This Week: All About Toddler
We have a little kid, too!
Dear fam,
This morning, it was my turn to take Toddler to her Saturday morning Sports Squirts class. I was really looking forward to it, to be honest. Sports Squirts is a very ridiculous class, during which a group of two year olds (give or take a few months) mill about on a big lawn. Ostensibly, they’re following the instructions given by a “coach” — things like putting a ball in a hoop, jumping over a stick, and so forth. In reality, the kids have no idea what’s happening and they just kind of run wild in various directions until it’s time to go home. It’s hilarious and super fun.
Unfortunately, upon arrival, it was very clear that no one else had shown up for class. A light mist was in the air, on its way to becoming a persistent drizzle, and there were no squirts or coaches to be found. Just slick grass, some very happy geese, and a gaggle of ten-year-old girls getting ready for a fun-run.
Well, we were already there, you know? And I’m very much a believer in making lemonade out of lemons etcetera when the opportunity arises. So, off we went, mist be damned, to enjoy our time at the park.
Folks, we had a wonderful time. Toddler is a perfect adventuring buddy; she’s up for anything and is always curious about what might happen next. We ran around the track with the ten-year-olds for a while, until we got distracted by some birds. “Hi, tzipor1!” she called to a robin red-breast tugging at an unlucky worm, “Tweet, tweet!” Then we stopped to look at the color of the asphalt, did some more running, and arrived at the playground. We climbed, we balanced, we swung on the damp swings. She splashed in puddles. We pressed our foreheads against the wet plastic jungle gym to see how it would feel, and laughed at how silly we looked with water on our faces.
“Hi, barvaz2!” she called to the ducks, “quack, quack!”
We came across a bench with droplets of water in beautiful patterns — she played with the water, splashing and finger-painting them together.
We met and befriended two dogs. We danced, sang Old MacDonald, laughed some more. Eventually, we shared some cheese sticks and headed home, listening to classic rock radio on the way.
What a blast, y’all.
It has occurred to me that this newsletter has become mostly about Big Kid and our travails as her parents. This is, largely, because our lives are about Big Kid and our travails as her parents. She is the dominant force in our lives.
It kind of has to be that way. There are so many subtleties to caring for her; if you take your eye off the ball for even a moment, it could easily break your nose. My wife and I work very hard to bring our A game at all times as parents3.
Also, Toddler was born hella independent. She has always wanted to do things on her own terms. Always. She insisted on feeding herself with a spoon way before she had the fine motor skills to succeed. She puts her toys away, wants to walk places on her own, gives you a withering look when you offer her a hand. We call her Professor — because she’s always giving us assignments. She knows what she wants and will damn well get it.
Sometimes, it’s easier to let her do her own thing while we’re managing a Big Kid meltdown. And maybe that’s alright, for now, but the middle sister in me knows this can’t last. She needs us, too. She deserves her moms’ full attention sometimes.
This morning, I was finally able to give her my full attention.
Right before we got back to the car, she pointed at a tree. “Rotza lalekhet la-etz4?” I asked her. “Okay,” she replied, toddling over the wet grass and placing a hand on the trunk. We stood there for a moment, running fingers down the bark, noting how it was rough in some places and slick in others. It was a moment of quiet contemplation and presence, the like of which I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Our hour together was a gift to both of us, as it turned out.
The rest of the day was full of shenanigans. The girls had some friends over for a playdate and (brief) ice-cream party. We went to an indoor playground, where Big Kid and I ran around and around and around, climbing to the top of the jungle gym and sliding down slides embedded with neon lights. Big Kid and I also spent a fair amount of time going wild on the trampolines. Her grin, the rush of jumping high-high-higher, the laughter and shrieks — it felt like flying.
My girls are so different. My time spent with them is so different. And yet, there’s a similar core there that fills me with awe.
It’s love, I think, mixed with nonstop curiosity and creativity. The expression of these is distinct in each of them, but the trait itself is the same. One is haphazard and impulsive, the other studious and deliberate. One is a tornado of movement, crashing through space, the other takes care with her steps. They are, both of them, creatures of wonder.
Next week will be the first day of the month of Tishrei, also known as Rosh Hashanah — the Jewish New Year. This is always the time of year for reflection on time past and thinking about what’s to come.
Today, I’m thinking about how little I knew about these two cuties last year at this time, how much more I’ll know about them next year. And, as a result, about myself, about my wife, about the world.
Wishing you a week of teensy moments of presence. Or, in lieu of those, at least one ice cream party. It totally counts as a party even if you’re the only attendee.
Shavua tov,
Mikhal
Welcome to the Chaos Palace is about coloring outside society's boring ol' lines.
More specifically, it's about ADHD, parenting, queerness, and Judaism. Subscribe to get new ideas (big and small) about how to expand the boundaries of societal rules. Paying subscribers get updates from my own Chaos Palace, as well as conversations with folks who are whistling their own quirky tune and reported essays — for just $5 a month (or $55 for the year)! I also write poems sometimes, as well as thoughts about the complexities of the place I was raised in and love — Jerusalem, Israel.
And now for some links…
wrote We Do Not Eat Cats and Dogs, a stunning letter to his son, Myles, about being Haitian-American and experiencing the vitriol pouring out of the GOP. It’s gorgeous, a must-read. wrote I would have bled out in the parking lot about the real meaning of a nationwide abortion ban.For those trying to figure out what the hell is going on with Eric Adams,
did a great job of unpacking it all in The Ankara of America. This is a very weird scandal. wrote The After, a poem about mortality. wrote about just doing what works. wrote a while ago for WaPo about how medical fatphobia is (mortally) dangerous.Also on WaPo, an important investigation into how a Turkish-American activist ended up dead after a protest in the West Bank shows big holes in the official story. To say the least.
And also…
My wife’s meditation alter-ego has over a million monthly listeners!
Sammy-Rae has a new album!
bird
duck
As you know by now, this is impossible and we, therefore, don’t succeed all the time. Nonetheless, we’re always trying.
Want to go to the tree?
I loved being taken on your unfolding journey of presence with you and toddler…
Here’s to more of those moments that make us feel like it’s possible to parent the way we want! 💛