one small step for aviva, one giant leap for aviva

a step or two yesterday! and today another one! and then all of a sudden, a whole bunch! 3 or 4 or 5!

In and under things, angrily

in and under:

angry:

When Aviva doesn't want something, she pushes my hands away or pushes me away, and sometimes flops down on the floor when she is sad/mad. Either belly on floor and arms and legs straight, and crying, or sitting and just puts her head on the floor, and cries. It's like a mini-tantrum she's throwing, in the only way she knows how.

why? honestly

Noah. Asking Why. And his honesty, honestly.

I guess it's good that he is curious and wants to know. But sometimes THERE IS NO ANSWER. 

Me: We gotta go!

Noah: Why gotta go?

Me: Because it's getting late.

Noah: Why getting late?

Me: Because it is.

Noah: Why because it is?

Me: It just is.

Noah: Why just is?

Me: I don't know. It just is.

Noah: Why don't know?

Me: Because.

Noah: Why because?

etc. etc. and forever etc.
(and if I don't answer, he'll repeat until I do)

Why don't I like something? Why is it raining? Why do I not want to get hurt? Why do I love him? Why is it time for something? Why is time passing? Why?

Also, he is very honest, and he doesn't know how to lie. Yesterday he pushed another boy, and I just saw the other boy crying. I asked him if he pushed him and he said "yes," smiling. When I told him we don't push people, he said "Noah push him because Noah don't like him." 

Other random things: 

*We were walking somewhere and he was in the stroller. He was singing the alphabet song and decided to make it extra loud, and extra slow. It sounded like this: "A! ...B!... C!... D!..." 

* Goa stories have been a magic way of explaining things to him. There's a boy named Goa, who has a sister named Gaviva. They live in Berkeley Calyafornia-cado. He is 3 years old. And then Goa doesn't want to wear a seatbelt in the car. Or Goa doesn't want to brush his teeth. Or whatever we are trying to explain to him and distract him with.

*He has an accent that is sort of a thick New York accent. I don't know why. Or as he would say, "Oy don't know woy."

noah's recipes

here is how to make ice cream. and cake. the cake is made from carrots and milk. take the carrots and milk and pour some cream and some orange juice and some liquid. and some wheels. then you mix the wheels and it grinds into liquid. and some orange. and nothing else. that's for cake. 

ice cream is with some wheels. some liquid. the flavors are pizza, and some liquid. some chocolate vanilla cake flavor, all grinded up. grind up into another ice cream. there's an ice cream cake. that's made with milk and it melts and you throw it in the air and then it grinds. it's like the dough you throw in the air. 

there's nothing else. then it's done. 

ice cream sundae

We went to my old summer camp for a reunion and it was at the old campsite, about 2 hours away from here, near Pescadero. It was really beautiful, and I liked singing the old songs and doing the little things we used to do at camp. We slept in a cabin with bunkbeds, (so we got to snuggle all night long) and ate in the mess hall, and had Shabbat services in the old "chapel," in the middle of the woods. We got to eat ice cream sundaes which was very exciting for Noah.

There was another little girl that Noah was friends with, and they held hands a lot. Her name is Ory.

banana slug

Noah's a baby (not a pretend one)

Noah wants to be a baby. Or rather, he wants to be a baby when he doesn't want to do what we ask of him. He does want to help Josh cook, or play with playdoh, or help with the laundry, or draw on paper or cut with scissors. But when it's time to put things away, he's suddenly a baby. He also really wants to be carried. And we won't.

He also says, often lately, "When Mama was born, you used to be a baby." Or Daddy. The idea is very interesting to him. 

If we say that he's actually not a baby, he says "Noah's a real baby. Not a pretend baby." Not quite sure what is a pretend baby, but in any case, he isn't one. 

He really really doesn't like to say "please," or even ask for things. Sometimes he points and grunts (to which we do not answer) and sometimes he points and says, "rice!" and then we agree that yes, it is rice. I'm not sure why it's so hard for him to ask for things. Even without the word "please," he does not like to ask.