We are trying to organize lots of stuff before the new kid gets here, so we went to Ikea to get some storage containers for Miles’ room. We ate lunch there first. Miles had macaroni and cheese, but wanted to try my chicken. I shared several bites with him. While he was eating, Jessica asked me how the chicken was. I said, “It’s okay. A little dry–it’s all white breast meat.”
Miles chimed in, “I’m breastfeeding, too!”
We’d just finished dinner and Miles was sitting around wearing just a tshirt. He started to put a pair of shorts on.
ron: Do you want to put some underwear on, buddy?”
miles: “No, I only wear underwear to the mall. Or the movies.”
Miles has a classmate named Elizabet, which sounds like “a little bit” to him. He thinks it’s a scream to ask for Elizabet of this or that. So, here’s Elizabet of stuff heard from Miles this week:
You’re pink chocolate and I’m brown chocolate.
I have a baby in my tummy. Her name is Zara.
With all of us in bed one morning:
I’m lying here between two clowns.After I brought him a sandwich and a cup of milk:
I didn’t order this!
There’s this great book that we often read Miles at bedtime called Shades of Black. It’s a book of photographs of black children of many skin tones, hair textures and eye colors and it celebrates their beauty and heritage. Every few pages it says something like, “I am Black. I am unique. I am proud to be ME!” He loves the book which compares skin color to delicious foods, hair to different things in nature and eyes to gemstones. When we get to the boy who describes himself as rich, creamy milk chocolate, Miles often shouts “I (am) like creamy chocolate!”
Sometimes we talk about our skin colors in our family. Like, Miles has brown skin and Mommy or Daddy has beige skin. And so and so in his class has brown skin and her Mommy is black and her Daddy is white, etc. Kids his age are so literal, it is probably very confusing for him to understand why we say he (and other people) is/are two different colors. As a result, Miles often gets the two colors black and brown confused. Here is a very cute example:
Miles and I went to the store yesterday and he told me he wanted to buy some “goldfishies. ” “But I want the BLACK goldfishies. NOT the ORANGE ones.” I was puzzled by this. I know they make them in lovely artificial shades of yellow, orange, green and red, but black ones? He went and found the pretzel ones on the shelf and handed them to me. “These black ones.” (They are brown).
Another part of that book says, “I am Black. I am descended from African Kings and Queens…” Last weekend we were all in Ron’s office doing an improv percussion concert. Miles was pounding on his drum and chanting: “My name is Miles! I come from Africa! I am a King! My name is Miles!”
Last night I started wondering if our sugar-fascism with Miles is too much.
We were reading a counting book before bed. Each page has a number and a flap hiding that many whatevers.
me: 7…
miles: 7!
me: 7 what, buddy? (lifting flap)
miles: 7 snakes!
me: 8…
miles: 8!
me: 8 what, bear? (lifting flap)
miles: 8 beads!
The “beads” were donuts!
A couple of weeks ago we went to a birthday party. There was a piñata and Miles collected a little bag of candy and toys. We put the bag high on the counter and let him have a dum-dum a day if things were going well.
A few days in, he had a “mystery” flavored lollipop. Some time passed, I was preoccupied but then I suddenly noticed the Silence of Trouble. I skulked around the house until I found him in the kitchen, tiptoed on his stool, fiendishly rifling through the bag of candy on the counter.
it was very hard for me not to laugh. “Whatcha doing, buddy?” He shouted and I saw a flash of “Busted!” in his eyes, but then he crumpled his little face and looked down. He shook his head and said, “I not feel good, Daddy.”