Tag: Lydia

The Lydster, Part 78: Unicorn’s Sister

Looking at 50-year-old women, who are presumably finished having children, 18.3% of them had a single child in 2006, up from 11.4% in 1990.


The daughter is an only child. The daughter has a couple of dozen brothers and sisters. She has a number of stuffed animals and dolls who are in an ever-changing, and to me, an incomprehensible hierarchy of relationships vis a vis her. Some are now dolls of her siblings, for instance; please don’t ask me which are which.

I DO know, however, that her number one sibling is her sister Unicorn. She has three or four other unicorns that have names that aren’t Unicorn; I forget what they are. It was she – Lydia, not Unicorn, at least I think so – who decided that they should wear matching outfits when they played in their band. The keyboards, which I have had for decades, can be programmed to play some tunes, and it has an annoying automatic tune as well.

Sometimes, I feel marginally guilty, for her sake, having just one (human) child, but she seems to have adapted. She has friends at church and school, she LOVES her cousins who live an hour away (and the ones that live further, as well.) In any case, it is what it is, and we’re not going to be changing it.

Here’s an interesting article: A Dose of Sibling Rivalry: For Only Child Families, New Thinking Pushes Kid-Time, Sharing and Squabbling AUGUST 10, 2010 Wall Street Journal.
“Looking at 50-year-old women, who are presumably finished having children, 18.3% of them had a single child in 2006, up from 11.4% in 1990, according to numbers from the National Center for Health Statistics. The growth is being spurred by more later-in-life marriage and child-bearing. Financial concerns are also at play. As the cost of diapers, child-care, and college degrees keep their steady march northward, some parents are deciding it’s just too expensive to have that second kid.”

 

The Lydster, Part 77: Dancing Queen

Lydia is the house choreographer.


As I may have mentioned, Lydia has been taking ballet lessons once a week since October 2009. It was almost inevitable, since, in the year or two before that, she would move around the room so gracefully and deliberately that people kept asking, “Is she taking dance lessons?”

This was NOT anything that we pushed her into doing, but rather something she asked to do a few times before we relented. While I’m not anticipating her become a prima ballerina, it has instilled in her a sense of confidence she had been lacking.

It has also made Angelina Ballerina on PBS her favorite TV program.

Her school did a recital in June – this was Lydia’s costume – and she said she was nervous, though she didn’t appear to be so.

Now, she is the choreographer at home; not only does she design the moves, but she also selects the music, quite well, I think. Her mother has become her primary dance partner, with her stuffed animals and me as her captive audience.

The Lydster, Part 76: Elgar, and Everything

The Daughter “graduated” from kindergarten to first grade in June. Was there any doubt? Actually, if she had missed more than 28 days, there was this threat, and she did miss nine days in one marking period in the fall, for a total of 15 overall.

It was a refreshingly short event, 26 minutes, starting with the kids marching out on stage, yes, to a recording of Pomp and Circumstance, and sitting in chairs. We watched a video of their year, the kids sang two songs, then each child’s name was called, and the kid stood in place. Finally, they got to meet the first-grade teachers. Afterward, there were opportunities for pictures with their teachers in the other gym, with some punch and amazingly good cookies from a local bakery that was peanut-free, important for Lydia. Oh, the caps and gowns are drycleaned then reused.

At the ceremony, some of the younger parents were crying for joy. Really? It’s KINDERGARTEN.

Maybe it’s because she now has had as many graduation events (three, including two from daycare!) as I did (high school, college, grad school) that I was disinclined to get all teary-eyed about it.

She has the summer off, as does The Wife. Mondays, they tend to do chores together, scheduling medical appointments and the like. Tuesdays and Thursdays, Lydia goes to a program at her old daycare. Wednesdays, she takes ballet. And Friday, mother and daughter do something fun together.

The exception to this was Friday, July 16, when I took off from work so that Carol could do whatever she wants on the day after her birthday. Lydia and I went to the state museum, played in the Discovery area, rode the carousel twice, and had what has turned out to be “our” sandwich, a Subway footlong meatball sub on wheat bread; she only likes cheese on her half, but I get spinach, onion, and tomato on my part.

We’re still trying to get Lydia to do some reading and writing exercises; don’t want her to forget EVERYTHING she learned in kindergarten.

The Lydster, Part 75: Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright

A happy, ferocious feline


Ah, found pictures! Last summer, I took Lydia to some jazz music festival at the Hudson River Riverfront in Albany. Don’t much remember the music – I liked it, she, not so much – because the daughter was getting antsy. So we wandered through the vendor area and got something to eat.

Then we came across a booth for face painting. And it cost only one dollar. These pictures don’t do the artistry justice.

We walked throughout the area, and people, unbidden kept asking, “Where did you get that done?” Quite unintentionally, we became great ambassadors for the booth.

Afterwards, we took the bus home, and she was definitely the A-topic on the vehicle.

It was too bad when she had to take off the makeup before bed.

So I want to thank the talented woman who brought a lot of happiness Lydia’s way for the day.

***
The William Blake poem, Tyger Tyger Burning Bright

The Daughter’s First Gay Pride Parade

This experience reminded me of the years my father used to drag me to civil rights events when I was a kid. I didn’t always understand the nuance of the activity…

We almost didn’t make it.

I have participated in the Gay Pride Parade in Albany at least a half dozen times. And since this was the 40th anniversary of the Capital District Gay and Lesbian Community Council (CDGLCC), reportedly the longest continuously-running group of its type in the nation, this was a particularly significant event this year.

This past Sunday just seemed too complicated, though. The Daughter was having a dance recital later that afternoon, and the weather was looking threatening to boot. But The Wife had volunteered to serve coffee after church, and that involved cleanup afterward.

So I suggested that The Daughter and I at least watch the parade. The Sunday school assignment of the junior high kids at our church that morning was to work on the float with some parishioners and one of our pastors, so The Daughter was at least aware of our congregation’s involvement. And she watched it being finished after Sunday school.

As we waited for the noon start time, I decided that we could find the More Light Presbyterian contingent and at least walk with them from the park to the church a couple of blocks. I see State Senator Neil Breslin with probably the most well-known gay rights activist in the area, Times Union blogger Libby Post who wrote, before the parade, about unusual acceptance at a local high school. (I agree with someone’s assertion that “tolerance” of gay people seems akin to “tolerating” root canal or “tolerating” veggies you don’t like but eat anyway; not an adequate word at all.) There were other local pols there as well; US Senator Kirsten Gillibrand was not there, but there was a float representing her.

So, The Daughter and I start walking with the Presbys. At an entrance to the park was the small, but apparently vocal “God can cure homosexuals” band. While most people along the parade line cheered our group, I heard at least one guy from the Westboro-like cabal refer to us as “an abomination”; I think this was supposed to hurt our feelings.

Picture courtesy of Kevin Marshall

We’re about back to our church when I see our car. The Wife had parked it right along the parade route, so we wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while anyway; might as well keep walking.

In the car that was part of our contingent was a cardboard Jesus wearing a rainbow lei, bobbing up and down in the moon roof; it was a big hit.

Later, she watched the event coverage on TV (I taped four stations, and caught three reports), and she was only slightly disappointed that she didn’t get any air time.

This experience reminded me of the years my father used to drag me to civil rights events when I was a kid. I didn’t always understand the nuance of the activity, but I DID know that it was Important. And occasionally, fun.
***
From Salon: Polygamy vs. gay marriage; An exclusive clip from “8: The Mormon Proposition” explores the historical irony behind the LDS anti-gay campaign.

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