Return from a family adventure (+ why children ask WHY – solved)

Dear J,

And then it was time to say goodbye.

On our last day, we visited Abu Jose’s farm. They call it a farm in Spanish, but it’s not one where farmers farm. He didn’t have animals but his neighbor did. But they had a fight, so we could only look through the fence:

You swung on hammocks:

Then you wanted to sit on them like a swing. Didn’t work. So we played “throw ball out while daddy returns it in the hot sun”:

Before we left, we had a deep talk in Abu’s “big white truck”:

Abu Vicky said, “This place is owned by an IT engineer.” I said, if you want to make friends with him, tell him he can make 50% more revenue by bundling. They sold everything individually, and one thing every restaurant should try do to increase the “average transaction size” is bundling. I.e., like McD’s value meals and “would you like some fries with that?”

After reading “Where Do Diggers Sleep At Night”, you said, “I’m turning off my engine now. Crane truck mama already turned off her engine. Excavator Julie already turned off her engine too. Then your dines Arnie and Gilbert gave me kisses. Then you smiled and kissed me too.

On the drive to the airport, mama said, “I forgot to record my Coquis.” I said, we can probably find it on YouTube. She said, “But that’s not my mama’s Coquis…” J said, “It’s okay mama. It’s okay. It’s not so bad.”

Okay, so here’s how we muled the bags between your mom and I:

The security check was slower than usual. Julie was hungry and fussing. I made sure to prep J for separating with his favorite toy train James. “James has to go into the tunnel. Remember? Like last time. James has to go into the tunnel and we have to go through the people tunnel.” You understood. Everything was going to be okay. Then when our turn came, we juggled our things onto the conveyor belt with two of you in tow. You said, “Here” and gave me James. I thought, that was easy. Then when I put him in your backpack and zipped it up, you said, “NO! NO! NO! NO!” and started screaming. I tried to calm you down, but you were gone. So we muscled through as fast as we could. We waited for James. I gave it back. Still crying. It wasn’t until later when you breathed again that you explained, “I wanted James to go with your computer.” Oh. Okay.

When we landed in New York, I released you before the seatbelt lights were off. It was the last chance you’d get to look out the window as we taxied. You were too short to look out sitting. Note that J2 had a wardrobe change.

This was because all babies have to poo eventually. With 3 days’ worth, it shot up the crack, up the back, and down onto mama’s pants. The pajamas was supposed to be for the next flight. Mama chewed her nails because we had no other clothes if it happened again. I said worst case, we make a toga out of the plane blanket.

We had dinner and danced:

At the gate, you dropped your toy dino Gilbert. I pushed the chairs apart to pick him up. You squeezed between them and found your tunnel:

The girl next to us saw how cool you were and shared her coloring book with you.

Last flight’s landing was rough, because we flew into New York winter. I made it a game and told you it was like the Carousel. Tiger goes up and down. “Like the horsie! And the Goldfish!” Yes. And it’s going side to side like the Strawberry. Then you stared into space and focused on your what your body felt and said, “Up and down and up and down and up and down…” I said okay okay that’s enough. I thought I heard someone throw up.

This time, as the engines shot us down the runway and up for takeoff, I said, we’re going up. You said, “Is it going up and down soon?” I said no, it’s going up. You said, “Is it going down soon?” I said, not yet. I hope no one around us had a fear of flying. Then you grabbed your water bottle and before I could stop you, you flipped it open with your thumb. The cabin pressure shot water up the straw, all over yourself and your seat, up the side of the walls and over onto the lady behind you. She screamed and you started crying. I apologized profusely to the lady, dried everything up and calmed you down. Then I apologized to the lady again. Luckily, she was a mom, so she laughed it off, “It’s only water!” She said her kids are all grown up now and that these years are the best.

Our neighbor Auntie L picked us up. She took care of beast Kimi for two weeks and picked us up. (And she’s pregnant.) That’s how awesome she is. We feel indebted to her and we have no idea how to repay her.

Back at home, I took Kimi off her hands. She was very excited. She was also tired from worrying every day and happy to be home. She curled up in her house and went to sleep.

The house was a mess. Mama said, “I don’t care, I’m not unpacking and I’m not cleaning.” Then she looked at me and said, “Do you think they will sleep?” It was midnight. I said I didn’t know. I’m going to start the usual routine (minus bathtime) and see what happens. I dug your bedtime books from the bags.

I asked you a “Yes and Yes” question: “Which book do you want to read on the couch, and which on the bed?” You said, “Good Night, Good Night on the couch and Where Do Diggers in Bed.” That went better than expected. I offered to read on the couch to Dino but you chased me away. I said, let’s introduce Dino to Scout. Scout hasn’t met Dino, or Arnie or Gilbert. You said, “I want to put Dino in bed.” You stretched and said, “Why can’t my arm reach inside?” I lifted you in. “Because you’re not tall enough.”

Then you re-enacted the scene we played on the plane, that you liked so much you decided it was the best joke ever, “Arnie gave bread to the ducks, they came closer, then Gilbert when RAWR!” HEHEHEHEHOOHOOHEEHOOHEEHOO. Then you told it 10 more times.

I said, here’s a blanket. It’s warm. You can sleep with Dino under there. “I want to sleep under the blanket with Arnie and Gilbert too.”

I went downstairs to get my toiletries. Then I heard, “Daddy! Mama! Help! Help!” I ran to your room. I found you sitting up and staring down. You said, “I want to sleep next to Arnie and Gilbert.” I pointed to the middle of your bed and said, “They’re right there.” *Plop* You went back down.

Two weeks falling asleep in bed with us, we were worried. Thank Spaghetti that routine and your new dino friends helped you sleep in your own bed.

Shower was brilliant. No shower is as good as the shower in your own home. I feel like I rinsed away 2 weeks of stuff I missed from unsatisfying showers. First chance we got when we came home earlier, mama jumped in. She sat J2 in her bumbo and she watched. “It’s not super hot, but it’s amazing” Moans and Aaahs. I took an even longer shower. Then I shaved. It was cold. I put on warm clothes.

These family trips are like extreme family bootcamps for all of us. For example, we now know that if we can travel on the plane with you two, we can do anything.

And anytime you spend all day with us for a long time, your learning and growth explode. The reason is you go through more experiences and scenarios per day than you would in your normal day. And you meet more new people and see us interacting with more new people too. Incidentally, your number of “WHYs” also went through the roof this time around.

Because, you ask WHY as a way to map out your world. Every WHY we answer gives you a new piece of the puzzle of this strange place we live in. The more WHYs we answer, the more complete your picture is.

My Jigsaw Puzzle theory for “Whys”

When you first start a puzzle, you start from the corners. Putting down a corner is like you asking one WHY. Then joining the corner with something is like you asking another WHY. That’s why, when it’s a new concept, the WHYs aren’t as brutal or relentless.

But, when you know something fairly well, it’s like having 4 corners to a jigsaw puzzle forming a hole. You try to find the missing piece. But this missing piece has more conflicts to resolve to fit in, because all 4 corners have to match. I believe this is the phase where your rate of WHYs goes supernova – when you probe and test and rotate the last piece of the puzzle so it fits perfectly into the rest of your understanding of how the world works.

Until one day, you no longer ask us to read your bedtime stories for you. Just last week you asked us WHY after every sentence. Then a few days ago, when you asked enough WHYs to form a bulletproof concept map of the story, you can now recite it with 100% fidelity. You can start and stop from any page, and you even add words like “but now…” which indicate that you understand the meaning to the words you memorized:

We told Abu Vicky’s literature professor friend about this. We said he can’t read yet. He’s just memorizing. She objected, “Ah but I disagree. I say he’s reading much better than most who can read. Many people who read simply decode words. But he understands the story on a deep enough level that he can reproduce the words that construct the story, even without reading.”

The best part and the worst part is you now put yourself to sleep reading your bedtime books. It’s great because it’s now autopilot bedtime. Bad because I hate to say it but I miss it. I was complaining about my hoarse voice and your 1 million WHYs just a few weeks ago. And now you shoo me away, “NO DON’T READ IT.” I say, but I’m just listening. You say, “NO DADDY DON’T LISTEN. GO OVER THERE.”

Meanwhile, Julie is rolling. She did four rolls in a row on the bed to scratch the headboard.

Love,

Dad

P.S. We went to the FedEx store to pick up mama’s new phone. It was a free Moto X, courtesy of a Google friend and early access beta. You wanted to go in there with her. I waited in the car with Julie. You came back crying in mama’s arms. I asked you what happened. Mama said, “Tell daddy what happened.” I asked again. You cried louder. Mama explained, “There was a guy showing off a helicopter in there.” You screamed, “I want the helicopter.” Mama said, “And the guy at the store had the nerve to say, ‘That’s exactly the reaction we want him to have.'”

I was furious. I got out of the car. Unclipped you from your seat. I said, “Let’s go see the helicopter.” I kicked the door open. Scanned the store. I spotted one guy on the right. No, he was just a shopper. I walked to the counter. There was a man on the left.

I said, “Where’s the helicopter?” I might have shouted. I can’t remember. I might have said that loudly. He said, “They’re over there,” trying to smile and be courteous. I said even louder, “So what’s this about ‘that’s exactly the reaction we want him to have?'” His smile disappeared. He turned pale. He knew I was the dad. I said even louder, “LOOK AT HIM!” You had tears streaming down your face. He was silent. He fidgeted and combed his hair. I cut him off as stammered and tried explain. I turned to look for the helicopter. “… the re-re-action was…… excitement. They’re down here, sir.” he said sheepishly. I ignored him and said to you, “Look, that’s the helicopter. Want to look at it?” I lowered you but you clung to me. The shopper who was browsing decided he didn’t want to be there anymore and made a bee-line to the doors. You were no longer crying. So I said, “Okay, let’s go.” Mama said, “What? You actually did that?” I said yea, I know what they wanted to do or what his boss told him to do. But I wanted to show him the consequences of his actions. “You probably ruined his whole day.” I said, I hope so.

P.P.S. – This is how you read bedtime stories to yourself:

P.P.P.S. – Mama transferred all her pix and vids to her new phone. I recovered a few cute pix/videos of us I never saw before:

P.P.P.S. – An ant bit me on my toe and triggered an allergic reaction. I scratched it a little and went to sleep. Mama was mad at me for not waking her up to tell her, fearing I could have gone into anaphylactic shock.