As I was rocking Kai back to sleep a few nights ago and I looked down at his serene face—head sinking back below the crook in my arm, his tiny puckered mouth slightly agape—that Joni Mitchell line from "Big Yellow Taxi" popped into my head: You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone. It’s not that that line describes how I was feeling in that moment—in fact, it was just the opposite, which is what made it so perfect. As I was gazing down on this perfect little soul, present in all of the happiness I possess in my life right now, I suppose my subconscious could not conjure up any words to directly convey my sentiments at that moment and instead offered me the antithesis: You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone. After Kai was born my whole life changed in a way I never knew possible. Really, I never knew what could be until it truly was! As I continued to rock Kai with all of these thoughts swirling round in my head, I meditated on that phrase as an antonym of what I was feeling. It reminded me of the popular use of aphorisms among mystic poets when trying to relate their experiences of the Divine, to illustrate through words the, ultimately, ineffable. And, really, it is the Divine I am experiencing in those moments. It is the Beloved as shown through the beautiful son I hold in my arms. As parents always say, no words can describe it, and so to bring us closer we need words that seemingly lead us further away: You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.
...And for fun, Pinhead Gunpowder's version of "Big Yellow Taxi":
For the first time, Kai is starting to make music with an instrument. He has two little wooden rattles that prior to a week ago merely served as instruments to chew on. He did delight in the sound they would make when I shook the rattle for him, but he either never could or simply never would replicate the sound himself. Now he has become a little musician!
The generation of parents to which I belong is obsessed with knowing exactly what is right for their child and wanting all of the current research pertaining to every developmental step. Sometimes I tell myself that I am different and cannot be lumped in with the rest, but then I have moments like right now where I know, I too am one of those parents.
Over the last few months or so I have really been thinking about music and its effects on Kai. Music is a really important part of my life and I want Kai (any phrase beginning with "I want (my child)..." is already heading towards what is most likely a projection) to have that love and understanding of music as well. I don't want him to end up like Steve Martin in The Jerk struggling to snap his fingers with the beat. I want him to have lots of exposure to music and for that to be a strong part of his life. Nevertheless, our culture does not expose children to music in a nourishing way any longer. We no longer (or at best rarely) gather as a community and play music that nourishes all members of that community--young and old. I feel it is important to have Kai experience only (or by and large) live music in his early years and yet I began to wonder, is my guitar and my voice enough (I haven't played my trumpet for him--maybe if I mute it...)?
I began to think that perhaps I was being too dogmatic in my attitude towards media. So I did some research with my hypothesis being the following: if television does not help and in fact impairs our faculties of speech than it follows that music does not help and perhaps even impairs our faculties of music (rhythm and tone).
Here are my findings:
Infant's sense organs are still developing (though hearing develops in-utero) and thus are more sensitive to sensory input than adults' sense organs. For ears, this means that their sensitivity to tone, rhythm, and volume is particularly acute. According to researcher Shannon de l'Etoile, "[c]ommerical recordings can be beneficial, if selected and implemented with care; however, most recorded music marketed for infants tends to be too fast, too complex, and in the wrong key for young listeners. Consequently, your singing voice and instrumental skills are your best tools for providing meaningful musical experiences for infants."
In another study on music's effect on infants in intensive care units, the researchers found that live music was associated with a slower heart rate, deeper sleep patterns, and more stable weight gain whereas recorded music yielded no significant effects.
In some more subjective research, I asked one of the music teachers' at my school (who has two grown children and two teenagers) what he thought about music with Kai. "Is singing to him enough?" I asked. "Absolutely. More than enough. When I read stories, I would sometimes sing the stories instead of read them. And, of course, you just make up little songs all the time. The more you sing to them the better, and if it's pentatonic all the better."
[Just a little aside, pentatonic is a five-note scale that in the Waldorf world we prefer to sing and teach music in until 3rd Grade. As with the rest of the Waldorf curriculum, our music curriculum is a recapitulation of human evolution and culture. Thus, in early human cultures music was largely pentatonic. As human culture evolved we became more and more comfortable with harmonies closer together (the 5th sounded great, then the 4th, then the 3rd, and now in Modern music we find the 2nd!).
I would love to hear folks' thoughts on the topic.
Yesterday, Linda and I got into one of our meaningless debates (usually instigated by me) where each of us chooses a side and does not back down. We were all on the couch with Kai in the chair I had made with my knees as the back of the chair and with my lap as the seat and Linda sitting next to us. Discussing what will happen tomorrow for Thanksgiving, we got talking about pecans, when Linda--out of the blue and taking a turn from her usual pronunciation of the nut--called them peh-cans with an emphasis on the "cans" (and "a" as in apple). I was taken aback at what to me was a completely new pronunciation of this word. "That is the first time anyone has ever said peh-cans!" I exclaimed. "Ever in the entire history of the world?" Linda mockingly shot back. "Well, I have never heard anyone ever pronounce pecans any other way except either peh-cawns or pee-cans." Well, the lines of argument were drawn. In my camp was the contention that I have never heard a third way of saying pecans and thus I do not believe a third way of pronouncing pecans exists as a greater cultural-linguistic phenomenon. Apparently, Linda was only asserting that a third way of pronouncing pecans can exist and not (as I mistakenly thought, which really was the root of our argument) that groups of people actually commonly pronounce pecans in a way that transgresses the two commonly known forms of pronunciation.
As the miscommunication swirled out of control and our heels dug deeper into the proverbial ground we both grew less and less aware of the fact that a third person was there with us--in fact, seated right between us. Suddenly my eyes were forced to focus on this person right in front of me as the corners of Kai's mouth dropped, his cheeks sagged, and his lip quivered letting out a very very sad cry. Caught in the line of our argumentative fire was Kai and the discord between us clearly was not sitting well with him. Quickly I picked him up and held him close reassuring him while also laughing at the absurdity of the moment: "It's okay Kai. Mommy and Daddy love each other--see?" (Linda and I put on big happy grins trying to show him we really aren't mad). I give Kai to Linda and she reassures him as well. I hug Linda and Kai trying to show him that I still have affection for his mother, she for me, and both of us for him. Slowly his tears stop still on his face, the corners of his mouth tighten back into a smile and his eyes start to glow again with glee.
This was really the first time Kai had seen us fight. The crazy thing was how we were not angry--frustrated and irritated maybe, but not angry. Nevertheless, the fact that we were not kind, that our words were pointed at one another, that we were completely out of harmony upset him. I know that babies are sensitive, but wow! There's the proof!
After 4 1/2 months of life with Kai, I have a pretty good gauge on his likes and dislikes. These affinities usually depend on time, place, mood, and circumstance, but there is one constant: being outside. If Kai is being inconsolably fussy, I am nearly 100% certain that he will feel better once we are outside. It's really quite an amazing thing. Whether carrying him or putting him in the stroller, when Kai goes outside his worries are like a balloon that freed from ceilings and walls floats out and up into the stratosphere, disappearing from sight.
To try and pinpoint what it is outside in the open air that calms him would be a pointless reductionist venture that would, ironically, miss the point. What this does make me think about is how isolated our homes (and other buildings) are from the natural environment. How different would our lives be if we were in constant interaction with the elements? Not to suggest that we should live without shelter, but what if our homes allowed a more fluid exchange between the indoors and outdoors? I think about our first (and thus far only) camping trip with Kai where on the second night he slept for 12 hours straight. He has performed this feat a mere three times in his 4 1/2 months of life, which does not prompt me to make a causal link but at least makes me cock an eyebrow.
Lisa babysat Kai the other night (our first nighttime babysitting foray) and we got talking about this phenomenon of our buildings being so environmentally isolated. Right now, she is actually studying building design and how homes can, are, and have been built in ways that use the natural world to insulate or cool themselves through a natural transference of air and energy. This made me think of a trip I took as a freshman in high school to an Anasazi ruin that featured a ventilation system that ran throughout the complex whose design was all built upon the natural law of convection. Sometimes it seems like our civilization has gotten too clever for its own good. Less of what we do now is about working with natural forces than it is about overcoming them.
Lisa then elaborated on how much our current way of living isolated from the elements indoors prompts respiratory ailments and allergies because the air we breathe is so stale and recycled. But what about the less physical effects? What are the psychological, emotional, and spiritual effects of living so separated from the natural world?
All this being said I am happy in the house I live in. Maybe someday I could build a dream house that incorporates these ideas, but until then I have what I have. Winter is approaching, which will slow down the outdoor time a bit, but Colorado is still incredibly accommodating even with snow on the ground. Not only that, I can invite a bit more of the outside into my home in little ways. Saturday, Linda and I continued on our saga of making a more child-friendly home in anticipation of Kai's inevitable crawling, and in an effort to bring some of the outside world in, I dedicated one of our bookshelves in the living room as a nature table--arranging vines, leaves, pinecones, pieces of wood, stones (all of non-chokeable size of course!), etc. (I gleaned this idea from my Waldorf school world). The bookshelf below it will become a place to put nature table materials so that kids who come over can arrange and rearrange as it pleases them. It could use some characters, so I may add a cornhusk doll or some little felted animals, gnomes, or people so it can really turn into a story-scape for them to play with.
Anyway, as with everything, this relationship between indoors and outdoors is another piece of the ever-changing, ongoing puzzle of life. Another challenge, another creative opportunity.
So Kai makes lots of sounds, of the most common is "Hoo!" or even "Goo!" (babies really do make that sound!). Today he had one of his classic moments of exclaiming "Hoo!" and when I mirrored it back to him he thought it hilarious! Linda got the camera after the game had already begun.
At the beginning of the school year I warned all of my children that I now suffer from a condition known as baby brain. "So if I say anything funny or strange that really just does not make any sense, feel free to raise your hand and ask, 'Mr. Dewey, did you get much sleep last night?' or 'Mr. Dewey, do you have baby brain again?'" A couple of times I have been called out on my condition--though my baby brain prevents me from recalling most of these circumstances--and then the other day I heard a funny story from a mother of one of my students: "Now whenever she messes up on something, makes a mistake, or forgets something, she says...Oh, it must be baby brain." It's funny how children adopt language and try it on without fully understanding its meaning. It's also a reminder of how children bring my speech and behavior home with them. Funny and a bit frightening.
It was only a matter of time until a more somber and sad post arrived, and here it is. Knowing me, this will surely be the first of many.
Following up on the last post on sleep, I've settled into my feelings a bit more and there's a lot more there than just wanting to get a baby to sleep.
My relationship with Kai Liang has changed. Of course, this is part of any relationship--especially that of a parent to their child. Nevertheless, it's the first time I have felt it and feel it I must.
Going back to work dramatically changed our relationship. Before, I was with him nearly all day. He enjoyed near equal time with me and Linda and sometimes I felt like (even though it's clearly not true) I was on completely equal footing with Linda save for the breastfeeding part. Now that I am back at work, Kai gets a maximum of four hours of me each day and those four hours aren't exactly the best of me either. He does not look at me like a stranger, and he always gives me a smile when I come home, but that same adoration and love does not feel the same. He is more comfortable with Linda now. He is so familiar with her and she with him in a way that I can no longer match. Funny-and-Playful-Daddy remains intact but Soothing-Daddy-Who-Puts-Me-to-Sleep feels like an artifact of early infancy. Even diaper changing used to be our thing until I went back to work. He still loves getting his diaper changed but I am no longer the proud ruler of Diaper Land.
Yesterday I began to feel like I had to work at strengthening my relationship with Kai whereas before it just got stronger with time. My patience has to be that much greater because I know that if I hand him off to Linda, I am handing off my limited time with my baby boy.
I think it is true that with time apart I can come back to Kai with renewed creativity and patience. But when I spend most of my day prior to coming home on my feet with 26 children demanding that same creativity and patience--I can feel my resources dwindling.
Okay, enough sulking? I'll move on.
I know there is a bigger picture. I never question our love or that we will forever be bound together. And I know that the wonderful thing about everything that has to do with Kai Liang is that it is just like Colorado weather: if you don't like it now, just wait a few minutes!
