Sam’s Story: Week 140

Not a terribly eventful week this time around. I did get a new camera lens (more on that a bit later), though, and decided that I wanted to go to the zoo to test it out. Geralyn pointed out that Samantha might like to come too, so we made a day of it. After meeting disappointment when asked what kind of animal she wanted to see (her vote was an enthusiastic “COWS!”), Sam agreed to go to a little sea lion show they were doing. Sam kept calling them seals, but when I kept correcting her and calling them sea lions, she decided that “sea seal” was an acceptable compromise. She’s a uniter, not a divider.

After the zoo I was pretty much ready to get some overdue lunch, but Geralyn wanted to visit this “Arthur’s Day in the Park” thing the Public Broadcasting System was putting on for their younger viewers. She produced a clipping from one of those free magazines and noted that there was supposed to be food, games, and “photo ops” with PBS characters like Elmo, Cookie Monster, Bob the Builder, and Clifford the Big Red Dog. Sam is into each of those people/monsters/animals to some degree, so I agreed. We made all kinds of extravagant promises to an excited Samantha about visiting her favorite characters as we headed over.

After searching for a spot in the overcrowded streets for some time, we finally engaged in some creative parking and trekked over to the park where the event was taking place. As soon as we broke through the outer crowd we were greeted by the sight of lines. Lines everywhere. Just sweaty, child bearing people queued up and waiting for …what? We weren’t sure. At this point Sam and I were okay, but a very pregnant, hungry, and footsore Geralyn wasn’t too happy about seeing that half the state’s population had apparently lined up at the only food stand. She plunged through the crowds to investigate the other lines, pushing her way to the front to see what everyone was waiting for.

Turns out, it was the much celebrated “photo ops” that the clipping had promised. There were several tents set up, and inside each one some poor schmuck in an Elmo or Arthur the Ardvark costume sat in a chair and gazed out into the unending sea of waiting children, his dead, googly eyes betraying all his lost hopes and dreams. I estimated that it would take about a week to wait long enough to get a five-second visit with just one muppet, during which I’d probably get an underexposed, off-center, and out of focus snapshot. I was about to point this out to Geralyn when she snatched Samantha up and held her up at eye level. “Look! It’s Clifford!” she said, pointing at the barely visible big red dog through the pressing throng. “See Clifford? Let’s go!” She then hefted our bewildered toddler onto her hip and clomped off to the next tent.

Similarly brief and long-distance visits to Elmo and Arthur ensued (Cookie Monster was apparently out back on break). Five minutes later we were walking back towards our precariously parked car and Geralyn was chirping “Did you have fun seeing all your characters, Sammy? You saw them. YOU CAN’T SAY THAT YOU DIDN’T SEE THEM! MOMMY’S HUNGRY!”

And a brief time after that we sat in a nearby diner, making it all up to Sammy by letting her eat a huge plate of pancakes at 2:00 in the afternoon.

Here are pictures.

There’s plenty of shots up there of Sam at a pumpkin patch with her cousins, uncles, and grandparents. I think Ger was there, too, but I wasn’t. They get to do all the fun stuff, like climb on pumpkins, drive tractors, and run through drainage pipes. I also like this picture, mainly because of the sign not four feet away from child and photographer alike.

The last thing I’ll mention is an incident from this morning that made me aware of how Geralyn and I can have the same intentions and desires when it comes to parenting, yet make unique assumptions and go about caring for Samantha in different ways. I had jokingly handed Sam a dollar bill, telling her that she could totally retire by age six if she invested early and wisely. This prompted Sam to just kind of stand there and smile at her newfound wealth. We were running late, though, so Geralyn snatched the bill from Sam’s hand and tried to shoo us, her two children, towards the door. For some reason this really upset Sam, who immediately burst into tears.

Now, it may not surprise you to know that a crying Samantha will get nothing but great sympathy from both Geralyn and myself. But what surprised me, on later reflection, was the differences in what we did because of that sympathy. Geralyn immediately went to her knees, apologized for snatching away the newfound treasure, and gave Sam a big hug while making all kinds of soothing sounds. I, on the other hand, ran to the spare change jar and brought it over, making promises that Sam could pick out any coin she wanted as a replacement.

So indulge me in some naval gazing and think about that. Ger had assumed that Sam was sad, startled, and probably a little angered by the way that she, Geralyn, had taken the new possession away. The appropriate response wasn’t necessarily to solve some problem, but to empathize, apologize, and reassure. To mend hurt feelings, in other words. I, on the other hand, assumed that Sam was just pissed over the simple reality of not having her newfound treasure anymore. And the logical, appropriate response to that was to solve the problem by replacing the bill with something more durable, less valuable, and altogether more pleasing to a two-year old’s senses. I wanted to fix the situation so that the source of her unhappiness was gone.

I don’t think it’s a guy/girl thing (I’ve known women who probably would have done what I do and men who would have done what Ger did), but it does bring to mind how we do differ, even when the situation and the desired outcome (i.e., a happy Sammy) are the same. And I guess that’s a good thing, since it increases the odds that at least one of us will be right. Like in this situation; Sam was fine after a moment of hugs with Geralyn and a dip into my change jar.

Well, she was fine until we looked over and found her shiny new dime in her mouth. Then we took that away from her, thinking along exact same lines of how neither of us wanted to spend the next few days watching for “buried” treasure should she swallow it.