My Track Record

Like many math-positive families, we celebrated Pi Day (March 14, or 3-14) by eating pie and listening to a pi song — not the Kate Bush one or the Larry Lesser one, but this 2005 masterpiece from comedy rock group Hard ‘n Phirm.

Like certain other songs by this group — “The Carbon Cycle,” “El Corazon,” “Holes,” “Trace Elements” — this one sort of winks at STEM education; its chorus is a recitation of the first few dozen digits of pi.

My six-year-old, Sam, was captivated by the music video’s combination of wizards with wands, kids, a robot, and a number that (like Buzz Lightyear) goes to infinity. And so when it came time to make a birthday card for a friend’s party this weekend, Sam decided that the card should feature the digits of pi . . . and not necessarily anything else. But when I gently suggested that he precede the already-written digits with the line “Happy Birthday — Have Some Pi,” he was agreeable to that.

Every night I bathe my kids. (The younger ones, that is. The 13-year-old showers by himself.) This consists of the usual steps: remove the clothes, put him in the tub, fill the tub with water, and so forth. Not a ground-breaking protocol.

But here’s the odd part: every night, after I extricate my not-quite-2-year-old from the tub and start to dry him, he asks for the tray of bath crayons. I hold out the tray, like a waiter offering hors d’oeuvres. Ben carefully selects the orange and blue crayons, and orally confirms his choices. (“Owange! Boo!”) And then, after about 30 seconds of additional drying, he asks to return the crayons to the tray, and does so.

During this time there is no actual usage of the crayons. Ben doesn’t even pretend to draw with them; he just holds them in his hand. And yet, to him, this sequence is delightful. He beams in anticipation of taking the crayons, and he beams in anticipation of putting them back. The ritual itself is the point, somehow. There seems to be a satisfaction and a comfort in knowing what to do next, and in having someone to do it with.

This scene may be poignant for me in part because it reminds me of a challenging-for-me aspect of parenting, namely, enjoying the presence of one’s kids, even if nothing in particular is happening.

When I’m holding a crayon, my mind is quick to ask, “OK, what’s going on here? Are we looking for a certain color, or are we ready to draw some animals, or what?” But what if I could just let the crayon sit in my hand while I feel its weight, admire its features, contemplate its potential?

Sam, our not-quite-3-year-old, has a curious habit when we are out walking or running. When we see a dog we don’t know, Sam will often say, “He’s a NICE dog,” with a clear emphasis on NICE. This opinion will be offered regardless of whether the dog is large or small, barking or silent, hyperkinetic or still.

It’s easy to laugh this off as childish naivete. All dogs can’t be nice, kid; it’s statistically impossible!

And yet … how nice to be so optimistic about a species as to see every single member as a potential friend.

I suppose I’ll allow it — though the owners who don’t use leashes are another matter altogether.

It seems that he relates well to dogs.

Sam, now 22 months old, is becoming really playful, with an exaggerated har-har-har laugh to match. But he is also becoming willfully defiant.

These days, when I give him his nightly bath, he takes a cup and scoops up some bathwater and dumps it on the bathroom floor. I tell him, “No.” He does it again. I take the cup away. And then he takes his toothbrush, dunks it in the bathwater, and sticks it out over the floor, transferring a drop or two of water in the process, while gently cooing, “Noooo.”

Unwilling to laugh or cry, I just shake my head — my usual compromise.

Here’s a bit about the current life of Sam, now 19.5 months old.

Thanks to persistent instruction by Leila, he knows and uses several signs (e.g., “more,” “please,” “all done”). This has been the case for months, but lately he’s been adding more out-loud words. Most of his favorites begin with B (“boo!”, “boo-buh” for blueberry, “ba” for ball, “bee” for frisbee) or end in a “Z” sound (“shoes,” “cheese”). I’ve been struck by how much of this learning depends on our intonation. If we say a word with an exaggerated flourish that he finds interesting, he is much more likely to learn it. “Boo!” is one example; another is “down,” to which I give the Howard Cosell “Down goes Frazier!” treatment. (“Sam, do you want to go DOWWWN the stairs?”)

His favorite books include Over in the Meadow by Ezra Jack Keats, Room on the Broom by Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler, and — somewhat to our dismay — anything about Clifford, the big red dog.

His favorite pastimes (some represented below) include manipulating thin objects like tupperware lids and dominoes, visiting an owl decoy on a fence a few blocks from home, carrying multiple large balls simultaneously, and throwing and retrieving these balls.

His favorite comfort objects are burp cloths, a stuffed teddy bear and dog (which he often carries around in his mouth, as if he too is a dog), and the aforementioned balls.