That’s not true at all, of course. But I did manage to avoid two tantrums, take a stool sample, get him dressed washed & fed, and take A to the doctor’s for a TB skin test by 9am. Earlier, I also went to the gym and ran 3 miles. I felt like a real supermom.
From the doctor’s office, it was off to the playground. We got sidelined by a grassy hill near the parking lot, where A discovered how fun it is to go downhill on his beloved plastic tricycle. Mr. P was happy to hear this, as it bodes well for his future as an Olympic skier. We also encountered my new “friend,” an older woman with a dog who frequents the park in the morning. She struck up a conversation with me about A — we’re sort of a family that attracts attention — and she kept saying again and again what a wonderful person I was to adopt (a sentiment that, though well-meaning, makes me uncomfortable). During our first conversation, we started talking about our town and how it has changed since she was a girl. “I don’t like using this word, but, you know, the yuppies came in,” she said. I nodded sympathetically, sort of thrilled that she obviously didn’t consider me one, enjoying the conversation. THEN she started talking about Jehovah’s Witnesses and urging me to visit the temple. I keep her at arm’s length now, although she did get A to pet her lovely little dog.
A never wants to leave the playground. I only got him to willingly leave once, when it started raining heavily. Even then he was reluctant. At 11am, I started introducing the idea of leaving, using the fact that I didn’t have his snack as an excuse. He held firm. By 11:30, I decided to force him. This never goes well and we are trying to avoid forcing him to do anything, but sometimes, you just have to point in the direction of the car and say “Go.” He refused to move his tricycle, so I picked him up and started walking away without the tricycle. He went wild, screaming and trying to hit me. This was embarrassing in front of a busy playground, but my tactic worked: he got on the tricycle and we went to the car. Supermom!
For lunch, he wanted granola bars dipped in steak sauce. Yum.
After lunch, I tried half-heatedly to get him to take a nap but he refused, so I decided to take him to Drumlin Farm, a Mass Audubon property with caged birds and farm animals. “Andy, do you want to go see the cows?” We went there last week and he has been stuck on cows ever since. Most kids find the cows to be gross, but A can stare at them for a long time, murmuring “cow. cow. cow.” This trip, we discovered an antique tractor where kids could sit at the wheel. He loved, loved, loved it. Another family approached the tractor while we were on it, so I made A get off so another little boy could have a turn. This caused another tantrum, of course, but I was ready to leave anyway.
For dinner, I grated some carrots and zucchini and simmered it in ground veal and Ethiopian spices. To our great surprise, A willing ate it. It probably helped that Mr. P pointed it and said “Sidama,” meaning it was food from his native country. Not strictly true, but we have discovered a new tactic: exploiting his undying nationalism to get him to eat veggies.
A on the Tractor at Drumlin Farm
