choices

Here's a picture of Owen in his bedroom. Notice the strategically placed ambulance? I kept putting it away until I realized that Owen uses it as a step in order to reach the light switch. So Owen is the 'Superstar Student of the Week for his classroom'. It's really a cute idea, every week a different student gets the honor and they put up a picture of them, list their name, birthday and their favorite (the favorite question is open-ended and can be whatever favorite thing they want it to be). The teacher sent along a superstar student form in his backpack for us to discuss and fill out with him last week. We spent time talking about his favorite things while driving in the car, I do a lot of driving in the car and we do a ton of talking there since he's sort of a captive audience at that time. He always seems torn, well that's not the right word because it doesn't seem to bother him that he'll have more than one favorite of a thing and when I ask him to choose between two things he won't... when I asked him his favorite color he said 'red! and all the colors in the rainbow!' For his favorite animal, 'sharks and zebras!' For his favorite food, 'cookies and candy!' He gets pretty exuberant talking about this stuff so that's why everything is an exclamation. We finally decided that we'd list his favorite toys, which are his playmobil castle (It's very elaborate with a dragon, knights, barbarians, and tons of weapons - I think Toby had as much fun getting all this stuff as Owen has playing with it) and his legos.

Last week they were learning about neighborhoods, drawing maps and talking about the various jobs that people in neighborhoods have, so we're driving to the gym (when I picked up Owen from school he excitedly informed his class that I was going to exercise and he got to stay with the babysitter at the gym - he actually looks forward to going there ) and he tells me that he no longer wants to be Batman when he grows up, something he's been planning on for the past six months and even started taking Karate so he can have the Ninja training necessary for Batman. Now he wants to be the person that makes popcorn, cookies and soda at the movies. I asked him if he understood that he doesn't get to eat all that food, that he has to give it to the customers and he said he was okay with that and that if anyone was disruptive at the movie theater that he would throw them out. I thought it was cute but Toby was lamenting his choice trying to convince Owen that Batman is a lot cooler but when Owen was having none of it he shrugged his shoulders saying, 'he'll be the only kid with an IQ of 150 selling popcorn.' Later that week we went out to dinner with some friends and the topic came up. One woman said that when she was 6 she wrote that she wanted to be a crossing guard at her school, because she loved her crossing guard and thought that she was very nice. Apparently the guidance teacher called her parents and was like, 'Mary can do better.' It's all so silly, it seems like kids don't get a chance to just be kids anymore.

A friend of mine used to tutor privileged children who are tracked for Ivy league schools at 4. And at that same dinner one woman who had gone to Yale mentioned that there are ads for egg donors in the alumni magazine and that they will pay $30,000 for successful retrieval of Ivy league eggs. It's all so sad to me. Of course I want my children to be smart - I love to read and play Scrabble and do silly brainteasers and crossword puzzles so I would love to share that stuff with my children. I know Toby can't wait to argue about religion and philosophy with Owen - he's already trying to teach Owen to be a critical thinker asking him if he believes Noah really could have fit two of every species of animal on the planet in his ark. BUT, big but, I think the things that I'd value most for my children would be that they're healthy and happy. Health because it is something so easily taken for granted by most who possess it and happiness because life without it feels more like a sentence of life in prison, I think. Poor Owen is already such an anxious boy; biting his nails, chewing on his lips until the insides are lined with canker sores, waking up crying because the evil monkeys are coming to get him, which I’m pretty sure are the evil monkeys that he saw in The Wizard of Oz. So I tread a tightrope, wondering if Owen has ‘normal’ toddler issues or something larger – his pediatrician said not to worry unless his worries start becoming compulsive to the point where they interfere with his daily functioning. But worry is what I do best and I feel such guilt because I’m an awful role model for my son when it comes to anxiety. I fear that all I’ve passed along to Owen is a legacy of uneasiness with life. But I guess being aware that there could be a potential problem is half the battle. And then there's the battle that awaits me in his teen years because my Dad's side of the family is rife with melancholy, viking alcoholics - oh my! Here's hoping Owen and Oona choose to live squeaky clean. I can imagine the worry that would come if either of them did half the stuff I did as a teen, and my indulgences were pretty tame.