A Letter to Mal On His First Birthday

Dear Mal:

You're special. I'm sure, by the time (if) you read this, you will surely know that to be true in various and sundry ways. However, right this moment, I'm referring to your actual birth.

Now, the birthing part itself wasn't anything much out of the ordinary, but... well, backing up a little bit: Most birth stories (that aren't induced or planned C-sections or emergencies) start with moms going into labor and then proceeding from there. Not you, though!

I went to the birthing center because they needed you born or they were going to take me to the hospital because you were three weeks past the estimated delivery date. I'd spent the day before there, too, trying all sorts of things to get you to vacate the premises. There was little reason to believe this day would be any different.

So it's almost like we scheduled your birth. The team said, "We'll hang out and hope he's born, or we're going to have to figure out why he's not coming."

I guess you didn't want to go to the hospital any more than I did, because it was kind of like magic. I went to the birthing center, not expecting much. Then when you decided it was time, it was time, and you were here within about an hour.

Thanks for that, by the way.

It was almost 13 years between your sister's birth and yours, but stuff came back. I hope you won't look back on your first year and remember it as the year of "Daphne never..." Come to think of it, you probably won't remember much, if anything, of your first year. So allow me to confess some of the things I've said and thought this year:

Daphne never wanted me to hold her.
Daphne never had a problem going to or staying with strangers.
Daphne didn't mind my being gone.
Daphne never thought of playing in the toilet water.
Daphne didn't just pull everything out of a drawer for sheer joy and then move on to the next thing.
Daphne didn't destroy books.
Daphne *did* eat dog food, but we were able to break her of that, which was good because I don't think our greyhound would have appreciated having to eat her food and drink her water off of the top of the clothes dryer like our cats are having to do because you, my darling, loved to splash around in their water, eat their food, and then get the water in their (very expensive) food, thus ruining it with mold when we discovered what had happened several days after the fact.

You get the point.

It's not that you were bad, or worse than your sister. It's just that, in many ways, as a baby, she was easier. But you owe her a debt of gratitude, because it was parenting her, my first child, that shaped the way I parent you. And I'm much better at it this time around.

You love her so much. In time, she'll realize what she has in you. But I wouldn't blame her for being resentful. Even if she doesn't remember how much more of a hard-ass I was with her (yes, when she was a baby), the fact is that I was. And I have regrets. So I'm determined that if I have regrets with you, they'll be different ones. And I dream of the day that you and Daphne will be great friends, making fun of me behind my back. I'll probably be too old to notice or be particularly hurt, and that will be awesome.

It's been a long year. It was a long first few weeks, and honestly, at two months, I couldn't believe that you were still sleeping with us. I felt like I'd go crazy if you didn't get into a routine and get into your own bed posthaste. But here it is, a year in, and you're still sleeping with us. You have some weird sleeping (not sleeping?) habits, like that you can't really stay asleep more than about an hour or two without having "help" getting back to sleep. That's with naps or overnight. So I'm actually glad you're still in our bed, because my having to get up that much would be crazy-making.

But it doesn't feel so urgent to "fix" anything about that anymore. It's you. It's who you are. And I love who you are, even if it's not exactly what I would have constructed if I could have put together the ideal infancy.

More to the point, the more difficult things about you have made me a better person. I had to choose to learn how to love you and deal with you the way you were, or to spend all of my time worn out and resentful and hopeless. I'm embarrassed to say how long I fought it, but once I realized that the fight wasn't good for anyone in this house, I've been so blessed to have it pointed out to me (by you, by strangers, by Facebook friends, and by my own laugh) how amazing you are.

You are amazing, son. Absolutely freaking brilliant. Stubborn. Curious. Desiring to interact and amuse. Strong. Opinionated. Percussive. Dramatic.

Dude, you're already talking! You say "Da-da" or "Dah" for your dad. You say "Da-dee" or "Da-naee" or just yell for your sister (because her room is at the end of the hall and she always has a fan on, so I'm afraid I call out to her and you've picked it up). You also say, "Kee-cah" or "Cah" for the cats. You say "Mama" when you cry, and sometimes you just holler, "Mom!" but I don't think you really call for me yet. You say "Ball" and you say "Beh-hum" when you want to nurse, for some reason. If you want a "Daphne never" positive comparison, your sister waited until she was almost two to start chatting.

You bark when you see or hear a dog. Or birds. Or a cat. Or fish. Or any animal, for that matter. Sometimes, you bark at your dad, and I think that means that you want to go see the ceramic ape he has in his office.

You understand so much. "Do you want to take a bath?" sends you walking to our bedroom. The other day, I asked, "Do you want me to wear you?" and you brought me the harness off of the back of your door. You respond to things like, "Can you go get the ball?" and even if you choose not to, you know what we mean. You also go get our shoes now as a way of telling us that you want to go outside.

My son, you have a favorite saucepan. You are always "cooking" or cleaning or pulling hair product out from under the bathroom cabinet and requesting that we use it with your "sss ssss sss" mimicry. You want me to put makeup on you. You're around me so much, you just want to do everything I do. In fact, I guess you think my new round drying brush looks a lot like the litter scoopers (in your defense, it does have a lot of holes in it) because one recent morning, you were leaned into the litter box, scooping around with the brush. It kind of worked. It took me quite a while to get the litter granules out.

You're not afraid of the dark at all. You'll walk around the house with the lights out just like it were daylight. I hope you'll always be confident at night, especially after all this time we've spent "creating positive sleep connections."

Tonight, you cried yourself to sleep for the first time I can remember. I wish I'd known what was wrong. It was almost like you were reliving that uncomfortable hour immediately after you were born. Just like that day, your dad and I held you, and we told you how much we loved you, and it's even more true note than it was then. It will only get truer and truer as you grow.

For some reason, God thought I'd be a good mom for you. I'm going to prove him right. I'm so glad you're my baby. Happy birthday, son.

Love,
Your mom

You're not scared of heights, either!

Continued Deschooling

On an unschooling board, sometime posted a question asking about roadblocks people had to overcome in deschooling their families to unschool.

One lady wrote: "I've been at this a lot of years, and am now helping my daughter unschool her kids, so it's been a long time since I've deschooled!

"But one thing I remember struggling with is that my kids wouldn't want to participate in activities I though they should want to participate in.  For example--homeschool events.  They just weren't interested.  And I'd be like, 'But if you'd just go, you'd enjoy it, I'm sure. There are nice kids there...'

"I'd pressure them big time to go, thinking if I could just get them there, they'd realize how fun it was, and sometimes they sort of enjoyed themselves, but it took a lot for me to accept that it's okay for very strong introverts to shun social activities.

"Even unschooling conferences--I would have gone to a lot more if my kids had enjoyed them. They didn't enjoy hotels and would constantly say, 'When are we going home?'

"I let go of math and reading lessons a lot quicker than I let go of society's expectations that all kids enjoy being social."

Oh my goodness, this rings so true to me! I respect my daughter's intuition to learn what she needs to know, but then assume I have better ways to meet her relational needs than she does. I'm learning not to force these things. Actually, I had an expensive lesson this summer.

I'd signed D up for that awesome programming day camp. This happened before I attended the unschooling conference, or I probably wouldn't have. Anyway, she wasn't thrilled but went with my promise that is never force her to do something like that again.

We were waiting for it to start when one of the counselors came over and asked her to join them in this ice breaker ball game. She teared up, looked at me and moouthed, "Why did you...?" Then she turned around, smiled, and joined. I felt like crap.

The next morning when we showed up, there was no sign of anyone anywhere. We walked around for half an hour and to make a long story short, we later learned that they'd only put signs and stationed people on the east side of the building, assuming everyone would be dropped off in a car. Since we'd walked, the west side was closer for us and we had no way of knowing where they were. Also, the building's main elevators were locked for the summer so you had to go through the leading office to get to the floor where they'd had classes.

I didn't make Daphne go back and ultimately talked them into refunding half of the program cost she to their lousy communication making it impossible for D to participate the second day. Still, I lost more than a couple hundred dollars. But I'm learning.

We're learning. And the individual ways we do that, and connect with people (or don't) are just fine.

"Two words never to say to your child"? Really? But it's *hard* (best whiny voice)

In all of the parenting stuff I've been reading lately, one thing that seems to come up over and over again is that you should never tell your kids "good job."

Why?

Although it seems positive on the surface, here's what I've gleaned.

1) It's meaningless.

2) It focuses on the outcome rather than the process.

3) It addicts them to adult (or external, later) praise.

What is/are the alternative(s)?

1) Be specific.

If your kid empties the dishwasher, instead of saying, "Good job!" maybe say, "When you help our family, it makes things so much easier on me, and I appreciate it!" "Thanks for putting your shoes on when I asked you to."

If they paint a picture, you might say, "You're really using your imagination!" or, "You used a lot of blue here. It makes me feel so cool when I look at it." Also, this is honest. Because, let's face it, some kids' make some freaking ugly pictures, so why give them false praise? Since "Good job" could mean anything from, "We could have that shown at the Louvre!" to "Well, bless your heart, you didn't poke your eye with the paint brush this time!" why not be specific so that your words actually mean something?

2) Again, with the "pretty picture" "good job," what if they worked on it for hours and hours (or even days), and it's really *not* objectively good? "You spent three whole days making this, and that is incredible to me!" They need to understand that the process is always important. It's the meaningful part. Someday, there might be a direct reward for effort (i.e. becoming an accomplished pianist, getting drafted into the WNBA, or becoming an astronaut), but honestly... most of our efforts have modest outcomes. That doesn't diminish the importance of getting there.

Other ideas: "That was hard work, but you didn't give up!" "I could tell you were really frustrated at one point, but you kept going." "You are sweating! Are you ready for some ice water?" "I was watching you, and I'd love for you to tell me more about..."

3) Unless your kid asks you, maybe don't always chime in with an affirmation? It's totally enough for the kid to do something and be proud of himself or herself. You want to raise a kid who'll become someone with an internal work ethic, right? So why not encourage that by not showering them with praise every time they do something.

And if they ask you, "Did you see that?" maybe say, "I did. Are you proud of yourself? You should be."

Okay, so that's what I've read. And it actually makes a lot of sense to me.

But here's the deal: I say (or want to say and catch myself and feel like an idiot) "Good job!" about fourteen hundred times per day. And judging by what I've overheard when congregated with other parents (like yesterday in free play at the gym), I'm not alone! Climb the ladder? "Good job!" Throw the balls back into the ball pit? "Good job!" Everything from using the grown-up potty to taking a drink out of the fountain.

In a broader sense, it's like "love." Love pizza. Love your grandma. Love rock and roll. It doesn't really mean anything. It's just a thing we say. Like awesome. Or all right. Or any of dozens of little catch phrases we spew because we are conditioned to say things, but not necessarily always to have our brains engaged.

So, what do you think? Do you have a little one (or two or three) around the house? Just try to be mindful and see how many times you catch yourself saying, "Good job!" pretty mindlessly throughout the day. What are your ideas for creative, specific, and encouraging alternatives?

Good job blowing out your diaper so you had to run around the nursing home with no pants!

Oooh, a new opinion!

Today, I've been feeling like death all day. Allergies have been the bane of my existence for the past three or four days, and today it all came to a literal head (mine). I was sitting in Mal's floor wishing that James worked at home so I could sleep (or for sweet, sweet death) when I realized that if I didn't get up and walk, I was going to pass out.

I asked Mal, "Do you want to go down to the mailbox with me?"

He immediately headed toward the door. I put on the harness, and we went outside. I let him walk out in case he wanted to try the stairs, but after kind of hanging around the next-door-neighbor's door for a few moments (probably to see if he could get the dog to bark), he held out his hands to me and I strapped him in.

We got downstairs and about twelve paces past the van when he started kicking and whining. Huh?

He'd never done that before, but I had an idea what he wanted. I turned back and went to the van. As soon as I'd turned, he stopped fussing. By the time I'd gotten to the van's back doors, he was giggling.

That boy wanted to ride in his stroller rather than my wearing him on the walk. And he "told" me, very succinctly, even without words.

All the way down to the mailbox and back, he was craning around, looking at everything. He tries to do that in the carrier but it makes me exhausted and he doesn't really have much range of motion. I guess we know what he prefers. Today, at least.

Love it when we can understand each other!

Thoughts from the straightaway at the end of the first lap...

This week, that there kiddo is going to be a year old. In thinking back and forward, I could imagine far-flung friends saying things like, "Wow! That was fast!" and "Time flies!"

But, you know what? For those of us in Team Dave's, this year has not so much flown as plodded on in the sopping sand wearing ankle weights attached to heavy iron balls. It's felt a lot more like a war zone than the pastel nursery of catalogues. In other words, it's been a tough one, guys.

This coming weekend, we're celebrating. Yes, it's technically Mal's birthday and so it seems like it's a party for him, but honestly... it's for us other three. We are celebrating having made it.

We survived a year of unexplainable and prolonged crying (mostly Mal; but sometimes Daphne, under cover of the shower; and often me, paired with incoherent rambling and a few choice swear words; I don't know that James has lost it at all this year, with the exception of being pretty sniffly when I was in the diciest part of labor... but it's been difficult for him, too.). We made it through meal after meal (hope springs eternal?) that ended abruptly because this little guy decided he didn't want to be in a restaurant. We managed to hold it together through exhaustion and impatience and differences of opinion and did I mention exhaustion yet?

I know some of you Nutty McFruitbats loooove infancy and miss it when your kids grow on. Man, I don't. I didn't with Daphne, and come to find out she was a super easy baby! I was ready for Mal to be born so we could get this first year knocked out, but I had no idea what I was in for.

A year ago, I never imagined that I'd be sleeping with my baby... Not even at first, but a full year in and no end in sight? Not this lady!

This time last year, I'd not imagined how difficult it would be trying to parent simultaneously a teenager and a baby. Their needs are so vastly divergent that it's often impossible to care for both at the same time, especially when the older can't be in the room when the younger is crying or has hiccups. So when the needs butt heads, guess who wins 8 out of ten times? Yeah, the one who might literally die otherwise. (I have made it a point to let him cry and help her out several times, including her Halloween costume last year. But he usually trumps because of that whole squeaky wheel thing.)

If you'd told me while I was "in waiting" that I'd not have been away from my child for more than one hour at this point, that my husband and I would have had a total of one dinner date (walking next door for 30 minutes to grab Taco Cabana) during this stretch, or that we could have tried at three different sittings on three different days this weekend to watch a movie all the way through and still not be done with it... I probably wouldn't have believed any of that.

Should you have bothered to warn me that, after twelve whole months, a baby of mine would not only not have slept through the night one time yet, but that he would wake up every single night for that same year at a minimum of six times and that it would always be me he wanted because my nursing was the only thing that would soothe him back to sleep... I would have had ideas about nipping that in the bud and would not have heard it.

Or that he'd still be crying when I took a shower and Dad wasn't distracting him, or when I was ready to make dinner but he wasn't, or when I was taking too long to fix my hair, or any of that... It would have been unbelievable to me. It was not within my realm of experience.

Just today, a friend posted that her husband had taken their daughter to his mom's for five hours so she could bake brownies and nap, and I almost had an attitude about it. Then I remembered, "Yeah, I had that kid, too! And then I had this one."

But we made it. And we're going to celebrate.

And, of course, it hasn't all been bad.

I mean, we wanted a baby. Well, two-thirds of us did. And we were blessed, at our advanced maternal and paternal ages to have conceived not once, but twice; and to have had one healthy, VERY thriving baby. We are grateful for that. But I, for one, am also grateful that this "get-to-know-you" year is almost over! Bigger and better things are ahead.

And here's the flip side of the hard stuff: Mal has made me rethink my parenting, and, actually, my personhood. Because of this child, I have had to develop my empathy in a deeper way than I have ever needed to before. I've literally studied and mindfully put into practice a kind of unconditional love and respect for both of my kids, actually. Daphne might not realize or appreciate it yet (or ever), but Mal has made me a better and more thoughtful parent to her.

It's clear that an extra measure of grace is going to be necessary in order to deal with this very feisty little boy. I'll be honest and tell you that I don't always rise to the occasion... but I'm trying as never before. These times of honing and rounding out the rough edges are never fun during the process, but I know I'm becoming a better person because of it, and I know that God gave me this boy for this (among other) reason(s).

Another huge boon in this very trying year has been that no major faults have been uncovered in my marriage. James and I have both been stressed, but we've been stressed together, and we've pulled together. We made a deal early in our marriage that we'd not pull the "I'm more tired/I work harder" crap on each other, and while we've both talked a lot about our weariness, our inability to get done things beyond the bare minimum for sustaining life and satisfying the health department at times, it's never in an "oh, yeah? well, I..." way. Team Dave's isn't just a name. We're truly a team. And having this not-easy baby has reinforced that, making it stronger.

And then, of course, there's Mal himself. For every gray hair and clenched jaw his presence has caused, there is even more laughter and amazement and love beyond measure. The other day, I was sitting in his room and he wanted to nurse. It was really "too early" (these days, it's practically all we do again), but he asked so nicely. Then I just sat there and watched him, saying, "I love you so much" and crying like a stupid baby. But I do love him. So much.

As Mal matures, he's getting better at articulating his needs. As we continue to spend time together, I'm getting better at reading those needs he can't express. The road is getting smoother, and we are better together, and so this weekend's celebration is really about all of those things.

But mostly, yeah, that the first year is over, that we made it, that we learned a lot, and that, as far as I'm concerned, it only gets better from here on out.

Hijacked by my own thoughts...

I started a blog post yesterday about loneliness and not feeling like I'd found "my" people and whatnot, and in mentally reviewing stuff (because I often start posts then have to go about life and finish the posts up later), I realized that really wasn't where I was going with any of it, and I came to a conclusion about my son, even though it's not what I thought I was thinking about. Does that make sense? No? Welcome to my husband's world.

During the past twenty-four hours, I've felt almost giddy with hope and excitement about the future. I don't know whether it's the decision I made or the fact that I always get a little bit loopy when fall weather arrives and I can open the windows and reconnect with the world. Whatever, I'm feeling good.

Last week, I had a couple of experiences that led me to feeling as described above; I don't really belong anywhere. Like, I met some awesome people, and had a few interesting opportunities, and at the end of the day, each time, I was just left thinking, "I'm a weird-o, and I don't know if we can get past *fill-in-the-blank* to make a relationship work well here."

Except.

You know where I DO fit in?

My family.

I get why Daphne likes being home so much. It's pretty awesome (when her little brother isn't crying or whining). And it's not judgy and we're not touchy about things and we don't try to push stuff on each other.

I'm really trying to tell this story without too many specifics, but it's difficult to explain this way.

Let me give a couple of specifics:

First, I went to MOPS for the first time last week. Mal lasted an hour in Moppets, which was great for him. When I went to pick him up, he was standing in the floor alone crying. My guess is that the childcare workers tried to soothe him, realized that they couldn't, and moved on to other babies after they'd texted me. Heck, I leave him crying in the floor quite often. He cries a lot. So I ain't even mad about that.

But after I thought about it, I came to the conclusion that I'll go back next week and as long as he's cool with being left in childcare again, great. If not, though... I'm going to bag it until after Christmas and try again.

"At some point, he's going to have to learn how to get along without you..." Okay, but that time is not now. How grateful am I that this is a "want to" rather than a "have to"?

Then, I received a letter in the mail about a class for Mal's age (roughly; it's actually up to age three) that said something to the effect of "young children need structure to learn." This is diametrically opposed to my personal educational paradigm, which is that, to learn, kids (and especially very young kids) need to play.

That letter happened to come later in the day after I'd talked to a woman who was very concerned about getting her not-yet-two-year-old child into a school that "emphasizes math and science." I'd just mentioned the Waldorf School, where the curriculum is pretty much play until the kids are in third grade.

Well, this weekend, I attempted that class to see how Mal would do. Of course, he could not sit still for one minute, much less the seven or eight minutes of the instruction. And everyone was so nice, telling me it's fine, and he'll get used to it, and not to worry... But the thing is, I'm not embarrassed or afraid that he won't be able to cut it. I actually don't believe in it. I don't think that he should. I'm not willing to work on it until he can do it. Not at this stage in his life.

Speaking of which, I need to write a very kind woman an email and explain that so she'll know why we're not back the next time.

Anyway, all of this ruffling of my proverbial feathers has made me realize how much of an educational anarchist I probably am, and how I don't like people infringing on my kid's freedom to learn how and what he wants. Which made me see that I'm probably going to be keeping him home, too...

One of the reasons I wanted to move to Oak Hill was that we'd be close to the Waldorf School. I think it's a wonderful program. But more and more I am remembering the freedom we had when Daphne was younger: freedom to travel, or to have all-day adventures (in mystery shopping, often, listening to audio books in the car), or to stay home and do whatever we wanted. I want that same thing for Mal. Especially here in Austin instead of the uber-suburbs, there will be so much to choose from.

So... I'm still tired. I still feel like I don't "fit in" anywhere since I really can't get out and do stuff that excludes this very clingy little boy. And yet, more and more, I'm finding that I think right here by my side is where he's supposed to be.

It'll be interesting to see how this all pans out.

Passed out after charming all of the ladies at the nursing home.

They're Coming to Take Me Away, Ha Ha...

I'm not saying that parenting a baby is tedious or that I'm losing my mind or anything, but the other day, I was in Mal's room playing with his blocks and said, "That's interesting" out loud. When James asked me what, I realized that it wasn't actually interesting, but that I was spending way too much time in my baby's room.

Seriously.

If you talk to me and I'm boring, here's why. This is what I do all day.

This is a set of stacking blocks that Mal has. I got them for like $6 at a second-hand store months before he was born, not knowing how much I'd end up playing with them. Can you tell he teeths on them? Especially the top ones?

Anyway, this is how they're "supposed" to go. Sometimes I stack them upside down just because it looks impossible and fun and I love that. But then I try to find other patterns or ways to stack, or try just to be completely random. Or make the stacks look of uniform size, which you can do pretty well by alternating big and small pieces. But I digress.

Here's sort of rainbow order... I usually pull the red one off of the bottom of the disc pile and put it on top. Didn't do it this time, and now it's going to bother me. This is the worst blog ever.

Here, I tried to get uniform colors all the way across. As you can see, there are only 2 light blues and 2 reds. However, there are four dark blues, greens, and yellows. And three purples and oranges. I wonder why they went with 4 yellows, when this is such a ugly yellow it would have been prettier to do orange or even my favorite: purple. But, as you can see, I think about it way too much. This is what my life has become.

Also, if one piece is missing, I can tell you by looking at the rest which one is gone. Sad, sad times.

Color blocks. I have to have the red "toppers," and this bothers me.

Mal has another toy that is similar, and right now, I have it "random with as much off-track as possible." So, basically, it's a hot mess.

This toy is actually superior to the first one because the sticky-up parts can fold down. On the first toy, the sticky-up rods don't move, and many were the times that I worried my wobbly infant was going to impale himself. I don't think he ever did, or if he did, it obviously wasn't too traumatic for us. But I like the train's design better.

Unfortunately, I also liked to twist the posts around and watch them unwind, and I ended up breaking one off. So, yeah. I broke my kid's toy. I don't think he's cared yet.

Next, we have a linear alphabet Noah's ark puzzle that my friend Jana gave me. She had the pieces in a shoe box, and I put them in this Wilton's candy Christmas tin.

May I be honest and tell you I have spent more than two months trying to figure out how to get all of the animal pieces on the bottom of the tin (not having to stack or pile them)? Well, a couple of days ago, I finally got a combination that worked, and while I was trying to take this picture, Mal took out the giraffe and I almost had a heart attack getting him back in so I could get this shot.

This probably looks pretty easy, but figuring it out... well, wasn't. Maybe I'm just not spatially inclined. But here's my next challenge: I KNOW in my heart of hearts that there's room for the ark, too. I want them all on the floor of this tin. I don't know why. It's just that this is what my existence has become, and I'm leaning into it, friends.

Wish me luck! Or pray for me. Whatever.

See these books? I've memorized all of them. If we're ever waiting in line for something and you'd like an oral interpretation, hit me up. I have a lot of material here. (Yeah, Mal teeths on these, too, even though we've tried not to let him.)

Another thing: Since we moved and Mal has carpet instead of wood flooring, I've been working on places to put his top. Obviously, we can put it on books, but sometimes it spins off. It will spin on the floor, but just not as long.

One thing that I've found works is these oatmeal tin lids. It holds the top in place until it starts to slow down, then it falls off about the time it'd have stopped on a hard floor, anyway.

But the other day, I got super excited because I figured out that I could do this. And, yes, "super excited." At the moment, I seriously was. And this makes me pity myself just a bit.

Is it a spyglass or a top stand? It's BOTH!

That's blurry, but it was difficult for D to focus on a moving object with my picky camera. Plus, I'm sure she wondered what the heck was going on with her mom that I kept asking her to try it "one more time." I mean, what is wrong with her mom?!

Wheee!

Next step: See what kind of repertoire I can build up on this thing.

It's a little tricky because there are no sharps or flats; it's just the straight scale, with a few extra notes on either end.

Oh, did you also know that you can make the sound come out by sucking on the keys with them open? It might make you pass out, but that's possible. Also, James and I had a "contest" (I suggested it) to see who could make this thing work with their mouth furthest away from the blow hole. I won, or I wouldn't have suggested it, of course.

And last week, James and I spent a good hour tossing/rolling a ball back and forth while Mal did other things.

So, please. Someone. Help me.