Happy Birthday, Son of MMMMMmmmm
Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!
Weather: Clouds and sun breaks. Cool.
Happy Birthday, Son of MMMMMMMM
Yes, MMMLOGerinos, it was 27 years ago today that the little redheaded kid stepped into this world again in Las Vegas. (Though he's proof that what happens in Vegas doesn't stay in Vegas.) Due to the C-section his APGAR was only a 9 and I, ever going for a top score in anything, was a bit miffed. But he was healthy and huge, 9.3lbs. My mom has always said thank goodness for that C-section!
The son of MMMM has always been my perfect treat and reward for what I can only imagine as some life when I did something right. The red hair was a surprise, for I thought he'd have dark hair like his dad. But recessive genes are not to be denied. Mom says I had reddish highlights as a baby. My paternal grandmother had red hair and all my maternal grandmother's brothers were redheads. Then there's the DH's side of the fam, yup, auburn tresses there, too.
I really had no idea what to do with a baby so did what I knew how to do--I started teaching him from day one, once I got that whole feeding and diapering thing figured out. One of the first things I taught him was how to crawl out of his crib. Yes, that proved problematic, but I thought he ought to know how. After I finished my last research project at UNLV when he was almost a year old, I got to play with the son fulltime. Everyday we'd pack a lunch or go to the Arches, then sit beside the runway at McCarran, watching the jets land. I taught him the aircraft types and the different airlines. When he was almost two he could identify any airline and plane type when they were on final approach into the airport. I told my friends at the Dept of Ed. in Carson City and they wanted to test him. Apparently, that was unusual ability and behavior for a two year old. I decided to test him myself and administered the PPVT, a type of verbal IQ test that I used when serving on a diagnostic and prescriptive team, when he was two and half. He scored 156 (smoothed and extrapolated). We weren't surprised as he was already having lively and informative chats with rather stunned women in the grocery store who'd said hello to the cute little redheaded toddler. As to his extremely adequate verbal ability--when he was four I enrolled him in an exclusive private school's preschool when we lived in St. Louis. One day the teacher called to ask me to help him "feel happier" about having to take a nap after lunch. He'd refused, saying he was "appalled and horrified" that she would ask such at thing of him.
The son wanted to be taller like the 6'6" men on the DH's side, but he stands tall to just this side of six feet. As I've mentioned before, we aren't terribly organized sports-minded but I thought it necessary to expose the son of MMMMM to all sports, except football. That's just stupid. Friends taught him to swim when we lived in Brazil because he wouldn't listen to me as he was too busy screaming. He later lettered in swim team and water polo and had a great breast stroke! He did soccer in England, and basketball and Little League in Louisville and tennis in Seattle. Whatever classes were being offered, the son of MMMMM was enrolled, poor kid, from sports to art, music and acting. He was actually a working actor and model from age four and will hate my telling that--the model part, anyway. Remember Santa Clause: The Movie? Yup, he was in that. Look for the darling little redhead kid flying into a kitchen and eating cookies from a jar on the top shelf. Some of his best work! He's been in made for TV movies and commercials. Yeah, I was a stage mom--but the best kind. I was cool and all about making sure he was having a good time. Gotta tell you, the movie business--oh ugh.
On the subject of oh ugh--when we lived in England our house was in a small village some 45 minutes out of London. When the boy had to go on an audition, we'd climb on the train, transfer to the tube, line to line, and walk many blocks in crappy weather so he could go to a loft in Soho and deliver a twenty second scream for some casting agent. Then back through the dicey neighborhood to the tube station, change lines about fifty times to catch the train at Marylebone and out to Seer Green. He was working on the actor thing when we lived in Brazil, too. One morning I was in the courtyard of our service flat, a twenty story highrise, and heard a little voice crying "Socorro! Socorro!" from above. There he was, nine floors up, out on the terrace yelling for help--practicing the one Portuguese word he knew, and I raced back upstairs to stop him. The Brazilians couldn't understand that, for they are all about children and letting their little darlings do whatever they want, including cursing and beating up the maids taking them to the park. Supernanny alert!
Case in point, the afternoon we arrived in Sao Paulo, we were taken by the base manager to a huge supermart with, count 'em, twenty-six busy checkout lanes. We chose our groceries and got in line. The son of MMMM was then just five and very tired and cranky after our long flight from Miami. It was unusual, but the pressure was on and he threw a glorious stem-winding gee-whizzing fit. The DH and I were tired, too, and we'd had it. The DH grabbed the screaming child monster and lightly popped him once on the rear with his palm. The place went stone silent and then erupted in outraged Portuguese. I thought they were going to lynch us for spanking that boy. (I think that was one of extremely few and certainly the last time we ever spanked him.) Brazil is country where they have Children's Day and those who can afford it pour on the gifts. The son of MMMM came to expect the same and asked when the next Children's Day was. We told him it was on Octember the first. I know, I know, mean. But he's a clever lad and soon figured it out, though that first disappointment probably jaded him. His years of traveling with us contributed to his love of adventure and other cultures and after two bachelor degrees and a masters by the time he was twenty-two, he's become the man I'd always hoped he would be--an educated man of the world.
Anyway, those are just some of adventures we've had with the son of MMMMM and I'm really looking forward to fifty more years of experiencing the joys of being this very special man's mother.
I love you, Bink. Happy birthday!
Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMMMelinda
Weather: Clouds and sun breaks. Cool.
Happy Birthday, Son of MMMMMMMM
Yes, MMMLOGerinos, it was 27 years ago today that the little redheaded kid stepped into this world again in Las Vegas. (Though he's proof that what happens in Vegas doesn't stay in Vegas.) Due to the C-section his APGAR was only a 9 and I, ever going for a top score in anything, was a bit miffed. But he was healthy and huge, 9.3lbs. My mom has always said thank goodness for that C-section!
The son of MMMM has always been my perfect treat and reward for what I can only imagine as some life when I did something right. The red hair was a surprise, for I thought he'd have dark hair like his dad. But recessive genes are not to be denied. Mom says I had reddish highlights as a baby. My paternal grandmother had red hair and all my maternal grandmother's brothers were redheads. Then there's the DH's side of the fam, yup, auburn tresses there, too.
I really had no idea what to do with a baby so did what I knew how to do--I started teaching him from day one, once I got that whole feeding and diapering thing figured out. One of the first things I taught him was how to crawl out of his crib. Yes, that proved problematic, but I thought he ought to know how. After I finished my last research project at UNLV when he was almost a year old, I got to play with the son fulltime. Everyday we'd pack a lunch or go to the Arches, then sit beside the runway at McCarran, watching the jets land. I taught him the aircraft types and the different airlines. When he was almost two he could identify any airline and plane type when they were on final approach into the airport. I told my friends at the Dept of Ed. in Carson City and they wanted to test him. Apparently, that was unusual ability and behavior for a two year old. I decided to test him myself and administered the PPVT, a type of verbal IQ test that I used when serving on a diagnostic and prescriptive team, when he was two and half. He scored 156 (smoothed and extrapolated). We weren't surprised as he was already having lively and informative chats with rather stunned women in the grocery store who'd said hello to the cute little redheaded toddler. As to his extremely adequate verbal ability--when he was four I enrolled him in an exclusive private school's preschool when we lived in St. Louis. One day the teacher called to ask me to help him "feel happier" about having to take a nap after lunch. He'd refused, saying he was "appalled and horrified" that she would ask such at thing of him.
The son wanted to be taller like the 6'6" men on the DH's side, but he stands tall to just this side of six feet. As I've mentioned before, we aren't terribly organized sports-minded but I thought it necessary to expose the son of MMMMM to all sports, except football. That's just stupid. Friends taught him to swim when we lived in Brazil because he wouldn't listen to me as he was too busy screaming. He later lettered in swim team and water polo and had a great breast stroke! He did soccer in England, and basketball and Little League in Louisville and tennis in Seattle. Whatever classes were being offered, the son of MMMMM was enrolled, poor kid, from sports to art, music and acting. He was actually a working actor and model from age four and will hate my telling that--the model part, anyway. Remember Santa Clause: The Movie? Yup, he was in that. Look for the darling little redhead kid flying into a kitchen and eating cookies from a jar on the top shelf. Some of his best work! He's been in made for TV movies and commercials. Yeah, I was a stage mom--but the best kind. I was cool and all about making sure he was having a good time. Gotta tell you, the movie business--oh ugh.
On the subject of oh ugh--when we lived in England our house was in a small village some 45 minutes out of London. When the boy had to go on an audition, we'd climb on the train, transfer to the tube, line to line, and walk many blocks in crappy weather so he could go to a loft in Soho and deliver a twenty second scream for some casting agent. Then back through the dicey neighborhood to the tube station, change lines about fifty times to catch the train at Marylebone and out to Seer Green. He was working on the actor thing when we lived in Brazil, too. One morning I was in the courtyard of our service flat, a twenty story highrise, and heard a little voice crying "Socorro! Socorro!" from above. There he was, nine floors up, out on the terrace yelling for help--practicing the one Portuguese word he knew, and I raced back upstairs to stop him. The Brazilians couldn't understand that, for they are all about children and letting their little darlings do whatever they want, including cursing and beating up the maids taking them to the park. Supernanny alert!
Case in point, the afternoon we arrived in Sao Paulo, we were taken by the base manager to a huge supermart with, count 'em, twenty-six busy checkout lanes. We chose our groceries and got in line. The son of MMMM was then just five and very tired and cranky after our long flight from Miami. It was unusual, but the pressure was on and he threw a glorious stem-winding gee-whizzing fit. The DH and I were tired, too, and we'd had it. The DH grabbed the screaming child monster and lightly popped him once on the rear with his palm. The place went stone silent and then erupted in outraged Portuguese. I thought they were going to lynch us for spanking that boy. (I think that was one of extremely few and certainly the last time we ever spanked him.) Brazil is country where they have Children's Day and those who can afford it pour on the gifts. The son of MMMM came to expect the same and asked when the next Children's Day was. We told him it was on Octember the first. I know, I know, mean. But he's a clever lad and soon figured it out, though that first disappointment probably jaded him. His years of traveling with us contributed to his love of adventure and other cultures and after two bachelor degrees and a masters by the time he was twenty-two, he's become the man I'd always hoped he would be--an educated man of the world.
Anyway, those are just some of adventures we've had with the son of MMMMM and I'm really looking forward to fifty more years of experiencing the joys of being this very special man's mother.
I love you, Bink. Happy birthday!
Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMMMelinda
posted by MMMelinda at 9:31 AM
