Friday, September 29, 2006

Angry Little Scientist and Other Stories

Angry Little Scientist

It is truly fascinating to me, the degree to which a two-month-old child can begin to express her personality. She cannot speak, she has very limited control of her motor functions, and even her facial expressions are often red herrings. However, certain aspect of her person are already becoming clear.

In preparation for Norah’s arrival, Moonshot and I read a book called Baby Minds. It walked through the brain development of a newborn and gave helpful games to play with your child that will help them work with whatever it is that their little brains are supposed to be working on at any given moment. The first few months basically consist of a general “talk to them” and “makes faces at them” game. However, the one game that we would not have thought of on our own was to tie a string to her foot. The other side of the string is attached to her mobile. In this fashion, she is given a puzzle to figure out…how to make the mobile dance. And once she has solved the puzzle, she can then work on motor control…how to make the mobile dance in the way I want it to. So, the rules of the game were simple. Tie the string, wait for her to figure it out. Once she figures it out, move the string to the other foot and she will have to relearn the puzzle. Supposedly, this switch-up should delight the baby mind and make the game last much longer.

Norah makes her Pooh mobile danceSo we tied the string on to her left leg and she figured it out in less than a minute. Jiggle once accidentally. Jiggle twice accidentally. Short pause, look of concentration, pump, pump, pump with the left leg. Big smile.

We were thrilled. Our child was obviously a genius and thriving in the scientific realm of experimentation and logic puzzles. We let her play with the left leg for a few minutes, and then moved the string to the right foot. Pump, pump, pump with the left foot. Pump, pump, pump with the left foot. PUMP, PUMP, PUMP with the left foot. Rage!!! Full on rage, I tell you. We reached into the crib and moved her right foot for her, hoping to show her how it was done. The mobile moved and she silenced for a second. Pump with the left foot. Rage!!! We removed the string and called it a day.

The next day, hoping the 24-hour break would reset the circuits and allow her to understand the rather minor variation we had introduced to her string game, we replaced the string on her right foot. Her eyes lit up with a smile…she remembered the string game. Pump, pump, pump with the left foot. Tears of sadness. Feeble pump with the left foot. Rage!!!

It seems our little scientist has no taste for new data. Observation be damned, she knows how this string game works and no amount of new input can convince her that she might need to alter her worldview a bit. There is clearly nothing wrong with her understanding…there is obviously something wrong with the game, her parents, and quite possibly the world itself.

So, despite her limited ability of expression, Norah has clearly told us a very important detail about herself…she has inherited her parents’ stubbornness.

We are mentally preparing for the inevitable consequences.


I Miss You, Sonny

I had prepared myself for parenthood by closely watching my friends and family as they made this jarring transition. And to my credit, I think I entered this deal more prepared than most. However, while my method did allow me to observe the big changes and issues…the smaller ones eluded my notice. And in the end, it’s the multitude of tiny changes that lead to this sense of culture shock within your own home that we call new parenthood.

For instance:

I used to be an instant gratification type of person. A thought would occur to me and I would stop what I was doing and satisfy my craving. If I was watching tv and wanted a glass of water, I simply paused the show and went to quench my thirst. If I wanted desert after dinner I either got up and made myself something or Moonshot and I would stroll down to the frozen custard place and treat ourselves. The list goes on and on, but there was a direct link between what I wanted and what I simply got up and got.

These days it’s more complex. Let’s say I’ve just calmed Norah after a minor spat of fussiness. I am not going to threaten this tenuous calm just to make myself a bowl of ice cream. The calm is precious and must be preserved. If I get thirsty while giving Norah a bottle, I’ll make a mental note to get up and get a glass of water once she is done and has been burped. But then she needs changed and by that point I’ve forgotten that I wanted water in the first place until my throat gets dry. And only then do I stop to ponder…when did getting water become a planned out event that I had to hold in my memory long enough to enact said plan? It’s a glass of water. In this marvelous age of indoor plumbing I should have access to water whenever the urge strikes me. And yet I have noticed my water intake has decreased markedly since Norah arrived.

And I’ve forgotten to get my after-dinner bowl of Cocoa Puffs three nights in a row.



The Five-Minute Stalker

I love data. It’s a very geeky tendency I have, but I love to collect and compile data. As witnessed in the days before Norah’s birth, a good spreadsheet makes me smile. But more than that…the availability of data makes me smile too. Tracking it down prior to compiling it is just good fun. Because of this, Internet searches make me positively giddy. Often, I’m not even all that interested in knowing the information I’m finding…I’m just facintated that the information is there at all.

I love to Google friends, see where and how their lives intersect the grand tapestry that is the Internet. I Google “Moksha Gren” to see how often I show up. I track down old friends from high school to see what I can find. It’s not that I really needed to know that “Lesley” got evicted from her home last year…I’m just astounded that the paperwork is available online and that the paperwork refers to a real, live person I know in the physical realm. It’s sort of surreal in a way that I’ve never been able to express to my satisfaction. The fact that data represents real events in real space…it’s a form of magical transformation that my mind really digs on.

And it fascinates me to no end to know that in five minutes, I can gather more information on a person than his/her stalker could have only 20 years ago.

Case in point.:
(Warning: this will ramble around in a tangent for a little while…but will return to my point…hang in there)

There’s a little white house across the street from us. It usually gets rented out to college students, so it’s a bit dumpier than the other houses on the street, but it's cute in its own way. Anyway, this semester, we’ve noticed a lot of musical instruments going in and coming out of the little white house. “Ah,” we said, “A band…how cool.” Moonshot and I are both music fans in general and fans of young people pursuing music specifically, so we smiled as we watched the young band from our living room window.

And then the practicing began and we began wondering is college kids should be allowed to pursue music. Around 1:30 last Saturday night, we lay awake listening to the muted bass and drums pouring form the little white house and felt old and uncool as we contemplated going over and asking them whipper-snappers to quiet down..

However, the next day, while trimming the grass along our sidewalk, two young guys approached me. Shaggy hair, bushy mutton chops, funny sunglasses…clearly aspiring rock stars. They introduced themselves as Ben and Kevin and I was astounded at their politeness. They asked about the noise level, asked about our normal schedule and what times would be ok for them to practice. I was thrilled. What kind of rock and roll mentality is this? Respecting your neighbors? The Rock Gods would not approve. But I was suitably impressed. I chatted with them about their band and told them that while the really late-night stuff needed to lower the volume a bit, I’d generally rather them practice and become famous so I could later brag about living next to them. I’ll deal with a little noise in the meantime. The band is called Troubadour Dali. Ben sings and Kevin is filling in on the bass…on loan from a band called LaPush.

After my yard work was done, I retreated to my office and began my searches. I downloaded songs by Troubadour Dali from their myspace page and found that their listed influences are Brian Jonestown Massacre, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and the Dandy Warhols. I should have guessed from the cleverly altered artist reference for their band name and from the big ol’ Joel Gion sideburns and glasses. I watched a video of LaPush playing on the Carson Daly Show and read reviews of their cd. I searched for Ben and Kevin to see if they were in any other bands. No, but Kevin teaches guitar lessons, has a big dog names Chuck, and listens to a supprisingly wide array of music for a guy who looks like he stepped right out of Dig!. Ben got good reviews for his roll in the St Charles Community Theater’s production of Angels in America, had a decent record as a high school track athlete and you can find a very cute picture of him with a ring-tailed lemur on his shoulder.

Why does any of this matter? I have no idea…but I was thrilled, and continue to be thrilled, that in five minutes I could find such a wealth of meaningless and trivial details that related to this guy across the street. I’ll never use the data, would probably have forgotten it all had I not found my eccentricities amusing enough to write it down here, but still I enjoyed the search.

I caught up with the band as they were loading up for a show on Wednesday night. I mentioned that I had listened to their music. I mentioned that I love Black Rebel and have been meaning to get more familiar with Brian Jonestown Massacre. I wished them luck on their show. I thought it best not to mention the ring-tailed lemur.

8 comments:

Moksha Gren said...

Oh sure, call me names...but when you need my particular brand of crazy...you'll be in line with this poor gir's name. I see.

You have always been a quick learner. But I for one am very glad you still haven't figured out how to work the child locks we put on all your cubbards...they're there for you protection cuz we love you, bro.

The problem with the water hat is that unfettered access to water would just mean I had to disturb Norah more often when I had to go to the bathroom. It's sort of a Catch 22.

Anonymous said...

Hello Moksha (and Moonshot)!
I know I have been quite remiss in calling to talk to you all lately (sorry, I was out of town a lot in September), but I promise I have been looking in on the life of my niece regularly through the power of the blog. She's getting so big! I also reset the wallpaper on my monitor at work to a new Norah picture at least weekly. (My co-workers all think she's the cutest thing west of the Mississippi, btw.) Hope you guys have a good week!
-Auntie Mouse

Steven M. said...

In regards to your water and bathroom vs sleeping baby problem, I have just two words, "pee helmet". Problem solved!

Moksha Gren said...

Mouse,

Whose this baby east of the Mississippi that's cuter than Norah?! I think your co-workers are making things up.

Matt,

I like your thinking, but my head will be in use with my water hat. But I have a solution. As a pilot, Mr. Dingus has these cool pee-packs. I've never had to use one, but since pulling over for a pit-stop is not really feasible in a small plane...I've always been glad they were there.

So, all I have to do is strap some water to my head and a pee-pouch to my crouch and I'll be set...if my self-esteem can take it, that is.

Anonymous said...

no, no, they said she's the cutest THING west of the Mississippi, not the cutest baby! That's a much larger universe, including stuffed animals, flowers, and Precious Moments figurines. Plus, some of them have grandkids east of the river, so while Norah is undoubtedly the cutest baby on either side of any river anywhere, you can't really expect them to admit it.

Erica said...

Wonderful post! I was just laughing at the whole PUMP PUMP PUMP thing. Poor thing. Gentle amusement comes from unexpected places, doesn't it?

And you TOTALLY captured the "That was then, this is now" thing about parenthood. Primarily, that it's not about YOU anymore. It slaps you in the face, doesn't it? But not a bad thing, to be the center of someone's universe, to the exclusion of your own instant gratification. (Pee helmet would have been nice to know about, though. Maybe next time. As though there will ever BE a next time.)

And finally, the stalking information. I too love the availability of information. I almost cannot imagine doing my job without the internet (making travel arrangements, finding general information, doing research for reports), much less the entertainment of simply HAVING that information out there. I couldn't get off Wikipedia for some weeks there, when I first discovered it. And imagine my joy to know there was a Star Wars-exclusive wiki (wookieepedia)... my dork meter was IN the red, I tell ya.

Erica said...

Reading back over my comment, I meant "as though there will ever BE a next time" in reference to myself, not forecasting assumptions about your own reproductive future!

Moksha Gren said...

Curse you, Erica. As if you hadn't already wasted enough of my time by turning me onto Pandora, now you have to tempt me with Wookieepedia. You are dashing any hopes I may have had about outgrowing my dorkness.

Speaking of dork-meters. I've been jealous of fellow geek Stephen Colbert all week. Don't know if you watch the show. But basically, he's a huge dork who uses his celebrity to do wonderfully dorky things. For instance...lightsaber fight with George Lucas. I have my mixed feelings about Mr. Lucas these days...but I was almost drooling on myself as I watched this last week. Thought you might enjoy drooling with me.