, holding bladders, holding babies while relieving bladders.

We, as parents, hope to teach and develop our children with all of the greatest expectations and dreams. Did we ever stop to realize that while we are feeling so much responsibility and honor and guilt that we are the ones being trained?

Babies are smart.

THE CRAZY ART LADY!!! (a.k.a. "Mommy")

"All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up." -Picasso

BACKGROUND:

I took a job two years ago as an art instructor . . . for children ages 8 weeks to 5 years. I initially asked the same question that everyone initially asks me, "How do you teach art to infants?" It wasn't long before I was rolling babies in paint or dipping them in feather-filled tubs. I learned that sensory exploration was an excellent tool for engaging infants and encouraging them to practice the skills that they are developing as they grow, grow, grow . . .

PRESENT:

I find myself signing a receipt for eighty dollars worth of art supplies at Hobby Lobby: paints, papers, boas, a multitude of textured fabrics, sponges, cellophane, etc. The nursery is now better equipped than the Infant Art Lab at my former work.

Now, to explore with da bebes.


We love exploring, gasping (and being tickled by!) the orange feather boa on the changing table (it hangs from the blinds, my hands, and most recently, the ceiling fan).


We also experience all the wonderful colors and textures in our fabric basket (Zadie's fave is definitely the pink satin-- so much that she nuzzled it with her face until she fell asleep).


A successful painting project left us all covered in black paint. Brandon and I supported the girls on white paper as they shimmied their feet and drooled with wide eyes. Stupid? Useless? Insane? You might think so . . . but I can tell you that they had both been complaining for over an hour before we started painting. While we were painting: complete silence, engaged, awestruck faces. So there.







Art saves the day.

(and is pretty fun for Mom and Dad too)

I Love Today . . .

I love today.

My babies will never be smaller than they are today.

They will never have less red fuzz on their heads.

They won't have as much trouble lifting their necks to look at me.

They will never trust me as much as they do today.

I love today.

I cherish yesterday.

I can't wait to share tomorrow.