Discipline

My husband and I parent exactly the same way, about totally different things.

As much of a frustration that is, I've come to realize that it's more of a blessing. We live in a household that does not spank, slap, use name calling or any other form of physical or verbal abuse. This is something J and I never really had a conversation about. It just is. And I am so thankful for that.

I had a conversation with a client the other day in which she told me about how her boyfriend (read: NOT the father of her child) had started trying to discipline her son in an effort to become more of a parental figure. She talked about locking doors and belts, and I felt ill. No way. No. Effing. Way. would that ever happen in my house. And thank whomever that I don't have to worry about establishing those kinds of boundaries with my husband. I trust J completely when he's alone with E, and when he's disciplining her, and I've come to realize that that is a luxury that a lot of people don't have.

When it comes down to it, most of the time, my "talks" with E are much more stern than J's, but I still can't help but go into mama bear mode when I hear him coming down on her. 98% of the time she totally deserves it, and 100% of the time J is well within anyone's definition of acceptable behaviour, but I can't help but panic at the thought that her psyche is being damaged if anyone but me is handing down punishment. It's one of my very few faults. Although I prefer to call them "intricacies".

In any case, it never ceases to amaze me how riled up J gets about mismatched socks and which movie to watch, while he easily turns a cheek at getting sassed up the wazoo or being deliberately deceived. I can't tell you how many times I've gotten the subliminal eye roll for enforcing polite and respectful behaviour while he loses his schmidt over the thought of being forced to endure an episode of Caillou. (Okay, I kind of get the Caillou thing.) I guess we can chalk another one up to the whole Mars/Venus theory.

So what was the point of this? Well, I suppose it's this: J gets mad about the weirdest stuff.
But at least we get mad the same way. `

Let Me Explain

This is (hopefully) not going to be a soapbox rant shaming well-meaning people for being well-meaning, or creating awkwardness and sensitivity around a topic that doesn't necessarily have to be awkward and sensitive. Rather, I'm trying to take the "education" route. I want to make conversations easier, not harder. I want to open up, not shut down. Well, let's see how it goes.

I want to have another baby. Now. More specifically, about a year ago. My husband would be happy with one baby, but is open to having another. Just not now. More specifically, in about two and a half years.

This is our very own, personal situation. And, in my opinion, we are the only ones who should be making this decision. That's not to say that I don't want to talk about it with anyone. But there's a certain kind of conversation I'm open to, and another kind that I'm not.

For some reason, I seem to talk about this a lot. And for the life of me I swear I'm not the one bringing it up. Part of the problem is that I work in an environment where I'm locked in a quiet room with one other person for one-hour blocks of time, and while some people use this time to catch a snooze, others like to make conversation. People ask about my daughter, and her age, and the next obvious question seems to be if we're having any more. I don't mind that question at all. I'm perfectly capable of answering a yes or no question, and I personally don't find that particular question intrusive. But here's where the problem starts. I'm a rather open and honest person, and I worry about making people uncomfortable by clamming up if they want to talk. Usually I'll offer a brief explanation about being uncertain on timing and try to leave it at that.  Sometimes I can redirect a conversation before we get into murky waters, but in my experience, if someone really wants to know something, they'll find a way to get the question in there.

So here we are. And what, you may be wondering, are these murky waters of which I speak? Well, I'll tell you. My own personal issue with these conversations is the "advice". If you're my friend and I'm asking for advice, lay it on me. If I just met you and you have no knowledge of my history, please keep your advice to yourself. And if you fit into some other category, then let's keep it simple. Did I ask you for your opinion on how my husband and I should navigate a disagreement on the inner workings and ultimate expansion of our family? Yes? So, what are you waiting for? Give me the answers I seek! No? Then, how 'bout we talk about something else?

I can't imagine that J and I are the first couple on the planet to disagree on the timing of having a second child. If we are, then by all means, someone step in and give us the golden key because we're obviously missing something. But if we're going by the advice I've been given so far, which largely consists of relieving my husband of any input in the matter and forging ahead with one of numerous devious pregnancy-inducing schemes that have been suggested to me, then I think it's best if we just keep the matter between my husband and I. Lots of people have made similar suggestions in a joking context, and I can take a joke. What I can't seem to swallow, is crazy-assed advice from gravely concerned half-strangers with all kinds of "knowledge" about my situation.

"You're healthy. You'll have no problem having a baby at 40."
- Oh good, I'm healthy! Whew. And you know this because...I'm thin? You just met me, so unless you've been perusing my medical records and conducting fertility tests without my knowledge, ease up on the diagnoses and clairvoyance.

"Don't wait. You'll regret it."
- Fear-mongering. Awesome.

"Just get him drunk. He'll do whatever you want."
- Let's flip the sexes on that one and see how you'd sound. Also...tried it.

"You don't want just one. Only children are never normal."
- Let's make sure to have the follow-up back-pedalling conversation if E turns out to be solo.

"Why are you giving him the choice? You're carrying the baby. He doesn't have to do anything."
- You're an asshat.

"You should just wait. Then you'll have lots of money and it will be great."
- Yippee!!! There's that magical future of mine again, popping in to say hello! Money still takes away all of our problems, right?

…and it goes on. And on. On almost daily basis.

-- PAUSE --

And once again this blog proves itself and more therapy for me than entertainment for you.

I got interrupted while writing this post - because who can write an entire uninterrupted blog post anyway? - and have been thinking about it ever since. About how I can't seem to distill my thoughts down enough to make it not a rambling, flip-flop of a stream of consciousness. And as I've been mulling it over I've come to a very important conclusion.

All of you aren't the ones that need to be re-educated. It's me. As I thought about what I wanted to say, I found myself asking the same kinds of questions over and over:

Do I want to tell people what they can and cannot say? (No.)

Do I want people to feel like they should or shouldn't talk about certain topics? (No.)

Do I want people to be so afraid of offending or upsetting someone that they don't bother starting conversations? (Absolutely not.)

Do I want people to walk on eggshells around me? (Please, no.)

So what is my purpose here? Who is it that needs to understand how to behave? Do I really think everyone else needs to align themselves with my needs and way of thinking? If so, then I'm more of a diva than I thought. No, I guess I have to admit that maybe…juuuust maybe…I need to stop letting the opinions of others have such an impact on me. Was it Eleanor Roosevelt that said "What others think of me is none of my business"? Someone did anyway, and that's the truth.

So I suppose I should wrap it up with a quick "As you were!", but if you don't mind, enough with the advice. Do we have a deal?

xoxoxo,
M.

Another year, more reasons to smile.

I have such an amazing kid.

If I felt the need to qualify that statement, I would make sure to point out that there is no comparison or judgement intended, no thoughts of superiority or boastfulness, just an overwhelming and sincere adoration of the little person that sits across from me at the dinner table every night.

But I don't.

Lately, and often, I find myself struck by her thoughtfulness, her empathy, her eagerness to be kind and sweet and generous. And I tell her. Because if there's one parenting philosophy I subscribe to, it's that you can never say enough of the good stuff. And she loves to hear it. She gets almost shy as her eyes light up and a smile just tickles the corners of her lips. And I swoon. There is no other word. I swoon hard.

Yesterday we came across the word empathy and she asked what it meant. I explained that it had to do with trying to imagine how someone else is feeling as if you are the other person, rather than thinking about what you would do in their situation. Immediately, E responded with "Oh! I do that all the time! I do that with Noemie and Ayan, and Olivia!" It was as if being empathetic is just a natural thing you do with your friends. Because for her, it is. And I love that.

A few days ago she had an uncharacteristically long and intense meltdown in regards to the peeling of a clementine, which involved several (unsuccessful) trips to her room to calm herself down before re-entering society. Eventually, what began as a suggestion became a sentence, with the cell bedroom door closed, not to be opened except by the warden mom. I can only think of one or two times in the past when I've had to resort to outright imprisonment. There were a few moments of wailing, some pleading, and one request for Kleenex. But then all was quiet. She was in there longer than she has ever been before, and I won't pretend that I didn't relish the uninterrupted chore/shower time. But after about 30 minutes or so, I decided it was time for "the talk". I hate that part. I'm never confident that I'll get the important point across. There's so much pressure for this "moment of truth", when impacts can be made and behaviour can be molded, and more often than not I find myself yammering unintelligibly to a confused looking audience. But I went in boldly and calmly, and was…humbled, actually...by what I saw. I expected E to have found something awesome to play with, completely unconcerned about this alleged "punishment", throwing it gleefully back in my face as she announced that she was not ready to come out yet because she was having sooooo much fun. But instead I found her standing there, looking hopefully up at me, a once-pyjamad lunatic, now perfectly calm and fully dressed. All she wanted to do was tell me about the outfit she picked out because she knew I'd like it. The gold zippers on her pants that matched the gold buttons on her shirt. The shirt she knew I liked because I had bought it after noticing the little heart details in it. She was standing there so proudly, hoping for my approval. And she got it. I told her how proud I was that instead of pouting or playing, she had obviously thought about what had happened and had come up with something that would show us that she wanted to do better. That she was thinking not only of herself and her feelings, but of her place in the family and the role she could play. And we still had the talk, and I probably still talked too much, but I know she could see that she had figured out a way to make things right.

On another day, she mentioned wistfully that she couldn't wait to be a grown-up. It's not the first time she's had this ridiculous notion, and I always tell her the same thing. That while I get the frustrations of being a kid and not having a lot of control over things, most people I know would go back to being a kid in a heartbeat. And not necessarily because being a kid is so much better, but because once you're an adult, you'll never get to be a kid again. But kids are in the enviable position of having it all. They can enjoy the good parts of being kids, and look forward to the good parts of being adults. It's a win-win. I asked her why she wanted to be a grown-up on this particular occasion, and her answer was "Because then I can tell people what to do." Hm. I told her that that's one of my least favourite things about being an adult. "Really?" she asked, baffled. "Why??" And all of a sudden I got a flash of how she might see me…

…happily presiding over my minions, ordering them around freely to do my bidding.

I tried to think of a good explanation that would make sense to her. "Because it makes me feel like I'm bossing people around, and I don't like to be bossy." And, just like a good minion, she had the perfect response. "I don't feel like you boss me around, Mom." There's that swoon again. Can swoons be violent? Because mine are.

The next morning, I was presented with this lovely surprise in bed:

Translation: 

You never boss me

I always love you

God, I have an amazing kid.

The most adorable (if less than totally effective) workout video series ever.

E saw me setting up for my workout the other day and got pretty pumped.

So, much to J's chagrin, we dropped a cool $15 on weights that matched mama's, and a star was born.

For a long time, E was under the impression that Jillian was watching her, which would explain all the positive feedback. Eventually, however, she figured out that it was just a movie...and she got a little lazy.

"Alright, I did THAT enough!"

After that, we let the girls on the TV take it on home while we watched from the couch. Because it's all about balance.

Nevermind. Here, have some candy.

 
There are some things you just know are never going to fly, no matter how you present them to your child. And it may not be for the obvious reasons, or even reasons you can think of, but no one knows a kid like her long-suffering parents, and sometimes you just know.

On the weekend, I got an email from a friend about the Switch Witch. I'm sure a similar email has been making the rounds among parents the world over, in an attempt to stave off the dentist and Type II diabetes for at least another year. In a nutshell, it involves introducing your child to said witch, and alerting them to the idea that she loves candy and is in the business of making some pretty sweet (sorry) trades. Is there a toy out there that you've been pining after? Simply write a letter to the Switch Witch with your request, leave your candy at the foot of your bed, and during the night she will come in and swap out the candy for your prized toy while you sleep. It's a win-win! According to the friend who sent the email, their daughter hopped on board PDQ. And while my first reaction was "Great! Now I can eat ALL of E's candy without worrying about leaving enough so that she doesn't really notice!", it didn't take long before I came to the realization that there was just no way that it would be that easy.

But I had to give it a shot.

So, over dinner last night, I brought it up. Casually, so as not to give the impression of trying to convince her of anything...

M: Hey, have you heard about the Switch Witch?
E: No. What's that?
M: Well, I didn't know about her either, because she wasn't around when I was a kid. But Tracy just told me about her. Apparently she's a witch who really loves candy and she trades kids' candy for toys at Halloween.
E: How?
M: I guess you write a letter to her asking for a toy that you want. Then you leave your candy out for her and she comes in while you're sleeping, takes the candy and brings you a toy.
E: All of your candy?
M: Yep. In exchange for the toy.
E: She STEALS candy from kids??!
M: No, she TRADES candy for toys.
E: But what if I want my candy?
M: Then you don't make a deal with the Swtich Witch. I just mentioned it because Tracy said that she told S about her, and S decided to make a trade. I think the Swtich Witch is going to their house tonight.
E: Really? But what about S's candy?
M: The Switch Witch will take it.
E: All of it?
M: Yep.
E: But what if S wants her candy?
M: Well, she decided that she'd rather have a toy.
E: Doesn't she like candy?
M: She loves candy. But I guess there was a toy that she wanted more.
E: Why doesn't she want her candy?
M: Like I said, I'm sure she wants her candy, but if she had to choose between candy and a toy, she decided she wanted a toy more.

...crickets..."Nice try" glance from husband...

M: I just thought I'd tell you about her in case you wanted to write her a letter. But if you want to keep your candy that's ok too.
E: ...crickets...deep thoughts...

After that we went on to other things, dinner was finished up, and E went up to the bathroom. A couple of minutes later, from upstairs...

E: Mom? What if S wants her candy back after she gets the toy?
M: It doesn't work that way.
E: Why not?
M: Because when you make a deal with someone, you can't change your mind.
E: Why not?
M: That's just the way it is.

...a couple of minutes go by...

E: Mom? But S could just go out and buy more candy, couldn't she?
M: I guess she could, if she gets an allowance.

...a couple more minutes...

E: Mom? Does that mean that S doesn't care about us?
M: What??? No, of course S cares about you! You're her friend!
E: But you said she doesn't care about her candy...
M: I said she cared more about a new toy than about keeping her candy.
E: Well, she came over to our house to get candy, and if she doesn't care about her candy then she must not have cared about the playdate or about us!
M: I don't think that's true at all. She came over to our house to celebrate Halloween with you. She was really excited to hang out, eat dinner and go trick-or-treating. And she loves her candy, she just decided not to keep it. But she definitely cares about you.
E: Anyway, I don't want to give away my candy. I want to eat it.
M: Fair enough.

I could say "I told you so", but I'd be talking to myself. And anyway, my husband saved me the trouble.

Lessons from Maria Montessori

Imagine a beautiful landscape.

Are you there?

Now imagine that you are holding a camera and a sketch pad. And that you are quite the artist.

Sketch what you see.

Now take a picture.

...

Finished? Beautiful. You really are a gifted artist.

Now take a look at your sketch and the picture. Put them side by side.

...

The sketch, no matter how talented you are (and you are, clearly), is - at best - a very accurate representation or impression of what you actually see before you. It is influenced by your vision, your perception, your experiences, your judgements, your feelings, your beliefs, your ignorance, your view of the world.

The picture is an exact reproduction. It has absolutely no frame of reference, just the frame of the lens.

...

Now consider this:

The sketch describes our experience as adults. We see the world through a series of filters. We have the ability to be selective about the information we absorb, and the information we ignore. We take information in differently depending on who we are, what we've experienced and how we're feeling. We frame everything into a context that makes sense for us.

The picture describes the way a child from the ages of 0-6 sees the world. No filters. No artistic license. Only one giant lens. They see, hear and feel it all. And I am not exaggerating. Almost on a daily basis, my daughter points things out to me that I would never have noticed on my own, describes things in terms that I would never have thought possible for her to understand. Because she's not trying to put each experience into a tidy little box of context that is familiar and comfortable. She is just experiencing. Everything. Taking it all in. ALL of it.

...

So here's a thought. If she's hearing every bit of music that she's exposed to, why not expose her to the best? If she's watching every social interaction around her, why not show her the very best way to communicate and relate to others? If she is really tasting every single spice and texture, why not allow her to taste the very best food you can create? Why fill that vast expanse with the mediocre, the inferior,  or worse - the detrimental?

We are, of course, only human. And the human experience is not perfect. But given the knowledge that after 6 short years your child will begin to develop their own filters, their own prejudices, their own opinions of the world based on their own experiences, don't you want to give them the very richest platform from which to leap?

I do.

IKEA: Swedish for "What is this hold you have on our family?!"

Our history with IKEA has been well-documented. And if you've missed it, there are a couple of examples here and here.

My love affair with IKEA started in my third year of University, when one of my roommates had an entire bedroom delivered and set up right before our eyes. It was magical. What made it even more enchanting was the fact that we didn't have an IKEA in the city and had to drive to "Toronto" (read: Burlington) for the experience.

It continued well into my mid- to late-twenties, as J and I shacked up and began building our little nest together. It positively flourished in Brooklyn, where we found lots of second-hand treasures. And, what's more, it seems to have grown with us. What was once a warehouse full of cheap furniture for students who would throw it on the curb in eight months is now a haven for financially strapped graduates who spent far too many years in University and will be living like students for years to come, though they would like to project the illusion of being grown up.

IKEA is the ultimate refrigerator box in the basement. It's a giant box of fun that is limited only by your imagination. My brother and I had one of those, and I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you, H, for my lifelong aversion to enclosed spaces. When I wasn't screaming myself hysterical we had some serious fun with that box. So really it's exactly the same.

Why am I going on about IKEA again, you ask? Well, it's just that every time we go, a little bit of magic happens, and I want to remember these little bits of magic. Take yesterday, for example. After school we headed to IKEA, each with our own agenda. I was returning bins and looking for plant stands. E was gearing up to party in the ball pit, and J was hoping to find a quiet corner in which to study, before we all reconvened for some $2.99 fish and chips. And you know what? All of this is possible at IKEA! So once our goals were accomplished, we were on our way out when the giant ice cream cone perched tantalizingly at the exit caught E's eye. Why not? I don't even bother telling her it's fro-yo. So we buy three "ice cream" cones, and as I hand E hers (the prettiest one, of course), her eyes light up and she looks up in amazement at the picture. "I don't believe it! This is so beautiful, and it looks just like the picture! It even has the curl on top! How did they DO that?" The expression on her face was priceless. You would think she had just watched the ocean turn to chocolate.

IKEA, you complete us.

Homework

E's teacher pulled me aside as I was leaving school yesterday. That's always a special feeling. Then she looked at me conspiratorially and said that she will be sending homework home with E tomorrow.

Now, just in case you all have forgotten, E is a) in Montessori school, where they simply don't do homework, and b) four years old.

As my eyebrows tickled my hairline and I looked to E for confirmation, she danced in a circle saying "Yay! Yay! Homework! Homework!" So this is what the Twilight Zone feels like.

Ms. Veronique explained that some of the oldest students - particularly those who will be entering the public/separate school systems next year - are given some homework throughout the year to ease the transition. The upshot of that is that some of the younger ones, who look up to the older ones, want to try homework as well. And if they want homework, homework they will get!

Unfortunately, a spontaneous afternoon outing at the park precluded Ms. V from being able to prepare the assignment (excuses, excuses), but I am assured that I will be receiving a ziploc bag tomorrow containing all manner of mysterious learning materials. I am intrigued. I am also assured that this is most definitely an optional assignment, to be completed only in the event that the desperate need to do homework lasts longer than the walk home. I am relieved.

I know there are countless parents out there who visibly flinch at the mention of the H-word, but I feel it's safe to say that at this stage of the game we're not looking at anything so complex as to have me racking my brain for the meaning behind acronyms like ROYGBV and BEDMAS...right? (P.S. I am now SO OLD that both of those examples have been replaced with more "accurate" ones. Sigh.) Besides, I really have nothing to worry about, considering that my daughter is the clearly the next Good Will Hunting:

That's right. My kid can add 1643 to 3232. And she totally wrote the 7 backwards on purpose. That's how she rolls.

I swear, I will remember to forget if you will just Stop. Screaming.

It started off well. So well. So smiley, huggy, lovingly well. She was happy to see me. I was ever so happy to see her. She showed me the puzzle she got at Mad Science. I showed her the paper caterpillar I had made for her. She asked if I had anything sugary to surprise her with and I told her that, in fact, I did! She happily got busy making paper caterpillars for her dad and I when we got home while I started making dinner. Bliss. Until...

E: Mom, isn't your birthday coming up?
M: Why yes it is!
E: I'm going to make you a birthday card!
M: Wonderful!
E: Do you want it now or on your birthday?
M: Oh, I'll wait until my birthday for sure.
E: Okay!
...
E: Mom, how do you spell "Birth"?
E: Mom, how do you spell "th"?
E: Mom, how do you write "d" again?
...
E: How do you spell "ay"?
M: Like the letter "A" or "ay" like in "birthday"?

I wish you could picture the utter and complete emotional, physical and psychopathological breakdown that occurred inside the body of my little girl before exploding all over the kitchen after my benign, yet terribly ill-fated inquiry.

E: YOU FIGURED OUT THE SURPRISE!!! YOU FIGURED IT OUT!!! NOW IT'S RUINED!!! THE SURPRISE IS RUUUUUUIIIIIIINNNNNNNED!!!!!

Screaming, crying, pounding, kicking, flailing - the works. For a very long time. Through the hugs and the cuddles and the assurances and the pat downs and the suggestion that she leave the kitchen after kicking the dishwasher door open twice and swiping the cap of her marker under the hot stove, it continued. Through the apologies and the promises to forget this ever happened and putting a 4 minute timer on the pity party and suggestion after suggestion after suggestion of ways to start over and make a new surprise, there was just no consoling her.

E: YOU HAVE TO FORGET!!! BUT YOU WON'T FORGET!!! YOU REMEMBER STUFF THAT HAPPENED WHEN I WAS A BABY!!! YOU WON'T FORGEEEEEEEET!!!!!!!

Eventually though, it passed. It passed as quickly as her running back into the kitchen, stepping into her rainboots and zipping out to the backyard saying "I'll just be a minute, Mom!" When she returned, she had a pile of freshly picked tomatoes and, more importantly, an excited smile on her face.

M (making sure to look very, very surprised): Tomatoes! Just what I was hoping for! THANK YOU so much for this lovely surprise!
E (beaming maniacally): You're welcome! Did I surprise you???
M: You sure did! These will go so well with our dinner tonight!
...
E: Do you remember the other surprise?
M: What other surprise?
E: The one about your birthday?
M: Oh, I forgot! It's almost my birthday, isn't it?
E: Yes, and do you remember the surprise?
M: What surprise?
E: The card?
M: What card? Did Dad buy me a card?
E: Okay! Never mind! (skips out of the kitchen and hurries over to her table) Mom! You can't look at what I'm doing okay?
M: Okay!
...

E: Mom, how do you spell "Birth"?
E: Mom, how do you spell "th"?
E: Mom, how do you write "d" again?
...
E: How do you spell "ay"?
M: "A-Y"! (please don't freak out please don't freak out please don't freak out)

E: Okay, thanks!

M: Whew.

...

A few minutes later, as I was putting dinner on the table, she ran over saying "Here's your birthday card Mom!" Luckily, I've learned from being burned many, many times. I slapped my hands over my eyes and said "No wait! We have to wait until my birthday, remember?" "Oh, yeah! Don't look Mom!" That was a close one. So off she trots, back to the table, and proceeds to apply enough tape to seal every window in our house shut to that card to make sure that noone, but noone, is getting into that baby. I instantly start brainstorming ways to get into it in a few days time without destroying this precious labour of love and agony. I think I'm screwed.

And there it is, folks. Parenting, boiled down to one tumultuous anecdote. There are good times, and there are horrific times. And they are completely erratic and unpredictable. You never quite know what's around the next corner, except that in any given day you are likely to feel like Mom of the Year and Turd of the Earth, most likely in rapid succession. So please, the next time you find yourself questioning why a mom you know seems a bit fragile and might be sipping a little too freely from that bottle of wine, understand - she is probably either just emerging from, or moments away from diving headlong back into one of the most harrowing and/or gratifying moments of her life. So cut her some slack. 

Spike

It was only our second visit to Pink Lake this summer, heading into this last week of August. Pretty disgraceful, to be sure, considering that bug hunting still stands as one of E's all time favourite pastimes. The first time we went she spent a great deal of time moaning about being forced to walk so much. And she started down that road again today...until the bug-stravaganza kicked into high gear!

Dad suggested that we have a contest to see who could catch the coolest bug. Mom got out to an early lead with a bright red dragonfly and a freakishly interesting specimen that appeared to be a green frog from the waist up and a brown toad from the waist down. Cross-breeding, cross-contamination or cross-dressing, it's hard to say for sure.

Dad found a tadpole and a whole family of fish.

But then E threw down the gauntlet with this fella:

One family we passed on our trek suggested that he looked strikingly similar to Heimlich from A Bug's Life. We concurred:

Perhaps against anyone's better judgement, we decided to take him home. And a quick google search produced all of the information we needed to adopt him as our new project pet.

His name is Spike. He is a Cercropia moth, a giant silk moth related to the gypsy moth. They are the largest moth in North America and have a life cycle as caterpillars of 60 days, going from black to orange to green. As he is already green and quite shamefully obese, I estimate another 2 weeks or so of caterpillar-dom, followed by a short and sweet 4-5 day life cycle as a rather striking moth:

Welcome to the family, Spike. For the next few weeks, at least.