In other ways, he's a pretty typical kid.

Every time we take Pete to the grocery store, he insists that we buy a cabbage.

That's the spirit.

Pete is grappling with the holiday spirit for the first time in many ways, largely because he now has a clear sense that he should expect Christmas presents, but we're also hammering home whatever anti-consumerist social consciousness we can muster. So he careens among generosity, thankfulness, and covetousness. Somberly: "We are very lucky." (Beat.) "Because we get MORE and MORE TOYS!"

Let's not even contemplate the kiss

Pete has revealed to Carolyn that he got a time-out at school today

Carolyn: Why?

Pete: Hugging.

Carolyn: ...

Pete: It's called a knockdown hug.

Bingo

Pete, at night, walks from his bed to the bathroom.

Erik: You goin' potty?

Pete: Yeah. You guessed it, Papa.

Pete's further career advice for Carolyn

Background: Jackie Hutchison is the volleyball coach. Her son Henry is a little older than Pete. Pete and Henry often play together at the volleyball games.

Pete: Mom, are you going to be like Henry's mom?

Carolyn: How so?

P: Are you going to be a coach?

Erik: Pete, Mama's a teacher, and that's kind of like being a coach.

P: Except it's different, and I want her to be a coach. (Pause.) Mama, do you just want to TRY to be a coach?

C: Well, I don't know a lot about sports.

P: I could teach you!

Not you either, kiddo.

Erik, reading Space Heroes to Pete, comes to the part about Sally Ride.

Pete: Mama! There have been boys AND girls who have gone into space on rockets!

Carolyn: Yeah!

Pete: Though not you!

We didn't even think to ask!

Pete has recently called a minor ruse "a dusty trick."

And informed us that when he was still in mama's belly, he wanted his name to be Braxton.

Wait'll you hear how we plays War--

Pete: After dinner, we can play 52 pickup!

(beat)

Pete: When you have cards, and you drop a few of them on the floor, that's 52 pickup!

Carolyn (gently): Um, I don't think that's right.

Pete: Yes! You can drop one card, and it's 52 pickup!

Carolyn: I think that would be one pickup. See, a whole deck of cards has 52 in it, so when you drop the whole thing, you call that 52 pickup.

Pete (with pity): No.

Fotografías

Ecuador pictures



iguana | hatching Pete | the view from the house | same, at night | how we woke up | the twinkle in Pete's eyes | fantastic flower blooming steps 1 2 3

Must be some fine teaching in the new preschool room

Last night, Pete asked us at dinner what poetry is. Carolyn got going on a good four-year-old-level answer, and then Pete volunteered,

"A poem is when you read something, and you see things that are different."

And we said, um, bwa? (As many of you will know, he's getting pretty close to a number of classic formulations of poetry's function.) I have no idea where this came from, and I don't mean that in a "Wow, this kid is an inexplicable genius" kind of way. I mean that we can't remember saying or reading anything remotely like this to Pete, and it isn't the kind of thing we think he'd run into at daycare. (Any of his preschool teachers or babysitters think you're the source?) And although we've read tons of poems to him, they tend, of course, to be rhymey, story-driven kids' poems, so it's hard to imagine him deriving such a definition from that. He has never said anything I found so mysterious.

In the moment, of course, I didn't tell him any of this. I did what any parent would do: I scolded him for wordiness, made him revise out the two needless "to be" verbs, and showed him how he could express the same sentiment directly as "poetry transforms vision." Then I explained how even better formulations might reflect the transformative power of poetry in their language, and sent him to bed with a copy of Shelley's Defence of Poetry and my lecture notes.

If only it always worked that way

Back from annual college-friend reunion in New England. Outstanding. Pete walked across a bridge to Maine, and he eagerly awaits pulling a new state out of his US map to show he's been there.

No, seriously

preschool humor: completely fascinating. Pete LOVES this, and laughs right along with the other kids.

Maybe they weren't screwed in all the way yet

Carolyn and Erik are jabbering about something at the dinner table

Pete: Mamapapa, do you know what? I'm putting my listening ears on!

Erik: Really? What do you want to listen to? Do you want to listen to us talking?

Pete: What?

One step from The Show

Pete has played his first "organized" "game" of tee-ball. "Organized" meaning a split into two teams, with everybody getting a turn to hit a tennis ball from the tee into a small mob of preschoolers who do not even pretend to spread out or play positions. "Game" meaning one inning, every batter and runner advancing on every hit, no scorekeeping. No mechanism for putting a batter/runner out, for that matter. Pete ripped the ball through the crowd when he had the chance and recovered ("caught" would be hyperbole) three or so of the other team's balls, though he afterwards lamented turning his head on one ball, letting his friend Will gather it. He'll now graduate to the "league"! With team shirts! I'm gonna go sharpen some teeny spikes.

Where did your parents go to grad school again?

Pete, unprompted: "When I grow up, I'm going to be Ben Franklin."

I hope this wasn't the science lesson.

From Carolyn --

Pete [somewhat grimly]: Mama, did you know that there are people with arrows. And they PUT them in other people!

Me: [trying to figure out if he's talking about Indians or pirates or some superhero with arrows I'm not recalling]

Pete: And then they FALL IN LOVE!

We should probably avoid The Hindparts Album, too

From Carolyn --

Scene: I'm driving Pete and one of his friends to College Preschool. We're listening to a somewhat age-inappropriate song sung by a female friend of mine that includes, I confess, the phrase "James Marsters' buttocks."

Ezra [cracking up]: She said "buttocks!"
Pete [sternly]: You shouldn't laugh, Ezra. It's just a name.
[pause]
Me: Actually, Pete . . .

So today, Pete learned what "buttocks" means. And I'm thinking we need to stop playing my friend's awesome Buffy tribute album and go back to Winnie the Pooh on CD. At least while other people's kids are in the car.

Under 50 inches? Gotta throw 'er back.

Pete: Mama, did you know that boys chase girls?
Mama: Oh?
Pete [reassuringly]: But not mamas. [pause.] Just kid girls.
Mama: What do you do with them when you catch them?
Pete: Just let them go. So we can chase them again.
Pete: When I was in Lambs [the name of a specific room at his daycare], I chased three girls. [He holds both arms straight out in front of him.] I had my pincers out!

Is this how Mark Fidrych got started?

Pete had his first organized sports event last night: Happy Feet soccer. It was a friendly, fun bout of kicking and running and flailing, and Pete loved it. This morning, he informed Carolyn that he'd like to eat the same dinner before future sessions of Happy Feet because the food made him run so fast.

As far as we know, he has never heard about lucky sports foods. So after his first 40 minutes of sports, Pete has begun developing superstitious rituals. He's got six years to build them up before Little League.

In which sense of "your"?

From Carolyn --

Pete: "Mama? Do you know what your lips are called? They're called pork chops. They're called that."