Meet Theo

Two and a half years of Theo!

Theo is two and a half today! To celebrate, we thought we'd share some of our favorite Theo-isms.

When greeting anyone familiar who has been out of the house or asleep in the next room, Theo will ask, "How was your appointment?" My favorite is when he asks the dogs how their appointment was when they come in from their walk.

Because Theo's nanny, Savannah, is vegetarian, one of his most persistent inquiries is into the various categories of food (meat/not meat)--and who can eat them. Each item on his plate will get qualified as such: "It's not meat, so Savannah can eat it."

Another important distinction is alive/not alive. (We have a rule that nothing alive gets kicked or hit.) Theo has a stuffed Thomas the Tank Engine that he sleeps with and calls Smooshy Thomas. He announces regularly, "Theo can jump on Smooshy Thomas because he is not alive."

Mommy: Theo, are you a jumping bean?
Theo: No, Mommy, I'm just a Theo.

Mommy: Doodle is your nickname, and Theo is your name.
Theo: No, Mommy, Theodore is my name and Theo is my nickname.

Whenever two or more things are next to each other--and touching: "It's like a train." (Here are Theo and Uncle Michael--like a train.)

We've been practicing making requests instead of demands, and here's the typical Theo translation: "Please, can I want some milk Mommy?"

Generally upon leaving the house, Theo stops to take a deep breath. And generally, his commentary is the same: "I smell the fresh air. (How does it smell?) It smells good -- like lemonade!"

And now, for a few one-hit wonders!

"I like poop in the bathtub as long as it is not alive."

At bedtime, pointing to the lamp: "I just want to pull the plug out so it will be daytime."

I was singing a song to Theo that he liked. I explained it was a song I used to sing when I was a little girl. To which he said,

"Can I come yet?"

(Come where?)

"Can I come to the appointment when Mommy was little?"

What followed was a brief conversation about the order of things: First Mommy was a little girl and then she was a grown up and then Theo was born. Theo's response: "And there was birthday cake."

Happy half-birthday, Theo! Every day with you is like a train full of birthday cake. (Birthday cake is not meat.) We'll eat it after your appointment. While jumping, of course, because cake is not alive.

p.s. All cool, outdoor photos were taken by Jon, except for last one, by Savannah, and one in which Jon appears, which was most likely taken by Uncle Michael. Savannah love-hug photo by Mommy.

Theo Luchs-Cohen: Author of his own destiny

Theo wrote a book with Savannah this week. It's titled "Roo Maked a Potty." Transcribed by the author to his most receptive and gifted co-author and illustrator, this book reflects Theo's interest in setting goals (a story about potty-priming, to mirror his own) as well as his understanding that inspiring role models can make all the difference (Roo is triumphant over the potty with the help of Thomas the Tank Engine shirt and underpants).

For as long as I can remember, Theo has been interested in the authors of his books. He always wants to hear their names, consider their photos and maybe even contemplate the person who created the experience he is having. This book unifies author intrigue with his two, greatest passions: The cast of Winnie the Pooh characters and the Thomas the Tank Engine entourage.

Speaking of French words, Ali at Starbucks taught Theo to say "Enchante" this week, and he has learned very quickly this word's social currency in creating ripples of delight around him. Claiming to be shy, Theo will occasionally spend about 30 seconds with his face in my neck at the start of a social encounter, then move right along to asking every grown up their name. At the eye doctor last week (to check out some exaggerated blinking--all is well), the medical staff was astounded at Theo's capacity to calmly sit still and rest his chin on the funny machine, take his eye drops like a champ, and even flirt with anyone willing to tell him their name.

Today, after asking me what "furniture" is and listening intently to my answer, Theo requested, "Keep talking about furniture, Mommy." He must have said this six or seven times. And so, I spent a half hour at least riffing on the possibilities of furniture. This kind of request for "more talking" happens often over here. (It's an interesting opportunity for this introvert, living with a person who would be delighted to have a nonstop flow of conversation). I think Theo enjoys feeling included in dialogue that draws him into the adult realm of experience, and he'll gladly listen to stories about pretty much anything, including -- earlier this week -- Mommy's speculations about which cat peed on her bed. (Theo thinks Blablio -- aka Diablo -- did it, by the way.)

Master of the narrative form, Theo regularly speaks to/of himself in the third person -- as if he were one of the grown ups who love him -- offering the questions and prompts he would like to hear. For example, he'll do something he finds comment-worthy, and then he'll ask loudly, "What are you doing, Theo?" Or, he'll offer himself praise, "What a wonderful train you built, Theo."

My son reminds me daily how very human the need for metaphor is in making sense of our experience. As he finds his own place in the realm of story, he gets clearer about who he is and what he loves. Speaking his truth to people who are eager to hear it seems to be giving Theo such pleasurable author-ity and confidence.

For this mother, every sentence my son speaks is an ache of pleasure drilled right down to my core. I stand with arms out and a face of exaggerated surprise as he carefully articulates, "I'm going to jump now, Mommy!"

 

Dear Theo,

Don’t let anyone tell you an apple

tastes the same in slices as it does

in bites. Or that you won’t find

sharks and elephants and mommies

on Old MacDonald’s farm. You know

the ladybug and her captor spider

have equal rights in the weave

of life, and that metaphor can be

chewed from toast. May you find

in pirate ships the reflection

of your treasure. May you learn

from my mistakes, though they

can’t spare you. When the pain

gets too great, paper your heart

with bees’ secrets. Look to

sweetness for shelter.

"Hole in it"

he says, seated on his knees

in the high red stool, belly pressed

 

to the edge of the gray counter. My son

who has graduated from single words to

 

third person omniscient: Theo climb chair,

Theo peel orange, Theo look out window,

 

points to this strange, broken piece of toast

I am wincing from the toaster to his plate.

 

We contemplate the hole and agree

on the solution of blueberry jam.

 

As I stab the knife into the fancy jar

and swish sweetness over the flaw,

 

he chants Theo eat it, Theo eat it,

Theo eat it. And I think how alike

 

we are, anchoring action in narrative

as if this might make the moment

 

hold on a bit longer, as if in naming

something right, we release it

 

like steam from a pot

whose meal is complete.

Uncle Marc Visits

 

For just the better still photos from this shoot, you can browse Theo on Picasa Web.

Musical Coming Soon

2010 Oct 20 Musical Coming Soon from Jonathan Luchs on Vimeo.

 

Summer Sample

Space Camp

Theo is pushing into the later Summer evening.  After hours park party here.

Cousins

After a week of summer sun, wide waters, curious cousins and FIFA, Grandma "celebrity" Sue takes leave of her little ones.  For decades this shoreline was home to Theo's middle namesake, the beloved great grandparents Robertson.

The Joy of Sharing

Theo is an only child, doted on by three adults around the clock. He has good reason to believe that the entire world-as-he-knows-it is rightfully his. But what Theo wants more than anything is to share his good fortune.

Sharing for Theo began with joyfully (and then surreptitiously, because he was asked not to) throwing food overboard from high chair to Henry, the stealth beggar lurking silently beneath. Oh, how happy it makes our son to hear the gobbling sounds of greed beneath his feet.

Theo's next big leap forward with sharing involved his very first games of make-believe, where he'd "feed" his various toys and animals in books. Our bedtime ritual this week involves Theo and Snow Pea (his beloved kitty companion) sitting in the wardrobe together with a book, which Theo gently shoves at Snow Pea for her to "read"; then he puts his blankie over her and feeds her the binkie from his mouth, making sucking sounds for her.

At nineteen months, his instinct to care for those around him is profound. When he hugs us now, Theo rubs our backs and arms tenderly, an echo of our adoration of him.

These days, as he eats, Theo becomes quite upset if his dining companions do not heartily share in his food and drink (pretend eating and drinking is acceptable). And horsie, of course, is also expected to partake in the abundance.

But one of my very favorite sharing demands of Theo's is that everyone he loves be a part of the loving rituals he initiates. If he is petting Henry, for example, he will walk me over to Henry and place my hand on Henry, making it clear that I am to participate in the petting. If he's hugging Savannah, I'd better get on board and hug Savannah fast! We drew the line a few days ago when, following an enthusiastic nose-wipe on my shirt, Theo then wanted Savannah to wipe her nose on my shirt. 

At the various playgrounds and music classes Theo attends, he has this same open-hearted, open-handed spirit with the other kids. He likes to see the people around him enjoying themselves, and isn't concerned with who has what stuff. Though he's not too fond of having his binkie yanked out by other kids!

Thanks to Theo, I am hugging baristas and neighbors and lovely ladies at the playground -- just because they adore him, and because my son clearly intuitively understands how much more we can hold when we open our hands.