Happy 7th Birthday, Baby Boy
Dear Elliot,
First, I should probably apologize about including the phrase "baby boy" in the title here. Obviously, you are no longer a baby, and your vociferous objection to that particular classification is fully justified. This, however, is you birthday letter. And the writing of your birthday letter is an activity that always makes me reflect back on, well, your birth. Seven years ago, my baby boy, you were brand new.
Oh, my baby boy. My baby boy who idolized his big sister. My baby boy who decided to skip crawling and jump straight to walking because that's how his big sister got around.
You may be seven now, but chasing Audrey is still one of your favorite pastimes. And you could not have chosen the more perfect role model.
What joy you take in tackling tough songs from her piano lesson book. How insistent you are that the bedtime books we read you be from her favorite series. How thrilled you were when a quick equivalent fractions lesson from Mom enabled you to go to town on figuring out common denominators and adding fractions, just like a big fifth grader. (Also, how smug you were when you tested me at dinner time by asking if 3/4 was larger than 6/8, and I failed to notice that they are equivalent fractions. Schooling mom in fractions is a totally worthy endeavor. But let's aim for a tad more humility in our eighth year, hmm?)
Oh, my baby boy. My baby boy who grew to be a train-loving preschooler. When you were 2 and 3 and 4, your complex track layouts never failed to astound me.
To be honest, seven years of witnessing your phenomenal building feats has made the whole family a bit blasé. of Sure, that robot thing that Grandpa and Grandma got you for Christmas may have been labeled 14+. But none of us batted an eyelid when you opened up the Japanese language instruction book and immediately set to work on it. I mean, of course putting that thing together was fully within your capabilities. (Also, let me point out that when Dad and I get you a 1100 piece AT-AT Lego set for your birthday, and it takes you less than 24 hours to put it together, it's a little bit demoralizing for us. If you could maybe go just a little slower putting together whatever we get you on the next gift-giving occasion, we would be grateful.)
Oh my baby boy. My baby boy whose megawatt smile has never failed to charm neighbors and strangers and friends and teachers.
Darling, you've still got those teacher charming skills. And I couldn't be prouder of the student that I see when I volunteer in your classroom each week. You listen quietly when it's time to listen. Your hand goes up when it's time to contribute. You get down to business when it's time to work. You tidy up when it's time to clean. You treat others with kindness when it's time to play. You liberally flash that famous smile.
Elliot, you're not always at your best at the end of the school day. Sometimes you come home in desperately needing to wind down and have a snack, ready to explode into completely illogical tears and demands at any little thing that goes wrong. I am so proud of you for holding it together at school, and saving your venting for the safety of home. (Also, if you would spend at least part of your lunch periods actually eating your lunch instead of playing, you might not be so viciously hungry at the end of the school day. I'm just saying.)
Oh, my baby boy. My little baby boy who thought it was hi-lar-i-ous when Dad I and warned you to stay away from the living room floor lamps. My daredevil baby boy who inspired us to finally install those canned lights that we'd long been meaning to install.
Dear boy. Parental lectures never really had much of an effect on you when you were a little tyke. And in truth, parental lectures don't often seem to have much of an effect on you now that you're seven. When called out on your shortcomings, you have always tended more towards impertinence than contrition.
So it is especially dear to my heart when your goodness of heart shines through. A couple of weeks ago, I demonstrated some parental shortcomings of my own. Your sister and I had had a disagreement. I knew it was time for me to be a mature adult and start working towards mending fences. But in my irritation, I chose to let the situation fester. As I sat watching you work on Legos in your room, you listened to Audrey crying in the living room, and gently prodded me to do the right thing. "I don't need you to be with me, Mom. You can go be with Audrey."
My smiling and compassionate Elliot. My clever, math-loving memorizer. My creative and detail oriented artist. My maker of music and structures. My competitive tackler of challenges.
Just a little longer, may you keep taking my hand as you balance on the brick wall near school. Just a little longer, may you impishly hide in the bushes at pickup time. Just a little longer may you hold fast to the unfettered enthusiasm of early childhood.
And at just the right pace, may you grow and grow in body, mind, and spirit. For growing is what you are meant to do. And besides. No amount of growing will ever stop you from being my sweet baby boy. Because I knew you when you were brand new.
Happy 7th birthday, Elliot.
Love,
Mom
Bucket Lists and Buckle Fractures
Spring Break was a couple of weeks ago, and we had plans, people! Success in our quest to visit all nine of California's National Parks was tantalizingly close! I had the Facebook album all planned out in my head! We were packed to leave early Saturday morning!
And then, about 10 minutes before school got out on Friday, Elliot toppled off a table, stuck out his left arm to protect himself ("I didn't want to fall on my head, Mom.") and broke his arm.
OK. Technically, he didn't "break" his arm. He kind of compressed it. Made it bulge out a bit in a couple of spots. Got a "buckle fracture."
But he needed a cast. And the swelling had to go down before he could get a cast, which meant he couldn't get it until Monday. And once he had the cast, we wouldn't be able get it wet or sandy, which was a problem considering that we had plans to go tidepooling and river hiking at Redwoods National Park.
Yeah. California National Park number nine would have to wait.
The whole situation was rather unfortunate. Yet from the moment I stepped onto campus and saw my boy in pain, I felt filled to the brim with nothing but gratitude.
Elliot was clearly hurt. But he was clearly not terribly badly hurt. I felt grateful. (Nice job protecting your head, sweetie!)
I made a late Friday afternoon phone call and got my boy a prompt appointment at a clinic where he could get excellent medical care. I felt grateful.
My husband was able to come home early from work so that I didn't have to drag both of our children to the doctors' office. I felt grateful.
My son was a trooper, and his pain diminished almost completely as soon the doctor fit him with a splint. I felt grateful.
Elliot fractured his non-dominant arm, his forearm-only cast leaves him completely free to move his arm and fingers around, and he only needs the cast for three and a half weeks. I felt grateful.
With no plane tickets purchased or hotel reservations set up, canceling our vacation to the Redwoods was as simple as not going getting in the car. I felt grateful.
Our nature loving Audrey was deeply disappointed that we had to postpone our Redwoods vacation. But she was stoic in her acceptance. I felt grateful.
We live an easy drive away from Muir Woods ("Redwoods Lite") and Alcatraz, so our "Plan B" spring break destinations were world class attractions. I felt grateful, truly and utterly grateful, for the great good fortunes in my life.
Trust, But Verify
We're currently putting an addition on our house, and the children have been troopers during a process that has involved a great deal of upheaval. They've adjusted well to apartment living, and have let go of fun and familiar things (like their favorite climbing tree, which had to come down) with minimal complaining.
Still, at times their attitudes are understandably wary.
A: Mom, Dad says we're going someplace special. Just to clarify, are we going someplace special like a tile store, or are we actually going someplace fun?
With Both Kids Prepping for Their Class Musicals, Our Apartment is Currently a Very Musical Place
E: Mom, when you sing, the tune comes out of your mouth, not just the words.
Since Last August
So, what have I been doing instead of writing updates for this blog?
Most of the writing time I've managed to squeeze in between moving, remodeling, and a ton of traveling, I've used for writing and researching picture books.
Plus the kids are getting older, which makes fewer of their stories appropriate for this medium.
But I do still jot down notes about blog worthy events.
And so, this update.
Their Philosophies Differ
A: (Last December) My Christmas list is pretty short. I basically have everything that I need.
E: (Already strategizing in March) If you ask for fewer things for Christmas, are you more likely to get everything that you ask for?
That Which Gives Hope
When parental frustration arises concerning the distressingly limited array of foods that our boy child is willing to consume, it helps to remember that the girl child (once also a finicky first grader) is now firmly on our side.
A: Just try it, Elliot! Bell peppers are good for you!
They Didn't Dress Up for Nerd Day at School, But They Got Into the Spirit of Things Over Breakfast
A: Have you ever had a dragon dream?
E: No, sadly not.
A: I've had a lot of them. For example, the other night...
Dental Planning
"Mom," pondered the six-year-old. "When's the tooth fairy's birthday? When I lose a tooth, I'm going to wait until her birthday and wrap it up for her and put it under my pillow."
"Aw," I thought. "Sweet. I better jot that down so I remember to blog it."
So I slipped away to the office and typed myself a note. When I returned to my boy, he looked up expectantly. "Did you look it up? When is her birthday?"
The Very Busy Tooth Fairy
Let it be known that on December 9th, 2014, Miss Audrey did lose the very last of her baby teeth.
(So she finally has a pristine, no-metal-caps mouth. Huzzah!)
And, let it further be known, that on January 6th, 2015, Mr. Elliot did lose his first two baby teeth.
(Alas, his permanent teeth were already growing in by the time he lost the babies, so he skipped over that whole, "adorable gap" phase. Boo!)
And let it be regretfully declared that late in the February of 2015, young Elliot was diagnosed with small cavities in a couple of his 5-year molars.
(So we had less than two months as the parents of children with unspoiled mouths. Now we're right back to being parents who let their kids' teeth decay.)
So, Apparently My Children Didn't Watch Enough Sesame Street in Their Youths
E: Mom, what's the frog in Elmo?
L: Elmo? Like the Sesame Street guy?
E: Yeah.
L; Oh, Kermit!
E: He did the ice bucket challenge, Mr. Jones said.
The Six-Year-Old Philosopher
If hurricane is air blowing in circles, what makes them visible?
How do you learn words? I mean, if you don't know any words how can someone teach you?
How to Use Fridge Poetry
When a Linguistics major organizes the fridge poetry magnets, there is likely to be a row of morphemes on the bottom.
When the six-year-old decides to contribute, he'll be giggling like mad as he makes liberal use of the morphemes to string together this masterpiece, "What when-ed so-er up or at water dream-s."
The 10-year-old's creation, on the other hand, will be just as serene and simple, and just as wise and wonderful as she is:
"I am happy today."
On Guavas
The observation of a life-long lover of both fruits and literature:
A: "Guavas are tart on the outside, and sweet on the inside. Kind of like people in books."
More On Guavas
We were having a fight at the dinner table, me and my girl. "You have three pieces of guava," she insisted. "I'll have two."
"No," I demurred. "You take three pieces. I'll take two."
I totally won. Because I convinced her to take three pieces. And because that wonderful human being is my daughter.
A Little Public Service Announcement
A: Eh! It is a horrible idea to cover your tongue in pepper!
My Little Lexicographer
E: What's that word that means you don't like yourself because you did something bad?
L: Uh...ashamed?
E: Yeah!
(As for me, I'm a little ashamed to admit that, prior to that moment, I wasn't aware that shame was an emotion my "never-admit-fault" six-year-old was familiar with.)
I Wasn't Entirely Enthusiastic about the Scouting Thing, But I Have to Admit the Outfit is Pretty Adorable
Regrettably, there are few cute babyisms left in the vocabulary of a six-year-old. Which made it all the more fun when he got totally excited about his brand new Tiger Scout "unicorn."
Adventures in 1st Grade Readers
"Shapes and Idiots," the six-year-old enunciated confidently.
"Uh...Look a little closer, honey," I suggested. "See, the 'm' there? It says 'Idioms.' Shapes and Idioms."
I kind of wish he'd brought home "Shapes and Idiots" though. "Shapes and Idioms" was a total snoozefest. But "Shapes and Idiots"...that one sounds spicy enough to potentially be a worthwhile read.
My Little Psychologist
There was reason that our family dining experience was so unpleasant, and that reason was Elliot. He was needling his sister constantly. "Which song do you like better?" he taunted, as he referred to favorite characters of hers, "Dead Boo or Dead Tuck?" "There's vomit on your strawberries," he chortled, to make her lose her appetite. As he pointed a fist-gun at his (ever-patient) sister, and pressed down the thumb trigger, I just managed not to completely explode at him.
L: Elliot! Why are you being unkind?
E: Because it's fun!
L: It's not fun for the rest of us. You're making dinner a very unpleasant experience for Dad and Audrey and me, because we have to listen to you saying unkind things. It's making the rest of us sad and kind of mad at you. You need to take our feelings into account.
There was not much the child could have said, at that point, to lessen my feelings of irritation. An outright expression of remorse, and a promise to work on self-improvement? That probably would have helped quite a lot. But Elliot took a different tact.
E: Theory of Mind?
OMG. Yes. Theory of Mind. ToM is, as Wikipedia notes, "the ability to attribute mental states — beliefs, intents, desires, pretending, knowledge, etc. — to oneself and others and to understand that others have beliefs, desires, intentions, and perspectives that are different from one's own."
Given that my kid had taken information from a Nature video about crow behavior and appropriately applied it to the subject matter of my dinnertime lecture, my irritation softened a little. Just a little, though.
L: Yes. Theory of Mind. Show us that you're as smart as a crow, dude.
I Guess This Entry Makes it Clear That We're Generally Bedmaking Slackers
"Mom, don't come in here," he ordered.
"OK," I agreed. It wasn't really a problem to avoid the bedroom. I was running the morning routine solo, so there were plenty of lunch and breakfast preparations that needed doing in the kitchen.
After a few minutes, he called out again. "OK. You can come in now."
His eyes were shining proudly as I walked in to the sight of a messily made bed.
His spontaneous contribution to helping the household run smoothly while Dad and Audrey were off at 5th grade Science Camp.
He's So Punny
"Where are we having dinner?" Elliot queried as he looked out the car window. "Willow Street?"
"Nope," I teased, pointing to another establishment in the shopping center. "Men's Warehouse. They have lots of suits there. And very tasty ties."
"Oh," he bested me. "So we're having Thai food."
(For the record, we ate at Veggie Grill.)
It's the Most Wonderful Piano Time of the Year
In October, the kids' formal piano curriculum goes on hiatus, and they concentrate full time on Halloween music. October is a month of minor keys, and the brilliant harmonies of Mr. Brian Pendleton, composer of a fabulous collection called "Halloween Tales."
Piano practice in our house is sometimes perfunctory and grudging, especially on Audrey's part. It's a chore that needs to be gotten through so that computer time can be earned.
But when Halloween time rolls around, there are magical days when the siren call of the computer doesn't get through to my children. Days when we gather around the piano and sing and play and make spooky music together, just for the joy of it.
November means a return to regular lesson books, and a spate of accidental flats. I love the clunky notes the kids hit as they become re-accustomed to playing mostly in major keys. Those weeks of mistakes are our long farewell to the best piano season of the year.
I Really Am Still Better at Reading Music. For Now.
Thursdays are the days the kids have off from piano practice, but Elliot was messing around anyway. (Sight reading Halloween songs. In March.) The pieces in our Halloween book get progressively more difficult, and when the going started to get tough, Elliot asked me to demonstrate a piece for him.
I'm not the greatest pianist in the world, but my effort was moving along reasonably swimmingly for a while. Then I came to this one measure that sounded terrible. I tried replaying the trouble spot. It sounded terrible again.
"What's am I doing wrong here?" I mumbled to myself.
"That C is supposed to be sharp, Mom," the boy advised.
Attention to 4/4 Time Detail
"Look," the 6-year-old pointed out to his piano teacher. "The first measure of this song only has one beat. So the last measure should only have three beats. BUT INSTEAD IT HAS FOUR!!!!"
Now, if only the kid would turn his acute powers of observation towards numbers and start consistently writing 4s, 5s, and 6s that face the correct direction.
The Star Wars Entries
Star Wars is popular even among preschoolers, so by this past winter our kids had been hearing about Star Wars characters and plotlines and ships for years. Given that Star Wars is a frequent source of imaginative play inspiration for some of Elliot's friends, not being fully up to speed on the storylines was a bit of a disadvantage for him. So on our annual Christmas journey down to Southern California, James and I made the call that our first grader was mature enough to see the movies for himself. Between December 2014 and March 2015, our kids watched Episodes IV, V, VI, I, II, and, III (plus all five seasons of the Clone Wars cartoons) on our minivan's teeny-tiny DVD screen. What follows is a series of entries detailing our children's journeys from Star Wars neophytes to experts. (I was tempted to use the phrasing, "Our childrens's journeys from Star Wars padawans to masters, but that would have been pretty cringe worthy, don't you think?)
(And yes, I did let my 6-year-old watch Episode III in all of its PG-13 goriness. Please don't hesitate to judge me about that, if you're in the mood to be judgey. Or judge me for letting him watch Episode I in all of its cringe worthy Episode One-ness. Whatever floats your boat. Just don't let this opportunity to judge me pass you by!)
P.S. I'd been trying to convince my firstborn to watch Star Wars for years, but she'd never been interested until this winter. I want that to be clear for the record.
P.P.S. In order to make it clear how I felt about introducing my kids to Star Wars, it should be noted that during our Christmas drive to So. Cal., I abandoned James and hung out in back seat with the kids to rewatch the movies. Also, I rode in the back seat during our subsequent winter trip to Yosemite. And during our trip back to Ventura county for my grandma's 95th birthday celebration in March.
P.P.P.S. I've officially lived in Northern California long enough to refer to Southern California as "So. Cal."
P.P.P.P.S. Eep! My kids are into Star Wars now. Yay!
In Which He Discovers a New Resource for Information, and Discloses How Much He Already Knows
(Timeframe: Before Watching the Movies)
Me: (Checking on Elliot as he worked on an origami Stars Wars book.) How's your X-wing coming along?
E: Mom! How do you know the names of the fighters?!
Me: Well, I've seen all of the Star Wars movies. [Like a million times, dude. The original ones, anyway.]
E: How bad was the first one?
Me: [OMG, is he talking about Episode I?!]
E: Did they start with the fourth one? [OMG. He was totally talking about Episode I.]
My Little Film Aficionado
(Timeframe: Before Watching the Movies)
E: Who are the main characters in Star Wars?
L: Well, there's Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia and Han Solo...
E: Who's Han Solo?
L: He's a pilot.
E: And who else?
L:Well, there's Obi Wan Kenobi...
E: Who's Obi Wan Kenobi?
L: He's a teacher.
E: Who else?
L: There's Darth Vader...
E: He's the main bad guy.
L: Yes.
E: Because you need a bad guy in a movie.
L: That's absolutely true...
E: You need someone to fight. Otherwise the movie wouldn't be Star Wars. It would just be Stars.
On a Related Note
You know what you can't help but notice when you're sitting in the back seat with the kids, re-watching Episodes I, II, and III? Those are movies with thoroughly non-scary bad guys. (OK. Maybe Palpatine sort of got scary by the end of III.) George Lucas would have been wise to consult with Elliot during the screenwriting stage.
My Little Film Aficionado, Part II
(Timeframe: After Watching the Movies)
E: You know, Mom. The Millennium Falcon is kind of like a main character in the Star Wars movies.
Me: Huh. I totally see your point.
An Unfortunate Side Effect of Learning to Read
(Timeframe: Before Watching the Movies)
E: (Working on a Millenium Falcon origami project) "Milleniun Valcon." Look, from the way it's spelled it looks like "falcon" even though it's "valcon."
L: Actually...it *is* pronounced "falcon."
And that was how another of the few remaining "adorable babyisms" in Elliot's vocabulary got rooted out.
The Man Has Totally Earned Both My Money and My Gratitude
How do you get your six-year-old to volunteer to do supplementary math homework?
You buy him a Star Wars themed math workbook, of course.
How do you get your six-year-old to enthusiastically assign himself extra piano pieces to practice?
You buy him a beginner level Star Wars themed music book, naturally.
How do you find books that your six-year-old will actually want to sit down and read to himself?
Well, hello! You check out a bunch of Star Wars readers from the library.
Thank you, Mr. Lucas, you marketing genius, you. You make me feel like a parenting superstar.
A Special Moment Involving "The Story of Darth Vader"
"Mom, will you read to me?" asked the six-year-old, as he climbed into bed at noon.
"Uh oh," I groaned, abandoning a nearly packed suitcase to feel the boy's forehead. Sure enough, the forehead was hot. Our imminent departure to Grandma and Grandpa's for Christmas had developed a most unwelcome complication. (Poor kid had a rough trip.)
I would not have batted an eyebrow if my six-year-old firstborn had crawled in to bed at noon demanding a read-aloud. (Heck, that still happens occasionally, even though she's 10.) I don't think that my girl child has ever turned down the opportunity to read or be read to.
The younger one, though. He's not typically a "waste daytime hours reading" type of guy.
Can he read (well above grade level)? Yes. Does he choose to put his reading skills to use? Rarely.
Legos call out to him louder than books do. And sketchpads. And pianos. Elliot finds his happy place by creating with his hands.
As a lifelong voracious reader, it's a little bit difficult for me to watch my son be...not particularly passionate about books. Which is why, when Elliot called out from the bathroom one January day and requested Dark Lord themed reading material, I was seriously over the (Endor) moon.
Once Upon a Time, In High School...
I opted to write a "famous American" themed A.P. U.S. History research paper about film composer John Williams, whose most famous movie scores include Star Wars, Jaws, Indiana Jones, and Harry Potter. That paper ended up being a bit of a headache to write, because we were instructed to start the composition off by taking a position about a controversial aspect of the subject's life.
And...there was nothing controversial about the dude's life. He composes amazing music and everyone loves it. The End. (This was pre-internet, of course. These days I could probably dig up some dirt and dissenting opinions.)
Anyway, one of my favorite parts of reliving my adolescent passion for Star Wars via my children has been becoming re-immersed in the music of John Williams. The man is such a magician when it comes to getting a bunch of instruments to team up and give you a case of the feels. His trumpets-a-blarin' bits make my heart pound. His melancholy melodies make my heart ache. And seeing both of my children enthralled by John Williams' music...that makes my heart soar.
Following His Passion
Sometimes, when your six-year-old has been sitting at the keyboard for, like, an hour-and-a half already, and when you have a bunch of stuff that you could be doing if you weren't stuck at the piano helping him figure out Star Wars music, and when your older child is complaining that she wants her turn at the piano (so that she can earn her daily computer time), and when your six-year-old isn't even nearly finished with piano because he hasn't yet gotten to the pieces that his teacher assigned from his official curriculum book... Well, sometimes...at times like that...you don't feel like it's a 100% positive thing that your six-year-old is so enthusiastic about music practice.
At times like that, frankly, you need to take a breath because, ...OMG. You have a six-year-old who frequently spends more than an hour a day at the piano. And he spends those hours in front of that piano because making music brings him joy.
And if you give those facts a moment of contemplation, then you are likely to remember how incredibly lucky you actually are.
Gettin' My Brag On
OMG, people. This evening, my six-year-old transposed the Star Wars Main Theme piece that he's been working on from C Major to F Major. Just, you know. By ear. As an experiment. For fun.
People. If I didn't have this blog as an outlet, it is entirely possible that my parental pride would have spilled over into a seriously annoying Facebook boast. Thanks for being there for me, blog.
Happy 10th Birthday, Baby Girl
Dear Audrey,
It's ten years, already, since you were born.
Ten years since you made me a mother.
And everywhere now there are hints of change.
Signs of your growing up coming.
Just three hearty baby teeth left in your mouth.
Just one year of grade school to finish.
Books about puberty strewn on the floor.
Your years of childhood, somehow, more than halfway gone.
I constantly gauge, as I gaze at you, girl,
am I giving you all that you need?
Enough free time?
Enough structure?
Enough support?
Enough freedom?
Enough responsibilities?
I labor to launch you from childhood prepped for...meaningful productivity.
I cherish this time, as I gaze at you, girl.
Adoring the child that you are now.
Child of stufties
and giggles
and imaginary worlds,
who loves hiking and reading and art.
Child of science and
yoga and
environmentalism,
who loves giving her little brother treats.
May your 11th year be full, my love.
May your triumphs fill you with pride.
May your struggles help you grow stronger.
May your schooling be inspirational.
May your friendships let you give and be given.
May you travel the world in books and real life.
May those travels open your heart.
May you embrace your time as a little girl.
May you embrace becoming woman.
May you continue to love yourself, as much as I love you.
Happy 10th birthday, sweet baby girl.
Love,
Mom
3-19-15 NFP
My Little Artistes
So, here's a little game the kids have been playing lately. Using his Star Wars drawing book for ideas, Elliot sketches out a character, and then hands the paper over to his sister. She adds a cute, lightsaber-armed animal, and voila! Um...Totally random drawing.
This particular masterpiece is titled: Ventress vs. the Puglet
King's Canyon National Park
That time when we were at the Visitors' Center and the one Ranger called the other Ranger over to coo over my daughter's Junior Ranger essay?
Yeah. That was probably the highlight of my summer.
So Out of My League
"Elliot was really aggressive during basketball today," the coach informed me at summer camp pickup.
Aggressive? My boy?? OMG.
And then, before I could even promise to have a little talk with my son, the coach continued.
"A lot of the kids were hanging back, but he was right in there on defense!"
Oh!! Heh, heh. Aggressive is GOOD at sports camp. Got it.
Update
So, last September I blogged (with some embarrassment) that I was already planning my summer 2014 summer camps, because experience had taught me that unstimulating summers make for super-grumpy Elliots.
Well, I did indeed max out the kids' camp schedules this year. They were in art camp and history camp and farm camp and horse camp and sports camp and science camps, (with a side helping of piano lessons and swimming lessons and yoga classes).
And the result? Two happy kids and one happy mama.
Summer camp 2015 planning is well under way.
Unable, Once Again, To Properly Attribute the Quote
"But she's not like electricity. She doesn't always take the easiest path."
(Clearly, if I'm going to be updating this blog infrequently, I need take more detailed notes.)
My Little Spielburg
Thoughts upon his 14th viewing of "Arctic Tales"
E: "They must have had more than one camera, because they show you what happened from different angles."
My Little Picasso
A: "You know how in a drawing, things that are closer are bigger and things that are far away are smaller? I'm going to try making a drawing where the close things are small and the far away things are big."
My Little Literary Critic
A: "This book has a polar bear hibernating through the winter even though she doesn't have any cubs. Did the author even DO any research?"
When Literary Allusions Meet Imaginative Play
A few years ago, an episode of the PBS cartoon Dinosaur Train sparked my kids' imaginations big time. For whatever reason, that episode, which featured the birth of a baby Triceratops, has really stuck with both of them, and they've now spent years developing an extensive world filled with baby triceratops and scary T-Rexes. They've created tons of recurring characters for their world. (Such as Luck, Tuck, Mama Trudy, Ooo-boo-woo, Rex-woo, Rex Roar Roar, Lick Boo, Bite Boo, Kiss Boo, Grind Boo, Perpendicular Boo, and Tree Boo.) They've developed an extensive vocabulary for their reptilian heroes. (A "boo" is a baby triceratops. "Nine-ee-dah" is the sound that a laughing baby triceratops makes.) And they're constantly coming up with new scenarios for their dinosaurs to work through.
I love listening in on my kids' Mesozoic adventures. And I especially love it when I overhear gems like this:
A: "A boo! A boo! My kingdom for a boo!"
A Snapshot in Time
The names of some of the games my children have come up with recently, during imaginative play:
Airy the Plane, Watery the Boat, Roady the Car, Hovery the Helicoptor, The Bathing Baby, The Warrior Game
The Latest Audrey Joke
Why did the circle loose the game?
Because he didn't have any points.
My 10 Year Old is Way Deeper Than I Am
"My fortune says, 'Sing along with the elevator music,' which I think means 'make happiness out of the little things in life.'"
No Parental Guidance Needed
E: Mom, in preschool people used to say pink an purple were girl colors.
L: Well, that sounds...
E: But it's not true! Because Nana, Natalina, and Gracie's worst colors are pink and purple.
Gah! I Don't Know Who Came up With This One, Either!
OK. Probably Audrey?
What do you say your job doesn't earn you many dollars, but a lot of coins?
That makes so much sense!
When the Original Joke is Dead, the Parody is a Dud
A: What's black and white and red all over? A Sunburned Penguin....
Mom, I don't really get that one.
So then I had to explain the original joke. But newspapers aren't really black and white or read all over anymore. (Sigh)
That Time That the Main Concept Totally Stuck
E: Mom, what year only has 9 days?
L: Huh?
E: What year only has 29 days?
L: Oh! February is a month that has 28 or 29 days.
E: And Hop Day is only every 4 years! So if your birthday is on Hop Day, you only have a birthday every 4 years!
Happy 6th Birthday, Baby Boy!
Dear Elliot,
I'm writing your sixth birthday letter more than a month after your sixth birthday. I apologize. I didn't have a chance to get to it by April 17th because in the weeks leading up to your birthday, I was busy preparing for our big Spring Break trip to South Korea. And I didn't get to it promptly after our big Spring Break trip to South Korea, because it took me weeks to recover from the nasty cold that I picked up in Seoul. And then blogging had to wait, because I spent most of the month of May writing to meet a manuscript deadline. (I ignored lots of important things during May. Like laundry. And sometimes showering.)
But I promise you, your birthday letter has been on my mind the whole time. My love, I promise that as soon as I got home from FedExing my manuscript, I sat down to write it.
Bud, I want to tell you a few things about your 6th birthday. These are actually things you already know. You experienced and understood them. But if you think back on them again sometime, with more than six years of experience under your belt, you might appreciate them a bit differently.
Sweet boy, you had two birthday parties this year. A couple of weeks before you turned six, your school friends, all four of your grandparents, and your 94-year-old great-grandma from Minnesota gathered to pre-celebrate your birthday at a park in Saratoga, CA. You turned six in the waning days of a space phase, so we partied with stomp rockets and water rockets and crafts and yummy food. You had a blast.
Then you got to spend your actual birthday in Seoul, South Korea. Spending your birthday in Asia meant that you officially turned six a full 16 hours earlier than you would have at home in California. (Thanks international date line!) You also got to start paying to use the Seoul subway system. Kid, you had hit the big time.
To top it all off, birthday party number two took place on your birthday at a kids' cafe in Seoul, with all four of your grandparents, an uncle, a new aunt, and some brand new friends from California in attendance. That birthday party is also where you got to meet your 84-year-old great-grandma from Korea for the first time. There were dragon crafts and popcorn and even a second set of presents to open.
Baby boy, you'd been fretful when we first told you about the whole turning six in Korea thing. But when we explained that you could have two different parties, you decided your sixth birthday would turn out OK. From my 38-year-old perspective, it might have even turned out to be pretty darned special.
My dear Elliot, as a baby, you had a habit of biting off more than you could chew.
When you were an infant, you watched your big sister walking, and decided that was how you wanted to get around, too. You didn't give a split second's consideration to crawling first. You just heaved your not-really-ready 9-month-old body up on two feet and started toddling around. Never mind that you had no idea how to fall. Never mind that when you lost your balance you stiffened your knees and back instead of bending them. Never mind that you kept falling backwards as stiff as a board and slamming your head into the floor. Never mind that I had to spend a few weeks trailing right behind your wobbly early steps to try to ward off a concussion.
You had your mind made up about walking as a nine-month-old, so you walked and you walked and you walked until you got the hang of it.
Oh, Elliot. Some things never change. A little over a month ago, when you were first starting piano lessons, you begged to play out of your sister's lesson books. (Never mind that she has a four year head start in musical instruction.) When you came to terms with the fact that the pieces in her books were beyond you, you grudgingly agreed to play out of the beginner book your teacher offered you. But you're not planning to be a beginner for long. Less than two months into this piano lesson thing, you've already graduated to your second set of music books. And though your teacher only assigned you to practice pages 6 and 7 out of your new books this week, you insisted on practicing all the way through page 31.
My ever ambitious boy. I love watching you aim high. I love watching you tackle 1000 piece Lego sets. I love seeing you opt for the challenge level in the ambulance puzzle game. I love listening to you add tens and hundreds together. I love how often you succeed in the challenges you set for yourself. I love that when your goals prove too far out of reach, you accept your limitations and move calmly on. (And I promise that when you ambitiously decide--after five minutes of skateboarding experience--that you are ready to experiment with skateboarding down the driveway, I will continue to dissuade you from aiming your skateboard straight towards the street.)
My big kindergarten boy, I am so proud of what a fine student you are. Other kindergarten moms are constantly pulling me aside to compliment you. The way you always listen and do your best in class. The kindness you show to others. The smiles you so freely bestow. "What more could you ask of a kindergartener?" your teacher asked Dad and me at your first conference.
What more could I ask of a son?
My Elliot. My charming and social, hard-working and mischievous, kind-hearted and open-minded, clever and ambitious, constantly building son. I am so very lucky to be your mom. May your seventh year be filled with projects and friendships and learning and growing and fun.
Love,
Mom
I Am So Behind On Blogging
I'm trying to get a career as a picture book writer up and running, so blogging has been taking a back seat lately.
I've got a bunch of notes jotted down in my blogging notebook, and some of them are so old, I don't even remember the context for them any more. Like, who knows what real life situation Audrey was referring to when she came up with this particular simile:
"I feel like a mother sparrow sitting on a cuckoo!"
Argh. Just Way Behind on Blogging
I don't even remember which of my kids came up with this one.
"I've got a real version of the Everything is Awesome song! Everything is Molecules!"
Don't Remember the Context for This One, Either
But I'm pretty sure it should be attributed to Elliot.
"My name is Naked Chicken, and I'll show you how to do your nakedest chicken dance."
Nerd Kindergartener Joke
E: Mom, what if someone said 100 + 0 equals 1000! (Hee, hee, hee.)
An Illustration of the Fact That Getting Rid of Things Is Not My Strength
"Hmm," I thought, as I went through my old grad school binders. "Perhaps I should hang on to L2 Morpheme Acquisition in English: A Meta Analysis of Multiple Determinants. I might want to read that article again some time."
My Little International Traveler
E: (Wearing a t-shirt he got at the New York Transit Museum) Why does this shirt have writing in Californian?
J: What's Californian?
E: Like, American writing.
J: Because New York is in America.
E: Are Americans the only ones who write like that?
J: Lots of countries write like that.
E: But Korea doesn't. It's halfway around the world!
"Mom, after Audrey's done with her lesson, can I practice?"
Yeah, so someone's a little gung ho about practicing piano. It's pretty awesome. Except when it's like, past his bedtime and he's playing, like, 20 pages ahead of his lesson assignment and still raring to plow on and I have to be the heavy and cut him off.
That's slightly not awesome. But actually, still mostly awesome.
Nice Try, Kid
L: Don't touch Audrey with dirty hands!
E: I didn't! She touched me!
L: Elliot, you put your hand right in front of her so that she would bump it!
E: But, Mom, she's the one who touched--
L: Don't lawyer it, dude.
Reciprocation
E: I like Christmas
L: What do you like about it?
E: The things you get!....Except I'm going to get Santa a present.
L: What are you going to get him?
E: Dad said maybe a jacket, because it's cold.
Oh, the Injustices
In a meeting at the beginning of the school year, the parents in Audrey's class shared tips for working with their kids. Several of the parents at that meeting mentioned that their kids were very concerned [that is to say, extremely inflexible] about the "fairness" of things.
If we hadn't had that meeting, I probably wouldn't be too worried about the fact that my kindergartener is suddenly, constantly, and completely pigheadedly focused on "fairness." ("It's not fair!!!!! Audrey won't let me play with the toy she got at the dentist!"
"Honey, she just got that toy. You don't like to let people play with your brand new toys." "But it's not fair!"
"Did you get a new toy when you went to the dentist?"
"Yes."
"Did Audrey play with it?"
"No."
"What exactly is unfair about this situation?"
"Whine, whine, whine, NOT FAIR whine whine whine!!!!")
Thanks to that meeting, I'm anticipating having to deal with this ridiculousness for years.
Whee!
Bathroom Ruminations
E: When you pee, there are two kinds of waves. The sound waves, and the waves where the pee bounces.
He's Keeping Me on My Toes
E: So, 900,000 is the 900th one-thousand, right?
L: What's that, honey?
E: Like, there are 99 one-thousands before 100,000?
L: Uh...yes. That's right.
At the Core
"I got one basket," Elliot earnestly informed his friend as we left sports class. "How many did you get?"
"I got five," the friend boasted.
"That's great!!! If you hadn't gotten all those baskets, we wouldn't have won!!!"
This has been...quite a spring for Elliot. Honestly, I'd kind of gotten used to my kids both being fairly mature and even-keeled and...easy. I thought we were past the dramatic ups and downs of the toddler and preschool years. So the emergence of an old-fashioned "spring-time disequilibrium" developmental phase is throwing me off my parenting game.
There have been times lately when Elliot's behavior has left me....irked. (Or, possibly...seething.)
At those times when my boy is melting down (over nothing). At those times when his flailing foot has connected sharply with my cheek.
Those are the times when I most need to remember that his heart is generous and loving and sweet.
With Gratitude, to the World's Best Big Sister
Yes, she'd switch seats at the restaurant. And on the train. And at that other restaurant. Yes, she'd pretend that she hadn't caught more cherry blossoms than he did. Yes, she'd let him collect that Easter egg that she spotted first. Yes, she'd weave story after story after story to keep him entertained. Yes, she'd revise the plot lines to suit his fancy.
Yes, she'd acquiesce to nearly every unreasonable demand a five/six year old could possibly make during an eight day stay in South Korea. And, yes. She is a large part of reason that our trip was silky smooth and magical.
A Few Days After My Kids' Principal Gave That Talk on Creativity
"I need to practice catching a football," proclaimed the fourth grader whose P.E. class is in the middle of a football unit.
"Let's go in the back yard," I enthused, delighted by the prospect of adding "sporty mom" to my resume. "We've got a football around someplace, don't we?" (Maybe, "semi-sporty mom" should be my goal?)
After rounding up the football (which we did indeed own!), Audrey and I spent a couple of minutes tossing it back and forth, and I periodically her offered sporty tips.
Then Elliot banged out the back door. "Can I play?!"
I happily envisioned the three of us tossing and catching and drilling the afternoon away the way properly sporty families do. "Of course!"
"Hold on, I need to find my shield." He started rummaging around for his handy garbage can lid.
"No," I sighed. "You don't need the shield to play catch."
He brought it over anyway.
"Put your shield down and try to catch the ball with both of your hands," I demanded.
So he did, for about a minute. Then Elliot started wheedling. "I want to try to catch it on the shield!"
And I let him try to catch it on the shield. And then Audrey decided to see if she could toss the ball through the top of the play structure.
And then Elliot grabbed a bucket from the sand box and wore it as a helmet.
And pretty soon Audrey was wearing leaves in her hair and trying to whack a squash off the t-ball stand with a stick while a helmeted and shield-wielding Elliot held up his own stick up in defense.
And my kids don't know much about stances and catches and rules and regulations. But they are experts at having fun.
I Probably Didn't Really Need to Attend the Creativity Lecture.
A: Mom, next year for Halloween, I'm going to be a wolf with bat wings.
So Many Elements of Awesome in One Brief Conversation
Elliot: Mom, on Apollo 11, when Neil Armstrong stepped on the moon and said, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind," wouldn't it also have been a giant leap for girls?
Me: It would have made more sense if he said, "one giant leap for humans," huh?
Elliot: Yeah! "One small step for man, one giant leap for humankind!"
Head of an Engineer, Heart of a Poet
E: Mom. In jail, if there's a fire, how do they save the robbers but still keep them in jail?
A Scholar Falsely Accused
And she decided on her topic and researched it on the internet and printed out some relevant articles and highlighted the important parts and typed up her report and added pictures and printed it out and artfully arranged it on her poster board...and I. wasn't. involved. at. all. until she asked me to look over her finished product.
"You did great work, honey," I enthused. "But you might want to go back over this paragraph here about why the channel islands fox is endangered, and make sure to use your own words."
"The channel islands fox is endangered because when humans first came to the channel islands, they replaced native grasses and other plants with pasture suitable for grazing herds in the channel islands grasslands. Doing this made the island fox vulnerable to new predators , such as the golden eagle."
"Those are my own words, she indignantly huffed. Look through my research!"
And, actually, those were her own words. And I grew prouder still.
Another Proud Mama Moment
Strengths: Happy, Positive, Hard worker, Good friend, Works well with others, Stays on task, Good listener, Willingness to learn, Articulate
Challenges: N/A
"What more could you ask of a kindergartener?" his teacher shrugged. And we all smiled. And we spent the rest of our conference time shooting the breeze.
The Moment That I Knew He Would Soon Be a Reader
"Mom, I want to read this to you, because I want to get better."
Plus or Minus the Tessering
"This book is really reminding me of the last book that we read," she mentioned, as I put a bookmark in our latest bedtime novel and began to tuck her in. For a moment, I thought she was kind of nuts. Then I started analyzing.
A group of brilliant, misfit kids is brought together and given training by caring mentors. There are dark and mysterious forces at work that only the children can fight, so the mentors regretfully send them off into great danger. The kids figure out that a powerful brain is controlling the minds of the general populace. One of the kids is captured and subsequently rescued. A long lost father figure returns. The evil brain is partially and temporarily defeated.
Holey moley. The Mysterious Benedict Society and A Wrinkle in Time are the same book.
The Latest Audrey Jokes
Q: What do you get when you plant summer and winter crops at the same time?
A: A plumbkin!
Q: What does a half vampire/half fruit bat eat?
A: Blood oranges!
The First Elliot Joke
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Knock knock.
Who's there?
My name is "Knock Knock!"
The Latest Audrey Poem
Which I wrote down for her so that she could fall asleep without the risk of forgetting it.
The monster of the southern swamp
by night I saw its eyes
and clutched in its shining claws
it held its wondrous prize.
Coining Words, Shakespeare Style
E: Make a picture with only their shapes. It needs to be a type of transportation. Like, you can transportate by space shuttle, right?
Happy 9th Birthday, Baby Girl
Dear Audrey,
Your birthday letter is late this year. I apologize. I fully intended to write it the day after your birthday party.
But the day after your birthday party was the day we discovered LICE, and getting you debugged in time for the first day of school displaced everything else on my calendar.
I figured I'd have some free hours to write once you guys started school.
But once you guys started school, my free hours were packed full with class coordinator emails.
I looked forward to writing your birthday letter as soon as all of that back-to-school craziness died down.
But the back-to-school-craziness died down just in time for Uncle Andrew and Jihyun's wedding, and we were zooming around procuring dresses and shoes and haircuts.
I was going to write your birthday letter as soon as the wedding was behind us.
But our back-to-school cold made me too tired to think.
So here we are, with you a full month nine already, and no birthday letter to show for it!
I apologize.
And I know you'll be OK with it. Because, darling girl, you are practically unflappable, when plans go awry.
Can you believe, my tolerant nine-year-old, that not so long ago the world often overwhelmed you? Can you believe that you were once two, and a too-itchy-dress could bring you to hysterics? Can you believe that you were once three, and a too-wide-open city park could be terrifying? Can you believe that when you turned five, you would not accept a birthday party on any day but (Wednesday) August 12th?
At nine, you haven't outgrown your dislike of hairbrushes, but when parasites need evicting from you head, you tolerate hours of combing without complaint.
At nine, you haven't come to appreciate hair decor, but when wedding guests with bobby pins have big plans for you, you can graciously submit to their tiara.
At nine, you face long lines and long flights and long waits and long drives and large crowds and postponed parties with equanimity.
At nine, your heart is at peace in wide-open spaces.
How much you've changed, my beautiful girl. How marvelously well you've come to understand the ways of the world, and create your own space in it.
Can you believe, my amazing nine-year-old, that you were once a two-year-old who took comfort in routines? Can you believe that you were once three-year-old who made up zany stories? Can you believe that when you were five, your kindergarten teacher declared you a "science girl"?
Of course you can.
You know that other people marvel at your self-control, right? That babysitting grandmothers are endlessly amazed at how conscientiously you carry out your bedtime rituals? That your classmates' parents ooh and aah over your unswerving focus in school? Have I told you how proud you make me?
Have I told you how much I love your imagination? The complex worlds that you weave with your brother and your friends, all those dragons and Triceratops and teenagers.
Have I told you how much I love your boundless curiosity? The way you'll pull out books and rulers and magnifying glasses to identify an unusual beetle. The way you'll type up a report on stinging nettles in the middle of July.
My patient and passionate, quirky and level-headed, self-confident and self-aware, inquisitive and inventive, funny and travel-loving nine-year-old girl. You've changed so much since you were little. And you haven't changed at all.
How I loved you the way that you used to be.
How I love you the way that you are now.
How I will love the person you'll become during the next 11 months.
Happy 9th birthday, my precious baby girl. May your 10th year be filled with adventures and friendships and learning and fun.
Love,
Mom
OK. There is Logic to That.
J: I need you to stop not listening!
E: Then stop talking!
A Fond Farewell
The first time around, we were blindsided.
The first time around, it just didn't seem possible.
Our first baby's first love affair was so all consuming. It never occurred to us that it might end.
But in May of 2011 it did, and I wrote about it.
For three years Audrey's "devotion to the ocean was passionate and intense, joyful and unswerving. We've read hundreds of ocean themed books. We've watched hours of ocean videos. We've worn out our membership cards at the Monterey Bay Aquarium.
And then, just as suddenly and unexpectedly as the ocean swept into our lives, its mighty tide receded.
Audrey has moved on.
James and I were a little traumatized, to be frank, when Audrey dumped the ocean. We loved that guy. We thought she'd stick with him forever. We'd picked out a frame for her Marine Biology Diploma.
In the aftermath of Audrey's breakup, I grieved and regretted. Had I kept enough mementos of her ocean phase? Those fish pictures that she drew Every. Single. Day. during recess in kindergarten...why hadn't I saved a couple of them?
It's different, the second time around.
I mean, Elliot was just as into trains as Audrey was to oceans. And we read him zillions of train themed books. And we supplied him with crates and crates full of train toys. And we watched hours and hours of train videos. And we took several train trips out to the big train museum in Sacramento.
But the second time around, I think James and I were a little more careful with our hearts. We were friendly to that train gal of Elliot's. But we didn't exactly welcome her into the family.
So when train play screeched abruptly to a halt, James and I moved on just as easily as Elliot. (To be honest, we're already pretty huge fans of this new Space girl he's started seeing.)
And also, there's this. In the waning days of Elliot's train phase, I pounded out my first picture book draft. And if (if, if, if) I can get it polished and published... Well, a book dedicated to my boy and his train phase would be just about the coolest memento I can think of.
(And, yes. As promised, little girl, a book for you is coming up next.)
(And also, yes. This post is totally heterosexist, and I do feel slightly guilty about it.)
Dining on Some Tasty, Tasty Crow
I used to sniff and arch my eyebrows in the general directions of the crazy helicopter moms who were already strategizing about summer camps in February. (Like, c'mon you type-A overschedulers. I've got a great summer plan for you! Send your kids into the back yard and let them play in some mud puddles. You're welcome for the help!)
Since life likes to smack me around a bit whenever I get all judgmental, yesterday I found myself with some other moms in a park, strategizing about summer camps over birthday party cupcakes.
It's the end of September already. There are only eight months left in this school year. I need to brainstorm.
I thought I had things pretty well organized this last summer. We had camps! We had play dates! We had swimming lessons! We had vacations! We had the library! We had a membership at our neighborhood pool!
And still, the kids missed school.
Audrey missed school with a sigh and a stiff upper lip.
Elliot got grumpy. The baby who was cranky in the house but cooed contentedly at the neighbors when out for a walk. The toddler who fussed in the house but flirted blissfully with the other moms at Audrey's swimming lessons.
He is a boy who walks around with a perpetual rain cloud over his head without the daily stimulation of school.
And so, I recalibrate. And so, I reorient. And so, I resolve to make next summer work better.
And so I remember, yet again, that people often have really good reasons, for doing the things that they do.
The Kindergartener and the School-Wide Election
L: Did you vote in the election today?
E: I checked a box.
L: Whose box?
E: I dunno.
The Clairvoyants
I didn't suggest it to James. I didn't mention it to the kids. It was just a private, fleeting little thought that I thought all to myself on a Wednesday evening.
Nevertheless, by Thursday afternoon, Elliot and his buddy had swung into emergency action. Like, "Look, Mom! We are having a fantastic time playing a restaurant game! And do you see how we are incorporating this pink play kitchen (that we haven't touched in months) into our game? We sure do loooove this pink play kitchen (that we haven't touched in months)!"
And that is why James and I never, ever seem to be able to declutter anything.
1912-Style Vinyasa Partner Yoga
"You look like you're doing 'Boat Pose,'" I mentioned to Audrey.
"Oh yeah?" she smiled, stretching out on the floor.
"And now you're doing 'Corpse Pose,'" I grinned.
"Elliot come here!" she demanded. "OK, you get into 'Iceberg Pose' while I get into 'Titanic Pose.' There. Next, we both do 'Corpse Pose.'"
They're Gonna Party Like It's 1773
A: So Tuck was walking next to Boston Harbor, carrying a cup of tea. Suddenly, he dropped the tea in the water.
E: Then, they closed the harbor.
A: Then, they taxed Tuck's cup.
Adulation
It's not always as easy to spot now that he's older. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve the way that he used to. But once in a while he lets his little secret slip out. He still worships the ground she walks on.
Refrigerator Reflections
And on display from the girls whose very first word was "dog," animals drawings.
And on display from the boy whose very first passion was garbage trucks, a Saturn 5 rocket.
Let Me Take This Opportunity to Toot My Own Horn
E: (First thing in the morning) Mom, how do rockets blast off without exploding because there's lots of fire?
E: Mom, how do rocket engines go? What makes the fire go? What makes the gas go to each part of the rocket?
E: (Upon pushing a release button) Mom, how do seat belts work?
E: Mom, what does the tail of a plane do?
E: Mom, what do a plane's wings do?
E: Mom, how do astronauts go to the bathroom?
E: Mom, how do astronauts wash their hands?
E: Mom, is there such a thing as a solar powered bike?
E: Mom, is there such a thing as a water powered car?
E: Mom! I made up a new seat belt! Blah blah blah spring...blah blah blah button blah blah blah...
E: Mom! I made up a new toilet! Blah blah blah long tube...blah blah blah water...blah blah blah...
E: Mom! I have an idea for how people could stop volcanoes from exploding! Blah blah blah spikes...blah blah blah.
E: Mom! I have an idea for how the firefighters could have pulled the old pumper trucks up the hill easily! Blah blah blah spring....blah blah blah.
OK...I just want to point out that I am not, by nature, an engineer. And I will further point out that the only academic subject that I ever found truly uninteresting was physics.
So, down the road, if my boy ends up developing cool technologies that contribute to humanity, I'm gonna be patting myself on the back going, "When that boy was five, I used to find him YouTube videos about seat belts mechanisms and solid rocket boosters...Even Though I Thought They Were Kind of Boring!"
Oh, and I'll be super proud of him, too.
I'm already kind of in awe of him.
Whose Idea Was it Teaching This Kid to Read?
E: (Looking at a Facebook picture) What does that say?
L: Uh...It says "Jim, I'm a cookie not a life coach."
E: But...the first word starts with a "D"?!
And the Awkward Explanations Continue
A: Mom, why does Dad's apron say "Kiss My Asparagus"
L: Mmm.
A: Mom, I don't get it. I don't get the pun.
And That's When I Recognize That It's Time to Turn off NPR
E: Mom, what's a chemical weapon?
Happy Sigh
E: Mmmm! Brussels' Sprouts! My favorite kind of vegetables! Audrey, what's your favoite kind of vegetable?
A: Spinach. Or peas.
Out of Order
I wrote a bunch of entries last month, shortly before we left for vacation in Washington D.C., Virginia, and New York City, but with all of the packing and prepping that needed to get finished before our trip, James didn't have time to publish them before we left. So the current set of posts is a mish-mash of pre and post vacation musings.
With Gratitude to the Citizens of the Washington D.C. and New York City Metro Areas
One thing that I love about traveling with kids is the way they sometimes pull you off of your planned itinerary to explore a place's overlooked nooks and crannies. It's not always a good thing. (My memories that trip to Grandma and Grandpa's when we had to pull off the 101 freeway so that I could nurse a screeching infant Audrey in a pickup-truck-filled, dirt parking lot in San Ardo, California are not entirely fond.)
But other times their finds are fun. That teeny, tiny memorial to the signers of the Declaration of Independence wasn't on any of our maps, but it was a fitting follow up to some of the National Mall's more celebrated sites. And though the "Ancient Playground" next to the Metropolitan Museum of Art wasn't on our agenda, it was almost as delightful as the museum itself.
But the best part of traveling with the kids this time around was taking them on trains. We rode on lots and lots of trains. The D.C. Metro. Amtrak. NJ Transit Light Rail. PATH. The New York City Subway. Lots and lots of trains, many of them crowded. The main thing that all of those crowded trains had in common was this. Nearly every time my family stepped on board a crowded train, someone would pop to their feet. Time after time. Crowded train after crowded train. Young passengers and old. Male and female. Black, white, and brown. Wearing suits and wearing saggy pants. They popped to their feet so that my five-year-old could sit down.
Thank you, all of you Big City folks. Thank you for ensuring that my small child was safely seated as our trains lurched wildly this way and that. Thank you for giving his little legs a rest as we traversed around your cities.
But most of all, thank you for spilling your secret. That reputation you cultivate. That hard-charging, rude, hard-hearted reputation of yours. I know now that it's all nonsense. I know that you're all really a bunch of generous softies. Because I took my five-year-old on your trains.
"Can We Stop Taking All These Trains?"
Turns out the boy can reach his fill of trains! All you have to do to achieve it is spend two weeks trudging him continuously up and down subway stairs.
So. He Seems Ready. (Pre-Vacation Ponderings)
It all started off innocently enough. I was taking a five-year-old to New York and Washington D.C. I shuddered at the thought of hauling him, all glassy-eyed and whining, to an endless assortment of Important Places. I thought a little background knowledge would help him enjoy our vacation. I checked out a few relevant books from the library.
And then I went back to the library and checked out a few more books. And then, well, things may have gotten a little out of hand.
We may have reached the point where, when James was all, "Are we going to Mount Vernon?"
I was like all, "Of course we're going to Mount Vernon. I have read your son two or three books about Mount Vernon. Your son is to prepped to the point where he recognizes pictures of the greenhouse on the grounds of Mount Vernon. We are definitely going to Mount Vernon."
Or, you know. There was that time when the whole family was reading that book about the Statue of Liberty. And it was like, the fifth or sixth book about Lady Liberty that Elliot had heard. And when the book informed us that the statue was designed by Frédéric Bartholdi, Elliot was all like, "No! It was designed by Frédéric *Auguste* Bartholdi."
You know. There was that time.
The Brooklyn Bridge. Central Park. The Empire State Building. The Met. Broadway. George Washington. Thomas Jefferson. Abraham Lincoln. The White House. The Capitol. The Vietnam Memorial. The Smithsonian. Colonial America. The Declaration of Independence. The Revolutionary War. The War of 1812. Slavery. The Civil War. The Great Depression. 9/11. Shenandoah National Park. Monticello. Colonial Williamsburg. Manhattan. Brooklyn. The Hudson River. The East River. The Potomac River. The Blue Ridge Mountains. The Appalachian Mountains. Virginia.
With books, with maps, with videos, with iTunes playlists, we have been preparing to meet them.
These days, when my five-year-old is in the living room working on construction projects, he has a tendency to hum The Star-Spangled Banner. So, when I haul him through the streets of New York and Washington D.C. in a few weeks, I am confident that a lack of background knowledge won't render him glassy-eyed and whiny. It'll be the Oppressive Heat.
The Audio Tour Connoisseur (Post Vacation Update)
We dragged our five-year-old to an endless assortment of Important Places on our vacation. There were museums and memorials, tours and shows, lines and crowds, and lots and lots of stairs. But even during long hikes through Oppressive Heat, Elliot did fantastically well. (Well, he did hitch rides from James on a regular basis.)
The little guy had the occasional rough moment. He got a little squirrelly during the Lower East Side Tenement Museum tour. He was a little restless watching "Annie" on Broadway. But when Audrey, James and I were trying to leave the Metropolitan Museum of Art and he was hanging back to hear just a little more about the Tiffany glass...that was the moment when I knew that our vacation was just as much his as the rest of ours.
And Another Thing (Post Vacation Update)
We totally ran out of time to go to Mount Vernon.
It Is...Possible...That I Have Become...Slightly...Obsessive About This Trip (Pre-Vacation Ponderings)
Me: "We're going to go to the Lower East Side Tenement Museum."
J: "Oh? Were we debating whether or not to go to the Lower East Side Tenement Museum."
Me: "Yeah. My sister dragged Jeff there once and he thought it was boring, so it doesn't come highly recommended. But they have a family tour where a costumed actress portrays a Jewish girl who lived in a Lower East Side tenement at the turn of the century, and the book that I'm reading to Audrey is about a Jewish family that lived in a Lower East Side tenement at the turn of the century, so doesn't it seem like we should go?"
J: "Sure."
Me: "Of course, the guide portrays a Sephardic Jewish girl, and the book is about an Ashkenazi family, but it's still a pretty neat parallel, isn't it?"
J: "Uh...sure...OK."
So. Totally. Vindicated. (Post Vacation Update)
And then, when the costumed actress portraying a Jewish girl who lived in the Lower East Tenement Museum at the turn of the century mentioned that it was kind of hard being an Sephardic Jew in a largely Ashkenazi neighborhood, I nodded sympathetically.
When My California Foodie Categories Failed Me (Post Vacation Update)
As my eyes hopped wildly around the menu, my brain struggled for an adjective. Vegan?? No...lots of meat options. Paleo! No...sandwich breads.
Finally, I turned to my brother-in-law. "Why does the menu say they don't serve dairy products?"
"We're in Brooklyn," he prompted me.
"Kosher!" The adjective had come to me at last. And I felt ever-so-slightly more worldly.
When the Continental Army Soldier Eats at a Chinese Restaurant (Pre Vacation Ponderings)
"This napkin is my hat, and these chopsticks are my gun!"
And that was the moment I realized my error. After five years of shielding Elliot from violent videos and images and successfully minimizing the appeal of gun play in my household, I'd undone all of my own efforts. By teaching him about the Revolutionary War.
Fueling the Fire (Post Vacation Update)
Thanks for loaning us the musket, Colonial Williamsburg costume rental center. How very...helpful.
They Would Probably Benefit from Additional Civics Instruction (Pre-Vacation Ponderings)
A: It's a free country, so that means I can tickle you on the head!
E: No! It's a free country means you don't have to pay to get in!
Actually a Pretty Good Spot for Civics Instruction (Post Vacation Update)
Elliot was struggling. "Is California the biggest country?"
"California's not a country," I explained again. "It's a state."
"Our country is the United States of America," James tried to clarify.
Then Audrey chimed in. "Remember what we learned at the U.S. Capitol, Elliot? E Pluribus Unum? Out of many one? That's what America is. One country made up of many states."
Yes. What she said.
Big Sister Still Likes to Pick out Science Videos. Little Brother Still Listens in.
"Dad! Did you know? Whatever you're eating, some type of bacteria is eating it too!"
The lunch table at our house. Not necessarily a good place for the squeamish.
I Know. I Know. It Would Be Extremely Bad Form.
Audrey has officially reached the point in her math education where, when she asks me to check her homework, I find myself very, very tempted to pull out a calculator.
It May Be a Big Blow When He Learns There's No Homework in Kindergarten
Audrey usually does her math homework right before bedtime, so Elliot has started to insist on joining in the fun.
"Dad! I'm ready for math! Give me some math problems!"
Vive La Différence
I have no idea how Audrey managed to teach herself to read. She gave us no hints about the processes playing out in her head. Never once did I hear her struggling with a text or laboriously sounding words out. From the time she floored us by identifying the "No" on a "No Parking" sign at two-and-a-half, she played her cards very close to her vest. Her M.O. was always to get ever-more-complicated texts figured out on her own, and then to dazzle us by reading them flawlessly.
It is so fun, as a parent, when your kid's awesome new skills debut by magic.
Given that Audrey was a fluent reader by the time she turned five, James and I have no experience sending a non-reader off to kindergarten. So my husband, in an uncharacteristically Tiger Dad fashion, decided that we should provide Elliot with a gentle introduction to the concept. And, armed with some simply worded books from the library we've become reading coaches.
Someone seems pretty enthusiastic about the project.
"Mom! Mom! Come look at this sign!" he called to me at the park. "Look!" he pointed at the list of rules and regulations posted next to the climbing structure. "It says P-L-A-Y! That spells 'play!'"
There is nothing mysterious whatsoever about the path my second-born is taking to literacy. I can follow along every step of the way. I notice every time he proudly picks up a new sight word. (the! a! go! she! he! on! in! here! there!) We celebrate together every time he triumphantly sounds a new word out "rrrrrreeeeeed. RED!!!!!"
It is so fun, as a parent, when your kid works hard to acquire awesome new skills step by step by step.
Transferable Skills
"How can I make this ball land in the box?" Elliot wondered.
"Hmm..." I examined the dashed trajectory line on the computer screen. "You're going to overshoot if you let go when it's at that angle. Move the mouse over a little, like..."
"Nah," he shrugged, lifting his finger off the button.
And off the ball flew, well past its target.
"Hmph..."I made a mental note. "I need to spend more time playing catch with that kid, so he'll have a better understanding of parabolas."
Quickly, I corrected myself. "AND so that he'll be better at playing ball."
Making Up for My Deficiencies
My interest in sports is minimal, and consequently, over the last six months I'd estimate that I've spent...let's see...ah, yes. I've spent approximately 0 minutes tossing balls around with my kids.
No! Wait! I think we played catch in the hall one time a couple months ago. Oh! And we kicked a soccer ball around in the yard once a few months before that.
So, in the last six months, I've spend at least 10 minutes playing ball with my kids!
Yeah. They don't exactly have mad sports skills.
When Audrey was starting Kindergarten, I didn't give her lack of sportiness a second thought. My lack of sportiness had never bothered me, so I figured she'd muddle through P.E. perfectly fine.
With The Boy though....well...I thought it might be socially beneficial for him not to be the least athletic boy in his new class. So instead of adhering to my usual parenting style and finding him a camp he'd love for the first week of summer, I signed him up for a sports camp.
It wasn't exactly a huge hit. "Mom, this camp is boring. All you can do is play ball. There are No Other Choices!!!"
Nevertheless, by the fourth day of camp, when I arrived a little early for pickup and got to watch him sink two baskets, I was pretty sure I'd made the right call.
And now, back to my regularly scheduled parenting style. K'nex camp is coming up, Builder Boy!
This Triumphant Moment Is Brought to You By...Bribery
"What's your favorite food?" the doctor inquired.
"My favorite food is sweet potato French Fries!" chirped the five-year-old.
"Oh, I like those too," nodded the doctor approvingly. "Elliot, do you know what a vegetable is? Can you tell me about some green vegetables that you like to eat?"
"I like...Brussels Sprouts!" enthused the five-year-old. "And broccoli!"
I'm still slightly philosophically opposed to the whole "letting the kids earn dessert if they finish their vegetables thing." Nevertheless, I must say, it's working out pretty well for us.
Five-Year-Old Insights
E: I'm going to get married with you.
A: I don't want to get married. Do you know why? Because weddings are boring.
E: But when you're a grown up, you might not think weddings are boring. Mom, did you like your wedding?
Happy 5th Birthday, Baby Boy
Dear Elliot,
Every year I write you a letter for your birthday. I think of these letters as snapshots in time. As attempts to capture your essence at each age. To reflect on what brings you joy. To reflect on what makes you wonderful.
This year's letter has been giving me some trouble, though. I mean, I can start off by saying that you are my Builder Boy. But of course you are. I already waxed poetic about your feats of construction in your third birthday letter. I already heaped praise on your engineering skills in your fourth birthday letter.
What's left to say about the things you build at five?
How about this, darling boy. To you, happiness is a fresh box of K'nex or Legos and a challenging booklet of "constructions." You start building most every morning as soon as breakfast is over, and you don't stop until I drag you out the door for preschool in the afternoon.
You build stuff like this,
and this,
and this.
Yes, you build intricate stuff like this,
and elaborate stuff like this,
and you build it so regularly, and so speedily and so nonchalantly that most days the rest of us take your work completely and utterly for granted. Your birthday is not a day for taking anything for granted, Elliot. So I want you to know something; your building skills make me proud fit to burst. It's a pleasure to see the extraordinary stuff that you construct. But the greatest pleasure is seeing how happy you are when you devote all of your energy, for hours at a time, into creating things. I don't know what you'll become passionate about creating in your sixth year and beyond. Maybe you'll come to love creating programs out of code. Maybe you'll come to love creating stories out of words. Maybe you'll come to love creating music out of notes. But whatever passions you develop, I look forward to delighting in your magnificent creations.
Elliot, this year's birthday letter has been giving me some trouble. I can say that you are a devoted brother. But of course you are. I already spent much of your fourth birthday letter expounding about how much you adore your sister. I already waxed poetic about how she is one of your greatest inspirations in life.
What's left to say about your relationship with Audrey now that you're five?
How about this, sweet boy. When you were one and two and three and four, you aspired to be a big kid just like your sister. You wanted to walk like a big kid. You wanted to draw like a big kid. You wanted to write like a big kid. And, most of all, you wanted to play like a big kid.
Well Elliot, now that you're five, you are a big kid. You walk. (Of course.) You draw and you write. (Quite handily.) And, most magically of all, you don't just aspire to play the way your sister does. You are her full partner in play. Within moments of awakening in the morning, the two of you disappear into your imaginary worlds. "Audrey, now Tuck [the baby triceratops] is in an elevator and he's pressing 3-1-3-1-3-1-3-1!"
You two imagine together as you sit at the dinner table. You imagine together as you romp around the back yard. You imagine together as you ride bikes around the block.
You two imagine and imagine and imagine, and you, my big kid, you make vital, big kid contributions to every game that you and your sister play. ("Elliot, can you build me another one of those K'nex things with feet that really stand? To go over the aliens?") Elliot, is such a pleasure to watch you at long last living the life of the big kid you've always longed to be.
My dear Elliot, you are a big kid who is also a little brother, and sometimes that is a tough thing to be. Sometimes, moms and dads take their second big kids for granted. Sometimes they forget just how special it is when their second big kids suddenly start creating cool, big kid crafts. Sometimes, by the time moms and dads remember that they really ought to take a picture of that paper cup sea turtle and its construction paper squid prey, the squid may have already met its fate in the recycling bin.
Your birthday is not a day for taking anything for granted, Elliot. So I want you to know something; I am so proud of the big kid you've grown to be. I marvel at the things you make. I'm charmed by your cleverness. I love to listen to your big kid imaginative play.
But even more importantly, Elliot, day in and day out, at home and at school, and out and about, I'm proud of the way you act. My ever ebullient and smiley son, you unfailingly treat other children and adults, with kindness, respect, affection, and good will. And that makes me happiest of all.
Happy fifth birthday, my sweet baby boy. Happy fifth birthday, my big kid. Elliot, my social and good-hearted, joyful and focused, curious and creative son, may your sixth year be filled with many thrilling big kid adventures.
Love,
Mom
The Birthday Presents
My five-year-old knows how to savor a pile of wrapped presents. He knows how to relish them one at a time. How to uncover the exquisite mysteries of the packages. Their weights when lifted. Their sounds when shaken. That tantalizing sliver of...something... glimpsed through a tiny tear in the paper. These things enthrall him.
My five-year-old knows that the anticipation of the present opening is as exhilarating as the opening.
My five-year-old knows how to savor a baking project. He loves to take his time, exploring each ingredient. The silkiness of flour sifted in a bowl. The sweet explosion of brown sugar on his tastebuds. The magic that happens when wet and the dry things meet and merge. These things enthrall him.
My five-year-old knows that the baking of the goods is as satisfying as the eating of them.
And so, on the morning of his birthday, after my new five-year-old finished shaking his presents, I asked him to help me bake a cake. I didn't hurry him along when he was lingering over the baking soda. I didn't rush him through when he was marveling at the patterns of the egg cracks. I didn't correct him when he dripped and dropped goop in places I would have managed to keep clean.
When I am mothering at my best, I know that my five-year-old's sense of wonder is as valuable as my grown-up efficiency.
What Happens When Your Kid Watches Too Much PBS
The boy and I were snuggling together with a new batch of library books, and the dramatic tension was high. The Magic School Bus kids had traveled back to the Cretaceous Period! A pack of Troodons was attacking the Maiasaura nesting site! The babies were in danger!
And...Elliot was unimpressed.
"Troodons are nocturnal. Why would they be hunting during the daytime?"
This. This is what happens when you let your kid watch too many episodes of Dinosaur Train. The knowledge that he gains from the time-traveling reptilian heroes of that science-promoting series renders him completely unable to enjoy the adventures of the time-traveling human heroes of that other science promoting series.
What Happens When Your Kid Watches Too Much PBS
Elliot and I were cleaning up his construction room (an area formerly known as "our living room") when I came across a stray. Which set does this Lego piece go with? I asked the Lego Guy.
The Lego Guy gave the piece an appraising stare. "I think it goes with the train set. But I'm not exactly sure. It's just a hypothesis."
Yeah. I love Dinosaur Train. (That not just an idea I can test. It's a fact.)
Dinnertime Ponderings
Subtitle: In Which James is Granted a Reprieve
A: "Dad, for the Big Bang, how could there be an explosion if there was nothing to explode?"
J: "Uh..."
E: "Audrey, where's the top of space?"
A: "Space doesn't have a top, Elliot."
E: "How do astronauts get back in ships if there's no top?"
The Latest Audrey Jokes
What kind of fisherman just sits with his fishing pole on the TV all day?
A commercial fisherman!
Why did the ghost show up at Christmas?
He wanted to show the Holiday Spirit!
Why did the flower ride a bike?
It wanted to know how to use its pedals!
At Least He'll Get to Take a Lot of Subway Rides
Three summers ago, when Audrey was five (and Elliot was two), our family enjoyed a lovely vacation in Oahu. We filled our trip with beaches and mazes and aquariums and train rides and lots of activities that young kids could enjoy.
When Hawaii was still in the planning stages, my mom asked if we were going to visit Pearl Harbor. "No," I sighed regretfully. "The kids aren't old enough to appreciate it."
This summer Elliot will be five years old (and Audrey will be eight), and we're in the planning stages for a trip to DC and NYC. I'm chest deep in web sites and books touting kid-friendly sites in the cities.
But this time around, Audrey is peering over my shoulder at assorted books and screens and saying things like, "Ooh! Can we go to the U.S. Navy Museum?" and "The National Museum of Health and Medicine looks reeeeeally interesting!"
The poor, poor five-year-old. I'm researching my heart out to find ways to make this trip fun for him. (There are trains in the National Museum of American History, yo!) But it's going to be pretty hard for the rest of us not to get carried away mooning over stuff that he's still a good couple of years away from appreciating. (You can compare a smoker's lung to a coal miner's lung at the National Museum of Health and Medicine, yo!)
A Noteworthy Milestone
So, where did I get the idea to color code important messages in my inbox?
From my daughter.
And, who did I have to turn to for assistance when my attempts at color coding failed?
Yeah. I did it. I asked my kid for tech support.
These Bikes Stop for Snails
And they wait really, really patiently for the snails to finish crossing the sidewalk. And they wait some more. And, eventually, they conclude that if the bikes proceed really, really cautiously and with great precision, the snails on the sidewalk will be OK.
The Weaning Post
I almost didn't write this one. Been sitting on it for months and months, in fact. I was kinda like, eh. The kids are 8 and 4 now. I'll just keep the blog chugging along on the light and funny side (with an occasional bout of bragginess). Why blather on about the whack-a-doodle parenting choices I made when they were little things. (Remember five years ago? Back when I was blogging about giving birth in my living room? Ah...good, good times.)
But anyway, then yesterday I came across another whack-a-doodle mom's moving and heartfelt weaning post and I was like, OK. OK, fine. I can't not write the weaning post. So, back to whack-a-doodle land we go!
Here's how my little boy weaned...gradually. Gradually. Luxuriously gradually. He spent about a year as a "first-thing-in-the-morning-only" nursling. In his final months as my nursling, his nursing sessions grew shorter and shorter and less and less important to him. In his final weeks as my nursling, his nursing sessions started to seem slightly inconvenient to him...like something he needed to get out of the way so that he could move on to more interesting pursuits. In his final days as my nursling, he would only latch on for a few seconds before bounding out of bed to start his new day. And, then a couple of days before turning four-and-a-half, he snuggled up to me first thing in the morning, rested his head against my chest, paused to consider his options, and decided that he was all done with nursing.
It was a beautiful moment. An exhilarating, intense, bittersweet, beautiful moment. We didn't exchange words. We didn't need to. I understood exactly what he meant when he opted not to latch on.
"I'm glad we did this, Mom. It was really important to me. But I've outgrown it now."
I think on some level, he pretty much knew what I was thinking, too. "I'm glad we did this, beautiful boy. It was really important to me. But growing up is just what you're supposed to do. And we'll both be just fine without nursing."
All of which leaves me...glad. I am so very glad that I spent eight years of my life nursing my babies. It wasn't always fun. In fact, it was incredibly stressful for me in the early days of motherhood, when my newborn Audrey would repeatedly delatch herself from my breasts before she was done eating. (She managed to mystify the lactation consultant with that behavior!) Thankfully, she outgrew that tendency pretty quickly, but there were plenty of other bumps in the road that we followed. There were a couple of ouchy plugged ducts. A couple of bad bites. An unpleasant couple of months when a yeast infection made every nursing session painful. An unpleasant couple of months when my pregnant body gently nudged me and three-year-old Audrey towards weaning by presenting me with increasingly tender breasts and her with increasingly yucky tasting milk. I didn't enjoy the many hours I spent desperately trying to convince my reluctant breasts that they should be willing to produce milk for a breastpump. I didn't enjoy the many, many times when my children were desperate to nurse at inconvenient hours and in inconvenient places. I shudder to remember The Night of My Terrible Gastro Bug. The puking. The diarrhea. The high fever. The chills. The aching body. The aching, aching belly. I shudder to remember how excruciating it was every time I had to press my tiny, hungry infant up to my miserable body so that he could nurse.
Yeah. If you asked me to dish about the BAD parts of nursing, I'd have plenty of material to keep you laughing and wincing.
But if you asked me to tell you about nursing, I'd tell you about this. I loved it.
I loved nursing my newborns. I loved snuggling together with those small, precious people. I loved how my milk made them grow and grow, and protected them from ills.
I loved nursing my older babies. I loved snuggling with those small, precious people. I loved the silly games they played as they suckled, the milky smiles they gave me as they used their free hands to try and pull off my glasses or pick my nose.
I loved nursing my toddlers. I loved snuggling with those small, precious people. I loved the silly positions they would nurse in, how they managed to get milk while standing on one leg or while dangling upside down. I loved how nursing calmed their fears and fixed their boo boos and comforted their illnesses.
I loved nursing my preschoolers. I loved snuggling with those small, precious people. I loved how nursing still came through for us when they were older. How it still helped to comfort them when their emotions got out of control. How it helped them fall asleep in strange places.
When I think back on the experience of nursing my kids, I feel my whole body fill up with a warm and wonderful sensation. I fill up with love. That's what every single nursing session was for me. Every single one of the thousands and thousands of times that I offered my children my breasts. I wasn't merely filling their tummies with my milk. I was nourishing them with my love.
It seems like in our culture, you get judged harshly if you don't nurse your child to the one-year-mark, and then you get judged harshly if you nurse your child even one day beyond that. So I almost didn't write this post. I almost wasn't willing to admit just how whack-a-doodle my parenting choices have been.
But then I read another mom's wonderful account of how her four-year-old self-weaned. I read that post and I remembered. I remembered that I learned about how wonderful toddler nursing is from reading other women's accounts. I remembered that I learned about how wonderful self-weaning is from reading other women's accounts.
I remembered that it is important for me to write my nursing story for other people to consider, even if they choose to judge me harshly.
So. Here is my nursing story, for your consideration. I nursed my daughter until she self-weaned at three-and-a-half. I nursed my son until he self-weaned at four-and-a-half. It was wonderful experience for me and for my children. I will forever be glad that I was able to do it.
Train School
About a year ago, I was worried I wasn't reading enough to Elliot. My lack of interest in books about trains and his lack of interest in books about anything other than trains had left us at an unliterary impasse.
After pondering the issue, I realized that I needed to suck it up and read him the books he wanted to hear. So I started checking train books out of the library like crazy and reading them with all of expression and enthusiasm I could muster.
I still am. My boy still is still passionate about trains. As for me, I'd say I've made peace with them. I appreciate them for the many things they've taught my son. From "how trains work" books, he's learned a ton about engines and track building, a bit about shipping and the economy, and a smidgen of math. (Show Elliot the side of a locomotive and he can distinguish a 4-4-0 from a 2-6-2, based on how many wheels it has.) From historical works, he's learned about the building of the transcontinental railroad and some of its positive and negative repercussions. Books and songs have helped him contemplate the heroism the engineer Casey Jones, who died in a 1900 train crash but managed to save his passengers and crew, and the plight of John Henry, a track layer whose job skills were rendered obsolete by the new technologies of his day. Elliot has been introduced to the idea that Chinese railroad workers faced discrimination in the 1800s, and that men (like his very own great-grandpa Mike!), hopped on freight trains without a ticket to travel and look for work during the Great Depression.
Pretty good stuff. And so, every week, I search for three or four train books to put on hold: +Railroad -Underground -Thomas. Language: English. Audience: Children.
I don't have to grit my teeth at all any more when I read them. And as long as there are a few train books in our library bag, Elliot is happy to check out books about all sorts of other topics, too.
So, I realized my goal. I created another bibliophile. Nice work, me.
Packing in Heavenly Peace
It was the morning of our annual southward trek to Grandma and Grandpa's for Christmas. As always, we'd vowed to get out the door early. As always, we were running late. James and I were engaged in a frenzy of dish washing and thermostat lowering and minivan stuffing. The children were conducting experiments such as "How many times can we ask our parents 'When are we leaving?' before our parents explode?"
And then, voices from the master bedroom. "Hey Elliot, do you want me to read you train books?"
"Sure!"
My two children snuggled together with books. The older one's voice rising and falling expressively through the pages.
My best Christmas present.
Masculinity, Under Construction
The basketball hoop that the kids got from Santa required some assembly, and on the afternoon when James got around to putting it together, Elliot was very excited.
"I can help Dad, because I'm a good boy!"
As I watched my good boy racing off to the driveway, where his father and sister were already immersed in screwdrivers and instruction manuals, I parsed his grammatical construction.
I'm a good boy.
I'm a good BOY.
Elliot is spending a lot of time these days, figuring out the rules of good boyness. It's crazy complicated.
When it comes to the physical differences between the sexes, matters seem straightforward to him:
"Boys are lucky, because they can pee standing up. Girls aren't lucky, because they can't."
or (with regard to the experience of childbirth) "I don't have to hurt because I'm not a girl."
But when it comes to behavioral differences, he has a lot to mull over. In early December, when James went on the roof to put up Christmas lights, the kids wanted to join him. We promised they could when they were older.
"Will Audrey not go on the roof because girls don't go on roofs?" he wondered.
We assured him that girls can and do go on roofs, of course.
Another time, as he pondered his future, Elliot had an exciting realization, "When I'm grown up, I can make my own food!"
We assured him that he was right, of course.
But I think we were remiss. Given how the making of food works out in our household, we should also have assured him that girls can and do make food, too.
Also, Boys' and Girls' Buttons are on Opposite Sides. The Reason for That is Less Clear.
"Go pee and wash your hands before dinner," James directed The Boy.
For a moment, as he obediently turned and walked down the hall, The Boy appeared to be following directions.
But then, he paused for a moment. He paused and he fiddled, and a gleeful smile lit up his face.
"Hey, Audrey," he grinned. "Look at my penis."
"ELLIOT!!!" James roared.
Alas, none of us got to hear the stern and important lecture that James was on the verge of imparting.
The lecture dissipated due to the uproarious laughter emanating from The Girl.
"That's HIL-A-RI-OUS," she gasped. "Do you have a HOLE in your underwear?!?!"
We've decided to consider this episode, "the evening when the kids learned about some key differences between boys' and girls' undergarments," and we're leaving it at that. So long as The Boy doesn't request a trench coat for his birthday.
Not Concerned About His Self-Esteem
When I was little, I loved making gingerbread boys with my mom at Christmas time, so that's a tradition I try to keep alive for my kids. I've had to tweak the tradition a little to make it work for our family. Like, I use a gluten-free gingerbread recipe instead of the recipe my mom uses. I also mix together a batch of GF sugar cookie dough that we can roll out, because Audrey doesn't much care for gingerbread.
This year, as we rolled out our doughs, the kids decided to tweak tradition even further. They started out by creating the usual boys and trees and snowmen. But then they started to explore the back of the cookie cutter bag.
"Merry Fall!" Audrey enthused as she pressed an acorn shape into the dough.
"Merry Halloween!" Elliot grinned as he cut out a pumpkin.
"Merry St. Patrick's Day!" chortled Audrey as she maneuvered a four-leaf-clover onto the baking sheet.
"Merry Elliot Day!!" cheered Elliot.
Truly, nothing says "Merry Elliot Day" like an "E" shaped cookie.
It's Probably About Time for James to Start Sewing
"I'm practicing for Halloween," announced a posing Audrey. "I'm going to be Dragon Girl! And also a queen!"
"And I'm going to be Dragon Girl and also a queen, too, Audrey! And then after I'm those things, I'm going to be a train.
Merry Halloween, Everybody
Think Different, Baby
The other day, during group time at Elliot's school, his Pre-K teacher challenged the kids to make "7" with their fingers. It was fun to watch the kids as they explored their options. Some got to seven using five fingers on one hand and two on the other. Some figured out that they could use four fingers on one hand and three on the other. All of them were concentrating intensely and highly engaged as they thought the problem through.
Except my kid. He spent about two seconds worth of brain power on the problem. Index finger of the left hand--vertical. Index finger of the right hand--horizontal. Bring them together and--viola--"7."
A Little Game We Like to Call "Spot the Engineer"
At the beginning of December, Elliot's preschool had menorahs and dreidels out so that the kids could explore Hanukah traditions. Later in the month, Elliot's teacher asked his class to brainstorm what items they should have in their dramatic play area to help them explore Christmas traditions.
Here's the list his class came up with:
Cookies (pretend)
sled
boxes for presents
reindeer
candy
train
train track
chair for santa
elves
santa's hat
christmas tree ornaments
christmas tree
christmas cards
wreathes
carriage for Santa
wrapping paper
books on animals
stockings
fake snow
milk (to go with the cookies)
rope to tie the reindeer to the sled
candles
Naturally, my kid was the one who contributed the train and the train tracks ideas.
And also, the rope idea. Because, let's face it, come Christmas Eve you may have a beautiful sleigh full of presents and eight or nine incredible flying reindeer. But without rope to connect those elements together, you've got a disaster on your hands.
The Latest Audrey Joke
Inspired by an interesting grocery store find.
Do you like those tiny apples? Do you think they grow them in Minneapolis?
What I'm Thankful for This Thanksgiving
L: It's Wednesday, so no piano practice tonight.
A: Just have to check out my new homework. And I like homework! And then go to bed and rest up for an exciting journey tomorrow.
I'm thankful for a lot of things, of course. But here's one of the biggies. I'm thankful that my third grader wakes up every morning and can't wait to go to school.
I hope, hope, hope, hope that my pretty-darned-soon-to-be-kindergartener will love school as much.
Something Else I'm Thankful For
I'm thankful that just before summer vacation started last June, the kids entered a lovely developmental stage in which they got along splendidly and enjoyed each other's companionship immensely. I am doubly thankful that that stage lasted the whole summer through. And I am thankful indeed that my children are spending their days in school this fall, because this fall seems to be the season of sibling bickering and tattling and whining, and if the three of us were spending all day every day together, I think I'd be tearing my hair out.
What He's Thankful For
(Subtitle: In Which I Completely Fail to Make my Point)
One day, as we were tootling down the road somewhere, Audrey started quizzing me about what it's like to give birth.
Now I have been known, from time to time, to wax pretty poetic about my labor experiences. To blather on about how powerful and empowering and transformative childbirth can be.
But I wasn't sure how well my usual spiel would go over for an eight-year-old audience, so I toned it down a little.
"Does it hurt?" she demanded.
"Well, sure." I conceded. "It hurts. But going through labor makes you feel really strong."
"I feel strong already," she pointed out.
At which point Elliot chimed in. "I don't have to hurt because I'm not a girl."
The Latest Audrey Joke
What kind of silverware can you travel with? A fork in the road.
My Little Scientist
A: Mom, it says here that if you put a bone in a bowl of vinegar, the bone will decalcify. I wonder what would happen if you put the bone in a bowl of vinegar and milk?
My Little Engineer
I am interested in so very many topics. So curious about so very many things. Eager to learn more about just about anything, really.
But not about engines. I just...I just pretty much do not care how engines work.
So when Elliot started pestering me for details about how diesel engines work, I dilly-dallied for a few days. He had to nag and nag before I finally sat down at the computer to see what the Santa Clara County Library system had to offer in the way of diesel-engine-related materials appropriate to the four-year-old set. Not much. But I did manage to find a relevant, reasonably age-appropriate DVD.
So I put it on hold and I checked it out and popped it into our minivan DVD player and tried hard to pay close attention and learn something from the chirpy narrator. "The oxygen and the fuel mix together and explode, causing the piston to move!" she enthused.
My brain hurt a little.
Then another chirpy voice peeped up from the back seat. "Isn't that cool, Mom?"
"It's very cool, babe," I agreed. And in my head, I completed the sentence so that it wouldn't be a lie. "It's very, very cool that you think this is cool."
The "Design Your Dad's (Or Brother's) Homework Project"?
A: I want to use wheels and axles and screws to make a car out of wood.
J: Hmm...Are you sure you want to use wood and not, like, K'nex or something?
A: I'm not very good at K'nex.
E: I could help you make a car out of K'nex, Audrey!"
And he could have, sure.
But as it turned out, with a little support from Dad, her wooden car project turned out pretty darned fine.
He's Got It All Worked Out
E: Tell me the story of when I grow up.
L: Well, it's hard to say. Maybe when you grow up you'll build things, like bridges or...
E: No. I'm going to be a scientist like Audrey. And learn to drive.
Maybe He Doesn't Have It All Worked Out
E: How old are you?
J: 37.
E: What will it be like when I'm 37?
J: Well, you'll probably be married...
E: Who will marry me? You? Mom? Audrey? What job will I have?
In Which I Make Elliot's Day, Week, Month, and Possibly Year
E: How old are you?
L: 37
E: How old is Dad?
L: 37.
E: He's 37? How come he's taller than you?
L: Boys are usually taller than girls when they're grown up.
E: Will I be taller than Audrey when I'm grown up?
L: Most likely.
OMG! It's Been So Long Since I Had the Opportunity to Blog About Poop!
(Subtitle: Live from the Bathroom with This Breaking News!)
E: Dad, I already pooped out a giant poop! It's shaped like a "J"!! Hey!!! I pooped out part of your name!!!!
Us Vs. The Volcanoes
We've set ourselves a family goal of visiting every National Park in the state of California, so at the end of October, we took advantage of an in-service day at Audrey's school and spent a long weekend exploring Lassen Volcanic National Park.
Vacationing with kids always involves kid-related complications, and this vacation was no exception. Audrey was too excited to sleep on our first night of vacation, and so she was too exhausted to climb the Cinder Cone volcano the next day. Elliot was terrified that the volcanoes might erupt or that we might slip into pools of boiling acidic water, and so we had provide him with constant reassurances.
But something magic happened on our second day of touring, once Audrey had had a good night of rest. She started saying things like, "It's so peaceful out here," and "That hike sounds interesting! Let's do that one!"
She was no longer a little kid who could be coaxed and cajoled bribed into hiking. She was a big kid who appreciated nature's splendor, and wanted to explore it. Magic.
In Other Words, Mom, Sounds So, So Cool!
A: "Listen to the names of the places in this park. Bumpass Hell. Cinder Cone. Devil's Kitchen. Sounds sinister!"
My Little Poet
The trees in Lassen Volcanic National Park were mostly conifers, but we enjoyed splashes of fall colors here and there.
As we drove away from the park on our final evening of vacation, Elliot made an observation. "The sky is fall colors."
Developmental Milestone
Audrey has learned how to blow bubbles.
By Way of Explaining Our New Reptile
"What should I name my snake?" mused the eight-year-old.
"Second Choice?" I suggested. "Bird Substitute?"
"Mom!" she giggled and rolled her eyes.
We gave her a parakeet for her birthday, you see. The one she'd been begging for for forever. And she did such a good job with it. Everyday, as soon as she got home from school, she went to the living room to feed and play with Seaside. (Just like she'd promised she would.)
A week and a half later, we explained that Mom seemed to be allergic to the bird's dander, and we'd have to move its cage outside. Really, that wasn't nearly as good. But she accepted the change without complaint. She poured through parakeet care books from the library. She told everyone about her new pet.
A week and a half later, we sat her down on the couch and explained that Mom still wasn't breathing right, and we needed to give her beloved Seaside away.
We all cried for a minute. Then, without complaint or quarrel, utterly resolute and resilient, she requested a pet snake.
And so...Ruby.
The Latest Audrey Jokes
Why was the man who ate caterpillars nervous?
He had butter flies in his stomach!
What is alive, but isn't?
The word alive!
What's a water bird's favorite holiday?
Loon-er New Year!
What kind of animal do you use in sports?
A baseball bat!
What's slippery and thousands of years old?
Ancient Greece!
Attitude Check
In June, we went camping at Sunset State Beach with Elliot's preschool class. The kids had a fabulous time, and Audrey rates that trip as her favorite activity of the past summer. Both of the kids were so taken by the insect-hunting bats that swooped out to hunt at dusk that they're requesting to be bats for Halloween.
James and I had a very nice time too. But there is some possibility that, in the days leading up to the camping trip, I might have been a little bit snippy about all of the work that was required to leave my home (with its weather-repelling roof and super-handy running water!) in order to sleep outside and use port-a-potties.
I mean, it's possible I was a little snippy.
Audrey: Mom, what was your favorite part of camping?
Elliot: Leaving?
We Have Toys! We Have Snacks! We Have Mild-to-Moderate Cultural Insensitivity!
"Let's play Santa and his reindeer!" Audrey enthused mid-playdate.
And normally I would have been delighted about the way the kids were playing. They decorated up a cardboard box. They joyfully dragged each other through the house in it delivering presents. Just fabulous collaborative fun creative play.
Except the month was June. And the friend was Jewish.
So the whole time, I was kind of cringing.
The One Percenters of the Cretaceous Period
The kids were playing Pteranodons in the back yard, and Elliot had a question. "Audrey, are we in our nest?"
"No. This is our vacation nest. Let me show you our real nest."
Roots
My cousin got married in July, so my kids took their first trip to the mid-west. It was fun to introduce them to the lakes and rivers and farms and museums and bluffs and accents of Minnesota and Wisconsin, where I spent my childhood summers. (It was kind of fun to teach them how to kvetch about mosquitoes and humidity, too.)
In Minnesota, we had the opportunity to spend a few days at the home of my ninety-two year old grandmother. My kids got to run and play in the yard where I used to run and play. My son got to husk corn on the same back porch where I used to husk corn. My family got to sleep in the basement where I used to sleep with my sister and cousins. My kids got to see my grandma cooking up a storm in her kitchen.
As I watched as my childhood memories became my children's childhood memories, I felt extraordinarily lucky.
Two Shades of Blue
"Our shirts are almost the same color, but mine is more of a periwinkle blue and his is more of a sky blue," Audrey assessed.
And in other news, I am hopeful that Elliot will someday be able to differentiate the colors purple and pink. But I am far from certain.
The Inventive Chef
The summer bounty of our backyard garden inspired Chef Audrey to create a new recipe. She combined zucchini, summer squash, salt, pepper, dried dill...and pickle juice.
I had seconds. No foolin'.
The Exception to the Rule
I don't normally enjoy listening to my children argue. Except when they're arguing over who gets to finish up the last of the Brussels's sprouts.
I Guess I Have to Give Him Credit for Asking First
"Audrey, let I knock you down!"
I Swear They Pretty Much Only Watch PBS Cartoons
I was emptying the dishwasher a few weeks ago when the kids used chairs to pen themselves up in the dining room. They declared themselves prisoners, named me sheriff, and began to gleefully and repeatedly break out of jail.
("Tee hee hee! We're out again, Mom!" "Well, gosh darn it. I'm not a very good sheriff, I guess.)
Eventually fooling the incompetent sheriff got a little dull, so they decided to spice the game up a bit.
"Let's have a knife fight!!!"
A Good Way to Follow Up the Knife Fight
A: What's you're favorite word in the universe?
L: I don't know if I have one. Do you?
A: Peace.
For the Record, Life Has Four Meanings
A: What's the meaning of life?
L: 42
A: You're not being very helpful. I'm going to look it up in the dictionary.
The Tales of Two Four Year Olds
Back when Audrey was almost four, we came home from the library with a book called "If You Were a Parrot," and she fell head over heels in love in love with it. Over and over and over again we read it. And over and over and over again, she giggled and giggled, imagining how different life would be if she had toes that faced backwards or were prone to chewing on phonebooks. James and I helped her make the parrot costume described in the back of the book and she spent weeks swooping through the house in it.
Yeah. That four-year-old liked parrots.
A couple of months ago I came across the parrot book in the stacks and checked it out again. A few of days later I was filled with curiosity and anticipation as I snuggled up in bed with my second four-year-old and cracked that blockbuster book open for him. He listened politely as I read it from cover to cover.
And then he was ready for another book. Cause, you know. Parrots. Meh.
Back when Audrey was four or so, we came home from the library with a book called "Iggy Peck, Architect." She listened politely as I read about young Iggy making towers from pancakes and bridges from shoestrings.
And then she was ready for another book. Cause, you know. Architecture. Meh.
A couple of months ago I came across that architecture book in the stacks, and I checked it out again. A few of days later I was filled with curiosity and anticipation as I snuggled up in bed with my second four-year-old and cracked open that flop of a book open for him. He listened politely as I read it from cover to cover. Then he looked up at me with big round eyes and said, "Mom, he likes to build stuff, just like I do."
"Just like you, babe," I agreed.
(Happy sigh.) Playing book/child matchmaker is one of my very favorite parenting roles.
Dear Audrey,
I love hanging out with you, girl. You are so much fun. I love the way you light up when there are new experiences to experience, and new knowledge to acquire.
I love the way you light up when we're on vacation. We just got back from a trip to Minnesota and Wisconsin, and you could not have been more delightful and delighted during our travels. You loved looking out the window on the plane. You loved learning about pirates at the science museum. You loved learning how people lived during the 1820's at the historic old fort. You loved learning about cows at the dairy farm. You loved learning how flour is milled at the mill museum. You loved swimming in lakes and rivers and pools. You loved our hotels so much you even snapped pictures of their bathrooms.
Even when our vacation activities were a little less than thrilling--say, when there were still 100 miles of lake-and-cornfield-filled country roads between us and our destinations--you were an admirably good sport.
At first, you were a good sport when you responded to my mild teasing with mild irritation.
"I'm bored."
"Why don't you look out the window. There's a lake out there."
"Of course there's a lake out there! We're in the land of 10,000 lakes!"
Eventually, you became an even better sport.
"I'm bored."
"Why don't you look out the window. There's a cornfield out there."
"Wow. That is an amaaaazing corn field."
Yes, my love. This was the year that you mastered the art of sarcasm. Dad and I were totally proud.
We were prouder still when you proved that you knew exactly how to play the game.
"Hey! Look out the window! I see a cornfield!"
Audrey, thanks for making us laugh. I love the way you're learning to make the best of boring situations.
Darling girl, I love the way your light shines when you're playing with your brother. You have loved playing with Elliot ever since he was an itty-bitty baby. It has always been sweet to see. But the way you two have been playing together this summer has been particularly enchanting to watch. The two of you have been oviraptors and you've been triceratops, you've been train passengers and you've been eagles. You've crafted together and climbed together, you've swum together and run together. You've gotten super duper muddy together.
What has made all of your imaginative camaraderie even more special is the fact that Elliot hasn't always been the most ideal companion this summer. He's at where he's at developmentally. And where he's at is frequently demanding and whiny and destructive and unreasonable. It's driving me crazy sometimes. And it's driving you crazy sometimes. But more often than not, when your voices drift over to me from the living room or the backyard, I hear you responding to his demands with unswerving patience and reason.
"Audrey, can we be oviraptors? I like it when we're oviraptors better than when we're triceratops."
"Just for now we're going to be triceratops. After I get back from my sewing class, we'll be oviraptors."
Audrey, thank you for being loving and generous and patient with Elliot. He is super duper lucky to have you as his big sister.
Darling girl, you are my Olympic Baby. The 2004 Summer Olympics opened the day after you were born, and I spent the first couple of weeks of your life sitting on the couch watching athletes compete while holding and nursing you. So I find that every four years, when the Summer Olympics roll around, I'm flooded with warm memories of the time when you were a teeny-tiny baby.
These past couple of weeks, we've been watching some of the 2012 Summer Olympics with you, and you light up watching the competitions. You've worked out the rules of volleyball and water polo. You've marveled at the exploits of swimmers and runners, divers and gymnasts. The other day, as crowds cheered and medals were awarded, your dad asked you if you wanted to be an Olympian someday.
We thought we knew what our Olympic Baby's answer would be. I mean, what kind of kid could watch a medal ceremony without imagining herself on the stand?
You, darling girl. "I don't want to be an Olympian," you shrugged. "I'm not that fast on land or in the water."
"You want to be an ornithologist?" your dad confirmed.
"Yup," you contentedly agreed. And then you scampered off to play.
Audrey, you are a marvel to me. What a gift it is, to know yourself so well at the age of eight. What an even greater gift it is to love being just exactly who you are.
May you continue to be excited by all that life has to offer, my love. Experience new experiences. Acquire new knowledge. Run at the pace that's right for you. Swim at the pace that's right for you. Excel in the areas where you feel passionate about excelling. And know that Daddy and I love you for being exactly who you are.
Happy 8th Birthday, Baby Girl.
Love,
Mom
Audrey's 8th Birthday Letter
Oh Ye Parents of Insanely Picky Toddlers, Take Heart
"Mom, can I order two things?"
"What else would you like to order?" I inquired. As she considered the menu, I took a moment to check over my spine. After verifying that its stiffness was sufficient, I began mentally rehearsing the reasons that she didn't require both pasta AND a quesadilla. I was on my game. I was ready to parent.
"Can I order a side of steamed vegetables, too?"
Oh.
"Sure, honey. You can order steamed vegetables, too."
That...that would be totally OK with me.
Out of Order
I recently read Audrey the Harry Potter series. The whole series. Given that she's only seven and the series gets pretty dark, I was intending to stop after the fairly light and fluffy fun of the first three books. But by three books in, Audrey was so mesmerized by the storyline and so unfazed by the darker elements of the tale, I couldn't bear not to read on.
A few months and a few thousand pages later, we found ourselves sadly finishing the final page of the seventh book. I mean, we were happy that good had finally triumphed over evil and all. But after spending so much time together, we could hardly bear to say goodbye to Harry and the crew. Audrey suggested that the best solution would be to start over again with book one.
I was tempted.
But no. I knew we needed to move on. I needed to expose my daughter to new authors and new stories. She was welcome to revisit Mr. Potter and his friends on her own time.
So I picked up a new selection of books at the library, and soon began reading her the book "Babe." You know, the one about the sheepherding pig? You remember that cute movie they based on it?
Well one thing I never noticed about the movie Babe when I was watching it is that competitions involving sheep herding are a kind of less riveting than competitions involving dragon-fighting.
Audrey let me plod through Babe for a few nights. Then she started requesting to read to herself at bedtime rather than having me read to her.
I returned Babe to the library.
I'm reading Audrey the Enola Holmes series now. It's no Harry Potter. But it's set in Victorian London and it has mysteries and dangers and kidnappings and ciphers and interesting historical tidbits. She's pretty into it.
And in a few years, when I'm pondering whether or not Elliot is ready for the Harry Potter series, I'll know what the real danger is. I won't be thinking "Is he ready for a series that addresses the human potential for viciousness and cruelty?" I'll be thinking, "Am I ready to forever ruin his interest in lesser books?"
Academic Honesty
"Mooooommmmm!!!!! Elliot is copying my homework!!!!!!"
Ah...Yes, dear. Yes, he is.
I'm Calling This Entry, "The Entry That I Didn't Write"
So Elliot did this funny thing the other day and, man, it was so funny. If I could type down what he did, I can almost guarantee that you would giggle like I did. And in about 20 years, I bet he would think it was really funny, too. But, dammit. Before he'd think that the story was funny, he'd probably spend about 15 years being mortified that I'd published it. So, I can't in good conscience type it down. Alas.
Celebrating Himself
On the day of Elliot's 4th birthday, he and I spent a quiet morning at home before our planned evening out. But Elliot didn't let the fact that I was busy doing laundry put a damper on his big day.
"Mom, I'm going to make a present!"
"For who?"
"Me!!!!"
Rookie, Rookie Parenting Mistake
"Hey, Elliot!" I enthused as I looked over the summer camp brochure from the rec center. "Would you be interested in a camp where you build stuff with Legos?"
"Yeah!"
Like I really had to ask. Would my son interested in building stuff? Well, hello! Does the sun set in the West?
Like I really should have asked.
"OK! Well...next summer...um, when you're five...you'll be old enough for this camp."
Heh, heh. It's just a year away, honey. Isn't that fantastic? No?
I'm Kind of Really Looking Forward to Seeing What He Comes Up with in Four Years
At the dinner table, Audrey regaled us with her plans for shepherding her egg safely through the second grade egg drop competition. As she spoke of padding and parachutes, her three-year-old brother pondered the problem deeply.
When she paused, he chipped in his two cents. "You could attach the egg to a helium balloon."
There was a moment of parental silence as James and I looked at each other, stunned and awed by our son's creativity.
The ever-practical seven-year-old was considerably less moved. "We're not allowed to use helium balloons."
Which Came First, Asks the Little Philosopher
Lately, the four-year-old has been peppering me with existential questions.
At dinnertime a few weeks ago, he wanted to discuss a dinosaur conundrum.
How, he wanted to know, could the first dinosaurs have come about? Because you need an egg to have a baby dinosaur. But you need a grown up dinosaur to lay an egg.
A few days later, he was pondering the origin of his own species:
"How did people first get to be on earth?"
I've learned a couple of things from Elliot's questions. First, that that son of mine is a child with deep and delightful insights. And second, that I am not teacher enough to make the concept of evolution comprehensible to a four-year-old.
The Day After She Performed the Part of Rachel Carson in the Class Play
"Mom, have you ever felt relieved that something was over, but sad at the same time?"
Yes.
I have worked hard towards a goal. Anticipated it with excitement. Savored it in the moment. Been both thankful and sorry when it was over.
I am grateful that you get to experience these emotions. Grateful that, in an era when many cash-strapped, standardized-test-focused California public schools have cut out "non-essentials" like "the arts," your dedicated teachers are providing you with an education that is rich and meaningful.
And memorable. Because thirty years from now, the spelling tests and math quizzes of second grade will undoubtedly have faded from your memory. But I bet you'll still be able to sing the lyrics to that Rosa Parks song you learned. Just like I can still hum the Thomas Edison song that I performed, when I was your age.
Her Majesty Requests
"Mom, can you and Elliot clean my room tomorrow while I'm in school? It's getting pretty messy."
Career Goals I
A few months ago, while chopping up the ingredients for one of his marvelous feasts, James accidentally chopped some skin from the palm of his hand. It was not an injury suitable for viewing by the faint of heart, and Audrey decided to flee the scene.
As I helped James dress his wound, I joked about the idea that many Asian parents feel there are only two acceptable career choices for their children: doctor or engineer.
"I guess she's not going to choose the doctor route. She'll have to be an engineer."
"I don't want my kids to be engineers!" James winced in protest. "I want them to be poets." Then he thought through the implication of his statement a little further. "So that they can live at home. Forever."
Career Goals II
She's thinking about being an author when she grows up. Sniff, sniff. That's my baby.
Happy 4th Birthday, Baby Boy
Dear Elliot,
Forgive me, for just a moment. I need to start this birthday letter out in the most clichéd possible way. I cannot believe that my baby is four. My little baby can't possibly be four years old already.
But then again, of course you are four. Look what you can do.
Elliot, you are a builder. Now, informed modern parents know we aren't supposed praise our children's creations. We know that emphasizing talent over effort kills your intrinsic motivation, blah blah blah blah blah. So 364 days a year, I dutifully avoid value judgments. I describe your Lego creations as "detailed" instead of "cool." I describe your train layouts as "complex" instead of "awesome." But, baby, today is your birthday, so on this one special day, I need to tell you something. Holy Spatial Intelligence, kid. The stuff you build is amazing. It's incredible.
Honey, you are barely four years old, but if you and I went head to head in a building contest, you would beat me hands down. And when I think about how much you love to build and how skilled you are at building...it makes my heart all warm and happy.
Elliot, you are a people person. When we went door to door last Halloween, you were luke-warm about the candy thing. But the opportunity to chat with our neighbors? That rocked your world. "Hi! I'm Elliot! Who's your name?!!" When we make a library run, if there happen to be any 12-year-old girls around, it's almost guaranteed that you'll quickly entice them to ignore their homework and draw you pictures of steam trains and fearsome Elliotosauruses.
Elliot Michael, one thing I admire about my dad, Sherman Michael, and that I admired about his dad, Mike, is their knack for getting to know people. Little Dude, when I see you seeking out strangers and making them smile, I know that we named you well. And when I think about how much you love to get to know new people...it makes my heart all warm and happy.
Elliot, you are a devoted brother. It's clear that you're sure there has never been a big sister as brilliant and wonderful as yours. It's clear on the days when you ask me over and over again if it's time to go and pick up Audrey. It's clear at the times when you wait patiently outside the bathroom door for her. It's clear when you copy her drawings. It's clear when you copy her crafts. It's clear when you decide that you're done with your pasta the moment that she's done with hers.
Bud, you and Audrey are close to four years apart in age, so there's a pretty big developmental gap between you. But watching the two of you bridge that gap is one of my very favorite pastimes. It makes my afternoon when you push your level of imaginative play up to the limit, and the two of you can pretend that you're a Pteranodon mother and baby diving down our retaining wall to catch leaf fish for dinner. Little Boy, it's so sweet the way your desire to emulate your sister makes you push yourself to accomplish new things. She's the reason you learned to walk at nine months. She's the reason you're learning to write at four. But even more than I love the way you worship and copy your sister, I love the way you two treat each other. When I think about how Audrey offered you her precious new dinosaur toy because you were having trouble sleeping last night...when I think about how you draw her pictures of birds and dragons, because you know those are things that she likes....it makes my heart all warm and happy.
Elliot, you are an artist. This is a brand new identity for you. You've made a hobby out of drawing trains for a while now, but over about the past month, drawing and crafting have become your new passions, and you want to capture everything that you see around you on paper. When we took a trip to the Mojave Desert and the Natural History Museum in L.A. over spring break, you filled up an entire sketch pad with images of cactuses and dinosaurs and skeletons. Belby Boy, when I look at the ever-more-detailed artwork that you produce...when I think about the way you are expanding your interests and honing new skills...it makes my heart all warm and happy.
Elliot, you are a sweetheart. Lately, Daddy and I have found that you fall asleep best on your own. So a few nights ago, while I helped your sister with her bedtime routine, Daddy brushed your teeth, read your stories, kissed you good night, and quietly left the room. Soon you were both tucked in, and I had a couple of free minutes to read the newspaper. But, alas, my e-reader was on the nightstand next to you. I knew you probably wouldn't be asleep yet. I knew it would probably disturb and distract you if I came in to grab it. But, being in a reckless and readerly mood, I made the decision to chance it.
Sure enough, as soon as I tiptoed through the door, you sat up.
"Mommy, I need something!" you implored.
"I just need to grab my Nook, baby," I shushed you.
"I need a goodnight kiss!" you insisted.
So I gave you a kiss, and tried to sneak away.
"Mommy, I need something!" you implored.
"It's time to go to sleep baby," I sighed, cursing myself.
"I need to give YOU a goodnight kiss!" you insisted. And you gave me a kiss. And then you quietly lay back down as I slipped out the door.
Belbel, maybe I should disturb you when you're trying to fall sleep more often, because I can't think of anything that makes my heart more warm and happy than giving and getting kisses from you.
Happy fourth birthday, Baby Boy. I can't wait to see what new structures you build this next year. I can't wait to see what new people you meet. I can't wait to see what new games you play with your sister. I can't wait to see what new scenes you draw. I can't wait to see what new topics capture your fancy. Elliot, my sweet and smiley baby boy turned sweet and smiley big kid--have a wonderful, wonderful fifth year.
Love,
Mom
A Crayola Moment, in the Shadow of the Trayvon Martin Murder
E: Mommy, where's the crayon that's the same color as people?
L: People come in different colors, babe.
A brief pause. A reframing.
E: Where's the crayon that's the same color as me?
The Copy Cat
E: "I like to do everything that Audrey does, all at the same time."
And if she's off at school and unavailable to copy in person? Well then, he'll make do with copying her drawings.
And if those drawings happen to contain words and he doesn't yet know how to read? Well, he's not gonna let a little thing like illiteracy stop him from copying her work, letter by letter by letter.
The Problem Solver
Not being a morning person, Audrey seeks out ways to make her pre-school routine as hassle-free as possible. A few months ago, she decided that instead of changing into pajamas at night, she would start changing into fresh clothes. She figured it would save time in the morning.
Oh my gosh. It saves so much time in the morning. Would it be wrong of me to point out to my little copy cat that his big sister doesn't wear jammies?
The Treasure
"Daddy gave me a toilet paper roll to play with!" he taunted his sister.
And sure enough, she was jealous.
Attention to Detail
"1-2-3-4-5-6. 1-2-3-4-5-6. 1-2-3-4-5-6."
-Elliot
Miscounting the fingers on his hand and then, ever-so-meticulously, adding six-figured hands to his drawing.
The Hint
A: "The mom in Dinosaur Train always does everything her kids ask. They're so lucky."
He's a Cheap Date
Elliot popped his head in the back door for a moment.
"Mom, can I have snails for my birthday?"
"Sure, honey," I agreed.
"Thanks!" he yelled, running back to continue his efforts to feed the seven snails he had already collected that afternoon.
Hey, who says I'm not the sort of mom who does everything her kids ask?
The Latest Audrey Joke
What do you find on an especially small beach?
Microwaves.
The Latest Audrey Poem
Composed as we left a park at day's end...
"The sun is setting in the west,
You know the day has done its best.
Far away though your thoughts may seem,
It may just be a midnight dream."
Dang. Seven years ago she was my babbling baby girl. Now she's saluting the sunset in iambic tetrameter. This motherhood thing rocks.
A Kid Who Clearly Has His Biomes Straight
E: "Dragons don't live where elephants live. They live in fairy tales."
Because I gave him $15. Obviously.
The other day, I purchased some of the lovely imaginary merchandise at Elliot's store.
L: How much do I owe you?
E: Six dollars.
L: Here you go.
E: OK. Nine dollars is your change.
My Enthusiastic Learner
I'm a little bit aghast to realize that I haven't updated this blog since November. (Oh, Winter. You with your holiday busyness and your short days and your coldness and your never-ending succession of super-fun infectious diseases. Have I mentioned recently that I am not your biggest fan?)
So anyhoo….I jotted down the notes for this entry back in December, and though it's now far from timely, I think it's too delightful not to include.
"Yeah, Christmas will be exciting. Yeah, I'll get presents. Yeah, we'll go to Grandma and Grandpa's. Yeah, I may get the bird of my dreams if Santa was listening. But I'll miss school."
But Mom, It’s for My Homework!
Audrey's math class is starting a graphing unit, and part of her homework this week is to chart and graph her television watching habits over the course of the week. We are not a "no screen time" household. The kids get to watch unlimited DVDs when they are in the minivan, and Audrey gets to play computer games every day after school for a half hour. But most days our actual television doesn't get much use, which is giving Audrey a pitifully empty looking graph.
Last night, as she wrote "0 minutes" on her chart and sadly refrained from filling in any squares on her graph, Audrey resolved to do better. "There just wasn't any time today. We'll have to watch TV tomorrow."
Romance Novels, from a Three-Year-Old’s Perspective
L: "Once upon a time…once and never again…just once…a frog and a chicken fell in love."
E: "Where did they fell?"
The Adventures of Science Boy
Or "How to Assure That Your Mother Doesn't Get Mad When You Purposefully Drop Your Silverware on the Floor"
"Mommy, why does gravity make my fork fall like this?"
In Which Science Boy Fails to Trust the Evidence Around Him
E: Is there no air on earth?
L: There's air on earth.
E: No, in Audrey's video, it said there's no air on earth.
We argued the point for anther minute or so, and then we had to agree to disagree.
The final score:
(Misheard) Voice of Authority on the video-1
Mom-0
In Which She Vocalizes One of Life’s Unfortunate Truths
"When I go to bed, I'm ready to wake up. When I get up, I'm ready to go to bed."
Observations
A: It must be boring being a mom.
L: Why do you say that?
A: Sitting on a couch, folding towels….
L: Yeah. It's not very glamorous.
A: What are the exciting parts?
After thinking for a moment, I blathered a bit about how rewarding it is to watch your kids learn new things and blah and blah and blah. She gazed at me with great skepticism.
And quite rightfully so. So let me try again. Audrey, motherhood is, like, 93% dirty laundry and giving your younger child his one million and tenth reminder that he should ask his sister if she wants to play instead of rolling on top of the book she is reading.
On the other hand, when you are a mom, you know that raising your kids well is by far the most important job you'll ever do. So when your child's comments about the load of laundry that you are folding display her keen powers of observation and her strong sense of empathy (not to mention her nose for B.S.)…well. You feel a deep sense of satisfaction that you are doing your job right. That makes all the dirty laundry and squabble mediation worth it.
You Know What Else Makes Parenting Totally Worthwhile?
When your three-year-old draws your portrait.
I Love Those Moments When They Blow You Away
"Does this say ‘Whole Foods'?" asked my three-and-a-half year old.
"Close," I commended him, looking down at a Tupperware container that got its label long before I went gluten-free. "It says ‘Whole Wheat.'"
Oh my goodness. Whole! He decided to demonstrate his arrival in the world of literacy by identifying the word "whole!"
Maybe he knew he couldn't beat his sister on the timing. (She identified the word "no" on a street sign in downtown Saratoga at the tender age of two-and-a-half.) So he must have decided that the best way to make his mama swoon was to I.D. a six letter word with completely wackadoodle spelling.
Mission accomplished, young man. Very well played indeed.
Having Grown Up In A Home Where He’s the Only Non-Literate One
It wasn't quite time for me to drive the preschool carpool, so the boys were playing with trains in the living room.
"Hey," Elliot pointed at the bottom of train and addressed his carpool buddy, "what does this say?" His fellow three-and-a-half year old shrugged. "I dunno." Like, "Dude! I can't read either."
Why It’s Worth Going Through Labor Twice
The first word that Elliot learned to spell was ELLIOT. (Naturally.)
The second word that Elliot learned to spell was TRAIN. (Naturally.)
This is the third word that he learned to spell. He spelled it on a name tag. On a present that he wrapped. Containing a bird craft that he made. For her.
Baby’s First “Keep Out” Sign
(Technically, "DO NOT EEVER OPEN." Spelling supplied by James. Except for the extra E.)
Mama Emancipated, Mama Ambivalent
"Is this where we put my diapers?" he asked, banging on the trusty, old silver canister in the master bathroom.
"You don't wear diapers anymore, remember?"
For a moment, though it was his idea to start sporting underwear at night, the realization that he is no longer a wearer of diapers left him looking absolutely stunned.
He quickly recovered. "Then we should take my diapers back."
He's probably quite right. And you'd think that after 7 ½ years of continuous diaper changes and laundry loads, I'd be itching to log on to a cloth diaper swapping web site and say good riddance. But happy as I am to be in an all underwear household, I'm not ready to say goodbye to his old cow print pocket diaper quite yet. I can't say goodbye to his babyhood quite yet.
Countercultural
I entered parenthood as a firm believer in the health benefits of breastfeeding, and I assumed I'd nurse my babies for about a year. Then one day, as I was perusing a book on nursing while nursing my first newborn, I came across a chapter about toddler nursing. "That's just bizarre, I thought. (Since that's what my culture had conditioned me to think.) I know that's not for me." But my baby was still hungry, and I was stuck on the bed with nothing else to look at, so I shrugged and started to read.
By three pages into the chapter, I was a changed woman. I knew--without question, without doubt--that I would be nursing my babies through toddler-hood, and letting them self-wean when they felt ready. The sentences that made me most certain of my choice came from the mother of a nursing two-year-old. She was grateful that she could still use nursing to tame toddler tantrums and put her child to sleep, she explained. She felt a little sorry for mamas of non-nursing two year olds.
I am grateful to that mama for sharing her story. Thanks in large part to her, I am still nursing my three-year-old. Not all that much anymore. Mostly in the morning. But enough. Enough so that back in December, when we uprooted him from home and hit the road for Christmas, I still had nursing as a tool in my arsenal. When we kept him up too late night after night and dragged him from one relative's house to another and got him all revved up with visitors and junk food, I still had nursing. I could take him to a quiet room and shut the door and calm him down or put him to sleep. So easily. So gently. So glad I didn't skip over that chapter, so many years ago.
All Ready to Sign Up for Her La Leche League Membership
A: What does it feel like when a baby nurses?
L: (Pausing to gather my thoughts) Hmm…
A: Come on Mom. I need to know. I'm going to be a mother some day.
The Latest Audrey Joke
What do you call a fruit-eating rock?
Limestone!
The Latest Audrey Joke
Q: What do you say when you drop something on a roller coaster?
A: Loops!
Struggling to See Things from Her Perspective
Audrey and I are generally two peas in a pod. I almost always understand exactly what makes her tick, because I tick for the same reasons.
This time of year, however, we always diverge.
I'm miss summer something fierce. She delights in autumn.
Now that she is seven, she is old enough to articulate exactly what she loves about this season. "I love fall! The trees are beautiful. The weather is cool and crisp. School is back in session. We celebrate Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas..."
She's right, of course. So I'm working on focusing on the beauty of our neighborhood trees instead of resenting the loss of long, warm days.
I Hasten to Add That I Never Mentioned Bananas During “The Talks”
Audrey asked me a series of highly specific scientific questions a few days ago, and I responded with a series of highly specific scientific answers.
Given that she was asking me about how babies are made, my responses elicited of series of "Ewws!" on her part. But hopefully I managed to successfully impart the basics.
The following day, Elliot asked me a series of questions about how babies are made. This gave me pause. I didn't want to give him inaccurate information. But on the other hand, I knew that I was talking to a three-year-old. And the thing about three-year-olds is that they love regurgitating information. Like at school. Or the grocery store. Or Christmas dinner. So my explanation to my son included a few technical terms but was, perhaps, more poetic than scientific.
At the end of my little lecture, Elliot summed up his understanding of the baby-making process for me. "If you have a sperm and a banana you get a bridge, not a baby."
"OK, honey!" I agreed. It's not often that I'm so pleased to have a student so completely misinterpret my lesson.
In Which it Becomes Clear That the Kid was Paying Closer Attention Than I Thought
E: (At the dinner table. Of course.) Daddy, how did you make me a baby?
J: (Whose philosophy on discussing these matters differs somewhat from my own) I made you out of a little piece of clay.
E: And then did you give me a sperm? And did Mommy give me an egg?
When my three-year-old launches into a discussion of human reproduction over pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving, my husband will no doubt be giving me stink eye. But that isn't stopping me from feeling pleased as punch that I seem to be raising not only a Science Girl but also a Science Boy.
Boys. Humph.
"Daddy," Elliot asked, as James assisted him in the bathroom, "how do girls pee?"
"They just have a hole," James educated him.
"They just have a hole?!" I reproached my husband indignantly.
"What was I supposed to say?" he questioned blankly.
"'Just,' honey," I educated him. "It's the word ‘just' that I'm objecting to."
I Probably Shouldn’t Have Found This Amusing
E: "I like to sleep with girls all the time!"
My Kid Writes Angry Birds Fan Fiction
She's cute.
Now He Knows His ABC’s
And he types them into Microsoft Word in alphabetical order. And then he types his name. And then he types the word "train."
And he signs his own preschool artwork.
And he's a counting maniac.
I guess he was tired of us teasing him about being an academic slacker.
Celebrating With Jack-O-Lanterns and Awkward Personal Questions
Elliot was seven months old on his first Halloween, and when we took him out trick-or-treating, he was in heaven. That was well before he cared about candy or costumes, of course. But as we carried him from house to house in his penguin outfit, little Mr. Social Baby kick, kick, kicked in delight every time our neighbors opened their doors and smiled at him.
Now that Elliot is three and a half, he likes candy. And he likes costumes. And, oh my. Does he ever still like meeting people.
"Hi!!!!" little Mr. Social Preschooler greeted neighbor after neighbor.
Little did they know they were responding at their own peril.
"What's your name?!"
"I'm Gina."
"Do you have a dad?"
"I have a dad."
"What's your dad's name?"
"His name's Jay."
"Do you have any kids?"
"No kids."
"Why???!"
"Well, not yet!"
By the time we got home, the kids had heavy bags of candy to munch on, and James, his mom, and I had stitches in our sides from belly laughing.
I Didn’t Care About the Sweets. But I Savored the Sweetness.
"Why don't you trick-or-treat with us, Mom?" she asked, a few days before Halloween.
"Adults don't really trick-or-treat," I shrugged.
"Oh." She looked troubled. She contemplated the problem. She slept on it. And the next afternoon, she presented a solution.
"Mom, you can share some of my candy."
Just Cause It Seemed Like This Thing Should Be on Here
Once upon a time I had an infant girl, and I wrote a blog about her. It was, I think, a sort of a tiresome sort of blog in which a starry eyed mother detailed her Wonder Child's every Amazing Accomplishment.
Here was a typically riveting entry from January 29, 2005:
"Guess who's sitting?
Yesterday, Audrey very tentatively moved from slumping over while leaning on her hands to pulling herself into an upright position. (Followed by a big smile.) Today, she progressed from sitting for just a few seconds before toppling over in the morning, to nonchalantly sitting for minutes at a time by evening. The quick progression has been amazing to watch!"
Yikes.
Anyway. For some reason, while I was writing blog entries that can't possibly have been interesting to anyone who wasn't my child's grandmother, I wasn't including things like the letter that I wrote to Audrey when she turned one.
Ah, the letter that I wrote when she turned one. The Editor in me itches to fine tune some timid and sloppy sentences. The More Experienced and Open-Minded Mother in me wants to trim out some arrogant adjectives. But The Historian in me ruled that changes would be sacrilege. And so, unchanged and unedited and six years belatedly, here it is.
August 27, 2005
Dear Audrey,
As I'm writing this letter, it's a couple of weeks past your first birthday. It's been a delight getting to know you over the past year, and it's really fun to see your personality and skills blossoming. You're just starting to talk. (You say "dog" when you hear or see a picture of a dog. You pat your Daddy and say "dada." And you say "numnum" when you're eating something tasty.) You're just starting to walk. (You can take a few steps independently, but when you realize that Mommy and Daddy aren't supporting you, you lose your confidence, and sometimes your balance.) And you're getting more clever and sweeter by the day. (You love to be held, and you just learned that you can always get Mommy to come pick you up by pretending to pick something off the ground and put it in your mouth.)
I think that almost all parents expect to have an "easy" baby who sleeps well and doesn't cry much. So at first we were surprised because you cried a lot in your first few months, and you couldn't sleep for more than two hours at night without nursing until you were about four months old. But I'm very glad that we got you rather than an "easier" baby, because you taught us how to be better parents. You taught us that you slept best cuddled up between Mommy and Daddy rather than in your own crib. You made it clear to us that when we take you out, you want to be in our arms rather than cooped up in a stroller. At first we were surprised, because most babies we know sleep in cribs and ride in strollers. But now we're glad you expressed your needs, because we love snuggling close to you as much as you love snuggling next to us.
I look forward to watching you grow and learn and explore this wonderful world in the years to come. And I hope that, when the world is not a perfect place, you will continue to demand more of it, and be persistent in making it a better place, just as you did when you were a tiny infant.
Love,
Mom
Oda al piano
I am trying hard not become prejudiced. I've been reminding myself that—surely—many, many mothers whose children study the violin are delightful human beings who are not the least bit smug or competitive.
But it's getting a bit difficult, because somehow, as I wait on the blacktop for school to let out, I keep having this conversation.
Her: We have to rush off today! Little Johnny has his violin lesson at 3:30.
Me: Audrey has piano today, too! But not until 4:30.
Her: Oh, she takes piano? That's a good instrument. It's so nice that it's not as difficult to start out on as the string instruments are!
Um…Yeah...Okay.
I let the faint praise roll off of me the first couple of times. But the third time a tiger mom pretended not to feel superior about how "difficult" her child's instrument was… the time a third mom insulted that big ol' string instrument that sits in our living room, my blood pressure rose a little higher than it should have, and I found myself a wee bit tempted to fire back some rather snarky comments about the violin.
I realized a needed a proper response at the ready. Here's what I came up with.
I enjoy music. I hope that my kids enjoy music throughout their lives. I think that studying an instrument (or two, or three) will help them enjoy music more deeply. I love the piano, because it is an instrument of practically unlimited options. You can use it to play Beethoven or Bye Bye Birdie or Billy Joel. A piano sounds great all by itself. It also sounds great when it pals around with a string base and a tenor sax. Or with a drum set and an electric guitar. One really awesome thing about a piano is that you can sing along as you play it. Another really awesome thing is that if you start playing carols on Christmas Eve, you can probably get your whole family singing along. The broad musical knowledge that you gain from studying piano transfers just splendidly to any instrument from the tuba to the piccolo. (Does a piano player know how to read treble clef? Yup. Does a piano player know how to read bass clef? Well, you betcha.) I hope my kids experience the demands and delights of making music in an ensemble one day, whether that ensemble is a marching band or an string quartet or an acapella group. I also hope that, long after their lessons are behind them, they'll enjoy the demands and delights of making music just for themselves. That's why I'm starting them off on piano.
My Little Civil Engineer
"I don't like the way you load the dishwasher," my husband finally admitted. Then he flattened himself into a marital foxhole, and braced for a spousal explosion.
To his astonishment, I laughed. "Ugh! I HATE loading the dishwasher. I SUCK at it. You are so much better than I am at fitting the dishes in. I would be really happy if I never ever ever had to load the dishwasher. But unfortunately, you are not always here when the dishwasher needs loading…."
I often think about that conversation as I watch Elliot at play. My boy spends hours figuring out ways to fit legos together to form the tracks and trains and cabs and smokestacks and couplings and staircases that he sees in his mind. My boy uses block "supports" to create fancy-schmancy elevated railroad tracks that wind around our living room in ever more sophisticated configurations.
Audrey never had more than a passing interest in fitting together train tracks or legos. I bet I never did either. But I bet James did. And I bet that, someday, Elliot will be really, really good at fitting dishes into dishwashers.
At Which Point I Emphasized the Importance of Choosing a Mate with Exceptional Dishwasher Loading Skills
A couple of weeks ago, Audrey tried strike a bargain.
"Don't I already have the feeding the pets job? Why can't I drop setting the table?"
I looked up from the mountain of clothing I was sorting and chipped in a reply that was, undoubtedly, overly cynical.
"Life is all about adding more jobs."
I can't say that her response was more admirable than mine, but it was definitely more blogworthy.
"No. Life is all about having the boy do the job."
A Lesson from a Wise Little Engine in a Picture Book
My mom has mentioned that she learned something profound about the power of optimism and confidence when I took a boat ride to Anacapa Island in Southern California for a fifth grade field trip.
Before the trip, my school sent home information about helping kids cope with sea sickness, but when mom brought up the topic with me, I shrugged her off. "I'm not going to get seasick."
In her motherly way, she worried about me as she saw me off. And in her motherly way, she inquired about my health when I stepped back off the boat at the end of the day. "I was fine," I impatiently assured her. "I told you I wasn't going to get seasick."
A few weeks ago, it was my turn to get a lesson about optimism and confidence from Audrey, who had long been a devoted devourer of picture books.
"Now that I'm seven, I can read chapter books," she declared.
Then she sat down on the couch with her very first, chapter book and she polished off all 136 pages of it in under an hour. She's been a chapter book reading maniac ever since.
Oh little girl of mine, believe me. You can do anything. You can do anything you think you can.
How to Make a Bibliophile (Hopefully)
I recently sat my self down and had a serious self-talk about the fact that I was reading less to three-year-old Elliot than I read to three-year-old Audrey. I sternly pointed out to my self that there were days when the one and only time that I read to him was when he was sitting on the toilet.
My self was very remorseful and vowed to make some changes.
The first step was to figure out why less reading was happening.
One reason, my self reasoned, is that Elliot is a much less demanding three-year-old than Audrey was. Whereas she was at my side constantly and had little interest in toys, he spends hours working contentedly on his building projects, requiring only that I periodically step in to admire his work.
The temptation to let him play solo while I "get stuff done" is strong. Therefore, I have now been making sure that every day, several times a day, I put down my dishtowel and my broom and sit down to read to my son.
Another reason for the lack of reading, my self admitted after a bit of self reflection, is that reading to three-year-old Elliot is not as fun for me as reading to three-year-old Audrey was. It was so easy for me to find books that I loved to read to Audrey. Her curiosity about the world was vast and insatiable, and her interests, like mine, ran towards the natural sciences.
But Elliot only grudgingly listens to books that are not about trains, and I'm not that into trains. It led us to a vicious cycle. I'd try to read him books that were interesting to me. His eyes would glaze over. My enthusiasm for reading to him would deflate.
Come on self, I scolded myself. If you want Elliot to love reading, you need to read him books that HE loves.
So I'm back to checking out train books from the library, with love and without resentment. I'm back to reading them constantly, with enthusiasm and without boredom. And when I watch my son happily carrying his train books around the house, I smile and I'm proud of my self.
Tempted, for the First Time Ever, to Use the Word “Squee”
Back when Audrey was two, I wrote an entry about how one of the things I really looked forward to, when I was thinking about having kids, was introducing them to the magic the holidays.
In that entry I wrote, "Back when I was pregnant, and even still contemplating becoming pregnant, I mused about how much fun it would be to introduce a child to holiday traditions. And, while the realities of motherhood have often been different from my pre-child dreams, holidays are one area where my fantasies were right on the mark….I think, if anything, perhaps I underestimated the intensity of the joys that holidays with a child would bring. I underestimated how wonderful holidays would be for her, and I underestimated how happy her happiness would make me."
So, experiencing the joys of the holidays through my children is one area where parenting is really as amazing as I once imagined it would be. And you know what else makes parenting completely worth all the stress and the poop and the drudgery? Once you've stuck it out for about seven years or so, you get to read them super, super cool bedtime stories!!!
I mean, yeah, yeah. I love reading picture books. (Even ones about trains.)
But do you know what book I got to start reading to my daughter the other night? I got to start reading her Harry Potter! And in the middle of the first chapter, when Hagrid's motorcycle dropped out of the sky onto Privet Drive, she chuckled out loud at the idea of a flying motorcycle.
"It's magic," I smiled at her. And OMG. It so was.
Both of My Boys Crack Me Up
J: Hey Elliot, what's 1+1?
E: 16.
J: What letter comes after C?
E: 6.
J: What number comes after 3?
E: 6.
J: How many wheels does an 18-wheeler have?
E: How many?!?
The Latest Audrey Jokes
Q: What's a cat's favorite Christmas Carol?
A: Silent Mice!
Q: What job does a boy bird do?
A: It delivers the M-A-L-E!
Q: What can a kangaroo grow up to be?
A: Anything it wallabies!
Q: What does an Angry Bird eat for dinner?
A: Black eyed pigs!
Q: What bird loves piano?
A: The chicka-"D"!
In Which She Grows a Little Older, and Sheds a Little Innocence
"You know, sometimes adults break rules, too. Almost every day after school they say, like, ‘Will the driver a white minivan please move your vehicle out of the loading zone…."
Happy 7th Birthday, Baby Girl
Dear Audrey,
The first birthday letter that I posted on this blog was the one that I wrote when you turned two years old. As I sat down tonight to write you a new birthday letter, I looked up that old letter, and it made me smile. I smiled because I loved remembering what a cute and passionate little two-year-old you were. And I smiled because you are still as cute and passionate as ever, but Audrey, it is almost it is almost unbelievable how much you have grown up over the past five years.
Darling girl, here's the first paragraph that I wrote when you turned two:
"At this stage in your life, you are an animal-lover, so on your second birthday, Daddy and I took you to the San Francisco Zoo, and then we had dinner in the city with Uncle Andrew. (In lieu of a party, because I can't think of many things you would have enjoyed less than a big party.)"
Audrey, you loved animals as a two-year-old, and you adore animals as a seven-year-old, and I'm pretty sure that you will always be passionate about the nature. But can you believe that you used to hate parties as a two-year-old?! Back then, when you had to interact with anyone outside of our family, it was *torture* for you. I bet that's hard for you to imagine, because as a seven-year-old you love hanging out with friends and you could. not. wait. for your big Angry Birds birthday party. How magical is that.
Darling girl, in the letter that I wrote when you turned two, I also said this about your experience at the zoo:
"After a while you got a little bored of the animals, but luckily the zoo had plenty of grates, circular and rectangular manhole covers, leaves, and dirt to keep your attention. It was your day, so Daddy and I just hung around and let you sift through the dirt next to the exhibits for as long as your little heart desired."
Audrey, you've outgrown grates and manhole covers. But you loved playing with dirt and leaves as a two-year-old, and you adore playing with dirt and leaves as a seven-year-old. And if you grow up to be an ornithologist as you're planning, I bet you'll get to keep playing with dirt and leaves your whole life. How lucky is that.
Darling girl, you were a picky eater when you were a two-year-old, and I mentioned that in my old birthday letter:
"Because it was your birthday, we also periodically fed you French fries. I don't know if you'll thank us or look down on us for that later, but as a two-year-old, you were very appreciative. As we let you play in the dirt and eat French fries, lots of other kids with clean hands and clothes rolled by passively by in their strollers munching on tofu and broccoli."
Audrey, I don't suppose you remember the (generally futile) contortions I used to go through to try to get you to eat healthy foods. Like, I felt so triumphant when I occasionally convinced you to eat minestrone soup by spooning you vegetables one at a time and pretending they were Thomas the Tank Engine's friends! (Here comes Percy the zucchini! Here's Gordon the carrot!) It's kind of funny to remember those days, because now that you are seven, when I ask you what you want for lunch, you regularly request, "A veggie plate, a fruit plate, and an assortment of nuts." There are few things that I enjoy more than watching you enjoy nourishing your body with healthy foods. How magnificent is that.
Darling girl, I ended that old birthday letter by mentioning how awesome it is to be your mom:
"…at one point in our zoo visit (as you demanded to see, "More animals! More animals! More animals!") my heart swelled to fill my entire chest as I contemplated your cuteness and charm and enthusiasm. In that moment, it was clear to me that there is no greater pleasure in this world than having a daughter."
Audrey, then and now and forever, it is so awesome to be your mom. It's amazing to see what a self-assured, charming, delightful, inventive, imaginative big kid you've grown to be. It is so fun for me to watch you take pleasure in doing all of the cool things that big kids can do. I love to hear you tell funny jokes or play your favorite toucan song on the piano. I'm so proud when you draw gorgeous pictures or create clever crafts or write dazzling stories or add big numbers or jump off the diving board or nail your line in the school play. You blow me away when you harvest produce from our backyard and then pull out a cutting board and turn veggies and fruits and herbs into tossed salads or glasses of mint lemonade.
You rock. And I get to be your mom. How lucky is that.
Love,
Mom
When Parenting Turns Awkward
I have fond memories of visiting the La Brea Tar Pits in L.A. as a child, so we included the Page Museum in our itinerary on our recent road trip down south. The museum was just as cool as I remembered, full of the skeletons of crazy creatures that got stuck in sticky goo and met an untimely end 20,000 years ago or so. (Camels and sloths and mammoths in Los Angeles!)
The science was a little advanced for a three-year-old, but Audrey was old enough to be fascinated by the place, so we had a grand time exploring it. At one point as we stared at a display case, Audrey turned to Elliot to point out a fossil that she thought he might find interesting.
A: (Displaying those stellar reading skills of hers) "Look, Elliot! A dire wolf penis bone!
E: (Displaying those stellar big sister copying skills of his) "A dire wolf penis bone!"
I'm sure their conversation actually took place at about a mezzo forte level. But I think that any time my kids are publicly chit-chatting about penises while standing next to a very prim looking elderly matron, it will probably sound fortissimo to me.
A Tale of Two Three-Year-Olds
I would never, ever have tried it with my first three-year-old. She would have been weeping and clinging in terror before they even closed the hatch. (And honestly, I think that would have been a pretty reasonable response to being cooped up in a dim and claustrophobic tank with a bunch of strangers.)
But I wasn't even nervous about my second three-year-old as we waited in line for our first ride of the day. "It'll get dark and noisy, but he can handle it," I thought to myself. So I carried the three-year-old down the steps into the submarine, settled him on my lap, and pointed out the pretend starfish visible through the window. He admired them.
The submarine "launched," and he admired the fake anemones and fish. The submarine "dove deeper," and he admired the bubbles. The submarine became entangled in a minefield and it was pitch dark and bombs exploded and sirens blared, and I felt my body flinch. "Oh crappola!" I thought to myself. "What was I thinking bringing a three-year-old on here!"
I strove for nonchalance. "It's dark and noisy in here," I murmured to the child on my lap.
"It's dark and noisy," he serenely agreed.
I decided that he probably wasn't scarred for life. And then I was proud of him for being able to handle even more than I'd anticipated he could handle.
I guess he is proof positive that some three-year-olds are pretty darned unflappable. And other people know their own kids and stuff. And passing judgment on other people's parenting is ugly foolishness. But I'm just gonna go ahead and do it anyway. Last weekend, those people that had their three-year-old in the theater to watch the two hours worth of Harry Potter darkness and explosions? Those people were could use a common sense infusion.
As a Follow Up, She Pointed Out That the Emperor Was Naked
"What are these called again?" she asked.
"Golden berries," I explained.
"Why?" she wrinkled her nose. "They're not golden. They're yellow."
James and I stared down at the berries, and their luster seemed to dim before our eyes.
That girl has a way with words, for sure. But at this point, a future in marketing still seems unlikely.
How They Spent Their Summer Vacation
"We're playing "Run-Into-Things-And-Fall-Down-Just-For-The-Fun-Of-It!"
When a 3-Y-O and an Almost 7-Y-O Pretend That the Couch is an Airplane
E: "One! Two! Three! Blast off!!!!!
A: "Elliot, planes don't blast off."
E: "One! Two! Three! Blast off!!!!"
A: "Elliot. planes don't blast off. And you need to count down. Like, ‘Three, two one.'"
E: "One! Two! Three! Blast off!!!!"
A: "Mom!"
An Almost-Seven-Year-Old is a Savvy Creature
"Can I try the batter?"
I tumbled into a Pensieve, then, transported back in time to my mother's warm blue kitchen. Me and a mixing bowl of M&M cookie batter and a big spoon full of happiness.
Regretfully, I dropped back into my own kitchen, and addressed my own daughter. "It's not safe to eat cookie batter, because you could get salmonella which…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But Mom, there are no eggs in this batter."
For a moment, my mouth hung open. Then I closed it, procured her a spoon, and made a mental note to do more vegan baking.
Which Just Struck Me as Such an XY Sort of Pronouncement
"Ready, Set, Destroy!!!!!!"
Or Something Equally Valuable, I’m Sure
"Do you know what I'm going to do when I grow up? I'm going to save the rain forests!"
To Be Expected, I Guess, From a Kid Whose Sister Adores Spiders and Snails
Now that he's three, Elliot is fully immersed in delightful-to-observe imaginative play.
Like, he'll hang a green bean from his mouth and pretend that he's an elephant with a trunk.
Or, he'll put on a firefighter outfit and pretend that he's a…train. ("I'm painted red!")
Or he'll crawl around on the floor and make enthusiastic announcements. "I'm a cockroach!"
I’m Hoping That I’m Teaching Pragmatism (and Not Dishonesty)
As the kids were playing and I was weeding, the hum of an airplane passed overhead. Naturally, Elliot took note. "I see an airplane!!! Mommy, do you see the airplane?!!"
"Um…." I glanced up. "I think I missed it. I can't see it through those trees."
"Do you see the airplane?" insisted Elliot. His voice wobbled dangerously. His body indicated it was considering a complete meltdown.
"Um…" I searched the trees again.
"Mom," groaned Audrey. "Just say yes. That's what I do."
So I chuckled. And I said yes. And Elliot contentedly resumed playing. And then I told her a story. That one time when she was two? When we were in the car? When she asked me if I saw the moon? When she was starting to cry because I couldn't see it? Well, I know I said that I saw it.
But really, I didn't.
I Suppose It Was Inevitable
"Mom, the printer's not printing!"
I peered into the office at the snake craft that she had up found on the internet.
"When I press print, it says, ‘printing completed' but it doesn't print."
"Try to print something else," I advised. "That way we can see if it's a problem with just this page or if it's a problem with the printer."
She shot me a dissatisfied grimace as I left the room.
A minute later, I found her in the kitchen cutting out her craft.
"You got it to print!"
"Yeah, I just copied the image and pasted it into Microsoft Word, and then I could print it."
(Subtext: Feel free to come to me the next time you need tech support, Mom.)
The Latest Audrey Jokes
I have a rain forest joke! What's a tree's favorite kind of ad? A bromeliad!
What kind of medicine do angry birds take? Angry-biotics!
What song do angry birds sing at parties? Happy Bird-day to You!
It Sucks to Be the Second Child. Also, It’s Really Lucky.
Back when Audrey was a three year old, she often asked me to draw things for her and had limited interest in drawing for herself. And I respected her developmental timetable. And I trusted that she would eventually become interested in drawing herself. And so, ever so patiently (and occasionally a wee bit impatiently) I drew what she requested. Bugs. Elephants. Trains. Lots of trains.
Sure enough, right about when Audrey turned five and started kindergarten, her interest in creating art really took off. She cites art as her favorite school subject, and her artistic skills have blossomed over the past two years.
When Elliot turned three, he was always asking me to draw for him, and he almost never tried drawing anything for himself. And dang it. I had a lot of stuff I really needed to get done. And I was really, really, really bored of drawing trains. And I wanted to encourage him to gain his own drawing experience. So I tried rationing. (Mommy will draw you one train per day, and then you have to draw your own trains.)
Then, when that tactic didn't convince him to pick up crayons himself, I cut him off cold turkey. (Mommy won't draw for you. If you want a picture of a train, you need to draw it.)
For a day. For two days. For three days, there were an awful lot of tears in our household. Then, the crying stopped, and the drawing started. Over the past couple of weeks, Elliot's artistic skills have really started to blossom.
A second child doesn't luxuriate in his parents' time and attention the way a first child does. But on the other hand, a second child has more experienced parents. Parents who are better able to gauge when their child needs to be doted on, and when, what will help him most, is to be pushed.
My Husband Knew I Had Nightowl Genes When He Married Me
For about the past year, Elliot has been a big tease when it comes to naps. He'd go for a week or two without napping. I'd joyfully declare that his napping days were over. And then he'd immediately prove me wrong by lapsing back into daily naps.
Some mamas really look forward to naptime, but for me, Elliot's naps were a humongous pain in the patootey. If I let him nap for more than half an hour, it was guaranteed to completely screw up bedtime. So if I wanted to have any hope of getting him to sleep before 11 or 12, I'd have to go through the arduous process of waking him up out of a deep sleep after 30 minutes of napping. It sucked. For both of us.
But it's now been about a month since Elliot's last nap, and I think, I think, I think that this is really it! Hooray for early, easy bedtimes! (For now any way. By the time he's seven, he'll probably be able to stay up until 11 easy. His big sister sure can.)
If I Hadn’t Given Birth to Him, I’m Not Sure I’d Believe We Share Genes
Summer fruit season is at its pinnacle in Northern California, and James, and Audrey and I are in heaven.
No. We are junkies. We need to hit two (and sometimes three) farmer's markets a week to feed our addictions. The fruit has taken over our lives. There are blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, boysenberries, and cherries bursting out of our refrigerator. There are peaches, nectarines, pluots, and apricots overflowing our countertops.
James, and Audrey, and I…we are gorging ourselves silly on fruits. Whether it's breakfast time or lunchtime or dinnertime, the meal isn't complete until our hands are sticky and our shirts are juice stained, and our eyes are glazed over in fructosy bliss.
Then there is poor Elliot, he who has never really cared for fruit. Elliot yearns to be a member of our family fruit cult. He begs to participate. And so we cut up fruit for him, too. And, amidst the unbelievable bounty of fresh, local stone fruits and berries, he eats…apples. Slightly mealy. From New Zealand.
Which I Guess is Sort of a Version of Premature, Projected Empty Nest Syndrome
The kids have been on vacation for a couple of weeks now, and it has been fabulous. During our first full week of vacation, aside from mid-morning swimming lessons, we had absolutely nothing on our schedule, and we were able to just relax and putter around and enjoy being together. We washed the cars. (We didn't worry about school drop offs.) We hung out laundry. (We didn't worry about school pickups.) We read books. (We didn't worry about school work shifts.) We ran a few errands. Fab-u-lous.
I think the best part of the first week of summer was watching the kids reconnect. As a first grader, Audrey was out of the house more than seven hours a day, so she and Elliot really hadn't been spending that much time together. There were bumps in the road as the two of them readjusted to being each others primary companions. Elliot frequently drove Audrey crazy by shadowing her and peppering her with the constant questions of a three-year-old. But just as frequently, they played together beautifully. They drew together. They rode on chair trains together. They jumped together on the couch.
So it was a little hard when the second week of vacation arrived and it was time to drop Audrey off for her first little camp of the summer (a one week, NASA themed camp). It wasn't hard on Audrey. She loved spending her afternoons learning about space.
But as we walked away from the rec center after signing Audrey in for her first day of camp, Elliot really struggled. He didn't want to leave Audrey. (I told him she had to go to camp.) He begged to be allowed to stay. (I promised him he'll be old enough to try a summer camp next summer.) He realized was out of options. After a week getting to hang around with his big sister and her sparkly, almost-seven-year-old imagination, he was back to being stuck with just boring old mom.
As I trudged back to the minivan and strapped my glum little boy strapped into his car seat, I thought about the fact that, 11 years from now, Audrey will be taking her sparkle off to college. And I felt sad, for Elliot.
An Era Ends
"I like science, and rain forests, and birds, and Angry Birds! ...And oceans."
For her fourth birthday, our little girl requested a party at the ocean. In the three years that followed, her devotion to the ocean was passionate and intense, joyful and unswerving. We've read hundreds of ocean themed books. We've watched hours of ocean videos. We've worn out our membership cards at the Monterey Bay Aquarium.
And then, just as suddenly and unexpectedly as the ocean swept into our lives, its mighty tide receded.
Audrey has moved on.
For a few days after it became clear that Audrey's first major love affair was over, James and I were a little melancholy. It was like she'd broken it off with a fellow we adored and approved of. To be honest, Mom and Dad had been thinking maybe the ocean was "the one." Like, we were already envisioning how nice that Oceanography Ph.D. diploma would look hanging on her wall.
Now that Audrey and the Ocean are all over, we've had to regroup. To readjust our vision of the future. To realize that we trust her to chart her own course in life. To be excited about how wide open her future is.
So, carry on little girl!
The world is your oyster!
There are other fish in the sea!
It's looking like Audrey may be developing a devotion to all things avian, perhaps this is the most fitting proclamation:
There are other birds in the sky!
I Heart My Kid’s Charter School
"I wish that school lasted until dinner, like work."
"How come?"
"Because we get to do so many fun things."
When a Lie Backfires
When it comes to napping, Elliot is really keeping me guessing. Sometimes, he goes for weeks without napping. But then as soon as I become certain that he's done with them for good, he starts napping daily.
On days that he does nap, I have to be really careful to limit him to just a half an hour of daytime sleep by 2:30 or earlier. Any longer or later a nap than that, and he's sure to be full of pep until 10 or 11. Sometimes, even if Elliot's nap is early and short, he's bright eyed and bushy tailed until late into the evening, and James ends up having to put him to sleep using the last resort "let's take a ride in the car" method. And even the "ride in the car" method isn't failsafe. A few nights ago, Elliot was chattering cheerfully away in the backseat at 10 o'clock.
E: "Daddy, what doesn't that sign say?"
J: (Attempting to be as soothing and unstimulating as possible.) "Nothing."
E: (Quite surprised.) "The sign says, ‘Nothing?!'"
Logic
The kids found a couple of snails out in the yard on a lovely spring day a couple of weeks ago, and they spent most of the afternoon investigating them. Elliot's snail (Snailou) mostly had to stay on the ground, but Audrey's snail (Snaily) got to slither around all over her hands and arms.
The next day, I spotted a slug on the sidewalk and pointed it out to Audrey. Her reaction was…not what I expected.
"EEEEWWWWWW!"
"What do you mean "ew"?! Yesterday you let a snail climb all over you!"
"Well yeah. I like snails. But I hate slugs."
No Pants, No Shoes, No Problem
We've had a few really hot days in May, so there was a lot of water and sand play going on at Elliot's preschool. One day, his pants and shoes got soaked, so I changed him out of them when he came in for group time. I didn't have an extra pair of shoes for him, and the extra pants in his backpack were heavy jeans. With temperatures in the high 80s, I couldn't bear the thought of putting him in the jeans. So I just stripped him down to his underwear and sent him off to listen to storytime clad only in his shirt and his skivvies.
When he reached the group time rug (looking ever so stylish in his motorcycle themed tighty-grayies) Elliot announced to all that he found his unusual outfit to be quite comical. "Look! I'm not wearing any shoes!"
Anxious to Cash In
Audrey lost her first baby tooth this month! Given that her permanent tooth had already started growing in behind the baby tooth, she skipped right over the adorable gap-toothed phase. But her first visit from the tooth fairy was, none-the-less, exciting for everyone in the family.
Elliot was especially keen to participate in all the fun. "I want to lose a tooth, too! Mommy, wiggle my tooth!"
Discrimination
I could have attributed it to chance, the way he would always, always skip from four to six when counting.
"1,2,3,4,6…"
But once he would get past 10, there just wasn't any denying the pattern anymore.
"11, 12, 13, 14, 16"
Somehow, despite my best efforts to rear an open-minded and tolerant child, he ended up viciously prejudiced against fives.
Justifications
A couple of weeks ago, Audrey hit a piano milestone—she started playing with her left and right hands simultaneously. As I watched Audrey start practicing her new pieces, I was in awe. Holding down a dotted half note with her right hand while playing quarter notes with her left hand required such fierce intensity of concentration, I could practically hear the neurons in her brain firing.
My neurons were firing too, of course. And they were thinking, "Whoa! This is sooo good for her." I couldn't exactly put my finger on what was so good about it. But it seemed really clear that being able to play a different rhythm with her right hand than she was playing with her left hand was…strengthening important neural connections. Making her more intellectually flexible. Making her…smarter.
A couple of days later--despite the fact that she was so intrigued by her "Hands Together" pieces that she was sitting down on her own to play them in the morning before school-- Audrey started out a practice session with a complaint. "Why do I need to learn to play the piano? I'm going to be a scientist, not a musician."
She was completely unsatisfied with my explanation that a lot of scientists really enjoy music. Guess the wiser move on my part would have been to promise her that studying music would make her a BETTER scientist.
Monkey Hear, Monkey Repeat
So, rather than telling our kids that we like their artwork, modern parents are advised to describe admirable features of it. (You used a lot of bright colors! There are a lot of details!) There are studies and stuff. Kids will be more motivated to do art if they believe that creating art involves skills that can be improved upon with practice rather than inherent "you have it or you don't" talent. Yada, yada, yada.
The other day, my inherently talented little small-talker and I went to pick up big sister at school. She was bringing home some artwork. The little small talker started small-talking.
(Inquiring about her day in general) "How good was school today, Audrey?"
"Good."
(Making his inquiry more specific) "Did you make this drawing at school?"
"Yes."
(Being very careful to admire an admirable feature of the drawing in question.) "It looks complicated."
Unpostponable
Sure, you're running kind of late-ish. And no doubt you are anxious to get on with the nightly marathon of pajama donning, goldfish feeding, piano practicing, flash card flipping, fish oil swallowing, teeth brushing, and book reading that has to happen before bedtime. But when your child notices a breathtaking sunset out of her bedroom window and is seized by the urge to capture it on paper….Well. You go and fetch the crayons for her.
Adding Cartographer to Her “Potential Career Options” List
Things I already knew: My kid is really into birds, "Angry Birds" (the video game), and "Rio" (the movie).
Things I just learned yesterday: My kid can draw a map of the world. She labeled the continents! She labeled Rio de Janeiro! She properly sized and oriented North and South America, and Europe and Asia!
Yeah, yeah. She may have inadvertently left off Africa. But she remembered to include a compass rose, so color me impressed.
Love That Little Nerdlette of Mine
Here are the titles of some of the videos that Audrey has recently selected from the library: "Heat and Chemical Energy," "Forces," "Animal Behavior," "The Earth," "The Moon," "States of Matter."
Love that Little Nerdlet of Mine
Elliot is a rhyming machine lately.
"Muddy, cruddy, duddy, luddy, bloody!"
"Augie, glogie, nogie, dogie!"
"Lying, crying, dying, kying!"
Love That Little Sweetie of Mine
"Daddy, can we pick up Audrey? I like she. She's my best friend."
Happy Third Birthday, Baby Boy!
Dear Elliot,
In the wee hours of the morning three years ago today, I gave birth to you.
When newborns abruptly transition into a world of lights and air, they usually scream in dismay. But not you. You just snuggled into my chest and calmly contemplated life.
When you were a newborn, before you were even a minute old, I knew that you were a happy-go-lucky kid, and I loved that about you. This past year, you continued to take new experiences in stride. When we took you on your first airplane, the possibility of freaking out never even occurred to you. When we took you to your first day of preschool, you were clingy--for about 10 seconds. When Daddy and I went out on the town, you had a grand time hanging out with your Grandmas and Grandpas. Elliot, I aspire to be as open to new experiences as you are.
When you were just a couple of months old, I said good-bye to a guest. As she walked out the front door, you started to cry.
When you were just a couple of months old, before you could even sit up on your own, I knew that you were a people-person, and I loved that about you. This past year, you continued to delight in the company of others. You loved meeting strangers in libraries and at playgrounds. ("What's her name?!") You recounted playdate highlights over and over again. ("Josh helped us make waffles!") You got all huffy about the fact that you only get to go to school two days a week. ("I want to go to school like Audrey!") Elliot, I aspire to cherish and nourish friendships as well as you do.
When you were 13 months old and you couldn't reach the bathroom sink, you went and fetched yourself a stool.
When you were 13 months old, before you even knew how to string two words together, I knew you were a master at manipulating objects in your environment, and I admired you for it. This past year, you've been tackling all sorts of engineering projects. You've build train tracks. You've built Lego towers. You've coupled together laundry basket train cars with tape and beads and clothespins. Elliot, sometimes you fall apart when things fall apart, and I have to give you a hand. But pretty soon, I know you'll be the one who helps me when the objects in my environment aren't fitting together quite right. I can't wait.
When you were not quite two, we gave up on trying to stop you from pulling down our floor lamps. Son of mine, you are the reason we finally got around to installing the recessed lighting we'd long been meaning to install.
When you were not quite two, before you were even big enough to ride facing forward in the car, I was well acquainted your mischievous giggle and the impish gleam that lights up your eyes when you have naughtiness in mind. This past year, you've been testing boundaries left and right. You've learned that when you decide to put water in the weed bin (again), mama follows through on rescinding your hose privileges. You've learned that when you decide to spray the faucet into Mommy's dish water (again), you don't get to help out with rinsing dishes any more. You've learned that when you've emptied every last book out of the bookshelves (again), you're expected to help clean up the mess. Elliot,…Oh, Elliot. As you go through life, I want you to have the wisdom and strength to ignore bad rules and bad advice. So I try to be patient when you practice breaking my rules. And I recognize that my most important rules--the ones about staying safe and being kind to others—those are rules that you are pretty darn good at keeping.
Elliot, a couple of weeks ago, you and I were sick. It was our umpteenth illness of this winter season, and I wasn't very happy with the universe about the fact that we were both under the weather. Again. I was feverish and I was nauseous and I wanted to crawl into bed and lie there and groan for a while. Instead, I had to care for a feverish and puking kid. Good, good times.
Recent scientific research has claimed that child-free couples tend to be happier and have better marriages than their procreating counterparts. You would think that my experience being unable to escape the duty of taking care of a miserably sick kid while feeling miserable would be evidence corroborating the idea that parenthood leads to unhappiness.
When I look back on our mutual misery, a part of me does remember how gooey it was when you puked onto my pajama shirt, and how much your vomit-breath reeked. But I mostly remember how snugly it felt during all those hours we spent rocking together in the recliner chair. Me loving and protecting the sick little boy in my arms, the sick little boy in my arms feeling loved and comforted by me.
Elliot, during your fourth year, there's a good chance you'll end up puking on me again. You will undoubtedly do things that are teeth-grindingly irritating, and things that are belly-achingly funny, and things that are mind-bogglingly clever, and things that are heart-meltingly sweet. It's going to be a marvelous adventure, and I can't wait. Because Elliot, being a mother to you and your sister makes me really, really happy.
A few months ago, Daddy and I were standing in the kitchen when you rushed in and urged us to, "Look at the smiling face!"
"What smiling face do you want us to look at?" we asked. You pointed at your own grinning mug.
Elliot, your smiling face brightens each and every one of our days. We're so grateful to have you in our lives.
Happy 3rd birthday, baby boy!
Love,
Mommy
At Long Last, A Grammar Lovers’ Edition
I'm a little bit embarrassed to admit that I have been completely ignoring Elliot's grammar development lately. But a gentle reminder from James about how much he looks forward to reading my Grammar Lovers' Editions prompted me to pull out my pen and start recording some of the cute things that Elliot is saying nowadays.
First, some phonetic notes. Here are some of the words that Elliot mispronounces adorably.
Florklift (forklift)
Vide-whoa (video)
Wibbit (ribbit)
Stirsty (thirsty)
Lemote (remote)
Monster bathroom (master bathroom)
Losing (using)
Lellow (yellow)
Panpake (pancake)
I sure loves me some baby mispronunciations.
Now, on to the nitty gritty grammar stuff.
Fun with the Verb "To Be" and Subject and Object Pronouns
That pesky, pesky "Be" verb. Elliot knows that the "be" verb needs to go in front of the subject now for questions…
"Where are I?"
"Are me like a car?"
"Were me in your way?"
…and after the subject noun in statements
L: Are you pooping?
E: "I are.".
But he hasn't figured out that he needs to use the 1st person present tense conjugation ("am") or the 1st person past tense conjugation ("was") when he's talking about himself.
L: Are you pooping?
E: "I are."
L: Were you careful?
E: "Yeah, I were."
Methinks it's mighty tough to figure out when to use "am" and "was" when people are constantly asking you questions using "are" and "were."
The proper usage of subject and object pronouns is also giving him fits. He often uses the object form of the when he should use the subject form.
"Me got one."
"Are me naked?"
"What kind of elephant are me?"
That elephant example seems particularly unfair to the poor kid. You would think that the last word of a six-word sentence would have the good grace to be the object of the sentence rather than its subject.
Sometimes Elliot uses the subject form when he should use the object form.
"I don't want she to play with it!"
"I want she to put it back in her car!"
Given that those "she"s are the both "subjects" of infinitive clauses, I think we can probably all forgive Elliot for failing to realize that "she to play with it" and "she to put it back in her car" are the actually the objects of his main verb ("want"), and that use of the object pronoun "her" is therefore required.
Fun With Synonym Parsing
Sometimes, Elliot uses a word that really seems like it should work, but just…doesn't.
In these examples, he misuses "got":
"Now what do they got?"
"How many cars does it got?"
And in this example, he misuses "stay":
"Do garbage trucks take garbage cans to landfills? No! Usually they just stay them on the street!!"
If I were teaching an ESL class, and a student asked me why she needed to use "have" instead of the synonymous word "got" for those first two example, and "leave" instead of the very similar word "stay" for the third example, I'd probably resort to the tried and true ESL teacher technique of saying I'd research the matter and get back to them. And if you really need a technical answer, I'll research the matter and get back to you.
Fun with Phrasal Verbs
Some English verbs are actually composed of two words. "Pick up" and "knock over" are examples. Some of these "phrasal verbs" must be separated when the direct object of the verb is a pronoun.
So, if you're using a full noun, you can say "I knocked the plate down." (There the two components of the verb "knock" and "over" are separated by the direct object noun,
"plate.") Or you can say "I knocked down the plate." (There, the components of the verb aren't separated.)
But when you're substituting a pronoun for the noun, the phrasal verb must be separated.
So, "I knocked it over" is A-OK. But "*I knocked over it" is not grammatical.
Got all that straight? Elliot doesn't:
"I knocked over stuff."
"Now I'll pick up it."
Um. OK. After typing out that long explanation, I just realized that "stuff" isn't a pronoun. So my analysis here clearly isn't water-tight. But "stuff" seems like a pro-nouny, replacement sort of noun to me. So maybe that's why "I knocked over stuff" stuck me as being much more awkward than "I knocked stuff over" would have been.
Or…Bother. I guess maybe it sounds awkward because new information tends to be placed in the sentence-final position, and the fact that non-specific "stuff" got knocked over seems less important than the fact that some sort of "knocking over" was accomplished. So maybe that's why it would sound better for "over" to be in the sentence-final position.
Um….Look, if you really need a more technical answer, I'll research the matter and get back to you.
Fun with Irregular Past Tense Verbs
English has a bunch of irregular past tense verb forms. Elliot doesn't have them all figured out yet.
"No! I want the other cereal that you holded."
"Daddy taked it out of the house."
Fun With Irregular Irregular Perfect Verbs
English has a bunch of irregular perfect verb forms. Elliot doesn't have them all figured out yet.
"Does Audrey want to be waked up?"
Fun with Conjugating Verbs in Questions
Here was a funny little conversation. First, Elliot properly used the past tense form of the auxiliary verb "do" in a question about the past. But then, like many of my ESL students, he went on to improperly use the past tense form of his main verb (go).
"Did me went on an airplane ride?" (The auxiliary verb is signifying the proper tense, sweetie! Just use the base form of the main verb!)
Elliot followed up his question about whether or not he went on an airplane ride with a subject-form question about the ride. Subject-form types of questions don't require the auxiliary do! So the past tense form of the verb ("went") would have been perfectly proper and grammatical! He didn't…quite…nail it.
"How many people goed on our airplane ride?"
Fun With Modal Verbs
To make negatives with modal verbs (like can, could, should, and might), one simply needs to place a "not" (or the abbreviation n't) after the modal. Not having figured that out yet, Elliot experimented with using an auxiliary "do" form in front of "should."
"It doesn't should fly."
Modal verbs should always be followed by the base form of the main verb. But when Elliot realized that the "Bob the Builder" exhibition was no longer on display at the Children's Discovery Museum he (rather head-scratchingly) followed up the future tense modal "will" with the irregular past tense form "brought."
"I think someone will brought the Bob the Builder stuff back to the Children's Discovery Museum."
(Just use the base form of the main verb after modals, sweetie!)
Fun with Language
You know, sometimes when a guy is in the middle of a long narrative arc, his verb tenses kind of start to get all wacky and start zig-zagging around all over the place. Improperly conjugated past tense "be" forms:
"Last night, two people was in the office, you and grandma."
Improperly conjugated irregular past tense forms followed immediately by the properly conjugated form:
"And then I knocked the door and you comed out and then I came in."
Beautifully conjucated irregular past tense and modal forms, followed immediately by a complete lapse of past tense markings:
"Yeah, and we took a train, ours, so that I could play with it. And I get it out and I play with it."
I think my little guy thinks that if picky little grammar rules are interfering with the communication of exciting ideas, then it's probably about time to dispense with grammar rules. And even though I'm a grammar lover, I am so with him.
Perhaps This Theme is Becoming Repetitive, But I Had to Record It
Audrey came home from her school Valentine's party with two cookies, and informed me that she had a plan. "I can have one, and Elliot can have the other. Elliot, do you want the heart cookie, or the circle cookie?"
Perhaps Because He Has a Great Tutor
I was working to get brunch on the table when a hungry Elliot started melting down. Before I could step in to console him, Audrey was on the job. "I think he's hungry," she informed me, grabbing a bag from the pantry. "Here Elliot, try some sunflower seeds," and she popped some into his mouth.
He calmed down immediately. When he tired of sunflower seeds, she procured our last two bananas, one for him, and one for herself.
She finished her banana and expressed a wish for more, and then it was his turn to step in. "Here Audrey. I'm done with mine." And, handing her his half finished banana, he strolled off to play.
Prematurely Sensitive, Apparently
J: Elliot, how old are you?
E: I'm not old! You said I old! I'm not old!
More Than A Little Unclear on the Concept
"Mommy," asked Elliot, snuggly up to me sweetly, "Are you my husband?"
When Compromise Fails
One afternoon, Elliot gave us some role-playing assignments.
"Mommy, you're a car carrier. I'm a forklift. Audrey, you're a train."
His sister declined her assignment. "No, I'm a great white shark."
Elliot attempted to be accommodating. "You're a great white shark train."
She was unappeased. "No. A real great white shark."
"You're a real great white shark train!"
"No. I'm a really real great white shark!"
"You're a really real great white shark train!"
I guess that might have been the right point for me to intervene with some sort of brilliant maternal intervention. But I was too busy chuckling and walking over to the office to make a note of their argument in my blog notebook.
The Latest Audrey Jokes
Q: Why did the penguin fall asleep?
A: Because he went snow bore-ding!
Q: Why did the penguin cross the icy road?
A: To get to the other slide!
Q: What's purple and 500 million miles long?
A: The grape wall of China!
Life With Two Year Old (Sigh)
Look! I made a huge, HUGE mess!
(A pause as he proudly contemplates his work. Then…)
Could you put them back up?
A Few Thoughts On Tigers
Lately, there has been a huge hullabaloo in parenting circles about "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother," a memoir that a Yale Law Professor named Amy Chua wrote about how she raised her daughters. Almost every parent I know has read excerpts from the book
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html and has strong opinions about it.
(Some of the highlights: Chua demanded that her children practice musical instruments (piano or violin were their only options) for two to three hours every day, drilled them in math, considered one daughter a failure for coming in second in a math competition, and called her other daughter "garbage" for speaking rudely.)
Here's my take on Chua, based on the excerpts I've read: That lady was very, very determined to raise successful children. And that lady had very, very limited ideas about what constituted "success."
I want my children to be successful too. And really, I'm not exactly an Anti-Tiger Mother. My daughter practices piano every day. (Like 10 minutes, maybe.) We do math flash cards with her.
But I can't imagine parenting or being parented Tiger style. It sounds…soul-crushing. If I were to ignore my children's opinions, strengths and interests, the way Chua did, I might succeed in bending them to my will. Perhaps they'd end up as musical prodigies and math geniuses.
But we would be spending our lives in a perpetual state of Battle.
And I'm not interested in raising musical prodigies or math geniuses.
It's not that I don't want my children to be competent in music and math. I absolutely do. And if either of them develops a passion for music or math and sets off on a path of musical prodigy-ness or math genious-ness, I will proudly do my best to provide them with resources and support.
But I believe that you should encourage your children to explore the world to the fullest instead of limiting their options and aspirations. I believe that in addition to providing my children with guidance, being a good parent means following their leads. I didn't dictate that my six-year-old should develop a passion for the ocean. I didn't dictate that my two-year-old should develop a passion for motor vehicles.
Rather, I nurture the passions that they develop on their own. I'd much rather that my parenting journey be filled with child-led exploration and adventures than with gut-wrenching parent-led Battles. I want to enjoy parenting, and I want my children to enjoy childhood. So rather than narrowly dictating my children's paths to success, I try to help them find their own paths.
Speaking of Battles
Audrey had absolutely no inherent interest dressing or undressing herself, so when we finally forced her to buckle down and learn as a four-year-old, the process was absolutely grueling. (There were many tears. There was much bribery.)
I am, therefore, grateful almost to the point of tears when my two-year-old crows proudly after removing his own shirt, and grins triumphantly as he wiggles into his own pants or shoes.
Hear Her Roar
Lately, whenever we go to the library, the first item on Elliot's agenda is to walk by himself ("You stay over there Mommy!") into the AV section and pick out a DVD. As a result, we've been watching a lot of Thomas the Tank Engine in the car, and have recently started experimenting with Bob the Builder.
I can't say that I'm a particular fan of Thomas or Bob. But while I wouldn't write them glowing reviews or gush about them to friends, I don't dislike them strongly enough to squelch my son's video selecting autonomy.
Audrey seems to find Bob and Thomas reasonably entertaining, but on the other hand, she is a little bit more of a Tiger Mother than I am. "He shouldn't be watching fiction videos! He doesn't learn anything from them! He should watch non-fiction videos."
More Proof That Tiger Mothers Don’t Know Everything
As I've mentioned, Audrey was a very naturally scholarly toddler. She knew the alphabet, lots and lots of colors, and how to count to ten long before turning three. (Heck, she had the alphabet nailed long before she turned two.)
Elliot will be turning three in a couple of months now and he knows…well. He hasn't shown much interest in the alphabet yet, that's for sure. He's very interested in counting! But he's not the least bit interested in counting correctly. "One, two, three, sixteen, forty, fifty, sixty, ten-ty, eight, two!"
But in recent weeks, he's started selecting his own videos at the library. And because he adores vehicles of all sorts, he's been selecting Thomas the Tank Engine videos. And because Thomas videos are about brightly colored trains (Gordon the Big Blue Engine. James the Red Engine. Henry the Green Engine.), my boy suddenly got motivated and learned his colors.
Looks like you maybe you can learn something from fiction after all.
A Certain Lack of Pride From the Guy With Two Engineering Degrees
L: (Watching Elliot construct a complicated lego contraption) "He's such a little engineer."
J: "He's too cute and social to be an engineer."
A Certain Lack of Recognition of Potential Tradeoffs
A: "When I wash myself, it's much faster than when you wash me!"
If She Jumped Off a Bridge….
In the past couple of weeks, Elliot has transformed into the type of little brother who wants to do EVERYTHING his big sister is doing.
The other night, Audrey ate vegetables and earned dessert, and Elliot decided that he wanted to eat vegetables and earn dessert, too.
So, we gave him peas. (Did Audrey have peas, too?)
And we gave him See's chocolate. (Did Audrey have chocolate, too?)
And we took him over to the kitchen sink to wash the chocolate off of his hands. (Is this where Audrey washed her hands?)
Cart Before Horse
Audrey is always looking things up on Google.
Naturally, Elliot wants in on the action, too.
"How do you spell garbage truck?!" he'll yell. G-A-R-B-A-G-E T-R-U-C-K, we'll inform him. Then he'll run over to the computer and start to type.
Once he gets around to learning the alphabet, I bet that game will be even more fun for him.
Which Was One of My Main Goals When I Embarked On This Venture
James is remodeling our master bathroom, so Grandma and Grandpa have been up to help out a couple of times recently. When Grandma and Grandpa come up, they bring baked goodies, and the kids very much enjoy gobbling those baked goodies up.
One lunchtime, when Audrey was away at school, Elliot gobbled up a gingerbread cookie, leaving just one remaining in the bag.
That evening, Elliot went to bed unusually early and slept through dinner. When Audrey finished up her meal, she went scouting for dessert and came to the cookie bag. "There's only one gingerbread left!" She declared. "I'll have to split it in half so that Elliot can have the other half."
Of course we assured her that the whole thing was rightfully hers, since Elliot had had his at lunchtime.
And I assured myself of something, too. I've made mistakes in raising that girl, and I'll surely make more. But I'm pretty sure I'm not screwing up the job too badly. She is so thoughtful. So generous and fair-minded. At six she is already, without a doubt, a completely decent human being.
Continuing to Riff on the Same Theme
A few weeks before Christmas, Audrey expressed concern that Santa might not have anybody to give him presents.
After writing her letter to Santa, she realized that her little brother was too little to write. So she wrote one for him, too.
And yesterday, she took it upon herself to sit down and write Santa a thank you note.
She charms me, that girl.
The Adventures of Science Girl
Audrey: Guess where I went to go when we come down to visit you?
Grandma: (Thinking "Disneyland") Where?
Audrey: Channel Islands National Park!
The Further Adventures of Science Girl
"We're walking on the surface of the moon!" Audrey declared as she and her brother bounded dramatically around on the bed.
"We're walking on the surface of the sun!" Elliot piped in.
"Elliot," Audrey chided. "That's impossible. It's way too hot."
Doesn’t Sound G-Rated to Me
E: Is this a titty-tattle? Like from the video?
L: (Momentarily panicked)…Uh….(Then greatly relieved) Oh! You mean is it a tattletale! Like from the Thomas video!
Life with Two-Year-Old. (Sigh.)
E: Come look what I knocked down in Audrey's room!!!!!
Christmas Tree Decorating With Two-Year-Old. (Sigh.)
E: Look!!!! It's a ball!!! (Toss. Crash. Tinkle.)
Life with Six-Year-Old. (Sigh.)
Audrey asked for waffles weeks ago, and I've felt guilty about not fulfilling her request. So, deciding to take full advantage of a leisurely winter break morning, I pulled out the ingredients to make them from scratch.
The children argued and tussled over who would get to pour and stir what, and I had to endure a near-meltdown from the toddler, but after 10 or 15 minutes we finally got the batter mixed together and ready for the griddle.
At which point Audrey had a suggestion. "Hey! Maybe we should have French toast for breakfast instead!"
Educational Theories
"Look at these stones!" urged a three-year-old kid in Elliot's preschool class.
"Oh," I admired. "You have one clear stone and one translucent stone!"
"Not clear!" another mom in the class chided me with a laugh. "The second stone is ‘not clear.' ‘Translucent is a fourth grade word!"
I smiled and shrugged. But privately, I was riding high on my high horse, "Well for goodness sakes," I thought. "Your kid's not going to learn it until fourth grade if you completely underestimate him and don't bother introducing it until then."
Here's the thing. I'm all for explaining things in terms that kids can understand. But I also think it's OK--even really important--to introduce them to words and concepts that they won't fully grasp the first time out. The first time a kid hears the word "translucent," maybe he'll quickly forget it. But probably the next time he hears it he'll remember having heard it before. And the time after that, maybe he'll start to associate it with objects that he can't quite see through. Or maybe not. But it's a sure thing that he won't start to understand the word until he starts to hear it.
So, introducing the term "translucent" to a kid who is showing interest in a translucent rock—AOK in my book.
On the other hand, if you introduce concepts that are wildly over someone's head, I firmly believe that they won't learn a thing. Which is why I was hesitant at the library a few weeks ago, when Audrey pulled a densely-worded, 50-page book about the element "tin" from the shelf and said "Let's get this one!"
I flipped through the book, blanching at just about every page. Element. Ductile. Malleable. Conducts electricity. Roman Empire. The Stone Age. The Bronze age. Disintigrating 19th Century European church organ pipes. Pewter. Patina. Alloy. Compound. It seemed like waaay too many concepts that would be completely new to her. I was certain she'd be lost and bored within a few pages. But my daughter was keen to learn about tin, so I stuffed it, into our bag.
I spent the next couple of weeks ignoring the tin book when I picked out Audrey's bedtime books.
Then there came a night when Audrey decided to make the reading selections, and the tin book turned up on top of the pile. So I gulped and launched into the first page. "Tin is an element. An element is the building block of matter. Matter is the stuff or material that makes up everything in the universe. This book, the chair you are sitting on, and even you are made of matter."
It already seemed a little impenetrable for a first grader, so I looked over to see how Audrey was doing. She was smirking. "I'm not sitting on a chair! I'm sitting on a bed!" Smirking and alert and completely engaged in the text.
She stayed that way for another 50 pages, supplying constant commentary, aggressively hooking the information she was hearing in the book to information she already knew. ("Pewter"…that rhymes with "cuter!") ("The Stone Age"…we learned in school that Native Americans used to make stone tools!")
The following day, Audrey mentioned to her father that one cold winter, a bunch of tin organ pipes had disintegrated into a powdery gray ash.
So it turns out that me and that other mom have at least one thing in common. That completely underestimating our kids learning abilities thing.
Though I Confess, Sometimes I Introduce New Concepts Hoping to Shut Him Up
Elliot wants to know the reasons for everything these days, so we're hearing a lot of the word, "because."
L: It's cold!
E: Because?
L: Because it's winter.
E: Because?
L: Because earth's northern hemisphere is tilted away from the sun.
Apparently, I’m the One Who Needs to Hit the Books
Audrey likes to come up with word games. So the other day she and I were playing a game where we took turns changing one word in a false statement to make it correct.
A: Bees eat leaves.
L: Bees eat nectar.
L: Great white sharks eat plankton.
A: Whale sharks eat plankton.
A: Evaporation follows condensation.
L: Uhhhh…
A: Precipitation follows condensation! Evaporation-condensation-precipitation, Mom. That's the water cycle.
The Latest Audrey Jokes
A: What kind of mat does a whale have in front of its house?
L: What?
A: A whale-come mat!
A: What do Hawaiians say on Christmas?
L: What?
A: Aloho-ho-ho!
A: What's the worst kind of shape?
L: What?
A: A rectangle!
L: Because it's wrecked?
A: And tangled!
Halloween
It came as no surprise to anyone when Audrey decided she wanted to dress up as a "dangerous orca" this year. But we were all a little startled when Elliot chimed in and expressed his desire to be a sea turtle.
I mean, sure, he's been fond of those creatures for a while. But….it's not like sea turtles are an all-consuming passion for him.
James diplomatically pointed out that Elliot could choose a costume related to his all-consuming passion. "You can be a sea turtle. Or…Do you want to be a garbage truck…Or a dump truck?"
"I want to be a sea turtle for Halloween!" the little guy insisted.
James was grimly certain that as soon as he'd sunk an hour or two into sewing a shell, Elliot would realize that his true desire was to dress up as a backhoe.
So he kept checking in with Elliot, day after day. And day after day, Elliot stuck to his guns. "I want to be a sea turtle!!"
Finally convinced, James took the kids to Hancock's fabrics, bought orca and sea turtle colored fabrics, and hauled the sewing machine in out of the garage.
As he does every year, James whipped up two masterpieces. And, as they do every year, the kids totally rocked their costumes.
Master and Apprentice
One crisp October day, James took the morning off to hang some dry wall in our master bathroom. (Remodeling project in progress.)
Then he headed off to work where he designed computer chips.
When he came home in the evening, he whipped together a home cooked meal for his family.
After supper, he pulled out the sewing machine to work on Halloween costumes.
I hope my son grows up to be as extraordinary a man as his daddy.
Also, Real Men Can Dance. Dammit.
Audrey is taking hula lessons, and the first time I dropped her off at the community center for her class, I noticed that there's a "Boy's Dance/Tap" class which runs at the same time.
I was totally excited when I described my discovery to James. "It was so cool to hear them dancing in their tap shoes and watch them jumping and spinning. As soon as Elliot turns five, I am going to sign him up for that class."
James cocked an eyebrow at me.
"And I guess I'll also sign him up for…um….rugby. To make up for it."
Things I Know Now That I Did Not Know 2.5 Years Ago
"Backhoe" I thought absently as I drove past the construction sight. And as my eyes slid over the truck's digging mechanism, a few additional vocabulary words popped helpfully into my mind. "Bucket, dipper stick, boom."
Major Breakthrough
Elliot is finally (finally!) willing to listen to books about topics other than trucks. And just in the nick of time, too. The Saratoga library has a very (very!) extensive children's books section, but we'd pretty much checked out every vehicle related picture book they have.
The Vegetarian’s Daughter
"I think Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday."
"Why is that?"
"Because you get to eat meat."
Which Succinctly Demonstrates the Importance of Sports in Our Household
L: (Alerted by a gazillion celebratory, World Series-related Facebook status updates) Looks like the Giants won.
J: Game 4? Game 5?
L: (Momentarily flummoxed. Answers without directly answering the question.) Well, they won the whole series.
Where On Earth Do You Suppose This Nerdliness Comes From?
L: "You need to put your book down during dinner, honey."
A: "Why?"
J: "Because dinner time is a time for us to be together as a family and talk. You can read more Junie B. at bedtime."
A: (Setting her book down with great reluctance.) "OK."
A: (Grabbing a handful of flash cards from a box on the table.) "Can I work on math during dinner?!"
When the Cat’s Away
Elliot and I have a lot of mother-son bonding time when Audrey is off at school. But she and I don't get much mother-daughter time with just the two of us. Thanks to a teacher in-service day at Audrey's school, I knew I would get to spend a couple of hours with just Audrey while Elliot was in preschool. For days I tried hard to think of a special outing the two of us could take together. But when the in-service day arrived and James left to drop Elliot at school on his way to work, I felt bad that I still hadn't come up with a fun mother-daughter adventure for our morning.
As the door closed behind the boys, Audrey looked thoughtful. Then she turned and grinned at me, "Let's play a game!"
We looked through the games that live out of brother's reach on her shelves, and Audrey selected a ocean animals craft set. Then we painted and glued and chatted in the kitchen. It was thoroughly relaxing since there was no two-year-old around to pull and grab and splatter and demand.
As I spent a splendid couple of hours alone with my daughter, I laughed at myself for having fretted. Coming up with a perfect plan for the morning was easy once I consulted the proper expert. And how could I have forgotten that what she and I have always loved best is just tootling around at home.
OK, Son. Let Me Amend My Instructions Slightly
Elliot is enjoying preschool very much. (It's really fun to have a kid who actually enjoys preschool, because Audrey always just kind of tolerated it. Barely.) Elliot goes to a parent participation preschool, so I work in his classroom one day a week, and the other day he flies solo. James and I have impressed upon him that if he needs to go to the bathroom while he's at school, he should tell his teacher.
Apparently, he's taken the lesson very literally. I was standing next to Elliot during my classroom workshift a few weeks ago when I suddenly heard him thinking out loud to himself, "Tell Debbi I have to go to the bathroom." Then left my side and marched off to find his teacher.
When Your Child Surpasses You
The Goodbye Song was sung, and we were standing around at the cubbies picking up backpacks and artwork when Elliot struck up a conversation with the mother of one of his classmates. "We're going home now. Are you going home?"
At which point I was like, whoa…whoa…whoa, whoa, whoa. My two-year-old is better at making small talk than I am.
We Do Not Inherit the Earth From Our Ancestors. We Borrow It From Our Children.
Elliot was holding the dust pan for me as I swept. Amongst the dust and dirt in the pile, he spied a teeny, tiny white scrap of paper, and he was horrified. "That's not trash! That's recycle!" Then he fished the paper out and carried it, quite self-righteously, off to the recycle bin.
Thank You Note to My Daughter
You are being such a good sport about the fact that Elliot now demands that we watch only truck DVDs in the minivan. Such a good, great, amazing sport. Thank you. If there's anything that I can do to support you in your goal of growing up to be both an oceanographer and a construction worker, you just let me know.
It’s Kind of Hard to Believe That My Husband Is a Second Child Himself
"Do we need to get anything else to be ready for school?" James wondered.
"Yes," I pointed out. "We need to get a truck backpack for Elliot."
"Why?" he shrugged. "Can't he just use Audrey's old penguin backpack?"
Well, no. No, our truck obsessed son could not start his first day of preschool wearing a backpack formerly owned by his formerly penguin obsessed big sister. That would not have been just at all. Sheesh.
Turning Six, Starting First Grade, Growing Up
A couple of weeks ago, Audrey abruptly transitioned from primarily using the terms "mommy" and "daddy" to primarily using the terms "mom" and "dad." I keep checking in with myself to see if I feel weepy or sentimental about this change. And I keep being surprised that instead of feeling sad that my baby is growing up, I feel happy and proud.
My Life As a“Baby Blues” Comic Strip
A: (Non-urgently) Elliot bit my finger!
L: (Non-urgently) No biting, little guy.
L: (Upon further reflection) Did you put your finger in his mouth?
A: (Matter of factly) I was trying to get the frog out of his throat.
Grammar Lover’s Edition
Elliot is now a phenomenally fluent speaker of English. There's just almost nothing the kid can't express.
Usually, the things that he wants to express are truck related:
"I love trucks."
"Trucks are fun."
"Here's more of the cab, too, where the driver sits in it."
"Where's the siren of it?"
"I wanna read another book about trucks!"
His logic isn't always as accurate as his grammar, which is part of the fun.
"The train is getting gas because it's all dirty."
And to make things even more fun, he's at the stage where be makes ADORABLE grammatical errors.
"I wanna read bookses!" he shouts. "Lets play with truckses!" (Why add just one plural marker when you can add two!)
"I felled!" he exclaims. "He roded in the truck!" (Why add just one past tense marker when you can add two!)
All those crazy, crazy morphemes! It's Linguistics major heaven around here these days, folks.
Inordinately Proud of My Careless Parenting
Ever since she was 23 months old, every time Audrey has gotten a cold, she's spent a few days wheezing and miserable. A couple of years ago she was officially diagnosed with viral triggered asthma.
Our regular pediatrician wrote a prescription for an inhaler and suggested allergy testing.
The allergist said she didn't have any apparent allergies, and wrote prescriptions for additional drugs and a nebulizer.
But we weren't satisfied to treat our daughter's symptoms with drugs. We wanted to try harder to figure out the cause of the problem.
After all, years of doctors and prescriptions never managed to clear up my eczema. But an acupuncturist who convinced me to cut gluten out of my diet cleared it up completely.
So it was time to find Audrey an "alternative" healer who would search deeper for the source of her illness. After considering a variety of possible practitioners, I decided on a "holistic" pediatrician whose office is some 30 miles up the road from us, in Belmont. For $300 (no insurance accepted) he would do a one hour consultation about Audrey's asthma. (Naturally, before I could even book an appointment with the holistic pediatrician, I needed to fill out a ton of forms about how my pregnancy was and whether or not we use a water filter at home and how old Audrey was when she learned to jump.)
At our appointment, the pediatrician recommended that we have some bloodwork done. He wanted to check on a variety of things that might be contributing to Audrey's asthma—zinc levels, magnesium levels, vitamin D levels, etc.
"Her vitamin D levels are probably low," he mused. Everyone's vitamin D levels are low, and it doesn't sound like she spends a lot of time outdoors."
"Well…I don't know." I protested. "She loves to play outside."
The doctor looked at me skeptically. "I see kids who play a ton of sports and spend just about all of their time outdoors, and even they usually have low vitamin D levels."
"Oh," I meekly nodded.
A few weeks later, we went back for a follow-up appointment. And guess who had vitamin D levels right up in the normal range! Oh yeah! My kid! My little non-sporty kid! Whoo-hoo!
Yep. That's what happens…when you almost never put your kid in sunscreen.
I Heart Witch Doctors
The school year has arrived, and with it, Audrey's first cold of the school season. Almost perversely, I've been looking forward to this cold. I've been anxious to know how Audrey's body would react to the virus. Would she end up feverish and horribly wheezy as usual? Or would cutting down on dairy and consuming daily supplements (fish oil, probiotics, quercetin, zinc, a multi-vitamin, and a Chinese herbal concoction) really help her immune system avoid an inappropriate allergic reaction to the virus.
Audrey's on day three of this cold, and I think our verdict is in. There was some very mild wheeziness early on, which we treated with Albuterol a couple of times. But I can't even remember the last time Audrey breezed through a cold this easily.
I heart the acupuncturist who helped me cure my eczema.
I heart the midwife who made my second pregnancy experience a million times less stressful than my first.
And I heart the holistic pediatrician who seems to be improving my daughter's asthma.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and do a happy dance.
My Little Mountain Goat
As I've said before on this blog, usually you have a pretty good idea about what developmental steps your kids are likely to hit next.
So when your not-very-motor-oriented six-year-old stands on the top of your toddler slide and tells you to watch her, you're expecting her to try walking down it instead of sliding. So you tell her to wait until you come over to hold it, because you're not sure how stable it will be when she walks down. So you're right there when, instead of walking down the slide, she launches herself into the air and lands (nimbly as you please), a good foot in front of it. And then your jaw drops to the ground as you estimate that your child.--your NON-MOTOR-ORIENTED child just leaped at least four feet through the air. And when you tell your husband about this feat (which she promptly repeated five times) he will want to verify that when you picked your first grader up from school, you did not accidentally pick up one of the other Asian-white hapas in her class. (There are a ton of hapas in her class, after all.)
And you will assure him that no. It really is your child who is suddenly leaping. And then you will wonder if zinc and fish oil supplements have magical powers that extend beyond diminishing asthma symptoms.
Hawaii!
A couple of years ago, when James convinced me that we should take our five-month-old and our four-year-old on a road trip down to San Diego, I blogged about how unenthusiastic I was about the prospect of traveling with the little ones. Back then, I estimated that I would consider our kids to be pleasant traveling companions right around the time they were ready to go to college.
I am delighted to report that my previous estimate was ridiculously pessimistic. Last spring, when James brought up the possibility of celebrating our 10 year anniversary with a family vacation in Hawaii, I gave the idea of traveling with our almost-six-year-old and our two-year-old a little thought….and I realized it sounded totally fun!
So we booked our tickets to Oahu and we rented a condo in Waikiki, and we started researching what adventures we could have with an ocean-loving first-grader and an easy-to-please toddler. Elliot wasn't really old enough to understand what our plans were, but Audrey was almost excited enough to fly to Hawaii without a plane.
As the date of our departure approached, I started to fret about the flight. I knew it would be easy to keep Audrey busy in the air, but I worried about Elliot. We had brand new books and videos and snacks and toys and puzzles ready to go for him. But would they really be enough to keep a cooped up toddler entertained for five hours? I mean sure, he's an easy-going little dude with a nice long attention span….but five hours? (Gulp.)
I can't believe how little faith I had in my son. Despite the fact that we had to weather a three-hour delay before boarding our flight, this is what he looked like when we finally managed to get loaded on the plane.
An unfamiliar place loaded full of strangers??? Bring it!!!!
I did have a secret weapon when it came to keeping the little guy centered and peaceful while we were stuck in the metal tube—my breasts. Before getting on the plane, I wasn't sure if I was going to be comfortable breasfeeding on the plane. I've read quotes from a variety of people (Barbara Walters comes to mind) who've expressed horror about being subjected to the sight of an infant breastfeeding on a plane. It actually disgusts me to think that anyone might be disgusted by the sight of a baby nursing on a plane.
But my little guy isn't a baby anymore, and I can kind of understand that some people would be uncomfortable seeing a nursing toddler in close quarters. As soon as we got onto the plane, though, I realized I was definitely going to be nursing there. If I nursed him (as discreetly as possible, draping my sweater partly over his head) he was going to be cheerful and content on the plane. If I didn't nurse him, he was going to be out-of-sorts and screamy. I knew which kid I wanted to be traveling with, and I crossed my fingers that the folks sitting near us would prefer to risk seeing a momentary glimpse of nipple than to spend five hours listening to a wailing two-year-old. Thankfully, no one gave us any flack, and the five hours passed remarkably quickly and easily.
Once we arrived in Hawaii, we were a little surprised about Audrey's behavior. She'd been dreaming about Hawaii for months, so now that we were here, why on earth was she so…crotchety? Why was she waking up crying at night? And where had her appetite disappeared to?
In retrospect, the answer to those questions is quite straightforward. It was the facial nerve pain, of course! A few days into our trip, the right side of Audrey's face got kind of droopy. Diagnosis: Bell's Palsy—temporary muscle weakness that occurs when a virus causes inflammation of a nerve in the face. Apparently, a few days before the droopiness appears, the nerve starts to hurt like hell. But Little Miss Stoic Through Pain never even mentioned her discomfort. (If that girl ever decides that she wants to birth a baby without pain medication, I am 100% certain she will pull it off.) Looking back, it's kind of amazing that Audrey did as well on our trip as she did! The poor kid was in pain and prickly, but she was up for absolutely everything on our agenda.
We swam in the ocean.
We visited a pineapple plantation.
We hiked a rain forest.
We went to an aquarium.
We fed sea creatures.
We snorkeled.
We learned about Polynesian culture.
And it was so much fun! So definitely never mind the "waiting until my kids are in college before I want to travel with them" thing. James and I are already having fun brainstorming about where we're going to take the bambinos next summer.
Convenient Location? Check. Ocean View? Check. Bathtub? Check.
At the beginning of the summer, Audrey started piano lessons. We found a great teacher who comes to our house, which is very convenient. Plus, being able to listen in on Audrey's lessons really helps me help her with practicing. Audrey's is doing a fantastic job, whipping through Lesson Book 1 and graduating to Lesson Book 2 much faster than her teacher expected.
Even more importantly, she seems to be enjoying piano a lot. A couple of days before we left for Hawaii, she grabbed her Lesson Book and suggested that we add it to the luggage. "If there's a piano in our condo in Hawaii, I can practice there!!"
Grand Piano? Um….sorry kiddo.
Next time we rent a condo, we'll have our priorities straight.
Homework Time for Mommy!
Helping Audrey practice piano has been a piece of cake so far. But now she's graduated to Lesson Book 2. Which means that in a few weeks, she'll be starting to learn to read bass clef in the staff. And by the time SHE starts reading bass clef, I need to NOT totally suck at reading bass clef.
That’s…Well, Dang, Girl. That’s Actually Really Punny.
Here are some jokes that Audrey has recently come up with:
What did the Hawaiian fish say when the coconut fell on it??? MAUI!!!!
What do Hawaiian crabs say when the weather is warm??? ALOHOT!!!
What's a shark's favorite kind of sandwich??? PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLYFISH!!!
What does a rooster say at nighttime??? COCKADOODLE-DON'T!!!
That’s….Well, Actually Little Boy, Your Set Could Use a Little More Work
And here's a joke that Elliot recently came up with:
"Dump trucks go on train tracks, not trains go on train tracks!!!"
His joke made me laugh, of course. Mostly because it was so amusing to see him utterly crack himself up.
Motherhood, In a Nutshell
I needed something to munch on, and I thought the kids might be hungry too, so I pulled out a tub of pistachios and sat down at the table.
Sure enough, within a minute or two, both of the children had gravitated to my side to partake in a healthy snack. (Insert triumphant mama smile here.) Taking care to leave the widely open nuts for Audrey, I sifted through the container for more tightly closed pistachios, shelled them, bit them apart, and regurgitated toddler safe pieces for Elliot. Occasionally, I had time to shell one for myself, too.
And that's how motherhood has changed my life. Once upon a time, eating an afternoon snack was a straight-forward task. Now it is often a complicated procedure that involves both sacrifice and subterfuge. Once upon a time, eating an afternoon snack was a straight-forward task. Now it is often an intellectually interesting, warm and fuzzy, richly rewarding experience.
Apparently She’s Been Working Towards a Degree in Economics in Her Spare Time
"Darryl doesn't like Apple products," James mentioned.
"Why doesn't he?" wondered Audrey.
"I think he thinks they're too popular," James theorized.
"But popular things are often good, because stores sell them for cheaper prices because everybody likes them."
Happy Sixth Birthday, Baby Girl
Dear Audrey,
You are turning six. And so, for the sixth time, I am sitting down to write you a birthday letter. There's something quite different about my ritual this time around, though. In the past, I was always writing a letter to a future you…a much older you. I imagined this grown you would stroll through my blog during a trip down memory lane and discover the birthday letters by chance. But this time, I'm writing for "now" you, because you now read my blog.
To be honest, I was a little nervous when I first discovered that you'd become a follower of the blog. Normally, I'm not too concerned about what other people think of my writing. But your good opinion of my storytelling was critical to me. So I'm so glad that the blog meets your approval. I'm so glad we get to read through the entries together and giggle all over again about nonsensical lyrics and creepy-crawly raspberries.
Audrey, do you remember how we planned your birthday party back when you turned four? Do you remember how Daddy and I were thinking of serving sandwiches at a park? Well, as soon as you got involved in the party planning it transformed into a pizza at the ocean! How a three-year-old who had never attended a beach party managed to come up with that brilliant idea I'll never know. But you knew exactly what you wanted.
We figured we had learned our lesson. With your sixth birthday coming up, we thought our party plan was foolproof: A pizza party at the ocean for your friends!
Then we asked for your input. You knew exactly what you wanted.
And the big party transformed into a relaxing trip to the Monterey Bay Aquarium with your grandparents.
So simple. So certain. So you.
Audrey, I want to share a couple of sentences that other people have written about you. This first sentence was written by your pre-school teacher Justine, in a photo album that she gave you at the end of the school year:
"Audrey is special to me because she knows who she is, and is happy to share that with others."
This second sentence was written by your kindergarten teacher in your end-of-the-year report card:
"Audrey has a strong sense of who she is and is comfortable in that knowledge."
It takes my breath away, a little, how similar those sentences are. How grateful I am that you have had teachers who treasure in you a thing that I treasure so much. You are rock solid, girl. You are inner peace and contentedness and serenity.
Audrey, you know who you are. And I write stories about you because I love who you are, and I have such a blast being your mother.
Happy 6th Birthday, Baby Girl!
Love,
Mommy
Perspective I
I downloaded the song "Say Hey (I Love You)" by Michael Franti and Spearhead, and the children demanded that we listen to it over and over. And over and over. For days.
We were doing a lot of dancing and singing, and as we danced and sang, Audrey started analyzing the lyrics.
"'The more I see the less I know?!' That doesn't make any sense!! The more you see the more you know!!"
I struggled, for a moment, to rephrase the poetry in terms that she might understand. But then I realized that the task before me was impossible. "It's an funny thing for him to say, isn't it?"
Ahh….Give it another 10 years little girl. Maybe by the time you're 15, you'll have seen enough of the world to start to comprehend how much you don't comprehend.
Perspective II
James posted a picture of Audrey on Facebook with the caption, "Last day of Kindergarten. *sniff*"
Looking over my shoulder at the picture, Audrey was mystified. "Why does it say, "sniff"?
"Well," I pondered. "Sometimes, it's a little bit sad when things end."
"It's not sad!!" Audrey corrected. "I'll have experiences in first grade that I could never have if I were still in kindergarten!!"
Absolutely true, little girl. Absolutely true. But give it another 20 years. Maybe by the time you're 25, happy things will sometimes make you sad.
Continuity
"I'm going to put the dough that we're not using back into the fridge, because the colder dough is, the easier it is to work with."
"How do you know that?" Audrey asked.
"I learned it from Grandma," I explained. And then I reflected that my mom had no doubt learned that trick from her mom. And suddenly the act of baking cookies with my daughter felt like a spiritual experience.
Squeamishness
"Pink Vinaigrette Lemonade," she read off of the side of the carton.
"Mm-hmm," I agreed. "Would you like some more?"
And OK. Actually, I probably should have corrected her. But I really didn't feel like discussing the word "virgin."
And We Tried to Convince Her Otherwise, But She Remained Highly Skeptical
"These raspberries are great!" James enthused. He picked up another and was about to pop it into his mouth, when something caught his attention. He held the berry out to the kids. "Look at what's on this one!"
"A caterpillar!" Audrey squealed, watching the tiny transparent critter inch along the berry.
I paused to examine my own berry carefully, and used my pinky to dig a black spot out from the center of the fruit. The black spot proceeded to scurry around on my place mat.
"I'm no longer feeling very hungry for raspberries," James concluded.
"I guess that's what we get for buying organic fruit," I concluded.
"So pesticides ARE better," Audrey concluded.
The Vegetarian’s Daughter Makes a Matter-of-Fact Assessment
"I like snail."
The Vegetarian’s Daughter Writes a Book
At Audrey's school, the classes focus on different themes throughout the year, and the fourth and final theme for the K/1 classes this year was "Farms." The children in Audrey's class wrote and illustrated very elaborate (hard cover!) books about farm animals as one of their final projects, and Audrey elected to write her book about ducks.
I'm blown away by the quality of the books that the kids produced. Here's the page where Audrey talked about what baby, female, and male ducks are called, with accompanying illustrations.
But my favorite page of the book is the page where she explains that ducks on farms are raised for meat. (In case it isn't 100% clear, that thing on the left side of the page is a fork. Watch out, ducky.)
Freedom
"Read to me, Audrey," Elliot demanded. "Read the tractors book."
"OK," she agreed. The two of them took the book onto her bed, and she launched into it. "A tractor is a machine that pulls heavy loads…"
Listening from the hallway, I smiled and walked over to the master bedroom to sort some dirty laundry into baskets.
"Read me another book," I heard Elliot demand.
"OK," agreed his sister. I peeked in and saw the two of them standing by our library book bags, making another selection.
As I swept up a dust bunny from the hall, Audrey's voice rang out clear and sure, "On a green hill, a machine digs a big hole."
After dumping the dust bunny into the garbage can, I popped into Audrey's room to see if my children were interested in any parenting. "Hi guys!"
"A plumber puts in pipes for water," Audrey ignored me.
"Go away, Mommy," Elliot chided me.
I smiled, and headed into our hall bathroom.
The shower and toilet were shining and sparkly and a large pile of toddler books littered Audrey's bed before the sound of escalating bickering informed me that my children required some mothering.
Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness! Was that a full twenty minutes to myself in the middle of the day? Is this what life is like with a two-year-old and an almost-six-year-old? Suddenly, a summer that had seemed to stretch out rather ominously in front of me is looking very manageable indeed.
The Problem Solver
Once upon a time, I thought that anyone who would nurse a child much past a year was nutso.
Then I had a baby and started breastfeeding, and had some troubles with breastfeeding, and read a ton of books about breastfeeding to try to figure out a solution to my troubles. When I was reading books about breastfeeding, I ran into information about the benefits of toddler nursing. And once I'd read about the benefits of toddler nursing, I realized I wanted to do it myself.
So I nursed Audrey until she self-weaned at three, and I am currently nursing my two-year-old.
In short, I am (completely contentedly) nutso.
One of the things that I love about toddler nursing is the way it can magically calm a two-year-old whose emotions have spiraled out of control. A lot of the time, nothing works better than "nuh-nuck" to help make Elliot glad instead of sad. And he totally knows it.
The other day, my almost-six-year-old's emotions had spiraled out of control, and she was crying on her bed. Hearing her sobs, Elliot grabbed my hand and led me into his sister's room. He looked at her, gravely assessed the situation, and turned to me to present a surefire solution. "Audrey needs nuh-nuck."
Something Up His Sleeves?
Elliot continues to give no indication that he has any interest in learning the alphabet.
Except.
Except the other day, this thing happened. Audrey was "playing" Scrabble. (Asking me how to spell a word. Finding the letters for that word. Putting the letters down on the scrabble board. Attempting to add up how many points she could earn with this double letter score and that double word score. Love that little nerd girl of mine.)
Anyway, Audrey had to go to the bathroom, and when she left, Elliot grabbed some letters and started setting them one by one on a letter tray. "What's this one?" he asked.
"That's E," I said.
"E," he parroted, plunking it down
"What's this one?" "G." Plunk. "What's this one?" "P" Plunk. "What's this one?" "S" Plunk.
The thing is, he parroted and plunked and parroted and plunked completely perfectly. I mean, he had five letters plunked down on the tray before he finally ended up plunking a T down sideways. And I was like, there's no way he oriented all of those letters correctly by chance, is there?! Just how much does he know about the alphabet that he's not letting on?! That little rascal.
The Art Critic
One of the benefits of being a first child is that you have a few years of video watching all to yourself. A few years when all of the videos that you see are perfectly appropriate for your age and interests.
Not so for the second child. Once in a while, say when he's really tired and cranky and threatening to nap right before dinnertime and completely screw up bedtime, we pop in a video that's perfect for our little guy. ("20 Trucks" has kept Elliot from taking a catastrophic pre-dinner nap on any number of occasions.) But for the most part, he's stuck watching whatever his big sister wants to watch on our minivan's DVD player. I'm afraid that's just kind of what happens when you're too little to lobby for yourself. (In our family, anyway.)
Mostly, Audrey likes to watch stuff about the ocean. And mostly Elliot seems reasonably interested in whatever's on the screen, even though it's all way, waaaay above his head. I don't know how much he picks up from the videos. But he does seem to know more about sea horses and sea stars and sharks than the average two-year-old probably knows. So at least a little something, I guess.
Or perhaps a little more than a little something.
Recently, Audrey and Elliot have been watching a water-themed video from the Magic School Bus series. (It's a clever series about Ms. Frizzle, a teacher who takes her elementary school students—and their class lizard, Liz--on magical scientific field trips.) So when we were doing some artwork yesterday afternoon, Audrey was inspired to draw a picture of the magic bus on an underwater adventure. "What's that?" I inquired, pointing at a green creature.
"That's Liz," Audrey explained.
"Audrey," ordered Elliot, "Draw Ms. Frizzle!"
So that was the moment when I learned that my 26-month-old was following the Magic School Bus video well enough to pick up on the names of some of the characters. And if you'd been there at that moment, I think you probably could have knocked me over with a feather.
Still Learning
"We're making Mother's Day presents in school," she told me as I picked her up. "Sewing kits."
"Are you?" I smiled.
"We made pin cushions and put in thread and scissors and buttons."
"That sounds lovely."
"I wrote you a Mother's Day card at school," she mentioned as we looked over the "Mother's Day" cards at the store.
"Did you?" I smiled.
"I wrote, ‘I love you Mommy,' in mine."
"That sounds very sweet," I smiled.
"I put my Mother's Day present in my backpack," she informed me when I picked her up. "I'm supposed to hide it when we get home."
"That sounds like a good idea." I smiled.
"I hid your present," she declared once we got home. "I put it in the hall closet."
"That sounds like a good hiding place." I smiled.
And so I was all set to write a smiling Mother's Day entry. To gently smirk at her naiveté, in all of its adorableness.
Then Mother's Day arrived and she woke up beside herself with excitement. "Happy Mother's Day!" she beamed. She ran out to gather up her presents, and presented them to me with pride. A sewing kit. ("I picked purple thread for you, because I know purple is your favorite color.") A card. ("I picked this one with the flowers, because I thought you'd like it.") A drawing of a rose with heart-shaped leaves. ("I know you like roses.") A freshly washed apple. ("I wasn't sure what to make you for breakfast, but then I thought you might like an apple.")
She knew. She knew all along that secrecy was beside the point. I was the one who didn't get it. The one who didn't realize that a well publicized sewing kit and a fake flower and a freshly washed apple, when presented with love to express appreciation, could be some of the most thoughtful and touching presents I have ever received.
“Pickup Truck!”
The subject of this photograph (from Elliot's perspective).
A Wee Bit Premature
Tapping his chest proudly, Elliot made an important announcement. "I'm a man!"
A Study in Contrasts
The kids each got to pick out two little plastic sharks when they went to the toy store with Daddy. As they sat in their car seats on the way home, Daddy listened to them playing.
"Kiss, kiss!" Elliot instructed the toys. Then he held his sharks mouth to mouth and made smooching sounds.
"My sharks are trying to eat each other," Audrey announced. Then she held her sharks mouth to mouth and made ferocious chomping sounds.
See, We Don’t Have a Milkman
James was about to go to work, and Elliot decided that the moment needed to be properly choreographed. "Say, ‘bye bye!'" he instructed us.
"Bye bye," James and I dutifully complied.
"Kiss!" he ordered.
Again, we obeyed.
"Hug!" he demanded.
And so we embraced.
Elliot nodded, satisfied that our parting had been sufficiently affectionate, and James took his leave.
Later that afternoon Audrey, Elliot, and I were observing snails and ants on the front porch when a Fed Ex truck pulled up in front of our house, and the driver hopped out with a package for us. I thanked him, and he hurried back towards his truck.
"Say ‘bye bye!'" Elliot instructed me.
"Bye," I called after the retreating driver.
"Kiss!" ordered Elliot.
The Science Experiment
He shoved a blade of grass towards the worm's mouth, and waited expectantly. Nothing happened.
"It's not eating!" he complained.
"Well, I don't think that worms really eat much grass, as a general rule," I explained. "So grass probably isn't the best thing to feed it."
"Also," I added, "when you are trying to convince a worm to eat, you may have better luck if you find one that is somewhat less flat, dry, and dead."
Elliot, Lobbying Hard for the Breakfast of His Choice
Why I Can’t Join in When the Other Moms Complain that they Feel Like Chauffeurs
Spring has finally sprung, so the kids and I have been celebrating the sunshine by spending our afternoons in the back yard picking strawberries, riding bikes, digging for pill bugs, watering the garden, and stomping in mud puddles.
For me, time spent in a warm backyard with happy, muddy children is…. it's the time when all of the laborious, tiresome, frustrating aspects of motherhood disappear, and the reality of being a stay-at-home mom is every bit as glorious as the Hallmark version of it.
I guard our carefree afternoons jealously. In essence, that means that Audrey doesn't take any after school dance classes or sports classes or art classes or math enrichment classes or any of the many other types of classes that many of her classmates take. I'm not opposed to the idea of having kindergartners participate in organized activities. It is entirely possible that when Elliot is in kindergarten, he'll be keen to participate in an after school activity or two, and that will be fine.
But when my little introvert gets out of school she has had her fill of big groups. She is ready to come home and relax, so I take her home. Audrey might be better coordinated if I had her participating in dance or sports. She might draw better if a professional were teaching her art. She might be able to add or subtract larger numbers if I had her studying extra math.
But just as surely as some of my fellow moms are positive that they are giving their kindergarteners a leg up in life by drilling them in arithmetic, I am positive that my five-year-old benefits immensely from our lazy afternoons at home. As she kneels down to investigate slugs or mushrooms…as she turns a plastic container into a leafy "snail habitat"….as she complies with her brother's demand that she turn on the hose…as she entertains herself by telling elaborate stories…as she does those things, I can see that my daughter is full to bursting with kindness and curiosity and imagination. She may not know her multiplication tables. But she has a passion for exploring the world around her. And I'd much rather that her mind be filled with passion than with facts.
"Education is the kindling of a flame, not the filling of a vessel." --Socrates
Toilet Tales
Elliot is 24 months, and he is very very very very very close to being daytime toilet trained. He is pretty close to 100% dry during the day now. I think he only wet one or two diapers this week, and one of his "misses" happened because I was rushing to get an errand done and I ignored his plea to pee. The little guy is now totally comfortable peeing on public toilets and I don't even stress about taking him out in undies.
Or rather, I don't stress about taking Elliot out in undies IF he's already had his B.M. for the day. He is totally comfortable pooping on the toilet at home. But he hasn't yet mustered up the courage to poop on a public toilet. So one major hurdle still remains before Elliot's graduates full-time into the thrilling world of motor vehicle themed underwear.
As Elliot's draws close to graduating from diapers, I've been doing a lot of reflecting about his toilet training journey, which we started when he was seven months old. In some ways I suppose you could argue that it was silly of me to start training my baby when he was an infant. After all, the process involved countless messes on the floor, and it isn't quite finished yet despite a year-and-a-half of effort. When I trained Audrey at 3-and-a-half, it only took one week and I hardly had to deal with any accidents.
But I am so thrilled at how Elliot's potty training process has gone. Yes, it's been long. Yes, there were a ton of misses and messes. But my experience using elimination communication ("EC") with Elliot was so, so, so much better than my experience using standard American potty training techniques with Audrey.
For Audrey, potty training was forced and sudden and traumatic and stressful and strange. For Elliot, potty training has been gradual and natural and gentle and fun.
As a two-year-old and as a three-year-old, Audrey fiercely resisted using toilets. Two-year-old Elliot has been using toilets for as long as he can remember.
Long-term use of diapers taught Audrey to ignore her body's elimination signals. Even as late as last summer when she turned five, Audrey would often disregard her urge to pee for hours on end. Despite much parental nagging, she never seemed to visit the toilet until her bladder was desperately begging for mercy. Because she seemed reluctant to use the toilets at preschool, I was even a little nervous that she might end up peeing her pants at school when she started kindergarten! (Thankfully she proved willing to use the toilets at her elementary school right from the start.) Though barely two, Elliot is beautifully in tune with the signals that his body sends him. When he needs to pee, he either lets me know that he wants to use the toilet, or he simply pulls down his own pants and sits himself down on the potty. I'm confident he'll do a great job using the toilets at preschool when he starts in the fall.
So yeah the EC method of toilet training was better. It was way, way better. As a matter of fact, if James and I went completely insane and decided to have a third baby, I would start ECing kid #3 as soon as I had sufficiently recovered from labor to be able to hold my tiny newborn over a tiny potty.
Addendum: Elliot is now 25 months old, and for the past week we've had him in undies full time, and he's been doing a fantastic job. He still hasn't mastered the art of pooping on a public toilet, but he seems to be waiting until he gets home to go #2, so we haven't had any messy underwear disasters so far. We'll see if I've managed to jinx that streak of good luck by writing about it.
My Gosh. Maybe They Do Eventually Become Independent And Leave the Nest
Most kids develop a "Do it myself!" philosophy as toddlers. But Audrey's motto has really always been "Do it for me!" Here's one example. Most toddlers work hard at figuring out how to dress themselves. Audrey didn't bother learning how to put on her own clothes until she was four, and even then she only learned because we FORCED her. Many bribes were used. Many tears were shed. It wasn't pretty.
Nowadays Audrey doesn't fight dressing herself. (Usually. She still puts up an occasional fuss about socks and zippers.) But she has amended her motto to "OK. I'll do it myself. But you have to be with me when I do it!"
And that is why James and I were so shocked the other morning when we heard the sound of running water from the hall bathroom. "She didn't call us in when she woke up!" James gasped.
"She just got up on her own and peed!" I gaped. "Do you think next she's going to take off her PJs and come out to the kitchen dressed?" I was 80% kidding, and James laughed. Then he tiptoed down the hall to check on what his little girl was doing.
When he reported back a minute later, his eyes were as wide as saucers. "She's naked and she's picking clothes out of her dresser."
Or Maybe They Don’t
Here's Audrey's vision of the future, if you were curious. She's going to be an oceanographer, and Elliot is going to be a truckanographer. The two of them are going to get married, and they're going continue to live in our house. Naturally, James and I will have to move somewhere else. But we are pretty cool, so we are welcome to live somewhere close by.
The Experienced Mother
It's my second time through the twos, so I pretty much recognize all of the stages that Elliot hits. Recently, he hit the "Defiantly refuses to accept reality" stage.
"This is a red crayon!" he announces, brandishing a white crayon.
"Actually, that's a white crayon," I explain.
"It's a red crayon," he insists, eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Well, really, it's white," I pleasantly point out.
"It's red!" shouts.
"If you say so," I shrug.
Like I said, it's my second time through this stage, so I've figured out that I should just acquiesce quickly and not let his toddlerly pigheadedness get too much on my nerves. It's like, I know he'll get his colors straight eventually, so setting him straight right now definitely isn't worth a tantrum.
A few nights ago Audrey was listening in on one of my bizarre arguments with Elliot, and when I meekly accepted his erroneous assertion, she was nearly apoplectic. "But it's not a red crayon! It's a white crayon!"
"I know honey. It's irritating that he keeps calling it the wrong color. But there's no use arguing with him. When you were his age you used to do exactly the same thing."
"What would I do?" she asked in disbelief.
"Well, you loved animals, so you used to argue about mostly animals. Like, you would point to a lion and say, "This is an elephant," and no matter how much we corrected you, you'd keep saying, "It's an elephant!"
Audrey was deep in thought for a few moments. Then the tension drained out of her body, and she looked over at her brother and his white crayon, and smiled an indulgent smile.
Someday, Elliot will be five-and-a-half years old. When he is, I bet he'll be mature enough to reflect thoughtfully about his own past behaviors in order to reach acceptance of the shortcomings of children younger than himself. And no doubt I'll be thinking, "Hey! I remember when Audrey hit this stage. This is such a cool stage."
Please, No Jokes About the Fed Ex Man
So I was looking something up in my blog archives the other day, and I came across this description of Audrey's Two-Year Well Check, "She started crying the moment we entered the waiting room, and didn't stop until her 2-year check-up was over and we were safely back in the parking lot. A doctor's office is not a happy place for someone who doesn't like having her personal space invaded. Nor for the parents of said someone."
It was yet another reminder (as if I needed another reminder) of how stunningly different my children's personalities really are. Here is my description of Elliot's Two-Year Well Check: "At the beginning of the appointment, he was too wary to step on the "big kid" scale, so we had to sit him down and weigh him on the baby scale. He complained mightily about the weighing. But after that bumpy beginning, he had a lovely time. He enjoyed exploring the exam room and interacting with the doctor, and he found his exam to be quite an interesting experience. In fact, by the end of the appointment he was in such a good mood he didn't even cry when he got two shots. Also, despite the fact that he at one point elected to lick the exam room carpeting, he doesn't seem to have left the office with any horrible infectious diseases."
Analyzing the ways that Audrey and Elliot are similar and different is a constant source of fascination for me. Obviously, two-year-old Elliot's ability to interact with strangers far-and-a-way surpasses what two-year-old Audrey was capable of. It's vastly easier to hit the town (or the pediatrician's office) with a people-loving two-year-old than with a painfully shy one, so I definitely appreciate that characteristic in Elliot. But reading some of the other entries that I wrote when Audrey was a two-year-old, I also smiled to see that, in many ways, Elliot is a complete slacker compared to her.
By two, Audrey knew the alphabet and her shapes, and her knowledge of colors was so advanced that she was working on the concept of "taupe."
Maybe somebody had better tell that son of mine that he comes from a family of nerds, and we expect him to put his nose to the grindstone and figure out some of these academic concepts pronto. (Or maybe he can just keep being a cheerful, social, Lego stacking, motor vehicle obsessed, inexplicably tall (about 75 th percentile still!), non-nerd, and the rest of us will continue to adore him just the same.)
Happy Second Birthday, Baby Boy!
Dear Elliot,
I'd like to start this birthday letter by making a few requests of you. Now that you are two years old, would you mind learning to patiently take turns on the slide? When you are screaming and crying and trying to race your sister to the top of a fairly high ladder, it doesn't seem very safe to me. Also, it would be fantastic if you would start eating fruits and vegetables in recognizable forms rather than forcing your father and me to puree them and bake them into muffins or nuggets. I would also appreciate it if you would occasionally be willing to listen to books about subjects other than motor vehicles. And if you would sometimes agree to wear shirts that do not feature pictures of trucks. And believe me, any time you are ready to start leaving the crayons in the crayon basket instead of feeling compelled to dump them out into other containers or the onto floor, that will be A-OK with me.
In addition….actually,nope. That's it, dude. A few mildly irritating, developmentally appropriate quirks. That's all I can come up with. Cause you know what you are, honey? You are a joy to be around.
You are joyous enthusiasm from the moment you wake up in the morning, until you drift off to sleep at night. For you, life is one exciting adventure after another. And because of you, the rest of us get to enjoy the adventures, too. "Look, Mommy, look!!!!" you exclaim…unfailingly…every time an airplane flies over head. And as soon as I have acknowledged that I see it, you verify that the same is true for everyone else in the vicinity. "Look at the airplane, Audrey!!!!" It's such a joy to experience life's little adventures with you.
You are so energized by life. You don't seem to believe in letting situations overwhelm you. We've taken you to parties full of music and lights and people, and instead of experiencing sensory overload, you've responded by having a blast. We've instructed you to carry a pillow past rows and rows of strangers, and instead of freaking out, you've marched out on cue. It's such a joy to see how much you love having new experiences and meeting new people. And every time you encounter new experiences and new people, you bring along your smile.
Your smile. Your smile. You and your smile. Belboy, if I had a thousand dollars for every time people have complimented your dazzling smile, your college education would be paid for. It's such a joy to watch you making your way through life with that smile on your lips.
A few weeks ago, after sharing a smile with you, a friend turned and smiled at me. "He's such a happy, positive person," she said. "He's just like you."
Elliot, let me tell you something. Hearing someone else compare my personality to yours? Well, that was one of the nicest compliments I have ever received. I'm not sure that it's completely accurate, though. So why don't you work on taking turns this year. While you're doing that, I'm going to work on trying to approach life more like you do.
Happy Second Birthday, Baby Boy! Daddy, Audrey, and I can't wait to experience the joys of your third year with you!
Love,
Mommy
Roadrunners and Velveeta Cheese
I haven't posted in a million years. Again. This time my excuse is that all of my recent weekends have been packed full due to wedding stuff. Or, more accurately due to WEDDING stuff. This wasn't just any old wedding. This WEDDING was Aunt Julie and Uncle Jeff's.
James and I spent the weeks preceding the WEDDING trying to make sure that our family would be presentable. We scrounged up extra fine finery for the kidlets and ourselves. We bought a white pillow for the boy to carry down the aisle, and a white basket for the girl. Because the girl disdained the idea of carrying flower petals in her basket, we purchased a craft punch and punched out a zillion cleverly embossed paper fish. (FYI: The next time you need a punch for making cleverly embossed paper fish, Michael's is your store.)
Elliot spent the weeks preceding the WEDDING trying to make himself unpresentable. Two and a half weeks before the WEDDING, he cut his lip on the blade of a plastic wrap box. Two weeks before the WEDDING, he fell out our front door and spectacularly scraped up his nose. One week before the WEDDING, he tripped on a sidewalk and banged up his chin. Three days before the WEDDING, he developed a runny nose.
I resigned myself to the idea that by the time the WEDDING rolled around, all four of us would probably be coughing and feverish, and at least one of the children would be sporting an impressive shiner.
Then, the improbable happened. Elliot's lip, nose, and chin healed up beautifully, and his runny nose proved to be a two-hour long blip. When the WEDDING day rolled around, --somehow, someway--not only were all four of us reasonably scab-free, but for the first time since Christmas, we were 100% healthy.
We were ready for pictures, and ready to party.
And believe me you, there were a ton of pictures, and there was a ton of partying. And I was so proud of my kids for how they handled all of it.
They gamely posed for photos. They walked down the aisle on cue. They entertained themselves quietly throughout the ceremony. They danced enthusiastically at the reception. Because they comported themselves so beautifully, (and because my in-laws stepped in to entertain them when they tired of the dance floor) I got to enjoy more of the wedding then I'd dared to dream would be possible.
I got to chat with far-flung friends and relatives. I got to grin as my 90-year-old grandma polkaed with my sister's boss. I got to dance, and then dance, and then dance until my feet were blistered. (I should have been wise enough to ditch my shoes early on like cousin Brenda!) The mood was magical for me and all of the other guests as we congaed around the room and jammed onto the dance floor for YMCA. It was such a good party that the DJ and the wedding photographer told my mom they wished she had a third daughter to marry off.
So congratulations, Julie and Jeff! Your wedding was such a joyful, wonderful blast. Thanks for inviting all of us to celebrate you.
So Many Balls to Keep in the Air
I had a ton to get done and I didn't want anything to slip my mind. So, I grabbed a pen and paper to write down everything that I needed to accomplish. Observing me, Audrey was inspired to give the whole "To Do List" thing a whirl herself.
To Do:
School
Watch Fish
Play with Elliot
Watch Movies
Write This List
Play Some More
Eat
Sleep
Practicality
After plucking the dandelion, she paused thoughtfully. Then she smiled, made a wish for more dandelions, and confidently blew off the fluff.
Phonetics Lovers’ Edition
Suddenly, AuDey transformed into AuDRey, and Tuck transformed into TRuck, and I was so dang excited!
"Listen! He's figured out how to pronounce "Rs" in consonant clusters!"
"Nice," James smiled.
"Did you just hear him pronounce ‘Audrey' correctly?"
"Ah…not…really."
I know that it's kind of hard to believe, but it turns out that not everyone in this world is a Phonetics Lover.
Grammar Lovers’ Edition
Elliot is going nuts with his verbal development these days. I've even clocked a few eight words sentences, including, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy, I want to go to Farmer's Market!!!"
One fascinating development is that Elliot is starting to use language to express time concepts.
He can use present tense to talk about his likes and dislikes: "I like Grandma!"
He can use the present progressive tense to discuss (and negotiate) his current actions.
J: (Standing at the door) "Elliot, are you coming?"
E: (Sitting on the couch, flipping through a book) "No! I'm reading!"
L: "You can take your book with you."
E: (Running to the door, book in hand) "I'm coming!!!"
And, although Elliot doesn't really have any past tense forms down, he has started to discuss his past activities, such as the time that he gave me a report about the swimming lesson that he'd taken earlier in the day with James. "I go swimming water Daddy."
Elliot's lack of past tense grammar forms can lead to confusion, but we usually get his meaning figured out eventually. A few days ago, when I tried to take Elliot to the toilet to pee, he refused to come. "Do you want to go on the potty instead?" I offered.
"I go pee pee toilet Daddy," he insisted.
"Hey, James," I called, "he wants you to take him to the bathroom."
"I just took him to the bathroom!"
Elliot continues to parrot just about anything anyone says. "We're whale sharks!" announces his big sister. "Let's eat some plankton!!!"
"Let's eat some plankton!!!" enthuses the baby.
Sometimes Elliot's knack for parroting actually causes him to make grammar mistakes.
"Help me!" he begs.
"You want me to help you?" I confirm.
"Yeah. Help you."
It's really fun to have Elliot communicating so well. But occasionally, it there is a downside. All the way down to Aunt Julie's wedding, and then all the way back home, Elliot expressed his feelings about being stuck in his carseat. "I wanna get out! I wanna get out! I wanna get out!"
That Time That We Failed to Discuss Prop 8
She pulled up the blankets and snuggled with Elliot.
"A boy and a girl should always sleep together, right?"
Hearing that statement, about a thousand clarifications immediately jumped to their feet and started pounding their fists on the inside of my skull, begging to be let out.
But then I decided that a five-year-old sweetly nestling next to her baby brother didn't really need to hear any of them, so I just smiled. "Sure, honey."
By George, I Think She’s Got It
Audrey started developing an interest in jokes a few months ago. Back in January, she delivered joke setups pretty well. ("Why did the cranberry sauce flood the floor on Thanksgiving?")
But her punchlines all stank. ("Because its dish was broken!")
Recently, she's been refining her technique. She poured over a penguin joke book that Grandma gave her during Aunt Julie's wedding weekend, and she's been sharing her favorite penguin jokes from the book with us.
"What did the tree say to the penguin with a rake?"
"Leaf me alone!"
The other day, after snacking on canned fruit from Trader Joes, Audrey had a moment of inspiration.
"Where do pears go on vacation?"
"Paris!"
No doubt I would have rolled my eyes if I'd heard that joke from anyone other than Audrey. But because it came from her, I laughed out loud and told her, in complete honesty, that it was a good one.
Top Three Signs That Your Baby is Bored
It was a weekday morning, and I was trying to get some laundry folded.
Elliot, finding the project less than enthralling, began suggesting some alternative activities.
"Go music class?"
"We don't have music class today, honey."
"Go get Audrey?"
"It's not time to pick up Audrey yet."
Then, desperate to get out of house, he decided to lower his standards even further.
"Go Whole Foods?"
I Probably Owe You an Email, Too
Apparently, I didn't respond to my daughter's message in a timely enough fashion, because she sent me a rather snippy follow-up.
"com on lisa pampuch reply"
Frankly, It Seems Kind of Early for This Particular Negotiation
"How will I go to college without a car?"
California Dreaming (In California)
That stage of winter has arrived, as it arrives every year. That stage when my longing for summer is almost overwhelming. Summer. Season of sunshine. Season of long days. Season of glorious produce. Season when all four members of this family manage to be simultaneously healthy.
All of which is a round-about way of saying, I'm sorry it's so long since I updated. I haven't found the requisite time and energy, because one or more of us has been sneezing and coughing and not sleeping and foggy-headed. Since Christmas.
The Big Sister
We hemmed and hawed about sending her to school. She wasn't acting too sick, overall. But on the other hand, she kind of sounded like she was thinking about hacking up a lung.
Finally, we made the decision to keep her home. The wrong decision. Within 15 minutes the cough had completely disappeared. I was slightly irritated the whole day that I'd kept a healthy child out of school. But on the other hand, it was almost worth it, just to hear her response to the news of her reprieve.
"Yay! I get to play with Elliot all day!"
How lucky she was to play with him all day. To make up songs about trucks for him. To indulge his request to crawl around together on the floor. To read to him. To play and play and play with him.
And how lucky I am that--despite having dramatically different personalities and being close to four years apart in age--my children are each others' favorite companions.
Toilet Seat Covers are for Babies
Elliot is doing a fantastic job with toileting these days. He recently went 48 hours without wetting or dirtying a diaper! (He stays dry at night about one third of the time.) The latest exciting toilet training development is that Elliot is now willing to use public toilets. This important step brings him much closer to graduating from diapers. But he's not quite there yet. While Elliot is pretty close to 100% dry and clean during the day at home, he doesn't really tell us if he needs to go when we're out. So we almost always put him in a diaper when we leave the house.
A couple of weeks ago, when it was time to pick up Audrey, Elliot fought my attempts to diaper him, begging to be allowed to wear his undies instead. I pondered for a minute. And then, because he had just peed and had a bowel movement in the toilet, I agreed to his proposition.
"Tell me if you need to go pee pee," I kept reminding him. "You're wearing undies, so you need to go pee pee in the toilet. We don't want your pants to get wet."
When we got home, I made an official inspection. On Elliot's first diaper-free outing, he kept his undies clean and dry. Also, his pants were sopping wet. (Because that's what happens when you plop yourself down on a recently rained on picnic bench.)
Expected/Unexpected
(Have I mentioned lately that my children's personalities are pretty different?)
Elliot's new battle cry is "Self! Self!" He wants to clip himself into his red chair at dinner time, thank you very much. He screams at the top of his lungs when I forget that it's his job to turn on the drier. He insists on walking when we go to pick up Audrey, instead of being content to ride in the baby carrier. And really, what could be more textbook than an almost-two-year-old asserting his independence, right?
Then there's this. Last week, when I was picking up Audrey, one of the moms mentioned how much Audrey's confidence has grown at school, and how comfortable she now seems. "I asked her if she needed help opening her lunch box," mentioned the mom, "and she said, ‘No, thanks. I can do it myself.'"
I think I managed to beam and say, "That's great!" But it took a lot of effort to refrain from gasping out the first thought that sprang into my head. "Oh. My. God. I had no idea she knew the phrase, ‘I can do it myself.'"
Striking a Pose
I thought he was kind of cute doing his baby down dog. He thought he was completely freakin' adorable.
"Camera! Get camera! Take a picture, mama!"
Baby See, Baby Do
Saying, "My turn!" Powering themselves down the sidewalk. Embarking on art projects. Methinks that second children tend to get the hang of these things earlier than first children.
Creatively Writing
Audrey has long been an oral storyteller. She loves nothing better than to sit in our front yard, sifting through dirt and weeds with her hands while softly spinning elaborative yarns for her own entertainment.
In the past, if I wanted to hear one of Audrey's stories, I had to sneak up behind her and eavesdrop, because she didn't really intend them for public consumption. But over the last few weeks, something magical has happened.
My baby has become a writer.
Audrey has wanted to be writer for a long while, but circumstances kept holding her back. The first step in becoming a writer was learning to form legible letters. She accomplished that goal a few months ago, but legible letters alone weren't enough to make her a writer.
The second step in becoming a writer was learning to let go. Until a few weeks ago, Audrey was a writing perfectionist, completely fanatical about correct spelling. Every time she tried to express herself on paper, she peppered me with constant questions. "How do you spell ‘and'? How do you spell ‘ocean'? How do you spell ‘kelp'?"
Over and over again, instead of giving her the spellings, I walked her through the process of sounding the words out. ("Kuh kuh, eh, eh, luh, luh, puh, puh. Kelp.") She seemed thoroughly uninterested in the sounding out process, clearly wishing that I'd just tell her the stinkin' letters already.
But suddenly, one glorious day, she stopped fretting and started writing. Writing and writing and writing. Every afternoon, as soon as we get home from school, Audrey grabs a few pieces of paper and tapes or staples then together. Then she writes and illustrates a new book about the ocean.
Here's a small sample of the titles of her works:
The Montere Bay Aquarlum
The See
See Otters
The Midnit Zon (The Midnight Zone)
The Tid Pools (The Tide Pools)
Fish!
Jellyfish
Fins of a Fish
Rake Sro (Rocky Shore)
Rake Sro is definitely my favorite of her books. I love that she daringly took a stab at spelling rocky shore all by herself. I love the earnest non-fiction content of the story. ("At nat the fish smim and fish look for food....")
But mostly I love the second page of the book.
I've never had a book dedicated to me before. You would not believe how touched I was.
A Lack of Parental Foresight
"I don't like my middle name."
"Why not?"
"I wish my middle name was ‘Fish.'"
Bear This in Mind the Next Time We’re Choosing Teams for Trivial Pursuit
Audrey took a penguin quiz on the National Geographic Kids web site last week, and she answered 10 out of 10 questions correctly. (Of course, right?)
For the record, if I'd been the one working the mouse, we would have gotten a B- instead of an A+.
Mama’s Little Worms
Library trips used to be straightforward, my goal simple:
1. Locate picture books to read to Audrey.
Lately, though, the mission of our trips seems to have quadrupled in complexity.
1. Locate picture books to read to Audrey.
2. Locate chapter books to read to Audrey.
3. Locate picture books that Audrey can read independently.
4. Locate picture books to read to Elliot.
Toss in the fact that we often check out audio books for Audrey to listen to and DVDs for her to watch and….Sheesh. We practically have to check the notes scribbled on the palms of hands to make sure we haven't forgotten anything as we stand in line for the check-out machines.
Three cheers for complexity. I love that my little girl is old enough to enjoy hearing E.B. White novels. I love that she's old enough to read to herself. And I love the fact that when I lose track of my little boy, the first place I check for him is on the bed in his sister's room. Nine times out of ten, that's where I find him, happily flipping through a book.
A Not-Quite-Classic Lift-the-Flap Book
When I read books to my children, it has always been my policy to start out by crediting the author and illustrator. Still, when Elliot called out for "The Alan Baker book!" a few days ago, it took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about. Unlike my one-year-old, I hadn't really memorized the author/illustrator of "Little Rabbit's Snack Time."
Increasing Expertise
Twenty-two months and many, many truck books into this mothering a son thing, I can officially, confidently declare that that machine digging a hole over on Campbell Avenue is a BACKHOE. (I could not be more proud of myself.)
But He Doesn’t Necessarily Recognize Double Entendres
This isn't a full-on Grammar Lover's Edition, but I did want to take note of the fact that, at 22 months, Elliot is now the king of the 4-word sentence. A sampling of recent utterances:
"I go backyard too!"
"Put it back in!"
"Take a pillow, Mom."
"I want juice, Mom."
"Look at me!"
And then, of course there was:
"I wanna cut cheese!"
Sleigh Bells Jingling on a Minivan
Christmas time was here, and we made our usual trek down south where Audrey and Elliot got to spend time with aunts, uncles, grandmas, grandpas, and cousins.
The kids both had a blast. It's more than a week since we got home, and Elliot is still talking about Grandpa's house and expressing hope that passing blonds with dark-rimmed glasses might be his Aunt Julie.
As for Audrey, after five Christmases where she was indifferent or hostile to the gift-opening aspect of the holiday, she finally figured out that presents are fun, so we finally got to enjoy watching her open some.
For me, the highlight of the trip probably came a couple of evenings after Christmas, when Audrey was given the last of Aunt Sharon's molasses cookies along with instructions to share it with her little brother.
The hubbub of post-dinner cleanup and chatting ceased as everyone fixed their attention on the five-year-old. The tension rose as the five-year-old hesitated and took a little nibble of the cookie. And then, with three generations worth of her female relatives watching, the five-year-old decisively broke the cookie into two equally sized portions, and handed half of it over to the baby.
I would have loved and guided that daughter of mine if she'd given in to the temptation to demonstrate selfishness and greed. But oh how I loved and appreciated her for picking an awesome time to demonstrate kindness and generosity. Cause when your soon-to-be-90-year-old granny compliments you on how nice your children are, it feels pretty darned good.
Not Quite Ready to Take Her Stand-Up Routine to the Clubs
A couple of nights ago, Audrey spent the entire dinner hour regaling us with jokes.
There were traditional-style jokes, updated to reflect her passion for the ocean:
"Why did the starfish cross the road?"
"To get to the other side!"
There were highly logical jokes:
"Why did the cranberry sauce flood the floor on Thanksgiving?"
"Because its dish was broken!"
And then there were the jokes she started telling after she, apparently, had a very bad reaction to the portabella mushrooms:
"How did the banana walk into a tree?"
"It used a special dolphin book!"
Elliot Want a Cracker
Elliot's language skills have been leaping and bounding forward since my last grammar lover's edition. I love observing his learning style. At 20 months, Audrey was still primarily in observation mode, soaking in all of the language being used around her, but never attempting to articulate more than one word at a time. Not so the little fella. He has yet to hear a phrase that he hasn't jumped in to reproduce.
"It's a slithery worm!" observes the 5-year-old.
"Swivery wurrrrm!" her brother enthuses.
We all love encouraging Elliot to parrot everything we say. Usually. The other day, James pulled on a old pair of jeans to go out and do some work in the yard, and discovered that they were full of holes.
So I made a little joke. And then Elliot's tiny voice piped up to second my approval of his Daddy's attire, "Sexy!"
How to Inspire Your One-Year-Old To String Together a 4-Word Sentence
Elliot (observing Audrey after dinner): "I want chocolate, too!!!"
Another Grammar Lover’s Edition
Elliot's been doing so many cute things with language, it's time for another GLE already.
English uses the "s" sound for about a gazillion grammatical functions. (Let's use it for plurals! Let's use it for possession! And hey, and while we're at it, let's use it for third person singular verbs!) I was always amazed at the way Audrey consistently used "s" correctly from her earliest days experimenting with grammar. Well, as it turns out, Audrey used "s" correctly from day one because her style of learning language was to analyze it very carefully before trying to produce it.
With Elliot, learning language is all about joyful experimentation. He knows he needs to be throwing "s" in there somewhere. So, what the heck! He just throws it in everywhere. "[It's my sister] Audries!" "[I'm having] troubles [opening this bag]!" "[I have an] ouchies [on my finger]!" Occasionally, he even throws an "s" into an appropriate context!
Elliot is having a lot of fun with number words in recent days. He sort of seems to understand the concepts "one" and "two." "One slipper on," I announce as I pull the footwear over his toes, "annnnnnd…."
"TWOOOOOO!" he shrieks in delight as I turn to the other foot.
With the other numbers, he's pretty foggy, but it's really fun to hear him trying. "Coons! Coons!" he shouts as we read his favorite choo choo book. "One Two! One Two!"
"One, two, three raccoons," I count.
"One, two,…four!" he counters.
I'll confess that I'm not entirely enthusiastic about the fact that Elliot recently picked up the word "look," because I'm now ordered to "look, look, look!" all day long.
On the other hand, I am completely enthusiastic about Elliot's continuing use of socially polite forms. It is so heartwarming to hear a one-year-old nail the use of the phrases like "you're welcome." And it's even cuter when he doesn't quite nail them. "Here you go," I say handing him a piece of cheese.
"Thank you, honey," he gratefully replies.
Sometimes it's fascinating to observe how Elliot is thinking and processing the language forms he's hearing. "What's that?" asked the little guy, pointing at my finger.
"It's a ring," I explained.
"Ring ring phone!!" he shouts, and it's clear he's just about over the moon with excitement about making that amaaaazing connection.
Elliot loves to pick up pencils and draw these days. "Garbage truck" he'll inform us as he scribbles away. "Moon."
But before he starts to draw his masterpieces, he always looks over at us expectantly and prompts us. "Grip! Grip!" Cause if Mom and Dad always remind his big sister to hold her pencils correctly, then gosh darn it, he wants to be reminded, too.
And finally, this has absolutely nothing to do with language, but I wanted to record it somewhere in the blog, and this seemed as good a spot as any…..At 20 months, Elliot has officially started jumping.
How to Make Your Mother’s Heart All Tingly Happy
Neighbor: How's kindergarten, Audrey?
Audrey: Great!!! Sometimes I'm ready to leave after writing time [which is the last activity of the day]. But sometimes I wish I could stay longer.
I Stand Corrected (by Audrey’s Aunties)
It has been pointed out to me that a little girl who gets little boys to do chores for her is a little girl with princessish tendencies, regardless of whether or not she is wearing a tiara as she issues her commands.
And Princesses Get to Change the Rules Whenever They Want To
A: "If you have three birds and four fly away, how many are left?"
L: "If you start out with three birds, then how can four fly away."
A: "Actually, the answer is zero, because one more came and then they all flew away."
Together, Mother and Daughter Take Kindergarten Math to a New Level
A: "If you have 159 birds and 169 fly away, how many are left?"
L: "Negative ten."
The Vegetarian’s Daughter
"I know a lot about fish!"
"What do you know?"
"Fish have gills. And backbones. And fins. And eyes. And tasty, TASTY meat!
A Fairly Pitiful Grammar Lover’s Edition
It is time for me to write a new grammar lover's edition entry, because Elliot is making great strides with his knowledge of grammar. But in order for me to write a proper GLE, I need to be religiously jotting down all of the cute little things that he's saying so that I can make a careful linguistic analysis of them and…..I am so not doing that. (It sucks to be the second child.)
OK, let me give this a go anyway.
At 20 months, Elliot is a little chatterbox. He picks up bunches of new words every day, and he loves to practice stringing them together. Some examples:
Whenever an airplane flies overhead, Elliot inevitably detects it and lets me know that it's time for us drop whatever we're doing and rush to the front window: "Airplane! I see ‘em!"
GLE observation: I'm a little surprised by Elliot's frequent use of the pronoun "I." Surprised that he's picked it up already, and surprised that he's able to use "I" to refer to himself already rather than "you." (Since he always hears himself referred to as "you.") Elliot did refer to himself as "you" for the first time yesterday. ("Do you want to walk or do you want me to carry you?" "Carry you.")
Whenever Elliot sees an apple, he directs me to give it to him. "Apple! Eat it!" (As a general rule I do not give it to him, because he always just takes one bite and spits it out. He is currently attempting to prove that it is possible for a human being to live on grain products alone. But I digress.)
GLE observation: Elliot is using both singular and plural object pronouns ("it" and "(th)em"). The pronoun that he uses doesn't always correctly match the object(s) that he's referring to. ("I see ‘em" when he wants to see a single airplane.)
Elliot's knack for spouting out social niceties keeps me constantly amazed. Some examples:
"Good morning," says the man entering the school library. "Morning!" pipes back the one-year-old.
"Bye," says the friend as we take leave of her house. "Bye! See you!" chirps the one-year-old.
"Here," says the five-year-old, offering her brother a sip from her juice box. "Thank you!" gushes the one-year-old.
And, my personal favorite: "Elliot mirror," announces Elliot. "You want to see Elliot in the mirror?" I ask. "Yeah, coming," he agrees, directing me to tag along. So I follow him over to the mirrored closet doors, and watch as he greets himself in delight, "Hi Elliot!"
More Proof That He Is a Second Child
Elliot has started to sing! Just one song so far, but he's nailing the melody and most of the words!
And the song that he's selected for his musical debut?
"Happy Birthday." (I guess it's his way of saying, "I'm so lucky that I have a big sister! I get to go to a birthday party practically every weekend!")
Duh, Dad Part 1
A: I used yellow paper for my stegosaurus birthday card.
J: Was it a card for a stegosaurus, or shaped like a stegosaurus?
A: Shaped like a stegosaurus! (Pause.) Dinosaurs are extinct.
Duh, Dad, Part 2
J: Are you going to keep arguing with me all night?
A: No. Until I fall asleep.
And Tiger Woods Ain’t a Very Good Role Model Either
After receiving a card from her reading buddy, Audrey was inspired to create a card for her little brother. She held the card from the second grader aloft and declared, "I'm going to use this one to help me with the spelling!" Then she copied the letters with great precision, "Marry Cristmas!"
Oh How They Learn
One thing that I find fascinating about parenting is seeing how kids are instinctually driven to learn. I don't always know exactly what sort of learning I'm seeing. Like, I don't really know why Elliot is constantly taking all of the washcloths out of the linen closet, tossing them into an empty wastebasket, and dragging them all around the house. But I know he must be learning something critically important, because when Audrey was his age, she too had an insatiable desire to drag random stuff around the house.
I love seeing Elliot do the same sorts of things that Audrey did at his age. But it's even more interesting to see what dramatically learning goals my kids create for themselves. Last week, James was trying to remember how old Audrey was when she memorized the alphabet, so I delved 3.5 years back into my blog archive and found the stat for him….by 21 months, that girl had all of her letters down cold. When the mail arrived, one-and-a-half year old Audrey would flip through magazines pointing out letters, and she loved to sit on my lap and type at the keyboard, excitedly calling out letter names as they appeared on the computer screen. And me…I was a proud mama.
As for my little guy, at 20 months, it is theoretically possible that Elliot recognizes the number 3 and the letter O.
Also, he can turn a summersault on the bed, and he can power a scooter down the sidewalk, and he can balance carefully on a skateboard. And if that skateboard starts to roll out from under him, he can just step off, cool as a cucumber. That kid is more comfortable in his body than some adults I know . And me…I am a proud mama.
Apostasy
As a little tyke, Audrey was never in a rush to when it came to developing motor skills. More than once, I've seen pediatricians' eyes narrow because Audrey wasn't meeting all of the expected milestones for a child her age. But she's always met just enough of the milestones not to be referred for interventions like occupational therapy. And, while pediatricians have had their concerns, I have barely worried about Audrey's development. Sure, I knew she wasn't yet jumping at a time when the vast majority of her peers were bouncing all over the place. But I also knew that she wasn't at all interested in jumping. And I knew she would start jumping as soon as she got interested in jumping. And sure enough, once she finally decided that she wanted to jump, she did. She is now a perfectly bouncy five-year-old.
My experience raising a child who develops at her own idiosyncratic pace made me a fervent believer in a learning philosophy that goes like this: Children are instinctually driven to learn. They learn best when they are provided with a rich learning environment, and are then allowed to explore their own interests at their own pace.
Naturally, when it came to selecting a preschool for Audrey, I chose a "developmental, play-based" school where the kids are free to investigate (or not investigate) any of the materials set out by the teachers.
I didn't want Audrey in the type of "academic" preschool environment where little children are drilled on the alphabet or forced to participate in the art project whether they are interested in it or not. In fact, I sniffed in disdain at the idea that a young child might benefit from being drilled on academic subjects. (It is quite easy to sniff in disdain at the idea of drilling young children on academic subjects when you have a child who begins teaching herself how to read as a three-year-old.)
I've gotten so used to the idea of Audrey picking things up at her own pace, that I didn't really think much about the fact that she hadn't yet developed a good pencil grip or legible handwriting. I knew that it was common for kids to enter kindergarten not knowing how to read. So I assumed that it was fine for my fluent little reader to enter kindergarten not knowing how to write.
Well, here's something I've learned. It is totally not OK for your kid to enter kindergarten with illegible handwriting. She'll be way behind her classmates. And a 5-year-old who still grabs a pencil in her fist isn't just ambling down the developmental curve. She has developed a bad habit that's hard to break.
So call me chastened. I'm no longer a zealot about letting my kids develop at their own pace. Don't get me wrong-- I still intend to let my second-born follow his interests at a play-based, developmental preschool. But hoo boy. If that kid doesn't develop a good pencil grip and get the hang of letter writing on his own, he is gonna get some parental tutoring well before he hits elementary school. For sure.
Mountain Climbing
At our conference with Audrey's teacher in late October, James and I were shocked to learn that handwriting is not a subject that is covered in kindergarten these days. (Apparently we missed the memo on that one.)
Once our shock wore off, our mission was clear. The process of transforming Audrey's chicken scratches into legible numbers and letters was 100% up to us. So, James bought every handwriting instruction book he could find at our local Lakeshore Learning Store, and Audrey and I embarked on embarked on a new after school adventure: Writing Boot Camp.
No longer were we free to spend our afternoons baking or playing games. As soon as Elliot was down for his nap, we pulled out pencils and workbooks and drilled, drilled, drilled.
Nothing about the Boot Camp experience came easy to Audrey. She struggled to hold pencils with three fingers instead of grabbing them with her whole fist. And I had to painstakingly direct her through the mechanics of forming each new letter. "Draw a straight line. Lift up your pencil. Move it to the top of the line. Now draw a semi-circle that starts at the top of the line and ends at the bottom. The semi-circle needs to end at the bottom of the line. Don't go below bottom the line. Honey, you went below the line again. Let's try another one."
It was so hard for her. And yet, she was dogged. She ached to master those "Ds." Those Ds, and those Ps and those Bs and those Zs. She ached to master them. Because honey, that girl had ideas that she ached to get down on paper.
And so we drilled, pencil stroke by pencil stroke, hour after hour. At first progress was so slow I despaired that it would take months for my child to learn to write legibly. I wanted to scream when finally figuring out how to write a decent D didn't make writing a P seem any easier to Audrey. Instead, I made a withdrawal from my patience reserves, and walked her through the same steps all over again. ("Draw a straight line…")
Throughout November, Audrey worked hard, hard, hard and I pushed her harder, harder, harder. And then, like magic, everything clicked. Where it took hours to learn those Ds and Ps, she polished up Bs in five minutes flat. Like magic, she was a writer.
That little girl of mine…..
…I'm proud of the way she learned to read all by herself, as naturally as a fish learns to swim.
…But the way she responded when the goal in front of her was not easily conquered…the way she pulled on crampons and slogged her way step-by-step to the summit of her personal Mount Everest. Of that accomplishment, I am proud enough to bust.
Destructor Boy
Sorry, Mama. I….cannot….resist….the urge…..to…topple.
Of Course, Five Minutes Later, She’s Requesting to Trade Him in for a Baby Sister
"Daddy, me and Elliot are friends. I don't like it when he's being Destructor Boy. But when he's being nice and giving me kisses, it makes me feel happy, and I like to give him kisses back.
Nothing’s Sure But Death, Taxes, and Princess Paraphernalia
The Princess Thing. OMG. The Princess Thing. If you are the parent of a young girl, The Princess Thing is EVERYWHERE It's in toothbrushes from the dentist's office and favors at birthday parties. It's in dress up outfits at preschool and prizes at the theme park.
I try really hard to accept The Princess Thing. Ever so hard. I give myself little princess pep talks on a regular basis!
(Deep breath.) There's nothing wrong with liking to dress up and look pretty. (Exhale). (Deep breath.) There's nothing wrong with little girls wanting to wear beautiful dresses and, um, have nice singing voices! (Exhale.)
(Deep breath.) There's nothing wrong with it at all! I mean, you know. Other than the fact that that it's 2009. And you'd think we'd be encouraging our little girls to have aspirations that range beyond looking pretty and waiting for princes.
(Ack! Do-over!) (Deep breath…)
When it comes to coping with The Princess Thing, mothers of young girls seem to fall into two categories. There are those who embrace princessness as the good innocent fun that it is. And then there are the snobby, elitist, overthinking, anti-princess, killjoys like myself. If you're looking for us in a crowd of mothers, try checking the small group of women gathered over in the corner. If we're not comparing notes about how much gas we waste carting an endless stream of princess junk to Goodwill, then we're probably cracking each other up with jokes about how fairies aren't soooooo bad, because at least they're working women.
The Princess Thing is so hard to escape, though. Ever so hard. Even many of the anti-princess mothers in the corner tell of daughters who refuse to wear anything besides poofy dresses and sparkly shoes.
Which is why my favorite moment of our recent conference with Audrey's teacher was the one where she summed up our daughter perfectly: "She's not a Princess Girl. She's a Science Girl."
Science Girl! My little girl is a Science Girl! OMG. How awesome is that.
Comedy At the Park
Random Three-Year-Old Girl: "I'm a princess! Princess! La la la. Princess! Pretty Princess! I'm a Princess!"
Random Two-Year-Old Boy: "I'm a princess!"
Random Two-Year-Old Boy's Dad: (With a groan) "You're not a princess."
Audrey: (Matter of factly) "I'm a shark."
Methinks I Didth Protest Too Much
"Are you getting some new books?" the woman at the counter cooed at Elliot. "Some nice new truck books?"
"Garbage truck," he gamely agreed.
"Yep. He loves trucks. My daughter was really into animals at his age, so we own a lot of animal board books. But he's not very excited about the animal books, so I came to get some more truck books for him."
Because I wouldn't have wanted that woman to think that I was buying truck books for my son just because he is a boy. Heck no. She needed to understand that I was buying truck books for my son because he is a boy who HAPPENS to be really interested in trucks.
And before I could even explain about how we already owned a few truck board books because we had bought them to read to our daughter ….Before I could get to the part about how she was a girl who HAPPENED not to have developed much interest in heavy machinery. Before I could get to that, our transaction was completed and I was headed out the door, a happily beeping Elliot in my arms.
Considerably Sooner Than Anticipated
I recently wrote an entry in which I hypothesized that Audrey would one day become adept at getting the young men in her life to do chores for her. This is an update.
"Did Noah open your bento box for you at lunch again today?"
"No."
"Oh! Did you open it yourself?"
"No. William opened it for me. Noah opened my fruit container."
Can’t Argue with That Logic
J: Audrey, do you know what an odd number is?
A: Yeah. Odd is like, not real. Like Fish Hundred.
Who KNEW She Was So Adept at the Fine Art of B.S.ing??
Audrey's class has been studying trees of late, so Audrey was pointing out conifers and deciduous trees in our yard. "Conifers have needles and don't lose their leaves, so our Juniper tree is a conifer. Deciduous trees have leaves and they lose them in the fall, like our Japanese Maple."
"What about trees like our Magnolia?" I pondered. "That has leaves, but it doesn't lose them in the fall. Is it deciduous or is there another category of trees?"
Audrey was momentarily taken aback. But she quickly recovered to deliver an absolutely authoritative answer. "Scientists divide trees into three different categories—conifers, deciduous, and trees that have leaves instead of needles but don't lose their leaves."
Cause It’s Just Been Way Too Long Since I Blogged About Poop
I started using Elimination Communication with Elliot when he was 7 months old, so it's now been just about a year since we started the potty training process, and that seemed like a blog-worthy milestone.
A year now. A year of puddles on the floor, and occasional poop on the floor disasters. (Please do not ask me about the time that Audrey disregarded my directive to avoid stepping on a pile, and then attempted to clean up the evidence of her indiscretion.) Elliot isn't an EC miracle baby like the ones who are completely out of diapers by 16 months or earlier. He doesn't usually bother trying to keep diapers or underwear dry, so he still definitely needs and uses diapers when we're out on the town.
But when we're at home, the diapers come off, and his bowel and bladder awareness and control continually amaze me. At 19 months, he is about 97% accident free when he's doing the nakey-tush thing. As a general rule, he lets me know when he needs to go ("pee pee" or "poo poo"), I carry him over to the toilet, and he goes. It's not always that easy—sometimes he fights being taken to the toilet even when he clearly needs to go. But other times he takes care of his toileting needs completely independently, just walking over to the potty and sitting himself down.
Elliot is almost always dry during naps, and during the last week or so, he has started to sometimes stay dry at night as well. One day last week, Elliot was actually dry the entire day! That's only happened once so far, but we regularly have days where he'll be dry all night and then only wet a couple of diapers during the day.
Diaper freedom is in my future. Probably months in my future still, but close enough that I can taste it. So when it comes to EC, here is my evaluation: EC ROCKS.
Newsflash: My Kids Have Different Personalities
One of the things that I have always loved about Audrey is how well she has always known her own mind and followed her own interests. When Audrey was learning to talk, James and I would sometimes try to get to her repeat words for us. Like, "Oohh! Look at the cat, honey! Can you say meow?"
And even though we knew that Audrey was capable of saying the word meow, she would stare back at us in complete disdain. Like, "Do I look like I want to say meow right now? I am going to say meow when I am good and interested in saying meow, and that time is absolutely, positively not now. You people are nuts."
I love that persnickety child of mine. Could not love her more. After all, it is just that sort of persnicketyness that allows a girl to withstand enormous amounts of princess peer pressure and stay true to her Science Girl self.
And you know what else? I love my smiley little people-pleaser boy. "Can you say umbrella, sweetie?" I ask as we're driving to pick up Audrey. "Brella!" he shouts. "Can you say paper?" "Paper!" And we then we "good morning" "airplane," "thank you," "moon," "bone," "stool," "chair," "push," "kick," "on," "achoo," "phone," "machine," "apple," "crow" "see you" all the way to school. (Which mean that he stays awake the whole way to school. Which means that his nap for the day is a nice long nap at home instead of a useless micro-nap in the car.)
I love that boy when he's starting to string together two-word sentences at 18 months. ("Hi Daddy!" "Morning fishies!" "More water.") I love that boy when he's gamely participating as his big sister attempts to teach him the word "anemone." I love that boy, and I love that girl. I could not love them more.
Well, Those Are Gonna Live in the Closet for a While
People always make "you're in trouble now!" jokes when you announce that your kids have mastered walking. But personally, I've found I was more scared on the days when my kids learned to remove the caps from magic markers.
My Son, the Comedian
"Garbage truck!" grins my 18-month-old, pointing at me.
"You think I'm a garbage truck?" I ask.
"Yeah!" he shouts. Then he dissolves into giggles.
And I've heard that particular joke about 20 times over the past couple of days, and I wouldn't say it's the type of humor that typically appeals to me…but his glee is so infectious, that I can't help but chuckle too.
I Love Having a Five Year Old
They ask such interesting questions.
"How did people learn about dinosaurs if dinosaurs lived before people?"
I Love Having a Five Year Old
They come up with such charming definitions.
"Is dancing what you do to thank someone for playing a good song?"
I Love Having a Five Year Old
Because when it's raining at kindergarten pick up time, you may be grumbly and grumpy and wet as you strap the baby into the carrier and trudge with your umbrella through the bluster. But as you watch your five-year-old spring eagerly out of her classroom to stomp through puddles and collect soggy leaves, chances are that you, too, will remember that the world is magical when wet. And by the time you arrive back at the car, chances are you will agree to keep walking right on past it, because the opportunity to spend an extra half hour exploring the rainy world is too good an opportunity to miss.
At the Pet Store, in the Coral Reef Section
"Look! There's a dory! No, actually, it's a blue tang. And there's a cleaner wrasse. And there's a parrotfish. And there's a damsel fish. And those look like garabaldis!"
I am guessing that when Audrey's class studies oceans later this year, she will be more knowledgeable about the subject than her teacher is. (Because she sure as hell is more knowledgeable than me.)
He’s #2!
I've confessed it before and I'll confess it again. I'm not always as excited about Elliot's accomplishments as I was about Audrey's. When your second child drinks independently from a real cup or deposits a B.M. in the toilet….well…Even if your younger child accomplishes those feats a couple of YEARS earlier than your older child did…Even then, it's just not quite as amazing and magical as it was the first time around.
To make up for my lack of amazement, I do my best to write down everything that Elliot does. A summary of my notes:
He started running on August 13, 2009, at 15 months, and at 17 months, he is quite a competent runner.
He climbs anything and everything. (If you're ever having trouble reaching the scissors stored on our counter, Elliot recommends that you climb up onto the top of the pink play kitchen to get to them.)
He put on his own crocs the other day. (He even got them on the right feet!)
He can drink independently from a cup. (And then, when he gets bored of drinking, he is also very competent at dumping the contents of the cup all over the table and himself.)
He's still doing a great job with toileting when we're at home.
He's picking up new words left and right.
I do my best make a detailed record of his development. And I know I've taken enough notes to get across the flavor of Elliot's accomplishments. To make it clear that he does everything that a 17-month-old might be expected to do and then some. But I hope that my merry little daredevil will someday forgive me for not managing to be quite as obsessive about recording his accomplishments as I was about recording Audrey's. Even as I type down a list of his latest words (Mommy (correct pronunciation), done, pee pee, poo poo, neat, cool, grass, owl, roar, grr, moo, baa, nose, foot, good, more, hot, cold, whoa, foot, shoe, sock, eye, mouth, outside, yay, bathroom), I know there quite a few words and deeds that I didn't manage to get down on paper.
I'm pretty sure I'll be forgiven for my second child's incomplete records. The way that Elliot starts fervently chanting "Dedeh, Dedeh, Dedeh," as soon as we pull up in front of Audrey's school at pick up time makes it clear. The little guy loves being a second child, because being a second child means having a big sister, and there's no way that he would want it any other way.
Thank Goodness Costume Making is James’ Job
I am thinking that there is a good possibility that, come Halloween, my daughter will be the only child in the nation who goes out trick-or-treating dressed as a White-Spotted Guitar Fish.
Sorry Again About Passing On Those Night Owl Genes, Honey
"I need a new alarm clock. One that lets me sleep more."
I Enjoy Being a Girl
I'm sure this isn't true for everyone, but for me the answer to the nature/nurture question was clear by the time I'd spent a week living with a tightly-wound, colicky newborn. Kids are born with their personalities firmly set.
At this point in my life, I nurture for a living, so obviously I think that nurturing is incredibly important.
But in my experience, you can nurture till you're blue in the face, yet no amount of nurturing will change children's essential natures. Many of my kids' dominant personality traits were perceptible by the time they were hours old. Minutes old, even. My more easy-going Elliot was a newborn who was blissfully content with some nursing and cuddling. My higher-need newborn Audrey required nursing and cuddling and swaddling and shushing and swaying just to feel sort of grudgingly OK.
Lo and behold, the child who needed a lot of help to feel content as a newborn is the child who missed the memo about how kids are supposed to drive their parents crazy by insisting on messy, incompetent, time-consuming "pour-the-entire-container-of-juice-out-onto-the-floor"-type independence. It's not that Audrey's shirking her duty to drive her parents crazy. She just prefers to drive us crazy by insisting on dependence instead.
(Desperately) "I need you to help me move this chair!"
(Almost patiently) "Honey, I'm busy over here right now. Try to move the chair yourself."
(After exerting about one index finger's worth of pressure on the chair.) "It's tooooo heeeeeavy."
(Not very patiently at all.) "TRY AGAIN, Audrey. TRY HARDER. JUST PUSH."
And then there were tears. Of course.
Later that evening, as I watched the baby joyfully pushing and dragging the same chair all around the kitchen just for the heck of it, I shared some ponderings with James.
(Resignedly) "I guess it's better for the girl to be incompetent than the boy."
(Aghast at my sexism) "What?!!!"
(Defensively) "Look, one time this guy was interviewing at my company, and after the interview was over he found he had a flat tire in the parking lot. The dude called his dad to come and help him change it, and he pretty much lost his chance at a second interview right there, because the HR director was rolling her eyes at how incompetent he was. I felt really bad for him, because I figured if a woman called her dad for help with a flat tire, people probably wouldn't think less of her."
James kept right on spluttering with indignation after that explanation. So I simply reassured him of my intention to continue nurturing independence into our little girl with all my might.
It would have been inappropriate to point out the additional fact that oftentimes, when in the presence of pretty girls, guys tend to get highly enthusiastic about completing any tire changing or chair moving tasks that need doing. It would have been inappropriate for me to even think about the fact that someday my pretty little daughter will probably learn to use that fact to her advantage. After all, I am (supposed to be) a feminist.
Because They’d Probably Be Sad and Forlorn in the House
As we wrapped up a session of front yard play, Audrey looked at the collection of rocks that she'd gathered into a pot. After careful consideration, she dumped them out into a pile of dirt. "I'm releasing these into their natural habitat."
Not, To My Knowledge, An Official California Kindergarten Standard
The most exciting change in our lives since Audrey started school? At long last, she has mastered the fine art of flushing toilets independently.
An Excess of Sentimentality Has Never Been One of Her Faults
As Audrey munched on her lunch at the kitchen table, she started to tell herself a story, and I grabbed a pen to surreptitiously jot it down.
"His mother said, ‘There's no such thing as a talking bird.'
‘But I am a talking bird," said the bird."
The content of the story was somewhat dark, and the structure a little disjointed.
"'Without your mom?' said Bob.
‘I don't have a mom," said Sam.
‘Without your car?' said Bob.
‘I don't have a car,' said Sam."
Did I mention that the structure was a little disjointed?
"'What's your last name," said the salesman.
‘Padusa.'
‘What's your middle name?' said the salesman.
"Padisoo."
‘What's your first name?' said the salesman.
‘Sam!' said Sam."
Did I mention that the content was somewhat dark?
"And he went running down the street and got killed by a bus."
Ever Helpful
Fresh from bath time with Daddy, the kids tumbled exuberantly into the living room and we started to play. But after a few moments Audrey paused in concern.
"You have two naked, brown-haired kids. How will you be able to tell us apart?"
"It could be tricky," I frowned. "Can you give me any clues to help me out?"
"I'm bigger and Elliot is smaller," she mused.
"That's helpful. Anything else?"
"I'm a girl, and he's a boy. Annnnnd I have long hair and he has short hair!"
At that point we resumed play, and lo and behold, I experienced no difficulties whatsoever in distinguishing which child was which.
White Knuckles
We experienced some angst over the summer about whether or not to send Audrey to kindergarten this year. Kids who turn five by December 1st are eligible for kindergarten in California, so as an August birthday, Audrey is on the young side, and the trend these days is to give the "eligible but young" kids an extra year of preschool. So as the summer meandered by, we did our parental worry duty—we pondered and we agonized and we whipped together a spreadsheet about the pros and cons of kindergarten. Our daughter is so quiet in large groups of kids….would she benefit from another year to practice socializing? Our daughter can be so stubborn…would she be willing to take direction about how to hold a pencil or form letters?
Then, in the summer's closing weeks, Audrey started kindergarten all on her own. Her reading skills EXPLODED. She began to spend all of her free time practicing writing letters, or making crafts, or looking up white-spotted guitarfish and whale sharks on the internet. "HELLO!" she was shouting, "IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE I CAN DO TO DEMONSTATE THAT I AM READY TO GOBBLE UP ALL THE KINDERGARTEN YOU CAN GIVE ME AND ASK FOR MORE?"
Message received, little girl. Kindergarten was a go.
Except that it wasn't. We were still on the waiting list at the charter school. It was August, and we were still #2 on the waiting list at the charter school. The parent participation charter school that we desperately wanted. The parent participation charter school whose bumper stickers cheekily proclaim that it is a place where "every child is honored." The charter school that we were supposed to get into no sweat because we were district residents. We had been #2 on the waiting list since early July. We were not in, and we had no backup plan, and it was mid-August. (Insert sweaty palms here.)
Then, a few mornings after I had replaced my "should we or shouldn't we" angst with "can we or can't we" angst, the phone rang, and a spot was ours. We wept.
Two weeks later, we wept again as we helped our little girl don her penguin backpack and escorted her to big girl classroom. Every day since then, there has been a spring in her step as she and Daddy drive off to school in the morning, and the body language of the child that I pick up says, "I am content and engaged."
Sure, I wish I could get the kid to cough up more actual details about what she does in class. But I am grateful for the message that her happy demeanor is sending. "Thanks for all the stressing, Mom and Dad. It's OK. You done right by me."
Happy Sigh
Last year, I read Audrey a book about a kid whose class engages in a pumpkin seed counting lesson. I was really moved by how fabulous the fictional teacher was. He'd devised a clever, and engaging way to get the kids to practice counting by 2s and 5s and 10s, for one thing. But it was more than just a math lesson. It was also a pumpkin lesson, and sort of even a people lesson, too. (The shortest kid in the class was delighted that the smallest pumpkin ended up having the most seeds.)
When I finished that book, I thought to myself, man. This is the sort of teaching that I hope my kids will experience when they are in elementary school.
A few weeks ago, as we were walking to the car after Audrey's second day of kindergarten, she chipperly informed me that when the class counted up all of the seeds in the watermelon, her slice had had 17 seeds.
Ya Put Two Nerds Together, They’re Bound to Make Little Nerdlets
Here's our methodology: How did we mark the last day of Audrey's summer vacation? Her last day of freedom before she strapped on a backpack and became a big kindergarten girl? With a celebratory trip to the Exploratorium in San Francisco, of course! Hands-on science, woot woot!
Is It Possible That Our Nerdification Plans Could Fail?
"My favorite part of school is P.E.!!"
Demoting the King
"Meow, meow, meow!" Elliot proclaimed, pushing the plastic figurine around on the couch.
"I imagine," imagined James, "that that lion is feeling extremely insulted."
Though In His Case, It May be Garbage Trucks Paired with Airplanes
"Meow!" he exclaimed, pointing.
"Oh, yes." I agreed. "You have a raccoon on your pajamas, don't you?"
I experienced a flicker of pride about the fact that the little guy was becoming aware of what he was wearing. But he is a second child. So instead of rushing over to blog about how he is the most brilliant baby in the history of brilliant, I trudged over to predict (with resignation) that someday he too will insist on pairing the turquoise clown fish shirt with the orange swordfish shorts.
I Haven’t Yet Had the Heart to Explain How Expensive the Ink Is
Elliot was on the toilet, listening to me read a book called "First Words" and just as we arrived at the photo labeled "fish" his sister popped in for a visit.
"Oh!" She exclaimed. "A Yellow Tang!"
"Is it?" I inquired.
"Yes," she assured me, rushing out of the bathroom.
A moment later she returned with a piece of paper and a crayon. "Can you write down ‘Yellow Tang' for me?"
I made my best guess at the spelling, and she grabbed the paper and dashed over to our office.
As Elliot and I were finishing up his book, she strolled in and proudly handed us her proof. A fish identical to the one in Elliot's book. Printed out from Google Images.
But Because I Am Her Mother, I Will Worry
Audrey's latest ocean documentary is kind of a strange mish-mash. Most of is fairly typical animal footage and narration. But near the end, it makes a hard left turn and delves into the how-tos of documentary film making. There's a long segment featuring the guy who composed the score, and another long segment from the woman who did the filming. In that segment, the woman goes into great detail about her scuba diving gear and her cameras.
And so, I knew what was coming, and I had my supportive reply at the ready.
"Mommy, when I grow up, I want to be a diver."
"That sounds like a fun thing to be, honey."
With Gratitude
To our Ergo Baby Carrier, without whose assistance I'm not sure how we would ever convince our baby to sleep.
Not Locked in An Ivory Tower
I'm making an effort to read to Elliot. (He calls out for his "garbage truck" book as soon as I sit him on the toilet.) But I'm busier with two than I was with one, and the indications are that my second baby is probably not as immersed in literature as my first baby was. The first animal sounds that Audrey produced were sounds she had clearly learned from books--baas and moos and that sort of thing.
Elliot's first animal sound was something he picked up from our friendly neighborhood crows. "Caw caw!" The woofs and meows that he's now attempting also arise from real world experiences rather than scholarly research.
But I'm sure the kid will pick up farm animal sounds one way or another. James has been trying to convince me that we should raise backyard chickens.
A Subtle Whiff of Sarcasm
Here are the latest results from Elliot Word Watch 2009: bye bye, car, go, Ergo, caw caw, dog, orca, shark, (Do you think someone has a big sister who is obsessed by the ocean or something?) woof, meow, yogurt, banana, muffin, mush, basketball, garbage truck.
Do you know what these words add up to? I'm very excited about my son's rapidly expanding vocabulary and everything. But to be honest, I can't say that these words add up to stimulating conversations.
Nevertheless, it is my duty as a mother to muster up as much enthusiasm as I possibly can.
"Dog-ee-duh!!!" he has informed me upon awakening every morning this week. "Yes," I have smiled. "Garbage trucks. Truly, my love, they are endlessly fascinating."
A Subtle Whiff of Sibling Rivalry
"Here you are, my love," I handed him the toy.
"Hey, you can't call him that! That's what you call me!"
"Yes, I call you that, too. You are both my loves."
"No. That's only my name. You should call him your hate."
Her Purple Period
"I'm going to draw a picture for him that we can put next to him while he's napping, so that he'll be happy when he wakes up."
A few minutes later, I slipped her artwork onto the bed next to him. A masterpiece in purple featuring a garbage truck, a picture of Audrey, a swordfish, and a fly like the one that had fascinated Elliot just prior to naptime.
The baby paid no attention whatsoever to the picture when he woke up, of course. I hope it was enough for her that, with her thoughtfulness, she succeeded in making her mother happy.
Old Tricks But Good Tricks
Back when Audrey was in the one word stage, I remember how magical it was to be able to dry up tears just by whispering some of her favorite vocabulary into her ears. In the past few days, I've tried that trick out on weeping Elliot, too. "Garbage truck," I intone. "Basketball, bird, shark." And boom! Little tumbles are forgotten as he delights in the mental images that his favorite words bring to mind.
Yesterday, I had a weeping Audrey on my hands. So I figured, what the heck. I pulled her onto my lap and launched into an impromptu soliloquy. "Octupuses and squid and cuttlefish are all cephalopods. They don't have bones, so they're very flexible. They can squeeze in and out of tiny spaces. They're very smart. They have tentacles. They can squirt ink to distract their enemies and escape from danger."
And boom! Our little squabble was forgotten as she delighted in the mental images that some of her favorite words brought to mind.
That Motor-Driven Baby and His Recessive Genes
At 15 months, Elliot is almost as tall as his sister was at 24 months, and he is almost as well-coordinated as 36-month old Audrey. Thus, hardly a day goes by when I don't make the calculation for one slightly embarrassed questioner or another. "Um, let's see. He'll be turning two in about…nine months."
Keeping Us Dishonest
After several rounds of delicate negotiations, Audrey agreed that if it were really, truly unfeasible to convene her 5th birthday party in the bitter cold and perpetual darkness of wintertime Antarctica, the Monterey Bay Aquarium would be acceptable as an alternate venue.
We were greatly relieved.
Then a week or so before the big day, she glanced up at the penguin calendar on the wall in our kitchen, put her reading and math skills to use, and pitched a humungous fit. Substituting the wild Emperors of Antarctica for the captive Blackfoots of Monterey was one thing. But having her party on Saturday August 8th rather than Wednesday August 12th? Absolutely, positively unacceptable. Weepingly, hyperventilatingly unacceptable. In her almost-five-year-old mind, the birthday party had to take place on the day of the birthday, or the world was pretty much going to stop turning.
So we did that thing that (once upon a time) we thought we'd never do, but that somehow we end up doing all the time. We crossed our fingers and agreed that we could have the party on the 12th after all.
Friday August 7th rolled around, and we excitedly informed Audrey that her birthday trip was coming up the next day. She fixed us a skeptical glare. "Is today August 11th?"
" Uh…Yes," we reluctantly agreed.
"Is it really August 11th, or just pretend August 11th?" she sternly persisted.
"It's really August 11th," we sighed.
Then, at last, she cracked a big smile.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks to our friends and family for trekking out to Monterrey to celebrate with us! Having you there made our "August 12th" truly special.
Happy 5th Birthday, Baby Girl
Dear Audrey,
You're five years old today. Five years old. Somehow this is a milestone that seems more monumental for me than for you. It's not that you're not excited about turning five. You think it's really cool. But for you, I don't think it's particularly more exciting than turning four was, or than turning six will be.
It's different for me. In my grown up sort of way, I attach special significance to numbers that end in fives and zeros, so your fifth birthday corresponds with a huge milestone in my life—five years of motherhood.
You've changed so much in five years. Back in August of 2004, you had few talents beyond suckling and screaming. But from day one, you've had an amazing ability to dazzle me. In your early days the accomplishments that made my heart sing were simple. You could make me swell with pride and love by being a pound over your birth weight at two weeks, say. Or by holding your neck up kind of steady.
Few things in life have made me more joyful than watching you accomplish news feats. And so, my last five years have been full of joy as I've watched you pick up one new skill after another. And look how far you've come from your suckling and screaming days. Just in these last few weeks you've dazzled and astounded me by reading to me from books marked "Grade Level 2" and by kicking joyfully around the pool during your first swimming lessons.
You've changed so much in five years. And I've changed so much in five years. I barely recognize that person anymore, that old/young me who traipsed excitedly into a labor and delivery ward in the wee hours of the morning five years ago today. I was so earnest and so sure that I knew what I was doing. And I was ever so clueless. I had no idea what it meant to be a mother.
I didn't realize how powerful a mother is. I didn't know what it meant to decline the epidural, to let the contractions roar through my body for hours on end. I had no idea how triumphant I would feel when I finally pushed you out into the world. Didn't know that five years later, the memory of my accomplishment would still give me strength. In giving birth, I discovered myself.
I didn't realize how ferocious a mother is. I didn't realize I was going to transform from a woman into a mama bear….a she-wolf…a roaring lioness who would do…anything…to protect her cub.
I didn't realize how important a mother is. I thought that putting my baby in someone else's care would mean leaving her behind with a bottle of breastmilk. I didn't realize that in order to be away from my daughter, I'd have to rip out part of my heart and leave her that, too.
I didn't realize how flexible a mother is. I didn't know that if the cribs and strollers and bottles and high chairs of modern American babyhood made my baby miserable, then I would do without them to make her happy. And I had no idea how much I would grow to love mothering my baby in my bed and in my arms and at my breasts and in my lap.
Thank you, Audrey, for teaching me to be a mother. Thank you for making me wiser and more patient, stronger, and more loving. I am a better person because of you.
And what has made my life richest of all over the last five years is the fact that you and your brother are now a part of it. Daddy and I are so lucky that we get to have you in our family. You--smart and hilarious, loving and fair-minded, passionate and fascinating--you. I love who you are at five years old. You are one of my very favorite people in this world to hang out with. And in my grown up sort of way, I can't wait to see who you are at 10 and at 15 and at 20.
Happy Birthday, Baby Girl.
Love,
Mommy
But Only If We Promise Her Dessert Afterward
"Yes, that's right," James confirmed. "Vegetable Red Curry, Tofu Ki Mau, and Vegetable Pad Thai."
As he hung up the phone, Audrey's nose wrinkled in disapproval. "Why did we get all vegetable dishes? Next time, I want some meat."
"My little carnivore," James smiled.
"I'm not a carnivore," she sniffed haughtily. "I'm an omnivore. I eat kale, too, remember?"
After Which, He Instructed Me in the Use of the Word “Duh”
"OK, fine," I gave in. "You can play with the basket of crayons. But is it absolutely, positively necessary to dump them all out onto the floor?"
He paused long enough to give me a look that said, "Hellooooo, mom. I'm fifteen months old, here." Then, he dumped them all out onto the floor.
June: Good for More Than Just Weddings
I've been working on pottying with Elliot since he was seven months old, and it's been a process with a lot of ups and downs. When I first started this project, before Elliot was mobile, I was pretty decent at catching pees by taking him to the potty at regular intervals, but I missed most of his poops since the timing of those was less predictable. Once Elliot got mobile he was no longer interested in taking time out from exploring the world to pee on the potty. But his poops were getting more solid and slow to exit by then, and he didn't mind being taken to the potty for #2s.
Then, a few months ago, we hit a wall. Elliot figured out that he could just do both #1s and #2s in his diaper without interrupting play time, and he started to fight any almost all attempts at pottying. Sometimes, when he was kind of groggy, he was willing to do wake-up pees on the potty first thing in the morning or after nap time. But that was pretty much it.
I had to work really hard not to be frustrated about the fact that Elliot was choosing to do almost all of his business in his diapers. It's not that I mind changing and rinsing diapers that much. It's just that the main reason I'd been doing infant potty training with Elliot was that I really, really, really didn't want him to get so dependent on using diapers that using toilets and potties would seem foreign and frightening to him. That was what had made the process of toilet training Audrey an excruciatingly miserable one, and I for darn sure didn't want Elliot's potty training experience to be anything like Audrey's
So I hatched a plan. Or rather, I rehatched a plan. It was the same plan I'd used to train my firstborn: Wait until the weather warms up and then, au natural time.
It was a little scarier to let an "in-training" 14-month-old roam around the house naked than it had been letting an "in-training" three-and-a-half –year-old roam naked. Audrey's potty training was marked not so much by accidents as by tears on the toilet. She knew what she was supposed to do and when and where she was supposed to do it, but even when she was desperate to void her systems, she just couldn't figure out how to release in the new venue.
With Elliot, on the other hand, there were accidents. Oh my, yes. Puddles and worse, day after day. And yet, as I wiped messes off the hard wood floors, I didn't despair. With every accident, I could see that Elliot's was doing some serious thinking. "This isn't how this is supposed to work." Sure enough, within a couple of days of beginning our naked baby experiment, he began rushing off to the bedroom for a wipe whenever he produced a puddle, so that he could help me clean up.
Now, a month and a half into our experiment with nudity, I'm pretty much over the moon. Elliot is far from fully trained. If he's wearing a diaper or underwear, he just goes in it. But when he is naked, he is doing almost all of his peeing and pooping in the toilet. (The toilet! Which means that I don't even have to clean out the potty much anymore. Whoo hoo!)
We'll probably face more setbacks before he's a full-time underwear sort of guy. And there are a lot of hurdles to leap over before we get there. (Like, he has to be willing to use public restrooms, for example.) But my fears about him becoming as resistant to using toilets as Audrey was are quickly receding.
My new fear is that he'll be resistant to learning a new "Gotta go" signal. Cause the grabbing the crotch thing ain't gonna be cute too far past 15 months.
Video Rorschach
We now present a selection of Audrey videos that we've been enjoying in our household.
Having watched approximately six gazillion ocean-themed documentaries, Audrey decided it was her turn to make a contribution to the genre. James and I pretty much bust a gut watching this one, because Audrey nails every last detail of documentary filmmaking, from the solemn narration about the lives of marine animals to the music that plays as the ending credits roll. Depending on your perspective, however, you may just see a video that features choppy cinematography, gratuitous crotch shots, and very dubious "facts" about the ocean.
In this one, our little girl demonstrates her reading skills, tackling both the "grown up" and "kid" pages in a book called "We Both Read: About the Ocean." If Audrey refers to you using a term like "Grandma," "Aunt," or "Uncle," you may be as dazzled by this clip as we are. Otherwise, you'll probably find it to be a video of a kid reading. Excruciatingly slowly.
Audrey started swimming lessons a few weeks ago, and our little penguin is having a blast in the water. I think no matter who you are, you will probably find this to be video of a kid learning to swim.
Fingers Crossed
Elliot's word repertoire has been pretty stable for a while. He started off with "dada," "mama," "nurse" (nuh), and "what's that" (duh).
Then he added a couple more critical concepts. "Audrey" (which is pronounced pretty much the same as dada) and "yes" (which is pronounced "nuh." Which makes even less sense than saying "di di" for "yes," which is what baby Audrey used to do.)
Then he pretty much stalled out. I sternly ordered myself to be perfectly OK with that. I logically remembered that it's normal for kids his age not to have many words. Plus, I reminded myself that he's clearly a motor driven baby, and that motor driven babies are often too interested in moving their bodies around to pay much attention to moving their mouths around.
Then came yesterday morning . "Ba" he trumpeted.
"It is a ball," I kissed him proudly.
Yesterday morning was followed by yesterday afternoon. "Bur."
"Ball?" I asked. He scrunched his face up in concentration. "Bur."
"Bird?" I wondered.
A look of delight spread across his face as he walked over to the TV and pointed out the pelicans that were walking through the coral reef documentary. "Bur! Bur!"
Two new words in one day! I am happy to wait as long as it takes for my son to become a chatterbox. But it would be so cool if it turned out that I don't have to wait for long.
My Bilingual Baby
Audrey is fluent in "Penguin," which is the gibberish language spoken by a cartoon penguin named Pingu and his family. Like most languages, Penguin is picked up much more easily by youngsters than by adults. Grandma and Aunt Julie, for example, speak "broken Penguin," and Penguin conversations with them tend to have a lot of awkward silences. On the other hand, Audrey and her friend Henry can happily chatter on the phone in Penguin for 10 minutes at a time.
Audrey's little brother is also proving a quick study. When he hears her saying, "Baum baum baum," as she bounces on the bed, he immediately scrambles up to join her and does his best to jump along, "Bau bau!!!"
When Audrey bellows "No!" ("NUT NUT!") in Penguin, Elliot immediately adds in his two cents. ("Nuh Nuh!!!)
And when Penguin Audrey says "Good-bye," Elliot knows exactly what she means. As soon as she says "Bi-duh Bor-bay," he waves.
Labeled
For the first 23 months of her life, the few colds that Audrey got barely even seemed to bother her. Some mild sniffles. A little runniness. A beep a bop a boo. After a day or two she was good as new.
Then, at 23 months, along came a virus that knocked her flat. This virus made her feverish. It settled into her lungs and made her breathing so rapid and labored that we worried her off to the pediatrician, who treated her with Albuterol to open up her air passages. "Bronchiolitis." The doctor pronounced. Possibly triggered by RSV. Could be a one time thing. Could come back every time she has a cold. Increases her risk of asthma."
I refused to worry. I breastfed my toddler and fed her organic food and bought her BPA free sippy cups. I absolutely positively knew it was going to be a one time thing. And I absolutely positively without a doubt new that it wouldn't turn into asthma.
Until it wasn't a one time thing. Each new cold that Audrey came down with lingered instead of disappearing, settling in her lungs. Fevers. Rapid breathing. Usually mild enough to sit out at home. Occasionally severe enough to require new pronouncements from doctors. "Bronchitis." "Just on the border of being pneumonia." And, as gently as possible, "In a technical way, this sort of pattern technically meets the technical definition of asthma. But at this point there's no need to get technical."
So over the last three years, as colds led inevitably to airway inflammation, I came to terms with the fact that RSV had primed my daughter's lungs to be highly reactive to colds. I accepted the fact that colds tended to maker her pretty sick. And beyond that, I refused to worry. I didn't live in the sort of inner-city neighborhood where asthma is prevalent. I scrubbed the bathroom with baking soda and vinegar instead of nasty asthma-inducing chemicals. I absolutely positively knew that there would never be a need to get technical.
Two weeks ago, we had a picnic at a park with friends on a hot and humid evening. For a couple of hours, as Audrey played in the sand and water, she coughed. The kids' last activity of the evening was running like crazy up and down a hill. And on the car ride home, Audrey wasn't just coughing. She was laboring to breathe.
It was pretty clear what she needed. And thanks to years of pronouncements like "Bronchiolitis", "Bronchitis," "Borderline pneumonia," "Meets the technical definition of asthma," we had it in the cupboard. A beep a bop a boo. With a couple puffs of Albuterol, she was good as new. And it was time.
Time to get technical. Time to chat with the pediatrician about allergen testing. Time to start carrying around an inhaler in my purse. Time to fill out the form to keep a prescription medication on file for her at school. Time to come to terms with the fact that breastmilk and baking soda hadn't been enough to combat RSV and a tendency toward allergic diseases inherited from both Mom and Dad. Time to accept the label that was written on the corner of her chart when we stepped into the exam room at the pediatrician's office. "Asthma."
Coddler-in-Chief
A few nights ago, I wandered into our office, sat down at the computer, and pulled up Yahoo! News. A headline about how to put your children to sleep caught my eye, so out of idle curiosity, I clicked the link.
The article was practically rabid in its intensity, and the main point that it was aiming to get across was this. "IF YOU ALWAYS STAY WITH YOUR BABY UNTIL SHE FALLS ASLEEP, SHE'LL NEVER. EVER. EVER. LEARN TO SLEEP ON HER OWN AND YOU ARE SCREWING HER UP FOR LIFE. FOR LIFE!!!"
Normally, my thought process probably would have gone something like this. "Whoa, there, rabid article author. Calm down, now. I'm glad putting your babies down to sleep on their own worked well for you. But my babies like to be parented to sleep, and I like parenting them to sleep. No doubt there are many ways to screw up your kids for life. But I'm pretty darn sure that cuddling them to sleep isn't one of them."
But on that particular night, I was wandering into the office because after four years and 10 months of wanting to be cuddled to sleep, my daughter had kicked me out of her bedroom. "I'm fine here on my own."
I was free. Free to enjoy some "me" time while Audrey took the falling asleep thing into her own hands. And I can't think of what I would have enjoyed more than reading that particular article and being able to respond to it like this, "Get a grip there, rabid article author. Honestly! You are so full of it."
Another Missed Opportunity to Teach Her About “Duh”
For me, one of the funnest things about parenting is watching my kids dive exuberantly into topics that tickle their fancies. My 14-month-old has a passion for climbing and moving, so supporting his interests involves a lot of following him up the ladder of our backyard play structure and then swooping down the slide with him on my lap.
My almost-five-year-old has a passion for the ocean. So supporting her interests involves a lot of trips to aquariums, and helping her draw a tail for the humpback whale that she's making out of a box and sticky notes, and reading her a lot of books about ocean creatures. A lot of books about ocean creatures. Have I mentioned all of the books about ocean creatures?
The other day, we cracked open our 239th book about whales, and were presented with an Important Message on page one. "Whales live in the ocean, but they aren't fish. They're mammals like you and me."
Audrey heaved a deep sigh. "Why do all these books keep telling us this? Don't we know that already?"
Writing This Entry Kind of Reassured Me That She is Ready for Kindergarten
A long time ago, I wrote about how even when Audrey was a baby, I felt honor-bound to give credit to the author and illustrator before diving into her lift-the-flap books. (Someday we'll get this site updated so that I can link back to previous entries, like you can on a proper blog.) That particular entry was about how exciting it was when toddler Audrey started remembering authors' names.
It's been a few years since that entry, and Audrey's knowledge of books has gone way beyond just thinking about authors, now. When we read non-fiction, she's really into indexes. She loves indexes to pieces. In fact, I've had to set up some ground rules about indexes. So now, when we get to the back of the book and find an index, Audrey knows the drill. "How many things can we look up?!!" She enthuses. When I say, "two," you can kind of hear her grumbling under her breath about what a spoilsport I am. And trust me you, if we're reading a book about whales, the first index topic that she'll want to look up will be "whale." Cause if I'm gonna limit her to looking up two topics, she's gonna make darn sure those topics are the ones that show up on every page of the book.
Attention to Detail
L: (Flipping the book closed.)"And they lived happily ever after."
A: (Shocked) "There are no words on the back of this book."
L: (Oblivious) "Hmm…Nope. I guess there aren't."
A: (Agitated.) "But we don't know who the publisher is!"
L: (Bemused.) Oh. Well, we can look inside the front of the book. (Flips to the front.) Here it is: "Northword: Books for Young Readers."
A: (Still dismayed) But there's no logo!
L: (More and more entertained.) Uh…let's check the next page for the publisher's logo.
A: (Pointing, with great relief.) Here it is.
L: (Making a mental note about a future blog.) Ahh. Yup. There is it.
The Slippery Slope, Defined
The longstanding policy in our household is that we don't limit Audrey's DVD watching in the minivan, but she can only watch TV in the house on "special occasions."
Last week, a couple of the DVDs that we'd checked out from the library weren't working in the minivan's DVD player, so we suggested to Audrey that she should test them out in the house. As soon as we arrived home, she rushed a DVD into the living room and popped it into the DVD player. To her delight, it worked fine.
When James finished unloading the car and came into the house to find Audrey watching TV, he came to find me. "She seems to think that she has permission to watch that whole DVD."
"Yeah," I confirmed. "I said it was OK." His brows were knotted together in disapproval, but I shrugged, like, Come on, Dude. It wasn't working in the car. It's not like watching this documentary about whales in the house is going to turn her brain into mush.
The following day, I was surprised to hear television sounds emanating from the living room. I sought out James. "I said she could watch it while I chopped vegetables," he confirmed. My eyebrows arched high in disapproval, but he shrugged like, Come on, Woman. It wasn't working in the car. It's not like watching this documentary about coral reefs in the house is going to turn her brain into mush.
Confession Time
I'll just say it straight: My daughter never eats breakfast.
Yeah, yeah. I know. Most important meal of the day. Yada yada yada. Look, we offer her breakfast. Yogurt? Cereal? Fruit? Pancakes? French Toast? Not a day goes by when James and I don't suggest to her an assortment of tasty options. And the result is that she occasionally agrees to have a glass of juice, and she might eat a few pretzel sticks in the car on the way to summer school.
Short of offering her ICE CREAM, there's just nothing else I can think of that might entice her to eat in the morning. So there you have it. One of my big, glaring failures as a mother, laid out bare. Have fun clicking your tongue and judging me harshly.
What, you want more? You've noticed that my kidlets seem to be developing deepening tans as the summer progresses? OK. Fine. I don't always coat my children in a protective layer of sunscreen, either. My philosophy is that the should have some exposure to sunlight so that their bodies can naturally generate vitamin D.
OH, OK, FINE. I almost never coat my children in a protective layer of sunscreen. I don't like smearing them with chemicals and they don't like being smeared with chemicals, so we rely, to a large extent on cover-up clothing and the melanin they've been lucky enough to inherit from their father. I do feel a little guilty about exposing them to potentially harmful levels of UV rays. But at least I don't let them watch TV in the house, right?
(Oh. Damn.)
The Squeaky Wheel Gets to Watch Sock Puppets!
We're going to have to retire Elliot's infant car seat soon. The one that pops out of its base so that you can carry the sleeping baby into the house without waking him up. It has to go really, really soon. Actually, it's a miracle that we've managed to hold onto it this long. Elliot surpassed its 30-inch height limit several months ago. But he's all leg, so his head has very obligingly continued to snuggle more than one inch below the seat's top.
We know the inevitable is approaching. Elliot's head is pushing up up up towards the rim. So his toddler car seat is purchased and is sitting in a box in the garage. Every time we lug our sleeping baby into the house in his infant seat, we give that toddler seat a dirty look.
Elliot is 14 months now, and past the 20-pound mark. Legally speaking, when we install the new seat, he can face forward, and this is about the point when we turned Audrey around. But we're actually planning to install Elliot's toddler seat in the rear-facing position, because from a safety perspective, it's best to keep kids facing backwards as long as you can. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that kids face backwards until they're at least two. Elliot's going to figure out that we have a DVD player and insist on turning around before he hits two, I'm sure. But while he's still young enough to be clueless, backwards he'll stay.
We knew that backwards was the safest position back in Audrey's toddler days. We wanted her to be as safe as possible, too. But we also wanted to be able to ride in the car without her being a writhing, screaming ball of misery. And nothing (NOTHING) worked to relieve Audrey's car misery other than Baby Einstein DVDs. So, by God, we turned that girl around popped in Baby Beethoven.
Poor little backwards facing Elliot. If only he knew what the reward would be, he'd stop being such a good sport in the car, and start doing some screaming of own.
Extreme Baby Proofing
We've been meaning to install recessed lighting in our living room and ceiling fans in our bedrooms for years. But, you know how it goes. We just never got around to it. Then last month, we were finally inspired to get a couple of bids, hire an electrician, and hand him a fairly considerable chunk of change to do the work for us.
Inspired by Elliot, of course. And I'm ever so glad that we couldn't convince our son to leave the floor lamps alone, because the new lights and fans are really fantastic.
Even More Extreme Baby Proofing
I do my best to monitor Elliot constantly. But because he's constantly on the go, he's often out of my site for short periods of time. He is not the type of kid who understands the concept of staying in the kitchen under mama's watchful eye while mama opens up sister's yogurt container. Nor is he the type to be content in my arms while I fish laundry out of the washing machine. Rather, he is the type who is very heavy in my arms and who fusses like crazy when confined to them. So I have to let him go.
When it comes to my wandering toddler, silence is definitely not golden. What I like is to hear the sounds of a cart being pushed up and down the hall, or the sounds of a floor being whacked on by a wooden hammer. Silence, on the other hand, is very bad. Silence causes me to abandon the washing machine and dash off to find the baby. More likely than not, if he's silent, it's because he's focusing all of his concentration on something. And more likely than not, that something is climbing. And if he's climbing, then more likely than not, he's decided it's time once again to clamber to the top of the ottoman. And if he's standing on the ottoman, then pretty soon he'll be rocking it wildly to work up a little momentum before launching himself through the air towards the rocker. (If he's lucky, the rocker is turned sideways, cause it's way more fun to scramble up and over the arm part than it is to just plop down onto the seat part.) Call me overprotective, but I kinda like to be there to spot that whole process.
Speaking of overprotectiveness, I've come to terms with the fact that it's not practical to remove all of the furniture from our house while Elliot goes through this climbing phase. What I'm thinking now is that maybe we could just cover our floors with a few inches of nice soft sand.
Let’s See What This Button Does!
OK. I have not one but TWO friends whose babies have managed to call 911 during phone play. So I should know better. But ugh. Once in a while, the baby's begging for the phone, and he's gonna cry if he doesn't get that phone, and I've got something pressing that needs to get done, and so I….well, I hand it over, monitor as closely as I can, and pray for the best.
The other day the baby had managed to cajole me out of my cell phone yet again. Not 10 seconds after he had gained possession I checked to see what he was doing, and the following question met my eye, "Are you sure you want to erase all Contacts?"
Hey, He Knew When He Married Me That I Had Night Owl Genes
The teeth were brushed, the bedtime stories were read, and the lights were out. And as I lay next to her in her bed at 10 p.m., she enthusiastically laid out her evening plans for me. "I have 158 gallons of energy, so I can stay awake all night!!!"
But ha ha, the joke was on her! She only managed to stay awake until midnight.
Busy Work
"J" she mumbled to herself as she scribbled on a piece of paper. "E, R, 6, 9, T."
"There," she declared, putting down her crayon and handing me the paper with a dramatic flourish.
"Cool," I commented as I looked it over. "What did you spell?"
The look on her face made it clear that I could not possibly have been more clueless. "Nothing!! I was just practicing!"
In retrospect, I realize I missed out on the perfect opportunity instruct her in the use of the word, "Duh!"
She Calls “Em Like She Sees ‘Em
Elliot's cloth diapering station is more complicated than Audrey's disposable diapering station used to be. Whereas we used to be pretty much set if we had diapers, wipes and a pail, we've now got all kinds of paraphernalia. There are the simple, rectangular cotton diapers that we use around the house, and the Snappi clips that we use to pin those diapers in place. There are the little cotton washcloths that we use as wipes. There is the training underwear I put him in when he's too wiggly to be pinned down long enough to be pinned into a diaper. There are the fancy-shmancy waterproof, Velcro tabbed "pocket diapers" that we put him into when we're going out. There are the double stuffed pocket diapers that we put him in at night. There are the washable bags that we used to line the diaper pail and to hold diapers that he soils while we're out and about. And so on.
(The one thing that I no longer have in my diaper station is diaper cream. Elliot used to get occasional diaper rashes when I kept waterproof covers over his cotton diapers, but now that I've dispensed with the covers and started changing him as soon as his diapers are wet, his skin stays nice and clear.)
Anyhoo, to keep all of our diapering supplies organized, we have several bins in our diapering station. Over the past couple of weeks Audrey has started referring to these bins as the "ugly bins." I didn't think too much about it at first. I mean heck, she's entitled to her own opinions about our home decor, right? But I find the bins to be reasonably attractive. So about the seventh time she made reference to our ugly bins, I got curious. "Why do you think they're ugly?"
She pointed to the label on one of the bins, "It says so right here."
I tried to explain that the label actually read "Utility Bin," but she wasn't buying it at all. C'mon. The appropriate label for an ugly bin is, obviously, "Ugly Bin."
I think my daughter could excel at many different careers. But maybe not marketing.
A Little Game We Like To Call “Who’s the Better Parent”
"He managed to eat more toilet paper today than I intended to let him eat."
(Pause) "I don't generally let him eat any toilet paper."
We’re Really on a Nutritional Roll
At the Farmer's Market: "You have to finish your crepe before you can have a snow cone."
(For the record, it was a banana-nutella crepe.)
Regrettably, I Didn’t Inquire What It Could Be Used For
"Look what I made!" she enthused, holding up her Lego creation. "It's a double-mount furnace double-latch sword."
The Drought and the One-Year-Old
Elliot loves being at Audrey's preschool, because he loves to stand at their child-sized sinks and slash around. So he was absolutely delighted a few days ago to discover that,
with a stool, he is tall enough to reach the water in our bathroom sink. (I was a little less thrilled than he was. Especially when he promptly demonstrated that if the stool didn't happen to be next to the sink, he could easily move it there himself. I'm doing my best to be excited about my kid's resourcefulness rather than worried about the amount of trouble a stool-wielding 13-month-old could get into.)
When Audrey was in her "stand at the sink and waste water" phase, I used to try to limit the duration of her splashing sessions. I'm a California native, after all. The importance of water conservation has been pounded into my skull since my elementary school days. So after she had played for a while, I would turn off the water and drag her screaming out of the bathroom.
The second time around, I pretty much let my kid splash water for however long he wants. I'm sorry, Environment. Really, I am. But I have two kids to juggle now, and the sink battle is no longer one that I have the energy to fight. Besides, I figure this developmental phase needs to run its course one way or another, and the sooner Elliot gets a fairly good grip on how sinks work, the sooner his need to explore sinks will pass.
The fact that I have to run a load of cloth diapers every other day is another demerit on my water conservation report card. My only saving grace is that I make up a little bit of ground on those all too frequent days when I don't manage to find time for a shower.
Another Conservation Lesson Gone Awry
Given Audrey's love of all things ocean related, we check out books about sea creatures on a weekly basis. Recently, we were reading a book about sea turtles, and the book laid out a number of reasons why sea turtles are endangered. One factor that it cited was the harvesting of sea turtle eggs by humans.
Audrey took that message to heart, and brings it up every few days. "You know what we should try? Sea turtle eggs! I bet those would be tasty."
Can’t Believe We Managed to Keep Her in the Dark Almost 5 Years
"You know what the surprising thing about music trucks is, Mommy?"
"What's that?"
"They sell ice cream!"
Why Pregnancy and Labor Are Worth Going Through Twice
And sometimes, if she wakes up spontaneously, she calls out for her brother, and then pretends to be asleep so that she doesn't miss out on the fun of having him wake her up.
Learning Styles
Baby Audrey had a very different style than Elliot does when it comes to picking up vocabulary. Audrey liked to mull words over, analyzing and considering them in her head for a long time before industriously attempting to produce the ones that had captured her fancy. She rarely deigned to jump in and try out any old word just because some parent or book suggested it to her.
Elliot is much more of an experimenter. He'll hear a word once and jump enthusiastically in with his own rendition. "Baa says the sheep!" I'll read. "Can you say baa too?" In that moment, he is so there, "BAAA!"
But while Elliot is having fun experimenting with a lot of words, he's not using many of them spontaneously. Like, he can't answer the "What does a sheep say?" question without a book and cues yet.
There are a few exceptions. Dada, he definitely uses all the time. Mama he uses sometimes. And, ever so sweetly, there's the word that he uses the most frequently, which is "na," which is his way of requesting "num" which is the word that we use for breastfeeding. My darling little nursling—no question he knows exactly what his priorities are.
Wait a Minute, Missy
Audrey has recently become interested in playing catch, so she and I have been tossing balls back and forth quite a bit. Or rather, she's been throwing balls in my general direction, and I've been lobbing them back directly into her outstretched arms.
The other day, after we'd been playing for a while, Audrey started to get tired and dropped the ball several times in a row. I worried she was going to get frustrated, but I needn't have feared. Instead of sounding frustrated, she addressed me with a very understanding and sympathetic tone. "You're not very good at this."
Her Service is Excellent, So I Overlook the Fact That She Overprescribes
Audrey came marching over to Elliot and me carrying her medical kit. "Hi. I'm Dr. Pingu. Is your baby sick?"
"I don't think so."
"Hmm," she said skeptically, giving him an examination. "Here," she decided, handing me a bottle. "He IS sick. He needs this medicine."
Then, she closed up her kit. "I have to go. There's another sick baby who doesn't want to leave his house and get other people sick, so I have to go see him."
Just Something I Heard Myself Say Recently
"No, you can't play with his booger. You have plenty of boogers in your own nose."
Me and Sisyphus
Was I recently rhapsodizing about how wonderful newly minted one-year-olds are? Was I? Because, oh man, let me tell you. A lot of the time lately, life with a 13-month-old seems like the definition of "an exercise in futility."
I move the clean laundry from the washing machine to the laundry basket. Elliot moves the wet laundry from the laundry basket to the floor. I put the legos into the box. Elliot immediately dumps them back out onto the floor. James loads the silverware into the dishwasher. Elliot tosses the silverware onto the floor.
I find cleaning and tidying to be really enjoyable tasks. Seriously. Back in the day, when I had an office job, I would come home from work on Friday afternoon and celebrate the start of the weekend by giving the apartment a good top to bottom scrubbing while I waited for James to get home from work.
So it's probably even more frustrating for me than for the average person when Friday evening rolls around and my kitchen floor is covered with wet laundry and legos and dirty spoons. The fact that the clutter is hiding the evidence that the floor hasn't had a date with a mop in well over a month is no comfort to me.
What is a comfort to me is that I have a four-year-old. A four-year-old who has no compulsion whatsoever to toss clean laundry onto dirty floors. A four-year-old who enjoys loading wet laundry into dryers and hanging dish rags on the drying rack. I can look at her and repeat the mantra that keeps me resignedly stepping over balls and pull toys instead of pulling my hair out. "This stage shall pass. This stage shall pass. This stage shall pass." Oh, and then there's the fact that in addition to tearing my house apart, my 13-month-old has spontaneously started peppering me with kisses. That helps too.
The Scale of Things
Recently, Audrey has been working hard to understand how time works. She's asking a lot of questions about time. At bedtime she asks "How many minutes is it until morning?" At school she asks, "How many minutes is it until it's time to go home?"
In the morning, she often asks what day of the week it is so that she knows what to expect for the day. (Is it a day that Daddy will be taking her to school? Is it one of our carpool days?)
Since she's been working so hard on time concepts, her understanding of them has markedly improved. We told her on a Thursday night that Grandpa and Grandma were coming on Saturday morning. And lo and behold, when Friday morning rolled around and someone asked her when her grandparents would be arriving, she didn't have to think twice about her answer. "Tomorrow."
OK. I'm having a little trouble making that little exchange sound dramatic. I was totally blown away, though. I mean, to get her answer straight, she had to know that it was no longer Thursday but Friday, and that Friday would be followed by Saturday. Dang.
Still, while she's getting pretty good at time stuff, her grasp of historical timelines is still kinda iffy. The other day I was giving the kids a wagon ride around the block, and Audrey spotted something unusual. "Look at that orange truck!"
"Oh, yeah. That's looks like a really old truck."
"How old?"
"Really old. From the 1930s, maybe. From a long time ago. "
(Long pause.) "Like from when there were dinosaurs on earth?"
Doubting James
"Do you want yogurt?" I ask.
Fuss fuss fuss, he replies.
"Do you want banana?" I suggest.
The fussing continues.
"Oatmeal?"
Fussity fussity.
How about strawberries?
Immediately, the fussing stops. "Neh," he enthuses.
As I grab a few strawberries off the fruit plate and chop them into baby-sized pieces, my husband marvels. "It's almost seems like he understands what's you're saying."
"Um….honey. That's because he does understand what I'm saying."
Why I Keep Harping on This
"You worry about one of your kids more than the other."
I've probably spent five minutes in conversation with the neighbor who made that comment as my little ones and I we were strolling around the block a few months ago, but I think she's one of my favorite parenting philosophers.
It seems like with every little action my second-born takes, I'm able to cross a new item off my mental checklist of potential concerns. Like, OK. He enjoys interacting with strangers? Great! Society is going to give him a big gold star of approval for that. He enjoys moving his body around but he's not a constant whirlwind of energy? Stick another gold star on his chart. Sunny personality? Likes cars? Likes to climb? Loves pull toys? Not very clingy to mama? Star, star, star, star, star!
It's not that Elliot won't find ways of driving me crazy when he's a sophisticated preschooler. Heck, it's not that he doesn't manage to drive me crazy now. But I don't exert any energy at all worrying about how my handsome, athletic little extrovert will fit in at school or in the world. I know he'll fit in better than fine.
Society is not so thrilled by shy kids. Society frets about kids who have little interest in moving their bodies around for the sake of moving their bodies around. Society becomes distressed by children who aren't particularly captivated by the things that captivate other kids. So my firstborn--the one who was terrified of strangers, the one who had little desire to run or jump, the one who wasn't much interested in block stacking or pull toys or play-dough—her I've expended so much more worry on.
The thing of it is, I've barely worried about *her* at all. Her wonderfulness--her quirky quirky wonderfulness--has always been clear to me. My worry has all been about how to help my introverted, non-conformist fit into a society that undervalues those traits. I've expended so much energy defending and protecting her from people who thought maybe she wasn't wonderful just the way she was. From people who thought that she required interventions of some sort, to fix up one thing or another. When she was a little thing, I defended her by strapping her to my back and hacking a path for her through the wilds of civilization. My parenting book said my newborn should be able to sleep well in a bassinet. So I hacked through the foliage to a parenting book that said it was perfectly fine that she could only sleep when she was in contact with mama. (Thanks, Dr. Sears.) A lady at a party noticed that my two-year-old was painfully shy and sternly prescribed more play-dates. So off I plowed to a less judgmental conversational partner.
As Audrey's grown older and matured, I've been able to hand her a child-sized machete and let her plow her own path through society much of the time. But I can't let my guard down completely. "Can she ride a bike?" asked the pediatrician at the four-year-well check.
"She has no interest in bike riding," I shrugged. In my world, that was fine. Maybe she would want to ride the bike someday. It waited in the garage for her to be ready.
But instead of sharing a shrug with me, the doctor's nose wrinkled in concern. Suddenly I realized that four-year-olds were not allowed to be uninterested in bike riding in my pediatrician's world. I sprang to Audrey's defense, ready to argue her right to not be attracted by the idea of pedaling back and forth down the street. I fingered the machete on my belt, even ready to beat a path to a new pediatrician if this one insisted that non-bikeiness was a deficiency that needed to be fixed. To my relief, the good doctor was easily placated by the news that my daughter had been known to participate in "running games" with other children.
This is where I'm coming from, you see, when I spout kumbayaish platitudes about letting my kids be who they are. I'm coming from down the block. My flip-flops are pouding on the sidewalk and the baby's tricycle is bumping and rattling as I push it at breakneck speed, trying to catch up with my four-and-a-half-year-old, who is suddenly really into riding her bike "as fast as lightening."
I'm kind of huffing and puffing now, but if I had any extra breath in me, I'd be shouting. "Check this out world. She's doing it. She did it in her own time. When she was good and ready. And that means that I was right about what she needed and you were wrong. Again."
What Five Years of Experience Teaches You
Audrey recently had a few weeks of being an absolute, total, complete pill. Her mood is much improved now, but when she was at her screamy (SCREAMY!), clingy, impossible-to-please worst, there were a few times when I tallied up my accomplishments for the day and came up with one: "Did not strangle the four-year-old."
And then I gave my self a big pat on the back. "Way to go self! Nice job with that not strangling!"
The thing that I was even prouder of was that, even before the newsletter from the nursery school came home with an article about why 4.5 year olds tend to hit a disequilibrium patch in the spring, I kind of already knew that what was going on. I'd been through this sort of thing before--many times before. Developmental leap in progress, I reminded myself. Be on the lookout for the accomplishments accompanying the tears. And sure enough, there they were. A girl who had never been much of a builder was stacking up intricate block towers and making airplanes out of legos. A girl who had never had interest in crafts or scissors was spontaneously creating a whale shark out of tissue paper and tape and sticky notes. (Complete with gill slits, she repeatedly pointed out.) A girl who used to turn the page early if there was too much text on the page was patiently listening to much wordier stories. A girl who used to wait to go until her bladder was begging for mercy was suddenly bopping off to the bathroom much more frequently. (And sometimes she wasn't even demanding that I read to her on the pot.) A girl who has often disdained the importance of gross motor skills was genuinely interested in balls and in bikes and in leaps.
There she was, developing in all sorts of ways that would help her be ready for kindergarten. (We're currently fifth on the waiting list at the charter school that we'd like her to attend, if you're curious.)
And then there's the hoarding. A girl who'd never been interested in stuffed animals suddenly has her bed crammed full of toys to sleep with. Penguins with their own little pillows and blankets. One of her brother's cloth diapers, which is also, apparently a penguin that needs its own blanket. A stuffed caterpillar that sleeps in an old egg carton. Every other day she finds a new treasure that needs to join the collection. I'm not sure how she fits in the bed herself anymore. And I'm not sure how the hoarding fits into the "kindergarten readiness" picture either. But I'm sure that it does somehow. Because the alternative is that the hoarding fits into some sort of "House Full of Trash Condemned by Health Department" headline in the future. And while I believe in letting my daughter be true to herself, I do have my limits.
Encoded in the Y Chromosome, Apparently
Elliot got a new car for his birthday, and he's been pushing it around the past few days. Pushing it around and making a noise. A noise like this,"Buhhhhhhhhhhhh." A car noise.
I'm getting the feeling that in a couple of years, we may be checking out a lot more books from the heavy machinery section of the library than we currently do.
Balancing Poses
"We're screwed," my husband assessed, watching the 12-month-old nonchalantly scramble up to the top step of the step-stool.
I didn't entirely disagree. Audrey has never had much interest in climbing, so we haven't had to worry about finding her dancing on a countertop or a scaling a fence.
But I didn't entirely agree either. Because in addition to not having much of an interest in climbing, Audrey has never had much of a knack for it. For all that she keeps residence at the 10th percentile of the weight charts, she's always been about as light on her feet as a stampeding elephant.
While Elliot has joined his sister at the bottom of the weight charts, he's still 90th percentile in height, and he delights in experimenting with new ways of maneuvering his long, lean little body around. When Audrey was learning how to walk, I was constantly rushing ahead of her to toss obstacles out of her way so that she wouldn't trip over them and dissolve into tears of frustration. Elliot seeks out rough terrain. He loves the challenge of stepping over the broom, or maintaining his balance as he walks over the pillows. At twelve and a half months, an age when his sister was still on the cusp of taking her first independent steps, Elliot practices balancing on one leg.
So I think that as my son scales furniture and trees, though he'll undoubtedly climb higher and more often than his sister, thanks to his sure-footedness, I may actually worry about him less.
In Awe That This Glorious Moment Has Arrived
L: Where's Audrey?
J: She's in her room reading.
Joke’s on You, Dad.
J: What rhymes with sky?
A: High!
J: What rhymes with orange?
A: Borange!
Boy of the World
I officially love the one-year-old stage. I remember how much fun it was to watch Audrey blossom from babyhood into personhood right around the one year mark, and the same transformation is happening with Elliot. He's suddenly so wise to the ways of the world. Seeing a comb, he brushes his hair. Seeing shoes, he tries to insert his feet. Seeing on oven mitt, he slips it onto his hand. Seeing blocks, he attempts to stack. (Even succeeding once!) Seeing me emptying the dishwasher, he grabs a dish towel and races over. Snatching up a coin, he attempts to insert it into our Dinosaur Piggy Bank. Hearing "Bye Bye" he waves.
Every action that he takes makes it official. He's savvy. He's with it. He knows what's going on. Like on Easter. He wasn't content to race around with a basket. Heck no. He noticed right away that sister's basket had eggs in it, and he started putting up an amazing fuss until I procured a lovely purple egg for him, too. A lovely, empty purple egg. It delighted him.
Next Easter, instead of being just knowledgable enough to be adorably clueless, he'll just be just plain knowledgable. As a result, we'll no doubt get cute pictures of him with a chocolaty smile. But I think it will be just a tad less charming.
In Their Own Time
At a birthday party last summer, I was chatting about this and that with the dad of one of Audrey's friends, and he casually mentioned that his 4-year-old daughter recognized the letters in her own name and the letter O.
After struggling for a moment to keep my jaw from hitting the floor, I sort of came up with a response, and my response went something like this. "The letter ‘O.' Yeah. That's a good letter."
After which, the dad ditched me for a more interesting conversational partner as quickly as he could.
I just couldn't come up with a better response at the time. I had a snap decision to make—braggy or lame. I could inform him that my then-not-quite-4-year-old had memorized the alphabet before turning two and was starting to recognize quite a few words. I could explain that I had no idea that kids who have college-educated, bedtime-story-reading parents can reach the age of four without just sort of naturally picking up the alphabet.
Or I could praise the letter O.
A few weeks ago, I finally came up with a proper response to that dad's revelation. If I could replay the conversation a year later, this time, I'd cop to Audrey's literary prowess. Then I'd go on. "Audrey just started leaping a couple of feet through the air from her toy chest to her bed. She's never really tried jumping from one place to another before."
It would probably take the dad a moment to form a response. He'd be thinking about how his daughter started leaping through the air before turning two. It would astonish him to realize that kids whose parents take them to parks and stuff might be four-and-a-half before they experiment with leaping.
But after he composed himself and lifted his jaw up off the floor, we could smile and each other and have a really interesting conversation. A conversation about amazing it is that kids can have such vastly different interests and strengths. And about how freeing we find it to accept our own kids' interests and strengths, and not to try to force them to be anyone other than themselves.
They’ll Be Delivering Our Parenting Award Any Day Now
J: (Sternly) "You have to finish your French fries before you can have dessert."
Four-Year-Old Logic
The opposite of right-side-up?
"Left-side-down."
Happy First Birthday, Baby Boy
Dear Elliot,
People are always blathering on and on about how quickly kids grow up and how important it is to cherish every moment of your children's littleness. In the past, those platitudes didn't match up with my reality. When I had just one kid, time seemed didn't seem to move particularly quickly, and my kid didn't seem to grow up particularly fast.
But now, I finally kind of understand what all of those people were talking about. It feels like about five minutes ago that you were a (not-so-tiny) nine-pound newborn nestling on my chest after a (not-so-grueling) three hour and fifty minute labor.
I think that the main reason this past year has flown by so quickly was apparent from the moment that Daddy and the midwife scooped you up onto my chest. The sudden transition from an aquatic environment to dry land via an extremely claustrophobic passageway is a jarring one, and most human beings, quite justifiably, scream mightily about it. You, on the other hand, were like,"Whoa. This has really been a REALLY odd morning. But it's pretty comfortable here on Mommy's chest. So I think I'll hang out. You know. Check out my surroundings and stuff. Maybe sample the local cuisine." Eventually you decided to try crying a little bit, but it was clear that your heart wasn't really in it.
Your approach to life in the first couple of minutes has been your approach to life for the whole first year. You are all about exuberantly investigating the world, and you don't waste much time dwelling on downsides. Your need to explore is so intense that you started walking at nine months, and you've been roaming around ever since with a twinkle in your eyes and a smile on your lips.
When Audrey was a baby we ended up using "So Happy Together" by The Turtles as her theme song. That wasn't the only song we sang to her, but Daddy and I discovered that when you're sleep-deprived and your infant is howling, you basically need to come up with a song quickly, and not be too creative about it. "So Happy Together" was the song we relied upon most.
In the weeks before you were born, I did a lot of brainstorming about what your theme song should be. A few nights before you were born, I had a eureka moment. A wonderful song. Catchy tune. Appropriate lyrics. I went to bed delighted.
Then I woke up the next morning, and the song was gone. Gone, gone, and gone. I wracked by brain furiously as I waited for labor. Nothing. I desperately searched my memory bank in the days after your birth. No luck. Whenever you needed to be soothed or lulled to sleep, Daddy and I had to use a temporary, substitute theme song. Months after your arrival, I was still going through the maddening process of trying to remember your "real" theme song as I sang, "You Are My Sunshine."
A few days ago, with your first birthday approaching, I finally realized that "You Are My Sunshine" isn't your temporary theme song after all. When the rest of us are growly and bickery, you're apt to be there urging us all to COME PLAY! Because you've discovered an a-MAZ-ing empty box! Or an AWE-some pushable waste basket!
You make us happy when skies are gray, dude. Daddy and I and your adoring big sister are so glad you joined us one year ago today.
Happy Birthday!
Love,
Mommy
The Photograph That Is Breaking My Heart
Audrey's friend Kai had a party on a train to celebrate his fourth birthday. In this picture, you can see Kai enjoying his caboose ride along with a few of his guests--Audrey, Dan Sakai, and Dan's daughter Jojiye.
This picture won't leave my head, because it's a happy fourth birthday celebration, like the happy fourth birthday celebration Jojiye's Mommy and Daddy had planned for her.
But on March 21, 2009, one week before that birthday celebration was to take place, Oakland Police Sergeant Daniel Sakai was killed in the line of duty, along with three of his fellow officers.
As I look at the picture of that little girl and her Daddy at a birthday party, I am filled with longing to give her a present. I want to give her her Daddy at *her* fourth birthday party. I want to give her back her Daddy so he'll be there to teach her parallel parking and dance at her wedding.
And I cannot.
So I want to do my part to help keep her Daddy's memory alive. I want to write her a heartfelt letter about how much I liked and admired her Dad, and regale her in the years to come with amusing tales about his life. But my acquaintance with Dan Sakai was limited to casual chit-chat at a handful of parties.
So even there, I fail her.
I am left with the thoroughly unsatisfying option of making a donation to the
Sakai Family Trust. With that and one other thing. I will never again take police officers for granted. I will never forget what is truly at stake for the men and women who put on a badge when they suit up for work.
"People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." -- George Orwell
Thank you Mark Dunakin, Erv Romans, John Hege, and Dan Sakai. Rest in peace.
Grammar Lovers’ Edition, Elliot Version
Elliot is now eleven-months-old, and it's time for a first words celebration!
I've been tempted for a while now to proclaim that Elliot was saying "mama" and "dada." But I held off, because while he was saying "mamama" and "dadada" in appropriate contexts an awful lot, he was also babbling those consonants at other times just for the fun of it. So I couldn't officially certify that he wasn't just hitting the mark accidentally sometimes.
In the last few days, though, the ambiguity has cleared up on both the dada and mama fronts. When the little guy hears keys jingling on the porch, he rushes down the hall toward the front door, "Dada!"
Equally charmingly, when we are reading our "Baby Talk" lift-the-flap book, my baby is really inspired to talk when we get to his favorite page. "This little baby wants her mommy," I intone. Then he flips open the flap is absolutely delighted about who is hiding underneath, "Mama!"
(How thoughtful of the little guy to master mama and dada simultaneously. Perhaps there's a future for him in diplomacy.)
I was also hesitating to proclaim that Elliot is producing a third word. Again, it seemed a little ambiguous. I thought maybe I was reading too much into it. But then I got feedback from my four-year-old. "Uh aah," she asked, pointing to a picture on the wall in a perfect imitation of her brother. "That's baby Audrey," I explained. And then I came to blog it. Cause if she thinks her little brother's third word is "What's that?" then I guess I can officially declare that it is.
"What's that? What's that? What's that?" He asks, exuberantly pointing everywhere in the room at once? "Door, floor, window, tree!" I guess in delight.
We're off on a language adventure, my little word sponge and me, and I'm not sure who's more excited about the trip.
In an Adult, I’d Be Guessing “Schizophrenia”
"What are you doing, honey?"
"I'm talking to my sock."
Am I Really Ready to Send Her to Kindergarten?
"Where did you go?"
"We went to check out a school that you might go to next year."
"What did they have there?"
"Uh…classrooms."
"What kind of fun toys did the classrooms have?"
Aw, man. Like, none.
Who Needs Toys When You Have Waste Baskets?
Happiness is a Smiley Baby
Why I Co-Sleep
I awakened to the site of him rolling over onto his tummy and beginning to push himself up onto all fours.
"OH NO YOU DON'T, MISTER," I silently informed him. "We are NOT getting up while it's still DARK outside."
Before he could succeed in waking himself up fully, I reached over, flipped him onto his side, and plugged him on to one of my sleep potion dispensers. Then we both drifted back to sleep until sometime in the seven o'clock hour.
Disater Averted.
Ardor of the Converted
I heard a theory once that people who convert to a faith in adulthood tend to be more fervent practitioners than people who are raised in the faith. I don't know if that's really true. Obviously there are zillions of people who are enthusiastic practitioners of the faiths of their births, and I can think of at least a couple of lukewarm converts. But I reflect on the theory once in a while, because I think it applies to my experience of motherhood. My tendency is to stumble upon parenting practices that are new to me, and to fall so deeply in love with them that I can't fathom why anyone would choose a different path. When I make an exciting discovery, I want to evangelize to every new parent I can find about how amazing it is to co-sleep, or how wonderful it is to nurse a toddler.
Then maybe a few months later, once my initial infatuation wears off, I catch my breath and realize that very loving parents have their babies sleep in cribs for perfectly sensible reasons, and very loving mamas may wean at a year or earlier, for equally sensible reasons.
My latest, "I must tell EVERYONE to do this!" moment came a few days ago. Elliot was busily exploring the kitchen when, just for the heck of it, I decided to ask him a question. "Do you have to go pee pee?"
My eleven-month-old, paused to think for a moment, and then padded down the hall and into the bedroom. There, I removed his diaper and sat him on the potty. And he peed.
I was in awe. He's eleven-months-old! He's already pooping on his potty almost exclusively! And now he can march over on his own and pee at my suggestion! People would have to be crazy not to do infant potty training with their kids!
But this time, it only took me a few minutes to remember that the path that I have chosen is not right for everyone. I remembered that the downside of Elimination Communication is that you have to keep very close track of when your kid pees, and to do that you really have to keep baby in a cotton diaper. Or naked. And if you have baby running around without a waterproof covering on his bum, then you and the floor are gonna get wet sometimes. And not everyone will be able to develop an "it's just urine" attitude like the one I've developed.
I know this to be true because no matter how many times I remind James that the proper phrasing is, "He peed," his reports always tend to come in capital letters with a couple of extra words attached on the end. "HE PEED ON ME!"
You’d Think I Would Have Learned My Lesson
When I was toilet training Audrey, I made the bathroom as interesting a place to be as I possibly could, filling it with books, coloring books, temporary tattoos (doled out for B.M. success) and every other fun thing I could think of. For a while the bathroom was so fun, I could barely convince her to leave it. The residual effect of all that toilet training entertainment is that Audrey still insists on being read to on the toilet every time she has to go. Every time.
This drives me slightly nuts. I heartily wish she would occasionally just run in and take a quick solo pee. Cause if I need to accompany her to the toilet, then a certain baby needs to accompany me, and he is often very unenthusiastic about being trapped in the bathroom, even for short the duration of time that it takes me to read three "Baby Blues" comic strips.
But our grand toileting productions don't drive me crazy enough to go through the tears and dismay that I would face if ended the reading. Her love of the tradition outweighs my distaste. So far.
And maybe I shouldn't complain quite so much about Audrey's reading needs. In the last few days, there has been a new development on the pottying front with Elliot. Throughout the day he'll pad over to his potty, squat down, and pat it. Obligingly I'll remove his diaper and seat him, and then he'll reach over to tap one of the board books that reside next to his potty. One or two books later, he'll pop up to be rediapered and continue on his merry way. And for all of that effort on my part, he's almost never even considerate enough to actually pee for me.
In Sickness and In Health
Here is a list of the illnesses that befell my firstborn during her first year of life:
2 colds (both exceedingly mild).
And was I a wee bit smug about managing to keep my infant so healthy? Maaaaybe.
Life sometimes has a way of providing proper comeuppances. And in my case, the method it selected was to have my second-born be the sibling of a "preschooler." ("Preschooler" is the term that we often use for four-year-olds because it seems more polite than "Pathogen Incubator.")
Here is a list of the illnesses that have befallen Elliot in the first eleven and a half months of his life:
2 vomiting illnesses
1 fun virus that caused a few days of fever followed by a splotchy chin to groin rash
5 colds. Or 6. Possibly even 7. I've totally lost count. Anyway, none of them were particularly mild, and one had him so obviously miserably congested that all the other mamas at Audrey's "Preschool" (A.K.A. "Primary Pathogen Swapping Zone") gathered around to cluck sympathetically at him when we went to pick her up.
I know it could be worse. He could have been sicker even more often or more severely. But having a sick baby is just plain awful, even if it is theoretically toughening up his immune system and lowering his risk of allergies. One member or another of our family has been sick pretty much non-stop for months on end, which has left James and me perpetually tired and run-down.
Oh, summer! Oh, season of healthy children! Please hurry here!
The Pink and the Blue
"Do we need to get him a little basketball hoop?" my husband pondered?
"I think we do," I concurred.
We would have gotten one for her, too. I swear. If it had occurred to us. But it didn't cause…well. She's just not overly interested in the wide assortment of balls that we own. And she never stared longingly at the neighbor boy when he was playing basketball in his driveway. And after the neighbor boy went inside, she never walked over to the hoop and requested to be picked up so that she could just silently, reverently hold onto the net for a while.
I swear, it's not like we're pushing athletics on him because he's a boy. We couldn't care less about sports ourselves. You know what this is? It's proof that we truly believe in following our kids' interests. That we'll love them and support them no matter what. Even if it turns out that one of them is a jock.
Even Erring, He’s Entirely Endearing
Audrey was a challenging baby in many ways, but she has always been an extremely well-behaved child. As a baby and young toddler, many of her behaviors were trying, but she was never, ever naughty.
Example: When people in stores would smile at my shy baby and attempt to engage her, she would start sobbing uncontrollably. That was a really really hard behavior for me to deal with. But it wasn't misbehavior. It's not like she was breaking my, "You must not be overwhelmed by contact with strangers" rule. She was just at the stage of her life where strangers were overwhelming for her, and there was nothing to do but support and protect her as best as I could while I waited the two-and-a-half years that it took for that stage to pass.
Where we did have rules, Audrey was punctilious about following them. All we had to do was redirect her a few times, and she got the message. Outlets were not for touching, so she didn't touch them. Cords were not for pulling, so she didn't pull them. Lamps were not for yanking, so she didn't yank them. I remember reading in a parenting book that by one year, most babies "can understand ‘no' even if they don't obey it," and I was mystified as to how I would know whether or not my baby understood the word "no."
Well, parenting mystery solved! Elliot knows that cords aren't for pulling on, no doubt about that. But he can't decide what's more fun about cord pulling, the actual act of pulling itself, or the chance to listen to Mommy with all of her craaaaazy, hilaaaaaarious "no, no, no's."
Oh, the crooked smile my little one smiles when naughtiness is afoot. The impish twinkle he gets in his eye. He and I were in the kitchen today, and when I gave him an opportunity for mischief by turning away to toss a spoon in the sink, he grabbed opportunity by the horns. Two unsupervised nanoseconds was all it took for him to scamper from kitchen to living room. When I looked over, there he was by the lamp, beaming at me in pure delight. Like, "Mama! I'm here! I'm about to try yanking this lamp down! C'mon!! C'mon!! Come stop me, Mama!!!!!"
The Discerning Palate
Baby Audrey was marvelously uninterested in putting things in her mouth, so I had no concerns about letting her play with small objects, even as a fairly young toddler.
On the other hand, as a little baby, Elliot put just about everything in his mouth. Like, even diaper changing time was a blast for him, because it was an opportunity to grab and suck on the ends of his onesie. I figured I'd have to be monitoring him carefully around chokeable items for a long time to come.
But to my great relief, he pretty much seems to have outgrown his mouthy phase. If he and Audrey and I are hanging out outside, he can play with dirt and flower buds for an hour before it occurs to him to try sampling a rock.
There is still one household item that tempts him, though. The other day, Audrey and Elliot were having fun playing with scraps of paper from our shredding pile, and Audrey was pretending to eat them like a little baby. "Not for eating," I pretended to scold her.
The words "not for eating" triggered a connection in Elliot's brain. "Wait," he thought. "If mommy is saying ‘not for eating' then this thing in my hand must be a highly desirable delicacy." He quickly brought the scrap of paper up to his mouth. But instead of mouthing it, he merely stared at it. Then he brought it back down in his lap, mystified. Why on earth would I want to eat this, he wondered? This isn't toilet paper.
Belated, Again
A fun new set of fun winter illnesses. A dead computer. A trip to Tahoe. And hence yet again the blog went un-updated for far longer than I wished….
Unmapped Territory
The last month and a half have been kind of hectic and stressful for me. Elliot has been such a wobbly walker that I feel like I've done nothing but follow around at his heels with my arms held out in catching position. It was a huge, huge relief earlier this week when he not only achieved a reasonable degree of stability, but also figured out how to bend and fall onto his padded little tush when he loses his balance instead of stiffening and toppling over backwards a zillion times a day. Hooray!
I had a whole day to rejoice at the fact that I could safely keep an eye on my son from a distance of a few feet instead of a few inches. A nice little 24 hour break. Then Elliot figured out how to lift himself up from sitting to standing.
Audrey must have figured out how to get from sitting to standing at some point, given that she is clearly capable of performing that feat. But it was not a milestone that has stuck in my memory. When Audrey figured out how to move from sitting on the floor to standing on two feet it was inconsequential, because there was no spot in the world more appealing to her than the one right next to me.
Not so my boy. When I sit him on the floor to wash my hands, he's halfway down the hall by the time I turn the tap on. When I set him down near the toaster by the sink, he's over visiting his sister at the table before I manage to get her bagel on a plate.
So I now face two tasks with Elliot that I never faced with my firstborn. One is to do some serious babyproofing. The other is to learn to relax and let him go.
Well-Mapped Territory
About eight months ago, I blogged about how Elliot's developmental milestones were just as exciting as Audrey's had been. I now have a confession to make. Actually, some things just aren't as exciting the second time around.
I wasn't lying when I raved about how my brilliant my two-month-old was based on the fact that he was spending a lot of time staring as his fists. Elliot's discovery of his hands was just as exciting for me as Audrey's discovery of her hands had been. But I think that is probably because it was one of my son's first major accomplishments. The first confirmation that his eyes and brain were in working order and developing on schedule.
Now, as he continues to develop on schedule….well. I still notice each and every new little accomplishment.
But when Audrey started pulling things out of drawers I pulled out the camera.
Elliot's been tossing laundry out of baskets and newspapers out of bins for more than a week, and I've yet to make a photographic record of the chaos. I didn't jot down the date when my second born started handing me things, though I breathlessly blogged about that milestone with Audrey. I'm not sure I even wrote down the date of his first experiment with clapping, and for that I really am a bit remiss.
My little one bravely perseveres with his developing in the face of this maternal neglect. He knows there's only one way to really get my attention. Today, he pulled a set of measuring cups out of the cupboard and proceeded to experiment with fitting the smaller cups into the bigger cups. "Nesting cups!" I exclaimed. "Hey, cool! Audrey never experimented with nesting cups as a baby!"
And Audrey never climbed as a baby or ran as baby. "So just you wait, mama," thinks the 10-month-old as he struggles to lift his leg high enough to climb in the bathtub and as he pounds down the hall at his maximum walking speed, clearly yearning to race just a little bit faster. "Just you wait."
Extreme Chutes and Ladders
"I want to play this game," she enthused.
I was the furthest thing from enthusiastic. But it felt like my response to her last 50 requests had been "We can do that when the baby takes his nap," or "We can do that when Daddy gets home." So instead of saying no, I answered with a warning.
"It will be really hard play with Elliot here. He'll try to grab everything."
"OK," she accepted, opening the box.
Sure enough, within about 30 seconds, Elliot had taken custody of the spinner. But somehow, instead of rendering the board game unplayable, his interference made it much more amusing. Audrey and I giggled wildly as we took turns trying to spin the baby-held dial. We spun horizontally, we spun vertically, we spun upside-down. We actually managed to get through a game and a half before our assistant decided to carry the equipment out of the room, and by that time we were pretty much ready to quit anyway.
Which indicates that I should probably be saying fewer "not nows" and more "let's give it a shots."
Be Grateful to Your Finicky Sister, Boy
Thanks to her, every time you open your mouth for another bite of lentils, your mother thinks she is witnessing a miracle.
I’m Not Having Much Success With My Propaganda
A: Elliot and I both love vegetables. Why do we love vegetables?
L: Because they taste good and they're good for you.
A: (Setting me straight.) Because we both love sweet things.
And I wonder, once the vegetable-loving little one is older and wiser and has been introduced to the wide world of sweet things, will the big one manage to teach him that vegetables are actually only worth eating when they are standing between you and your dessert?
Milestones, Of Sorts
A: "I want some yogurt."
L: "OK. Here. Elliot's done. You can finish his."
A: (Demonstrating her first ever use of sarcasm) Oh, thanks. (Then, displaying her deepest ever comprehension of the nature of communicable diseases) Gross! His Germs!
3/6/09
Actually, Most People Call it Kale
"I'm done with macaroni. I'm ready for my dessert-getter."
I Cannot Recommend Having a Four-Year-Old Highly Enough
"I'm going to go to my room and do something. I need privacy."
"What are you going to do?"
"When I emerge, you'll be able to figure it out."
A minute later she emerged. Wearing a different pair of pants.
You Know, She’s Really a Great Kid
A: I love Christmas.
J: What do you love about Christmas?
A: Grandma!
Public Service Announcement
So, my advice is not to cultivate a dried fruit habit in your children. Because if your children don't eat dried fruit on a daily basis, then they won't spend a lot of time with sugary sweet stuff stuck to their teeth. And if they're teeth are not constantly coated with sugary sweet stuff, hopefully the dentist won't find three cavities. And it the dentist doesn't find three cavities, then you won't have stress about whether or not to have the cavities filled under general anesthesia. And after you've decided that sparing your child permanent psychological damage is worth the low risks of anesthesia, you won't have to plunk down a $500 deposit to the anesthesiologist. And if you don't give the anesthesiologist his money, he won't do you the favor of knocking your child unconscious for you. And if your four-year-old doesn't get knocked unconscious, then she won't have to go through the process of waking up with a massive hang-over. Main Message: Even if the package says "100% Fruit" and "Organic," bear in mind that there may be a downside.
You Know, She’s Really a Great Kid
A: I'm hungry.
L: What are you hungry for?
A: Not something that will give me a fourth cavity, so not raisins….
I Guess I Would Have to Describe Her Sense of Humor as “Dark”
A: I know a really funny story about a penguin!
L: What's the story?
A: A penguin tried to climb up an ice hill, but instead it slid down into a into a seal's mouth.
L: Hmm. That's not a very happy ending for the penguin.
A: (Chirpily) But a happy ending for the seal!
Ups and Downs
Elliot is back on strike when it comes to going pee in his potty. His elimination patterns currently have me completely flummoxed. It used to be he would pee every 40 minutes or so, so I'd try to get him on the potty every 35 minutes and he'd usually be happy to pee for me. Now his schedule is completely irregular. Sometimes he goes an hour and a half between pees. Sometimes he pees every 10 minutes. I never know when he has to go. He's certainly not giving me any verbal signals like he used to. But really, it doesn't matter whether I know or not, because even when I put him on the potty at the right time, he doesn't want to go. So I'm not trying very hard at all to catch his pees these days. I'm mostly just letting him go in his diaper or undies.
But all is not lost. Because while Elliot no longer wants to pee on the potty, he's perfectly willing to poop there. And now that his poops are a little more solid (and therefore slow to exit), I'm having fantastic luck getting him to his potty on time. In the last few weeks, I've only had to change about four poopy diapers. One day he pooped on his potty three times. It is so much easier to clean Elliot after he poops on his potty than it is to clean him after he poops in a diaper! It is so much easier to rinse out a potty than it is to rinse out a diaper! I'll take poop success over pee success any day.
Yin and Yang
I started taking Audrey to Music Together classes when she was 15 months old, and we continued until she was three. At that point she seemed kind of bored of the music classes, so she basically graduated into nursery school.
But recently Audrey has been expressing interest in Music Together again, so when I read about a free Music Together trial class, I decided to take the kids together and see if they enjoyed it.
Audrey and Elliot both had a nice time, so I'll probably sign up for the class. But the most striking thing about the our Music Together adventure was how different an experience it was with Baby Elliot than it used to be with Baby Audrey. Where Audrey used to sit demurely on my lap, he was on the go, dragging me all over the classroom to explore. Where she was terrified of strangers, he was rushing around to befriend his teacher and classmates. Where she stuck to me like glue, he was deliriously happy playing by himself in a pile of scarves while Audrey and I danced around the room.
And I wondered, as I've wondered many times before, if my children's personalities could possibly be more different. So different and, honestly, so equally wonderful.
Stop Us Before We Bribe Again!
Our strategy of having Audrey eat vegetables in order to earn dessert continues to work splendidly. This week she's been consuming peas, spinach, and kale and she's been rewarded with mango ice cream. So long as we offer her a changing variety of sweets, she continues to shovel in the veggies. Whereas I used to feel a little uncomfortable with this bargain, I have now made peace with it. I figure I often reward myself with decadent treats after eating a sensible meal. So I'm teaching Audrey that that's an OK thing to do. And with a little luck she'll eventually become truly fond of veggies.
In fact, now that we've started using bribery to elicit desired behaviors from our daughter, we can't quite seem to stop. Trying to get Audrey to dress and undress herself used to be an exercise in frustration every morning and evening. She had no interest in handling the tasks independently and refused to even try, so we were in a rut of twice daily tears, frustration, and annoyance.
Then Daddy made her a chart with seven boxes, a picture of one of her beloved penguins, and the words "Monterey Bay Aquarium." "If you dress and undress yourself without whining or crying for seven days," he promised, "we'll go to the Aquarium." With a goal to aim for, she was a brand new girl. She began working to tug her shirts and pants and undies into place instead of stopping helplessly at the first sign of difficulty. She struggled mightily to keep her feelings in check when frustration threatened to well up into tears. Nine days later, she checked off the last box and earned her trip. We spent a marvelous day with the fish. (May I recommend visiting the Aquarium on a Tuesday in January? We practically had the place to ourselves.) Even more wonderfully, she now pulls her own clothes on and off expertly and without complaint.
Except for her socks. She's still flummoxed by socks. But no worries. We've signed up for a Monterey Bay Aquarium membership. She's put her own socks on without whining or crying four times now. So I imagine she'll be earning another trip sometime next week.
Lunch At the Indian Buffet
"What's this?" she asked, pointing at the menu in the Plexiglas frame.
"It's a list of the drinks that they have," he explained.
"What do they have?"
"Milk," he informed her, pointing at the first item listed.
"I want one of these," she ignored him, pointing to an item in the middle of the page.
And because she is entirely too knowledgeable about the types of drinks available at Indian restaurants and about how to read, we ordered her a mango lassi.
Family Planning
Two children is a really wonderful number of children. But once in a while my hormones start talking, and I mention to James what a nice number of children three might be.
James' strategy for dealing with my insanity is to predict that our third child would be grouchy, homely, dim-witted twin boys.
Last week, Elliot was desperate to walk under our kitchen table. The problem with his plan was that there is a wood panel running under the table, so every attempt that he made resulted in a sharp jolt to his forehead. As I comforted my child and kissed his sore noggin for the seventh time in five days, I gave James some bad news. "I'm getting the feeling that your son is a slow learner."
"The twins," James gravely intoned, "would be even dumber."
Baby’s First Processed Food!
This here? This is a picture of Audrey the first time she had O's. Notice that the moment was carefully monitored by both parents and lovingly recorded.
And in this spot, I'll have ask you to imagine a photo of Elliot having his first O cereal.
While Audrey received her first O's after careful parental deliberation, Elliot received his first O's as a result of maternal desperation. Audrey was hungry. I was hungry. I needed two hands to prepare lunch. So I plopped the baby down in his high chair and tossed some O's on the tray to keep him busy. "These are for eating, honey. Have fun trying to figure out how to get them in your mouth." Then I crossed over to the other side of the kitchen and started pulling food out of the fridge, glancing over occasionally to see if the baby was having any luck with his first finger food. I am pretty sure that I witnessed (from a distance) the moment when he first succeeded in getting one into his mouth. But I'm not positive.
Ahhh. The life of a second child. The lucky second child. How wonderful for him that his mother has no time to hand feed him. That she pulls carrots, celery, potatoes, peas and chickpeas out of her soup, tosses them on his tray, and lets him fend for himself. How wonderful for him that his mother lets him pick up dangerous little objects from the floor, supervising him carefully, but not stopping him from developing his fine motor skills. How much earlier he'll feel competent and confident of his ability to handle life's daily tasks.
Seeking a Mother-Son Twelve-Step Program
"My name is Lisa, and I am addicted to O's. Whenever I need both of my hands free to get something done, I set my son in his high-chair and put a handful of them in his tray."
"My name is Elliot, and I am addicted to O's. Whenever I get into the car, I reach over and attempt to gather up some of the stale O's that have accumulated in the bottom of my sister's car seat."
To Kinder or Not to Kinder
A couple of weeks ago, I was marveling at how much more older and more mature Audrey seems now than she did when Elliot was born. Then I realized that she is a whole nine months older now than she was back then. So, duh. Of course she's older and more mature. A six-month-old is entirely different than a 12-month-old. A 12-month-old is entirely different than an 18-month-old. And a 3 ¾ year old is pretty darn different than an almost 4 ½ year old.
That's the view I'm taking as I ponder whether to enroll her into kindergarten next fall. For about a year now, those of us whose kids have summer and fall birthdays have been polling each other. "Enrolling or Waiting?" "Enrolling or Waiting?" "Enrolling or Waiting?"
There's a big push, these days, to postpone kindergarten for kids who will be newly minted five-year-olds (or still four) when the new school year starts. Kindergarten is many hours longer and much more academically oriented today than it was 30 years ago, and teachers find that many young fives struggle.
I've been mulling over the pros and cons of starting Audrey in kindergarten as a fairly young five-year-old. Academically, I know that she's ready. But at this point she doesn't have the maturity she'd need for kindergarten. Independence has never been a strength of hers. As an example, at this point in her life, there's no way that she would tell her teacher that she needed to pee, leave her classroom and go down the hall to the bathroom, and use the toilet independently. Such initiative is far beyond her current capabilities.
But kindergarten starts eight months from now. So I'm planning to keep my options open. We've taken care of her pre-kindergarten immunizations and TB test. We're touring kindergartens. We're working to get her a spot in a parent-participation charter school. And then we're going to wait and see.
I think that by the time next August rolls around, my daughter will be ready to start elementary school. But if she's not, we'll just sign her up for one more year at the preschool that we love.
Good Thing He’s Still 90th Percentile in Height
Elliot has had his little heart set on walking since he was about four months old. You could practically see little wheels turning in his brain as he watched his big sister strutting around on two legs. "I can do that! I want to do that!" He has been working towards his goal with incredible focus and determination for the last five months, forsaking many other physical milestones (like crawling). On January 21, just a few days after turning nine months old, he let go of my hand and started toddling around on his own for the first time.
He doesn't yet walk by himself consistently. Some days he's hardly interested in letting go of my hand. Other days he bravely sets out on numerous solo jaunts…. He can go from living room to kitchen. He can go down the hall. He can even make an expert turn from the hall into a bedroom.
Unfortunately for me, one of the skills that Elliot bypassed in his haste to walk is the "protect head when falling" skill. Like, he hasn't figured out that if he's loosing his balance, he needs to let his nice padded tush be the first thing to hit the ground. Instead, when he looses his balance he stiffens. This is, quite possibly, the worst action he could take. I have explained to him many, many times if he would just bend (BEND!) then the back of his head wouldn't be the first thing to hit the ground. Thus far, he is better at walking than at listening to his mother, so I spend my days following him around, arms in catching position.
And, now that's he's kind of getting the walking thing down, he's also working on setting some new long-term-goals. The neighbor boy was out shooting hoops earlier this week and Elliot was watching, watching, watching. You could practically see the wheels in his head turning as the twelve-year-old dribbled and rebounded. "I can do that! I want to do that!"
The Cover-Up
I used to think it wasn't OK to lie to children. Then, I had kids and started lying.
It always seems justified. Like take the trail mix episode. Audrey asked me to read the ingredients on the package, so I told her all about the cranberries and the peanuts and the cashews and the pumpkin seeds and the sunflower seeds. If she'd known about the chocolate chips, she never would have been willing to eat any of the healthy stuff, so I lied in the interest of nutrition.
I was less certain about the righteousness of my lie the other night, when Audrey called me to come and look at a picture on the computer. "I'll be there in a minute," I informed her. "I'm tidying the kitchen." Actually, I was supervising her little brother as he toddled in the kitchen, standing guard against yet another head-meets-floor episode. Is it OK to lie in an effort to reduce sibling rivalry?
The lie that I never expected to regret, though, is the lie that EVERYONE told us we had to tell. "Give her a present ‘from the baby' as soon as he's born" they urged. "It will ease her transition into big sisterhood and make her feel warm feelings towards her brother," they explained.
Hmph. "How did Elliot give me a Fed-Ex truck when he was just born?" she pondered last week. "He was too little. All he did was cry."
As so often happens when one starts down the path of deception, James had to scramble for a second lie to cover up the first. "Elliot sent an email from inside Mommy's tummy to tell us what to give you."
Audrey gave her father a look of great skepticism. We held our breaths. We knew that we were caught. We braced ourselves in preparation for being called out.
Audrey thought, and thought, and thought, and reached the only possible logical conclusion about the origins of the toy Fed Ex truck. "I think Elliot spit it up out of his mouth."
The Scent of Sugar and Spice
"I can't get Bitty to go to sleep," she sighs.
"Oh?" I murmur sympathetically.
"She has her blanket. She has her bear. She has her rattle. She has her hat…"
"Hmm," I commiserate. "And she still won't sleep?"
"I'm going to give her her book," she perseveres.
Then, suddenly, it hits me.
MY DAUGHTER IS PLAYING WITH A DOLL.
A Doll! A doll that has been sitting forlornly on the shelf for years! It's getting some love!
I observe the seen scene with full attention now, bemused at the sight of Audrey being all girly.
Ahhh, girly stuff. It would be OK if Audrey joined the princess brigade at school. I'd support her if she donned lacy, flouncy dress-up gowns and held court with a troupe of fellow double-X chromosomes.
But when it came time to choose instruments in sixth grade band class, I selected a brassy trumpet even though all the other girls were picking out dainty flutes or clarinets. So honestly, I love the fact that Audrey spent zero time parading around in dress-up clothes last week at school, but lots and lots and lots of time investigating an octopus. Even if it means she came home smelling like a dead fish.
Belatedly
First came the pre-Christmas family vomiting. Then the frenzied Christmas preparations and travel. Then the post-Christmas family cold. And finally, finally, with most of the snot drying up and a reasonable amount of sleep under her belt, she sits down at the computer to blog about life since December 15th. She does so somewhat guiltily. "The bathroom is gross," she thinks. "Perhaps my kid-free time would be better spent cleaning." But nevertheless, she writes.
Toyland
When I was a kid, Christmas was magical. I loved all of our traditions. Cutting down a tree, decorating the house, baking gingerbread men. But the very best part of all of the wonderfulness came Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. That's when we got to open presents.
One of my goals as a parent is to create traditions for my children that are as magical as the traditions that my parents created for me. So we trek out to the Santa Cruz mountains for a tree. We experiment with gluten-free gingerbread cookies. (Quite tasty!) We sing carols and make the house festive.
I think we're doing an OK job with this tradition business. Audrey loves all things Christmas.
With one notable exception. Last year, the girl insisted that the only thing she wanted for Christmas was a violin. We figured that when the big night and day arrived she would delight in opening not just her violin, but all the other goodies lovingly purchased for her. Instead, she slept right through our Christmas Eve present-fest, and flat out refused to open a single gift on Christmas Day. Nor was she particularly interested in any presents other than her violin after James and I opened them for her.
But last year she was three. By four, surely, the present-aspect of Christmas would have more allure?
Well... This year, Audrey requested the book "Antarctic Antics" for Christmas. It's a book of penguin poems that we'd checked out from the library, and our penguin-loving darling dearly wanted her own copy. When we suggested that she could request more than one present, she once again declined.
When Christmas Eve rolled around, I used to beg the adults to finish eating so that we could get to the present opening. This year, Audrey begged for her pajamas and her bedtime stories. And not only did she turn in uncharacteristically early and miss out on all of the evening's festivities, but she persuaded her brother go to bed early, too.
Once Christmas Day rolled around, we were able to convince the child to open some presents. And she opened more of her presents the following day. And she finished opening her presents the day after that. When the presents were open, she played politely with her new toys.
But it's definitely not receiving presents that brings her delight.
Audrey's delight stems from helping Daddy and Aunt Julie wrap the presents and put them under the tree. From pretending to be Rudolph. From helping Grandma make pancakes. From assisting Aunt Julie with her poker strategy.
In fact yesterday, as Audrey evaluated her Christmas 2008 experience, she made a resolution about Christmas 2009. A resolution that left me marveling about how wise a four-year-old person can be. "Next year, I just want one present."
On Strike!
It hasn't been a great week for pottying. According my EC resource book (Infant Potty Training by Laurie Boucke) babies sometimes lose interest in pottying due to travel or illness, and when their focus is on achieving new developmental milestones. Elliot just got back from Grandpa and Grandma's house, has a bad cold, and is redoubling his efforts to learn how to walk. So perhaps not surprisingly, he's been refusing to pee in the potty, even when he clearly has to go.
As a result, I've backed off quite a bit from my ECing efforts. I still put him on his potty a few times a day to see if he's interested, but for the most part I'm just letting him go in his diaper.
I'm hopeful that he'll be ready to potty again soon. We've resettled at home and his cold is much improved. But maybe he's still too excited about this walking thing. He's started occasionally letting go of a parental hand and trying to take solo steps. So I suppose that, tantalized as he is by independent mobility, the thought of sitting still on the little potty may hold little allure.
EC Update 1/14
Now that Elliot's feeling better, he's agreeable to using the potty again. Hooray! The past couple of days, I've actually been putting the little guy in thick training underwear rather than diapers. He's not really underwear-ready—I end up changing wet undies throughout the day. But he hates being pinned down on his back for diaper changes so much, that I was desperate to get him into clothing that I can put on and take off while he's standing. I fully anticipate that I will regret my underwear decision as soon as I miss a B.M. and end up having to clean up a huge mess. But yesterday I managed to catch both of his B.M.'s on the potty, so I'm currently incredibly cocky.
Expectations
Audrey, James, and I were happy to get home, of course. No matter how wonderful the trip, there's nothing quite like the pleasure of sleeping in your own bed. But for the baby, being home was electrifying. As he raced from room to room, he kept squealing with fresh delight. "These magnets! I remember these magnet! I LOVE pulling these magnets off the fridge!" "This toilet paper! I remember this toilet paper! I LOVE yanking this toilet paper off the roll and tearing it into bits!"
I suppose that he, alone of the four of us, had been unaware that our relocation to Grandma and Grandpa's house was temporary. And so for him, our homecoming was immensely more sweet.
We Are Unlikely to Pull This One Off
"I'd like to have my next birthday party in Antarctica."
Logic Takes a Vacation
They traipsed into the door after a grocery expedition, and while James toted bags to the kitchen and Audrey removed her shoes, I unstrapped the baby from his seat and settled him in my lap to nurse. He kicked in delight to see me. But instead of nursing he turned away, wiggling his intent to get down and explore the living room.
Another time, my milk alone wasn't enough for him, and he yowled in hunger until he got butternut squash.
Many many times, he gets so engrossed with an empty box or a glob of rice the floor that he only occasionally remembers to glance up and make sure that I'm still around.
I try to my best to remember how it felt…
When my little girl needed to nurse and reconnect if we were separated by so much as the length of the kitchen…
When she was nursing so much at one year that she wouldn't have noticed if we'd stopped giving her solid food altogether…
When she had no interest in playing independently until three-and-a-half.
I try to remember how it felt exhausting. How it felt exhausting and draining and stifling.
I try to remember to rejoice. But instead, when my little boy's need for me is less than constant, a tiny spark of sorrow shimmers through my heart.
Mama’s Boy
I know that I've passed on my dreadful sleep genes to the girl. When baby Audrey used to be wide awake until midnight or 1 a.m.? That was all thanks to mama night-owl. When four-year-old Audrey squirms restlessly around in bed and asks me for tips on how I used to manage to fall asleep when I was four? I have no particularly useful tips to offer, because falling asleep has always been tricky for me, too.
But since the boy falls asleep fairly easily and well before midnight, I always figured that he'd inherited the fantastic genes that let James fall asleep easily at any hour.
It now turns out that mama's genes may be influencing Elliot's sleep patterns after all. At just eight-and-a-half months, he's already transitioning down to just one nap per day. (Some one-nap days, some two-nap days.) Eight-and-a-half months is insanely early to be taking just one nap a day! Audrey didn't start transitioning down to a one-nap schedule until she was a year old. So maybe the boy won't outgrow daytime snoozing at 24 months like his sister did. Maybe he'll give them up before two, like his mama!
Not Mama’s Girl
"We should try that!" she exclaimed as we watched the commercial. She'd been silent as the images of salads and pasta dishes flashed by. But by golly, she wanted the steak.
It seems the girl is tired of chowing down heartily on poultry and fish. Now she's angling for red meat.
The Importance of Logging Off
The Mystery Arises at a Baby Shower
Friend: "What was that picture that you sent me?"
Me: "Picture?"
Friend: "Yeah, was that your dad with Elliot?"
Me: "I don't think I sent you a picture….It was a man with Elliot?"
Friend: "Yeah. A man with a beard."
Me: "That sounds like my dad."
The Culprit is Later Apprehended
Audrey: "I sent that picture from Picasa. There's a button down at the bottom of the screen that says "Email."
To date Audrey has emailed random pictures and messages to three of my friends, and has tried to invite one stranger to be my friend on Facebook. Which brings to mind another career possibility for my daughter: Hacker.
Justification
I was thinking we'd have the pumpkin muffins for dessert. But Daddy was a little late getting home. And they still warm. So I couldn't deny her the pleasure of eating one fresh out of the oven.
And I was thinking she could just have one, so that she wouldn't ruin her dinner. But Daddy wasn't home by the time she asked for a second. And they were still so warm and tasty. So I said yes again.
She was on her fifth by the time that Daddy finally stepped through the door. So I explained my reasoning. "They're made with brown rice flour."
"Does that count as brown rice?"
"Why not? It's just ground up brown rice. And they also have eggs. And pumpkin."
"You're making them sound so healthy."
"They have a lot of redeeming features," I continued. "They have molasses, which is an excellent source of iron."
And at that point, the little girl pointed out that I was leaving out the most redeeming feature of all. "Aaaaaaand they have sugar!"
Tolerance May Develop
Yes, it's probably the most widespread form of parental bribery out there: "Eat your vegetables or no dessert!"
But for the longest time, James and I resisted it. Actually, we resisted dessert entirely. I mean, it's not like we denied her cake at birthday parties or anything. But our little lightweight Audrey consumed so few calories to begin with, we just couldn't justify having her eat empty ones on a regular basis.
And besides, we didn't want her to eat vegetables under duress. We wanted her to eat them because they're tasty! And, and…and virtuous!
A few weeks ago we evaluated our food philosophy and determined that our lofty ideals were leading to the consumption of approximately no vegetables on our daughter's part.
So we figured, what the heck. Time to give bribery a shot.
I cannot tell you how well it was working the first week or so. With the promise of a couple squares of a chocolate bar dangled under her nose she was chowing down on broccoli! On green beans! On spinach leaves!
But gradually, the magic faded. "If you eat some carrots you can have chocolate for dessert!" daddy promised. And daughter, after carefully assessing the proffered items, determined that the candy was not worth the carrots. "I'll save them for tomorrow."
Nor did chocolate squares work the next night. Nor the night after that. Nope. It was a full-fledged vegetable strike.
So management was forced back to the bargaining table.
"She's eating broccoli!" I exclaimed upon entering the kitchen. "Yes," explained James. "I've promised her chocolate cake."
First Word?!
I think that, at the tender age of not-quite-eight-months, Elliot may have started using his first word.
As I blogged a few weeks ago, I've been experimenting with "Elimination Communication." EC is a process of paying close attention to your baby's elimination timing and signals, and trying to help them go on a potty instead of in their diapers. When I initially read about EC, I wasn't sure if I wanted to put much effort into it beyond having Elliot do his morning poop on a potty. Babies pee very frequently (sometimes as often as every 15 minutes), so trying to "catch" all of his pees sounded like it might be a huge amount of work.
But EC was intriguing to me, so I decided to give it a shot for a few days. The first step was to keep Elliot in a cotton diaper with no cover at home. Before I started EC, I always had Elliot in a cotton diaper and a waterproof diaper cover. I never knew exactly when he went, so my rule of thumb was to change him hourly.
Without the cover not only do I now know immediately when he goes, but I have a much clearer understanding of Elliot's typical elimination patterns. This has been a revelation for me. For example, I now know that Elliot often needs to pee about five minutes after nursing.
A few days ago, my drowsy Elliot had a big feeding, but instead of falling asleep, he got squirmy. In my pre-EC days, I would have focused on his tiredness and ignored his squirminess. I would have started walking and singing him to sleep. He would have peed in his diaper and taken a soggy nap.
Thanks to EC, I knew exactly what he needed. I whipped off his diaper and sat him on the potty. After he peed, I rediapered him and nursed him to sleep. An hour later he woke up dry and comfy. Then I whipped off his diaper again, and he happily took a post-nap pee. Cut to the shot of the beautiful rainbow and cue the triumphant music.
It's not usually so perfect. I'm forever sticking the poor kid on the pot when he doesn't need to go, and he's still wetting a zillion diapers a day. But I think he loves the new system. Loves, in particular, how he no longer has to hang out with his pants soaked for an hour or more at a time. Cause on several occasions over the last couple of days, as soon as his diaper is wet, he lets me know. Not with a cry. Not with sign language. But with a charming little signal that involves a consonant and a vowel. "Pee!"
EC Update 12-16
Major Breakthrough!!! Today, Elliot said "pee" before he needed to go once! So I hurried him to his potty and he went! It was really exciting. Thanks to four successful potty trips, Elliot kept his diaper dry from when he woke up at 7:30 until 11:30. After that we didn't catch another pee for the rest of the day. But still, very, very cool.
EC Update 12-17
Fantastic Potty Day! More than 10 successful trips to the potty, and Elliot said "pee" when he needed to go a couple of times again! Elliot only wet about four or five diapers all day. This is so…fun! (That is not an adjective that ever crossed my mind when I was toilet training my three-year-old.)
My Secret Diet Plan
Without question, giving birth is the most empowering activity I have ever undertaken. Every obstacle that I have faced in my life since August 12th of 2004 and April 17th of 2008 has been measured up to my labor experiences and found lacking. And I hear exactly the same thing from every one of my friends who has desired and achieved an unmedicated birth. Unpleasant medical procedure to undergo? Pish. Hitting a wall while running a race? Bah.
"______________ is nothing!" thinks the warrior woman who has faced down the mighty dragon of labor and emerged victorious. "I *know* that I am more powerful than this."
Let me hasten to add that I cast no judgment on laboring mamas-to-be who seek relief from anesthesiologists and their miraculous pain-killing epidural needles. Having spent nearly 20 hours of my life in active labor, that is a decision that I understand 100%. But for me, it was really important to birth on my own terms, under my own power, without drugs. And if achieving that goal hadn't been such a hard thing to do, I'm sure that doing so wouldn't have had nearly so powerful and positive effect on my psyche.
And now this entry is about to get really gross.
Every obstacle that I had faced in my life since August 12th of 2004 and April 17th of 2008 had been measured up to my labor experiences and found lacking. Right up until Tuesday evening. That was the evening that James, Elliot, and I were downed by a stomach bug. A stomach bug that caused my body to urgently empty out my digestive track from both ends over the course of about nine hours.
As I lay in bed shivering from feverish chills, too weak to call out for another blanket. As I leaned over a bucket while on the toilet so that I could simultaneously retch and empty my bowels. As I brought my sick baby to the breast, in agony as his body pressed against my roiling abdomen, three words continually passed through my mind. Worse…Than….Labor.
It could have been worse still. James could have started his vomiting before I had recovered sufficiently to take over Elliot's care. Audrey could have been sick instead of sleeping peacefully most of the night. (She had started off the puking party on Monday, and was fine by Tuesday night.) My in-laws might not have been available to come over on Wednesday afternoon so that James and I could sleep and recuperate.
Still. It was bad, bad, bad. A speedy and effective method of taking off those last pesky pregnancy pounds, yes. But not a method I can in any way recommend.
There’s a Good Time for Mythology
"Why is the sky orange at sunset?" she asked as we drove through the twilight.
"Um." Damn. I never fully understood that refraction stuff. So I punted. "Why is it orange, hon?"
But before James had time to gather his thoughts about the light spectrum, Audrey devised her own answer. An answer that we all agreed was perfect.
"Maybe there's a chameleon up there."
And There’s a Good Time For Science.
"Why is it dark outside, Mommy," she asked as I lay next to her at bedtime.
"Because it's nighttime."
"Why is it nighttime already?"
"Because it's fall. Days are short in fall and winter. In spring and summer, days are longer."
"Why are days short in fall and winter?"
"Because of the way the earth is tipped on it's axis."
(Long pause). "Let's go to sleep, Mommy."
"OK, honey."
Schooled
As I was nursing Elliot on the bed, the almost-two-year-old that I baby-sit decided her doll was hungry, too. A bunch of doll accessories were lying on the comforter, so I absent-mindedly asked a question about one of them. "Are you going to give the doll her bottle?" Little J gave me a look that I think can best be described as "withering." Then she came to sit down next to me, lifted her shirt, and quite pointedly began to nurse the doll.
In the aftermath of my error, I am half expecting stern-looking La Leche League officials to arrive at my door and demand that I hand over my membership card. I'm hoping that they will relent and let me keep it if I promise never again to forget that breast is best.
Happy Gluten-Free Vegetarian Thanksgiving!
No, no. We had a turkey. And my brother and sister-in-law brought over a tried-and-true wheat stuffing in case our experimental cornbread one was unpalatable.
It's true we very nearly didn't have gravy, but James pulled one together at the last minute. (The danger in having the vegetarian plan your Thanksgiving menu is that meaty details like gravy are apt to slip her mind.)
As it turned out, the cornbread stuffing wasn't the least bit unpalatable. And the quinoa-corn muffins and rice-sorghum pumpkin pie crust were equally delish. I should know. I ate the rest of the family under the table, consuming three heaping platefuls of our Thanksgiving feast.
See, my baby has nursed me back into my pre-pregnancy jeans, and now that my pregnancy pounds are mostly burned off, my lactating body demands food constantly. I love breastfeeding anyway, but being able to eat like a horse while losing weight? There's reason to love it just a little bit more.
From the Mouths of Babes
"Look what's here, Mommy."
"Hmm. Christmas trees and a Santa, huh?"
"Silly magazine."
"Why is the magazine silly?"
"It's not Christmas! It's Thanksgiving!"
Our Little Mercenary
"Daddy, I want to go to work with you now and work because I want money."
Yes! Another Blog About Poop!
We're potty training the baby! Kind of.
Elliot pretty consistently starts off the morning with a hearty B.M., so for quite a while now I'd been thinking I should try catching that first poop of the day on a potty rather than having him do his business in his diaper. Last week I finally put my grand plan into action, and it's working pretty darned well. The little guy has pooped and/or peed on the potty every morning this week.
This is exciting for a couple of reasons. First, it's considerably easier to rinse poop out of the potty than it is to rinse it out of Elliot's cloth diapers, so catching his first B.M. on the potty saves me time. And second, I'm very pleased to be teaching Elliot early on that potties are great places to void his system. Later, hopefully, transitioning him from diaper to potty full-time won't seem like a big deal to him since he'll already have plenty of potty experience.
I've been considering experimenting further with pottying Elliot during the daytime. The "Elimination Communication" movement is gaining in popularity, and proponents promote watching closely for your infant's elimination signals, and trying to get them to go on the potty whenever possible. "EC" folks point out that that is how potty training is done in most of the world. In our culture, they argue, we initially train our babies to do their business in a diaper, and then later it can be an excruciating process when we retrain them to use a toilet.
So I've been reading up on EC. And I've been discussing my ideas about expanding my ECing efforts with my husband. My long-suffering husband. First he came on board when I explained that I wanted to birth our baby in the living room, and now he looks only mildly panicked when I explain that I may keep try keeping the baby diaperless around the house from time to time. Gotta love a guy who could love a nut-job like me.
Buy A Vowel, Borrow a Consonant
Audrey has figured out how to write her own name. But she's not content merely to write her own name. Nay. She has set out to improve upon it, with a little help from a friend of hers.
"Look Mommy!"
"Wow, Honey! You wrote your name! That looks great!"
"How did I spell it?"
"Um. A-H-D-R-E-Y. "Why do you have an H in there?"
"I got the H from Henry. I gave him my U. How do you pronounce my name with an H in it?"
"Um….AH-drey, I guess."
Every time we meet a stranger now, Audrey is anxious to make the introductions. "I'm AH-drey. And my brother is Emma."
At which point I smile broadly and explain that I'm the gluten-free vegetarian home-birthing type, so naturally I named my kids funny.
Guys and Dolls
A "gender issues" analysis:
James hooks pink bibs around the baby's neck without a second thought, but cringes when his son plays with dolls.
I hand the boy his dolls with no qualms whatsoever, but avoid the pink bibs unless they are absolutely the only ones left.
Audrey refers to her little brother as "Emma."
Halloween Penguins
For a long while, Audrey wanted to be a (male) mallard duck for Halloween, and she wanted her little brother to be a ghost. This worried the crafty costume guy in our family. (That would be James.) He was overwhelmed by the idea of piecing together a multicolored mallard costume, and he couldn't figure out how he could put together a white, hooded costume for the baby that sent the message "ghost" as opposed to "klansman."
At the last minute, to his great relief, he managed to convince Audrey that she and her brother should be penguins. And then he threw together highly adorable costumes—one for a little girl penguin, and one for a newly hatched penguin chick.
Audrey loved her costume. But, to her parents disappointment, she was not as enthralled with Halloween this year as she had been the past couple of years. She wasn't over the moon with excitement when we pulled out the Halloween decorations. She wasn't enchanted by the idea of roaming the neighborhood to see the neighbors' decorations.
This year, she merely enjoyed the festivities. And because some of the magic of Halloween had faded for her, some of it faded for us, too. But from the way Elliot kick, kick, kicked in delight during our four-house trick-or-treating spree, I'm hoping that maybe by next year, we'll have another little Halloween-lover to delight in.
My Life As a Bad Sitcom
Cloudy Monday: "When is it going to rain?" "Maybe tomorrow."
Cloudy Tuesday: "When is it going to rain?" "Maybe tomorrow."
Cloudy Wednesday: "When is it going to rain?" "Maybe tomorrow."
Rainy Thursday: "When is it going to stop raining?"
Grammar Lover’s Edition, Elliot Version!
Yeah, it's a bit of a stretch to apply the word "grammar" to the language skills of a six-month-old. But it is really fun to see how much he's figured out about language after six months of careful analysis.
Elliot is doing a little babbling now. Mostly he loves to play around with the mamamama sound. Such a bright boy to figure out that he should start with mamamama instead of dadadada. One morning he was mamama-ing through a diaper change. He paused for a moment, and I leaned over to meet his eyes. " Can you say mama again?" He threw me a huge grin and started mama-ing again.
I'm not fantasizing that he vocalized the "mama-Mama" connection at six months. But I am pretty sure that he was delighted to hear me making the same sound that he had been making. And that was plenty to give my heart a thrill.
I am suspecting that the little guy recognizes at least one word in the English language.
And that word is…Well, it's "poop." See, every morning, he starts off his day with a B.M. And every morning I ask, "Did you just poop?" And lately, every time I ask, a wide grin spreads across his face. A grin that seems to say, "Yep. Sure did, mama."
In addition to playing with mamamama, Elliot is playing with nehnehnehneh sounds. He seems to use this sound mostly when protesting. ("Nehnehneh!"= "Hey, I was eating that hanger! Give it back! Give it back!") I remember being struck by the fact that Audrey would protest by using the "neh" sound long before learning to talk. All of the languages I'm familiar with use an "n" sound in their "no" word. ("No"-English, Spanish. "Nie"-Polish. "Ani"-Korean.) So I wonder if the "n"-"no" connection in many languages is more inborn than coincidence.
The other day, Elliot was hanging out with me and Audrey while I read her some bedtime stories. One of our books was a bilingual Mexican story about rabbit and a coyote. As a savvy language analyzer, Elliot has definitely figured out that English is his mother-tongue. Because every time his mother used a different tongue ("Conejo malvado!") he dissolved into giggles. "You're killing me, mama! Do that crazy talk thing again! Again!"
Ahhh….So many mysteries of language await you, little cutie. Mama can't wait to watch you figure them out!
Grammar Lover’s Edition, Audrey Version!
It's been a while since my last Grammar Lover's entry. And that's because my daughter can throw out sentences 10 times more complex than anything I've ever attempted to teach in my most advanced ESL classes. Stuff like, "What did she do that made you think she was pretty?" The tenses! The embedded clauses! That girl knows some English, and flawless English is not interesting for me to write about.
But I have noticed a few noteworthy things recently. First, somewhat to my disappointment, Audrey is becoming more adept at describing time. I used to love it when "next year" was her way of saying, "sometime in the future" and "last year" was her way of saying, "sometime in the past." It was so cute when she once asked me to put raspberries in the fridge to save them for "next year."
But alas, she's now using more specific and accurate time words like "tomorrow" and "yesterday." Boooooring. The clearest indication that she is putting thought into how she describes time came when she self-corrected the other day. "I would like an orange just like we were having last year. No. Just like we were having earlier today."
Luckily, there's still some vocabulary around to trip her up. The child has settled upon a favorite conjunction, and for no apparent reason, that favorite conjunction is "plus." She uses it everywhere, like when she's trying to put a doll's sock on her brother's foot. "How can I put this on plus his foot is too big?" The fact that other people hardly ever use the word "plus," and the fact that "plus" and "since" are not synonyms doesn't worry her at all.
On several family outings recently, James and Elliot have ended up walking some distance ahead of Audrey and me. When Daddy gets too far away from us, Audrey warns him, "Keep up, Daddy! Keep up!" "What does ‘keep up' mean," her father asks her. "It means ‘stay really close'" she solemnly explains.
In the "Wacky English" file, I must say it never occurred to me that "a few" and "quite a few" are antonyms until my daughter got confused about them. "There are quite a few bugs," I observed. "No," she corrected me. "There are a lot."
Audrey's knowledge of prepositions isn't yet quite perfect, "See you at twelve days."
Finally, and most excitingly to me, Audrey is really starting to pick up on the picky little nuanced stuff that you can do with language. Stuff like how to use -in' in place of -ing to subtly indicate that you're speaking informally. "The day is comin' to an end," she noted. And, being a grammar lover, I swooned.
Quite Illogically Keeping His Hoop Dreams Alive
We went in for Elliot's six-month checkup, and he is maintaining his lofty position on the charts. Above 90th percentile in height, a bit under 50th in weight. Which explains why it's already time to empty the overly snug 6-9 month clothing out of his drawers and break out our stash of 9-12 month hand-me-downs.
As I've mentioned, Audrey used to far more logically run 25th percentile in height and 10th in weight. Some pretty dramatic numbers, those--90Th vs. 25th and 50th vs. 10th. But interestingly, Elliot started off nearly two inches taller and two pounds heavier than his sister at birth, and basically, he's achieved his high percentiles by simply maintaining his head start. He's a touch more than two inches taller and two pounds heavier than his sister was as a six-month-old. So I dunno. It seems kind of impressive, but really he's just coasting.
Do You Hear What I Hear?
Last year, I taught Audrey a bunch of Christmas Carols, and she absolutely loved them. It was so cute listening to a little three-year-old belting out tongue-twisting lyrics like, "Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant…." It was so cute last December, anyway. And still reasonably cute last January, I suppose.
But by September I was significantly less enthusiastic about the fruit-eating partridge that she kept receiving from her true love.
Now it is October and my daughter's incessant caroling has finally, finally tapered off. And it's kind of nice singing about topics other than babies in mangers for a change.
Which leads me to a major dilemma. Do I reintroduce the carols come December and run the risk that I will be stuck with them for another 10 months?
Taking Matters Into Her Own Hands
We've probably been a little laxer than we could be about teaching Audrey the basic biographical information that she should know.
Not completely lax. She knows her full name and how to spell it. She knows her state and her city and her street. She knows our names. But we really haven't made an effort to teach her the important numbers in her life.
No matter. "I'm going to call home," she announced picking up my cell phone. And beep beep beep, beep beep beep beep, she nonchalantly plugged in our home number.
I gaped. "Where did you learn that??!!"
She just shrugged. You know. You watch, you listen, you learn things.
So I'm going to add CIA agent to my ever expanding list of her possible career options.
The Way to His Mother’s Heart Lies Through Consumption of Broccoli
We introduced Elliot to mashed bananas about a week before he hit the 6-month mark, and have followed up the bananas with sweet potatoes and brown rice cereal. Elliot seems pleased to be able to join in on the dinnertime action. He's affably accepted all of the foods we've given him, and isn't showing any strong preferences so far. This means that my "Elliot starts solids" photos aren't nearly as amusing as my "Audrey starts solids" photos.
I am crossing my fingers that the boy makes up for the lack of interesting photos at six months by being willing to consume a greater variety of foods at four years. Luckily for him, his sister has set the bar very low. Very, very low. Like, he could wow his folks by consuming pasta with marinara sauce. Because how cool would it be to have a kid who was willing to consume pasta with sauce on it!
Deep Breath, Daddy
Chalk up another entry under the theme of "parenting=personal growth." James has a low-tolerance for messes. And our six-month-old insists on feeding himself.
Elliot Does His Best Kim Jong-il Impersonation
Prematurely Cocky
"I can help you. I know everything about computers."
Bald and Beautiful?
I think most babies go through a hair grabbing phase. I know that Audrey went through one. Elliot is going through his now.
Elliot is taking the phase much more seriously than Audrey did, though. With Audrey, I got through it by wearing my hair in a ponytail. With Elliot, the ponytail is so worthless as a deterrent that I find myself fantasizing about how much easier life would be if I shaved my head.
Family Team Co-Captains
I kind of feel like our kids will be pleasant travel companions some day, and that's when we shoul d start traveling with them. Like right around when they graduate from college. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure that if I suggested it, James would love the idea of packing the kids onto an airplane and spending next weekend in the Galapagos Islands. Or on the Great Wall. Or at the Louvre.
Given our differing views on traveling, it would probably be hard to find room for compromise. Except that I know that he's more right than I am. Our kids should experience the world beyond San Jose, and taking them grocery shopping in Campbell doesn't count.
So when James recently fell in love with the idea that our visit to my parents' beautiful new home should include a side trip to San Diego I was less than enthusiastic. Six hours to Grandpa and Grandma's is one thing. But then an extra three hours of driving? With a baby?
Still, I knew that my animal-loving daughter should experience the most famous zoo in the country. And Sea World. So instead of saying the first thing that came into my mind when James suggested San Diego ("ARE YOU NUTS?!!?") I took a deep breath and said the second thing ("OK").
Our trip was not as idyllic as James imagined it would be. There were tears and fits and even a downpour. (In San Diego! In September!) But then again, it was not as arduous as I'd dreaded. Heck, pretty fun, even.
Though not so fun that I'll be mentioning the Louvre in my husband's presence any time soon.
Image Unavailable
We took our animal-loving Audrey to the San Diego Zoo. She had a lovely time, as she always does when we go to a zoo. And, as always, her reasons for enjoying the zoo were entirely unexpected.
During Audrey's very first trip to a zoo, she was in a one-year-old "baaaa" phase, so we were really excited to show her real sheep. Instead, her Santa Barbara Zoo highlights were the ducks and the waterfall in the boa constrictor's habitat.
Then there was the time I tried to get her to appreciate a loping lioness at the Oakland Zoo, but she was too busy admiring a pigeon.
Our San Diego Zoo experience was the most surprising yet. This time, my daughter barely even noticed any animals. What she did notice were the plentiful running streams. It turns out, if you drop leaves into these running streams, the current carries the leaves away. I know this to be true, because my daughter conducted exhaustive experiments with leaves and streams.
Oh, also. If you kick a berry down a gentle slope, it will roll on its own for quite a while. And then it will stop, and you can kick it again to watch it roll some more.
We did meander over to the panda exhibit, of course. But we don't have a picture of Audrey in front of the pandas, because she was too busy crouching down to study the interesting leaves and puddles on the concrete to stand and pose in front of the far less interesting animals. (Pandas have never been a particular favorite of hers.)
Actually, I think my favorite thing about our San Diego zoo trip is the fact that we don't have a picture of Audrey in front of the pandas. Because our kid loves *animals*, we drove hundreds of miles to take her to the most prestigious zoo in the country. And she was like, "Wow! This place is sooooo cool! What a fantastic opportunity for me to learn more about *motion*!"
And what a fantastic opportunity for her parents to stare at her bemusedly, sometimes coaxing her over to another animal exhibit, but mostly just hanging back and enjoying that thing that makes raising kids an endlessly fascinating experience. Kids and grownups, they think different.
Turns Out You Can Make That Horse Drink the Water
The award for "Audrey's Most Used Baby Shower Present" goes to Grandpa and Grandma, who bought her a 10-pack of Baby Einstein DVDs. She started watching those DVDs right after she hit 20 pounds and got to face forward in the minivan. And though it's been quite a while since she qualified as a "baby," she's watching them still. She knows those videos backwards and forwards, inside and out. Hearing a snippet of a classical tune at the mall, she can place it immediately, "That's from Baby Newton!" She knows those videos so well, that she doesn't really pay much attention to them anymore. Yet she flat-out refuses to let us load the DVD player with more age-appropriate material. To Baby Einstein she stays true.
Normally, the situation works fine for all of us. We converse pleasantly with our daughter during car trips, and the music of Baby Einstein provides unobtrusive background noise.
But it didn't work so well on the long car trip down to Grandpa and Grandma's house. About an hour into our six hour long trip, Audrey started getting antsy. "Are we there yet? How many more streets until we're there? I want it to be one more street Why isn't it just one more street?"
To answer her, I kept glancing down at the GPS in my lap to see how many miles lay ahead of us. "324 more streets." "321 more streets." "I wish it were one more street, too. It's hard to wait when you want something right away."
We repeatedly suggested that a new DVD might help her get her mind off her troubles. But she elected instead to continue her grousing. "Are we there YEEEETTTT?"
"295 streets more streets. Why don't you watch this new kids' yoga DVD that Daddy checked out from the library?"
"No! I want to watch Baby Einstein!!! How many more streets now??!!"
As the miles ticked slowly, slowly down, my blood pressure ticked further and further up.
Finally, I decided it was time for a new rule.
"OK. It was your turn to choose that video. Now that that video is over, it's Mommy and Daddy's turn to pick one. We want to watch this Thomas the Tank Engine Video."
That's when the screaming commenced. The tears and the wails and the livid and furious screaming. She screamed while the Baby Einstein DVD was ejected. She screamed while the Thomas DVD was inserted. She screamed while the FBI warnings were solemnly posted and while the credits rolled. She screamed and protested and screamed while "play" was pressed.
Then the story began. And with it, the silence. The rapt and attentive silence.
No doubt she confided in her little nursery school buddies about the injustice of it all. About how she really, REALLY wanted to be bored and whiny, but NOOOOOOO. Mommy forced her to watch an INTERESTING video. Mean, MEAN, Mommy
And On Your Left, a Lactating Homo Sapiens and her Infant
Audrey was an intense little baby, and when she was nursing she required quiet, peaceful locations and my full concentration. So I didn't really have to form a public nursing philosophy with her. If she needed to nurse while we were out and about, I usually just retreated to the car, because that was where she would be happiest. We own an amusing little book called "The Inappropriate Baby Book" which includes a section where you are supposed to fill out a list of, "some of the places where your mom breast-fed you." I must say, Audrey's list isn't really that interesting. It's includes some parks and stores, but mostly just "parking lots."
Elliot also likes me to concentrate on what I'm doing while I feed him. (Neither of my kids are the type to let their mama nurse and converse.) But not only is he not quite as picky as Audrey was and not a fan of car nursing, but thanks to his big sister, we take him to much more interesting places. Much more interesting places where it would be completely impractical for me to trek all the way out to the car to feed him. So before hitting the six month mark, the kid has nursed at The Monterrey Bay Aquarium, The Aquarium of the Bay in San Francisco, Sea World San Diego, and The San Diego Zoo.
With Elliot, I've had to do a lot more thinking about how I feel about nursing in public. I've decided I don't believe in hiding it. I never thought it was appropriate to sneak off to a restroom to feed a baby. (Yucko.) But when I had to feed Audrey in public, I worked hard to find out-of-the-way places to do it. Under a far off tree in a park. In a little used section of a store.
I'm over that.
I do own a selection of nursing shirts to make public nursing as easy and discrete as possible, but when my baby gets hungry, I have no compunctions about feeding him on the nearest shady bench. It's taking a stand, of sorts. An act of "lactivism." Refusing to accept the idea that that breastfeeding is an act that should stay hidden and inconvenient. Because maybe all the hiding and inconvenience of it is part of the reason that so few women in our society nurse for even the minimum AAP recommendation of one year.
After Which I Promise to Try to Stop Writing About This Topic
Elliot came down with his first cold last week, and when congestion was making nursing tricky for him, I held him while James sucked mucous out of his nose using a mucous-sucking contraption that he'd bought on a whim a few months earlier.
We'd never used the contraption before, and we didn't know how Elliot would react to it. So we girded up for tears as James inserted the tube into baby's nostril and applied gentle suction.
Baby laughed.
James moved the tube into the other nostril and sucked out more snot. Elliot giggled some more. And because Elliot was giggling, James and I started giggling too. In part it was because his giggling was infectious. But mostly, I think, we were laughing because we were thinking about pleasant contrasts. About how parental nostril-sucking would have made Baby Audrey scream loud enough to knock to knock shingles off the roof.
I know we were both thinking about how different Elliot and Audrey are, because as we laughed, James started worrying about being disloyal, and he took the time, mid-guffaw, to reassure me of something. "It's not better to have an easy baby."
"No, I agreed. It's not better. But it is easier."
It's easier. My God. It's easier. Everytime Elliot wakes up happy instead of screamy, it's easier. Every time he naps peacefully in his car seat instead of needing to be held, it's easier. Every time he doesn't howl when I pull a shirt over his head, it's easier. Every time he doesn't scream when I change his diaper, it's easier. Mothering my high-need baby was one negative interaction after another. It was giving and giving and giving until I had no comfort left to give. And then it was taking a deep breath and digging down deeper into the depths of my being to find more.
So it's easier to care for my easy baby. My sweet and charming, social, happy son who takes what I give and pays me back in smiles.
But it's not better.
My fussy baby has paid me back too.
She has paid me back by teaching me a style of parenting that really suits me. As a new mama, I was all set to do what's expected in our culture--to have my baby sleep in a crib and ride in a stroller and nurse until her first birthday. Then I found myself with a baby who desperately needed to sleep cuddled next to me and travel in my arms and nurse long past a year. And by the time I discovered that the stuff were we were doing was called "Attachment Parenting," I was already in love it.
She has paid me back by teaching me humility. If Elliot were my first baby, I'd be obnoxious and cocky. I'd assume that my baby is a happy little guy because I am a splendid mother. Worse, I'd assume that fussy babies and rambunctious preschoolers are the direct result of bad parenting. Thanks to Audrey, I view challenging kids with understanding. And, while I delight in my cheerful little Elliot, I estimate my contribution to his happiness to be 10% at best.
She has paid me back by thriving. When Audrey was a baby, I gave and I gave and I gave and I gave, and I couldn't be certain I'd ever see a return. Four years later, my coffers overflow. When I think about my little girl, a string of sweet adjectives comes to my mind…thoughtful and polite, self-confident and self-possessed, curious and observant, imaginative and…happy.
Happy. I live with two happy kids. My son's happiness brightens my days. And my daughter's happiness, because it was so much harder to come by, brightens my days just a whisker more.
The Standards. Oh How They Fall
I'd lost all of my baby weight by the time Audrey was five months old, but I had so much angst about my still rounded and stretch-marked tummy, I could hardly bear to glance at myself in a full-length mirror.
Elliot is five months old now. And I still have a few pounds to loose. And the number of stretch marks on my tummy more than doubled during my second pregnancy.
Yet on several occasions I've found myself standing in front of our mirrored closet doors, patting my scarred and jiggly belly thinking, "Hey! Not too bad for five months post-partum. Not too bad."
Maybe it's because this time around I'm more confident that the tummy will eventually flatten out. Then again, maybe it's because it's five years since I had a taut and unblemished midsection, and my memory of that sexy thing has grown blissfully vague.
Looking at the Mama in the Mirror
I'd just changed my fussy baby's diaper, so before I could pick him up from the bed to comfort him, I had to run to the bathroom to wash my hands.
As I turned on the water and pumped out the hand soap, I heard Audrey start to croon, and I looked out of the bathroom and observed her sitting next to her brother on the bed.
"I know, little baby. I know.
That's not what you wanted little baby. I know.
We love you, little baby.
But I don't know why you're so cranky."
Funny how when my words come out of her mouth, they're ever so much sweeter.
Me and the AAP
James and I ignore a lot of the advice offered up by the American Academy of Pediatrics. We thumb our noses at the good doctors' preferred vaccine schedule and their thoughts about cosleeping, for example.
But we do abide by the rules that we think make good sense. For example, we put our baby down to sleep on his back and away from soft toys or pillows because studies show that this can help prevent SIDS and suffocation.
James and I, we listen to the AAP on this point. It's our son who takes issue. Now that Elliot is an expert flipper-over-er, he's become a confirmed tummy sleeper. In this particular photo, he'd had a day of interrupted naps, and he was so exhausted that when James put him down to help Audrey change her shirt, he flipped himself over onto a pillow and was sound asleep within about 10 seconds. Score: Baby: 1 AAP: 0
James and I are also intending to wait until Elliot is a six-month-old to start solids. The evidence seems sound on the benefits of waiting. To quote my favorite parenting tome, "The Baby Book" by Bill and Martha Sears, "A baby's immature intestines are not equipped to handle a variety of foods until around six months, when many digestive enzymes seem to click in. Pediatric allergists discourage early introduction of foods…Research shows that starting solids before six months increases the risk of allergies…"
James and I, we buy into that good research and logic. Our five-month-old, he thinks the AAP is full of it. When I was eating lunch yesterday, the baby was fussy, fussy, fussy in his bouncy chair. He was fussy, fussy, fussy when I picked him up and put him in my lap. Fussy as he watched each and every forkful of vegetables move from my plate to my lips. Fussy as he mimicked me opening my mouth to eat.
And when I moved the fork toward his lips instead of my own? The fussing ceased. His hands grasped desperately for the fork, his mouth opened wide. His desire for my chunk of potato was so palpable that I very nearly introduced my baby to solids right then and there.
But no. I told myself. Baby's first taste of solids should be something mushier. It should take place in the presence of Daddy. And recording equipment. And it should wait until he's six months old. Yes. It should wait. It should.
So the tension builds. Who will win out when it comes to the question of the timing of solids? Will the AAP manage to even up the score? Or will the baby convince his parents to hurry up and mash up one of those bananas that are sitting on the counter?
Mustn’t Let Her Read “Body After Baby” in “People” Ever Again
A: (Head resting on my abdomen) Why is your tummy squishy?
L: Because I had a baby in there.
A: But why is it STILL squishy?
Happy Homecomings
Fall is here, so school has started up for Audrey. We send her to a parent participation preschool, so I help out in her classroom once a week. That means that the start of school led to a significant milestone for Elliot. He stayed with a babysitter for the first time.
I'm swapping babysitting with the mama of one of Audrey's classmates, so my friend takes care of Elliot and her almost two-year-old on my workday, and then I watch the babies on her workday.
I can honestly say that my confidence in my baby and babysitter was so high that my heart didn't wrench at all when I backed my minivan out of the driveway loaded up with two four-year-olds instead of a four-year-old and an infant.
And just as I'd supposed he would, Elliot handled the situation with grace, willingly taking a bottle and going down for his nap easily.
He and I were delighted to see each other when class was over, in part for biological reasons (an empty tummy on his part and full breasts on mine). But even when that situation was reversed, we cooed and cuddled for about half an hour, and he chose to sit in my lap while I lunched, instead of fussing to be in his bouncy chair. That was all to be expected.
The surprise came on the next school day, when it was my turn to baby-sit. In many ways, it was Elliot's usual routine, just hanging out at home with mom and a big girl. And he had a perfectly fine time. But it wasn't his usual routine. Because then, his big sister got home.
And that's when he started to coo for half an hour.
When you put yourself through the nausea and the labor pains a second time, pretty much I think you do it for moments like that.
Loyalty
When I was a newly minted mother, people would often ask me whether or not Audrey was a "good" baby. I didn't know the right answer to that question, so I hated them for asking.
I knew better than to expose my soul. I didn't talk about how my goal in life was to make my baby happy. Didn't explain about how I was mostly unsuccessful . Didn't mention that in my darker moments I felt like a failure as a mother.
But in my struggle to answer the "good" baby question, I would let on that my precious little one cried some. Which hinted that my baby wasn't "good." And I knew that that answer felt awful and wasn't right. So I hated them for asking.
Oddly, no one has asked me whether or not Elliot is a "good" baby. If anyone did, I could glow that he is a little ray of sunshine who fills our home with joy. But I wouldn't, because thankfully, over the last four years I have figured out the right answer to the question, and it comes topped with a perfectly sincere smile.
"Of course! How could a baby be bad?"
Why I Haven’t Signed Up to Teach Spring Semester
The floors need sweeping.
The mail needs sorting.
(I'd really love to exercise.)
My legs need shaving.
The bathrooms need cleaning.
(I want to clear my closet of maternity clothes.)
The laundry needs washing.
The newspaper needs reading.
(It takes me an hour to pump a couple ounces.)
The thank you notes need writing.
My eyebrows need plucking.
(I could use a nap.)
The lawns need mowing.
The yard needs weeding.
(I'd barely see my husband.)
The cars need washing.
My email needs answering.
(I'd never find the time to blog, so I might go insane.)
I Beg Your Indulgence for This Short Poem About Seasons
My daughter delights in apples and pears,
And I mourn the memory of cherries.
Must Everything Be a Research Project with You, Woman?
"What do pill bugs eat?"
"I'm not sure. Shall we go look it up on the computer?"
"No. Just make something up."
Cheapskates
The juice boxes that we bought for Audrey's 4th birthday party were not the type that we usually buy for her. And she figured out the difference at once.
"These aren't organic!"
Like, I can't believe you bought non-organic juice for my party! How could you embarrass me in front of my friends by serving this non-organic juice?!
To Dream the Impossible Dream
"What do you want to be when you grow up, Audrey?"
"A giraffe!"
Backfiring
One of Audrey's enduring and not particularly endearing traits is an extremely low level of interest in independence. A lack of desire to leave my hip and strike out on her own was one of the primary reasons that Audrey never bothered learning to crawl. Walking was a biological imperative, so she figured that out at the fairly average age of twelve and a half months. But when she first learned to walk, she would often walk towards an interesting object, stop about a foot away from it, and then beg us to come over and get it for her. She wasn't quite ready to let go of her immobility and the parent-moving power that it conferred upon her.
And the list goes on. I've witnessed any number of one-year-olds attempting to put on their own shoes. The first time I ever saw Audrey trying to put on her own shoes was a week before her fourth birthday. Lots of parents have to put locks on doors that they don't want their one-year-olds opening. I have to explain to my four-year-old how to open the side door of the garage door so that I can carry the laundry into the house. ("Grab the handle at the end instead of the middle. Pull it down. Now pull the handle down and pull the door towards you at the same time.") And as I run through these detailed directions, she looks reluctantly back at me several times to confirm that I do indeed have a baby in one arm and a laundry basket in the other, and I am therefore unable to perform the door opening function myself.
For the most part, James and I haven't forced Audrey to do all of these basic things that most kids are anxious to do on their own, because it is our general philosophy that children learn best when following their own interests at their own pace. We prefer to wait for her to take the initiative and avoid unnecessary fights. So we've waited. And waited. And in recent weeks, our patience has run low, and we've been insisting that she do a few of the tasks that most kids her age already mastered. A couple of years ago. Like pumping her own freakin' hand soap. Removing her own bloody shoes. Taking off her own $#@% shirt. Also, the pants and the underwear. The pulling up of the pants and the underwear. We've been refusing to pull up her pants and underwear.
Needless to say, this forced self-sufficiency training has not been pleasing to Audrey, and she has been seeking ways to thwart us. When it comes to the pants and the underwear, the rebellion that she has settled upon is to refuse to pull up her underwear separately from her pants. No, she figures the "everything up at once" method is the way to go, primarily because it's not what we're advising her to do.
So be it. Whatever floats her boat. We're thinking that she'll tire of wearing a perpetual wedgie sooner than we tire of looking at it.
You’re the Inspiration
Big milestone last week--Elz pulled off sitting independently at the tender age of four months and one week.
The moment when Audrey figured out how to sit on her own is filed in my brain under "sweet mothering memories." As my five-and-a-half month old girl cautiously pushed herself up into sitting position, she had the most precious look on her face--a combination of astonishment, elation, and pride.
I'll never know if Elliot experienced similar joy, because he was facing away from me when the big moment came. It was Audrey who was in front of him, and as he sat for the first time, she continued bopping around and singing, unaware that the sight in front of her held special significance.
I guess one of the downsides of being the second child is that you don't get your parents' full attention. There's a good possibility your mama will be looking at your sister instead of you when you demonstrate new physical feats of strength and balance.
But where there are minuses, there are pluses. If Elliot were an only child, I don't think he'd be sitting yet. I've suspected for a couple of weeks that his back muscles were strong enough to support independent sitting, but I couldn't ever get him to practice hanging out in that position. He wanted to work on standing and walking, not bending. Then one night, after Audrey was asleep (and therefore incapable of possessiveness), I plopped Elliot down on her little green chair. He responded with a grin that was astonished and delighted. (I'm big enough to sit HERE! Like Big Sister?????!!!) And several minutes of sitting practice ensued. The following morning, as Audrey plunked out the first few notes of Fur Elise on the piano, I settled Elliot down next to her on the bench. And as Big Sister grabbed his hand to demonstrate how fun it is to bang on the piano keys, he once again sent me a pride-filled grin.
A couple of days after the Sister-inspired sitting sessions began, he was sitting on his own. I've been warned that, eventually, the older one will be prematurely be introducing the younger one to things aren't quite so desirable, like chocolate cake or the Jonas Brothers. But for now, when Audrey teaches her younger brother things, my response is the same as his. "This is SO COOL."
Milestone Mania
It occurred to me in passing last week that Elliot hadn't chalked up any new milestones in a while.
The following day, August 26th, my four-month-old figured out how to sit independently. On August 27th, he worked to get a toy that was out of reach for the first time. (I want that toy down there. OK, OK. If I bend my knees…yes…if I bend my knees and…lean forward….OK I'm leaning…I'm bending…A little further….Got it!!!!!) Once said toy was firmly grasped in his right hand, he used his left hand to reposition it and bring it to his mouth, deftly coordinating the use of his hands for the first time. Two days later, he flipped himself over from back to tummy for the first time. And then, for good measure, he decided to start taking one long morning nap and one long afternoon nap instead of catnapping throughout the day newborn style.
So I'm thinking, he heard my thought, and took it as a personal challenge.
I Admit to Being Biased…
…but I think they're quite photogenic. (Must…resist…using…the…phrase…"cutest kids in the universe…muuuust…resist.)
And also, can you say, "easiest photo shoot EVER!" Getting Baby (and Toddler) Audrey to smile for strangers and their cameras used to involve much parental strategizing and the liberal application of chocolaty bribes.
Getting Baby Elliot to smile for strangers and their cameras involves strenuously….um…oh yeah. Strenuously setting him in front of a stranger and her camera and then watching him beam and beam and beam while she coos. ("Well, aren't you a little flirt. (Flash!) You're the cutest baby I've seen in quite a while." (Flash!))
We only have a few months worth of evidence, but I'm going to go out on a limb here and postulate that he is by far the most extroverted member of the family. A baby who is Mr. Bored And Grumpy while hanging out with Mommy and Audrey is inevitably a little charmer as soon as we go outside and find neighbors to chat with. (Hey, who's got the milk on tap here for you, you little bugger? Where were my smiles?) So Mommy (and Audrey) sometimes feel just a tad unappreciated. But having once had a baby who saved her smiles almost exclusively for Mama, I'm savoring every toothless grin that my budding social butterfly sees fit to bestow upon strangers.
Whereupon a Nomination Inspires Soul-Searching
Sarah Palin's baby was born about 24 hours after my baby was born. Palin aspires to be the vice-president of the United States. I aspire to bathe more frequently.
I fully support a mother's right to be a part of the workforce according to the dictates of her pocketbook and her heart. Working part-time was right for me when Audrey was an infant. Not working is right for me right now.
But imagining myself in the Governor's shoes, I cannot fathom how I could possibly take on the awesome responsibilities of the job that she is trying to do. Not while still being the mother that I want to be. When that 3 A.M. phone call came in, it would not be an advantage to already be wide awake with a teething baby.
My Olympic Babies
The 2004 Summer Olympics started few days after Audrey was born, so the first couple of weeks of her life I basically sat on the couch and nursed her all day while watching athletes compete in steeplechase and whitewater kayaking and other sports I'd never really heard of before.
Now that the 2008 Olympics are here, I've declared a two-week long "special occasion," and we're turning on the TV periodically. The tiny baby that I nursed last time around is now old enough to learn about water polo and fencing and beach volleyball. And while my older baby learns about sports (and commercials), my new baby nurses.
I'm so grateful that, every four years, the world will continue to get together to evoke my sweet memories of sweet times I spent with my sweet little nurslings.
All in a Day’s Work
Six prefold diapers. Three fitted diapers. One pocket diaper. Two diaper covers. Thirteen diaper wipes. One diaper pail liner.
It's funny how an image that looks so "stifled housewife" can feel so "eco-conscious stay-at-home-mama."
She’s Got My Back
I've been avoiding gluten since a couple of weeks before Elliot's birth, because my acupuncturist helped me figure out that wheat triggers horrible rashes on my hands. For the most part, I enjoy being able to use my hands so much, that I'm not even tempted by bread. Or burritos. Or pasta. Or pancakes. Or bagels. Or cake. Or crackers. Or muffins. Or just about everything that one eats in our wheat-based society.
When I'm eating at home, it's really not troublesome at all, because I can plan meals around grains other that wheat (like rice or quinoa) or I can make wheat substitutions (like gluten-free pasta or nut crackers).
It's when I'm out and about that temptation sometimes hits. On Audrey's birthday, as we drove from the pizza parlor to the beach, the aroma wafting through the minivan threatened to topple my will power. "I might have a piece," I mused to James. I was adding up the pros and cons and pondering what effect one slice would have on my hands when a small voice piped up disapprovingly from the back seat.
"No, Mommy! Pizza is wheaty!"
So chastised, I dined instead on the rather dry corn tamales that we'd brought along especially for me. Audrey was too busy running around digging in the sand and dipping her toes in the water to see me eating my tamales. But if she had, I'm sure she would have reassured me that she only did it because she loved me.
Not That Much of a Grammar Lover
"We're nearly out of apple juice," I observed.
"What does ‘nearly' mean?" she queried.
"It's like ‘almost,'" I explained
"Except?" she pressed.
Ugh. I wasn't really in the mood to parse the differences between ‘nearly' and ‘almost.' Not before breakfast. But figuring out nuances is the name of the game for an ESL teacher, so I strapped on my mental SCUBA gear and prepared to dive into the English. I reluctantly dipped my foot into the water. (Both adverbs? Check.)
Then, Audrey persisted. "'Almost' starts with…."
And with great relief, I realized that I could answer the grammar questions of the four-year-old without even leaving the boat.
He Laughs at Mr. Mendel
The results of the 4-month well-baby check have been posted and it's official. Young Mr. Kim is still running 90th percentile in height and 50th in weight.
When Audrey would run 25th percentile in height and 10th in weight, it made perfect sense to me. I figured if they made charts for almost 33 year olds, that's roughly where I'd fall. But 90th I got no good explanation for. Maybe the extra two weeks the kid spent in the womb gave him a head start.
Optimistic. Perhaps Naively So
"I think," my husband cautiously suggested, "that it's possible he's going to enjoy eating."
And oh, I'd been thinking the same thing. It's the way the four-month-old stares at food, (even when it's not chocolate cake). It's the way he watches us eat. The way he practices by chewing on his tongue.
Our firstborn, the picky one, she never did any of that stuff. As a reformed fussy eater myself, I sympathize with her. Once upon a time I wouldn't eat the chunks in the salsa or the chicken in the chicken noodle soup. So I feed her what seems palatable to her. Cheese without crackers. Crackers without cheese. Pasta without parmesan. Parmesan without pasta. Bread without jam. Jam without bread. Oatmeal without raisins. Raisins without oatmeal. She likes her food pure and unmixed. And so long as she is eating a reasonably balanced and healthy assortment of pure and unmixed foods, I am at peace with that.
But oh, what if we could cook food for this baby and he would eat what we cooked?! How much fun would that be?! We'll puree him veggies! Make homemade rice cereal! Mash him up some lentil stew! It's two months to go before the little one gets his first taste of solids, and already we're trying not to hyperventilate with excitement.
Birth Order
No longer content to practice standing, the boychild has started trying to walk while we support his arms or chest. Today he managed to walk himself about a foot to get to this pink cardboard box that looked really, really tasty.
So I'm pretty sure that #2 will not skip the crawling stage and remain immobile until learning to walk at twelve-and-a-half months. He's figured out that his feet are for moving, and he's raring to go. Likewise, he's figured out what his hands are for. And that would be putting things in his mouth.
So I ponder my living room floor, which the four-year-old has seen fit to strew with marbles and magnets and scrabble pieces, and three words come to mind. I. AM. SCREWED.
Clearly, I should have had the baby with little interest in moving about and mouthing things second instead of first. I'm kicking myself for my poor planning.
Once Resigned, She is Now Hopeful
Audrey noticed that Elliot's hair is lightening a bit. Given her theory that boys have black hair and girls have brown hair, the change made her practically delirious with delight.
"Is he turning into a girl??!!!!"
Happy 4th Birthday, Big Girl
Dear Audrey,
The past couple of years, we didn't really bother with birthday parties for you. When you turned two and when you turned three, you were our bashful baby. We knew a party with a bunch of kids running around would have been the opposite of your idea of a good time, so we celebrated with quiet family dinners instead.
Once upon a time, interaction with strangers was so stressful for you that when the checker at Long's Drugs said hello to you and tried to make you smile, you burst into tears and it took me 10 minutes to settle you down. You were so uncomfortable in groups that I would have to take you outside and nurse you calm three times during a 45 minute Music Together class.
But now, you are four. And last week, when a lady in the elevator at Target complimented you on your ability to hit the "2" button, you spotted an opportunity to converse with a stranger and you jumped at it. Leaped. Vaulted. By the time we had ascended from the first floor to the second that woman not only knew what we were shopping for but had learned a great deal about a nifty truck toy that Elliot received for turning 100 days old.
Honey, the kid that you were at two and the kid that you are at four—they are almost unrecognizable. And seeing you progress from the painfully shy baby that you were to the composed young lady that you have become…encouraging you and protecting you and then watching you blossom…it is the sweetest transformation that I have ever been privileged to witness. You are no longer even a teeny weeny itsy bitsy bit shy. And that is one of the things that makes living with you such a joy.
So this year there was no question that you'd be having a party. This year, you'd enjoy it. Your father and I were thinking that probably we'd have sandwiches and cake at a park, which is what most of your little nursery school friends have had. We were already planning things out when we asked you what sort of birthday party you envisioned. There was no question in your mind what kind of party you wanted. You wanted a party at the ocean. A pizza party. With a blue dolphin cake.
We were shocked. The last time we'd taken you to the beach, you were not yet two. But it was a perfectly sound party idea. So we invited your friends to Natural Bridges State Park in Santa Cruz, picked up pizzas, decorated a blue dolphin cake and set up a canopy in the sand in view of the spectacularly blue ocean on a gorgeous August day. Honey, you know how to throw a completely creative, completely rockin' party. And that is another of the things that makes living with you such a joy.
Your fourth year was a year of major upheavals in your life. The primary change was that you were no longer the sole focus of my attention. For the first four months of the year, my attention was diverted by god-awful nausea. For the second four months of the year, I was too unwieldy to be a completely hands-on mama. And for the third four months of the year, much of my time was spent caring for your baby brother.
Your response to my pregnancy was truly amazing. For the first three years of your life, hardly a moment went by when you weren't demanding my time and attention. Yet this year, when morning sickness made me so sick that I longed to just crawl into bed, you sat and quietly colored for hours at a time, requesting only that I periodically hand you a new crayon.
Your response to Elliot's arrival has been even more delightful. It took about a week for you to get adjusted having a fourth person in our family. About a week for you to process how you felt about having a sibling. But then you got it all figured out. And, having a sibling? It completely rocked your world. He is your sweet baby brother, and you are absolutely smitten and 100% devoted. You hang out next to him every time I change his diaper. You never want to get in the car unless he's going too. You're thrilled on the nights when he gets to join you in the bathtub. You love to come up with new nicknames for him ("Elliot King of All the Elliots"). You love to come up with new songs for him ("Hey, little baby, as happy as can be"). To be honest, my intuition was that you'd love being a big sister from the get-go. But I knew that there were no guarantees that the transition would be an easy one for you. Knew that you might struggle, as a lot of kids struggle, when demoted from "soloist" to "member of ensemble." Honey, you are the most loving big sister I could possibly have hoped for. And that is another of the things that makes living with you such a joy.
The journey to giving you a little brother to love was a long one. My first pregnancy was so stressful, and my first two and a half years of mothering you were so taxing, that I wasn't even sure how I'd muster the courage to take another ride on the reproductive roller coaster. Yet it was for you that I really wanted to have a second child. I wanted you to have a sibling to love and a sibling to fight with. A sibling who could deflect and share the burden of the laser-like attentions of your parents and grandparents.
And it was you who taught me how I could give you that sibling. The books that I read to help me figure out how to raise a child who didn't fit the standard mold led me straight to the books about having a pregnancy that didn't fit the standard mold. From those books I learned all about midwifery and homebirth. And then, sure enough, my midwife led me straight through a beautiful, peaceful second pregnancy and birth. Honey, you are my teacher and my guide, and you make my life immeasurably richer. And, of course, that is another of the things that makes living with you such a joy.
Happy Birthday, Big Girl. May your fifth year be filled with learning and growing and laughter.
Love,
Mommy
Love Letter
Almost 14 years ago, when I was a sophomore in college, I came down with mono. A high temperature, exhaustion, and an impressively swollen throat confined me to bed for a couple of weeks.
My boyfriend of a few months responded to my illness by toting trays of food to my dorm room at every meal time before biking off to my tedious Statistics class to take notes for me.
Witnessing this behavior, some weighty thoughts wandered into my fever addled brain: "I should marry this guy. He would make a fantastic husband and father."
So on this day eight years ago, I did. And he is.
Hush, Darling. Here Comes the Bride.
James and I entered the ranks of parenthood nearly four years ago now, so our memories of Life Before Children has grown pretty vague. But once in a while, a wedding comes up to remind us just how simple life used to be. Once upon a time we would buy a gift, put on some nice clothes, and show up to the church on time,
We didn't have to nicely clothe four people. My outfit didn't need to camouflage a postpartum tummy and offer easy access for a nursing babe. We didn't need to sit near the exit so we could make a hasty departure in the event of fussing during the vows. We didn't take along coloring books in case of boredom. We didn't take along a portable DVD player in case of emergency boredom. We didn't have to wonder if we'd have the opportunity to dance.
I danced one dance with my husband at a college friend's wedding a few weeks ago. And I would have loved to dance more. But watching my daughter cut a rug with the daughter of another college friend was, in the end, a worthy consolation prize.
He’s #2!
Second children are famously shorted when it comes having the details of their babyhood recorded, so I've been making a concerted effort to document Elliot's babyhood as scrupulously as I documented his sister's.
Alas, my efforts to preserve a video record of his infancy have largely been thwarted. On several occasions I've pulled out the camera in an attempt to record baby giggles. But somehow Big Sister ends up being the star of every recording session. I've been advising the boy the save his giggles until after Audrey goes to sleep for the night if he wants them on the record.
However, I am pleased to report that my second child's baby book is within striking distance of being up-to-date. And my very proudest moment came a few weeks ago. My weekly Wednesday night photo deadline was approaching, and I found myself wondering if I'd taken enough pictures for the week …of Audrey.
100 Days of Elliot
It's a Korean tradition to celebrate when your baby turns 100 days old, so Elliot had two lovely parties over the weekend, one at Halmoni and Halabogi's in Hayward, and one at our house in San Jose.
Lots and lots of people at these events asked me if I am finding the task of raising two to be a burden, which made me mull over how my life is different now than it was when I had just one baby.
Taking care of Baby Audrey could be awfully boring. I would have been miserable if I'd had to put her in someone else's care. But on the other hand, I was alone with her for eight or nine hours a day, and she wasn't much of a conversationalist.
Preschool Audrey on the other hand, can be pretty darned amusing. (See blog for details.) So I far prefer having the company of both a preschooler and an infant to just having an infant. I get to enjoy the nice parts of Elliot's infancy, and thanks to his big sister, I am rarely bored.
Also, caring for Baby Elliot is less emotionally exhausting than caring for Baby Audrey was. He does not howl EVERY time I change his diaper. He does not howl EVERY time I change his clothes. He does not howl EVERY time he wakes up from a nap. He does not howl EVERY time he gets a bath. He does not howl EVERY time he gets his nails clipped. He does not howl EVERY time I remove a booger from his nose. He does not howl EVERY time he rides in the car. Sometimes, yes. But not EVERY time.
With one baby, my life was tedium punctuated by screaming. With two, it is not. And so I was quite truthful when I assured folks that I was managing two just fine.
Delusions of Grandeur
In protest over being carried:
"I'm a big girl!"
(Wait for it….Wait for it…)
"I'm almost a grown-up!"
The Connoisseur
The following interaction is not uncommon in our household.
"After we finish this book, it's time to go to the bathroom."
"But I don't have to go!"
"Yeah. Well, given that it's been about seven hours since your last trip to the toilet, I think you should go even if you don't have to go."
(Grudgingly) "Five more books."
And if you're looking on the bright side, perhaps you're thinking to yourself, "Well, at least outings must be easy, given that the child has a bladder of steel."
But you would be wrong. Sure, she used the restroom 10 minutes ago, just before we left the restaurant. But why should that stop her from feeling the urge again once we reach the grocery store? Cause this next restroom, it might have pink soap! Or maybe an automated paper towel dispenser! Heaven forbid she let the opportunity to use a public restroom pass her by.
Aww…
The stuffed animal that she snuggles with at night? "It's her "Teddy Penguin."
She Gives As Good As She Takes
Step by step they develop, tackling new skills at a pace all their own. And for the most part, when you note their latest achievement, you smile and nod. Oh, yes. You knew that would be coming one of these days.
Once in a while, though, you're dazzled. The leap that they've made is so unexpected, so beyond what you thought they were capable of, that it takes your breath away.
We had one of those moments this week. "If you have three things and you get two more things, how many things do you have?" Daddy asked.
"Four," she shrugged. But then, a pause. "No. Actually, five."
Collective gasp. Can our baby really do arithmetic? We tested our theory.
"1+1?" In her sleep. "2+2?" No problem. "10+1?" Gimme a challenge here, people.
The girl loves math. Likes to work out the answers to more complicated word problems over lunch. ("4+2?" "3+3?") Is working pretty hard to figure out subtraction, though she finds it more challenging than addition.
So I try to find the right balance, in my teachery way. To challenge her without being too challenging. To follow her interests. To make learning joyful and fun.
She, on the other hand, is as stern a taskmaster as ever. "Mommy, if you have 27 things and you get 37 things, how many things do you have?" C'mon, Mommy. You can do this in your head. You don't need a pencil. C'mon, Mommy. Faster, Mommy. Add! Add! Add!
Why You Should Never Teach a Three Year Old Anything II
In the middle of a crowded grocery store (loudly): "My bladder is full of pee-pee!
Did Not Inherit Mother’s Tendency to Procrastinate
Did we ask her what she thought her little brother should be for Halloween? Um, not that I can remember. Nevertheless, she has it all planned out. He's to be a ghost.
And I don't seem to recall asking her what she wants to be for Halloween either. (Last time I checked the calendar, I'm pretty sure it said July.) But she had so much fun being a giraffe last year that she's already eagerly anticipating repeating that performance.
Does she have a color scheme picked out for her wedding? I would not be surprised. Clearly, another thing that the child did not inherit is her mother's tendency towards indecisiveness.
Elliot Enjoys His First Taste of Literarure
I’m Impossible to Please
Being the parent of a young child means being intimately familiar with the bodily wastes of your offspring. In my experience, you spend so much time handling excrement and thinking about excrement and discussing excrement with your spouse, that when you have dinner guests who are not the parents of young children, it can be a real struggle to remember that they might find it unappetizing if you were to bring up poop during the dessert course.
So perhaps the following observation is actually disgusting, and I only find it interesting because my perspective is utterly warped. But let me put it out there anyway. Back when Audrey was on a breastmilk-only diet, she would usually be completely unaware of her own bowel movements. The sounds emanating from her rear end made it clear what was happening. Yet not even a flicker of awareness would cross her face. And I would look at her in amazement and ask, "How can you make an enormous poop and not even notice?"
On the other hand, Elliot sometimes has to work at these things. To concentrate. To grunt a bit. And I stare at him with an equal amount of amazement, "Your poops are liquid! How can it possibly take that much effort to get them out?"
Why You’d Be Crazy Not to Have Two
And then, spontaneously, she bent down and kissed him on the forehead.
"You're a sweet big sister," I praised.
"And he's a sweet little brother," she smiled.
Why You’d Be Crazy to Even Consider Having More Than One
"I don't want to be patient. I want to be whiny."
Vaccination Hesitation
We took Audrey in for her shots on the standard vaccination schedule, and I have no regrets about that decision. But for Elliot, we're taking a different approach, spreading his injections out so that he only gets one or two at a time rather than five at a time. We're starting out with the vaccinations that are most critical—the ones for diseases that are common and dangerous in infants (whooping cough, for example). Later on we'll get to vaccinations for diseases that are no longer a serious threat in this country, (like polio).
We're taking this path for a variety of reasons. We want to limit Elliot's exposure to potentially toxic amounts of aluminum from the vaccinations. And, if he has a serious reaction to any vaccinations, we want to be able to pinpoint its likely source (a tricky thing to do if he's had five shots in a single day.). So we've sought out a pediatrician who respects our decision to deviate from the dictates of the American Academy of Pediatrics, and we've made a commitment to take our son in every month for shots rather than every other month. I feel pretty good about the research that we've done and the decision that we've made. Overall, I'm more scared of the diseases that vaccinations prevent than I am of the vaccinations.
But how I hate taking my children in for their injections. It's not the needle sticks that bother me. It's my children's "mild" reactions to the vaccines. They don't sound that bad on paper, those reactions—low fever, fussiness, loss of appetite, drowsiness. But when the smiling, playful, healthy baby that you took to the doctor in the morning spends the afternoon hot and wailing and refusing to nurse before drifting into uneasy sleep, "mild" no longer seems like an accurate description of what's happening to your child. You can give him a little acetaminophen. Remind yourself that you made your child a little sick to prevent him from getting a lot sick. But the fact remains. Your child is sick because *you* made him sick. And you can only rock him in your arms and hope that the decision that you made was the right one.
Someday, Surely, His Genetic Destiny Will Catch Up with Him
But for now, the two-month-old is fitting quite well into onesies labeled "6 Months."
Alas, No Good Options
"Daddy's in the bathroom. Mommy's feeding Elliot. There's no one available to play with me. I have to play by myself."
Her Wacky Nicknaming Rampage Continues
"I'm switching his name to Delliot. And Treelee is his last name."
Plastics
Audrey hated bottles. She hated them. My breasts hate producing milk for a pump. They hate it.
But I went back to work a couple of nights a week when Audrey was five months old. So my breasts grudgingly produced milk for a pump and Audrey grudgingly took bottles for a single semester. And by the time the next semester rolled around, we were all grateful that she was old enough to give up the bottle thing entirely.
I probably would have just skipped those devilish bottles with Elliot. But come fall, I'll be trading babysitting with a friend so that I can help out in Audrey's classroom. And it wouldn't be fair to my friend if the baby were unfeedable. So I knew I had to pull out the old pump once again. And I had good intentions of doing so. And…I had good intentions of doing so. And I postponed and postponed because sticking the kid on a boob is soooo much easier.
I knew I had to find a reason to leave the baby that seemed worth the pumping effort. And finally I set a goal for myself--New Mama Yoga on Monday nights.
So last Sunday I pumped for 45 minutes, and last Monday I left James with a sleeping three-year-old, a tanked up baby, and a bottle of breastmilk. (OK. A measly 2.5 ounces of breastmilk. Like I said, my breasts hate producing for a pump.)
It wasn't my most relaxing yoga class ever. I couldn't quite clear my mind of the fear that my screaming hungry baby was refusing a bottle and awakening the three-year-old and making life unspeakably miserable for my husband. But when I got home I was relieved to learn that, unlike his sister, the boy is perfectly content to feed from a plastic nipple. I praised my baby for his open-mindedness.
And then I had to scold him, just a little, for being to so willing to accept a mama substitution.
Over the Mountains and to the Ocean
On Wednesday, James and I threw caution to the wind and piled the family into the minivan for a visit to the Monterrey Baby Aquarium. OK. It was only an hour-and-a-half away. But it was by far the most ambitious roadtrip we've attempted with Elliot in existence and Audrey out of diapers. It was an excursion that involved a trek through the Santa Cruz mountains and along a rural two-lane highway. Long stretches where we were 100% unable to make a pit-stop should one of our children need to pee or should the other decide to start screaming at the top of his lungs.
And, oh wow, the trip was 100% successful. (Well. Maybe 98% successful. There was a brief period in the car that I could have done without, when one of our kids was screaming and the other whining.) Audrey *loved* the aquarium. After four hours with the fish, she was reluctant to leave when the place closed down at six. Elliot mostly snoozed through the aquarium, but he did wake up long enough to coo at the jelly fish.
Really the only problem with our little adventure was that we did it on a Wednesday. It seemed like a good idea to take a mid-week break. And we did manage to avoid the crowds reasonably well. But our Aquarium high ended pretty roughly when we had to send Daddy right back to work on Thursday.
The Squeaky Wheel Stays Home
A couple of Thursdays ago, Elliot and I dropped Audrey off at summer school, and then we flitted off to the library to pick up some new books for her. After hitting a La Leche League meeting (which was also at the library) we drove home for lunch. After lunch we picked up Audrey, and then the three of us made a quick Trader Joe's run.
All of which is sounds completely unremarkable…but for this. When Audrey was an infant, she and I never…ever….went anywhere without James. Not if I could help it.
Because even after the worst of Audrey's newborn colic passed at around the 3-month mark, the car was like a torture chamber for her. The way she would scream as we drove, it was like she was begging me to please, PLEASE STOP burning her with a cigarette. By the time we arrived anywhere, both of us were completely miserable and shaky. And so my pre-Audrey daydreams of spending my days running errands and attending mothers' groups with baby in tow dissolved, and the two of us hung out at home. We were both happier that way.
Still, I gazed wistfully at all the other mommies, who *were* spending their days attending mothers' groups and running errands. To be honest, I felt more than a little incompetent. What kind of mama is too chicken leave the house with her baby?
As I stepped out of Trader Joe's that Thursday—baby in the front pack, preschooler's hand in my left hand, grocery bag in my right—a customer on her way in smiled at me.
Perhaps she noticed the spring in my step and the confidence in my posture. That "Look! I'm so competent I can hit the town with *two* kids" gleam in my eyes." Because her observation pretty much summed up the song my heart was singing. "Life is good, isn't it?"
Second-Hand Milestones
I wondered, before Elliot's birth, if I would notice and be impressed by his developmental achievements the way I noticed and was impressed by Audrey's. Would I be too busy and experienced to be thrilled by each of his little accomplishments?
At this point, I can unequivocally say that the answer is no. I'm not too busy and not too jaded. To the contrary--my son recently realized that he has hands, and I have naturally taken it as irrefutable evidence that he is the most brilliant baby in the whole entire universe.
On the other hand, I think that I am sufficiently in touch with reality to be aware that A. Most two-month-olds probably spend a lot of time staring in complete amazement at their closed fists and B. It's hard to dole out equal blog space to your two children when the almost-four-year-old is often completely hilarious, and the two-month-old is…well, planning to do something pretty darned funny as soon as he finishes looking at these two intriguing objects that keep moving around in front of his face.
But both of my children can rest assured that I am observing them obsessively. That I'm just as excited by one's accomplishments (first laugh 6-13-08, eight weeks) as by the other's (jumping forward and jumping down and up steps) as by the other's. So excited by their accomplishments that I can't quite resist informing the Internet about them.
Take That, Mr. Freud
As she watched me change his diaper, she pondered the differences between boy parts and girl parts, and she decided that she had discovered a deficiency. "Where's his labia?"
And She Answered Her Own Question
A: Mommy, why are you using that tired voice? Because I'm doing a not nice thing.
English, You Crazy Thing
Gems from the last week:
L: It's too chilly for my tastes.
A: (Smacking her lips.) It tastes hot to me.
L: There are a lot of engineers at Tensilica.
A: Did they all come from trains?
L: I'm not a fan of these baby zucchinis.
A: There's a fan on the ceiling.
Teacher Debbie: See you later alligator.
A: I'm a parrot!
And a couple little grammar lovers tidbits:
A: I want something I haven't haden before.
A: I want these to be cutten up.
A: "No, I aren't." (Trying again.) "No, I isn't." (Sorry kiddo. I believe that the form you were looking for is "No I amn't." And for no apparent reason, English decided to leave that one out.)
Of Cats and Hats
It's time to confess my heresy. I'm just going to say it. I hate Dr. Seuss.
This is a realization that I came to only recently. I have fond memories of the Lorax and the Sneetches and, of course, the Grinch.
But Audrey's nightly bedtime ritual is now the reading of three Dr. Seuss stories from our Dr. Seuss anthology. (Yes, at long last Audrey is regularly getting sleepy at a fairly early hour, and she responds positively to ritual. And if I were a better blogger, I would now provide a link back to earlier posts about her being a night owl who was 100% unimpressed by activities like lullabies and bedtime stories.)
Anyhoo, Audrey bedtime is generally a Daddy duty thing. So when this Seuss ritual started, I would half listen in and think how sweet it was that Daddy was introducing Audrey to the classics.
And then came a few nights when running Audrey bedtime was up to me. And I discovered that I find reading Dr. Seuss to be…pure…torture. All his crazy words and crazy animals and barely moving plot lines. They go on and on and on and on and on. And my skin crawls and my teeth clench. Ahhhhh! I DO NOT care what else the kid saw on Mulberry Street! Owwwwww! I DO NOT care what other ridiculous creature the kid might catch in McEllicot's Pool! Will this story NEVER end? Please let this be the last page. OK, no. Well then. Let this be the last page. No? Arrrrrrrrrrgh!
So believe you me. Daddy can keep Audrey bedtime. I'll happily tend to the little guy instead, even if he's fussy.
But um. Let me put in notice to my spouse here. When she's old enough for Harry Potter, I call dibs.
Surgery Substitute
Sure, I still have 20 pounds to lose. But I've now reached the stage where my nursing enhanced bosom overshadows my gelatinous, wrinkly, stretch-marked, pouchy mess of a tummy.
Whoo hoo! Bring out the low cut blouses! I gotta enjoy these things while I have ‘em.
Diaper Days
We used a cloth diapering service during Audrey's first year. I loved the cloth diapers. Not only were they good for the environment, but they were much better at containing big BMs than disposables.
But really, we were fair weather cloth diaperers, resorting to disposables at nighttime and for outings. Then, when one-year-old Audrey made it clear that she preferred disposables, we acceded to her wishes and gave up on cloth entirely. I felt guilty about our suddenly increased contribution to the landfill, but eased my conscience somewhat by purchasing non-chorine-bleached disposables. Which are kind of vaguely eco-friendly. Kind of. Sort of.
We're doing cloth again with Elliot. And this time, we've been tutored and harangued about the ways of cloth diapering by a friend who is a cloth diapering fanatic. No more disposables on outings for us! We have waterproof, washable bags to hold dirty cloth diapers when we're on the go. No more nighttime disposables for us! We have super absorbent bamboo diapers to prevent nighttime leaks. And what's more, there are no more disposable wipes for us. We bought a bunch of little washcloths for wiping our boy's tush. And then, since we were already doing laundry frequently to wash diaper covers and washcloths, we bought a bunch of cloth diapers and dumped the diaper service. So no more pollution belching truck visiting our neighborhood once a week.
Cause heck. If I have to handle human excrement several times a day, it might as well be an experience that fills me with a sense of Zen-like peace. Was that a loud sound from the baby's intestinal tract? Time to do right by mother earth! Ommmmm.
Tell Me Sweet Little Lies
The air whistled quietly past the napping baby's booger, and of course she noticed. "Why does he snore so loud?" Then she put forward a theory. "Daddy and Elliot snore loudly, but Mommy and Audrey snore quietly."
And I loved her theory so much! Primarily because I know that it's actually me who would win a family snoring contest. Hands down.
Some Things Never Change
"Hmm," I mused. "I'm not getting much of a reaction out of him. When you were a little baby you used to love it when I did this."
And I demonstrated Crazy Tongue Wiggling Face. And she completely cracked up.
Their Week Seven Pictures Tell the Tale
"Uh guh buh luh," he informs me.
"Uh guh buh luh?" I verify. And his face breaks into a huge grin.
Or, mid-nursing session, without missing a slurp, he gazes adoringly into my eyes and throws me a sunshiny smile.
And honestly, I feel a little guilty about the fact that I sometimes refer to him as Mr. Smiley Face at an age when we were still sometimes referring to his colicky sister as The Demon Child. (If you'd been a witness to her daily rages, you'd understand.)
But I reassure myself that the two are them are completely tied for the title of Greatest Kid in the World. And that sometimes he's the easier one to deal with and sometimes she is.
So hopefully it's not too horrible and unjust if it occurs to me in passing that the early bonding stuff is an eensy weensy bit easier this time around.
Great Modeling, Mama
So I dunno. Probably the baby had had kind of a fussy day. For some reason anyway, as I was sitting down to dinner with him in my arms, I was feeling a little cantankerous. So I offered him a bite of my tasty curry. "Want some of this? Well, you can't have any. You're too little."
And was another person in the room listening very carefully? Yes. She was. And did she spend the next several days taunting her little brother? Yes. She did. ("Do you want to play with this toy? Well, you can't. You're too little." "Do you want to run around? Well, you can't. You're too little.")
And did I have any high ground to stand on and tell her to cut it out? No. I did not.
It Was Bad Enough Just Being a Vegetarian…
So during my pregnancy, the hand eczema that has plagued me on and off for years got really, really, really bad. And I knew if I went to my doctor, she'd prescribe a corticosteroid cream. Which clears up the rash reasonably well and is supposedly safe during pregnancy. But I really didn't want be using any medications while I was pregnant, because you never know.
So, I decided to give acupuncture a shot. And weekly acupuncture treatments improved the rash quite dramatically. But I just couldn't get rid of it completely. So my acupuncturist gently urged me to try cutting wheat out of my diet, because the nature of the rash indicated to her that it was caused by a food sensitivity. And so a few weeks before Elliot was born, I reluctantly agreed to try the no wheat thing, because I was *so* tired of the rash. And to my great great great horror, the rash pretty much cleared up entirely when I went off wheat. And then right after Elliot was born I fell off the no wheat wagon for a while. And to my great great great horror, my rash popped back up almost immediately. And it took a couple of weeks without wheat to retame it.
And I'm bummed about the avoiding wheat thing, because, man. I love wheat. Trust me on this—gluten-free bread is not a substance worth consuming. But not having a rash is worth it, so I'm dealing OK when it comes to eating at home. I've got my quinoa and my rice crackers and my corn tortillas.
The real problem arises when other people are trying to feed me. It's downright embarrassing. "Um, so, I'm avoiding wheat right now? And, also, I'm kind of a vegetarian? And, well, I really hate to mention this but I probably should point out, just in case, that flax gives me indigestion."
Oh lordy, it's official. I am the dinner guest from hell.
Unplanned
Why do we call all our baby "Baby Bobsk" and "Jacana"? Because his big sister is the one coming up with the nicknames.
(Bobsk is a Dr. Seussian type of thing, and Jacana is a type of bird. In case you were wondering.")
Girl Cracks Me Up
"No, I can't think. I can NEVER think. All I can do is talk, talk, talk. Blah blah blah blah."
Say Cheese!
I've been debating calling Elliot's first smile for a while. But I guess it's not official until it's consistent enough to capture on film. So here it is on May 21, 2008. He was 4 weeks and 6 days.
Messy, Yes. But Oh So Polite.
"May I take my toys out and make a disaster?"
Why You Shouldn’t Teach a Three Year Old Anything
Aunt Julie and her boyfriend Jeff trekked all the way out from New York to visit for the long weekend. Little did they know their visit was going to include a mealtime Biology lesson. "I'm going to eat this, and it's going to drop into my stomach. And then it's going to turn into poop."
Someday They’ll Surely Kill Us
We ended up with a lot of naked shots this week.
Scripted
The three year old assigns lines to everyone in our household these days. Which I guess makes life easier. We don't have to think as much about what we're going to say and whatnot.
L: "Let's take off your parrot toes so that we can put your pants on."
A: "Mommy, say ‘You can wear your parrot beak.'"
L: "You can wear your parrot beak."
A: "Daddy, say ‘May I read that to you?'"
J: "May I read that to you?"
Occasionally she hits a little resistance. Needs a little help coming up with just the right turn of phrase to achieve her goals.
A: "What can I say that will make you do that?"
I’m Not Sure Why She Bothers Asking
"I'm having milk because I'm a scarlet macaw, and scarlet macaws are mammals. Mommy, are scarlet macaws mammals?"
"Well, no. Actually, scarlet macaws are birds, and birds aren't mammals."
(Emphatically) "Yes. They are."
Skeletons in the Closet
So, conscientious 21st century parents conscientiously limit their children's juice intake. (And they sneak pureed spinach into their children's brownies, etc. etc.) And we were totally on the no juice band wagon. Proud members of the "we give our child water" society. Right up until our daughter turned 17 months old and got an ear infection. And she wasn't eating or drinking much of anything--not even breast milk. And in desperation we offered her apple juice. At which point she was like, what??? Can it be true that a substance as divine as APPLE JUICE existed and yet you were opting to give me WATER? And her relationship with water pretty much ended right then and there.
Well, last week we had a heat wave. So at the end of Audrey's class, after the story was read and the good-bye song was sung, Audrey's teacher urged the children to drink lots of water. But my daughter set the teacher straight. "No, I'm going to drink lots of juice."
"Juice and water," the teacher suggested. Like, surely your mother at least dilutes the juice for you.
"No," my daughter assured her. "Just juice."
"The truth is out, Lisa" another mother teased me. I slapped my hand to my forehead to express my dismay at our child's indiscrete confession of the family secrets.
Then one of the dads piped up to redeem my worth as a mother. "Hey, at least she didn't say she was going to drink lots of soda! Or lots of beer!"
Fuzzy Math
"Having two kids is twice as hard as having one kid." That was the consensus among parents of two that we know. Occasionally there was a dissenter. "It's one-and-a-half times as hard."
My calculations quite different though. I'm finding that caring for one three-and-a-half year old and one non-colicky infant is about a thousand times easier than caring for one colicky infant was.
Damn
You know those babies who always fall asleep in the car? Like, I'm always hearing about how babies just kind of zonk out in the car? Well, apparently James and I do not produce those types of babies. Lucky us! We produce babies who get extraordinarily pissed off about being stuffed into car seats and toted around town.
*Sigh* Well, it's only 11 more months until our second car-hating-baby graduates to a front facing carseat and gets to watch the DVD player.
Thank You Note
To the Big Sister: Thank you for handling the arrival of your new baby brother with such grace and enthusiasm. These days you love nothing better than to hold his hand, rub his head, and sing to him. And you have accepted my need to attend to his needs with an amazing level of patience and understanding, and a minimum of jealousy. (Other than that one time when I accidentally poked you in the eye with a brochure. And I totally get why you needed mama's lap all to yourself after she had injured you.)
To the Baby: Thank you for generally refraining from screaming at the top of your lungs for no apparent reason. It has made the task of caring for you and Big Sister so much more manageable than it otherwise would have been. And thank you for your forbearance when it comes to Big Sister's affections. When she rubs your head while you are trying to nurse. When she grabs your hand while you are trying to sleep. I totally understand that these interactions are not always ideal for you. And I'll continue to try to guide her towards appropriately timed expressions of affections. But in the meantime, thanks for your tolerance, which leaves her giggling with joy.
The Incredible Expanding Toddler
I know that in reality it's just a perspective thing, but James and I are both convinced that Audrey has grown humongous in just a few weeks' time. "Look at the size of her hands!" "I can't believe how heavy she is!"
My Mother’s Day Present
"I'll take both of them to the grocery store," he said. "You can have an hour to yourself. Take a nap. Write some email."
"No," I said. "He might start to fuss."
"We'll be fine," he said. "I'll wear him in the sling."
So I tanked the baby up, and James hustled both kids into the minivan.
And after a brief attempt to nap, I wrote some email.
It’s HER Body
Audrey has always hated it when we try to clean her nose out. So for the most part we just let her live with her boogers. But thanks to this cold she's had, her nose has been full of gigantic boogers, and James just couldn't resist tugging out one that was right on the edge of her nostril.
She was incensed. She demanded that the booger be returned to her. And then she attempted to stuff it back inside her nose.
And We Played Bad Cop/Bad Cop
She'd dragged the bag of library books to the kitchen, but then she hit a roadblock.
J: Sorry, honey. I don't read books to you at the dinner table.
So she turned to her mother.
A: How about you?
On the Bright Side
Once the newborn has picked up his sister's illness, you no longer have to try to keep the two of them sequestered, which makes life a lot easier.
I think I've heard the same story from every single "mother-of-two" friend that I have. "Yeah, my first was five/six months old before his/her first cold. But the second got his/her first cold at two/three weeks."
So dear Elliot, welcome to the club. Audrey, the baby, and I have all been slightly ill for more than a week now. (Has this been one cold? Two? We're not quite sure.) And while Elliot already knows the joys of vomiting and being congested, he hasn't been too bothered by his symptoms, and I haven't gotten too sick.
On the even brighter side James, who is often the weakest link in the family when it comes to illness, has so far remained healthy. Can't think of a better way to jinx his run of good health than by writing that last sentence.
Birds and Bees
Audrey has the whole gender differences thing all figured out. "Boys and girls have different colored hair!" See, girls have brown hair like Mommy and Audrey, and boys have black hair like Daddy and Elliot.
Oh, she acknowledges differences in the diaper region as well. But she finds those differences much less compelling.
Upping the Ante
James goes back to work next week. I think we'll survive. (We survived this week and last when he went in for a couple of critical afternoon meetings.) But I'm trying not to focus too much on how I'll manage the impossible task of caring for two. How I'll cope when one NEEDS to be walked and jiggled while the other one NEEDS me to make her some oatmeal. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
It would be so dang easy to just care for the little one. And not just because he's less of a screamer than his older sis was, but because I've got this infant care thing down, this time around. I know when not to fret. (Almost always.) The breastfeeding is so much easier. (He was up more than a pound in a week and a half.)
But as of Monday I won't be able to just sit around reading while he naps (I've polished off a couple of hefty books this week), smelling his intoxicating new baby smell (the sweet spot is right where his hairline meets his forehead), or reveling in his accomplishments (He'd rolled over from belly to back several times before hitting two weeks! He formed his first consonant—ga—yesterday!)
Instead, I gotta learn to juggle.
Larnin’
I know that I send my daughter to school. But somehow, it still seems weird to me that she learns stuff from people other than me. When she came home singing a song I'd never taught her, or counting in Spanish, I was flabbergasted.
Last week, a fire engine visited Audrey's nursery school, and she completely dazzled us with the knowledge that she took away from her encounter with the firemen. "That's a smoke detector," she announced, peering up at our hall ceiling. "Smoke detectors are our friends!" Like, we had the greatest guest lecturer today, Mom!
So Not Supportive of My Lifestyle
"Mommy doesn't eat animals," James explained to her.
And her face furrowed in disapproval as she looked at me, "You should eat salmon, Mommy."
Yeah. Well. You should eat vegetables, kiddo.
Torn
We were sort of getting the hang of things. The family was sort of gelling. Audrey had gradually warmed up to the new little guy, progressing over the course of a week from not wanting to be in the same room as him, to being in the same room but ignoring him, to actively wanting to hold him and touch him. (Gently! Gently! Be gentle!)
We were showered! We were dressed! We were going on family outings to story time at the library! We were thinking we might be able to get a little bit of home cooking done!
And then a couple days ago the toddler came down with a very nasty cold. And we instantly reverted into groggy, grungy homebodies.
Audrey's improving, so we're thinking we might be able to shower or hit the farmer's market tomorrow. (All bets are off if mom, dad, or baby brother come down with the virus, of course.)
Audrey's illness provided me with the first real dilemma in my career as a mother of two. I had a sick three-year-old, so naturally I wanted very much to cuddle her in my arms. But cuddling a sick three-year-old in one's arms often means being sneezed, coughed, or vomited on. And I also had a two-week-old with an immature immune system who needed to be held in my arms, and I wanted very much to keep him healthy. Which seemed incompatible with having coughy, sneezy germs all over my clothing.
So, for the most part, I let James do the cuddling. Luckily, he was still on leave. And luckily, Audrey has been very Daddy-centric for the past couple of weeks, so I don't think she missed my cuddles too much. (She's perfectly fine with me holding the baby, but insists on keeping Daddy all to herself.)
I'm sure this wasn't the last dilemma I'll face as I figure out how to mother two.
My Little Foodie
While Elliot is generally mellow, he clearly takes food very seriously. His comfort zone is nursing tummy to tummy in cradle hold (since that's the way he started out.) When he's unable to latch on easily, he goes into panic mode. When I first tried to get him to latch on lying on his side, he got very distressed and started breathing heavily, and refused to even give it a shot. Since my milk came in and latching on got more challenging, it's been taking me a long time to get him nice and calm and convince him that he can attach himself successfully. I can't wait until he gets the hang of side-lying, so I don't have to be sitting up to nurse in the middle of the night. But for now I think I have to just follow his lead and let him gain more confidence in nursing before pressing him into a greater variety of positions. Because clearly he knows more or less what he's doing. At three days old, an age when most babies have lost weight, he's already up a couple of ounces.
Blame the Hormones
Let me describe a progression of emotions.
Thursday, after 5:35 am. Pure delight—I'd already pushed that baby out and wouldn't have to do it again. Completely sure that two babies was the right amount for me.
Friday: Pure elation. That baby was already out, and I wouldn't have to go through pushing him out again. 100% positive that two babies was just the right amount for me.
Saturday: Bouts of melancholy. Some almost rational—My perfect bowling ball belly was shrinking away, and maybe people were right that I should have gotten it bellycasted. Some utterly irrational—Wiping away a few blood spots from the bathroom floor, I nearly wept because I was erasing mementos of my son's birth. Wondered if having a third baby might some day be sort of a fun thing to do after all.
Who’s Idea Was This Again?
Our first night with two kids was truly a delight. Having slept all day, Elliot decided to be content but awake pretty much all night. And, while the earthy sounds of birthing didn't disturb Audrey in the least, the gentle mews of her baby brother woke her up, and she refused to go back to sleep.
Having given birth mere hours earlier, I was pretty much confined to bed and unable to provide comfort to toddler or newborn, so James had to try to deal with two needy children simultaneously. And neither he nor I had slept a wink the night before.
In the end, to pacify Audrey, James handed her the portable DVD player and had her watch videos all night while he carried Elliot around in between nursing sessions.
The funny thing is, the memory of how stupendously awful that night was is already fading. But I still vow never to be one of those people who urge new parents to enjoy every moment of their baby's infancy. I refuse to completely forget that there are lots of just plain not fun moments. And hours. And weeks.
The Not So Little Guy
So it turns out, when your newborn weighs in at 9 pounds, he doesn't really fit into the newborn size diapers that you bought for him. Oh well. I've been using them as maxis.
Welcome Elliot Michael!
Our little guy finally decided it was time to come out on Thursday, April 17th, nearly two weeks past his due date. Couldn't have asked for a better birth, really. My water broke at about 1 in the morning, contractions started at about 1:45 am, the midwife, midwife's assistant, and doula arrived at our house at around 3:30 am, and I pushed my 9 pound, 21 inch baby boy out at 5:35 am with nary a stitch needed. (The female body is an amazing thing.) When the midwife's assistant came to check up on me and baby the day after, she said her memory of the birth is that I laughed my baby out.
Audrey's birthday present to Mommy, Daddy, and Elliot was that she slept soundly through the whole (at times noisy) thing, waking to greet her new brother at about 6:20 am. Audrey is doing reasonably well with the transition. She's been somewhat needy and has no interest in the baby, but she hasn't been toooooo hostile or weepy. So far anyway.
Elliot seems like a fairly mellow little guy. Like any human being, he has his issues, of course (hates diaper changes, refuses to nurse in any position other than cradle hold), but he calms quickly and easily and already coos and makes lots of practice smiles. His birthday present to me was that he came out at 9 pounds even. Cause come on. Pushing out an 8 pound 15 ounce baby would not have given me even remotely the same bragging rights that pushing out a 9-pounder does.
Nope, Not Yet
No, it's not that we've neglected to keep you updated on the latest news in our household. It's just that there's been no particularly interesting news to report. I blew past my due date a full week ago, yet baby still seems perfectly snug and content right where he is. I continue to have frequent, mildly painful Braxton-Hicks contractions. You know. Just like I was having three weeks ago. Luckily, I also continue to not be overly uncomfortable, so I haven't been desperately scouring the internet for tips on getting labor going.
Still, considering that my first was a full week early, it's a bit odd to be in my current position. I mean, I'm a full week late, so if baby doesn't decide to exit by the end of the weekend, next week I'll have to start in with fun procedures like non-stress tests and ultrasounds to make sure that the placenta's still in good shape and baby still seems comfy and has plenty of amniotic fluid.
But I'm not really concerned that the tests would show anything awry, because as I type, the little guy is bumping cheerfully around in my belly, just mischievously keeping the secret of his birthday all to himself for a bit longer.
Sleep, Glorious Sleep?
"We're not going to get any sleep in the month of April, are we?" asked my spouse. And I couldn't disagree with his assessment. I mean, there's the whole newborn aspect of the situation, of course. But the really problematic thing is that our three-year-old only needs around 9 hours of sleep per night lately. We're talking a down (very reluctantly!) at 11 and up at 8 sort of schedule these days.
I think it's probably best that I refrain from checking to see how much sleep the average 3-year-old requires, because it would probably make me weep with jealousy.
Baby Watch
The phone has been ringing a lot over the past few days. And being a little slow on the uptake, it took me a couple of days of unusually frequent phone activity to figure out that people are calling because they're dying to know what's going on with my uterus.
So I thought maybe a little update was in order. At 38 weeks, I'm am getting lots and lots of Braxton-Hicks contractions, and some are painful. But overall, I'm not really getting any sense that baby is planning an imminent move. I could certainly be wrong about that, of course. But for now I'm basically just moseying along. Other than the inconvenient fact that I need a LOT of sleep nowadays, I'm still reasonably comfortable, and still enjoying how easy it is to take care of baby while he's on the inside. Neither baby nor Mommy seem to be in a big rush to take the next step.
Update 3-30: 39 weeks now. And still pretty much the same story as at 38 weeks.
What She Wants Me to Believe
Our longstanding rule is that Audrey can watch unlimited DVDs in the car, but no TV in the house (except on rare "special occasions").
Last Thursday afternoon, I decided that it was pretty special that Stanford and Cornell were playing in the NCAA basketball tournament, so we turned on the TV to watch the game.
Audrey stood next to the TV for a few minutes, making the very interesting observations from her perspective as a sports-watching novice. "They have numbers on their shirts!" "What's that horn honking?" "They're wearing different colored shirts!" "How many people are playing basketball?"
Then she looked over at the couch, which was filled up with laundry baskets and books, and requested that I clear up some space for her. She explained herself as nonchalantly as she could. "Daddy usually watches TV on the couch."
Thank You Note
"What did I didn't like when I was a baby?"
Audrey has been asking me this question quite a bit over the past few days. And there was a lot that she didn't like when she was a baby, so it's a question that provides us with plenty to discuss.
"You didn't like to sleep in your bassinet."
"Why not?"
"You liked to snuggle with Mommy and Daddy instead."
"You didn't like to ride in a stoller."
"Why not?"
"You liked us to carry you instead."
"You didn't like your car seat."
"Why not?"
"You liked us to hold you all the time. You didn't want us to put you down in the seat."
"You didn't like to be dressed or have your diaper changed."
"Why not?"
"I guess those things bothered you."
"You didn't like it when I put you down to wash my hands after I changed your diaper."
"Why not?"
"You liked me to hold you all the time."
"You didn't like it when people other than Mommy and Daddy held you?"
"Why not?"
"I guess you liked us best."
Given all of the child's dislikes, her infancy involved a lot of earsplitting screaming, and it was not an easy period for any of us. But having slogged our way through to the point where we are now living with a largely pleasant and reasonable young lady, I can look back on that time and be profoundly grateful.
Audrey taught me a style of crib-free, stroller-free parenting that I never would explored if she had been more conventional in her needs. And I'm totally hooked on it. Even if #2 is the completely laid-back sort, he'll be in our arms and in our bed all the time. It makes me feel exhausted just thinking about having to get up and pull baby out of a crib to feed him at night. The idea of hauling baby around in a bulky stroller instead of a compact sling strikes me as more than a little inconvenient.
But alas, even if the new little bugger hates the car seat just as much as his sister did, I'm afraid that's the one area where's there's just no room for compromise.
A Well Deserved Scolding
Audrey is really taking an interest these days in rules of behavior. The other day, I was feeding her some Veggie-Tortellini soup. I love serving her this soup, as she's willing to eat of variety of its healthy ingredients--the tomato broth, the tortellini, and even the swiss chard! However, she turns her nose up at the carrots and zucchini, so I filter them out for her.
Despite my best efforts, one of the spoonfuls that I scooped included a piece of carrot, so I addressed the errant vegetable. "Go away carrot!"
"Don't tell the carrot to go away!" my daughter said sternly.
I was greatly surprised. "Do you want to eat the carrot?"
"No," she explained. "It's not nice to say ‘Go away.'"
Quantum Leap
Audrey's drawing efforts have pretty much been limited to faces with eyes and mouths for the past several months. Occasionally she'd maybe add hair.
So James nearly fell over in his chair one recent evening when she starting producing bodies, buttoned shirts, arms, hands, legs, and feet.
If she's gonna progress, she's gonna progress in style.
We’re Just Ornery That Way
It's a few weeks to go before baby arrives, so we're potty training. It's not that I set out to disregard the advice of every parenting expert on the planet. ("Do not attempt this project right before a major change like a move or the arrival of a new sibling.") It's just that I've always planned to tackle potty training when Audrey seemed ready. And up until now she wasn't ever even remotely ready. (For one thing, she used to pee like every five minutes.) And now she sort of is. (She's no longer completely opposed to toilets. And besides, now I'm the one who pees every five minutes.)
Audrey has excellent bowel and bladder control, and she never has accidents. The problem is that she still strongly prefers to use diapers for elimination. So I have her running around half naked most of the time. And I very gently encourage her into the bathroom once in a while. And, once in a while, I'm savvy and subtle enough to overcome her stubborn streak, and she pees in the toilet instead of holding the urine inside in a desperate attempt to give herself a bladder infection.
I'm kind of having fun with the project. Constantly thinking of new ways that I can make the toilet seem appealing. And I think perhaps it takes a mama who is ornery enough to ignore the advice of every parenting expert on the planet to toilet train a child who is ornery enough to refuse to pee for six or seven hours straight.
Anatomy Lessons
Audrey may be a witness to her brother's birth, so we've been watching videos and having discussions to help her understand the things she might see. She seems well prepared. "What's the name of the thing that attaches the baby to the Mommy?" "The umbilical cord!" What's the name of the organ that baby lives inside of?" "The placenta!"
Well, almost. "Where does the baby come out of the mommy?" "The belly button!"
Striving to Be a Girly Girl
"I say ‘eww' when I see a bug," she often informs me.
And hey, if she wants to be the type who is grossed out by bugs, more power to her. But so far I can't say that she seems to be succeeding at her efforts to transform herself into a squeamish kid. She'll happily examine grubs out in the garden for a good fifteen minutes before she suddenly remembers to say "eww."
Daddy’s Girl
Audrey was highly Mommy-centric during the first years of her life. And it was a little rough on James when she would react to his homecomings with complete indifference, or maybe a brief smile.
Well, no more. Basically, mama is now the beached whale that Audrey is forced to spend days with. The beached whale who, despite noting that her child's crankiness is due to extreme boredom, is often unable to find the energy to pull herself off of the couch and into the kitchen to start a baking project.
And, lo and behold, James now gets the sort of homecoming greetings he could only dream of before. The running to the door! The expressions of delight! He is definitely the fun one.
It's sweet to see, and healthy, I think. She'll need to rely more on Papa when Mommy is tied up with infant care. Unfortunately, I've also come to the conclusion that Audrey and Daddy share another special bond. I've been nervous for days that the two of them are on the verge of coming down with a cold thanks to their mild but persistent sniffles. But as they don't seem to be getting any better or worse, another explanation is seeming more and more likely. It's Daddy/Daughter spring allergy season! Hurray!
Whereupon Her Knowledge of Grammar Surpasses My Own
A: "Did it try to shot out of Audrey's hands?"
L: "Yes, it tried to shoot out didn't it?"
A: "No. SHOT."
Future Math Major?
Tooth-brushing time is a nightly Audrey-Daddy ritual, and they frequently come up with new themes to make it entertaining. One night Daddy might brush different types of fruits out of Audrey's teeth. The next night different bugs. The next night different nursery school classmates.
A couple of weeks ago James had a new suggestion, a suggestion that I assumed was intended more to amuse the mama in the living room than the child in the bathroom. "Let's do prime numbers!" I giggled my way through the entire session. Audrey, on the other hand, listened earnestly. And the next night at tooth-brushing time, she requested prime numbers. And then again the following night. And again the night after that.
So now James and I are just waiting for the opportunity to feign mild surprise and pity when addressing the parents of another three-and-a-half year old. "Oh, you mean your child doesn't know his prime numbers up through 7? Hmm."
Or Possibly an English Major?
There was a loud thud, the type of sound that a 30-pound toddler might make when accidentally dropping to a hardwood floor from some distance above it. Naturally my heart stopped while I waited to hear what sound would come next. It resumed its normal rhythm when I heard the child cheerfully addressing her father, "Did Audrey plummet to the ground?"
My Least Favorite Words in the English Language
A: "Why is the bird getting wet?"
L: "Because it's raining outside."
A: "NO, THAT'S NOT WHY!"
A: Why are the muffins hot?"
L: Because we just took them out of the oven."
A: ‘NO, THAT'S NOT WHY!"
Listen, missy. I'm pretty sure that at this point, I'm still supposed to have all the answers. You don't get to question my authority until you're a teenager, capisce?
Starting Over
L: I'll get a knife to cut it.
A: A sharp knife or an Audrey knife?
And since I was getting a sharp knife, she was very careful not to touch it.
Oy. Just when we got this one well trained, we had to go making another one who will need to learn all the rules. "Don't go in the street. Keep the sand in the box. The oven is hot, stay back." It's exhausting just thinking about all of the work that will go into keeping #2 safe.
Word Play
Audrey has been having a blast playing around with the sounds of words for the last month or so.
A few weeks ago, she tried out the "R" version of Joy to the World.
"Roy to the Rorld. The Rord is Rum. Let Rearth, Receive her Ring!"
She likes to mash words together:
L: Do you want some olives?
A: I want "molives!"
And she likes to experiment with rhymes:
"Apple Dapple!" "Waffle Doffle!"
If I were working on a linguistics dissertation, maybe this would be fodder for some sort of thought-provoking language acquisition insight. But I'm not. So I'll just observe that it's real cute.
Wherein I Display My Cultural Insensitivity
Oh, to have a dollar for every time I've taken part in this conversation:
"When is your baby due?"
"Early April."
"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"
"It's a boy."
But at this point, right at this point, the conversation diverges based on the cultural background of my inquisitor.
American Version:
"How fantastic! One of each! Perfect!"
Asian Version:
"How fantastic! Your daughter will be able to help you take care of your son! Perfect!"
And does the Asian Version of the conversation rankle my American sensibilities? I fear that it does. But I have, thus far, managed to just chuckle that I wouldn't expect more or less help from a firstborn son than from a firstborn daughter.
I've refrained from ranting that, from my perspective, this attitude the underestimates the capabilities of both boy and girl children. That it assumes girls are only good for nurturing. That it assumes boys are incapable of being helpful. I've refrained from pointing out that this type of childrearing has ensured (with many many exceptions) that certain Asian guys that I know would starve to death in a room full of oranges and bananas if there were no woman around to do the work of unpeeling.
And I've also refrained from pointing something else out. See, my daughter, she has many many wonderful characteristics. But overall, helpfulness is not something that I would pick out as one of her strong suits.
L to A: "Honey, can you bring me a tissue?"
A: (Standing right next to the tissue box.) "Wait until Daddy gets home." (I am far too busy staring out this window to help you out. But Daddy's good at that type of stuff.)
Glass Half Empty
I am much better at pregnancy this second time around. For me, part of being better at pregnancy means doing a lot of yoga. (Class once a week, plus practicing in the evening before bed when my mind and body need a little help settling down.) There is a downside to all of this yoga stuff, though. It keeps me well aware of the fact that I am still perfectly capable of squatting, that I actually have no trouble hanging out for long periods of time on my hands and knees. So if, say, the shower needs to be wiped down or a spill needs to be cleaned up off the floor…well by golly, I find myself just having to get down there and do it myself. I haven't even gotten to the point of asking James to tie my shoe laces yet. I am very not taking full advantage of my situation. Harrumph.
A Month and A Half to Go
Subtitle: Six Weeks Until I Get to Sleep on My Back Again
Subtitle: In Six Weeks, I Should Be Able to Go More Than 5-Minues Without Peeing
Subtitle: Geez, We Have a Lot of Stuff to Do Over the Next Six Weeks
Subtitle: Just Six Weeks Until I Never Have Time to Do Anything Ever Again
This pregnancy continues to float along in a fairly peaceful and pleasant manner. I can't really complain about it for a couple of reasons. First, based on the reports of other pregnant women that I see in places like yoga class, I seem to have fewer of the aches and pains of late pregnancy than the average chick. (Yeah, my hips get a little achy and wake me up at night. But after I get up to pee, switching to lie on my other side pretty much resolves the problem.) Second, last week I watched the (completely amazing and astounding) birthing video of a woman who was 40-weeks pregnant with twins. So I can never again in good conscience complain that my belly is huge. My belly is nothing (NOTHING!) compared to hers.
In part because the pregnancy continues to be not particularly troublesome, I'm feeling quite unready for it to come to its conclusion. There's so much to do before then (buy new carseat, set up cloth diaper service, figure out where we're going to store clothes for a fourth person….) Also, I haven't gotten to the point where the inconveniences of pregnancy outweigh the distasteful aspects of the laboring I'm going to have to do to bring this little person into the world. Plus there's the whole "impending loss of freedom" aspect of the situation. As I type, the three-and-a-half-year-old and her pop are out running errands, and I have a few hours to myself. And I clearly recall that there's no "a few hours to myself" with a newborn. Mom's Brestaurant is open 24/7.
I know when the time comes, I'll take it all in stride. I'll power through labor one contraction at a time. No thought will be more distasteful to me than the idea of being separated from my baby. But for now, I'm savoring this pre-baby lifestyle.
Taking Her Role Seriously
Audrey has come to terms with the passing of the holiday season, and she periodically points out to us that it is no longer Halloween or Christmas. As a result, we have finally succeeded in moving the last of the Christmas decorations out to the garage. Hooray!
While Valentine's Day didn't come close to matching Halloween or Christmas in her affections (ghosts and reindeer beat out cupid every day), Audrey did have some fun reading Valentine's books and making Valentines for her classmates. She wanted giraffe Valentines. So she and Daddy located an appropriate giraffe image on the web and added a Valentine's greeting, and then Audrey helped Daddy glue the giraffe printouts to red paper, and she added a smiley face to each card. (Good thing her Daddy is crafty, cause her Mommy would probably just have had to buy the store bought type.)
Later, after she had passed out and received cards, Audrey selected one of her valentines and took the opportunity to address a little lesson to my belly. "See baby? This is a heart. Hearts are for Valentine's Day."
So the new baby has a head start on learning both shapes and holidays. That's just one of the advantages of having a big sister.
False Advertising
Significant fine motor skills improvements taking place these days. Audrey recently learned how to twist the cap off of a tube of toothpaste and squeeze the paste onto her brush. Which of course meant a week's worth of needing to brush her teeth ten times a day.
She has also figured out how to hold down buttons to perform various functions, like holding down the * key on the cell phone to put it into vibrate mode. Which of course meant several days of me agreeing that, yes, I could feel the phone vibrating against my shin. And my arm. And my foot. And my head.
So yeah. She's very into twisting motions. And pressing motions. And when she spotted her new bottle of fluoride (San Jose doesn't fluoridate its water, so she has a prescription for it) she immediately insisted on being the one to open it up. "It has a child proof cap," James rather apologetically pointed out. And, of course, no sooner than he spoke, she popped that baby right off onto the couch.
Apropos of Nothing
"Locust Bean Gum," she sang out cheerfully.
"Huh?" I wracked my brain. Where had I heard of that substance before? Finally, I got it. "Oh. Locust Bean Gum. Well, I guess you really pay attention when you ask me to read the ingredients on the yogurt container."
From Her Perspective
And the adults chatted on and on, who knows what about. The primaries? The rainy weather? Britney Spears?
Audrey decided to add her two cents into the dinnertime conversation. "Blah blah blah blah blah."
Words, Words, Words
We were watching videos of baby Audrey eating in a high chair. Audrey stared intently at the screen. "What's that protector that I'm wearing called?"
"That's called a bib."
She needed to learn a simple word (bib), so she used a complex and descriptive word (protector). What an incongruously delightful question.
Baby Talk
One of our external drives crashed, so James has been recapturing all of our videos of Audrey from tapes. It's been fun to watch all of the hours and hours of video of Audrey as an infant and young toddler.
I think that it has also been very helpful. We've been talking a lot with Audrey about how babies act and what they do. So far, the kid totally seems to get how limited a newborn's capabilities are, and she is totally OK with it. Enthusiastic even. "I want to sit with the new baby and watch the mobile that sings Twinkle Twinkle Little Star with him!"
Angling for Independence
"Daddy should be home soon. I have yoga tonight."
"Daddy's at Tensilica."
"Yes."
"Mommy, go to yoga."
"You want Daddy to stay at Tensilica and me to go to yoga?"
"Yes."
"What will you do?"
"I'll stay here by myself."
Wake Up and Smell the Morning Numbers
Immediately upon awakening, she needed to get on top of the essentials.
A: "What's the number of the day?"
L: It's January 30th.
A: What's the time?
L: It's 7:34.
The Interior Decorator
Audrey is constantly coming up with brilliant home improvement projects. "This toilet is dirty. We should buy a new one." "These towels are dirty. We should buy new ones."
However, in her opinion, the only projects worth considering are the ones she comes up with herself.
L to J: We should get a new front door.
A: No! Let's keep the old one.
Cause obviously we can't afford a new front door if we're going to be replacing the toilet and the linens.
Like, Totally My Fault
A: "Was Daddy all like, ‘Get up! Get up!'?"
The Pact
"That frog looks dead," she observed.
"That's just what I was thinking," I agreed.
But then we zipped up our lips. Daddy always gets so upset when we lose a member of our tank. Best not to give him the bad news right before dinner.
So Polite, and Yet He Ignored Her Request
Her commentary when Daddy went to pick her up: "No, I want to wait until Mommy is available."
Weaning, Weaning, Weaned?
I read about a gazillion breastfeeding books when Audrey was an infant, and came to the conclusion that I wanted her to wean herself when she outgrew the need to nurse. As I see it, there is only upside to letting a child nurse for as long as she wishes. Mama and child get to enjoy the closeness and snuggling of the nursing relationship, and child benefits from continuing to receive mama's highly nutritious, immune system boosting milk.
I also knew from all of my reading that nursing during pregnancy is safe, but that pregnancy often brings an end to the nursing relationship. Sometimes pregnant breasts are so tender that mama needs to take the initiative and wean. Sometimes pregnant breast milk is so gross (supply is reduced, salt content is increased) that the child loses interest.
So one of the (many, many) reasons that we waited until Audrey nearly almost three before embarking on "project baby #2" is that, prior to age three, nursing was far too important to Audrey's psychological well being for me to take the plunge with another pregnancy. Weaning Audrey at age one or at two would have been a tremendously difficult, trying, and traumatic task. But by the time she was almost three I could see that, while my daughter still enjoyed nursing, it was no longer essential to her.
We nursed through the first trimester with nary a hiccup—no pain, no supply problems. During the second trimester, things got a little more challenging. Some tenderness for me, some uncomplimentary commentary from Audrey. "That's all the milk." "The milk tastes like oily crackers."
Slowly she cut back, nursing less and less. She completely stopped nursing during the day. (Only nursing at night, when she was sleepy and not as aware of the supply and taste issues.) Then she stopped nursing at night, but briefly nursed every few days. Then, she started trying to nurse without tasting the milk, comically twisting her mouth around at funny angles. (Unfortunately for her, my let-down has always been pretty much immediate.)
And now, as we head into the third trimester, I think that she has actually forgotten how to nurse. She still makes occasional requests, but usually just ends up nuzzling me. When she does make an effort, she doesn't know quite where to position her tongue anymore.
I have mixed emotions as this era of my relationship with Audrey comes to an end. When it first became obvious to me that she wouldn't nurse all the way through the pregnancy I was a little melancholy. A little sad that she was not weaning strictly of her own accord. A little anxious about how on earth I would provide comfort and immune support to my child when she was sick, since my breasts had always been my primary coping tool in times of illness.
But Audrey has now been through two colds in her "barely nursing" stage, and to my great relief, we got through them with no trouble at all. And I am really happy about how the weaning has gone. No tears, no trauma. Just a gradual, measured, periodically revisited decision on her part that nursing is no longer something that she wants to do.
And, while I don't feel positive enough about the situation to wax poetic about how my little girl is growing up, I can say that it IS nice to have a little break for a few months. I seem to have a vague recollection that nursing a newborn is quite a bit more labor intensive than nursing a three-year-old.
The Scapegoat
We've been talking more with Audrey about the baby. Discussing things like where he'll sleep and what he'll eat (or rather, drink). Talking about things she did when she was a little baby. And, at least in theory, she's a good sport about the whole thing. This afternoon, she requested to sleep right next to him once he arrives, and she sang the Twelve Days of Christmas to my belly.
She also has one major burning question about the new baby, which she has been asking for days now. "Why did he take away our humongous Christmas tree?"
James and I have different approaches to answering this question. I generally make excuses for him:
L: He's so little he just probably didn't know any better."
James seeks to understand the child's logic:
J: "How did he take the tree away?"
A: "With his little hands."
J: "How did he get out of Mommy's tummy to take the tree away?"
A: (Silence.)
Neither of us have made any attempt whatsoever to relate the true story. To explain that Daddy waited until Audrey was asleep on trash night, and then whisked our increasingly dry and hazardous evergreen out to the curb to be recycled. No doubt there are many valid reasons why it is VERY IMPORTANT that we introduce our child to the reality of the situation. But we all prefer to live in the very convenient fantasy world that she has created.
She loved that tree. So we were braced for tears and trauma upon its disappearance. What a relief that, instead, we can all just sort of shrug our shoulders and affectionately place the blame on a little guy who is far, far too young to defend himself.
Mmm Mmm Good
James bought Audrey a blueberry flavored honey stick at the farmer's market a couple a weeks ago, and she showered it with her highest possible praise. "It tastes like Tylenol!"
So there you have it. Since she took her first bite of solid food we have earnestly sought to provide this child with healthy, organic, homemade fare. And the result? Not only does she refuse to let vegetables pass by her lips, but she cannot imagine that anything could taste more divine than the artificial grape flavoring of the medicine that we dole out to her when she has a fever.
Three More Months
With an entire trimester of this pregnancy left to go, I'm already starting to feel a little anxious to get to the finish line. It's a little odd because, unlike many women I know, even in the final, humongous weeks of my pregnancy with Audrey, I wasn't particularly chomping at the bit to deliver.
But then, last time I was free to just hang out on the couch and amuse myself with gossip magazines, if I so desired. This time, a certain insistent member of my family seems to think that my time would be better spent lowering my increasingly unwieldy body down to the floor to help her spell out the names of Christmas things with plastic letters, and then hoisting my creaky limbs and heavy belly back up to find her a snack in the kitchen.
I'd still say that I'm enjoying this pregnancy more than I enjoyed the first one. This time around I'm much better at not sweating the small stuff. And I have a much clearer understanding of how amazing it will be to finally meet the little person who is kicking around my abdomen. But this final stretch could be a long one.
Moused and Dangerous
Inspired by her newly developed mousing skills, Audrey spent quite a bit of time playing independently at the computer this weekend. James checked in on her activities frequently, and his check-ins frequently involved quite a bit of squawking. "Did you click on a pop-up window?! Never click on a pop-up window!" "Did you just delete one of the messages in my inbox?!" "Wait! You're setting my email account to read messages in Romanian!"
She is completely fearless in her computer explorations, cheerfully opening different programs and web sites, clicking this box or that link just to see what will happen. And while I am happy to indulge her in this new game (it has to be good for the development of her fine motor skills), I've come to the conclusion that until her fascination with the internet subsides, I'm going to have to refrain from keeping my email open all day. My friend Kate probably would have seriously been questioning my sanity if I hadn't intervened in time to instruct Audrey to delete the message that she was on the verge of sending. (Subject: qqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq. Message: qqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq)
A Dilbert Moment
"Is Daddy at work or is he at a meeting?" she asked as I hung up the phone.
And at first I was going to correct her. But upon further reflection, I decided that perhaps she had a valid point.
She Wasn’t Kidding
In the weeks leading up to Christmas, James and I periodically asked Audrey what she wanted to receive. And she invariably responded that she wanted a violin. If we tried to press her about additional gifts that she might like, she grew huffy, insisting that she only wanted a violin. She also specified very adamantly that the violin was to come from Santa and no one else. She even asked Daddy to pen a request letter to Santa.
Once we arrived in Ventura for our holiday celebrations, Audrey had a blast preparing presents for the big night. She "helped" Aunt Julie wrap, adding her signature to the gift tags, drawing pipes for the pipeless snowmen on the wrapping paper, and piling gifts precariously under the tree.
And then….she had absolutely no interest in opening a single one of the gifts she had so cheerfully helped prep. Didn't want to open them. Was thoroughly uninterested in opening them. Was openly hostile to the idea of doing any opening whatsoever.
She did enjoy the two violins that we eventually coerced her into opening (a toy one from Grandpa and Grandma, and a quarter-sized one from Mommy and Daddy). And she was happy to read a couple of books that we sort of forced her into unwrapping. But opening and enjoying a few presents did not whet her appetite for more. So, in the face of her complete lack of enthusiasm, we gave up and just allowed her to not open presents to her heart's content.
How charming, really. She was kind of like a walking Christmas special. Like, stop with the pushing of the presents, people. These material goods are unimportant. I just want to hang out with these people that I don't get to see very often. And do some yoga with Aunt Julie. And read some books with Grandma. And watch a car auction on ESPN with Grandpa and Uncle George. (OK, I may have all of the material goods that I need, but the fact remains that I am a severely television deprived child.)
She Really Wanted to Meet Santa
Audrey fell asleep in the car at around 8:15 on December 23rd. Which was about 10 minutes before we arrived at Grandma and Grandpa's house for Christmas. I figured it was a good thing. She'd sleep through the night and awaken in the morning fresh and ready to deal with the change of scenery. My spouse rightly sniffed trouble ahead.
Trouble arrived at 2 a.m. when Audrey awakened in a strange bed, sat up, looked around, and demanded a drink. And, alas, that was pretty much the end of the sleeping thing for both Audrey and Daddy. The girl was wide awake through the rest of the night. Wide awake through the morning. Wide awake through the early afternoon. Finally went down for a nap at about 4 p.m. on Christmas Eve. Slept slept slept through church. Slept slept slept through dinner. Slept slept slept through the present opening.
To be honest, given the child's lack of enthusiasm for eating and presents, her decision to sleep through the Christmas Eve festivities probably made life a little easier for her folks.
But then she woke up at 10, just as the party was winding down. And it wasn't so easy for us when she was up up up until the wee hours of Christmas morning. Santa knew best, though. He and the reindeer didn't show up until after the child finally drifted to sleep around 2.
Note to the Guantanamo Guys
Did you know that it's possible to listen to "The Twelve Days of Christmas" on an ipod for the entire duration of a six-hour car trip without developing a passionate hatred for the song? Luckily, we were listening to the Perry Como version. I'm pretty sure James and I couldn't have withstood the Muppets version without going insane.
21st Century Type Milestones
Audrey can now navigate the web using a mouse with a reasonable degree of accuracy. Other computer skills: Closes menus using the Escape key. Uses Backspace, Enter, and arrow keys. Is a pretty good at typing out words if you tell her what letters to type. Is able to type symbols such as "!" by holding down the shift key. Desperately wants her own Facebook page.
Literacy Type Milestone
Audrey can now write the most important letter of the alphabet. (That would be "A" of course.)
Free at Last
I have to say, battling months of morning sickness while raising a toddler and teaching a class has very nearly been more than I could handle. Not only was I feeling horrible until very recently, but one or another of my responsibilities has had me out of the house nearly every night of the week since September. Language lab on Monday evenings. Pre-school parenting meetings and/or midwife appointments on Tuesday evenings. Yoga on Wednesday evenings. Teaching on Thursday evenings. Acupuncture appointments on Friday evenings.
Plus, given that my weekends were largely devoted to lesson planning and grading and feeling sick, a whole lot of non-essential tasks (like updating this blog) have been sorely neglected.
Actually, a whole lot of essential tasks have been sorely neglected, too. (Let's just say that if you were given a choice between using the bathroom at the Shell station a few blocks from our house or our bathroom, I might advise you to take your chances on the facilities at the gas station.)
So it has been an incredible relief to wind up my class this semester. Such a burden lifted. With my weekends and evenings so much freer, I'm hopeful the house will soon qualify as tidy. That my daughter's baby book will soon be up-to-date. That we'll have baby stuff sort of ready to go before our son makes his arrival.
Cause if memory serves me correctly, once the new kid arrives, tidiness and timeliness will once again become a distant memory.
Picking Up Those Social Niceties
"How was work?" she asked as we sat down to dinner.
And then she listened with what I can only describe as polite interest as I described what a madhouse the language lab was on the last day before finals— filled to the brim with desperate students struggling to complete their lab hours in the waning hours of the semester.
The little darling. Her eyes didn't even glaze over as mother blathered on and on.
Name That Baby
When talking to Audrey, we haven't been focusing too much on the upcoming addition to our family. It's not that we're avoiding the subject, but it just doesn't seem particularly useful to prepare her too much for an event that's still four months in the future. I mean, that's like an eternity away to someone who's only been around 40 months herself, right?
Still, things come up once in a while. On the plus side, she really enjoyed feeling the baby kicking her back while she was sitting in my lap a couple of days ago. After he'd said "Hello," she had a suggestion. "I could climb back into your tummy for 10 weeks!" Like, she's ready to meet him right now! (And maybe a little bit she wants to make sure that she still gets to be my baby, too.)
On the minus side, there were a few days when she got very upset whenever we told people that it was a boy. (She feels very firmly that we should have another girl.)
A few nights ago, Audrey had a question about the baby that took us aback. "What's his name?" What could we say? We do have a couple of strong name contenders. But we're not ready to settle on anything just yet. After a few minutes of hemming and hawing, we suggested referring to the little one as "Baby Brother" and she seemed reasonably mollified. But I don't think she found that solution completely satisfying, because the next day she had a different name suggestion for the baby. "Audrey."
Are You Smarter Than a Three-Year-Old?
"I'm not sure what that animal is."
"It's a lemur, Daddy."
Ten More!
My previous entry notwithstanding, Audrey is actually doing much better when it comes to controlling her emotions. So whereas she went ballistic a couple of weeks ago if we didn't have the right bread for our French Toast, this week she's dealing with life's little setbacks much more stoically. Maybe she sheds a few tears and needs to be held for a couple of minutes, but she's no longer raging out of control.
James and I are particularly proud of her for her willingness to negotiate terms and then comply with the terms we've agreed upon. "We need to change your diaper," I'll observe as we look at pictures of ladybugs on the computer.
"Ten more pictures!" she begs.
So I agree. And 10 ladybugs later she jumps off of her stool and heads to the diaper changing towel without even being reminded.
The only problem with her bargaining skills is that she refuses to agree to any number other than ten. And, while 10 is no problem if we're looking at pictures or listening to little excerpts of different versions of "Winter Wonderland" at the iTunes store, 10 books is another story. Cause, given the length of the books that we read to her these days, 10 can take a long, long time.
So, I hate to admit this, but I am actually the partner who does a bit of cheating on our agreements. When we finish book number five, she doesn't seem to notice that anything is amiss if I call the next book number seven. I imagine she'll wise up to me soon, though. She's a quick one, that girl is.
The Argument for Ten Year Child Spacing
"I want French Toast."
"OK. Let's go to the kitchen and make some French Toast."
"No. I want French Toast from the refrigerator."
"We don't have any leftover French Toast, honey. We have to make some."
"I want some from the refrigerator."
"I'm sorry honey. We don't have any in the refrigerator. We can make some."
Tears commence. I go to the kitchen to start making the French Toast. Usually it's her job to crack the egg. But she's too busy crying in the bedroom, so I crack it. At that point, she appears, still sniffly.
"I want to crack the egg."
"Oh OK. Here." I try to hand her a new egg.
"I want to crack Mommy's egg."
"Um, OK." I try to hand her the already cracked egg.
"This one is already cracked!"
"I know. Here. Take a different egg."
"No! I want to crack Mommy's egg."
"OK." Once again I offer my egg.
"No! This one is already cracked!" She begins crying again with renewed vigor.
I resume making the French Toast on my own. She cries and watches me add the ingredients. Some milk. Some vanilla. Some maple syrup. Some cinnamon. Then, a problem. We're out of orange juice. I put in a splash of apple juice instead.
"I want orange juice!"
"I know, honey. But we're out of orange juice. We're using apple juice instead."
She redoubles her howls of protest.
I sigh as I go to the pantry. Knowing that the situation is only going to get worse, I grab a piece of apple cinnamon bread to soak.
"NOOOOOoooooo! I don't want that bread. I want black bread."
"I know, honey. But they were out of black bread at the store. Daddy got this apple cinnamon bread instead."
"I DON'T WANT THAT BREAD!!!!!"
"I know you don't sweetheart. But they were out of black bread at the store."
The child is in complete hysterics as the French Toast sizzles in the pan.
I put the finished product on our little table and carry it to the bedroom. Then I carry my hysterical daughter to the bedroom and read her some books to calm her down. She is far too upset to eat. But oh that toast smells good. Her brother wants some. As I read, I sneak a piece. And another. And another.
Finally, she is peaceful and ready for French Toast. But, um. We have to go to the kitchen to make more. Cause somehow, there's none left on the plate. So, you know, tears.
Another piece of bread is quickly soaked and cooked. And after a little more reading, she is ready to eat it. And she is forced to admit that the apple cinnamon bread isn't tooooo bad. And a piece and a half later, she's quite a bit more cheerful.
And of course, mama finishes up the last half a piece.
The Music Critic
We're on a big Christmas Carol kick around here. We listen to Christmas Carols in the car. We play them on the piano. We play them on the computer. We have library books with Christmas Carols. Basically, it's total Christmas Carol saturation.
Audrey is particularly fond of "The Twelve Days of Christmas," and much to the delight of her parents, she can make it backwards from "Seven Swans A' Swimming" to "And a Partridge in a Pear Tree," with nary a missed word or note.
The other day we were all in the car and the song "Feliz Navidad" came on. And as I listened to it, I thought the same thoughts that I always think when I listen to it. Catchy tune. But man, José Feliciano was not exactly the most ambitious of lyricists. The guy took two phrases, ""Feliz navidad, prospero año y felicidad" and "I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas from the bottom of my heart" and stretched them into a three minute song.
And just as I'm thinking these thoughts that I always think, my daughter pipes up. "Why is he saying the same thing over and over?"
I imagine by the time she's nine or ten the kid will probably be in love with music that I find really irritating. But for now, man, we are so on the same wavelength.
A New Tactic for Prolonging Halloween
"I want to be Frosty the Snowman for Christmas!"
Her Fears are Warranted
Daddy bought Audrey a snowman cupcake the other day, and before they brought it home she made something very clear.
"This is mine. I don't want Mommy to eat it."
Grammar Lover’s Edition
To be honest, I continue not to pay too much attention to Audrey's grammar because it continues to be more interesting to communicate with her than to analyze her communication efforts. However, a few interesting tidbits have grabbed my attention. A few days ago Audrey was having so much fun playing around with the language that I couldn't help but notice that she was working on working out the rules for when to use "a" and when to use "an."
"I'm going to have an apple." I informed her. "Do you want an apple?"
"I want a napple and you want an apple!" she enthused.
Another thing that I been noticing is that she has a couple of strategies for pronouncing the two sounds that we write with "th." "Th" is a really tricky sound and--as I mentioned to my students when I taught it to them this semester--it's the one sound my three-year-old doesn't really have a handle on yet. For the unvoiced version of "th" (the one where we don't vibrate our vocal cords…think, thing, three) she often uses "st." So instead of "thirsty" she says "stirsty." For the voiced version of "th" (the one where we vibrate our vocal cords…that, those, they) she often uses a "d" sound. So instead of "the" she says "da." I'll be curious to see when she gets the hang of getting her tongue properly positioned between her front teeth to pronounce the sound correctly.
Audrey still doesn't quite have past tense questions down perfectly. "Did I ate it?" she'll ask.
But oh what progress she's made in analyzing present perfect tense. "Have we sawn this picture in a while?" "Sawn!" Now that's the type of error that makes a grammar-lovin' mama's heart flutter in delight. She's noticed that some irregular verbs take an "n" in the present perfect, and so she's extrapolated—have drawn, have gone, have sawn!
And finally, a little maternal laziness to report on. Audrey is under the impression that the phrase "in a while" means "recently." So she'll ask, "Have we sawn this picture in a while?" And then I'm always like, "Oh yeah. We saw that picture yesterday, too, didn't we?"
And not until a few moments later will I realize that I've missed out on a teachable moment. Like, it would have been so simple to add an additional sentence. "Yeah, we have seen that picture recently. We saw it yesterday, too, didn't we."
But oh well. Whether or not the mama remembers to model the correct conjugation and time word, I'm sure the kid'll get it figured out. Figuring out grammar is just what kids do.
Musings on the Heart
A few weeks ago, there was a moderate sized earthquake centered in San Jose. Having missed the '89 Loma Prieta quake (by virtue of being a Southern California resident) and the '94 Northridge quake (by virtue of being a Northern California resident) it was probably the largest I'd ever felt. As it happened, when the earthquake struck, James and I were in the bathroom, standing on either side of Audrey, who was standing on a chair polishing a silver cup with toothpaste.
As soon as the ground started to shake, we reacted. Each of us grabbed one of her arms, and we lifted her out of the bathroom into the hall where we paused. Adrenaline pumping, each of our senses on the highest possible alert, we assessed the situation. Was the shaking going to get worse? Did we need to take further action to stay safe?
While we assessed, we carried on the calmest of conversations with our daughter. Did she feel the shaking? When the ground starts to move like this it's called an earthquake. Isn't it funny to feel the ground moving like that? Oh my goodness, did she hear the stapler fall off of the desk in the office?
Eventually, the ground stopped moving. James and I remained frozen and alert in the hall, but Audrey informed us that the danger had passed by kicking her feet (which were dangling ridiculously in the air) and suggesting that we might want to put her down.
All in all, not much of a quake. Sure, it knocked down a stapler that a toddler had set down at a very precarious angle, but it failed to pull off more impressive feats, like knocking out the electricity or throwing furniture around.
Still, it had a larger effect on me than I might have imagined, because I am more vulnerable now than I had previously realized. I realized that an earthquake could happen when my child was at school. I realized that a fire could happen while my daughter was on the other side of the house. And I realized just how right that woman on the radio was when she described motherhood as a state of having your heart walk around outside of your body, and if anything happened to it, you would die.
Do Not Underestimate Me, Mother!
James bought Audrey some new squirty animal bathtub toys the other day. (Her old ones were starting to squirt from multiple orifices.) And she examined her new treasures joyfully, naming them all. "Crab! Shark! Porpoise! Sea Turtle! Puffer Fish!"
Then James pointed out that the animals had their names printed on their bellies. Audrey stared intently at the creature that she knows as a puffer fish. "What does this one say?" she asked me. I weighed my answer carefully. Then, so as not to confuse her, I lied.
"It says ‘Puffer Fish.'"
Like she was going to fall for that. "No! What does it say?!"
OK. Fine. FINE. Have it your way. Refuse to let me shelter you from the world's complexities. "It says ‘Globe Fish.'" Sheesh. Life was simpler before you could kind of read.
Ask and You Shall Receive?
After months and months of being generally chipper, Audrey has started to have unreasonable spells on a regular basis. She'll make a request that requires us to break a law. (Usually it's a law of physics. "Mommy's hand cannot simultaneously touch the bathroom faucet and your mouth at the same time." Sometimes it's a law of metabolism. "Your pregnant Mommy cannot stop eating this snack even though you think it's not dinnertime.") Then, when we are unable or unwilling to comply with her requests, she goes ballistic.
And I must say, now that our child is older, our reaction to her tantrums is much different than it used to be. When she was one or two, we used to work so hard to help her cope with her messy feelings. To distract her. To make her feel better. Now we're much more apt to just sit there and pat her on the back while she cries--comforting her, but at the same time letting her know that she pretty much needs to suck it up.
The other day she was screaming at the top of her lungs because she didn't want James to wrap the present that I was taking to a baby shower. James decided that removing her from the situation was the best way to resolve the problem, so he suited the completely unwilling child up to go out and do some gardening. Waving arms were thrust into jacket sleeves. Wiggling feet were shoved into shoes. Then James needed to put on his own shoes. So he set the child down on the floor. And, unlike Audrey, he knows how to make requests that can easily be complied with. "OK," he told his daughter, "Lie there and writhe for a minute."
No Comment
"The bathtub is my favorite place to go pee-pee!"
Stellar Parenting on Display
My appointment with my midwife finished up at 7. (And after gaining a grand total of one pound thus far in my pregnancy, had I managed to gain nearly 15 in a single month? Why, yes, thank you. I had. Which I think explains why everyone keeps looking at me and saying, "Oh, wow. You're really starting to look pregnant!" And does "pregnant" really mean "gigantic"? Why, yes, thank you. I believe it does.) Given that we didn't really have much to eat in the house (Of course we didn't have much food in the house. I had eaten it all.) we decided to go to a restaurant called Max's.
We'd never taken Audrey to eat at Max's. Unfortunately, however, she and Daddy have, on several occasions gone there to purchase yummy chocolate brownies for Mommy. So as soon as we got there, she started requesting a brownie. And then she started to insist on having a brownie. And then she started to wail because we hadn't yet gotten her a brownie. And the hour was late. And we were hungry. And we had no food in the house. And we didn't have the energy to contemplate going to a different restaurant. So we…well, OK, we got her a brownie.
And do you know what's almost worse than ordering your child a brownie as an appetizer? Once our food arrived, James fed her a few of the French fries that came along with his pork chops. And then both of us were relieved. Like, OK! We're not the worst parents in the world. She didn't just have chocolate for dinner. She also had, um, potatoes!
Compare and Contrast
Now that my morning sickness has finally (finally, FINALLY) waned, I've resumed attempting to convince Audrey to eat the occasional vegetable. Because to be honest back in August (and September. And October.) when eating was pure torture for me, I completely gave up on trying to ensure that my child's diet was nutritious. "You want croutons, honey? OK. Here's a bowlful. And I guess we can call that lunch."
But last night, as Audrey sat at the table snarfing up canned peaches, I tried my darndest to get her to try a bite of my squash. "Look," I pointed out. "The squash is almost exactly the same color as the peaches. And they're both really sweet."
She nodded, and added in her own observation. "But the peaches are more watery. Why are the peaches more watery than the squash?"
And we discussed the water content of the two substances at length. And, no, she never did take a bite of the squash. But I was nevertheless pretty pleased with our dining experience. Because I've taught Academic English (formerly known as Remedial English) at San Jose State. I've sloshed through many an incoherent essay written by 20-year-olds who struggled to organize their thoughts using the type of logic that might earn a passing grade.
So I was satisfied with my three-year-old. Satisfied that by the time she needs to compare, say, the Constitution and the Articles of Confederation, she will be totally ready. The Articles of Confederation? They were more watery.
The Reflective Learner.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven." She paused.
"Mommy, what comes after 11?"
"Twelve."
"Twelve," she repeated. Then she had to pause again. And, shaking her head ruefully, she assessed the situation. "Numbers are hard for me to speak!"
Nonsense, my child. Maybe you weren't ready for a solo run. But with a little bit of help from your Coach-Mommy, you sprinted all the way 20.
Halloween Heaven
Audrey's love affair with all things Halloweenish started last year, and it carried on this year completely undiminished. Spiders and pumpkins and ghosts, oh my! She loved the decorations in the house. She loved the decorations out in the neighborhood. She's been telling us since July or August about her desire to dress up as a giraffe this year.
I'd read somewhere about how when the moment arrives, toddlers sometimes don't want to get into their costumes. Something about not being able to differentiate between wearing a giraffe costume and turning into an actual giraffe, or something. And I mentioned it to James. So when the big night came, he was a bit tentative about making his inquiry. "Would you like to put on your giraffe costume now?"
As if we should have worried. She was so ready to put on her giraffe costume. To glory at her image in the mirror. To swing her tail around and smile at the antlers and ears on her hat. And then she was ready for the next step. "Let's go trick-or-treating!!!"
Which was a bit inconvenient given that, it was only 5:30. And the sun was shining brightly. And the neighbors absolutely were not ready with their candy yet. But Daddy and daughter took off and wandered the neighborhood for an hour checking out the decorations. At the end of their little tour, the big finale. They dropped by a couple of neighbors' houses and did the trick-or-treat thing and got some actual candy. Which our little giraffe then got to eat. Oh little giraffe, costumes and candy. Could there possibly be a better tradition?
Probably not. But she's very slowly letting go of her very precious holiday. For a few days after the 31st, she was very insistent it was still Halloween. At this point she seems to have accepted that it's gone, though she's mentioned that it needs to come again soon. James has managed to spirit most of our spiders and ghosts away to the garage. But in order to wean her slowly and gently, there's still the odd skeleton lying around our living room. And the turkeys and pilgrims that have taken up residence on our couches? In the interest of not picking a fight, we've been calling them, "Halloween Thanksgiving" decorations.
Way Better Than My Answer
"Why does that fish have a red eye?" she wondered.
And, thankfully, before I could just in with some wordy treatise about pigmentation, she came up with the answer on her own.
"Maybe he wiped his eye against a strawberry and the red paint got off it onto his eye."
Technically Speaking
"Do you have a box of tissues?" I inquired politely.
"No," said she.
"You don't?" I asked in great surprise.
"I emptied them all out," she shrugged. So not really a box of tissues, Mommy. Basically just a box.
Drumroll, Please…
When James and I mentioned that our mid-pregnancy ultrasound was coming up this week, people kept asking us if we were excited about it. And I think that both of us kind of had to do our best not to stare blankly at them. Because both this time and with Audrey, James and I viewed the ultrasounds as medical procedures. Medical procedures fraught with the possibility that we might learn terrible news about the child in the womb.
Our mood was not lifted by the knowledge that the one-month-old baby brother of one of Audrey's classmates recently underwent a heart transplant at Stanford's Lucille Salter Packard Children's Hospital. No doubt his parents initially received the devastating news about their son's major heart abnormalities as a result of an ultrasound very much like the one we were about to have.
So my philosophy going into the scan was that it was necessary. Because, by God, if half of my child's heart were completely dysfunctional, then I wanted to know so that I could ditch the hippie-dippy, natural, midwife assisted delivery that I'm looking forward to and give birth instead at Lucille Packard surrounded by a crackerjack team of pediatric cardiologists.
It was therefore with great relief that James and I watched the monitors and listened to the ultrasound technician's reports. Major organs present and accounted for. Spine long and smooth. Feet not clubbed. Palate not cleft. Placenta not impeding baby's exit route. All four chambers of the heart pumping beautifully.
And along with baby's clean bill of health came the tidbit of information that I think everyone thought we should be so excited about learning. Looks like we'll have to get some blue blankets and bath towels. It's a boy.
Eureka
"What are the names of the stores here?" asked Audrey.
"Well," I looked around, "There's Pizza My Heart, and Cinema 7, and an optometrist…"
"What's an optometrist?"
"An optometrist is a doctor who looks at your eyes and gives you glasses,"
"What other stores?"
"There's Coffee Society…"
"Just like?"
Neither James nor I are coffee drinkers, so I had no idea why the child would be familiar with other coffee purveying establishments. But I took a stab. "Um….just like Starbucks?"
"No. Just like American Cancer Society!"
And just like that, it was clear to me. When we are sorting the mail together, and the child insists that we go through every letter 30 times reading the names of the credit card companies and charities and real estate brokers over and over—it's because she's memorizing them. Saving them and storing them and memorizing them. Doing her best to understand the world and all of its connections—however faulty her connection making attempts may sometimes be.
Declaring Her Toddlerhood
While I certainly wouldn't say that Audrey has been an easy child to raise, there are some common parenting perils that we've never really had to worry about. She was never much for putting small objects in her mouth, for example. And she's never been one to experiment with writing on surfaces other than paper. And she not the sort of toddler who exhausts us by dashing constantly around.
So imagine my surprise the other day when I glanced over to see her taking the delicata squash seed that she'd been examining and inserting it firmly up her nose.
My daughter had just stuck a squash seed up her nose. I guess maybe I should have freaked out a little bit. But to be honest, it was such an out of character maneuver for my kid, that I just couldn't stop laughing about it. Listening to my giggles on the phone, my husband wasn't quite sure that I was serious when I asked him to come home and help me pin our little one down and take tweezers to her nasal passage.
And though I knew that the seed removal procedure would be nightmarish and involve copious tears, I was still guffawing when, five minutes later, the child gave a big sneeze and expelled the slimy little thing all on her own.
So with no harm done at all, I guess my amusement was fully warranted. After a quick call to papa to let him know that he could turn around and drive back to work Audrey and I whiled away the rest of the afternoon. A few times she turned to me and suggested the possibility of inserting additional items up her nose. But, she solemnly listened to my warnings about the pain and suffering that such actions might cause, and so she refrained. The strangely impulsive toddler of the morning had morphed back into the thoughtful and cautious toddler that I am used to.
Learning the Difference Between Friends and Parents
Audrey's mom and dad, they are always happy to take whatever assignments she gives them. Mommy Chameleon. Daddy Cow. Mommy Pumpkin. Daddy Witch. Sure, Daddy groans just a little when he is once again assigned a female role. But he's game.
Therefore, Audrey had a little trouble at the park the other day, when her friend E.S. proved a less accommodating than her parents.
"Quack quack." He announced. "I'm a duck."
"A mallard duck?" gushed Audrey enthusiastically.
And E.S.--who I think probably has not read "Stokes Beginner's Guide to Birds Western Region"hundreds of times--he looked at my daughter like she was insane. "A yellow duck."
She was still hopeful, "With a green head?"
But he held his ground. "With a yellow head."
Her ideal animal dreams completely dashed, Audrey's lower lip started to tremble, and her eyes filled with tears. Mommy's offer to be a mallard duck was deemed unacceptable, and the situation might have degenerated further but for E.S.'s mama, who quickly suggested that someone should be a dinosaur.
"Mommy can be a Tyrannosaurus Rex!" Audrey decided. And, disaster averted, she dashed after E.S., who was headed towards the play structure.
Ah yes, my child. That wider world of human relationships that you are taking baby steps into. It's a rough place indeed.
Friends in All Places
Audrey is starting to make a couple of friends at school, which is a delight to observe. She gets along splendidly with a little boy E.S., hanging out a bit with him at school, and playing happily with him for more than three hours at a recent park date. The two of them are a good match. Audrey is a calming influence on a sweet but normally highly energetic boy, and he inspires her to tackle some climbing and athletic feats that wouldn't normally occur to her. Audrey also really, really wants to be friends with a little classmate H., and likes to hang around her quite a bit. But thus far the child's attempt to initiate a friendship with H. are largely unrequited. It's a little bit difficult to watch my child endure a chilly reception as she earnestly tries to interact with H.. But Audrey doesn't seem frustrated, and it's a pleasure to see that she is so interested in other kids and is so enthusiastically embracing the opportunity to test out her social skills.
Audrey's experiences playing with kids at school also seem to have inspired her to increase her interactions with kids in other settings. She is particularly interested in (and successful at) seeking out elementary school aged girls. When Audrey and Daddy took a trip to the Palo Alto Zoo a few weeks ago, Audrey latched herself right on to a six year old named Holly. "Excuse me, excuse me," Audrey insisted. "What kind of animal is this?"
"It's an owl," the helpful six-year-old explained.
"Why is it closing its eyes?" queried the three-year-old.
"Because it's tired," the worldly one explained.
"What other animals can we look at?!" begged the young one. And so the two of them stolled off through the other exhibits.
Some days later, the nine-year-old friend that Audrey found at Restoration Hardware was so smitten that she made the following introduction to her mother, "This is Audrey. Can we keep her?"
Normally It’s Daddy Who Gets to Escape
I summed up, "She accidentally got blue marker on the sheet, so the bed needs to be stripped, and a bowl shattered so there's glass all over the floor in the office, and she needs a new diaper, and she wants to eat a pear." And then I blew them a kiss and I was off to the language lab.
Finally Starting to Earn Her Keep
"Do you know what this is from?" James asked as Audrey and I walked into the kitchen. I examined the little piece of gray plastic with a screw on its end, and then glanced over our kitchen appliances to see if it might have fallen off of the toaster oven or the rice cooker.
"I'm not sure," I shook my head.
"Is it from Daddy's cell phone?" piped up the small one.
James smiled indulgently at her, and continued to eye our kitchen appliances. But my eyes sought out the device clipped to his belt.
"It's from your cell phone." He didn't believe me until I repeated myself. "Honey, she's right. It's the antenna from your cell phone."
Eight Ball in the Corner Pocket
"I want Daddy to look around," she boasted, "and I'm gonna throw this piece of paper right past Daddy right into Mommy's hands."
And the piece of paper crashed immediately onto the floor in front of her rather than sailing over the head of one of her parents and into the hands of the other. But ya gotta cheer her on for that splendid sense of ambition.
My Little Yoga Instructor
"What yoga positions do you do in class?" she asked.
"Uh. Well,…" I considered. "There's pigeon. For that one you…"
But she had another bird asana in mind. "No. Do a flamingo position." And she scrambled up to demonstrate, "You lift one leg….."
Announcement
Let me summarize my thoughts about trying to have a second child, as a function of the age of my first child:
0-18 months: Unimaginably horrifying
18-30 months: Utterly overwhelming
30-35 months: Intermittent episodes of insanity when it seemed like kind of an exciting and joyful thing to do.
The predictable results of my insanity are that I've been on extremely poor terms with my digestive system for the last several months—at once starving and repulsed by every edible morsel in my kitchen. Or unable to tolerate the thought of anything besides plain pasta and water for dinner. Or responding to the mere thought of food by having violent episodes of dry heaves. On three occasions I've even vomited, and I think it had easily been 20 years since the last time I regurgitated any stomach contents.
Nevertheless, while my morning sickness has been far worse this time around, joyful little rays keep breaking through.
When I felt sensations that could only mean that a tiny little embryo was busy implanting itself in my uterus, I was joyful.
When (in the worst of my misery) my firstborn required nothing more from me than that I sit quietly and hand her crayons for hours on end, I was joyful. (And beyond grateful that we didn't tackle "project baby #2" a year or six months ago, when she was a far needier and more volatile child). Thanks to her exemplary behavior, I was (just barely) able to resist the (daily) temptation to call my spouse at 3 p.m. and beg him to come home. A sick mama could not have asked for a better 3-year-old companion.
When I felt a little bump in my tummy at not quite 12 weeks, I was joyful. And I've been joyful at all of the little (impossibly early) flutters that I've felt since then. (My midwife assures me that since I'm slender and on my second pregnancy, it could well be the baby thumping around and not just my imagination.)
When I went to my first ultrasound at almost 13 weeks and viewed my child's perfect little body (as well as his or her already well-established thumb-sucking habit) I was joyful. (With regards to the "his or her" aspect of the situation, it's too early to know for sure, but based on the preliminary view between the legs, James and I have redoubled our efforts to select a satisfactory boy name.)
And now that I'm nearly 14 weeks and starting to feel a bit better, the joyful aspects of the situation are even easier to find.
So, dear little baby, grow healthy and strong. Mommy, Daddy, and Big Sister can't wait to meet you come April.
Love,
Mommy
P.S. Baby, I understand that pointing out what a sibling has done is almost never a good way to inspire a desired behavior in a child. However, I'm going to take advantage of the fact that your brain is far too underdeveloped to be offended, and point something out. By this point in my first pregnancy? The morning sickness thing was totally, totally over. And I am really, really looking forward to having food be a pleasurable thing again. OK? Hint hint? XOXO
Sisterly Affection
Many of my friends who have had a second child have agonized about how a newborn would affect their family dynamics--how their firstborn would cope with being dethroned and whatnot. Yet try as I might, I've been completely unable to fret about that. I've just been puttering along, completely sanguine, convinced that we're all going to adapt swimmingly.
My firstborn is doing nothing to help jolt my naïve optimism back to reality. "Is your tummy getting bigger?" asked Audrey Giraffe. "Is there a baby giraffe in there?"
"Right in there," I pointed to my slightly swelling uterus.
So she rested her check against my belly. And then, after a moment, she started to croon. "Hello, Baby Giraffe. What are you doing in there?"
Social Niceties I
Audrey is very keen to observe and participate in adult rituals these days. A few weeks ago, when she went out to lunch with Mommy and Daddy and Eric, she was fascinated by the ordering process. Just like the big folks, she sat in her seat, importantly peering into her menu. When the waiter came by she listened intently to the proceedings. "I'll have the spinach enchilaldas," said Mommy. "I'll have the chicken tostada," decided Eric. "I'll have the fish tacos, and a cheese quesadilla for my daughter," ordered Daddy. And the waiter was about to tuck away his pad when a fourth little voice piped up. "I'll have…."
We all turned with interest to see what the small one would be ordering. But alas, since the menu didn't include any of the words that she is able to decipher (such as "no" or "Fed Ex") her attempt to strike out independently was foiled. She fell into silence and had to make due with the meal that Daddy had ordered for her.
Ah. The many indignities of being a kid.
Social Niceties II
A nice couple that we met at one of Mommy's prenatal appointments engaged Audrey in conversation. "How old are you?" the pregnant woman asked.
"Fine," Audrey replied. And the adults giggled.
But perhaps she didn't mishear the question. Perhaps she was merely protesting the fact that young'uns are constantly required to divulge their ages, while older folks merely need to make perfunctory commentary about their well-being. Perhaps she was demanding some justice.
Toddler Analogies
Teasing Daddy about his age and husking corn are two pastimes that Audrey enjoys immensely, and she combined her two interests the other day by coming up with a riddle that left us momentarily mystified.
"Is Daddy like a corn today?"
"Ummm….."
"Does he have any white hairs?!"
Leave-takings and Reunions
Lately, Audrey's grace and composure at parental leave-takings has been thrilling to observe. At nursery school on Tuesdays, so long as I wait until she is actively involved in play, she barely even acknowledges me when I kiss her good-bye. (And come on. Knowing my kid, you were pretty sure that she'd be screaming and clinging to my leg every time, right?)
Leaving for work is much, much easier for me this semester, because Audrey now accepts the idea that Mommy needs to go to West Valley with equanimity. (Last semester she fussed so when I left her, it like to broke my heart.)
She also maintains her composure when James needs to go to work. However, in exchange for letting him leave her, she demands something in return. "Bring me a grape juice from Tensilica."
Ah, Tensilica. That place where Daddy goes where there are big refrigerators stocked with cans of juices. Cans of non-organic juices! Sweet and tasty non-organic juices the likes of which she never gets to drink at home! What a thrill.
On the other hand, James is often less than thrilled at her less than affectionate reaction when he comes home at the end of the day. Upon hearing the door swing open, she rarely even looks up from her coloring work before calling out, "Did you brought me a grape juice or anything?"
Where Does She Come Up with This Stuff?
Audrey is generally willing to dispense unlimited nose kisses, but she's never been very enthusiastic about giving out real smooches. Lately, she's opposed not only to giving kisses but to receiving them on any spot other than the top of her head. Mommy generally refrains from applying kisses other than the top-of-the-head variety, but if Daddy gives her a peck on the cheek, Audrey wipes it dramatically off with her palm.
Yes, if he gives her a kiss, she wipes it off dramatically with her palm, with an expression on her face that says, "Oh, for goodness sakes. Not this nonsense again." I know it's not his favorite reaction, but it have to say, it totally cracks me up.
Halloween Literacy
We've pulled out our Halloween decorations, and Audrey is just as enthusiastic about them this year as she was last year. The skeleton, the spider, the jack-o-lantern, the increasingly dilapidated black owl—they are all her "friends." While Audrey hasn't been doing too much talking about spelling lately, in looking over the tag on her spider, she indicated that she is still giving thought as to how words work. "What does this say," she asked.
"Posable Spider," I read.
"Does it say, "Possible Spider?" she queried, pointing at the word "posable."
"No, actually it says "posable," I corrected.
"I think it says "possible," she decided. But then she kindly suggested a possible reason for my confusion. "Do possible and posable both start with "Ps?"
Such Fun Pushing Mommy’s Buttons
"Be careful," I urged as she ran laps around the edge of the rug, purposefully causing it to slip and slide sloppily around the living room.
And she grinned at me, eyes gleaming merrily. "Are you worried? Are you worried"
Quantified II
"Come here Audreys," Daddy fondly urged.
But she corrected him. "Not two Audreys! Just one!"
Quantified
Audrey and Daddy tried an apple butter sample at the farmer's market last week and--having been impressed by the sample--Audrey insisted that they buy a jar. After arriving home, the two of them enthusiastically tested their purchase on some toast. As they ate, Daddy made an offer. "Do you want to put a little more apple butter on your toast?"
"Uh uh!" she answered, to his great surprise. But then she quickly clarified her position. "A lot more!"
Playing Catch-Up
Just as Audrey learned how to crawl long after learning how to walk, she seems to be embarking upon another stage that she missed out on the first time around—the putting things in her mouth stage. Clothes, hair, pillows, toys, she's been giving everything a taste test this week. And when we ask her why, we get nothing but a sly grin. Oh, you know. I'm three now. Old enough to "officially" play with toys with small parts. So what better time to officially prove the experts wrong.
Mama Masters More
Prior to embarking on my motherhood project, I was never comfortable around little kids. I didn't know how to talk to them or relate to them or make them stop doing things that they shouldn't be doing. I babysat a few times in my younger days, but I totally stank at it, and I hated every moment of it.
I've had no trouble talking to and relating to and inspiring proper behavior in my own child. I'm with her 24/7, so of course I know what makes her tick. But the classroom participation requirement at her nursery school did leave me feeling a moderate amount of trepidation. Would the child wrangling skills that I've developed in rearing my own child be helpful in dealing with other people's kids, too?
So how is school going for Mommy? There have been a few bumps. My child won't touch a toilet with a 10-foot-pole, so I felt like a fish out of water when little E.C. needed my help going pee pee on the potty. My child likes help turning off the water, but little M. gave me a scathing look when I turned off the water for her. "I still have soap on my hands." And then she pointedly turned the water back on.
But when I was on duty to run a snack table the other day, and I had to ask little E.S. to keep his feet on the ground so that he wouldn't accidentally push his chair over backwards, I kind of hit my stride. The way that I asked was so enthusiastic and goofy, that not only did E.S. happily put his feet down, but the little girls at the table wanted in on some of that disciplining action. "My feet are up, too!" said M. (whose feet were firmly planted on the floor.) So I ordered her to put them down. "My feet are up!" giggled a similarly properly seated Audrey. So I insisted that she put her feet down immediately. And around and around the table it went. My wildly giggling charges insisting that they were in grave danger. Me, in mock horror, begging them to behave.
Perhaps rather less food was consumed at my snack table than was supposed to be consumed. But I think it's safe to say that we had more fun than any of the other tables. And now I know that I can totally crack up a small group of three year olds. That feels pretty good.
Audrey Flying Solo
When we'd brought up the idea that sometimes she'd be attending scholl on her own, Audrey insisted that nursery school was something better experienced, "as a family" so we were dreading leaving her by herself for the first time.
James ended up drawing the short straw, and the task fell to him. The child sniffed immediately that something was up when they arrived at school that morning. "Why aren't you wearing a yellow card around your neck?" Then she clung to him more tightly than usual, begging him to suggest fun activities. She is not particularly enthusiastic about any of the indoor activity centers at school, so nothing that he suggested held her interest for long. He was in agony. Unwilling to leave until she was happily engaged in play. Unsure that that moment would come. And then….and then the door to the play yard was opened up. It was time for outdoor play, and it was time for Audrey to stop pretending that James' presence was crucial for her emotional well-being. "Say good bye to your Daddy," one of the moms urged. And Audrey gave a little wave before scampering onto the playground without a backwards glance.
She did splendidly, of course. Reports from the other mamas are that, without us there, she was perfectly sweet, happy, and self-possessed. And hearing those glowing reports, I am perhaps even prouder and more content than most mamas would be. Because I remember a time (not so very long ago) when my child was an unusually shy one. When friendly greetings from a stranger in a store often caused her to burst into tears. And now when I take that same child to a store, she is more apt to march purposefully up to the counter, hand the clerk a seed package, and inform him that we are buying Morning Glories, because Morning Glories are her favorite flower.
So I think it is fair for me to feel a little extra pride, because I know how very far my little one has come.
Playing Nursery School Chicken
"Are you going to take her tomorrow?" (And abandon her all by herself.)
"Oh. I was thinking it might work better if you took her tomorrow." (And abandoned her all by herself.)
"Oh."
Finding the Humor
"My hand has brown sugar on it," the child complained as we mixed the muffin batter.
"Well, yeeeah." I agreed, dripping sarcasm. "Possibly that's because you keep sticking your hand in the brown sugar."
And then, bless her heart, whether it was because of the funny way I said "Well, yeah" or because she actually understood how ridiculous her complaint was, she dissolved into blissfully joyful giggles.
All of Our Flaws
Audrey is always the first to notice when a zit pops up on my face. And she doesn't let James off the hook either. "There's another white hair on your head, Daddy."
Like Mother, Like Daughter
A new semester has started, so I've been working hard to memorize all of my students, their names and faces floating regularly into my mind...Azra, Hooman, Fabiola, Hoang….
And so it is for Audrey. "What are the names of the kids at school?!!" She asks on a daily basis. "Get the list!"
So I read her the names on the class list and, concentrating hard, she repeats them, "Ella, Henry, Zachary, Aiko, Monaya…"
Parental Denial
There's a bit of a chill in the air, so we've started putting the child in long pants most days. The old 2T jeans leftover in the drawer from spring are tight and short now, so we've purchased some 3Ts. Humongous, humongous looking 3Ts.
"These'll be too long," James assessed as he inserted her legs into a pair of the new pants for the first time.
"Oh yeah," I concurred.
And then we could only watch in silence as the child scampered off down the hall in her new pants, which fell just above her heel, no folding required.
Keeping it Simple
Audrey and I were looking over some book titles and as we did, she busied herself with making categorizations. "Loons, Flamingos, and Pelicans" I read.
"Are those all birds?" she asked.
"Trout, Salmon, and Sharks," I continued.
"Are those all fish?" she smiled.
"Frogs, Toads, and Turtles," I added. And I, frankly, was stumped. How to nicely categorize a groups containing both reptiles and amphibians?
Not being familiar with the terms reptile and amphibian, Audrey had no such difficulties. "Are those all swimming animals?"
Waxing Shakespearian
"Alas, I'm a little sick, still."
Outside Influences?
At the store with Daddy the other day, Audrey requested gum. James and I don't generally chew gum, so he was surprised that she even knew about the existence of the substance.
Audrey explained that Mommy had let her have gum. A skeptical James asked her what one does with gum. The child calmly explained that one chews it, and then one takes it out and puts it on one's plate.
This explanation was so uncannily accurate, that James was forced to ask me if I actually had let the child chew gum. Of course I hadn't. Hadn't let her chew it, hadn't read her books about it, hadn't let her watch videos about it, had never mentioned the subject to her even once.
Which leads me to wonder, just three days into this nursery school thing, has one of her more worldly peers already been doing some explaining out by the climbing structure?
Third Day of School
I went to school with Audrey for the first time today, and it was perfect. She came to check in with me a few times, but otherwise she pretty much concentrated on playing, and I pretty much concentrated on following the directions on my work card. She chatted with the teacher and other moms. (And when attempting to interpret her peers' communication efforts, I really gain a deeper appreciation for my child's clear-as-a-bell, 100% comprehensible pronunciation.) She was content all day, and at the end of the last activity of the day--story time--she gave the teacher a big ol' hug. I think there's no more putting it off. (Gulp.) Next Tuesday is probably the big day. The day we let her fly solo.
School Days
Audrey's nursery school started last week. It's a parent participation school that meets two days a week, so I am supposed to work in the classroom on Thursdays, and drop her by herself on Tuesdays. Last week was "ease-in" week, so the kids were only supposed to attend on the day their parents worked. (Enabling them to get used to the classroom with just 10 kids around rather than the usual 20.) After much debate and strategizing, we decided that James should accompany her on her first day, as she tends to be a little more independent with Daddy than with Mommy. Overall the first day was pretty successful. She clung tight to James' side for the first half hour or so, but then played outside happily and independently for a long while. During circle time, our diligent little scholar eschewed the circle and parked herself directly in front of the teacher. She wanted to make sure she got everything down properly in her notes. ("OK…let's see if I've got this right, it's head, then shoulders, then knees, then toes?")
Today was officially supposed to be the first day that we dropped her by herself, but there was a strong family consensus that dropping our sensitive child off with 20 other kids in a still unfamiliar classroom environment didn't seem like a wise idea just yet. So James stayed again. This time he had to deal with a few tears and requests to leave interspersed with good times, so the experience wasn't quite as stellar as the first day.
Thursday the plan is that I'll go with her for the first time. Fingers crossed! We really hope she goes for this whole nursery school thing.
The Charts
We had to fill out "Juice Cards" for Audrey's nursery school, specifying any food allergies or limitations that our kids had. I was surprised to hear one of the other moms freaking out about the idea of her child having a "Juice Card." "Do they serve juice at school?! It's just not a good idea for my son to have juice." The class coordinator reassured her that water is generally the beverage of choice at snack time.
I was momentarily confused. What's wrong with juice? Then I remembered that actually I used to be on the anti-juice bandwagon. That all conscientious modern mamas are supposed to be. Cause, like, juice has a lot of calories, and kids are too fat. But for me, a major benefit of having a kid who runs cheerfully (and healthily) along the 15th percentile on the weight charts is that I no longer fret about calories. My kid gained a whopping two pounds between her two and three year checkups. So, honey, she can have as much OJ as her lightweight little heart desires.
Maternal Neglect
"What's the name of the cereal I been eating?" she asked at breakfast.
And I realized with a jolt that my child had just nonchalantly tossed out a nearly flawless example of the present perfect progressive tense. (I mean, dock her half a point for the missing "have" if you want to get all technical.) The jolt resulted from the knowledge that I've really been shirking my duties when it comes to tracking the child's grammar progress. The last time I was paying attention, she was just starting to use a very rudimentary present perfect form, and now she's going all present perfect progressive on me already! I think my problem may be that the child is so darned expressive now…so nearly adult like in her ability to communicate her thoughts….that I've been busy just communicating with her….giving nary a thought to the technical grammar devices she's using to get her points across.
As You Wish
"I want Mommy to spell something cute that I said," she declared. So I wrote down, "I want Mommy to spell something cute that I said."
Signs of Maturity
How to phrase this delicately. Last week I had a bit of, um, intestinal distress that caused me to need to rush to the restroom three times during a trip to the library.
And the reason that I can't resist writing about it is that Audrey's reaction to the unusual library activity was so exemplary. She accepted Mama's need to deviate from our usual routine without question. She was torn away from the stacks not one but three times, and nary a whimper nor complaint passed through her lips.
Wonderful as two-year-old Audrey was, the whole episode would surely have freaked her out. But now, it's like, she like, understands that sometimes people other than herself have needs. Man, I love having a three-year-old.
Modern Amenities
As she went to put her juice down on the table, she noticed something. "There are no cupholders!"
"The house doesn't have any cupholders, huh?"
"The house should be like a car!"
Bored, Bored, Bored
"Let's run out of something so we can go to a store."
Practicing Those SAT Words
"I'm just trying to find my possession."
Conveniently, She Answers Her Own Questions
"Was Mommy waddling?"
"Um…."
"Mommy was waddling!"
"Oh..."
"What kind of animal was Mommy waddling like a?"
"Um…"
"Like a penguin or a duck!"
And Having Coined a Clever Term, She Waited for Praise
"I'm not hungry or juicety!"
Baby’s First Deodorant
And then she proudly walked over to her father with an important announcement. "I put on the same thing Mommy does, Daddy. My arm is not stinky."
No Self-Esteem Issues
J to L: I love you.
L to J: I love you.
A: I love me!
Beethoven Baby
Surely someday the child will outgrow her Baby Einstein videos. But that day has not yet arrived. In fact, she currently absolutely refuses to watch DVDs produced by anyone other than the Baby Einstein Company. Lately, she is particularly enthralled by the Baby Beethoven DVD, and has fallen head over heels in love with the song Fur Elise. When opening birthday presents she was over the moon with excitement about the idea of receiving Fur Elise sheet music. I am not kidding.
As a parent, I think you pretty much don't have to feel guilty at all about indulging your child when she is requesting classical music for her birthday. So we're planning to make a trip to a local music store. In the meantime, James downloaded a copy of the piece for her to work with.
And she's working with it. Like, seriously. Every day she climbs up on the piano bench and asks me to help her with the song. I point out the right notes to her, and she industriously plunks away. When she tires of Fur Elise, she's gung-ho to play a chord. So I point out more notes to her: C-E-G-C. And she plays them.
And she repeats them. Over and over. Cause she's three. And she repeats everything that she does over and over. What a shame, really, that by the time she takes up musical study in earnest, the repetition of things like chords and scales will likely be a chore instead of good fun.
Reduce and Reuse, Mommy. THEN Recycle.
When it comes to her artwork, Audrey is very willing to conserve paper. She happily reuses the same sheets over and over, filling up every nook and cranny on both sides of the paper. A few nights ago, when I was tidying up the results of the day's coloring efforts, I picked up a piece of paper with practically no white space left, and I decided the time had come to put it out of its misery.
The next morning, I heard Audrey gasp in horror. "Mommy!" she chided me, as she walked over, rescued paper in hand. "You put this in the recycle bin! We can use it again next year!" For shame, Mommy. For shame.
Audrey African Elephant Never Forgets
She tugged the atlas over to me in excitement. "Let's look at where people live!" Pointing out the locations of various relatives and acquaintances in North America was a piece of cake, of course. And I could say that Daddy was born in Asia. And remind her of a friend's South American vacation photos, which we'd recently scrolled through. But I was stumped when we got to Africa.
I didn't remember the solution I'd come up with last time we looked through the atlas. The solution I'd come up with the last time I couldn't think of anyone that Audrey knew who had ever been to Africa.
Luckily, Audrey remembered the solution, though, and she prompted me gently. "And giraffes live in Africa, Mommy."
Any Suggestions for Pulling This One Off?
Having perused costumes in the store with her father yesterday, the child had a eureka moment today. "I want to be a hyena for Halloween!"
Thanks for Making Us Look Good, Kid
"What's your favorite food?" asked the nice lady in the store.
"Pears," answered the child, completely matter-of-factly.
She Is Totally, Totally Faking It
"Daddy, what does this dial do?"
"It sets the tension."
"Oooohhhh. The tension!"
Cause and Effect
"I need some lotion for my hands," I mentioned.
"I need some lotion, too!" she enthused.
And as we rubbed our hands together, she solemnly pointed out the serious repercussions of our lotioning activity. "Now our hands are not supposed to take off lids."
So I hope you weren't planning on pulling out the peanut putter and jelly any time soon, Mom.
Which Is Why James Scolds Me When He Hears Me Using Certain Other Words
"Oh shoot!" she exclaimed.
"What's wrong?" asked Daddy?
"We left the balloon in the car!"
My Very Favorite Toy
"Press the Audrey button," she urged me one day, out of the blue. "See what Audrey does!"
So I pushed her belly button and presto, she started to dance.
And sometimes the Audrey button causes her to shake her head. Or other times to sing.
You know, once in a while, that kid is quite a charmer.
She Hasn’t Got the Hands on Hips Posture Down Yet
"This office is a mess!"
The Little Scientist
A: "Which kind of bread it is right now?"
L: "Right now it's California Black Bread."
A: "What it will be?"
L: "It will be French toast once we finish cooking it."
Which just goes to show that you don't need to figure out how to invert the verb "to be" in questions before you realize how amazing some of life's other little transformations can be.
The Backseat Driver
"Slow down!" she often urges. "Turn the steering wheel!" "Drive on the street, not on the sidewalk!" And, as we tootled down the freeway she gave James an urgent reminder, "Don't hit the sign!" Which really wasn't fair. Because, I mean, James was driving. And it was me who drove the minivan right into a bush at the library a few weeks ago, not him.
Happy 3rd Birthday, Baby
Dear Audrey,
Happy Birthday, darling girl. We had grand plans to celebrate the occasion with a day trip to the Monterrey Bay Aquarium. But you came down with a cold on Thursday night, so instead we hung out at home today, and you celebrated by taking a highly impressive 4-hour-long nap.
Perhaps it was just as well, as you are, quite prematurely, very anti-birthday. When we started mentioning, a month or so ago, that you were soon going to turn three, you would protest to the point of tears.
And why not protest? For while it has a rather poor reputation in parenting circles, two was a very good year for you. By far your happiest, easiest, and most delightful one yet.
Here's how I see it. Most babies, they exit the womb, make an assessment of the situation, realize that they are surrounded by people who love them and cater to their every need, and decide that the world is a pretty swell place.
You, on the other hand, you exited the womb and made the horrifying discovery that you
were completely helpless and dependent on others for every detail of your existence. Unable to feed yourself. Unable to transport yourself from one location to another. Unable to communicate your needs except with the crudest of tools. The situation was intolerable, and you spent a lot of time screaming out your frustrations.
But this year…this year some pretty magical things happened. Basically, you got really proficient at walkin' and talkin', as soon as that happened, our often frustrated babe, while as unstereotypical in actions and interests as ever, transformed into a mostly sweet and cheerful little thing.
Not that there weren't still some rough patches. Some terrible "two" days when the only word that you seemed to remember was "no." But for the most part, it's been pretty easy to tease you out of your grumpiness. "You don't want me to kiss you?" I muse. "Then I suppose you don't want me to tickle your belly button. And certainly you don't want me to nibble on your hand, right?" And pretty soon, in spite of yourself, I've got you laughing.
Mostly, nowadays, you're a thoughtful child who, upon noticing that her exhausted father has fallen asleep, turns to her mother and asks, "What's something quiet that we can play with so we don't wake Daddy up?"
All of these wonderful characteristics were there tonight. After you'd arisen from your mega-nap, we made a grand effort to celebrate in a traditional birthday style. Daddy set out the piece of chocolate cake that he'd purchased from the farmer's market this morning. We sang you your song. You blew out your candle. Daddy cut the cake into three pieces, scooped out some ice cream, and handed you yours.
But the fact that it was your birthday did not change the fact that you are just not a big fan of cake or ice cream. So after a few bites, you'd had quite enough. At that point we figured, to hell with the traditional route. Daddy offered you a Happy Birthday popsicle, and finally a real spark of enthusiasm lit up your eyes.
And, do you know what you did as soon as the much desired popsicle was opened up and placed in your hand? Before taking even a single nibble, you turned to your mama, and offered her the first lick. And then when the cake and popsicle were consumed and Daddy mentioned that he needed to the grocery store, you jumped joyfully into his arms proclaiming that you wanted to help him.
That's my girl. March to your own drummer, darling. Take the popsicle instead of the cake, if that's what you prefer. For you are uniquely, kindly, generously you, and I couldn't be prouder of the person you are growing to be.
Love,
Mommy
Milestones
I should probably report that Audrey has started to engage in a teensy weensy itty bitty amount of independent play. She still mostly likes us to be actively involved in all of her activities. But on almost a daily basis, she'll spend up to 15 minutes reading books to herself or playing with toys. Today she went into the bedroom and closed the door. When I followed, she looked up from the pile of books that she was reading and protested that she wanted to be alone. My big girl.
On a somewhat related note, as of July 24th, Audrey has learned how to open doors. It's a skill that many kids accomplish well before their second birthdays, methinks. But it never worried me that she hadn't yet done it. I knew she was perfectly capable of opening a door. Just as surely as I knew that she was completely uninterested in doing so. My big girl, she marches to her own drummer.
U is for Uakari
Audrey marched into the kitchen carrying the letters F, T, and R, and made some animal assignments. "I'm a flamingo, and Mommy is a tiger, and Daddy is a rat." And then she marched back into the living room to continue playing independently.
There is no doubt in my mind that kids can learn a lot from watching videos. And thanks to Animal Letters (which is a particularly well made video) the mama has also learned something about nudibranches, quetzals, and servals.
How Did You Allow This Situation to Arise, Mama?
A: Are you hungry?
L: A little. How about you?
A: A lot!
She Hasn’t Yet Perfected the Eye-Rolling
J: You are the sweetest thing ever, do you know that?
A: You always say that!
We’re All in Agreement on That Point
James had some wiring work to do in my parents' new house, so we went to Ventura a couple of weekends ago. (We've been out of town two weekends in a row, and therein lies the reason that my blog updates are so horrendously tardy.)
Audrey had a nice time on the trip. She had a blast playing with two-year-old Jayden when we dropped in to visit our friends Trisha and Dave near San Luis Obispo on the drive down, and she enjoyed hanging out with Grandma and Grandpa.
But by the end of the weekend, she was really ready to go home. The car ride back north was mostly without incident. But then we hit some traffic in Prunedale, a little more than an hour from home. As we sat in the barely moving sea of cars Audrey protested. "I want to go HOME!"
"We're going home," we assured her.
"No," she complained again. And, pointing at the fast-moving southbound lanes to our left, she explained herself. "I want to go home THAT way!"
Can Child Survive on Cheese Pizza Alone?
Child can certainly try. And to think I used to think that she was picky when she actually consumed French toast and quesadillas and waffles and chow mein and pancakes. But I exaggerate. We did convince her to eat pancakes the other day. Sigh. By putting chocolate chips in them.
A Half Marathony Sort of Day
Aunt Julie and her friend (and Audrey-Blog reader!) Maria, were in town to run a Half Marathon this weekend. So Audrey, Daddy, Grandpa, Grandma and I spent a couple of hours charging around San Francisco trying to spot Julie and cheer her on. We were not entirely competent. When we tried to see her off, we discovered that our route from the hotel to the starting line went right through the Full Marathon race course. It was fascinating to sit in a line of cars watching streams and streams of runners charging down a San Francisco hill. So many people. With so many different running styles and outfits. And surely, with so many different reasons for tackling this challenge.
Interesting as it all was, however, the clock was ticking. By the time a brief break in the stream of runners came and an SFPD officer waved us through the intersection and we found parking and we strapped the baby into her stroller and we hoofed it into Golden Gate Park, we managed to arrive at the starting line just as my sister's start group was loping off.
Well, OK. We didn't exactly see her at the start.
The next step was to meet Julie at Mile Three and collect the long sleeved shirt that she would be ready to discard. The runners were making a big loop three mile loop around the park. We, on the other hand, could make it to the three mile marker by walking less than a mile in the opposite direction. After we dilly-dallied around the starting line for a bit, James grabbed the camera and dashed off. Encumbered by a baby in a stroller and a bum knee, Mom, Dad, Audrey and I took a more leisurely pace. And upon our arrival at mile three, James was in possession of a sweaty shirt, and Julie was already one minute into the distance.
Well, OK. The vast majority of the group didn't exactly see her at Mile Three. But was that our fault for not getting our dupas into a higher gear, or Julie's fault for running, like, 8 and a half minute miles? (I know, I know. Our fault.)
We briefly considered trying to catch a glimpse of Julie at another mid-race point. But given our track record, we decided it would be far more prudent to go directly to the finish line.
And then, believe it or not, despite the fact that we once again had to wait in the car for a break in the stream of runners, despite the fact that we had to find another parking spot, despite the fact that the baby wanted to be carried rather than strolled, and despite the fact that Julie upped her pace to like, 8:20 for the latter part of the race, we made it to the finish line in plenty of time to watch our favorite runner sprinting across the finish line, and we successfully delivered the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that she had requested for her post-race repast.
The third time's the charm. Congrats to my little sis on your awesome run, and have a great race next week in the New York Half Marathon.
The Almost Birthday Celebration
Aunt Julie was visiting from New York over the weekend to run a half marathon in San Francisco. Since Grandma and Grandpa were also in town to watch the race, we decided to jump the gun by a couple of weeks and invite the whole family over to celebrate Audrey's 3rd birthday. Audrey is not a big fan of eating in large groups, so despite the fact that we dined on pizza and made her a chocolate cake, she was thoroughly uninterested in eating. Nevertheless she did enjoy the cake aspect of the party, because she liked listening to the Happy Birthday song and trying to blow out the candles. And then she wanted to play. With the matches.
She’s a Kid, for Sure
When we stepped into the ice cream shop, she immediately spotted the flavor that she wanted. No question. She NEEDED it. That one. The neon green one. The one called "Sour green apple gummy bear."
My Little Poet
Audrey has been exposed to gobs and gobs of rhyme and alliteration through the children's books that we read, so I've been curious about when she would start doing some more experimentation with the sounds of the language.
Then this week, I overheard a few fun little snippets. As she sat on the floor playing with cloth letters, Audrey described the innermost thoughts of the letters "F" and "I." "F wondered and wondered and wondered what could wander with I."
And as she climbed and slid around on her little green chair, she came up with some lovely rhyming nonsense.
"She bounced
She bangled up and down.
She tried to make a wooly sound."
I mean, OK. Down and sound don't rhyme perfectly. And personally, I prefer my poetry a little more interpretable. (What exactly does it mean to bangle, child?) But overall, I thought it was pretty darned good, especially for improvised work. (Better than the god-awful love poetry a high school friend used to make me read and praise, that's for sure.)
And the Teacher Drones On and On….
Audrey is constantly making inquiries about how the world works. Part of being an almost-three-year-old and whatnot. As a result of her constant curiosity, I'm constantly grappling with how to describe complex things in simple ways. Quick, Mom, "What does a drain do?" "What does sweetener do?" "What does a scanner do?" I'm not always sure how well she understands my answers.
This afternoon, we were playing a game of Tweezers and Razors. (It's a fun game. I get the electric razor for a bit while Audrey pokes at my legs with a pair of tweezers. Then we get to trade hair removal instruments. Then we get to put them away in the drawer. Then we take them out again. Then we trade again. Well, maybe it's not that fun. But since I have the opportunity to shave my legs during the brief intervals when I get to hold the razor, I really can't complain. Few of the games that we play are so productive for me.)
As I sat shaving my legs, curiosity struck my tweezers wielding daughter. "What does a razor do, and what do tweezers do?"
"Hmm…" I pondered. "Well, a razor shaves off a lot of hairs at the same time, so you use it when you have a lot of hairs to remove. But you use tweezers when you just want to remove one hair at a time."
Audrey accepted my answer without commentary. But a minute later she stopped poking at my legs with the tweezers and started poking at my arm. "There are a lot of hairs here," she noted. "I need the razor."
Well I'll be darned. I done taught ‘er somethin.
I Don’t Even Believe Me
"What time is it?"
"It's a quarter to 5….4:45."
"No. It's 9."
"The big long hand is pointing at the 9, isn't it? Do you see where the short hand is pointing?"
"The 5."
"Yes, the short hand tells you what the hour is. So that tells us that it's almost 5 o'clock. It's almost time for Daddy to get home. And then the big long hand tells us what the minutes are. And when it's pointing at the 9, that means……um. That it's….45. Because…um…Hey, why don't we go find a digital clock to look at?"
Busted by a Two-Year-Old
James' birthday is coming up, so I suggested to Audrey that we should bake him a cake. "A chocolate cake!" she enthused.
I'd been thinking carrot, because James loves homemade carrot cake. And I knew that Audrey would have fun playing with the flour and dumping in spices no matter what kind of cake we were making. So, I lied. "OK. We can make him a chocolate cake."
She happily followed me into the kitchen, where I taped a photocopy of the cake recipe to the drawer next to the little table where we bake. As I went over to the cupboard to pull out a mixing bowl, Audrey examined the recipe. She examined the recipe and noted the vegetable prominently displayed upon it.
Then, having discovered a very serious error, she removed the recipe from the drawer and handed it to me. "Mommy! This is a carrot cake recipe! We need to make a chocolate cake!"
Reveling in Her Twoness
J: "Do you want a Jamba Juice?"
A: "NO!" (Then, with great satisfaction) "I just like to say no."
At Least She’s Polite. Sort of.
J: "Say ‘please.'"
A: "No, thank you. I don't want to."
At Least She’s Honest. Sort of.
J: "Do you have a poo-poo?"
A: "NO!....(Pause)…Ask me if I'm lying!"
J: "Are you lying?"
A: "Yes!"
I’m Curious About the Current Weather Conditions in Hell
The last two times that James washed her hair, there were no tears. I could try to attribute it to the fact that I was jumping around like a crazy monkey trying to distract her. But I've been jumping around like a crazy monkey during every hair washing session for nearly three years now, and it's never distracted her out of her abject misery before.
Then this afternoon she looked down at her hands in annoyance and grumbled, "Daddy needs to clip my nails." Guess maybe our "sneak the clipping in at night while she's asleep" days may be at an end, too.
She’s Got a Lot to Learn about the Shelf-Life of Raspberries
Audrey is working hard on understanding time words, and she's making progress. A month ago, she thought that "yesterday" was one of the days of the week. (Sunday, Monday, Yesterday.)
But now she correctly uses "yesterday" to refer to the past. Her usage of yesterday is not particularly accurate. "I went to Costco with Daddy yesterday," could mean anything from "I went to Costco with Daddy this morning," to "I went to Costco with Daddy last month." But when it comes to the yesterday=past connection, she's spot on.
Similarly, she's figuring out how to talk about the future. I offered her some raspberries this morning, and she wasn't interested. So I wrapped them up. "I'm going to put them back in the fridge," I informed her.
"So I can eat them next year!"
Park Day, Part Two
We had our second park day with Audrey's nursery school class this morning. Audrey was in a better mood, the day was cooler, and the park was much less crowded, so it was a completely different experience. She still did a fair bit of watching, but this time she was also a much more active participant, periodically running up to the top of a hill with her classmates and sliding down a variety of slides.
"Pretty much the definition of parallel play," one of the dads smiled at me as the kids ran up and down the hill in a mish-mash of directions. And I agreed with him. But actually, I'm a little bummed that most of Audrey's classmates are younger than she is, because I actually think that she's getting ready to move beyond the playing side-by-side phase and into more interactive play.
As Audrey was playing with a shovel and bucket in the sand, one of her classmates approached us. I pointed Zachary out, and Audrey looked up at me in pure delight and suggested a fun activity. "We're sharing!"
Well, no. Zachary was much more interested in going down the slide than in getting to know my daughter. But give him a few months, babe. Hopefully he'll be just as enthusiastic about sharing as you are.
The Expert Photographer
Audrey has a habit of ordering me to get out the camera when she thinks that I should be taking pictures. And I have to say that she is pretty accurate when it comes to detecting camera-worthy adorableness.
So it was this afternoon. She was dancing cutely around the office, and she informed me that she wanted the moment recorded for posterity. I pulled out the camera, flipped the main switch to on, turned on the flash, adjusted the strap around my neck, and was about to hoist the camera up to eye level when my child proved that she is the daughter of an engineer.
"The lens cap, Mommy!"
Maternal Ambivalence
Last week, Audrey inadvertently discovered that she is capable of opening Crayola markers on her own. And, while the child has an excellent record when it comes to confining her artistic expressions to appropriate surfaces, I can't say that this was a development that I was 100% enthusiastic about.
They Grow Up So Fast
For a whole day last week, she experimented with calling us "Mom" and "Dad." (She's gone back to Mommy and Daddy. For now.)
The Informed Consumers
"What are the ingredients?" she asked.
So I flipped over the box and read them for her. "Organic Apple Juice from Concentrate, Calcium Lactate, and Ascorbic Acid."
She nodded thoughtfully. Then she asked me to read the ingredients again so that she could mull them over further. You know, debate whether or not calcium lactate and ascorbic acid were innocuous enough sounding ingredients that she should risk drinking juice that wasn't just 100% juice.
And the thing of it is, reading ingredient lists is so second nature to me that it wasn't until I was reading the apple juice components out loud to her for the fifth time that the realization finally hit me. Wait. The fact that my almost-three-year-old is always keen to know exactly what she's consuming? The fact that I'm constantly reading her the side of the yogurt container or the back of the pasta package? Just an eensy-weensy bit comical.
Kindred Spirits
Audrey's nursery school class is going to be getting together for weekly park days this summer so that the kids and parents can get know one another before school starts. Our first park day was last week. Audrey wasn't in a particularly good mood that morning, and when we arrived the place was boiling hot and teeming with kids. She can't stand situations where noisy crowds of kids are competing for limited resources, so she looked around in distaste and suggested that perhaps Whole Foods grocery store would be a more desirable destination.
I told her that we could go to the grocery store after hanging out at the park for a while, so she unenthusiastically disembarked from the minivan. As the other toddlers ran around like crazy, Audrey half-heartedly played in the spraying water feature for a bit, never straying more than three feet from my side, suggesting several times that it was high time we went shopping. I thought that we might have to call it a day.
Then I tried offering her a juice box. She considers juice boxes a huge treat, so she happily followed me over to our backpack. As the two of us hung out and drank juice under a shady tree she transformed from an unenthusiastic park participant to a completely mesmerized park observer. The playing kids, the chatting parents, the ice cream truck--nothing escaped her intense and interested gaze.
We stayed under the shady tree and we stayed under the shady tree (eventually moving from the juice box to some crackers). I periodically yakked with a couple of nearby parents. Audrey happily observed and happily observed and happily observed until more than an hour had passed and she observed that the very last of the other families were leaving. Then she informed me that it was time for us to go too.
And if she were always a run-around-and-dip-into-all-of-the-play-opportunities-that-the-park-has to-offer type of toddler, that would be fine and dandy. But I also love her the way that she is when she's not in the mood to dive in and get her hands dirty. That quietness and calmness that she exudes, her ability to create a space of peace and tranquility in a crowded and noisy park, I totally get it. When it comes to big crowds in the hot sun, I'm really a sit-quietly-under-a-tree-and-people-watch kind of gal myself.
Hope Springs from the Faucet
Major Development Alert: Audrey occasionally lets me take a shower during the day. Now, don't get me wrong. For the most part my hygiene maintenance rituals are still confined to evening and weekend hours. But if I'm feeling particularly icky and James is at work, Audrey seems to tolerate me jumping into the shower once a week or so. Oh Freedom. Glorious Freedom.
Now you may be asking yourself, "What's in this for the kid? Why would she stand around patiently in the bathroom rather than moaning and groaning and whining and kvetching about how Mommy should get out the shower and come provide her with proper entertainment?"
I have a theory about this. The moment that Audrey hears me running the water she comes sprinting to the bathroom. Then she picks up the baby shampoo, holds it out to me, and sweetly asks, "Can Mommy use Audrey's shampoo?"
I think she is hopeful. Hopeful that when we run out of baby shampoo, we will never again be able to wash her hair.
Love Letter
When he arrived home early--as he always does on Thursdays--she was screaming with jaw-dropping intensity while I changed her diaper.
Being human, he groaned. "You're leaving me with this thing?"
"Sorry," I explained. I think she's hungry, but I haven't been able to convince her to eat anything." And then I think that I did half-heartedly offer to stay home.
But, being saintly, he shooed me off to yoga class. And then he carted Little Miss Misery all the way to the Los Altos Farmers Market, because the child has never managed to turn up her nose at a cheesy bread stick from the farmer's market. He tells me that after downing two of them, her spirits improved markedly.
Her Overscheduled Life
"Can you help me pick up these pipe cleaners?"
"No. I'm too busy standing here waiting."
I Saw That Coming. Sort Of.
We had two big bags of books to return to the library this week, and I couldn't carry both while holding the toddler's hand in the parking lot. So though I loaded both bags into the car, I only grabbed one bag when we actually arrived at the library.
We went through our usual library routine…stepping on the irrigation control valve covers and drain on the way in. Returning the old books at the automated check-in machine. Walking to the children's section. Picking up a coloring page. Coloring for a bit. Reading for a bit. Loading up our bag with new books. Checking them out at the automated check-out machine. Returning to the car (making sure not to miss the opportunity to step on the drain and the irrigation control valve covers on our way out).
Audrey was in such good spirits at that point, that I decided to try suggesting that we should return our second bag of old books to the library. Given that returning a second bag of books is not a part of our usual library routine, and given that Audrey is a toddler, and given that toddlers love routines, I expected her to balk. To insist that now was the time for climbing into car seats and drinking juice and watching DVDs! Not for going back where we just left! So I was pleasantly surprised when she happily agreed that returning the second bag of books sounded like a good idea. My big girl! So very mature and open-minded and practical!
Back to the library we went. We stepped on the irrigation control valve covers and the drain, and we returned the books at the automated check-in machine. Then, task completed, I tried to take my daughter's hand to lead her back to the car. Instead she led me. Back into the library. Where we picked up another coloring page. And colored for a bit. And read for a bit. And loaded up our (second) bag with (a few) more new books. And checked them out at the automated check-out machine. And then she was finally ready to return to the car (though of course, there were valve covers and drains to be stepped on before that happened).
So it turns out that she is still a toddler after all. I correctly guessed that deviating from our usual library routine was probably beyond her capabilities. I was just wrong about when she'd have trouble. And as for me, I'm grateful. Grateful that if my kid wants to turn a one-hour library trip into a two-hour library trip, I got nothin' more pressing on my agenda that prevents me from just hanging out longer with her at one of our favorite hang-outs. Stay-at-home motherhood is a tougher gig than you might imagine, but it has its luxurious aspects.
Leaving it to the Imagination
Audrey handed me a purple crayon and gave me my instructions. "Draw a red bell pepper, Mommy."
So I drew. It didn't look very red to me. Given my lack of artistic skill, it also didn't look like a bell pepper. But she was satisfied. "Now draw a green bell pepper."
When I finished, there were two identical purple blobs on the page. Audrey surveyed my work, picked up a crayon of her own and announced, "Now I'm going to color the green one orange."
Never Been So Pleased to Be Snubbed
"Don't come in the kitchen with Audrey and Daddy, Mommy. Just stay in the office and check your email."
Avian Observations
Audrey and Daddy were at a toy store, and Audrey took a temporary fancy to a stuffed penguin. As she carried it around, she shared a thought with Daddy. "We're three penguins. Two pretend penguins, and a real penguin."
Taking the Leafy Greens Thing a Little Too Far
Audrey and I crossed the street to remove the Jehovah's Witness literature from the front porch of our vacationing neighbors, and upon our return we started exploring the front yard a bit.
Audrey is rarely interested in hanging out in the front yard, and as a consequence, the front yard is much, much weedier than the back yard. So, as she climbed around the trunk of the Juniper tree, my fingers started itching to get pulling. I faced a dilemma. My gardening gloves were in the backyard, and if I attempted to retrieve them, I'd never convince the child to return to the front yard with me. So I dove in and started uprooting with my bare hands.
As she collected weeds from me, Audrey devised a variety of scenarios to entertain herself. First this weed was a hammer, and she was going to use it to pound on the Juniper tree. Then that one was a piece of bark mulch, and she was going to use it to create more bark mulch. Then, the next one was a weed, and Audrey Cow was going to eat it.
I busily weeded away, half-listened to all of her stories, told her how splendid her ideas were. Then I looked up to see Audrey Cow chewing. Chewing very, very convincingly. "Are you really eating the weed, or pretend eating?" I asked in dismay. "Do you have something in your mouth? Spit it out into my hand!"
"No!" said Audrey Cow.
Examining at my hand, I once again I faced a dilemma. Dig around in the cow's mouth with dirt-encrusted fingers? Or assume that the leaf ingestion, (if it occurred at all) was unlikely to be particularly toxic.
I went with a non-invasive procedure, lecturing Audrey Cow about how real cows eat weeds, but pretend cows and people only eat things that we grow in our garden.
Weekday Observations
What day is it?
It's Wednesday.
What's Wednesday?
It's the day after Tuesday.
What's Threesday?
Grammar Lover’s Edition
And now, back by popular demand, it is time for me to gather together the little Audreyisms that I jot down in my notebook and form them into a Grammar Lover's Edition. OK, I would do this for my own amusement even if I weren't getting any demands. But based on the number of comments that the grammar editions generate, I think it's safe to say that they are the most popular features of the blog. (
Vocabulary: A few weeks ago we checked out a charming library book called "Thesaurus Rex," and Audrey didn't want me to read her anything else for days. She's in love with words, quite intent on becoming a little Thesaurus herself.
"That looks curly." I mention. And she jumps in with a delirious list of synonyms, "Curly, Whirley, Twisty, Bendy!"
"I'm going to take a dainty little sip," she informs me. And next, by way of contrast, she demonstrates how to take "quite a gulp."
She never misses the opportunity to add a new word to her repertoire. "This thing is flimsy," Daddy complains. "Flimsy," repeats the child, rolling the word lovingly off of her tongue.
Misheard Vocabulary: Not that Audrey always gets new words right on her first shot. When you think about, it's pretty astonishing that kids manage to pick up any new words, given that spoken language hits their eardrums in a continuous stream rather than being neatly separated into individual words and sentences like written language. But for the most part they figure out word boundaries with no difficulties whatsoever. Which is why it was so amusing to me when Audrey mis-parsed the words as she tried to describe the actions of two of the fish in our tank, "Are they trying to kiss the chother?
Pronouns: Audrey is working to figure out where to use subject pronouns (like I and they) and where to use object pronouns (like me and them.) For the most part, she knows that subject pronouns need to go before the verb and object pronouns need to go after the verb. (As in, "I like them" instead of "Me like they.") But when sentences start to get all complicated and multi-verbal, she's not sure what needs to go where. Take this sentence: "I want she to come with us." Here the main verb of the sentence is "want." Audrey correctly used the subject pronoun "I" before the verb, and she correctly used the object pronoun "us" after the verb. But she wasn't sure what to do in that slot that comes after the main verb "want" but before the verb-like infinitive "to come." So she logically but incorrectly went with the subject pronoun (she).
Similarly, she's not clear on the rule that we always use object pronouns after a preposition. "Give it to she."
Often the child's natural zest for logic leads her to error, because languages are full of irregularities. When it comes to reflexive pronouns, English attaches a mishmash of possessive adjectives and object pronouns to the word "self." So myself, yourself, and ourselves are formed using possessive adjectives + self, but himself, and themselves are formed using object pronouns + self. (Herself and itself are ambiguous.)
One morning, Audrey decided it would be better to regularize the language by using the possessive adjective "their" instead of the object pronoun "them," and she developed the word "theirselves." I'm sure adult English learners everywhere appreciate her efforts to simplify the rules.
Two-Word Verbs: Audrey struggles with how to properly use verb inflections when verbs have two words. Should she add the past tense marker to both parts of the verb? "It's knocked overed." Should she add the present continuous marker to just the second part of the verb? "Is Daddy put awaying dinner?"
Present Perfect Tense: The concept of when to use present perfect tense is outrageously difficult to try and explain to second language learners. The simplest explanation is that it's used for something that started sometime in the past and continues until now. (So, "I have lived in San Jose for five years.") But that's just the beginning of it. (That explanation doesn't work well at all for sentences like "I've lost my wallet!" or "I've only been to London once.") So I get excited when I hear Audrey starting to tangle with the complexities of the tense. She doesn't have the form or function of the tense fully down yet ("The biggest animal he ever seen.") but the fact that she's starting to grapple with it is a clear sign of intellectual growth.
Have Got: Sometimes analyzing my daughter's errors makes me a more knowledgeable English teacher. What is this "gots" I wondered as I heard her say, "She gots her contact paper and she needs her sweater drying rack." Is it a malformed attempt at present perfect? But no, you'd need "She has gotten" for the present perfect, and that would change Audrey's intended meaning. So I ended up scouring my 854 page version of "The Grammar Book" (A.K.A. the ESL teacher's Bible). In footnote 13 on page 181 I found an explanation: "Have got"— a formulaic and informal way of describing possession. "I've got" my answer now. If any of my students come asking, I'll know exactly what to say.
Language Creativity: Listening to Audrey's creative use of language continues to be a great joy. When she needed a name to describe the little used bathroom that is tucked away in our master bedroom, she came up with "bedroom bathroom."
When describing her activities as she made blue squiggles over her green squiggles she explained, "I'm bluing up the green. There. The green is all nice and blued."
And, perhaps inspired by my child, I've been doing a bit of language creation myself. One day, Audrey was standing on a chair dropping clothes into the washing machine. Given that her arms are not very long, all of the clothes were piling up in the front of the machine. "Here, let me sploosh that for you," I said, spreading the clothes around more evenly. She glommed onto my made-up word immediately. Clothes are piling up in the washing machine? "Sploosh it, Mommy!" Toys are unevenly spread in the container? "Sploosh it, Mommy!" At first I felt a wee bit guilty about teaching her a nonexistent word. But the alternatives just felt clunky and unappealing. ("Let me spread it around for you." Blech.) So, we're just gonna keep using our own private little word. "Sploosh, sploosh, sploosh." So practical. And it has a nice ring to it, don't you think?
How to: Audrey's not very clear about how to ask questions with "how to." "How to do it?" "How to find him?"
Pragmatics: And finally, a tidbit from the appropriate language usage files. A few days ago, Audrey described an object as "stupid." It is a word that she surely heard from parental sources, but coming out of a 2-year-old's mouth, it was jolting. So I explained that "stupid" was not a nice word, and she shouldn't use it, just like she shouldn't use the phrase "go away." Audrey really is a very obedient child, so she accepted my explanation with great interest and without complaint, and I haven't heard her use the word since.
However, she is now fascinated by the idea that there are words that she shouldn't use. "What are some words that aren't nice?" she asks.
"Can you think of any?" I elicit.
"Stupid!" she squeals! "And ‘Go away."
"That's right," I nod.
"What are some other words that aren't nice?" she probes.
And quite a few excellent examples of not nice words spring immediately to my mind. But my dear child, I'm afraid you'll just have to wait to learn them from sources other than me.
Safety First
Audrey and I had put on our sun hats, but before we could head out into the garden she insisted on one more protective measure. "And sunscreen for our arms, Mommy! So we don't get an owie sunburn!"
It was already 4:45, and I knew that there would soon be plenty of shadows around, so I was figuring that the two of us could just soak up some gentle evening rays. You know, build up our vitamin D supplies and whatnot. But my little dermatologist was having none of that. She sent me right back to the hall closet for the tube, grumbling under her breath about how for maximum protection, we should have applied sunblock a half hour before going into the sun rather than at the last minute.
All of which is oh so typical of her. "Do you want to ride your tricycle?" Daddy asks.
And by way of reply she calls out "I need my helmet!" as she runs towards the garage.
Or there was the time when she thought about climbing into a laundry basket that was sitting in the kitchen. Then she considered the possible ramifications of her action, picked the basket up, and carried it to the living room muttering, "I better put it on the rug so I don't hurt myself."
It's a good thing she's still pretty fuzzy about the concepts of dates and time, or I never would have gotten away with feeding her that slightly expired yogurt last week. "I don't care if it still looks and smells fine, Mommy. We are throwing it out right now."
Attention to Detail
Audrey was having trouble identifying the letters in some words on an envelope, and I explained that the letters were written in a special style called cursive. Unbeknownst to me, I was apparently explaining one of the great mysteries of the world. Because now the kid spots those funny letters all the time. The front page of the San Jose Mercury News, books, advertisements. "Cursidive" she points out. Cursidive here, cursidive there, cursidive everywhere. I guess maybe it's a great relief to her to know that it's not her fault when letters suddenly become curvy and unreadable. Cursidive makes an excellent scapegoat.
“A” Glaring Omission
"What are some words that start with "A"?" the child asked one lazy afternoon.
"Well, there's apple and apricot,…ant, anteater, aardvark…" Having covered fruits and animals, I paused to brainstorm more "A" words. At which point the child finally lost patience with me.
"And AUDREY!"
Lost in Translation
Audrey requested some fruit this evening, and I wasn't sure what we had on hand.
"Do we have any of the fruit that starts with F?" I asked my husband. James wracked his brain trying to think of what kind of fruit we might possibly have that started with F.
See, I spend all day immersed in Audreylish, and in Audreylish, mangoes are flamangoes. When I asked my question, I forgot that James isn't quite as fluent in the dialect as I am, and I didn't bother to translate.
He finally had to give up. "Do we have any what?"
At which point the third member of our family piped up to demonstrate both her Audreylish fluency and her spelling skills, "Do we have any flamangoes?!"
Breaking News! Toddler Eats Raw Leafy Greens!
They say that even picky toddlers are often willing to eat food that they grow themselves. And by golly, for once they are right.
James and I have long held grand gardening ambitions, but given that our backyard used to be a weed infested jungle, we never managed to grow much other than a few tomato plants and a little basil. Now that James and my Dad have tamed the wilderness, we've started cultivating in earnest, choosing a variety of crops based on impulse purchases of seed packs from the nursery and seedlings from the grocery store. Sometimes our plant first/research later methodology gets us in a bit of trouble. ("Oops, honey….The Organic Home Garden says that strawberries are a spreading perennial! Guess we didn't give them nearly enough room to grow.")
But for the most part our plants seem to be thriving in spite of our rookie mistakes. Digging and planting and watering and weeding is totally our thing these days.
The first vegetables to mature were the radishes, which were ready to eat approximately a half an hour after we spread the seeds. All three of us were over-the-moon about our first harvest, and though the radishes were quite SPICY Audrey gobbled up about three of them. James and I couldn't get over the fact that our daughter was eating a SPICY vegetable. They were SPICY, and there she was eating them, even though she usually can't stand SPICY foods. She loved them! Those SPICY things!
About the 20th time that James and I marveled at the fact that Audrey was eating SPICY radishes, Audrey had an epiphany. Hey! These radishes that I'm eating? They are SPICY!
She hasn't been willing to touch one since.
So when James went out to harvest a few sprigs of basil for dinner, and Audrey begged for a sprig of her own, we played it cool. Of course you can eat one, darling. Here you go. Eat as much as you want. (We are not even going to comment on how intensely flavored those green leaves are, or how they are kind of tricky to eat without gagging. If she eats enough of them, she'll get the hang of it. See, there. She's devouring them without gagging at all now.) Basil is good, huh, sweetie?
This time I saved all of my caps for the blog. Whole leaves of raw basil? INTENSE flavor. Watching my daughter down leaf after leaf of a very grown-up food? INTENSLY delightful.
This One’s for Aunt Julie
Organizing the closets is one of my summer projects, so I put Audrey to work running clothes from the master bedroom closet to the bed in the nursery. (As an added bonus, when she totes clothes for me, simultaneously the floors get swept.)
On one trip, Audrey stared hard at the label of the shirt that she was carrying and asked, "Does it say Ann Taylor?"
Actually, it said Ann Taylor Loft. The kid is under the impression that her parents are a little more fashionable than we actually are.
The Master Negotiator
"OK. We're going to listen two more times."
"I don't want to do two more."
"How many do you want to do?"
"10 more."
And so they listened 10 more times.
Already Wise to the Ways of the World
Here is what she heard after I picked up the phone:
"Hello?
He's not here right now. May I take a message?
Yes.
Sorry."
And here is what she said after I hung up.
"Who was on the phone, Mommy?"
"It was a man from the sheriff's department."
"He wanted more money."
How she got that one figured out, I truly have no idea.
Fifteen and a Half Hours
Audrey loves seeing pictures of herself as a newborn in the hospital and as an "Audrey Ball" in Mommy's tummy. She's been requesting to view her newborn shots quite a bit this week, perhaps because we told her that her friend Kai has a new baby brother.
On one occasion, as we were perusing Audrey's "Week One" photos, she stared hard at a picture of the Audrey Ball asked us, "How am I going to get out of Mommy's tummy?"
Through gales of parental laughter, I spluttered out an explanation. "Mommy pushed you out." And without an epidural, too, kid. I'm expecting you to work extra hard on your Mother's Day craft at nursery school next year.
Pushy Parents
The ravenous appetite that Audrey had been exhibiting for the past few months has disappeared, and the child is now largely subsisting on milk, juice, air, and the occasional banana-chocolate crepe from the food court at the mall.
Our food philosophy has always been that it is our job to offer Audrey a variety of (mostly healthy) foods, and it is her job to decide whether or not she wants to eat them. We consider ourselves the furthest things from coercive in this area. That is clearly not how she sees things.
A few nights ago, Audrey wandered in the living room and witnessed a dreadful sight. Her mother was snacking on a pluot, and her father was snacking on a peach. As she recoiled in horror the child gave a mighty shriek. And what she shrieked was, "I'M NOT HUNGRY!" Good God. There we were sitting in our living room, minding our own business, eating some fruit. You would have thought we were trying to force feed her brussel sprouts.
I must say though, now that I once again have a child who doesn't eat, I've rediscovered the advantages of the situation. It used to take us forever to get out of the house in the morning. I'd have to make some French toast or waffles or oatmeal, and then go through the slow process of transferring the food from the plate to the child's stomach. We barely made it to our 11:30 music class sometimes.
This morning, after a few sips of orange juice and a clean diaper, the kid was ready to go out by just after 10. And though we didn't get home until nearly 2, she'd barely worked up enough of an appetite for a few nibbles of quesadilla. It's nice to have a kid who eats, but there is no doubt that having a kid who doesn't eat is a lot less work. I'm in no rush for Audrey's next growth spurt to kick in.
Baby Mozart
We attended our friends' piano and violin recital at Stanford today, strategically settling ourselves near the exit doors (right next to the other families with young kids). There were no guarantees that Audrey would last even five minutes in the auditorium, but I was not particularly surprised when she made it through the first movement of the Mozart piece without uttering a peep. As the crowd sat in its inter-movement silence, I held my breath. Was Audrey about to pipe in with a loud critique of the quality of the acoustics?
But her concert etiquette was impeccable. She waited just as patiently and silently as the rest of the audience.
After the second movement ended, she did speak, but only to quietly ask Daddy when the music was going to start again.
Eventually she became a little squirmy, so she and I slipped out and wandered over to the Stanford Bookstore, which, happily, has a well-stocked children's book section.
At the post -concert reception, we went over to congratulate violinist Eric, and I gave him a full report. "Audrey really enjoyed the Mozart piece. But she got kind of bored during the Beethoven. I had to take her out at the beginning of the second movement."
"Great job!" Eric commended the child. Then he whispered conspiratorially to her. "Sometimes I get a little bored during the Beethoven too."
Social Butterflies All
Yesterday, James and I hosted a get-together for the lovely group of people that I met during my Master's program. We weren't sure exactly how well Audrey would handle a house full of strangers. It turned out, she could handle it beautifully. Within a few minutes of the arrival of a three-year-old playmate, the two kids were running around the back yard hand-in-hand. When another three-year-old appeared on the back step, Audrey immediately invited (OK, ordered) her to, "Come along" and join in the backyard fun. In the house, when the other kids started sifting through Audrey's toys, she was completely cool with sharing and played along. (Given Audrey's customary disdain for toys, seeing our living room floor strewn children's play things was an unusual sight indeed.) I think Audrey really enjoyed being in the company of slighter older kids, who were perhaps more communicative and predictable than most kids her own age.
Sometime into the party, a dizzy-from-twirling Audrey took a bad spill and banged up her chin, which had only recently healed from a tumble that she took a few weeks ago. She never quite regained her equilibrium after that. Still, I think we can call the party a resounding success. Audrey enjoyed hanging out with her peers. Mom and Dad enjoyed chatting with their peers. And despite undergoing the trampling feet of several toddlers, our vegetable garden seems none the worse for wear.
Sometimes a Girl Needs Her Coffee
One of Audrey's current library books features a picture of spilling coffee. So the child got it into her head that she wanted some coffee. Perhaps we should have tried harder to explain that coffee is not a drink for children. Perhaps we should have tried harder to explain that Mommy and Daddy don't care for coffee, and therefore don't even keep any in the house. But perhaps introducing the child to some of life's harsher realities is not one of our parenting fortes, because we didn't. We took a path of lesser resistance. We mixed together milk, cocoa powder, and sugar and presented it to the child with great fanfare. Audrey decided that coffee was pretty tasty stuff.
"This coffee smells good," I mused to my husband as I sat next to my slurping child. "I might just need some myself."
And when I looked back down at the child, she had pushed her mug over in my direction and was offering me her straw so that I could take a sip. Because raising a child who is generous and thoughtful? Perhaps that's an area where our parenting skills are not quite as shabby.
Here Kitty Kitty
We need a comforter for the bed in the nursery/guest room, so Audrey and I ventured to Bed, Bath, & Beyond the other day. I was thinking it would be nice if she picked out the comforter, because someday that room will be her room. In her typical, decisive manner, Audrey found the one that she wanted almost immediately.
It was brown, with a leopard skin pattern.
And I decided that I fully support my daughter's right to pick out bedding that I find distasteful. To express her own individuality and style and so forth. But, um, not for another 10 years or so.
Hooked on Phonics
Audrey loves nothing better than to spell out words nowadays.
"There's a taxi."
"What kind of letter is for taxi?!"
"tuh-tuh-tuh"
"T!"
"aaahhhh"
"A!"
"ksss"
"X!"
"Yup, and then the last letter is an I."
"I!"
(Then, slowly, she sounds it out.) "Taakkksssiii"
"You got it, kid."
She hasn't asked me to spell any words that I don't know how to spell. Yet.
Playing Telephone
The other day, Audrey had her first completely independent and lengthy telephone conversation with Daddy.
"Where did you and Mommy go today?"
"We went to Whole Foods Grocery Store. And Longs."
"What did you buy?"
"Pears."
"What did you eat for lunch today?"
"Pizza."
"Where did you get the pizza?"
"California Pizza Kitchen."
I didn't need to prompt Audrey or repeat Daddy's questions. She was just as competent as could be at negotiating the conversation on her own.
And I hate to quibble with the child's fine accomplishment. But at the same time, I feel honor bound to point something out. Audrey's depiction of our day? Entirely, entirely fictional. I guess our trip to music class and our fine lunch of vegetable soup and quesadillas just wasn't exciting enough for her. No, she had to jazz it up a bit, make our life sound just that much more exhilarating than it really is.
Time Travel
"What day are we on?" she asks. "Is it Yesterday?"
"Um. No. Today is Sunday."
She takes this answer into serious consideration. But finally she decides that she must dissent. "No. It's Yesterday."
Then, some days later….
"What day are we on?" she asks.
"Today is June 6th."
This answer is so patently ridiculous she doesn't waste a single moment considering it. "No. It's May 22nd."
The Jedi Master
M: "OK. I'll try."
A: "No, Mommy. Don't try. Just dooooo it!"
Like I Wasn’t Having Trouble Keeping Things Straight Before
"I'm Audrey Rooster/Tyrannosaurus Rex/Parrot. And also a Cow."
More Progress without Progression
In a stunning break with her previous hide-it-at-all-costs philosophy, Audrey has taken to frequently informing us when she has a poopy diaper. And, whereas she used to be very nonchalant about where she urinated, she is now horrified by the prospect of peeing on the floor. In fact, while she used to love hanging out diaperless, being naked now seems to make her nervous. "I need a new diaper!" she'll insist, after just a few minutes in the buff.
With a little bit of distraction, I can make her forget that she wants a diaper. And over the last few days, she's gone for several hours at a time without an accident. I can't be sure, but I think that she is exerting some control over her bladder movements. Today, after a few diaperless hours, I noticed her hand repeatedly heading southward. "Do you need to go pee pee?" I asked. With a look of great relief, she dashed over to her diaper changing towel.
For, while she definitely seems to be heading in the right direction, she remains adamantly opposed to testing out potties or toilets. I suppose we should probably try decorating the potty like a Rooster/Tyrannosaurus Rex/ Parrot/Cow to see if that makes it any more appealing. But potty decorating sounds like a Daddy sort of job. And anytime I mention the potty training idea to him, he starts to shudder uncontrollably, visions of escorting his daughter into filthy public men's rooms dancing in his head.
Wedding Bliss
Audrey attended her first wedding at the tender age of eight weeks, and she has since been a guest at so surprisingly many weddings that she can passionately argue the relative merits of indoor vs. outdoor ceremonies and buffet-style vs. sit-down dining.
However up until now, she has always played the role of random kid at the wedding. The type of kid that nobody gives much thought to so long as they refrain from tantruming during the vows or racing around and knocking over the flower arrangements.
She had never before played the role of niece of the groom. When you're the niece of the groom, there tend to be a lot of unfamiliar relatives around who are not only giving thought to you, but are anxious to hug you and pinch your cheeks. There are people who are hopeful that you'll wait for a cue and then walk down an aisle with a flower. And while all of this is happening, many of your more familiar and comforting relatives (like your Daddy, and your uncle and aunt-to-be, and your Halmoni and Halabogi) are off in distant places wearing tuxes and gowns and, waiting for their own cues and smiling for cameras.
To say that over the past few weeks I've been awakening drenched in cold sweat worrying about how well my reluctant little socializer was going to react to the situation would be—well—only a slight exaggeration.
So James and I have spent the last month in a frenzy of acquisition. Dresses and shiny shoes and lacy little socks, yes. And also new coloring books and new toys and fun drinks (fizzy, bubbly Orangina!) and fun food (yummy, wummy candy!) and new games, and (by golly) a brand new portable DVD player. Our baby-entertaining arsenal was fully loaded.
Still, the day did not start off particularly auspiciously. Mommy and Grandma and Grandpa and Daddy changed into their wedding finery with little drama. (OK. There was a minor ironing mishap. But if the burn is on a part of the shirt that gets tucked in, it's not worth sweating.) But nor chocolate, nor DVDs, nor four college-educated adults could convince the two-year-old that it was a good idea to wear the gorgeous green dress that her uncle and aunt-to-be had lovingly selected for her. After a good 40 minutes of hysterics, with no end to the tears in sight, the mama finally decreed that a little red dress (while not nearly as gorgeous) was GOOD ENOUGH. The green dress came off, the red dress went on, the tears stopped. And perhaps most importantly, the mama decided that she was FINISHED trying to push the baby out of her comfort zone for the day.
From there on out, the day was hitchless (but for whole Uncle Andrew and Aunt Linda getting hitched part of it). In an area of San Francisco where parking spaces are more precious than gold, we miraculously scored a spot directly across the street from the church. When my child expressed her desire to sit quietly in the pew holding her flower rather than processing down the aisle with it, I accepted her decision. And, with that stress lifted from her, she was able to tolerate a whole day's worth of greetings and touches from relatives with resignation, if not enthusiasm. She played quietly for hours (with purses, hymnals, camera cases, railings, leaves, new toys, new coloring books, and whatever else she could find.) And later in the evening, when we had moved on to the portable DVD player, she was so engrossed in her first full length feature film (Toy Story) that Mommy and Daddy even had the opportunity to take a few spins around the dance floor. (So engrossed was Audrey that, when Grandma sat down on the floor next to her so ask how the movie was going, Audrey politely but firmly suggested that Grandma should return to her chair at the table.)
Perhaps our biggest mistake of the evening was leaving a still booming party when Audrey fell asleep (to a particularly booming hip-hop beat) at around 9. She ended up waking up when we put her into her carseat, and then didn't go down for the night until half past midnight. Like duh, Mom and Dad! I can't believe you people took me home before the cake! Couldn't you tell that was just a power nap?
Congratulations to Andrew and Linda. Thanks for the great party. We wish you a lifetime of happiness.
Cross that Task Off My List
Worms are a major part of life around our household these days. We have composting worms that eat our vegetable scraps. Regular old earthworms that Daddy often digs up in the garden. And Tubifex worms that we buy at the pet store to feed the frogs in our fish tank. One night last week, Audrey dashed into the house holding a (tightly sealed) plastic bag of Tubifex worms. She was turning it upside-down and then right-side-up, watching the worms slide from one end of the bag to the other. And she was singing to the tune of "The Wheels on the Bus."
"Listen to the worms bobbing up and down/
All by theirselves."
I was pretty awestruck. There was my baby, accurately reproducing the tune and rhythm of a familiar song. And then taking things up a giant notch by making up her own lyrics to fit the situation at hand. (The fact that the worms were not actually making any noise or doing any bobbing of their own volition? Let's chalk that up to artistic license.)
I thumbed through my metal checklist of parenting priorities.
Instill love of reading? Check.
Instill love of music? Check.
Not too shabby for just two-and-a-half years of work, if I do say so myself.
Out of Left Field
Audrey gave up napping for her second birthday. So I was really surprised when she took a nap last week. And then another one a couple of days later. And then a third one this week. Three naps in two weeks almost seems to be going beyond "fluke" and into "trend" territory. My theory is that when she gets a little bit behind on sleep, she no longer seems to sleep in late in the morning to make up for it. (She's almost always up by 8 or 9 now, whereas she used to occasionally snooze until 10 or 11.) So she now sometimes needs to catch up in the afternoon instead. If she needs sleep she needs sleep, so I don't feel like I should stop her from napping. But the return of naps has meant the return of a baby who's not tired for bed until 11 or midnight (instead of 8 or 9 on no-nap days). This definitely isn't a trend that I'm excited about.
Computer Literacy
Audrey loves to stand on a stool in the office and type on "my little computer." (Daddy knows better than to argue that it is really *his* laptop from work.) She is becoming quite competent at word processing. She can use the Enter key and the Backspace key. She knows to press the Escape key to close menus that she opens by accident. And she knows how to ensure that Mom's presence is constantly required while she is typing. "Mommy! Hold down the shift key so the "1" can be an exclamation point!" (Heaven forbid that Mom might try to get any work done on the big computer while Audrey uses her little one. We don't believe in independent play around these parts.)
Advertising Dollars Working Well
Audrey and I were sorting junk mail into the recycle bin. As usual, she needed to know the names of the companies that had sent us each flyer and ad prior to tossing it. I handed her an ad and identified it as coming from "The Window Broker." She pondered it thoughtfully. "We should go to that store."
Listen Kid, If You Want Something Done Right…
One evening, Audrey was so tired, she couldn't even find the strength to lift up her fist and rub her weary little eyes. So she asked Daddy to rub them for her. Then she complained that he didn't do a good job.
The Neighbors Are Gonna Love This
As our backyard takes shape, James has been dreaming of lawn furniture. "We should have an umbrella, he muses. What color should our umbrella be?"
Though she was not being directly addressed, Audrey's reply was immediate and decisive. "Purple."
The following day, when I pondered the idea that we should repaint the outside of the house, she was just as sure about what the ideal color would be. Red.
Only Human. Some of us, Anyway.
Audrey is obsessed with parental errors these days. Completely obsessed. If my tongue slips while I'm reading her a story, she jumps on it right away. "What sound Mommy didn't know?!"
"Well, I said the name of the book was ‘Canoe Song' but actually it's ‘Canoe Days.'
She chortles a bit, delighting in my mistake. Then she asks me to repeat it several times. "What sound Mommy didn't know?"
"I said that it was ‘Canoe Song,' but it's not. It's ‘Canoe Days.' Silly Mommy, huh?"
And on and on. And then the next time we read the book, she's sure to remember exactly where I messed up and rake me over the coals again.
Errors. They are the funniest things in the world. Except when she is the one accused of falling short of perfection.
Audrey and Daddy were looking at name mugs in a store, and Audrey was telling Daddy about all of the letters in the different names. She was doing very well, but her knowledge of lowercase letters is not quite as rock-solid as her knowledge of uppercase letters, so she hit a few bumps. Looking at the Tyler mug she spelled out "T-Y-I-E-R."
Daddy very gently tried to set her straight. "That letter does look like an "I" huh? Actually, it's a lowercase "l." Lowercase "l" looks a lot like uppercase ‘I.'"
"No," Audrey informed Daddy. "It's not an "L." It's an ‘I.'"
"OK," he agreed.
But she wasn't finished proving her point. She moved on to the "William" mug. "W", "I," "I that's not L." And she glared over at Daddy, daring him, just daring him, to suggest that she'd incorrectly identified the third letter of the word.
She Has Legacy Dreams
Audrey was hanging out while I folded laundry. (That was a rare treat for me. While she is often willing to help out with the laundry sorting process, she finds folding to be extremely dull. As a result, the bed in the nursery is often piled high with clean loads.)
I hooked a hanger into a sweatshirt, and she pointed at it. "What's this word say?"
"It says ‘Stanford.'"
"What's Stanford?"
"It's a school. It's where Mommy and Daddy went to college."
"Can I go to Stanford?"
"Sure, baby." And then the ever-so-realistic aspect of my personality kicked in. The no-fun part that always starts talking finances when my husband makes giddy plans to remodel the kitchen. I gave the two-year-old a stern warning. "You'll have to study really hard."
My Parents are Soooo Uncultured
"What's the song????!"
From the driver's seat, James recognized the tune that was playing on the Baby Einstein video. It was one of our cell phone ring tones, that was for sure. But which one? "Is it Mozart Aria?" he tried. "Maybe Bach Cello Suite?"
Finally, Audrey took pity on her father. "It's ‘Spring'!" Like duh, Dad. Vivaldi?
Later, when James was telling me the story, Audrey had to step in with another assist. "We were watching a Baby Einstein video," he began. "I don't remember which one it was…..Maybe Baby Neptune…."
"Baby Newton," our baby corrected.
She Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Yoga Class
She knows the positions by instinct.
Readin’ and Writin’
As we read the library book, I had a hunch. "Can you find the word ‘zoo' on the page?" And sure enough she could point to it without a moment's hesitation.
Later, when we were telling Daddy about her achievement, I tested her knowledge further. "How do you spell ‘zoo' Audrey?" Though the book was off in another room, she had no trouble at all. "One ‘Z' and two ‘O's!"
Audrey is also very excited about identifying the first letter of words recently. This morning, she celebrated waking up by asking me to quiz her about the first letter of things in the bedroom.
"What's the first letter in ‘buh-buh-buh-bed'?" "B!"
"What's the first letter in ‘nuh-nuh-nuh-nightstand'?" "N!"
"What's the first letter in ‘luh-luh-luh-lamp'?" "L!"
I would never consider using flashcards with my toddler. But given my child's interests, I have to admit that my husband is probably right when he hypothesizes that she would enjoy them.
‘Rithmitic
Audrey learned to recognize the numbers 0-10 a couple of eons ago, and hadn't been much interested in identifying other numbers since. But this week, she started analyzing what happens when you stick two numbers together. "One and one make eleven," I heard her musing to herself. And the flood gates were open.
One afternoon, she ran over to the refrigerator, grabbed two of her number magnets, and brought them over to me. "What does this make?" she asked.
"Seventy-six."
When she managed (on her own) to identify 7 and 3 as making "seventy-three" she was so proud she just about burst.
Then we moved on to the other double-digit numbers in the universe. Like "one-ty seven" "two-ty three" and "five-ty four."
On the Right Track
I was helping her type out the name of her favorite Music Together song (Tingalayo), but she got bored after three letters. (It is an awfully long name.)
Then, as she stared at the "t-i-n" on the computer screen, she developed a hypothesis. "Does it say ‘train'?"
Almost Three Goin’ on Almost Thirteen
D: What did you do today, Audrey?
A: Nothin'
The Homebody
Audrey has been less grumpy this week than last. (Thanks, perhaps, to the fact that I've been less stressed. And to the fact that she has resumed awakening in the eight o'clock hour after experimenting with awakening in the seven o'clock hour. I think sleep deprivation may have been contributing to her disequilibrium.)
However, she is still not back to her usual self, especially when it comes to enjoying outings. This evening, I had to run to school and then to yoga class, so she was hanging out with Daddy at home. Daddy suggested that they make a Costco run to restock our fruit supply. "We can get some pears and mangoes and avocados!" he enticed her.
But, while there are few things Audrey loves more than "flamangoes" and pears, she wasn't even remotely tempted. "I just want to stay low on fruit."
Delayed Gratification
Audrey and Daddy checked out a book about the zoo at the library last Sunday. And while looking at the book about the zoo, James unthinkingly broke a major parenting commandment: "Thou shalt not tell thy 2-year-old about an exciting outing a week in advance of the actual outing."
Yes, he informed the child at 9 p.m. on Sunday the fifth of May that she would be going to the zoo on Saturday the twelfth of May. Naturally she marched immediately over to the door, stared out into the darkness, and demanded her shoes in happy anticipation. Then James was forced to explain to her that the trip wouldn't happen for another six days. Not until Saturday. S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y. She accepted his explanation with a minimum of tears. So he was off the hook. Until the next morning. Monday morning. When she woke up, rolled over, and asked her Daddy if it was Saturday yet.
Not Particularly Welcome Memories
The peaceful sense of equilibrium that Audrey had been feeling for the last few months has dissipated over the past couple of weeks, and the child that we are living with now is a far grumpier and pricklier one.
If we never tried to take her out of the house we might not notice her new moodiness so much. But as soon as we suggest an outing, it's very clear that she's in a new developmental phase. She never wants to go anywhere. Well, she never wants to go anywhere except for music class and the zoo. We've managed to entice her into the car to go to those places without too much of a fuss. But for the last week or two, getting her into the car to visit any other destinations generally involves carrying a screaming and unwilling child to the minivan. That's pretty much the definition of "not fun" in my dictionary, so we've been doing a whole lot of staying home.
Periodically, though, I do have to leave the house to visit locales other than music classes or zoos. On those occasions, my appreciation for our minivan's DVD player is stronger than ever. I can usually put an end to the into-the-car tears pretty quickly by popping in a new disk. James forgot to try the "new DVD" trick yesterday, and Audrey managed to scream for the entire duration of a 30 minute trip. I think that that might very well be his dictionary definition of "not fun." Yessir. That extra grand or two that we spent to get the minivan with the DVD player. BEST MONEY WE EVER SPENT.
I had a trip on Friday where even the DVD player didn't do the job. And let me tell you….my days of coasting as slowly as possible to a stop and cursing each red light because my child would resume crying every time the vehicle stopped moving? I really thought that those days were two years behind me.
I am hopeful that Audrey's disequilibrium is caused, in part, by the end of semester stresses that I've been experiencing. My exquisitely sensitive child is hyper-attuned to my emotions. So perhaps she'll celebrate my upcoming summer vacation by being happier and less hostile. But I will not be too surprised if her moodiness lasts longer than the next two weeks. It may simply be that the work of this particular stage of growing up is particularly hard for her, and she just has to work through it at her own pace. I do miss my generally jovial baby, though. I hope she comes back soon.
Audrey Lion, Audrey Parrot, Audrey Worm
Audrey is rarely just Audrey these days. "I'm a flamingo standing on one leg!" she'll announce. And two minutes later, "I'm a bat hanging upside down!" She designates animals for me, too. "Audrey is a chameleon, and Mommy is a cricket!" Given how frequently she switches our animal assignments around, I admit that I don't always pay one hundred percent attention to our current designations. It can get me into trouble.
"Audrey is a donkey," she announces.
"Hee haw," I absentmindedly contribute.
"Mommy is a horse!!!!" she protests.
"Oh. Right. Neigh, neigh."
Wishing We Could
There are very few downsides to having a child who can communicate her needs well, but I must say it is a real bummer when a congested and feverish baby begs her more or less powerless parents to "Help me feel better."
Shutterbug
Audrey's photography skills have increased considerably. Instead of just randomly pressing the button, she now points and takes careful aim before shooting. During her last photo shoot, she very successfully took pictures of the individual letters on her alphabet mat, bookshelves, chairs, and that sort of thing. However, she starts running into trouble when her ambitions are higher. Higher than about two feet, that is. When she attempts a portrait of Mommy, she usually ends up (to her disappointment) with an image of Mommy's knees.
The World According to Audrey
Happiness is a big pile of compost to play on while Mommy and Daddy garden, and the occasional earthworm to examine.
Geography Lessons
At we flipped through the atlas, Audrey paused and pointed at a picture. "What's that?"
"That's a picture of the world."
She pondered it for a few moments, and then made her assessment. "It's a big blue ball."
It sure is, baby. It sure is.
A Method to Our Parenting Madness
A few minutes before nine, she tired of spinning around in the office and looking at pictures of lions on Wikipedia. "Is it time for Audrey to go to sleep?" she asked.
Answering her own question, she skipped off to the bedroom where (after a dose of fluoride, a toothbrush, and five minutes of nursing) she was soon fast asleep.
At two-and-a-half, she's pretty darn good at detecting when she is tired and putting herself to bed. That's a skill that her insomniac, 31-year-old mother is still working on.
Grammar Lover’s Edition
Not all that long ago, she was just stringing together two words at a time. Now, she throws together complex grammatical structures with nonchalance.
Politeness Forms: Upon spotting the stepstool, she got a strong urge to climb, and she let her desires be known. "Excuse me, Daddy. Could I stand on it, please?" Look at those politeness forms. "Excuse me." "Please." And even that very nicely place "Could." (Much more polite than possible alternatives like "can I" or "I want to.") The girl knows how to get what she wants.
If Clauses: Putting thoughts into the pet store lizard's mouth she suggested, "If we finish those crickets, we will probably have some more." Note how complex this is—the present tense form of the verb (finish) goes in the "if clause." Future tense (will probably have) goes in the other half of the sentence. And proving that it was no fluke, she performed the same trick in another sentence, this time with an "after clause" "Maybe I'll have nummy after I finish my oatmeal." (Future tense—I'll have. Present tense-I finish.)
Passive Constructions: As Daddy approached with a clean shirt, Audrey proclaimed, "I want to be holded by Mommy while I wait for my new shirt." Mommy, naturally, was dazzled to hear the baby using a passive form (be holded by Mommy) for the first time.
Of course, Audrey still has a long way to go before achieving full competency in English grammar. She's iffy on past tense questions. "What did it ate?" There are loads of tenses that she has yet to attempt. (Like take the sentence, "Next August 12th, it will have been three years since I was born." That's um….future perfect tense. I think. Haven't taught it in a while. I can look it up if you want. Anyway, she's not there yet.)
Still watching her astonishing progress is just about the best entertainment I could think of. Admittedly, I may get a little too excited about grammar sometimes.
Kid’s Stuff
From the time she was around 10 months old, Audrey has generally needed to carry around her favorite toy at all times. She periodically changed favorite toys (Giggle Bear--Rubber Ducky--Mini Elephant--Little White Ducky--Little White Ducky AND Thomas the Tank English--Just Little White Ducky). And when one favorite toy fell out of favor, it sometimes took a little while before she found a suitable replacement. But it has now been a couple of months since she stopped asking for Little White Ducky, and she shows no signs of latching onto a new object. I think that her always-carrying-stuff-around phase may finally be over.
Now that Audrey no longer carries toys around, I can safely say that she often goes for days without playing with any toys at all. I think she has as much interest in manipulating the things in her environment as any other kid. But she is far more interested in figuring out Mom and Dad's stuff than in exploring the wooden and plastic junk in her toy baskets. She uses the instruments in her plastic drum once in a while. But she puts on mini-concerts by shaking the fish food containers on a daily basis. Yesterday she created an obstacle course out of laundry baskets when we were sorting laundry. This morning she practiced rolling and unrolling my yoga mat. At lunchtime, she figured out how to use the cheese grater. (She's passed a block of cheese over the grater many times, but today she really figured out how to press down and grate.)
Perhaps her disinterest in toys stems from other facets of her personality. She still generally disdains independent play, preferring to hang out almost full time with me. And I tend to use things like washing machines and mashers a lot more than I use blocks and dolls. Or perhaps I shouldn't discount the possibility that we just own really boring toys.
Except for Technically
The weather has warmed up some, so I've periodically been honoring Audrey's requests to hang around the house in the buff. As a result I have learned that Audrey now goes much, much longer without having to pee—hours instead of minutes at a time.
I've also learned that when it comes to bowel movements, she is totally trained. As soon as she senses the impending need to go, she urgently informs me….that she needs a diaper. In it she does her business. She is completely against the idea of trying the maneuver out in a potty or toilet. As I see it, she's toilet trained, with the exception of the toilet part.
I haven't fully assessed how well she's doing when it comes to controlling her bladder. (So far the bowel movement issues are what have been coming up.) This afternoon, after Audrey had been walking around half naked for several hours, I was on the verge of asking her if she needed to pee when the phone rang. And in the brief amount of time that I was talking to the telemarketer, she went. Would she have managed to direct her urine stream to a more appropriate location (diaper or potty) had the phone not intervened? The temperatures are supposed to be in the 80s next week, so we may find out.
Unexpected Gifts of Motherhood
Audrey and I have entered a period of pleasant companionship, with both of us very content hanging out together. She's generally happy, and if her mood heads south, I almost always know how to remedy it quickly. (Uh-oh. She's getting hungry cranky. Must apply food.)
A writer whose motherhood philosophies I admire (Norma Jane Bumgarner) suggests that you've achieved a good balance if your days are a robust mixture of doing things that you want to accomplish and things that your child wants to accomplish. When I first read that idea more than a year ago, my days were pretty much focused on doing things that would make my child not miserable, and not very focused at all on doing things that I wanted to do. So I was far from the goal.
But now, we're pretty much there. We drive to West Valley College to pick up my photocopies for me, but we mosey around the woodsy campus looking at the trees and the birds and the streams and the sticks for her. We load the laundry into the washing machine for me, and then we spend 10 minutes watching the machine fill with water and agitate the clothes for her. We toss the junk mail into the recycle bin for me, but we take the time to examine and shake each envelope and flier for her.
And of course, I would be accomplishing things at a faster rate without my daughter's help. The trip to West Valley would take 15 minutes rather than an hour and a half. Getting the load into the washer would take 5 minutes instead of 30. But if I hadn't taken Audrey to school with me, I never would have noticed the dark-eyed juncos pecking at the ground or seen the bees who nest at the bottom of the huge oak tree. If we hadn't loaded the washing machine together, I wouldn't have realized how cool it is the way the rotating agitator arm continually moves different clothes up to the surface of the water and then shakes them around and dunks them again. I find that motherhood is an excellent opportunity to view the world again through fresh eyes. To view it with fresh eyes and find the magic in it.
On the Road to Forgiving Him
Diaper wearers tend to be fairly bulky in their hindquarters anyway, but Audrey has this one pair of jeans that really accentuate the bulkiness. Every time she wears those jeans, James can't seem to resist commenting on the phenomenon. And so now, when I pop Audrey into a new pair of pants, she often parrots her Daddy's phrasing, "Do these pants make my butt look big?"
Initially, my reaction to her question was to send an icy glare in my spouse's direction. But now that my initial shock has waned I have to admit that the query, asked in complete innocence and contentment, with no body image concerns agitating beneath the surface, does have a certain comic element to it.
The Word Sponge
As we mixed together the brown sugar, melted butter, egg, and vanilla, it formed an ooey gooey sludge. "It's vikis," Audrey assessed.
"It's what, sweetie?" I asked. Then I realized what word I must have used during one of our previous baking adventures. "Oh, yes it is. You're absolutely right. It's very viscous."
Numbers
Audrey has been adept at distinguishing the presence of "one" or "two" things for a long time now, and she recently added "three" to her repertoire. "There are three bicycles!" she'll accurately announce. For some reason, she's also very keen on watching the clock these days. "What time it is?" she periodically demands. Cause if she wastes too much time listening to stories, she might not get to watching the fish in the aquarium before Daddy gets home. So let's get a move on, Ma.
She’s Eagerly Anticipating The Mozart Recital in June
Audrey has a new obsession—the ring tones on our cell phones. A few weeks ago, she spent a few days listening to them and memorizing the names of the tunes. And every day, she likes to listen to them a few times, naming the tunes as she flips through, "Ode to Joy!" "Mozart Aria!" "Arabesque!" When she spots me with a pen and paper she always wants me to write some words. So I always try to write words like "bunny" and "duck." And she always corrects me, "Write the names of some ring tones!"
This morning, near disaster. Audrey woke up chipper, and almost immediately requested my cell phone. When I realized that my cell phone had ridden along to work with James, her happy mood dissolved into tears. Thankfully, she was easily mollified, though James did have to get up and close his office door before playing ring tones for us over the phone.
Angling for Her Own Cooking Show
As she watched her Daddy mashing roasted garlic with a wooden spoon, Audrey had a suggestion. "It would be easier with a masher."
Waiting for Hell to Freeze Over
The child ate cauliflower at dinner, and followed it up with vegetable soup at lunch the next day.
Smile for the Camera!
"No, honey. Smile! Um…you know. More like a smile and less like a squinty grimace? Oh never mind."
Not Worried About A.D.D
At Toddler Time a couple of weeks ago, Audrey spent nearly the entire hour laboriously painting speckles on an egg-shaped piece of paper. The teacher commented that she had never seen a child spend such a long time at the art table.
When I told James the story, he had a simple explanation. "She gets her attention span from you. As surely as you are the source of her blond highlights."
The Benefits of a Long Attention Span
Audrey must be having a growth spurt, because she has been really hungry the past couple of days. And given that she is an extremely slow eater, that means that I have been spending the better portions of my days just feeding her. Today we spent nearly the entire afternoon in the office. And she'd come over to me for a bite of food. And she'd comment on the music that was playing in the background. And she'd practice balancing and climbing on various pieces of furniture. And then she'd mosey over for another bite. Periodically I'd shake things up by going into kitchen for a different type of food. But other than the great excitement of moving from apples to pancakes or from pancakes to peanut butter crackers, we kept up the exact same routine for a couple of hours.
It's lucky that I have a long attention span, or I might have been really, really, really bored.
Let’s Leave This to the Professionals, Shall We?
A new session of Music Together started a couple of weeks ago, so we've been listening to our new Music Together CD pretty much non-stop recently. I really love Music Together. It's a high-quality program, and I enjoy both the music and the classes just as much as Audrey does.
One of the things that the Music Together teachers are always stressing is how much kids love hearing their parents singing. "Don't worry about being perfect!" they urge. "The important thing is for them to hear your voice!" they insist.
And as I bounce around the office to a Latin beat, crooning about the little donkey who eats with a knife and fork, my daughter has a request. "Don't sing, Mommy. Just let the computer sing."
Regrets
Normally, I'm excited whenever I hear Audrey experiment with new vocabulary or grammar. But once in a while I'm sad to see her adorable little errors go. And so I report, with regret, that she now pronounces the word "computer" with impeccable accuracy. And every time she does, I mourn the passing of one of my favorite Audreyisms—that delightful juxtaposition of computer and video—"compideo."
The Bird Lover
James and Audrey have been casing out local nurseries since we need plants for our new backyard. And Audrey has fallen head over heels in love with a statue of a heron that is for sale at a store called Yamagami's.
When James left the store without the bird, Audrey called back to it with deep regret. "Bye-bye heron. We'll come back and buy you later!"
Days afterwards, James and I were discussing what to plant in our vegetable garden. "Tomatoes, zucchini, basil….."
"And the heron!" Audrey exclaimed.
Ah…the heron. Normally we enjoy indulging the child's little whims. But I'm not sure we can justify spending $200 on backyard statuary.
The Horticulturist
James and my Dad have been doing a lot of work on our backyard over the last few months, and it's looking spectacular. The patio and the wall are in, and we should have a usable lawn as soon as the grass seed grows. James and I have been discussing what else we should put in the yard, and Audrey has firm opinions on the subject.
"What kind of flowers do you think we should plant?" I asked her at one point.
"Dandelions!"
Alas, Poor Thomas. We Knew Him Well.
Audrey's interest in Thomas the Tank Engine has waned considerably over the last couple of weeks. And I must say, I'm really enjoying being able to converse with my daughter about topics than the little blue train and his friends.
However, now that Audrey is no longer excited about Thomas and his friends, she is also no longer excited about Thomas' Friends' soup. This has had a devastating impact on the amount of vegetables that I am able to convince her to consume.
So I guess I hope that another large group of characters quickly captivates her imagination. (Barney and Friends Soup? Bob the Builder and Friends Soup? We'll have to experiment more with videos from the library.)
Conversational Prowess
A few weeks ago Audrey and my mom and I were on an outing, and Grandma was telling a story about finding her car dented in a shopping mall parking lot.
Audrey inserted herself into the conversation with great excitement, "Daddy had to fix the crack in the windshield wipers!"
At that point I stepped in to clarify that the crack was in the windshield rather than the wipers, and to add that we had no idea what had caused it. But I was really impressed at how adept Audrey's contribution to the conversation had been. She listened to Grandma's story about car difficulties, and matched it with news about the car woes in her own life. So relevant. So topical.
It's true that she didn't wait for Grandma to finish the story about the dent before interjecting, and in Northern California we'll have to deduct a few style points for interrupting. But if we go to visit Aunt Julie in New York, she should be perfectly within the bounds of conversational conventions.
Practicing Her SAT Words
"The birds are skittering," she observed as I strapped her into her carseat.
"Are the birds scattering?" I absentmindedly responded.
"They're skittering," she insisted. Then I remembered we'd been reading a book in which a flock of birds skitters when the rainstorm begins.
Later, upon observing that the lampshade had been knocked askew, she made a report. "Mommy, the lamp is all catawampus."
Actually, You Can Pick Your Friend’s Nose
When Audrey had a cold a couple of weeks ago, she learned the adjective "stuffy." Last week she woke up slightly congested one morning. (Mild allergies sometimes give her a runny morning nose. Unfortunate. But hardly a surprise considering her father's history of hay fever and her mother's history of eczema.)
"My nose is stuffy!" she declared. "Is your nose stuffy, Mommy?"
I inhaled thoughtfully and responded. "Yeah. A little bit."
"I want to see the stuff!" She crawled onto my lap and stared intently into my nose.
"Do you see anything?"
"Just some little hairs…….I want to touch them!" And she swiftly inserted her finger into my nostril.
No Self-Esteem Issues
"Take a picture of me; I'm so cute!"
Grammar Lover’s Edition
Personal Pronouns: Audrey is getting pretty good at using pronouns. She's much clearer about the fact that she needs to use "I" and "me" and "my" to refer to herself rather than using "you" and "your." Last week she was bawling and begged her Daddy to, "Carry you!" Then, through her tears, she sputtered out a quick grammar correction, "Carry me!"
Object pronouns with Two Word Verbs: She's still pretty iffy when it comes to the requirement that object pronouns be placed in the middle of separable two word verbs. "Put away it!" "Pick up it!" I did once hear her correct to the proper form, though. "Turn off it….Turn it off!"
Third Person Present Tense Wh- Questions: Audrey recently asked me, "What does it doos?" I loved how she managed to stick the correct and incorrect pronunciations of "does" in the same sentence.
Pragmatics: Our biggest language issue of late is Audrey's tendency to order people to "Go away!" We've been trying to teach her more appropriate phrases for expressing her desires. "Don't tell Daddy to go away. Say, ‘I want to be with Mommy right now.'" But while she is perfectly capable of saying, "I want to be with Mommy right now," that's not something she has managed to come up with in a high emotion moment. The compromise that we've settled on is that she can order people to go "bye bye" and we won't put up a fuss. "Bye Bye Daddy!" isn't exactly language fit for a diplomat, but when our two-and-a-half year old is making a sincere effort to avoid a forbidden phrase we're willing to cut her some slack.
Figuring Out the Cubicle Lifestyle
"Daddy's not at his desk," I say, hanging up the phone.
"He must be at a medium!" she infers.
My Kind of Toddler
Audrey accidentally made a crayon mark on the wall this morning. As soon as she noticed it, she pointed it out to me in great dismay. "Wash it off, Mommy!"
Mom’s a Little Slow Sometimes
"What's this?" asked the child, pointing at the picture.
"A flower," replied the mother.
And the child gently set the mother straight. "It's a tulip, Mommy. It's still closed."
Why Toddlers are Stubborn
Audrey and I have been doing a lot of baking lately. Mostly vegetable breads and muffins. It's a fun way to pass the time, and when vegetables are shredded, smothered in sugar, and baked into cake-like forms, she's generally willing to eat them. (I'll take what I can get.)
Audrey is excellent at tasks such as beating eggs and mixing things together. There are still steps that we tend to do in parallel rather than together, though. (I often give her her own flour and spices, because she's not always willing to let me measure things precisely.) Occasionally she tires of baking and wants to move on to another activity. That is when I resort to pouring a bit of sugar into a bowl for her to keep her content and in the kitchen. (Bribery is my middle name.)
The first time that I tried baking muffins with Audrey, everything went splendidly right up until we got up to the step of scooping the muffin batter into the tin. Then I was stuck. One bowl of batter. One muffin tin. One toddler who was demanding to help me scoop. I couldn't think of a way to make batter scooping a parallel activity. And I didn't want our pleasant afternoon of baking to deteriorate into tears. So I handed her a spoon and hoped that at least some of my batter would end up in the tin rather than on the floor.
And she took the spoon and scooped and poured and scooped and poured. Scooped and poured nearly as expertly and tidily as I would have. Paused to insist that I wipe up the occasional errant drop before scooping and pouring some more. Was even pretty good (with a little bit of coaching) at judging which cups were full already and which needed a bit more batter.
And if she hadn't threatened tears….if she had simply acquiesced when I was reluctant to let her help with the task, how long would it have been before I let her try it? Months? Years?
So lesson learned on my part: Toddlers are stubborn because if they weren't stubborn, we might never let them learn (or prove themselves already to be) competent at the daily duties of life.
No Honest Abe
Audrey is still reasonably cooperative at diaper changing time, but she never, ever volunteers for duty. Quite the opposite. She's only two-and-a-half, but already quite adept at lying. "Don't sniff me! I don't have a poo-poo! I don't have a poo-poo!"
It Finally Worked!
Audrey is generally pretty darned cooperative when it comes to tooth brushing time these days. With a minimum of complaints, she'll open wide and let Daddy tell a dramatic tale about what's hiding all of the nooks and crannies of her mouth. (Butterflies? Choo choos? It's always a surprise.)
However, it would be inaccurate to say that tooth brushing time is something that she looks forward too. Every evening, she insists that she be allowed to brush by herself, without Daddy's help. And every night, she gets to brush by herself. (She is less than thorough) Then, to her chagrin, Daddy takes over. (He is very thorough.)
And tonight she insisted on brushing by herself. And then she finished brushing and handed the brush to me. ("All done brushing my teeth!") And I put the brush down instead of giving it to James because he was going to change her diaper. And soon thereafter she was soundly sleeping. And only then did we remember that the Daddy part of the tooth brushing routine never happened.
I guess the persistent little bugger knew that we were bound to slip of one of these days if she just kept trying.
My Favorite Audreyism of the Moment
"I don't really xactly sure."
The Mother Hen
As soon as the mail arrived through the slot, she decided it would be a perfect nest. "I'm laying some eggs, keeping them warm, and reading them a story!"
How to Feel Old
Audrey is constantly announcing that the phone is ringing. Then James and I pause in surprise and strain our aged ears until we, too, finally hear the cheerful electronic tones.
One Word Per Minute
A couple of day ago, Audrey wanted to type. So I opened up Word for her, changed the text color to blue (at her request) and she typed a few random letters, as is her wont.
Then she asked me to type Audrey Kim and Daddy. I complied.
Then for the first time, it occurred to her that she too might be able to create words using the computer. She decided to try typing Daddy herself. I pointed to the letters that she needed, and she carefully hunted and pecked away until she had spelled:
Next she wanted to tackle Mommy:
Fun stuff! She decided to type Daddy again!
But ahh. The game was getting boring. What else could she do? How about back to typing randomly. Some numbers this time:
You know, back in my day, we didn't have no stinkin' word processors. We had to wait until we had enough manual dexterity to form letters with a pencil to practice our spelling skills. Plus, it was uphill both ways to school.
Words
While out on the town with Daddy, the little one pointed up at the sign and exclaimed, "It says ‘No'!" And sure enough, it said "No Parking."
She's also pretty good at identifying "yes" "Mommy" "Daddy" and "Audrey." Welcome to literacy, baby.
Homo Sapiens Pride
She was exhausted and hyper and running crazily and unsteadily around, and I tried to think of something that would slow her down before she ran headlong into something with sharp edges. "Audrey! Do you want to crawl like an ant?!"
"No!" she wailed. "I want to walk like a people!"
Ever Helpful
And then she peered in bathroom door with a gentle reminder. "Mommy! Wipe yourself!"
Hapa Power
A couple of years ago, I read a book called, Does Anybody Else Look Like Me?: A Parent's Guide to Raising Multiracial Children by Donna Jackson Nakazawa. I found the book to be well-written and well-researched, and it contained very practical suggestions for raising multiracial children to feel comfortable with their identities.
However, as is obvious from the title, the book assumed that multiracial children would generally be viewed as unusual or exotic by many in their community. There was no consideration of the fact that, if you are two years old and live in the West San Jose/Campbell region, you and your multiracial peers will actually constitute a majority in certain Mommy and Me classes. Someday, we may be sitting these kids down to sternly admonish them that it is NOT OK to tease your friends for being monoracial.
Function Follows Form?
Audrey was experimenting with the language last week. Trying to figure out how to use "if clauses." Trying, trying, trying:.
"If we go to the store, we might color with a blue crayon."
And missing. (An A+ for proper form. An F for not making any sense at all.) Trying again:
"If we find the ducky, we might sing the ‘Row Row Row Your Boat' song." And missing again.
Finally she gave up on if clauses, at least for the time being. On the other hand, she did make a couple of improvements to the language.
(Watching the water go down the drain) "Is it downing?"
(Watching a balloon expand) "Is it bigging?"
Who needs excess verbs like "going" (down) and "getting" (big)? I say lets just convert those fine adjectives (down and big) into verbs and keep the language nice and concise.
Extrovert-Introvert
Audrey is much more outgoing and friendly than she used to be. When our friend Eric came over today, she wanted almost nothing to do with Mom and Dad. ("I want Eric to push my tricycle. Not Daddy.")
Still, Audrey remains a little skeptical about interacting with (pushy, grabby, unpredictable) other kids. On a park outing last weekend, Audrey wanted to play on the crowded airplane structure. But she wanted it all to herself. "We can go to a park with fewer people," Daddy suggested.
She had an even better idea. "Let's go to a park with no people."
Emotional Awareness
Audrey was very good in the restaurant for a long time, but finally it got to be a bit much for her. She fussed a bit and repeatedly demanded to leave. When Daddy stood up to take her outside, she seemed quite relieved. Looking down at Mommy and Eric (who were still finishing their lunches) she gave an almost apologetic explanation. "She's a little bit cranky."
Politeness Forms
So, one fairly polite way to request an object in English is to use the phrase "Can I see your." "Can I see your pen?" for example, is much nicer than, "Gimme your pen." (Though certainly not as nice as, "If you don't mind, could I borrow your pen for just a second?")
Audrey is working hard on utilizing this very nice "can I see" form. Which is very nice. Except that she has it completely backwards. "Can Mommy see Audrey's pen?" she asks as she reaches over to trade mine for hers. "Can Daddy see Audrey's crayon?" she insists, as she hands him her old and boring one and grabs for his. It really should work her way. Heck, she's turned her request into an offer. Maybe it should even be an extra, extra polite way of making a trade. But no, kiddo. I'm afraid you don't have this one completely ironed out just yet.
Name That Tune
James came up with a new game. We hum or whistle a tune for Audrey, and she can identify it will excellent accuracy. Her melody recognition abilities were also apparent at Toddler Time last week. We sang a song about the colors in a rainbow
"Red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple.
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple.
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple.
Are the colors in the rainbow."
And when we finished the song, Audrey pointed out to me that it was "just like the ‘Ten Little Fireflies'" song. And indeed, when I hummed the tune to myself again, I realized that it was the same tune as "Ten Little Fireflies." (Or "Ten Little Indians" to those of us who first learned the lyrics in a less enlightened age.) One of the things that is fun about having a toddler is getting a fresh view of the world through her eyes. I heard the teacher singing the song, recognized the familiar tune, and filled in the new words without giving it further thought. Audrey, on the other hand, heard the teacher singing the song, recognized the familiar tune, and then figured out the connection between the two songs. No intellectual laziness there!
Certain Exceptions Apply
Audrey firmly believes in keeping her foods separated these days. So, while she continues to consume vegetables in the form of vegetable soup (hooray!), she definitely does not want any of the vegetables in the veggie chow main. ("I want just noodles. Daddy will eat the vegetables.") And while she likes to eat apples, she wants all apples removed from her apple-zucchini muffins. (Luckily the zucchini itself was generally camouflaged well enough to escape detection.) No salad dressing on her croutons. No bread with her jam. (She likes it straight from the jar. I haven't really decided if I should categorize jam as a fruit (unlimited consumption welcomed) or as a dessert (moderation encouraged.))
And yet, when we tried a new recipe for peanut butter-banana-chocolate chip bread last week, she gobbled and gobbled and gobbled and demanded "more chocolate chips" with every bite. I guess some rules were just made to be broken.
Photography
Audrey learned how to take pictures completely independently a couple of days ago. So this is just one of the many, many fine photographs of our office floor that are now stored on the camera.
No More Sippy Cup Blues
Audrey's language skills seem to have taken another jump. The complexity of the thoughts that she can express has increased. A few days ago, I made a blind sippy cup offer to her as I was driving down the road. When she didn't grab the juice, I assumed that she wasn't thirsty. But as soon as I tried to put it back in the cup holder, she protested. "Hold it back further so can reach it!" It was such a complete little thought. She specified exactly what I needed to do and what she wanted to do. And, sure. A simple yelp of protest would have gotten pretty much the same message across. But the fact that she is now able to express thoughts like that probably means that her needs get met more promptly these days. Less guesswork is required on the part of mom and dad. And given how happy she is when she has some measure of control over her environment, I suspect that Audrey's increased ability to communicate is a major factor contributing to her increased level of contentment with life.
I’m Gonna Want This Girl on my Trivial Pursuit Team
One of the things that I really love about having a two and a half year old is how her vocabulary and thinking skills have progressed beyond merely pointing out airplanes or ants or other easily observable objects in our environment. Nowadays we often have conversations in which actual information is exchanged on the parts of both parties. We were goofing around the other day, and she requested that I "Put one eye open and one eye closed." So I winked at her, and she nodded approvingly. "Just like an owl."
"Just like an owl," I agreed, thinking about the winking owl at the Palo Alto Zoo.
She had a different point of reference, though. "Just like the ‘Goodnight, Owl' book."
"Oh, right," I recalled, thinking about the library book we'd checked out a few weeks earlier. "That was a good one. Do you remember who the author was?"
I honestly didn't remember. But I figured she would. And her reply came without a moment's hesitation. "Pat Hutchins."
Variations on a Theme About an Australian Bird
Audrey's favorite Music Together song this semester is "Kookaburra." Last week she burst spontaneously into Kookaburra in the middle of class, much to the amusement of the adults in the room. And because Audrey's enthusiasm for the song was so fervent, Teacher Louise gamely led the class in an impromptu rendition. The squeaky wheels in this world get their favorite song sung in class, even if their favorite song wasn't originally in Teacher's lesson plan. So it is really nice to see how assertive my little one is when it comes to expressing her needs. Usually. Maybe not quite so nice when she is loudly and impatiently complaining about how long it is taking for the class to say, "Hello to Audrey" during the "Hello Song." (Darlin', first we gotta finish saying Hello to Dylan and Julianna and Skylar and Sage. It will be our turn soon.)
But Kookaburra. Dear old Kookaburra. I'll never tire of hearing her sing it. Here's how her first verse goes:
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree,
Merry merry Christmas of the bush is he.
Laugh Kookaburra, laugh Kookaburra
Sing your song must be.
It's pretty amusing how that wayward "Christmas" managed to sneak in and replace the word "king." But the non-grammatical last line is what really cracks me up. See, Audrey has been exposed to two versions of the Kookaburra song. The Music Together version uses the traditional wording.
"Gay your life must be."
The other version that she's heard is in a musical Winnie the Pooh book, and Disney was too squeamish to print a line sounds like wild speculation about avian sex lives. So they cleaned it up to:
"Sing your song for me."
And so, faced with completely divergent versions of the same line, Audrey has taken a mix and match approach.
Her Taste Buds Are in Perfect Working Order
Audrey experimented with shaking salt from a shaker for a while, periodically using a moist finger to lift salt crystals from the plate to her mouth. Finally, she made her assessment. "Sugar is better. I want a bowl of sugar."
The Library Book Critic
"This one is boring. Let's read an interesting one."
Physical Feats
She's a jumpinger runninger climbinger girl this week. Really real jumps, with a couple inches of air space. (And the mother claps.) Much faster speed on her living room to kitchen jogging loop. (And the mother frets that the child is about to go careening into the piano.) Surprising new climbs. (And the mother walks into bedroom to find her daughter standing atop one of her little chairs.)
More battle hardened parents would no doubt scoff at my series of "heart in throat" moments. (My neighbor once found her toddler perched on top of the tank of a toilet, after all.) But my child has always been cautious to the extreme, so this is new territory for me. It's nice that she's tackling new skills. It's not so nice that a child who rarely loses her balance has had four tear-worthy falls in two days
A Girl After My Own Heart
I took Audrey to the Children's Discovery Museum last week. She had a rotten time. The place was a mad house. Kids everywhere. Overwhelmed, she didn't even want me to set her down.
So having forked over cash for parking and admission, and having received nothing of value in return, we glumly returned home.
Then, as we exited the minivan in our driveway, our moods were lifted by the warm and sunny weather. We dilly-dallied instead of going into the house, examining the blooming crocuses and daffodils in the front yard. The overgrown weeds in the well-saturated soil called my name, and I pulled just a few of the big ones and handed them to my daughter. She decided to build a snowman (weed-man?) on the sidewalk. She joyfully demanded more and more weeds for her pile. I pulled them as fast as my fingers could fly.
I have pulled weeds with Audrey before, last year when the winter rains made conditions ripe. But back then I couldn't really relax and enjoy the task because I couldn't take my eyes off of her for a moment, maintaining constant vigilance against rock ingestion or near traffic wanderings. Now that I have 100% confidence that she won't put anything in her mouth and 95% confidence that she won't suddenly make a beeline for the street, I am much more serene. I can hand her a weed and look back down at ground, and her cheerful humming and chattering reassure me that she is heading right back to the pile near the house rather than into danger.
So, for more than an hour, we weeded and piled and weeded and piled. She was happy. I was happy. And the contrast between her yard mood and her museum mood sent a clear message. "Mama, the weather is warm and the soil is wet. This is no time to put ourselves through the stress of a museum trip! Don't you know we're the types who are happier just hanging out together and gardening?"
Unplanned Deception
In search of a distraction for a slightly cranky Audrey, I offered her some hot chocolate the other day. She's a big fan of hot apple cider. (Or more accurately, she's a big fan of lukewarm apple juice stirred with a cinnamon stick.) So she readily agreed to try out hot chocolate, and she waited very impatiently while I warmed some milk and dumped in cocoa powder and raw sugar. Not wanting her impatience to lead to tears, I set the mug down in front of her in an unperfected state. As she began to drink, I tried to add a little more raw sugar. She protested my intrusion.
"But it needs some more of…..this stuff!" I urged her. (I knew better than to use the word "sugar" to describe the mysterious substance I was trying to add to her beverage, because I didn't want her to completely abandon the drink and demand a bowl full of the sweet stuff.)
She merely repeated her demand that I leave the drink be. Suddenly I realized that I faced a critical choice. I could ignore her demands and fix the drink up so that it tasted really, really good. Or I could follow her orders and leave her associating "hot chocolate" with thoughts like "eh…kinda bitter. Nothing to write home about." Make it taste good and spend weeks being hounded with constant requests for hot chocolate. Leave it be and keep her in the dark about one of life's delightful little pleasures.
I quietly put down my spoon and put the sugar away. She lost interest in the drink after a few more pulls on her straw and suggested instead that we head off to another room in search of a fun toy.
So my distraction effort was successful, resulting in a contented child, (who has not put in a single request for hot chocolate since). But I am still guilt-ridden over my deception.
Pedagogically Speaking
Audrey's interest in written words has increased. She sometimes points one at a time to the words on a page and asks "What's this one? What's this one? What's this one?" She also occasionally enjoys passing the time by having Mom and Dad spell out words for her with her set of big stuffed letters. We always start out with the words "Audrey" "Mommy" and "Daddy." (Technically, due to some key letter shortages, we always end up doing "Audrey" "Momy" and "Dady." It's just my strategy for ensuring that she is as poor a speller as I am.)
After we finish "Audrey" "Momy" and "Dady," I'm ready to move on to words like "cat" and "dog." And she's ready to move on to words like "Thomas" "Edward" and "Gordon."
So I weep and rend my garments and beg her to let me have just fifteen minutes of freedom from her darling Thomas and his friends.
No, no. I remember back to those classes I took where they tried to teach me how to teach. All that stuff about how the key to getting your students jazzed about a new subject is to relate it to a subject that they're already jazzed about. And I figure that just as some teachers might try hip-hop analysis to get buy-in from their adolescent inner-city English students, so I must use choo choo name analysis to get buy-in from my toddler. So I spell those train names for her with a minimum of tooth grinding. I do try to avoid spelling Trevor and Terrance, though. Our letter set only came with one R.
A Reasonable Hypothesis
After spinning and spinning and spinning for a while, she took a break. Then, she shared her astonishing observation. "The floor is moving!"
Sunday Night Status Report
Homework: graded
Lesson Plans: finished
Exam: written
Floors: swept
Bathrooms: cleaned
Office Desk: immaculate
Laundry: washed, dried, folded, and put away
Rooms: tidied
Front Yard: weeded
Act: way more together than it has been in well over 30 months
That Mama, She’s Chopped Liver
Audrey is all questions all the time these days. (Where's it going? What's it doos? What sound? Who's calling?) She often asks questions that I can't answer. (I don't know who's calling!) And when Mommy fails her, she knows exactly where to turn. (We'll have to ask Daddy!!!!!)
“What’s It Like A?”
So it turns out, there is nothing in this world that cannot be compared to another thing. And usually, that other thing is something in the animal kingdom. "I'm yawning like a lion!" "I'm standing on one leg like a flamingo!" "I'm eating a banana like a monkey!" "I'm jumping like a kangaroo!" "I'm sticking my tongue out like a lizard!" "They're playing in the mud. Pigs roll in the mud!" "I'm sitting in a nest like a chicken! I'm laying eggs like a chicken!" "I'm tall like a giraffe!" "Mommy is big like an elephant!" (Yeah. Thanks, kid.)
On those exceedingly rare occasions when Audrey runs into comparison's block, she turns to us for urgent assistance. "What's it like a?!!!!"
Daddy’s Girl
For a long time, Audrey was very strongly Mommy oriented. And, while James understood intellectually that it was very common for a baby to form a strong and exclusive Mommy attachment, it was nevertheless hard for him when she always insisted on getting comfort from me. Or when she really didn't get all that excited about him coming home from work.
I periodically mentioned that always being the needed one was kind of tough, too. But I got no sympathy.
One night last week, we discovered that Audrey's diaper was dirty only after she had fallen asleep. She woke up about halfway through the changing process, and was unable to go back to sleep for two hours. Those were a rough couple of hours for our little miss. Her body just didn't know what was going on, and she was miserable—really tired but not at all sleepy. She had a few fairly serious meltdowns. And, for the first time ever, she insisted that Daddy comfort her when she cried.
So he crooned and patted and carried her up and down the hallway, and I got some lesson planning done in the office. From time to time, he looked rather longingly in at me as I glowed productively in the blue light of the computer. And twice he opened his mouth and very nearly complained about being stuck with Audrey Duty. But when his words came out, he wisely commented instead on how very, very rewarding it is to snuggle with a small child.
Sleep: Way, Way Overrated
After a few weeks of spoiling her parents with a relatively stable, early bedtime, Audrey has returned to her old habits of being quite unpredictable when it comes to her sleep schedule. There are still plenty of nights when she's out by 8:30. But on the other hand, there are many nights when she's still going strong at 10 or 11. And, rather inconveniently, she no longer seems to really even need much sleep. One night last week, she only slept for 8 and a half hours. "Hmm," I thought to myself when she woke up much earlier than I expected in the morning. "Little kids need more than 8 and a half hours of sleep. We may be having a cranky day today. And I guess if she seems to want a nap, I'll just have to let her take one." But far from having a cranky day, we had a "lovely, cheerful, baking a cake, tidying up the house, getting some laundry done" sort of day. And, far from wanting a nap, she had a "not even going to bed particularly early" sort of day.
James and I do miss regularly having nice chunks of the evening baby-free. But on the other hand, hanging out with our chipper little night owl is something that we really can't complain too much about. "Why do they call them the ‘Terrible Two's?" pondered a slightly bleary-eyed James as he listened to his (completely unbleary) little one singing a song of her own composition in the 10 o'clock hour last week. As she belted out lyrics about a woodpecker chopping down a tree, he coined a less alliterative, but more positive term for the age group, "Why don't they call them the ‘Becoming a Little Person Twos'?"
Amiga Amita
Audrey has tolerated the presence of other kids reasonably well for a while. But, while she has been willing to observe them intently, or ignore them and work on her own projects, she's never shown much interest in interacting with them.
One night last week, James took Audrey on a library outing. Audrey skipped into the children's section and decided that she wanted to play on the kid-sized couches, right next to the spot where another two-and-a-half year old named Amita was leaning. At first Amita wasn't very pleased to have Audrey intruding on her space. But within a few minutes, the girls were rushing around together, finding books for James to read to them, and taking turns turning the pages for him. James, who had been planning to just make a quick pit-stop at the library, instead settled in for a long visit to allow Audrey to explore the whole "socializing with a peer" thing for the first time.
It was pretty momentous for James watching his daughter really, truly playing with another child for the first time. One of those big, significant, wow moments of childrearing. As the three of them read a book about animals, the girls rushed to be the first to I.D. the creatures on the pages. On several occasions, Amita identified the animals first, but got the names wrong. And Audrey, who has been known to be more accurate than her mother when it comes to classifying wildlife, simply parroted Amita's incorrect answers.
So the evening's activities can be summed up like this:
1. Audrey makes a friend.
2. Audrey falls prey to peer pressure.
A part of me thinks that I should rush to teach my child about the importance of not jumping off of a bridge just because everyone else is doing it. But on the other hand, maybe Audrey actually did know what she was doing in deferring to little Amita. You probably don't earn any points with your brand new friend by showing her up.
Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows
I know that I can't seem to stop rehashing the topic of how much Audrey has changed over the last couple of months. But it continues to amaze me how different she is now from the way she was. She has blossomed. Blossomed, blossomed, blossomed. Blossomed. And the difference it has made in our lives is profound.
Audrey has always been a fairly contented child. But for the first two and a half years, contentment was not her natural state. It was something that her Mommy and Daddy had to constantly work very hard to achieve. When she was a young infant, we had to hold her, and carry her, and bounce her, and sing to her, and comfort her, and hold her. All the time. As she grew older, we had to hold her, and carry her, and sing to her, and distract her, and talk to her, and comfort her, and ease her gently into new situations, and protect her from people who came on to strong, and remove her from situations that she couldn't handle, and distract her, and hold her. All the time.
And now, she is just happy. Just a bubbly, singing, happy, curious, clever, funny, singing, happy child who wakes up happy and then is happy right up until she happily goes to bed happy. Of course, we have to do a little maintenance now and then. Kiss a bumped head. Reassure her when she hears a scary noise. Coax her out of rude or dangerous behaviors.
But these days when I think about parenting, I keep coming up with words like "fun" and "easy" where I used to come up with words like "really hard work" and "often draining." I knew our Audrey would blossom eventually if we nurtured her carefully. If we kept fertilizing and watering and pruning and protecting her from the elements. And now here she is blossoming. A little bit ahead of the schedule I expected, even. She's thrown open tightly closed petals to display the beauty of her personality to the world. I don't want to take too much credit for her accomplishments. She's the one who's done the growing and maturing, after all. But I do look on with a great deal of gardener's pride.
Yo! Judge Not
Audrey continues to have a spectacular time in music class. She sings and dances and participates like crazy. At one point during our last class, another mother pointed over to my child and advised her cranky and non-participating daughter to, "Do what Audrey is doing."
The cranky child in question is about Audrey's age, and is…a bit of a sourpuss. She always cries at least once during class. Usually a lot more than once. And as I watch that cranky child and her mother, I find myself searching for signs of inadequate parenting. How quickly I seem to have forgotten that, just a few months ago, my child was the "fussy and annoying" one instead of the "role model" one. So sure. I may not think that openly admiring the performance of another child (or openly calling your own child a crybaby) are techniques that are likely to lead to improved behavior. But at the same time, I think you really gotta give other people the benefit of the doubt when it comes to how they're raising their kids. Everyone's situation is different. Everyone's kids are different. And the last time I had all the answers when it comes to child rearing was the day before my own kid was born.
Doin’ What Comes Natural
James and I have been the furthest thing from structured when it comes to Audrey's bedtime. But in January, we were having a little trouble getting Audrey to sleep, and I thought maybe we should try out a little routine. You know, nightly repetition of some tooth brushing, some lullabies, some bedtime stories, and pretty soon the little angel is conditioned (in a Pavlovian sort of way) to close her eyes and drift off as soon as the last book is finished and a good night kiss is placed upon her forehead.
I pulled all of our "good night" themed books together into a basket, ordered a fabulous new lullaby CD from Amazon, and set the plan into motion. It worked great. Well, it worked great for two out of the three of us. With those soothing tunes playing in the background, by the time James and I finished reading the good night books, we were more than ready to conk out. None of it seemed to have any effect on Audrey though. So after a couple of weeks, we gave up.
We've returned to our old way of getting the baby to sleep, which basically involves waiting for her to get really tired. It's the method that feels best to all three of us, really. Audrey makes her feelings on the subject clear by protesting the moment that she hears any of the lullabies from the CD. Which is a shame, because there really are some beautiful songs on there. Hopefully my wrongheaded decision to mess with our lack of routine has not set her on the road to a lifelong aversion.
Overgeneralizations II
We've had to wait in line to use the checkout machines at the library a few times recently. And Audrey really enjoys waiting in line at the checkout machines immensely. It's a people watching thing for her. You know. What kind of things are other people checking out? Who are their library companions? It's all fascinating. Somewhat embarrassingly for me, she also likes to chat very loudly about everything that she observes, and ask me lots of questions.
"What video is the boy getting?"
And instead of saying, "Darling, you're welcome to look at his stuff, but it's considered impolite to talk about the fact that you're spying," I sort of awkwardly reply, "Um…looks like a Pokemon video."
Oblivious to my discomfort she plows on, motioning to the woman who is checking out Pokemon for her son. "And that's the Mommy. And where's the Daddy?"
"The Daddy's standing right there," I point out.
She nods, and looks back at the boy. "And there's the Audrey."
Overgeneralizations
Audrey wanted Mommy this evening, and James told her that Mommy was at work.
She had a solution for that. "Let's go find Mommy at Tensilica."
Literature Appreciation
When reading to Audrey, I always begin by noting the title, author, and illustrator of the book that we're about to dive into. It felt a little silly telling a five-month-old who had written her touch-and-feel books, but giving proper credit seemed like a habit that we should get into as early as possible.
Still, I wasn't sure if my efforts were having any effect until a few days ago. We were about to read a library book called, "If You Give a Moose a Muffin," and I announced that it was by Laura Numeroff.
"What else we read by Numeroff?" Audrey queried.
"Well, she also wrote the ‘What Mommies Do Best' book," I answered, referring to another library book that we'd just read.
"And the ‘Pig a Pancake' book," Audrey pointed out.
"And ‘If You Give a Pig a Pancake,'" I concurred. Of course, dear child. Forgive me for having thought that I might confuse you if I mentioned a book that we own, but haven't looked at in a few weeks. I have woefully underestimated you once again.
Substitutions (Temporarily) Accepted
Audrey has been less attached to Ducky and Thomas over the last week. She hasn't even really been carrying Thomas around for the past couple of days, and she'll go for hours at a time without toting Ducky. This can lead to problems. James and Audrey were on the road the other day when she suddenly called out for Ducky. He braced himself for tears, and gently informed her that Ducky was at home with Mommy.
Then, she did the last thing that he expected. She went all pragmatic on him. With a take-charge, can-do attitude, she pointed at the "Farm Toob" that we keep in the car in case of lost Ducky emergencies, and she instructed him to crack that sucker open and locate a substitute Ducky. (Who knew that she even knew that we have an extra Ducky in the car?) For the next couple of hours, she carried the back-bencher around. And then, as soon as they were safely back home in the garage, she insisted that Daddy put the sub Ducky back in its Toob, and she rushed into the house to find her good, old Ducky with the white spot on its beak.
A year ago she would have tantrumed. Now, she can problem solve. We're only halfway through, but so far, the twos have been anything but terrible for us.
Comfy?
All three of us are in the very annoying "lingering cough" phase of a very annoying cold. So when I set my sleeping child down in the middle of the king bed, I propped her head and chest up with a pillow to help her breath. Apparently the angle that I selected provided insufficient relief, however. Because when I returned to the room a few minutes later I found her--still soundly sleeping--but experimenting with rather different positioning.
The Social Butterfly
I have always known that Audrey is the greatest kid in the whole world. Because, in my opinion, believing your own children to be astoundingly wonderful is a parental duty that ranks right up there with providing food and shelter.
Up until now, though, Audrey's public persona didn't necessarily hold widespread appeal. She was the one who cried a lot in class, maybe. Or, the one who hated being talked to by strangers in stores. We were not winning any popularity contests.
Which is why hitting the town with the new Audrey is such a joy. Not only is she a lot of fun at home most of the time these days, but she's charming in public. She hears Kookaburra playing in the background at Toddler Time and bursts joyfully into song and dance. She cannot resist the urge to run and grab a toy cow from the farm animals display when we start to sing "Old McDonald" during circle time. She's happy to discuss ducky and Thomas with inquiring interlocutors.
Other people often used to have to avert their eyes from Audrey's behavior. Which makes it all the more pleasurable now that they are frequently giggling and turning to me to mouth, "So cute."
The Leader and the Led
James and I have this conversation periodically:
J: Bossy.
L: Managerial tendencies.
J: Micro-managerial tendencies.
Our debate stems from elaborate games like the one that Audrey came up with a few nights ago.
"I want to chase Mommy and Daddy." (So the three of us start jogging the kitchen to living room loop.)
"Mommy, say ‘doot doot doot.' And Daddy say ‘duk duk duk.' And Audrey will say, ‘choo choo choo.'" (So Mommy starts chanting doot doot doot, and Daddy starts chanting duk duk duk, and Audrey starts chanting choo choo choo as we run.)
"Mommy and Daddy, move the arms around and around." (So we add arm movements to the chanting and the jogging.)
And, periodically, if our arms falter or our voices waver, she reprovingly reissues her orders. "Mommy! Say ‘doot doot doot!' Daddy! Move the arms around!"
Movie director? Orchestra conductor? Track and Field coach? CEO? The career possibilities seem wide open for now.
The Toddler Word Exploration Continues
"Twenty….teny….eleveny…oney"
"Jeep. Just like sheep!"
"Pajamas." (Then, slowly, like a spelling bee contestant concentrating hard) "Pit-jam"
"Sandwich. Just like witch!"
And "Quesadilla. Just like dia!" Just like dia. Just like dia. OK. Actually, I don't get that one. Let's just pretend that I've been tutoring her in Spanish, and she totally knows that dia means day.
The Request
"I want to go to work wif Daddy."
Well, OK, great! I was all ready to hand her a sippy cup and a snack and pack her into the car with him. Or maybe to take his place at the office and try my hand at chip design. Because given a choice between heading into work with a cold or caring for a toddler while ill, I'd take office duty any day. Adults are a whole lot better at cutting you some slack when you're under the weather.
And We Have Pee Pee
Much to James' chagrin, I have been gently introducing Audrey to the concept of using the potty. For James, who frequently runs errands with Audrey in tow, having a potty trained child brings up horrific images of, you know, having to take his little girl into the men's room at Home Depot. As a result, he is a big fan of diapers, and thinks that we should stick with that option for as long as possible. Luckily for James, there are several pretty significant signs which indicate that Audrey is not ready to take the big step. First, she has very little interest in taking her clothes off or putting them on, and it's pretty tricky to use a potty if you don't know how to pull your pants up and down. Second, she still pees pretty frequently. And third, she doesn't mind having a soiled diaper, and would much rather run around with a load in her pants than have her diaper changed. (Once in a while, she accidentally mentions the fact that she is poopy. As soon as she realizes her mistake, she's gets this look that very clearly communicates the thought, "Dammit, dammit, dammit!")
My introduction of the potty topic stems, not from any rush on my part for toilet training to occur, but from a desire to reduce the amount of urine on my hardwood floors. Because Audrey's tendency to try and hide that fact that she has had a bowel movement leads to periodic bouts with diaper rash. And my efforts to clear up her rashes lead me to let her run around the house half-naked.
When I first started mentioning the fact that she might try peeing into her potty rather than onto the floor, she was vehemently opposed to the proposal. So I just continued following her around with a towel. But lately, she's been intermittently interested in discussing the idea of using the potty, and she loves the (highly absorbent) big girl underwear that we bought for her. (I love the undies, too, as they help out a lot with the urine on the floor problem.)
This evening during bathtime, Audrey suddenly decided that she wanted to actually try peeing into her potty. So Daddy lifted the dripping and slippery baby out of the tub, and onto the potty that Mommy had quickly fetched. And after trying and looking and trying and looking and trying and looking, Audrey successfully managed to squeeze out a few drops. Naturally, the whole family did a celebratory pee-pee dance. Even papa, conflicted as he may be on the subject, got into the festive spirit.
Now That’s Fine Parenting
I gave my daughter a bowl of refined sugar for breakfast yesterday. In my defense, she was supposed to be eating a bowl of oatmeal. And, in my defense, in the past she has enjoyed scooping sugar into the oatmeal and then eating the oatmeal. But she's older and wiser now. So yesterday, she just went straight for the sugar.
After she was done with her sugar, she ran to look at her dirty face in the mirror, where she made the following pronouncement. "I have three whiskers, Mommy! Just like a tiger!"
Because a wise child knows that when you have displeased your mother with your choice of breakfast foods, it is very important to get back into her good graces. And what better way to get back into her good graces than by demonstrating your knack for making irresistibly charming comparisons.
School Days
Audrey and I started up started the spring sessions of two classes last week. One was the Music Together class that we've been taking since she was about 15 months old, and the other is a one day a week Toddler Time class. The Toddler Time class is basically a Mommy and Me, introduction to school type thing with lots of toys and art projects for the kids to work with in a preschool setting. Audrey 1.0 would have hated everything about it, but Audrey 2.0 thinks it's pretty cool. (I mean, it's no Music Together class, Mommy, but it's still pretty cool.)
Now that Audrey 2.0 has arrived, I'm having to drastically rethink my plans for the fall. Until two months ago, I was serenely confident that my child would not be ready for preschool by next year, so I wasn't giving it any thought whatsoever. But all of a sudden, it seems clear that she might enjoy and benefit from regular interaction with other kids and adults in a stimulating setting. So, by golly, we're checking out some open houses. We went to a parent participation preschool this morning. One of the daddies who was helping to run the open house came over to Audrey and asked her name ("Audrey Kim"). Then he asked her to give him five. (She complied.) Then our (formerly separation anxious) child followed him to the other end of the yard where our (formerly extremely hesitant to climb) child repeatedly negotiated a little slide all on her own while her mom and dad chatted (and totally clicked) with a teacher. I think that I may be in love. Excited about joining an organization that seems to inspire passionate devotion from both teachers and parents. Ready to fork over a $50 application fee and sign on for helping in the classroom, monthly parent meetings, Saturday work parties, committees, fundraising and everything else that a parent participation preschool entails. I even think I'm fairly confident that Audrey and I will both be OK if I leave her there by herself on my non-helping-in-the-classroom days. The only question that remains is, can this mother and daughter team really get out the door in time for a 9 a.m. class?
Sorting the World into Groups
A few days ago, we were listening to Daddy's voicemail announcement on speaker phone. "To leave a message for ‘James Kim'……
Suddenly, great excitement, "I'm Audrey Kim!........Audrey Kim and James Kim and…Mommy Kim!"
The Lioness Within
Even a particularly gentle and nonviolent mother--when she hears the story about the little boy at the mall who ran over to her child, wrestled Thomas away, and took off running--may start plotting lessons about the location of particularly sensitive parts of the male anatomy.
I Did a Stint in Marketing, You Know
Audrey has eaten vegetable soup for lunch two days in a row now. Lots of vegetable soup. And not just the broth. We're talking carrots, zucchini, celery, white beans, and pasta all making it into her tummy.
And how? Painstakingly. One at a time. Named. "And here's Thomas the Tank Engine. And he's pulling his coaches. Here's Annie. And this one is Clarabell. Here's Gordon. He's pulling the Express…."
She now calls it "Thomas' Friends' Soup."
And while we're on the subject of Thomas, I should mention that she lets in a toothbrush without complaint while playing with her Thomas sticker book. Good old Thomas. He works well for us.
Not the Answer He Was Hoping to Hear
J: She'll start eating a greater variety of foods eventually, right?
L: Of course.
J: When?
L: (Reflecting back and basing her answer on personal experience) Maybe college?
Miss Audrey Driving
Audrey and I hung out in the minivan for the better part of an hour the other day. She was thrilled to sit in the "Daddy/Mommy seat" turning the steering wheel and twisting dials. I was thrilled to have the opportunity to clean up some of the tissues and papers and cereal bits that had been accumulating on the seats and floor. As she played, a brilliant idea struck her. "Let's go backwards!" Then she reached out and jiggled the gear shift (to put the car in reverse, of course), and twisted her head back around over her shoulder to look out the rear window. But something was blocking her view. "Move please, Mommy." I scooted over a bit in the back seat, and she pretended on her merry way. My what a safety conscious young driver. It seems that 14 years from now, I won't be needing to emphasize to this one the importance of not backing up until she can ascertain that the coast is clear.
Music Class
My kid? Oh she's the one over there in the center of the room copying all of the teacher's movements, clapping her hands, shaking her head, stomping her feet. Singing boisterously along to a song she's never heard before. Pretty well on pitch, isn't she? None of the other kids are singing, are they? But then, I suppose it's not really a fair comparison as most of them in this class are a little younger. It's not obvious that she's mine, I suppose, because she's going for minutes at a time without checking in with me. Mom's appeal diminishes quite a bit when there's music to be danced to.
Oh but wait….You remember us from a previous class? Yes, she's the same kid alright. The one who loved the music but hated being in a group. The one who never left my lap and arms. The one who would often get so upset that I'd have to take her out of the room several times to calm her down. As a matter of fact, last semester I got so frustrated I had my husband take her to a Saturday class instead. (She's always cut him a little more slack.)
But now music class is a Mommy and Me affair again. Cause this is Audrey 2.0.
A Gobbling Girl
Audrey is as finicky as every ever. (You should have seen how much effort James and I put into trying to convince her to eat broccoli tonight. And you should have seen how thrilled we were when she consumed, you know, maybe 10 of the little circular things on the end of a floret.) But I must say that in recent weeks, her appetite has increased dramatically. There are certainly still many mealtimes when she's uninterested. But it's not at all unusual for her to consume three meals a day plus snacks. By contrast, until very recently, if she had a big breakfast, she was pretty much done eating for the day. I think I'm supposed to be thrilled that my child is eating more. And it's nice. But when her appetite surge first kicked in, I was actually a little conflicted about it. I was really spoiled by her previous habits. It used to be so easy! Fill ‘er up in the morning and coast. Now I gotta keep putting food in the little thing all day long.
They Just Never Listen!
Audrey had her heart set on eating a pear this afternoon. But the pear in our fruit bowl was hard as a rock, so I told her we'd have to wait.
She accepted that. Until dinner time, when she once again spotted the tempting fruit. "I want to eat a pear! I want to eat a pear! Please!"
Her demands grew more and more insistent. James and I told her she'd have to wait. We warned her it wouldn't taste good. But then, finally, we decided that, rather than having her descend into tears, we'd just cut it open and let her try it. Sacrifice it. Prove to her that it was foolish to eat a pear before its prime.
As soon as James sliced in, you could see how juicy it was. And on the taste buds, it was sweet perfection. As Audrey gobbled up slice after slice, the slight smile at the corner of her mouth sent a clear message, "Sheesh. How many times did I have you tell you people that we needed to eat this thing before it got all mealy?"
More Toddler Word Play
Upon receiving her nightly bedtime dose: "Fluoride! Just like a horsey ride!"
In Bed Well Before Happy Hour
Back when James and I were new parents of an infant, we assumed that our infant would be going to sleep early in the evening. Because we thought that that's what infants do. To our surprise, our infant showed no inclination whatsoever to sleep in the early evening. On the contrary, nighttime was by far her happiest time of day. We could almost set our clocks by her mood. When our often fussy and grumpy daughter started cooing and gurgling, it was almost certainly 10 p.m. (give or take a few minutes). 10 o'clock was the time when getting a smile out of her was quickest and easiest. Her very first laugh occurred at 10 p.m. right on the nose. We called that magical time of day "Happy Hour." And given how much of a night owl I am, I guess we shouldn't have been so surprised.
Nowadays, Audrey is usually a happy child no matter what the hour. But her night owl ways were persistent. Up until she gave up naps, she usually went to bed between 11 and 1. After she stopped napping, her bedtime shifted to between 9 and 11.
But these last two weeks we've had another major shift. Audrey is still awakening at around 9 in the morning (that's been consistent almost since birth.) But she's almost always ready for bed in the 8 o'clock hour. One night this week, she even went to bed at 7!
It could be a fluke. She's temporarily shifted to earlier bedtimes before. But my gut tells me that this earlier bedtime is going to be around for a while. She just seems to need more sleep than she used to. In fact, we've completely readjusted our family schedule to take the new bedtime into account. James has started going in to work much earlier so that he can come home by 5:30 for dinner. Because our new "early to bed' baby is far too loopy and exhausted to take part in our old 7 o'clock family meal. (Note that I used the phrase "take part" rather than "eat." Because I certainly wouldn't want to imply that Audrey's presence at the dinner table necessarily involves food consumption.)
A Toddler Never Forgets
We celebrated James' mom's birthday yesterday. And Audrey was really excited as we drove up to Halmoni and Halabogi's house. "Yay! We're going to see some elephants." I was momentarily confused. Then I remembered that the last time we were at her grandparents' house, we were picking them up for a trip to the Oakland zoo.
She had a lovely time at the party. Getting to play with her relatives (and with Daddy's old violin!) pretty much made up for the lack of elephants. (Though throughout the evening she did periodically ask where the heck the animals were.)
When it came time for cake, she remembered exactly what we needed to do. ("Yay! We're going to sing!") Though she was a little bit confused about the purpose of the song. (Are you ready to sing to Halmoni? "Ready to sing to the cake.")
It never ceases to amaze me what she remembers. She has vivid recollections of events that were completely trivial to me. (Spotting a hole in our hardwood floor a couple of days ago, she requested a toothpick. I was mystified. Until I recalled that four months ago or so, I spilled some packaging materials down the hole and tried fishing them out with a toothpick.) She remembers things that I hoped she would forget. ("It's been eight months since you saw this toy, but you will not go near it, so clearly you still remember that it makes a scary noise.")
She remembers so much that James and I probably need to institute a "no gossiping in front of the baby" policy. Like immediately. Like last month. She is undoubtedly keeping close track of any unkind thing we have ever had to say about anyone, ready to bargain her continued silence for a scoop of ice cream or a new coloring book.
A Place for Everything, Part II
Warning: Toileting References Ahead
We had a minor emergency this evening when nature called to Audrey in the middle of bath time. She immediately wanted out! out! out! of the dirty water. But then she had a really great time watching while Daddy cleaned up the mess, singing and tap dancing from her perch on the edge of the tub (with Mom holding her steady).
She also wanted to discuss.
A: Audrey pooped in the water!
M: Yes, you did.
A: Silly poo poo in the water!
M: Poo poo doesn't go in the water does it?
A: In the toilet!
Yep. There's a proper place for everything in Audrey's world these days. (And I was actually pretty excited to hear that the proper place for poo poo is in the toilet rather a diaper.)
Technically, Child, It’s the Fruits AND Vegetables Group
Today she ate some raisins and some banana and some blueberries and some apple and some kiwi and some orange. I'm hoping that her enthusiasm for fruit makes up, at least in part, for the fact that I can't even really remember the last time she consumed a measurable quantity of vegetables.
BFFs
Audrey is working on the concept of "friends." She talks about Thomas the Tank Engine's friends. When looking over holiday pictures on the computer, and she was delighted to see "Audrey's friends" gathered around the Christmas tree. And, while James was giving her a bath the other night, she made an earnest pronouncement. "Mommy is Audrey's friend." Perhaps I should give serious thought about what it means to be a friend to your child. But I prefer to just be flattered.
Toddler Word Play
Sometimes it's relaxing to just sit around reading a book about flamingos while snacking on some juicy, juicy flamangos.
I’m Going to Have to Mark Her Down for That
Audrey has added the auxiliary verb, "did" to her vocabulary. But I'm afraid her use of it is less than expert. "Where did Daddy went?" "Did you saw it?" No matter how many times I tell her that she needs to use the base form of the main verb with "did," she keeps using the past tense form instead. And don't even get me started on her tendency to add regular past tense markers to the past tense forms of irregular verbs. "The ball flewed and then it felled down." Sheesh.
Actually, what I find really interesting about this, is that beginning level ESL students tend to make exactly the same mistakes. It's interesting that she's making ESL type mistakes, because there are many areas of English grammar where my not-quite-two-and-a-half-year-old already runs circles around many adult learners. Adding plural s, correct 3rd person subject-verb agreement, proper use of "a" and "the." That stuff has most adult learners tearing their hair out, yet Audrey has never had any trouble with any of it. I'm not even remotely interested in pursuing a Ph.D. in Linguistics. But if I were, I think that exploring the differences between adult and child language acquisition is the type of dissertation topic that I could sink my teeth into.
Trust Issues
Audrey generally articulates well and is pretty easy to understand. Which is good. Because with her, there's no trying to pretend that you understood. She is constantly, suspiciously verifying our comprehension.
A: Look at the little yellow fish eating worms!
M: Yeah, I see them!
A: What's Audrey said?
M: You said, "Look at the little yellow fish eating worms."
And woe be it unto the mama who fails these pop quizzes. In our household, a misunderstood toddler is a grumpy one indeed.
A Place for Everything, And Everything in Its Place
(Setting: Mother and child gazing at the back cover of a library book.)
A: What's that?
M: It's a duck?
A: What's it walking on?
M: Hmm…it's walking on some snow.
A: Just like a penguin!
M: You're absolutely right. Just like a penguin.
A: Silly ducky! Walking in the snow!
M: That is a pretty silly thing for a duck to do, huh?
A: Duckies swim in the water!
On Nicknames
Some people pick out nicknames for their children at the same time as they pick out proper names. You know, like, we're naming him Augustus, but we'll be calling him Gus.
James and I have always let our nicknames for Audrey develop more organically. That's why, in her first few weeks of life, we had a tendency to refer to our wee one as "the demon child." And….OK. If you've never been the caretaker of a colicky infant, that one may not strike you as being appropriately affectionate. But fear not. In the time since her newborn fussiness subsided, we've come up with approximately three bazillion loving monikers.
We're used nicknames that play off of her given name (Auges, Augery, Audridge, Audreypie). We've used nicknames that take into account her gender and age (baby, babykins, baby girl, babes). We've gone the generic route (honey, sweetie, sweetie pie). We've used nicknames that have no logical explanation (pumpkin pie).
Now, Audrey herself is getting into the nickname game. She has a nickname for Daddy (Daddy Ducky). She has two nicknames for Mommy (My, and Mommy Ducky). And she has two nicknames for herself (Audrey Ducky, and Ducky.) Given that her nickname for Little White Ducky is also Ducky, it sometimes gets a little confusing keeping track of all of the duckies that are running around our house. (Wait. Does Little White Ducky want some grapes? Or does Audrey Ducky want some grapes?)
But the girl just has a special place in her hearts for those quacking creatures. And if she wants to be Ducky, then Ducky she shall be. Even in public. Never mind the slightly odd look that that woman at the grocery store gave us the other day. (C'mon, lady. At least I'm not calling her Demon Child.)
The Indirect Approach
Convincing our picky eater to consume food involves a certain amount of subterfuge. We've learned, through trial and error, that it's best never to make a direct offer of food. No, never ask if she wants an apple. Better to simply start chomping theatrically away yourself in her general vicinity, and then act a bit surprised when she shows interest.
If that doesn't work, and a direct offer must be made, the offer should never go out to the child herself. Rather, we see if Little White Ducky is interested in some French toast. Or perhaps Thomas the Tank Engine would like a bit of yogurt. The child is much more apt to open her own mouth if she sees her little friends enjoying the meal.
And yesterday, I discovered yet another way to get the kid to eat. At dinnertime, Audrey sat at the table and ignored the food on her plate for a full 10 minutes. She didn't eat a single bite of the tempting tidbits James had dished out for her. After 10 minutes, my plate was near empty, and I figured the tasty looking pizza wedge on her plate was fair game. "Can I have your pizza, Audrey?" I inquired, reaching over for it.
But pizza that looked unappetizing on a plate looked mouthwatering in Mommy's hand. "No! I want to eat it with myself!" she demanded. And eat it she did, stuffing it quickly into her mouth.
"Well, how about this piece?" I asked when she was done with the first. "Can I have this one?"
But she snatched that one away, too. And the next, and several of the others that James quickly warmed up for her.
So there you have it. Taking food from another's plate. A bad idea if the other is a dog. But apparently a winning strategy with my kid.
Taking Clean to a New Level
At the grocery store this evening, my neat and tidy toddler spotted a sticker attached to the seat of the grocery cart into which I was attempting to insert her. "What's that?" she gasped in horror. "Ah….a sticker," I observed.
"Take it off! Take it off!" she begged, carefully maneuvering her feet anywhere but the leg holes of the cart. She was very relieved when I offered a different cart for her shopping pleasure.
This afternoon, as we were approaching the front door after returning from a park, she gave me a reminder that was amazingly helpful. "There's sand in my shoes, Mommy." And thus, I remembered to take her shoes off on the stoop rather than inside the house, and I saved my recently swept floor from needing resweeping.
But it was her response to a charming little book called "Ten Seeds" that really best displayed her feelings about the importance of cleanliness. The first page of the book shows the dirty hand of a child who is planting some sunflower seeds. "Let's take the book to the sink," Audrey suggested as we read in the bedroom. "Okay," I agreed, thinking she wanted to take it to James in the kitchen. But no. She transported the book to the bathroom, placed it gently on the seat of the toilet, and then went to fetch her hand washing stool so that we could help the poor child in the book get cleaned up.
Given Audrey's strong feelings about being neat and clean, you would think she'd be very willing to wash her own hands. And you would have been right, up until a couple of days ago. Suddenly, for reasons quite mysterious, Audrey has begun vigorously protesting almost all hand washing sessions. Perhaps she decided that, having given up on crying during clothing changes, diaper changes, and hair brushings, her wailing instincts were getting too rusty.
Taking it Down a Notch
Until this week, Audrey would listen with interest to all sorts of books, including some that were surprisingly complex, with many words per page. This week she has a new philosophy on library books. First of all, she always wants to flip the pages herself. Second, if there are too many words on the page, she's going to yawn and flip right to the end rather than letting you read it too her.
At first I was a little bit concerned about this apparent regression. But now I'm thinking that her insistence on simpler books is actually an indication of increased rather than decreased comprehension. Here's my theory: Previously, there was a lot that she didn't understand whether the book had a lot of words or just a few. But now, if the books are fairly simple, she can understand almost everything. So she wants to hear books that make sense rather books that sound mostly like mumbo jumbo. Like, "Hey, Mom and Dad. I'm only two, here. Let's choose our library books accordingly, OK?"
Getting it Right
We often ask Audrey "display questions." These are the sorts of questions used only by teachers and parents. Questions asked by a person who already knows the answers. Questions that demand that you display your knowledge of the answer, too. We're always saying things like: "What color is that car?" "How many eggs do I have?" "Which one is the circle?" And then Audrey has to perform. "Blue! Two! That one!" Boy, the kid lives in a pressure cooker.
So it's only fair that she has begun asking us the same type of questions. And I must say, James and I are not nearly as good at answering her questions as she is at answering ours. This evening, Audrey was listening to Daddy play a tambourine, and she decided to test him. "What sound does it make Daddy?"
He pondered for a moment, and then responded. "Clang, clang."
She sighed deeply. "No, Daddy. Jingle, jingle."
Reading Phenomenon
Back when I was an undergraduate and reading hundreds of pages a week, I found it fascinating how I would often discover interesting parallels and connections in the readings from entirely unrelated subjects. Perhaps information that I had just read in a Linguistics textbook would provide me with amazing insights into a reading about a medieval saint. Insights that I never would have gained if I hadn't been taking those two classes at the same time.
Now, I'm finding that the same phenomenon is occurring with the library books that I read to Audrey. Last week, we had two books with images of white-spotted baby fawns. This week, oddly enough, two of our books featured pictures of totem poles. Or rather, one book featured a picture of a totem pole. The other contained a tiny image of a totem pole nestled in the middle of a busy page full of colors and shapes. A tiny image that I probably wouldn't even have noticed if my hawk-eyed daughter hadn't pointed it out to me in excitement, "Look! What's that?!!"
Now, every time we read one of the totem pole books, she wants to see the pole in the other book, too. She, too, seems to feel the profundity of literary connections. At least on an introductory level.
Grammar Lover’s Edition
Here's the latest from the world of words.
Object pronouns: Audrey is using quite a few object pronouns nowadays: me, him, her, us. She still gets them mixed up sometimes, especially "me" and "you." ("Mommy give you the blue pen.") But she's starting to often get them right, too. ("Help me." "Bring me my kitty fork.")
Auxiliary verbs: Great strides made into auxiliary verb territory. She uses does and do. ("Does it go in the yellow hole?") She uses don't and doesn't. ("It doesn't fit!") She uses can and can't. ("Can you see it?") She uses "will." ("Audrey will play with the big blue ball.") And this afternoon she demonstrated her firm grasp both of the word "should" and of the market economy when she momentarily lost track of the elephant from her zoo train set. ("We should buy another one!")
Infinitives: Audrey often uses infinitive "to" forms with verbs like want and need. ("I need to see it!" "I want to touch it.")
Clauses: Audrey used a lovely, lovely "that clause" this evening. "I want to see the airplane that Daddy stepped on."
Concept words: Audrey can correctly use the very tricky concept words "still" and "actually." (Do you want me to take off your jacket? "Still wear it." Does it go here? "Actually, it goes there.") (I know how tricky these words are because I've had to try to define and explain them for my ESL students!)
Cause and Effect words: I've heard Audrey use both "because" and "so." (It's raining so I'm wearing my ladybug jacket.")
Sentence length: We were playing with a water bottle, its lid, and Audrey's car seat while in a parking lot this afternoon, and Audrey came up with a sentence that went something like this: "I'm getting up from the floor where I went to get the lid that fell off of the button of my car seat." I mean, she certainly didn't get the grammar of all of those complicated clauses right, but her meaning was completely clear. I was pretty impressed at her ability to string together so many concepts in a coherent fashion.
To use some more ESL teacher terminology, Audrey's grasp of grammar seems to be moving into an intermediate, and even low-advanced level. We certainly aren't going to be covering things like "that clauses" in the beginning level grammar course that I'll be teaching in the coming semester! Nope, she's now doing stuff that, if I were going to be teaching a lesson on it, I'd have to pull out my grammar books and study up so that I'd be prepared for my students' questions. Way exciting territory for a grammar-maven Mommy.
Cross and Cranky
She's still got a bit of a cough. And I know its probably tough having to hang with just Mom again after over a week of having Daddy and oodles of other relatives around full time. But I must say that so far this year, the kid is really not much fun to be around.
Excuses, Excuses
Audrey and I were walking into the library this afternoon, and she was carrying Little White Ducky in her right hand and Thomas the Tank Engine in her left, because she is always carrying Little White Ducky in her right hand and Thomas the Tank Engine in her left. As we meandered down the sidewalk, we were approached by another toddler, who was in the process of leaving the building.
"Just say ‘Hello,' Skylar," his mother warned.
Uh, oh. I thought to myself. That's not a good sign. How does he usually greet people? Is he a hitter? Is he a biter?
So I was on high alert as he neared my daughter. To my relief, he showed no signs of aggression towards her. In fact, he displayed no interest in her whatsoever. What had grabbed his attention was her Thomas, and thus it was Thomas that he began trying to grab.
Audrey held her own well, easily moving the train out of reach with each clumsy snatch he attempted. I ran interference as well, positioning my body to make it harder for him to get to her. His mother stayed a few feet away, repeatedly exhorting him to "Just say ‘Hello,' Skylar."
After 30 seconds or so, he gave up and moved on down the sidewalk. A quick check of Audrey's body language indicated that the incident hadn't upset her. So we continued on towards the library, and I smiled in passing at the other mother in an "Ah, toddlers can be a challenge, can't they?" sort of way.
"He's a boy," the other mother informed me, as she headed towards her car.
And suddenly, an incident that wouldn't otherwise have bothered me in the least left me incensed. "He's a boy!" Gimme a break. For being two, I'd already given him a pass for his boorish behavior. But to imply that I should cut him slack on the basis of his gender? A complete parenting cop-out, and deplorably sexist to boot. And I'd bet $10 that if I had stopped to chat longer with that mother, the first thing out of her mouth would have been a restatement of the myth that girls are easier to raise when young, and boys are simpler in adolescence. You don't know how many mothers of young boys have suggested that to me in the last couple of years.
I've never bothered pointing out how extra high-need and demanding my girl-child has been since her first hours in the hospital. I'm sure nothing could dissuade them from looking at her pink shoes and wavy locks and seeing nothing but sugar and spice.
Christmas Wrap-Up
We took Audrey to San Jose's annual "Christmas in the Park" display on New Year's Day. Our friends who grew up in San Jose all seem to have fond memories of it, so it seemed like our parental duty to traipse out there with our little San Jose native.
We all had an OK time. But James felt that the experience would have been more appealing had it been
A. Brightly lit with nighttime lights (instead of a glaring mid-afternoon sun) and
B. December.
I admit, there was something a bit dreary about the drooping trees and the slightly hung-over, post-holiday crowd. Even Audrey, who adores holiday decorations, seemed a little over-Christmased. She was more excited about feeding change into empty parking meters than she was about checking out the many Santas and reindeer.
So I guess that about does it for Christmas this year. This was the year that Audrey learned "Jingle Bells" and put in a lot of requests for the "Eleven Days of Christmas" song. (Apparently she just had something against the twelve leaping lords for some reason.) It was the year when, every time we arrived home, she commented proudly on "the lights that Daddy put up for you," and then rushed into the house to see, "Audrey's Christmas tree," which was much more special to her than any of the many other trees we examined when we were out and about. It was the year when Christmas first began to work its magic on her.
Keeping it Simple
We had to take Audrey to the doctor while we were in Ventura and, while she cried periodically during the visit, she did not scream her head off the entire time, which was a nice change. It's possible that her 103° fever was so taxing that she just couldn't find the energy to maintain a continual screaming pattern. But on the other hand, she did show a few signs of being cooperative, even offering up a tentative finger when the triage nurse wanted to check her oxygen saturation level.
I did a lot of cheerleading during the visit, trying to convince her that doctors are her friends. "The doctor is going to give you medicine to make you feel better."
I didn't point out to her that James and I second-guessed ourselves for agreeing to chest-x-rays. Or that we decided to take a wait-and-see approach rather than filling a prescription for antibiotics that were intended to prevent her bronchitis from developing into pneumonia. No—lessons about being an informed participant in one's medical care and carefully weighing the risks and benefits of medicines and medical procedures can wait.
Right now, the message that I'm trying to get across is, "The doctor is your friend, and therefore you do not need to scream the entire time that you are at his office." So, as we were leaving the clinic, Audrey's fever much reduced thanks to a suppository, I followed up. "The doctor gave you some medicine and you're feeling a lot better, aren't you?"
To my delight, her response was heartfelt, "Yeah."
Mom and Dad Who?
This Christmas, my daughter ignored me a lot. She wanted to spray the hose with Grandpa and throw bean bags with Eric. She wanted to ride on the rocking bear with Halmoni and Halabogi and read books with Grandma. She cried when Aunt Julie stopped playing with her and left to go to church.
After two years and four months of being needed nearly constantly, being ignored has never felt so good.
Yuletide Recipe
In a smallish living room, combine:
1 Audrey
17 rowdy relatives
100s of presents
Mix together for several hours.
Makes: A perfectly serene toddler, happy to deliver presents to and interact with anyone in the room, open her own presents, and play with toys and packaging materials all evening long. Sometime in the 10 o'clock hour she will become so exhausted that she will head for our room while calling her mother to come put her to bed.
(This is the difference that a month can make: At my family's fairly sedate Thanksgiving celebration, I was dismayed to learn at the last minute that a new couple would bump the participants from eight to 10, because Audrey hated big groups with a deep and abiding passion.
When I learned at the last minute that we'd have 18 rather than 16 at our raucous Christmas Eve party, I figured, "the more, the merrier. My little social butterfly can handle it.")
Swapping Roles
I was fully aware of the fact that today was both rainy and a school holiday when I decided to take Audrey to the Children's Discovery Museum. But we were both kind of grumpy and needed a big distraction to while away the hours until Daddy came home.
Now, we would have had a much better time if we had had a little more elbow room. But we managed to more-or-less ignore the crowds and have a reasonably good time.
Being in a crowded space with a lot of young children brings certain aspects of my own child's personality into sharp focus for me. She has….has always had, a very strong sense of civility and proper rules of possession. Most youngsters will reach out and grab for any objects that they find interesting. Audrey has never, ever tried to grab anything away from another child.
So when we stood playing at the little sand table in the museum, other kids were running around and seizing whatever shovels and containers looked interesting to them, mostly without much regard for whether they were already in use. Audrey on the other hand was playing quietly with a couple of objects, periodically requesting that I find her something new and interesting to play with, accepting without complaint when other kids grabbed away her funnel or scoop or jug.
So, after a few minutes of sitting off on a parents' bench, I ended up hovering over her, fending off other kids, snatching up new scoops and containers the moment they were set down so that my child could have a chance at them. Other parents in the vicinity surely thought I was being overprotective and ridiculous. But the way I saw it, my kid had as much of a right to have a good time as theirs did. And that meant that if she wasn't going to be a grabby two-year-old, I'd be a grabby mother for her.
My Vampire Bat
Part 1: Stretching over backwards across my legs Audrey announced, "I'm hanging upside-down like a bat! We giggled about that for a while.
Part 2: Then we moved on to our next project, which was eating an apple. We were chomping away when Audrey startled and paused, her eyes moistening. "You OK babes?" I asked. But she brushed off my concerns and quickly asked for more fruit.
I was not surprised when her next bite left a small red trail on the juicy white flesh. "Ah," I pointed out. "You're bleeding on the apple. Did your last bite hurt a little bit?"
She didn't want to focus on the negative, though. Because bleeding onto an apple and then eating up the blood? Way, way, way cool. Such a disappointment when all of the bloody parts were gone and she had to return to eating just plain old apple.
Creative Accounting
I'm a bit disappointed to report that Audrey is now able to count up from one to ten, and down from four to one with good accuracy.
It was much cuter a few days ago, when her counting regularly took the following form:
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… (So far, so good. Now let's jump ahead.)
Eleven, twelve, sixteen, twenty… (Spotty in this section, though correctly ordered. Now, what happened to that missing ten?? Let's end with an enthusiastic flourish.)
TENDY!!!!
Roots and Wings
"What's your name?" asked the stranger, kneeling down and touching my child's arm. Audrey was a few feet away from me and turned in the opposite direction, so I couldn't see or hear her response in the noisy room. But a few seconds later, I heard the woman continue. "Hi, Audrey. Is that a duck that you're holding?"
A stranger invaded Audrey's personal space, touched her, and tried to engage her in conversation. And, lo and behold, my daughter my daughter did not wail. My daughter offered up her name. And thereafter, she ran around with the other kids at the birthday party, rarely even glancing over at James and me.
"She's not shy anymore," asserted a friend who joined us for lunch last week. And I am starting to believe him…or at least starting to believe that she is no longer painfully shy. Starting, also, to feel a sense of vindication as I watch my formerly bashful babe. I didn't need to force her or push her or train her to interact with the wider world, as I've often been advised. No, by golly, my parenting instincts were right. I just needed to hold her close and secure until the moment came when she was ready to sprint off and engage the world on her own terms.
Trivial Pursuits
On our last trip to Ventura, Audrey watched a Thomas the Tank Engine video for the first time. She was already a big fan of trains, so it wasn't long before she was completely hooked on Thomas and his Friends. At first she frequently wanted to discuss and repeat the names of Thomas's engine friends (Gordon, Percy, James….). Now she's moved on to identifying them by color. (What color is James? Red!)
They're perfectly fine little videos, so I'm not really upset that she's addicted. But it's a bit odd to sit there and help her memorize facts about Thomas. Up until now, her memorization projects have all been concerned with big, basic stuff. You know, the alphabet, numbers, animal names, and that sort of thing. So when she's cheerfully pointing out that Percy is green, a part of me is thinking…Ahh! Let's not worry about Percy! He's not important in the grand scheme of things! For goodness sakes, you don't know your multiplication tables yet!
But then I have to remember all the time I've spent pondering useless trivia about Star Wars or the X-Files or some other such obsession, and how much fun such popular culture fixations can be. So relax, mama. I'm sure that she has enough room in her brain to store factoids about fictional trains without sacrificing her ability to succeed at long division.
Working on Her Negotiation Skills
Once in a while, Audrey loses track of Little White Ducky while sitting in her car seat. Her parents have been known to pull into the nearest parking lot to locate her little plastic best friend. But the other day James was on the freeway when the loss occurred, so he explained to Audrey that she was just going to have to wait. Tears ensued. They continued for a bit. Then they stopped, and Audrey calmly informed Daddy that she had a new plan for achieving her goal. "Audrey's gonna smile, and Daddy's gonna find Little White Ducky."
A Growing Fridge Gallery
Inspired in large part by the toddler activities book that I recently bought, we've been doing more artwork lately. A couple of days ago, we tried water colors for the first time. Audrey had a blast and (somewhat to my surprise), she eventually abandoned her brush to paint with her fingers. Normally she hates it when her hands are dirty, and demands that they be cleaned immediately. And when she first dipped her fingers in the paint, she was pretty horrified at what she had done. But she quickly decided that the increased amount of control gained by using her fingers instead of the brush made the mess oh…so…worth…it.
Warning: Contains Eggs, Dairy, and Toddler Saliva
New milestone—Audrey and I managed to prepare a fairly complicated dish together!
We've been making quesadillas and a few other simple lunch dishes on a regular basis, but nothing with more than three or four ingredients. Today though, just for the heck of it, we dove into a lengthy pumpkin coffee cake recipe that's been on my to-do list for more than a month.
Audrey was a trooper. She stuck right with me for all kinds of measuring and pouring and stirring and scraping. (Given that the child is electric-mixer phobic, we did everything by hand.) Still, preparing the dish with a toddler made it a much more complicated and time-consuming project than it would have been if prepared without help. So by the time we got to making the streusel topping, we were both pretty fatigued, and a few tears fell. I thought that we might have to abandon our mission. But then we got our second winds and pushed through.
In fact, it turned out that testing the streusel topping was Audrey's favorite part of the whole baking experience. How could I deny my good little helper her desire to provide streusel quality control? Especially when her desire to consume that sugar and flour mixture gave me a chance to wash our baking dishes.
OK. Possibly, Too Many Books
As Audrey hands me the piece of paper, she cheerfully anticipates my reply. "Thank you says Mommy."
As Audrey wanders around holding her father's lip balm she mutters to herself, "Not in the mouth! Just put it on the lips."
Looking at the water in the toilet bowl she reminds herself, "Just look. Not touch it! It's dirty."
And I wonder, when your child starts narrating her life in progress, is it an indication that you're spending too much time reading to her?
Gender Equality
The answer to the iconic "boy shaving his chin just like Daddy" shot? Apparently it's the "girl plucking her eyebrows just like Mommy" pose.
What Goes Around Comes Around
"Do you want some vegetable soup, Audrey?"
"I want some broth."
"OK. Let me put some of my broth into a bowl for you."
"Clean it, Mommy!"
"Oops, there's a piece of zucchini in your broth, huh? Let me put that back in my bowl. OK now?"
"All better."
As my child digs into her broth, sighing at her mother's inability to really remove all of the little herb particles, I am forced to recall a younger version of myself. Pushing aside the pieces of chicken in the chicken noodle soup. Avoiding (to the best of my abilities) the tomatoes and other chunky parts of the salsa. At this point, I can only trust that she too will eventually recognize the value of the veggies, and hope in the meantime that some of their good nutrients have leached out into the liquid.
Love Letter
The evidence suggests that if you're looking for a devoted husband and father, you should consider marrying a guy named James Kim.
Developmental Spurt
People talk about children having growth spurts, but over the last week or so, I think that Audrey has had a major developmental spurt. New feats in the last nine days:
She's much more social. (See posting from 12/9.)
She sings. (See posting from 12/3.)
She's taken to quickly memorizing the content of her library books and then "reading" the books back to us in their entirety.
She reads! (Well, OK, she recognizes brand logos. This morning, while eating from a bag of dried mixed fruit she pointed at the logo on the bag and proclaimed, "It says Whole Foods Grocery Store!" Technically it said "Whole Foods Market," but I was still pretty impressed.)
She's braver and more active. This last week, when we go to parks she runs around to explore her surroundings in a way that she never did before.
The expansion of her language skills is out of control. Yesterday, when she and Daddy got home from their regular Saturday outing Audrey yammered on and on to bring me up to date on what was happening and what she and Daddy had been doing. An excerpt: "It's raining. My jacket is getting wet. We bought some new socks for Mommy. We rode the choo choo with Little White Duckie and Thomas the Train and Daddy. Just Daddy, not Mommy rode the choo choo…..
A lovely accompaniment to Audrey's new skills is her increased emotional stability. She still gets fussy from time to time. But overall, she's been very happy and even-tempered and a joy to be around.
Who’s That Girl?
"She's so much fun to work with! It's so easy to get a smile out of her!" gushed the woman at the portrait studio as our daughter happily posed next to a Christmas tree and the camera clicked away.
I was going to just nod in agreement, but James couldn't conceal how astonishing Audrey's behavior actually was, "No one's ever said that before!"
At the time, James and I attributed her willingness to smile for a stranger to a lucky alignment of the stars, as well as to some good planning on our part--We insisted on starting off with a family photo so that she could get used to the studio in the comfort of our arms, and we judiciously applied leftover Halloween Junior Mints on a few occasions when her mood seemed to be heading south. (We don't give her sweets very often, so the novelty of candy was a very potent distracter indeed.)
But perhaps the photo shoot wasn't really such an aberration after all. The evidence is mounting that our bashful babe is emerging a bit from her shell and taking interest in people outside of her little family circle. Right after the photo shoot, she marched over to a boy and his mother who were waiting for their photo session, and announced, "I wanna play with the fire engine." The polite little three-year-old handed over one of the stuffed engines that he was playing with, and Audrey yakked with the two of them, and completely ignored James for the next few minutes. The next day, instead of bursting into tears, Audrey was tolerant when a grandfatherly drugstore checker chucked her under the chin. The next day, when a friend joined us for lunch, Audrey ignored me while requesting that he read library books to her. And today, Audrey not only hugged her Music Together teacher but performed a solo of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for the class.
We keep double checking, but this social little creature does appear to be our daughter.
Do Re Mi, So Suddenly
A couple of days ago, Audrey decided it was time to start singing.
The Alphabet Song, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Baa Baa Black Sheep, I've Been Working on the Railroad, Head Shoulder Knees and Toes….She belts them all out. Oh, the pitches aren't usually right, and she often needs some parental prompting with the lyrics. But the fact that she went from rarely attempting more than a single note to performing songs in their entirety in the space of a day is….well, not surprising at all. No, actually very like her, to observe and observe and obverse and observe and then try it herself once she's confident that she really knows what she's doing.
Book Larnin’
We took Audrey to the snow for the first time this evening. (Or more technically, to the snow-like pile of shaved ice at the city of Campbell's Carol of Lights celebration.)
To my amazement, when we told her that we were going to the snow, despite being a complete novice, she knew exactly how to prepare. "Where's Audrey's hat and mittens?" she asked excitedly. Later, when it was finally our turn to play in the snow after a long wait in line, she dove happily in and knew exactly what to do, "Make a snowball, Mommy!" she suggested. And then, "Make a snowman, Mommy!"
I was just thinking earlier today about the fact that James and I are the type of people who like to do thorough research before diving into something new. Like, before we bought a house or went to London, I read all the way through thick books on those subjects. Now, it seems, I'm training my daughter to follow the same pattern.
First step: Read the child many books with winter and Christmas themes.
Second step: Take the child to play in the snow.
Would her experience have been even more magical if it had been a complete surprise to her? If she hadn't had any expectations going in? Or was it more thrilling to read and read and read about something, and then finally get to experience it in real life? Impossible to say for sure, I suppose. But we should surely take her soon to somewhere where she can play in fluffier snow without having to wait in line.
Ever Helpful
I needed to go, and the handicapped access stall was very spacious. Too spacious, as it turned out. Because when the time came, there was plenty of room for her to stand right beside the toilet, clutching some TP, demanding to help me out with the wiping part.
Voicing the Reason
As we approached the parking lot, I gave Audrey two choices, "Do you want to hold Mommy's hand in the parking lot, or do you want me to carry you?"
But having two options to choose from never seems to deter Audrey from recognizing her desire for option number three. Resisting my attempt to take her hand, she insisted, "No. Audrey wanna walk."
"Do you want to fly?" I suggested, scooping her up and carrying her horizontally. She started to fuss. "Audrey walk!"
"Do you want to swing?" I tried, holding her under the armpits and swooshing her around. But the crying continued, "Walk!"
"How about if we jump?" I brainstormed, and I began hopping through the parking lot. "I wanna walk!" she protested.
"Audrey," I explained, "There are a lot of cars in the parking lot. Mommy wants to carry you because I don't want you to get hurt."
In an instant, the tears stopped. She was quiet in my arms all the rest of the way to the car. Like, "Duh, Mom. Why didn't you just say so in the first place?"
Just When I Think I’ve Got it All Figured Out….
"I think she's getting her last two molars," I mentioned to my mother. "She's showing all the signs. Frequent night waking. Pursing her lips to relieve the pressure."
It was a grand theory alright, and I was delighted to think that I was almost done with teething. I hardly even minded the night waking, knowing that the whole business would soon be over.
It was a grand theory. Right up until the moment, a few days later, when James and I got a good look in her mouth. Then we could see the two molars in question. We could see that, rather than just breaking the surface, they were already nearly grown in.
Mothering error #1: Completely missed the arrival of molars 19 and 20. (Did they come in at the same time as 17 and 18???)
Mothering error #2: Attributed night waking to non-existent teething pain. Failed to notice the arrival of winter.
Now that we've wrapped Audrey in extra nighttime layers, she's once again sleeping soundly. And despite my being a complete numbskull, my consolation prize is that at least we really are done with teething!
Truth In Advertising
Here's a list of everyday events that used to always make Audrey cry, and a description of how we resolved the problems:
Problem: Teary diaper changes
Solution: Waited two years. Child matured out of it.
Problem: Teary clothing changes.
Solution: Waited two years. Child matured out of it.
Problem: Teary teeth brushings.
Solution: Waited two years. Child matured out of it.
Problem: Teary nail cuttings.
Solution: Always wait until child is deep asleep before cutting nails.
Problem: Teary hair brushings.
Solution: Ignore skeptical husband and make impulse purchase of a brush that promises to be "ouchless." Do not admit to husband that you are almost as surprised as he is when it turns out that the darned thing actually works.
Now that we have the hair brushing issue resolved at long last, I'm motivated to try once again to find an answer to our one remaining scream inducer: Hair Rinsing Time. If a magical hairbrush really exists, well then Virginia, maybe there's really a magical Happy Hair Rinsing Fairy, too.
For a Good Time, Call Mommy
Up until now, all that I needed to keep my child entertained were some books, some toys, some crayons, some random household items and chores, some outings, and some intuition. By following her lead and her interests I could generally keep her busy.
But a couple of weeks ago she started wandering listlessly through the house, staring glumly at her drawing table, sighing at her several day old library books. At one point she literally riffled through every toy in every toy basket in the house and then looked up at me to plead, "What ELSE a Audrey play with?!"
I had no idea. So I marched out to buy a book with 365 toddler activity suggestions. And I must say, the book has been a pretty grand success. The very first activity that we tried—throwing balls into a laundry basket—was such a huge hit for two days straight that I didn't think we'd ever need any of the other 364 suggestions. (Now, did I really need a book to tell me to try throwing balls into a laundry basket? Well, yes, clearly I did, as the idea hadn't occurred to me on my own!)
I do still manage to devise a few homemade activities, though. A couple of days ago the house was a bit chilly, so I went to turn up the thermostat. Then, of course, Audrey needed to play with the thermostat. Normally I'm content to just hold her and let her press the buttons for as long as her heart desires. But for some reason, on that day she was very determined to keep pressing the very two buttons that would yank the temperature back down to its previous, lower setting. So I had to keep turning it back up to keep the heat blowing. And then she would immediately knock it back down. It was driving me nuts.
A few minutes later James found us at the computer. I had looked up "thermostats" on Google Images, and Audrey was very interested to see all of the different models out there. Not only that, but she was perfectly content to touch the pictures of buttons on the computer screen instead of the real buttons on our wall.
So look for my book, coming out soon—"Really, Really Odd Ways to Entertain Your Toddler."
Grammar Lover’s Edition
Audrey's enunciation is generally very clear these days. She still uses "mouf" for mouth and "lalybug" for ladybug and "compideo" for "computer + video." But overall, if you throw a new word at her, she can mimic it perfectly, "calculator," "orangutan," "halabogi," clear as a bell, no sweat.
New on the grammar front?
Sentence length: Over the past few days, Audrey seems much more likely to use complete sentences. "I wanna go farmer's market." instead of "Go farmers market."
Auxiliary verbs: Up until now, Audrey tended to insert an "a" in place of auxiliary verbs like "can" or "may" or "does." As in, "What else a Audrey play with?" But now she's starting to sprinkle in a few of the auxiliaries, "What else can Audrey play with?"
Past tense: Big news! Audrey used her first over-regularization of an irregular past tense verb a couple of days ago, "I throwed it."
Questions: When she already knows the answers, Audrey is rather charmingly over specific in her questions sometimes.
"What's Daddy taking a?" "Daddy's taking a shower."
"What's Audrey eating some? "Audrey's eating some grapes."
"What's Mommy wiping Audrey's?" "Mommy's wiping Audrey's runny nose."
Pronoun usage: Audrey often uses the (preverb) subject pronoun "I" correctly. ("I want some ice cream. I dropped it!") But she hasn't yet figured out how to use the (postverb) object pronoun "me." So, she'll request, "Mommy hold you," instead of, "Mommy hold me," and "Daddy carry you," instead of, "Daddy carry me."
Finally, just a couple of examples of fairly complicated, completely grammatical sentences that the child has produced in the last few days, "Those are cold rocks." "What else is in the box, Grandpa?" Just look at those beauties. Correct subject-verb agreement, proper pluralization, excellent use of prepositions and determiners and deictics….What's not for an English teacher to love?
A Shy Person’s Manifesto
Given that I have a shy child, I am periodically advised to put her in pre-school or some other sort of regular social activity. There's an undeniable logic to that idea. If she's shy, then perhaps what she needs is more practice in social settings.
Actually, though, my philosophy on Audrey's shyness is to take exactly the opposite approach. I figure that preschool is a dandy idea for 2-year-olds who are social and independent by nature. But I think it's extremely unlikely that my kid would learn anything other than how to hate school from being forced into a setting that made her feel stressed and miserable.
Really, her shyness doesn't worry me. It can be inconvenient and even a bit embarrassing for me from time to time. But I think she's pretty sensible. Audrey showers affection on a select few--primarily her parents and grandparents. I hardly think you can call her a fool for reserving her trust for the people who care most deeply about her.
The rest of the people in this world, she views with deep suspicion. As time goes on and she gains more life experiences, I'm confident she'll learn to widen her circle of acceptance and to be more tolerant of new faces. That's when she'll be ready for school. Not before that.
And, as a shy person myself (and as the wife of a shy person), I think Audrey's shyness also has a very positive side. A healthy skepticism of the intentions and motivations of others is a useful trait for a girl to have in a far from perfect world.
That Trick Won’t Work for Too Long
Audrey always, always, always needs to be carrying something in her hands. Usually she likes to carry at least two or three items. These days, one of those items is always a little plastic goose, which she refers to as "my little white duck." The other items are selected at random on a daily basis. (For example, today she carried around Little White Duck, a little black duck, and a hair brush. On Wednesday, it was Little White Duck, a plastic foot, and a miniature football.)
Audrey is pretty good about keeping tabs on the objects that she's carrying, frequently announcing, "I dropped my little white duck!" so that we can swoop down and pick it up for her from the pavement or the aisle. Nevertheless, we are currently on Little White Duck number four. Given that the ducks come as part of a "Farm Toob" that sell for eight bucks a pop, it's a bit expensive keeping her supplied. But the ducks are so important to her emotional well-being that when we had a lost ducky emergency on Monday, James spent a couple of hours locating a toy store that was not sold out of Farm Toobs, when he really would rather have been packing for our trip down south. (In the interest of having a happy holiday, the whole family was very Thankful when he finally found one!)
On Wednesday, James, Audrey, my mom and I were running around doing errands, all of us periodically checking on the status of Audrey's objects du jour. Not wanting to remind Audrey of an object that had been temporarily misplaced I worriedly asked, "Does anyone know where the F-O-O-T is?"
At which point Audrey cheerfully exclaimed, "Where's the F-O-O-T-T-T-T?"
The Spirit of the Season
Last night we were all at the table. James and I were eating dinner. Audrey was trying to find ways to entertain herself that did not involve food consumption.
At one point, it occurred to her to hit her mother up for some cash, so I handed her $70 dollars. (I like to be generous when it comes to my imaginary money.)
"How are you going to spend your money, Audrey?" I queried. "What are you going to buy?"
"Mmmm…" she pondered. "Go to Target. Buy a toy for Chrimas."
Then, before I could begin composing a blog with my advice for raising a materialistic child, she continued.
"Buy a toy for Chrimas for Mommy."
Of Sheepdogs and Pigeons
We went to the Oakland Zoo over the weekend with Halmoni and Halabogi, and Audrey made like a sheepdog, herding her four adults around. If one of us lingered too long at an exhibit, or pulled too far ahead, she was nipping at our heels immediately ("Halabogi, come!" "Daddy, come!") unable to relax and enjoy the animals unless she knew that all of us were safely together under her watchful eye.
As always on zoo outings, Audrey enjoyed looking at the animals. She loves all animals equally, and believes it is just plain wrong to discriminate against particular animals on the basis of, say, size or commonality. So after we had enjoyed the lion exhibit for a while, she was ready to move on. As we started to walk off, one of the female lions suddenly began loping up the hill. "Oh my gosh, look at the lion running," I gaped, stopping to gaze longer at the big cat, marveling at the creature's size and power.
Audrey crossly resisted the delay, pointing ahead to the next animal on her agenda, "Look at the pigeon!"
And Now For Our Feature Presentation…
After a long hiatus for the
videos section of the site, two new movies have been posted. You can tune in to see Audrey participating in
car seat boogying and
strip mall tennis.
Our Little Mary Lou
Audrey has been expressing interest in jumping for quite some time now. But she is so cautious and risk averse that for many weeks she just couldn't bring herself to bring both of her feet off the floor at the same time. Instead, she would engage in quick and vigorous stomping and call it a jump. She seemed to think that if the stomps were enthusiastic enough, none of us would notice that she was actually maintaining contact with the ground.
Finally, in the past few days, though, she's thrown caution to the wind and both feel into the air. Or perhaps it would be more accurate if I said that she's thrown caution into a mild breeze. I don't think she's achieved more than a couple of millimeters of clearance from the floor. But two feet off the ground is two feet off the ground, (even if it's no where near two feet off the ground). We're officially calling it: The kid can jump.
That Which Pride Goeth Before
While hanging out this afternoon, Audrey and I ducked into a store filled with knick-knacks and stationary. We'd been attracted by the many Christmas trees on display inside, and had a lovely time examining each tree in detail, discussing the assorted snowmen and santas adorning the branches. Occasionally Audrey asked to feel things, and, when granted permission, she would stretch out a dainty finger and touch with the greatest delicacy and care.
As I carried Audrey around the store, I admired my child's exemplary behavior and my chest puffed out more and more as. "How many other two-year-olds could be trusted so completely in a store full of breakable objects?" I smirked.
At that point, a grandmotherly-looking fellow patron addressed me. "This is a hard store for a little girl, with so many untouchable things!"
"Oh she's OK," I smiled.
And then, the woman tried to address my daughter. "Are you having fun looking around?" Audrey's chin jutted angrily out, and she did her very best to ignore the intrusion, hoping that the stranger would JUST LEAVE HER ALONE. But the woman persisted, "Are you looking at the cat statues? They're pretty cats, aren't they?" So, seeing no other way to extricate herself from an increasingly intolerable situation, Audrey burst into tears.
As we quickly exited the building, I remembered that I should take into account Audrey's entire report card before getting too smug.
Trustworthiness Around Fragile Items: Excellent
Social Skills: Still Needs Improvement
The Power of the Written Word
Audrey still requires nearly constant parental attention and interaction. Which is fine with me, mostly. I sometimes get a bit wistful hearing tales of tots her age or younger who play independently while their mothers cook elaborate meals or read more than the headlines of the newspaper or write email. (OK, wistful bordering on outright jealousy when a dear friend mentioned that her 2-year-old can entertain himself at his train table for upwards of an hour and a half. :-) But I know that my kid is generally happy and healthy and well-behaved. So I trust her to grow more independent on her own schedule and not on a schedule that would be more convenient for me. And she has made progress. More often than not, I actually get to be by myself in the bathroom these days. Which is really quite a treat.
The only time that Audrey's high need for attention gets really annoying for me is when it combines with her low need to consume food. Except for when she hits occasional growth spurts, she just doesn't need many calories to keep her body fully powered. Whereas I, to my child's great annoyance, tend to like to eat several times a day. Thus mealtimes tend to be a tug-of-war for us. I'm always trying to find non-food-related ways to keep her entertained in the kitchen, and she's always trying ways to coax me out of the kitchen to one of our home's more interesting rooms.
And so it was at lunch today. Audrey helped me make a quesadilla, and then she ate a bit of yogurt while I had my soup and started on my salad. After she tired of the yogurt, she half-heartedly took a bite of the quesadilla, thought better of it, spit the quesadilla back on to the plate, and trotted off to the bedroom ordering me, "Mommy come!"
"I'll be right there," I lied. Then, knowing that I had a very limited window of opportunity to continue eating before her calls became more insistent, I gobbled down the remainder of the quesadilla. As I finished it, I could hear Audrey babbling in the bedroom. Safe, content, and not yet calling for me. I grabbed my fork and went back to work on my salad. The babe's babbles continued drifting to my ears. Safe, content, and (surprisingly) not yet calling for me. So I polished off the yogurt and ate a cookie. I was finished (finished!) eating lunch. And yet still the babe's peaceful babbling continued. Safe, content, and (astonishingly!) not yet calling for me.
Then I tiptoed down the hall as softly as I could, and peaked in to see what was keeping her enthralled so miraculously long. I found her lying on her mattress, keeping company with a library book called "Trick or Treat Faces." "[Babble babble babble] face," she dramatically intoned looking at the werewolf page. Flipping to the vampire page she continued, "[Babble babble babble] scary face." And she babble babble babbled about faces for another couple of minutes before finally getting up and coming out to find me.
It was only about 5 minutes of independent play, probably. But for us, that was really something. I don't expect a similar miracle to ease lunchtime tomorrow. Perhaps I won't get such a long break again for months. But someday. Someday, I know it will be like that most days. And someday even my child will be independent for hours at a time….
Gobble, Gobble
The approach of Thanksgiving is not nearly as exciting to Audrey as the approach of Halloween was. We've tried to scout out some fun decorations and library books for her, but Pilgrims just aren't doing it for her the same way that skeletons did.
Still, she's grown reasonably fond of the stuffed turkey that we bought for her, and she and I were examining it carefully today. "There's its tail," I said. "And its wings, and its feet, and its beak, and….hmm….I don't remember what this red thing that hangs down next to the beak is called. Do you know what it's called?"
She glanced at the red thing, and then matter-of-factly gave her professional assessment, "Booger."
Keeping Our Medicine Cabinet in the Freezer
James cut up a pineapple this evening, and as little Audrey curled comfortably up on her big Daddy's lap and expertly speared piece after piece on a toothpick, they made such a cute picture that I didn't run to get the camera because I didn't want to ruin the moment.
We warned Audrey a few times that you have to be careful when eating pineapple, because it can start to burn your tongue. But it wasn't a very acidic fruit, and she was eating with such gusto and good cheer that we weren't really worried.
We weren't really worried. Right up until the moment that she started to wail in pain, begging me over and over to "clean the tongue." Then we were whisked away to that special hell reserved for parents whose child is not only injured, but injured as a result of a danger that better parents would have foreseen and prevented.
This pineapple episode was a real learning experience for us in a couple of ways. First, we learned that we should not expect a two year old to voluntarily stop eating a really tasty fruit when her tongue starts to give her warning tingles. (I guess the whole "tongue tingles lead to tongue owies" rule is probably something that she had to learn firsthand.) But second, and perhaps even more critically, we learned that popsicles are not the most powerful tear halting tool in the kitchen. It turns out, vanilla ice cream is even more potent.
Grammar Lover’s Edition
Audrey hasn't figured out the difference between "go" and "come" yet, sometimes urging James to "come back" when she clearly means "go away."
But she does have several new additions recently.
Present Progressive: She now uses "we're" in addition to "I'm" and "They're" constructions. (This morning, while the three of us were hanging out in bed) "We're all sleeping in the bed!" and "We're all clapping!"
Deictics: Audrey correctly uses quite a few deictic pronouns now. (While pointing at two different objects, one close and one far) "This one or that one?" (While pointing at three different spots) "There, or there, or there?"
Wh- Questions: Audrey now uses "Who" and "Which" in addition to "What" and "Where." "Who's at the door?" "Which one?"
She has also added fully formed yes/no questions. "Are you in the bedroom?"
Negatives: Audrey occasionally uses "not," interchanging it with "no." "Where's Daddy? Are you in the bedroom? Not in the bedroom! Are you in the office? No in the office!" She's also using "don't" quite a bit more. "I don't see any ducks!"
Possessive Pronouns: In the past few days, she's started using "my" and sometimes "your." "Where's my little white duck?"
And finally, a couple of cute little phrases. Audrey's has had a cold this week, and when she needs a nose wipe, she informs us, "Audrey's got some snot."
And in the morning, if she awakens before Daddy, Audrey will insist over and over again, "Daddy, wake up! Daddy, wake up!" He complains that she doesn't come with a snooze button.
Memo to Speaker Pelosi, Re: Ducks
You know how the smurfs used to randomly throw the word "smurf" into their sentences? Like, "Did you bake cookies? They smell really smurfy." Or, "It's time to smurf dinner!"
Audrey does the same thing, except that she likes to substitute in the word "duck."
"Have a good time!" I'll suggest as she and her Daddy head out the door on an errand. "Have a good duck!" she'll urge me in return.
Last night, James and I were discussing what the Democrats should do now that they've taken over Congress. "They can't go nuts," I opined.
"They can't just go crazy with hearings," James concurred. "They need to pass some good bills."
Then Audrey added her astute observation as to what must be done to get the country on the right track. "Pass some good ducks."
I Blame the Pink Play Kitchen
Audrey can differentiate men and women both by sight (Pointing at a picture, "There's a woman eating an apple.") and by sound (Listening to the radio, "What's the man talking (about)? What's the woman talking (about)?")
So the other day, she and I were looking at a web page which had an ad for vacuum cleaners. There were no people in the ad. Just two vacuum cleaners. And Audrey's take on it? "A woman's gonna use the vacuum." How is it that, despite the fact that we very rarely use a vacuum in our carpetless home…despite the fact that her Daddy knows his way around a broom, the kid has figured out that vacuuming is "women's work"?
Seeking Tranquility in a Noisy World
We went to a B-day party full of wild and boisterous three-year-olds yesterday and I wish to report that…(drumroll please)…Audrey had a really good time! Right when we got to the house she was pretty insistent about returning to the car, but she acclimated very quickly. Then she rode on a little car, chased the bubbles from the bubble machine, played with balloons, explored new toys, sat in the sandbox, and was so independent that James and I were sometimes able to just stand around and chat while keeping an eye on her from a distance. Not only that, but she actually flirted, smiled, and begged for tortilla chips and juice from a couple of Mommies who were complete strangers to her. Her own mom and dad were so astonished you could have knocked us down with an eyelash.
She completely ignored the other children. But to be honest, I sympathize with her on that count. Other children tend to be loud and grabby and unpredictable, and Audrey prefers people to be calm and quiet and to respect her personal space. Watching her as she tolerates and ignores the chaos created by her peers, I'm reminded of myself as a kindergartener listening to my classmates singing the last verse of the "Baby Bumblebee" song. In that verse, the child smashes the bee, and the other kids would smash their hands together and stomp and squeal and yell in delight as we sang. That noisiness and commotion drove me absolutely nuts, ruining (for me anyway) an otherwise perfectly good song. So maybe being a complete fuddy-duddy who wishes other people would just calm down and find a more quiet way to have a good time is a characteristic that runs in the family.
A Tale of Two Walks
We were low on diaper ointment yesterday. And I needed an intriguing activity to keep a somewhat sleepy Audrey awake until Daddy came home. So I plopped her into her ladybug stroller and we strolled six blocks or so to Walgreens, enjoying the sensations of bumps and crackly leaves on the sidewalk, and the sights of cars and dogs and slightly moldering smiling face pumpkins.
The last time I put Audrey in a stroller and took her to Walgreens, she was a very fussy seven-week-old newborn, and our trip to Walgreens was my very first attempt to take a solo outing with the baby. On that first trip, we needed disposable diapers for an impending visit to Ventura, and I was going a little bit stir crazy in the house and wanted to prove to myself that I could take the baby out without James' assistance.
Still, the idea of taking Audrey away from home filled me with trepidation. She always fussed like crazy in the car, so I knew I wasn't brave enough to try driving anywhere. But I decided that if I left at the beginning of a nap, I might be able to walk to Walgreens and back before my baby embarked on one of her frequent crying fits.
So I waited until the babe was freshly nursed and freshly changed and sound asleep, and then I eased her into her stroller and set off at a fast clip for the store. (I hadn't yet figured out that strollers made Audrey cranky.)
At first my plan seemed to be working well. The baby snoozed all the way to the store and slept peacefully through the aisles, and other patrons smiled and oohed at us. But then, just as I was about to make my purchase, she woke up. By the time I had paid for the diapers and left the store, she had started crying in earnest. And we were still getting looks from other people, but no more smiles.
In those days, when she started a crying fit, the best way to calm her down was to walk around bouncing her up and down while singing at the top of your lungs. But I was too self-conscious to sing loudly in public, and it was hard to bounce her the way that she liked when I was carrying her with one arm and pushing the stroller with the other. Hence, the walk back home was very long. I was singing too quietly and bouncing ineffectually, pushing and carrying as best as I could with just two arms. Baby and Mommy were both miserable all the way. A long, long time passed before we dared to venture out alone again.
Our more recent Walgreens trip was a different story. Audrey spent the ride chattering cheerfully and delighting in her surroundings. We did have one minor blip. At the stoplight, Audrey wanted to press the "walk" button, and I was hesitant to let her get out of her stroller to press it for fear that she wouldn't want to go back in. But I resolved that problem by letting her "push the button" on a nearby by fire hydrant while seated in her stroller. (She was initially pretty skeptical about the fire hydrant being a good substitute, but I was soooo enthusiastic about the fire hydrant that I eventually won her over.)
A story which illustrates why, when friends look at their headstrong toddlers and get misty eyed about the golden days of infancy, I can't really relate. For me, parenting started off hard, hard, hard, hard, hard, and has only gotten easier with every developmental milestone reached. I'd take my determined but reasoning two-year-old over the fussy and hard-to-please infant that she was any day.
She’s Got the Blues
Audrey's favorite toy used to be a stuffed animal that we called "Giggle Bear," and because she *always* carried Giggle Bear around by his blue paw (rather than his red, yellow, or green ones) we commented that blue must be her favorite color.
I hadn't thought about her color preferences much, until we started doing a lot more art work recently. First we were doing a lot of work with markers, and her preference for the blue marker was so strong, that that one is almost out of ink while the rest are still practically brand new.
Then, while using her new 96-pack of crayons the other night, she wanted to try out every shade of blue in the pack from "denim" to "midnight blue" to "robin's egg blue," continually demanding that I find her "more blue!" and then inquiring each time, "What's this one name?"
I mean, don't get her wrong. Other colors are pretty cool too. (After all, we had to purchase the 96-pack after she requested a silver crayon, since her old toddler eight-pack of crayons didn't come with silver.) But blue. Yes indeedy, nothing beats blue.
On a sort of related note, Audrey's coloring skills have improved to the point where she can fully color in a small shape in a coloring book, and stay mostly between the lines. Which seems pretty promising as far as the whole "inheriting Daddy's artistic talent" thing goes.
Asana Queen
"What animal Audrey make?" the child asked, crouching on her hands and knees? "Make a cat!" I suggested.
"A duck!" contributed her father.
"A cow!" I added.
"A horsie!" he supplied.
With each suggestion, she tucked her head in for a few moments. The poses looked identical to us, but she kept asking for more ideas. "A kangaroo!" "A sheep!" Then I wondered if she might be interested in expanding her yoga horizons a bit. "Hey Audrey, do you want to do downward facing dog? You need to lift your tushie up into the air?"
And boom. There it was. Downward facing dog. Back perfectly straight. Bum way up high in the air. Textbook picture perfect.
Accidental Success
After Audrey's bath today, James let her run around naked for a while to air out her (much improved, but still visible) diaper rash. When he noticed her near her little potty, he suggested that she might want to sit on it while he read her a book, and she readily agreed.
A little while later, she was amazed and fascinated when Daddy pointed out that she had gone pee-pee in the potty. She helped me empty it into the toilet and waited impatiently while I wiped it down so that she could sit down on it again, and then kept checking the bowl in excitement. But when more pee-pee was not immediately forthcoming, she soon moved on to other interests. I don't think she's ready for real toilet training yet. (For one thing, she still seems to pee several times an hour.) But it was fun to see her getting pretty excited about the concept!
Morning Baby
Audrey woke up early and cheerful this morning, and she danced exuberantly around the room as James and I lay, rather less energetically, in the bed. "Audrey's going round and round!" she noted as she twirled. Then, giggling, "Dizzy!"
"Dance, baby, dance," we encouraged. (Not that she needed the encouragement.)
Then she turned her attention from her actions to her mood and joyfully pointed out, "Audrey has a smiling face!"
And when my reward is a face like that, I can barely even complain about being awakened before 8.
She’s Really Going to Miss Halloween
"You can have one pack of stickers, Audrey," said Daddy. "Which ones do you want? The froggies? The kitties?"
And our two-year-old picked out the skulls and cross bones pack.
Sky High Helper
James took some time off this week to do some work around the house. In order that he could actually get work done, I took Audrey out for a few hours. When we returned home, Audrey was fascinated to see Daddy up on the roof cleaning out the gutters. I pointed out that Daddy was wearing gloves, and that gave her an idea. "Audrey wear gloves." So I rummaged up a glove for her in the garage. As soon as she had it on, she wanted to go back out. "See Daddy ‘gain." And as soon as we spotted Daddy, she had another request. Pointing her gloved hand up towards the roof she demanded, "Audrey HELP Daddy."
Dishonesty Is, Surprisingly Often, the Best Policy
James spotted the moon hanging low in the sky as we were driving home a few nights ago, and pointed it out to Audrey. "See the moon, Audrey?"
Audrey was delighted, and of course wanted to make sure that I was sharing in the joy. "See the moon, Mommy!?"
"Hmm," I craned my head. "You know, from where I'm sitting, the moon isn't really visible."
Her voice quavering with soon-to-be-shed tears, she implored me again, "See the moon, Mommy?"
And so suddenly, I did see it after all. "Oh! Look at the moon! Isn't it pretty!"
"It's a beautiful moon," she affirmed. And joy and peace returned to the car, only slightly tarnished by my white, white lie.
Pajama Time
Confession: Until now, changing Audrey's clothes was such a taxing procedure that we never bothered with pajamas. Our policy was simply to put her to bed in her day clothes (changing her into soft pants rather than jeans if necessary). So, given that we don't tend to bathe her all that frequently either, she would often go for days at a time in the same outfit. It was just easier on all of us.
But now that she's more at peace with clothing changes, we've purchased a few warm pairs of jammies for her. And I think she looks so sweet running around in her little onesies, I could practically eat her up.
Grammar Lover’s Edition
Lot's of tense activity recently.
Future tense—Example: (While brandishing a piece of bark in her hand, and looking at the owl in its cage at the Palo Alto zoo.) "Audrey gonna draw an owl."
Past tense—Example: (After dramatically "drawing" on the ground with the bark) "Audrey drew an owl."
Present Progressive—Now uses "they're" forms in addition to "I'm" forms. Example: (While looking at a picture of farm animals in a book) "They're singing a Old McDonald Song."
Negatives—Starting to use "don't." Example: "I don't see the choo choo."
Questions--Like many beginning adult learners of English, Audrey has a tendency to throw the "s" sound all over the place in her questions. Examples: "What's Daddy's doing?" "Where's it goes?"
New Best Friends
Back when I was pregnant, and even still contemplating becoming pregnant, I mused about how much fun it would be to introduce a child to holiday traditions. And, while the realities of motherhood have often been different from my pre-child dreams, holidays are one area where my fantasies were right on the mark.
Yesterday afternoon, enjoying some balmy fall weather, I pushed Audrey around the neighborhood on her tricycle, and we looked at all the Halloween decorations on display. At the beginning of our walk she only knew enough about Halloween to request "more smiling pumpkins." By the time we had covered a few blocks she was brimming with enthusiasm for skeletons, spider webs, and ghosts, too.
So in the evening, though I come from a long line of "wait until after the holiday is over and then buy stuff 80% off" bargain shoppers, I couldn't resist the urge to stock up on full price Halloween décor at Target. It was so much fun to be able to make a child so excited and happy that she was practically floating. She carried her new skeleton all around the house. She helped Daddy put the spider web up in the window. She was too ecstatic to fall asleep until 11, though she started getting sleepy at around 9:30. She hasn't let go of her precious new black owl in the last 24 hours.
I think, if anything, perhaps I underestimated the intensity of the joys that holidays with a child would bring. I underestimated how wonderful holidays would be for her, and I underestimated how happy her happiness would make me.
Underestimated
Towards the end of our library visit yesterday, it occurred to me that we should check out a book about the holiday that is fast approaching. "Let's go find a book about Halloween, Audrey!" I suggested!
"Let's find a pumpkin book!" she agreed in delight, scampering along after me, towards the holiday books section.
When we arrived in the holiday books area, I found loads of books about Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day, and even Purim. And I found shelf after empty shelf where the Halloween books normally reside. "Curses," I thought. Either we are the very last people in the city of Saratoga who thought to check out a Halloween book, or the Halloween books have very helpfully been moved to a more prominent location.
I tried to convince Audrey to follow me over to the reference desk to ask for help, but was not creative enough in my marketing to make talking to a librarian seem like fun to my slightly hungry and cranky child. So I gave up on the whole idea. We haven't left the library in tears in months, and locating a Halloween book did not seem worth the possibility of ruining that proud record.
Later, in describing the day's events to James, I decided to speak in code so as not to remind Audrey that I had promised--and then not delivered--on a pumpkin book. "We looked for a book about orange, circular, seasonal things,…." I began.
The child jumped right into the conversation. "Pumpkin book!"
And after James and I finished belly laughing, I thought to myself, "Well, curses again!" She's clearly too smart for me by half.
Civic Duties
There are eight people running for three open seats on our local school board, and James and I had no idea who to vote for. So I was a bit wistful when I saw that a candidates' forum was going to be held last Thursday night. Thursday night is my teaching night, so we couldn't do a "you take the baby and I'll take the debate" divide and conquer sort of approach. My brave husband was not deterred, though. Armed with crayons, markers, paper, stickers, and a bag full of other enticing goodies that he collected from a dollar store, he marched into the middle school multipurpose room toddler in tow, set up camp in a far off and deserted corner of the room, and kept the child busy and quiet while he listened in for the full hour and a half of the session. Methinks they both truly proved themselves model citizens that night.
Two Language Things, and a Little TMI
In truth, it's not really quite interesting enough for a blog, but I wanted to record that Audrey's favorite numbers are 48 and 9. Or maybe they are 40, 8, and 9. It's hard to say really. But often when she wants to talk about numbers, that's what she comes up with. Just one of those cute little things that I'm sure would disappear from my memory as soon as it disappears from her vocabulary if I didn't write it down.
And speaking of disappearing from her vocabulary, Audrey is now using the correct pronunciation for spider (rather than "si-bug") about 25% of the time. So I'm sure "si-bug's" days are numbered. Ahhh, how I loved that charming little word while it lasted.
Finally, on to the "Too Much Information" category. Recently, Audrey's poops are much less smelly than they used to be. Which, rather than being a good thing, is actually quite a problem, because I can no longer easily tell just from the stench of her when she needs a diaper change. I'm sure that sitting for longer periods of time in soiled diapers is the major factor causing a persistent and uncomfortable diaper rash. (The first time she's really had a bad diaper rash in her life.) Poor little tushie.
Dangerous Precedents
Audrey wanted to throw library books in the bedroom this morning, and when Daddy forbade her to continue, she trotted optimistically to the kitchen to get permission from Mommy. (Or "My," which seems to be my new nickname. For some reason I'm no longer worth the effort of pronouncing two whole syllables.) I backed up her Daddy, and then rushed to find an appealing alternative before she had time to throw a fit.
"You can throw balls honey! Let's find a ball!" But of course, there's never a ball around when you actually need one, so as I desperately scoured her living room toy basket, James spotted another throwable object.
"Or pumpkins!" he suggested, picking up the cheerfully smiling stuffed pumpkin from the coffee table and attempting to hand it to her.
"Throw pumpkins!" Audrey exclaimed in delight. And, ignoring Daddy's outstretched hand, she pounced on the other pumpkin that was decorating the coffee table. Which was a real, straight-from-the-farmer's-market-type pumpkin. James and I groaned as it hit the floor. But luckily it was a very small and hard pumpkin, and it remained intact.
And given how on the edge of a meltdown she was, we let her just keep throwing the darned thing. After all, she was obediently following her Daddy's directions.
It seems like over the last couple of days, anything that we do, Audrey remembers a time when we did it another way that was more fun.
Yesterday she got to pour the (nearly empty) bottle of (very viscous) Goddess Dressing into Mommy's salad. So why can't she pour the (very full) bottle of (very liquid) balsamic vinaigrette into Mommy's salad today?
Yesterday she got to help Mommy write the date on the top of soup container. So why can't we pull out a marker and write on it today, too?
The last time Mommy had hummus on her bread, Audrey got to use a knife to put the topping on for her. So there's no way she's going to let Mommy eat hummus without help this time!
And I know that she's practicing skills and finding comfort in patterns and making sense of the world. But parenting will be a lot easier once she matures enough to understand why sometimes we need to vary our actions to fit different circumstances.
Self-Help, Toddler Style
James and I consider ourselves experts when it comes to the ever-evolving art of Audrey soothing. And what with her colicky start to life and her long-term hatred of being dressed and changed and bathed and approached by strangers, we've had a lot of soothing to do.
A few days ago, a very interesting bit of soothing took place. A traumatic diaper change had left Audrey sobbing. (She's generally fine with diaper and clothing changes now, but in this case a bad diaper rash had made the experience painful for her.) As I washed my hands in the bathroom post-change, she bawled her way from the nursery to the bedroom. I followed her, preparing to do whatever jumping or singing or reading or redirection would make her forget her troubles, but before I had a chance to pull a trick from my hat, she took the initiative and made a request. "Wear horsie backpack." As I helped her put on her much-loved backpack, the sobs dramatically decreased. Then she choked out another request. "Draw with crayons." And before we even finished sitting down at her coloring table, her tears had dried up completely, and she dove enthusiastically into her art project.
I'm sure I still have a lot more soothing to do in my parenting career. But it was a proud moment watching Audrey independently resolve her own emotional turmoil. A moment that almost shouted out, "Hey, look at me demonstrating my acquisition of important life skills!" Atta girl, baby. Atta girl.
The Things You Can Spot with A Fresh Pair of Eyes
We were reading a book about mammals. (Lots of times Audrey can tell me what animals are on the page. Lots of times she asks me to tell her what they are. And once in a while she's the one who fills me in before I have a chance to peek at the caption. "Armadillo!")
The marsupials page had a picture of a tiny, hairless kangaroo baby nursing in its mother's pouch. "What's that?" inquired the child?
"That's a kangaroo baby," I explained.
She pondered it further. "Just like a dinosaur."
And, bizarre as it sounded at first blush, I reassessed the photo and saw that, (if I threw out my knowledge of matters such as size and extinctions) the kangaroo youngling did look rather like a brontosaurus. Then I tried to throw cold water on her discovery. "Wow, you're right, it does look like a dinosaur, huh? Actually it's a little baby kangaroo."
She knew better than to doubt the evidence in front of her, however, and simply nodded wisely. "A little baby dinosaur."
The Incredible Expanding Stomach
Happily for all of us, Audrey has resumed her pre-cold, pre-fall schedule, and she's now sleeping from around 9-9 with no nap. Unfortunately, she's sleeping a bit fitfully again, but given that she spent a fair amount of time today gnawing on my pajamas, perhaps she is working on her last two molars.
The other big change in Audrey's habits of late is her sudden, drastic appetite surge. Normally we just offer her food a few times a day. Sometimes she takes it. More often she leaves it.
But over the last few days feeding the child has become a full time job. Unfortunately, at the beginning of this increase in appetite, Audrey's method of expressing her hunger was to become the worst boss in the world. She would crankily issue me a series of instructions (Draw a blue horsie! Draw a red fish! Yellow one!) But no matter how quickly and adeptly I complied with her wishes, she was never satisfied with my work. I was wondering for a while what on earth had happened to my sweet child, until it finally occurred to me to feed her, and the sweet child magically reappeared. Thankfully, I now know that Audrey gets bossy when she's hungry, and she's also in tune enough with her newly hungry body to sometimes sprint towards the kitchen while suggesting, "Let's eat!"
Audrey's recently discovered appetite has caused her to actually take the initiative and request items from our plates that we never imagined she would agree to eat with any amount of coaxing. Noodles and zucchini from our casserole! Peas from our rice pilaf! Peanutty rice patties! Bring on the vegetables! And last night, James and I watched in complete astonishment as Audrey (who had already spent the whole day noshing) devoured most of a plate-sized pancake, and then still had room for fruit.
I guess she just really wants to grow into her new fall wardrobe. (It's so not cool wearing clothes that are slightly too big). And after she accomplishes her goal, she will no doubt resume her picky ways.
More Toddler Cooking
Audrey hasn't been a big fan of oatmeal in the past, but I decided to give it another shot, having her help me with the preparation. Together we poured oats from the container into the bowl and added milk. I handled the microwaving part. Then it was her job to add the raisins, the apple slices, and the cinnamon-sugar mixture. And this time, oatmeal was a pretty big hit. See, having her help with the cooking really does increase her enthusiasm for the eating. She likes to customize the food herself. For example, if I had been in charge of putting in the sweetener, I probably wouldn't have dumped in nearly the entire jar, and then it wouldn't have tasted nearly as good, now would it?
Lalybugs!
Audrey is open to strollers these days, but is a bit particular about them, and has repeatedly rejected both of the strollers that we already own. So James took her on a shopping expedition to pick out her own. The first stroller that she spotted was red with black and white dots on it, and she was instantly smitten. "Lalybug!" She hopped right in and took it for a test drive, cheerfully kicking her feet and babbling. James tried to get her to comparison shop a bit, but she was having none of it. ("Do you want to try out this other one, Audrey?" "No.") So, they made the purchase.
We gave the new ladybug stroller its inaugural run in Palo Alto the other day, and Audrey was completely content to ride. It was her mother who felt a bit melancholy about the whole thing. I'm so used to having the child in my arms, her face right next to mine. She felt so far away as I pushed her instead. I missed being in direct contact with her, being able to see her expressions and follow her gaze.
But a short while later, when she'd become a bit tired and cranky and I had to carry her for several blocks to the car, my aching arms reminded me that it's not just her developmental growth that makes this new stroller a possibility…it's her physical growth that makes it a necessity.
Bed Times
As my mother recalls, the happiest day of my childhood was the day my parents informed me that I no longer had to comply with a bedtime. I don't remember the specifics of that happy announcement, but I do remember luxuriating in my amazing new freedom. My body's preferred natural rhythm is late to bed and late to rise. So when my bedtime was determined by the clock rather than by my body clock, I would generally find myself lying in bed for excruciatingly long periods of time, fruitlessly and frustratingly wide-awake. Mom says I always hated going to bed. But what I actually hated was going to bed when I wasn't tired, because that didn't lead to sleep.
This is why I don't believe in enforcing a bedtime for my own little night owl. I wish she had picked up her father's ability to sleep more or less at will. But alas, in this area, she is clearly her mother's daughter. I am always attuned to the signals that she sends at night. As soon as she rubs an eye or starts acting a little loopy or cranky, her Dad and I pounce with a toothbrush and a nighttime diaper and do our best to help coax her into dreamland. But if she's still energetic and chipper at midnight, then so be it. She and I will hang out and play, even if Mom would really rather be hitting the sack.
Audrey's tendency to be awake until 11. Or 12. Or 1. Or, (heaven help me) a few times even 2 o'clock in the morning can be trying, even for a night owl like me. When I was a kid, my parents put me to bed before my body was ready. My daughter, on the other hand, likes to keep me up past the time when sleep comes calling me. So I was really, really enjoying her 9:30-9:30ish, no nap schedule. I was once again calling the shots on my own bedtime. But since Audrey's most recent cold and the abrupt arrival of autumn chill and gloom, she has suddenly reverted to regular naps and late bedtimes. If this trend continues, I'm sure that I'll get used to it. But having briefly owned my own nights again, I'm having a hard time readjusting to having someone else dictate my schedule.
Hah Hah, “Clean” Girl, I Fooled You!
Folks who dispense advice about childrearing for a living are unanimous in exhorting parents to have picky eaters help out in the kitchen. "Kids like to eat things that they make themselves!" they promise. And it's good advice in theory. But in practice, until very recently, Audrey was far too interested in the process of cooking to be a useful part of creating a finished product. Oh, she was happy to help you stir the pancake batter. But then by the time you were ready to pour batter on the skillet, she was threatening to tantrum if you didn't let her pour it out onto the table and mush it around with her hands. And so all pancake making efforts would grind to a halt.
A couple of days ago, inspired partly by an empty stomach and partly by a hunch about my daughter's developmental progress, I decided to give the whole "cooking with the toddler" thing another try. "Let's make quesadillas!" I gushed. (An ability to muster up high levels of enthusiasm for banal tasks is one I've those skills that I've really developed in the past two years.) "Put the tortilla on the pan!" I directed as I shredded the cheese. "Put the cheese on the tortilla!" I urged. And, instead of insisting on shredding the tortilla or putting the cheese back in the package, she industriously followed my directions. Then, knowing that I might be sabotaging the whole effort, I decided to throw caution to the wind and include vegetables in the project. "OK, now take the spoon and put in some salsa!"
As I hoisted the pan to the stove and we waited for the cheese to melt, my spatula toting daughter said just the words I was hoping to hear. "Eat it!"
And sure enough, as soon as it was ready, eat it she did. Oh, she periodically insisted that I "clean" a speck of cilantro or a fragment of tomato off of the outside of the tortilla. But the inside contents were so yummy (vegetables and all) that she couldn't resist for long. "Quesadilla!" she marveled a few times. I could almost see her adding this fabulous new culinary discovery to her (very short) list of acceptable foods. But perhaps now that she's old enough to really help us out in the kitchen, we'll be able to help her really expand that list.
Ever Vigilant
James and I try to provide our daughter with foods that are fresh, seasonal, home-made, and organic. Naturally, she gravitates towards anything packaged or deep-fried. Her latest battle cry in the kitchen is, "CLEAN!" As in, "OK, I'll take a bite of the tortilla from your burrito or eat a little piece of the bread from your sandwich. But don't even think I'll fall for having you sneak a vegetable or cheese or a black bean in on there. I wasn't born yesterday, you know." Even if we promise her that the bread is "clean," she often makes us turn it over a few times so that she can view it from every angle. Then she grudgingly opens her mouth, tentatively gives it a once over with her tongue, and finally relaxes and starts chewing. When it comes to the kitchen, that girl knows that her parents just cannot be trusted.
Riding the Choo-choos Through the Towns
Conscientious citizens of the world, James and Audrey taken to riding our local rail systems (Light Rail and CalTrain) nearly every weekend. They've ridden to the mall, to Palo Alto, to downtown San Jose. Sometimes they ride without a destination in mind, just for the pure joy of sitting on the train and looking out at the world, watching the arms of the railroad crossings go up and down—ding, ding, ding! (Freed from the confines of her car seat and sitting in one of her beloved choo choos, Audrey is happy as a clam on public transit.) Alas, given that we live in the middle of suburbia, taking public transit is not a convenience, not a time saver, and not even a money saver for us.
(By way of comparison:
Traveling to Palo Alto by rail takes 1 and ½ hours and costs around seven bucks.
Traveling to Palo Alto by minivan takes ½ hour and costs approximately a couple gallons of gas.)
But James figures that since his goal on weekends is to keep the baby out of the house for long stretches anyway (so that I can concentrate on lesson planning and cleaning) the inconvenience of the rail system is actually a time-killing advantage.
Say Cheese!
Playing with a stuffed pumpkin, Audrey noted with delight that it was smiling. After a moment of pondering the pumpkin further, she decided that the smile warranted further action. "Take a picture!"
Alas, while the child is clearly aware that the proper response to a camera is an angelic smile, her actual response whenever a lens is pointed in her direction is to immediately reach out her hands and insist, "Audrey hold it!" The end result being that she's fabulously adept at flipping through pictures on the view screen, but every picture on the screen is a different view of her reaching out towards the camera.
Grammar Lover’s Edition
Pronouns: Audrey is showing increased use of personal pronouns ("Gimme cow." "I hear the choo choo!" "I love you." "I miss you.") though she still refers to herself in the third person a lot. ("Audrey get it!")
The Verb "to be": Audrey has started using the full form of the word "is" and the contracted form of the word "am." The other day in the car James asked her, "How are you doing pussy-cat?" To which she responded, "I'm a little cat. Meow, meow."
Present Progressive: She has also used "I'm" in full-fledged present progressive constructions, "I'm coming."
Possessives: Audrey has started using possessive forms (Mommy's jacket).
Invitations: Audrey loves to suggest fun activities: "Let's go to farmer's market!"
Around my birthday, James kept asking Audrey, "How old is Mommy?" (For a while I was "two.") In trying to recreate the question, Audrey came up with, "What's Mommy old?" James was completely wowed, "She makes sentences!"
As a student and teacher of language, I was pretty awestruck, too. Audrey often creates language by "chunking," or using memorized phrases (I think "gimme" and "I love you" fall into that category. She'll say, "gimme the duck" but she'll also hand me her toy and say, "gimme mommy duck." So clearly she hasn't figured out what the "me" part of that phrase means. )
But, as James noted (in his non-Linguistics-major fashion), she also often splits the language up into pieces and analyzes the rules and then puts the grammar and words that she knows together in creative ways to express her thoughts. Proving, without a doubt, that she is, in fact, a little human being.
An Early Thanksgiving
Audrey and I were discussing the fact that turkeys say gobble gobble when she suddenly decided that rather than talking about turkeys she might as well just make one. So she marched over to her play kitchen, opened the oven door, inserted an imaginary bird, closed the door, pressed a few buttons and twisted a few knobs, pretended to wash her hands in her play sink (which is always a good policy when you've been handling raw poultry), waited a few moments, said "DING!," opened the oven door, pulled out the imaginary turkey, put it into a play bowl, carved it with her play knife, and then brought it over to me, "Have some turkey, Mommy!"
At this point you are probably asking yourself, "Doesn't that kid know that you need to check the temperature of a turkey with a thermometer before serving it?" But probably the even more pertinent question is, "Doesn't that kid know that her mother doesn't like turkey?" It appears that eating things I don't like is one of those necessary parental sacrifices, because when my daughter serves me turkey, by golly I have to enjoy it. At least in this case the turkey in question was, not only imaginary, but also small enough to fit in a quarter-cup-sized-bowl. In 10 years I suppose I'll be having to enjoy middle school band concerts where the squawks, squeaks, and squeals are real-life and life-sized.
The Muscles in Our Left Arms are Atrophying
Glancing at us pushing our child in a cart at the grocery store, other shoppers surely have no idea how momentous it is that she is willing to ride rather than needing to be carried these days. And it's no fluke. At the mall the other night, James rented a fire engine themed stroller and pushed her around for an hour, and she even cried when he took her out to go home.
We don't regret any of the carrying that we did over the past two years. She clearly needed the feeling of security that came from being in our arms, and a sense of security is what we're here to provide for her. But life sure is simpler when you have a pushable baby.
But She Loves It…
I'm a little bit conflicted, from a feminist perspective, not only that we have bought our daughter a play kitchen, but that we have bought her a play kitchen that is dramatically and unapologetically pink.
Not Sleeping, Like a Baby
James and Audrey came down with a cold a month ago. At the time, I was in a fabulous state of well-rested, well-exercised strength, so I was not surprised when I escaped the family illness unscathed.
For the past couple of weeks, though, Audrey has been fighting the eruption of her two most recent molars. Despite bedtime doses of Tylenol, (which helped splendidly for the arrival of previous teeth) she's been waking very frequently at night. Which of course means that I've been awakening very frequently at night.
So in my current run-down and ragged state, I was not surprised when a cold hit me full force on Friday night. I guess if I had to get sick, it's nice that it happened over a weekend. (Though my birthday weekend would not have been my first choice of weekends.)
Thankfully, the molars are in and Audrey's sleep is now much improved. My happiness about that is tempered by the knowledge that if she gets this cold it will disturb her sleep even worse than the teething.
She has two more baby teeth to go before reaching her full complement of twenty. Just two more to go. Just two more to go. They can't come soon enough for me. I am ever so ready to be done with this whole teething business.
Kindred Spirits
I've rarely heard Audrey use the word "want," but she gives the word "need" quite a workout. (Audrey need white duck! Audrey need baby corn! Audrey need the blue pen!) I think she has no need for the word want yet, because all of her desires have the urgency of needs.
Which brings me to a conversation that I recently had with her father, regarding additions that we need to make to the child's wardrobe now that an autumn nip is in the air.
D: Does she need any new jackets?
M: No. She has jackets. The bug jacket…
D: Will it still fit?
M: Yeah, it was big last year, remember?
D: Oh.
M: Also there's her green jacket, her pink jacket, her Winnie the Pooh jacket...
D: Oh.
Pause.
D: Does she need a rain coat?
M: She got a ladybug rain coat from my sister.
D: Oh.
Pause.
D: There's a lot of cute jackets in the stores.
Architectural Critic
It's mostly pretty easy for us to take Audrey out on errands, but there are a few buildings that cause her to burst into tears the moment we set foot in the door. One of those buildings is our doctor's office, which in Audrey's mind is THE WORST PLACE ON EARTH, because Audrey hates having her personal space invaded above all else. At the doctor's office, strangers are always poking and prodding her, and instead of offering protection her parents inexplicably aid and abet them.
Two other places that Audrey can't stand are the college where I teach, and the building where James works. While nothing overly traumatic has happened to Audrey at either of those sites, we figured that she associated those buildings with overly enthusiastic parental co-workers coming over apply kisses, and hence her distaste.
Today, however, we tried taking Audrey to a "My First Art Class" at the Saratoga Community Center, and she burst into tears at the door. Given that Audrey has never before set foot in the Saratoga Community Center, that was a mysterious aversion indeed.
It was James who deduced that our doctor's office, his office, my school, and the center are all places with lobbies and a particular style of low overhanging roof. So it turns out she hates going to the doctor so much she's now discriminating against all buildings that remind her of the place!
With a new understanding of the strength of her negative feelings towards our doctor, I briefly wondered if I needed to find a new pediatrician. But then I realized Audrey would probably just start discriminating against a second type of building.
Serious Deprivation
Our rule on TV is that Audrey can watch unlimited DVDs in the car, but we don't watch TV in the house. Thus her television viewing world has pretty much been limited to Baby Einstein and Sesame Street products, with occasional detours to the world of Leapfrog videos.
Even when she's sick and I do make an exception and let her sit in front of the tube most of the day, she hasn't really explored the world of television world beyond the boundaries of PBS.
Until tonight. Tonight the child spotted the remote the couch, and took the opportunity to choose her own programming. Turns out what she's really been wanting to watch are shows about beautiful lawyers. There is nothing more enjoyable than shows about beautiful lawyers. Every scene change, every new commercial, brought a fresh exclamation of delight. "Man! Woman! Lotsa people! Cars! A mommy and a daddy eating pasta!" She feasted on the images with such enthusiasm that I started to feel bad about how narrowly we've been confining her viewing options.
Then my child was exposed to a promo for a show featuring bound and gagged kidnap victims, and I remembered that our media monitoring does have a purpose.
Mommy’s Little Helper
The house would be a lot cleaner if Audrey weren't so interested in helping me keep it clean. I am managing to get a good bit of sweeping done now because she loves emptying out dustpans and sweeping with her own little broom. So I can keep her busy sweeping and emptying and still get the floors clean myself.
On the other hand, I try to avoid doing really dirty tasks in her presence because, while I try not to be too neurotic about germs, there are certain things I really don't want her touching. A few weeks ago in the back yard, I tried cleaning up the persimmons that our tree tends to drop at this time of year. Once Audrey figured out what I was doing, she wanted in, of course. And at first it seemed like it might work out alright. She was willing to put on a glove and drop rotten fruit into the bag just like Mommy. But then, she wanted to take off her glove and take rotten persimmons out of the bag to examine them. After a bit of a struggle, we negotiated a settlement. She could examine the very dry fruit without a glove, but the wet and moldy ones were off limits. It was not a completely pleasing outcome for either of us, but we decided we could live with it.
So I should have known better, but this morning, I was so desperate to have clean toilets that I just got out the toilet bowl cleaner and went to work. Inevitably my daughter was soon right there, insisting on taking her turn with the toilet brush. Now, it would certainly be fair to question my judgment with regards to my child's playthings. (Rotten persimmons. Glass figurines. Hey, have I told you about the time I let her play with scissors!?) But I was pretty deadest against letting her get near a disgusting brush and noxious chemicals.
Luckily, this time I quickly managed to work out a compromise made everybody happy. I put Audrey in charge of cleaning the sink, supplying her with a scrubbing brush and some baking soda. As she stood on her stool and happily scrubbed away, I managed to clean not only the toilet but the rest of the bathroom as well. And I can't say Audrey doesn't appreciate my efforts to keep the house in order. While I bustled around the bathroom wiping and scrubbing she periodically looked down from her perch and approvingly noted, "Mommy working very hard."
Regarding Literacy
"T" commented Audrey, pointing at the last letter of a word on her new racetrack toy. Then, nonchalantly she turned to me and asked, "What says this word?"
"That word says ‘start,' I answered. And being just as nonchalant as the child seemed like the right way to be at the time, though I could just as easily have covered her with kisses for being the most exquisitely observant and inquisitive little creature imaginable.
To Tell the Truth
Audrey has been doing so much experimentation with new words lately! She repeats practically everything that we say. Last night, to our great delight, she figured out how to express uncertainty. The three of us were sitting on the guest bed playing a quiz game:
A: What's duck say?
D: Quack quack.
M: What does a dog say?
A: Woof woof!
A: What's choo choo say?
M: Chugga chugga choo choo!
D: What does a car say?
A: Beep beep!
D: What does a fire engine say?
Audrey's forehead furrowed. She wracked her brain. Then she gave up and, for the first time in her life, the following words passed through her lips.
A: I dunno.
Mom and Dad went wild, laughing and clapping. Though technically she'd gotten the answer wrong, we told her what a great job she'd done, and she looked mighty pleased. When we finished celebrating, it was time to resume the game. Daddy lobbed her a softball.
D: What does a horse say?
Her forehead wrinkled again, this time with indecision. After a moment's hesitation, she decided to tell her very first lie:
A: I dunno.
We rewarded her dishonestly by laughing even harder.
Imagination Run Wild
Audrey's imagination has exploded with full force lately. She uses broom sticks to ride horsie. (Neigh!) She coaxes the turtle figures in the sandbox at the park to eat sand. (More sand turtle? Tastes good! Little more sand?) She knocks her animals over and then expresses concern (You OK duck? You fall down? Poor duck!) She makes all sorts of animals by picking up sand with one hand and pouring it into her other hand. (Here's a pig. Oink oink. Two eyes. A tail…) She even looks forward to tooth brushing time nowadays, because Daddy and Mommy always find all kinds of butterflies in her mouth when we're brushing her teeth. (Oh look! There's a big blue one! See the little purple one over there?) When we find unusually colored butterflies in her mouth (There's a taupe butterfly!) she's so amused that we have to remove the toothbrush so that she can laugh and repeat the word (Taupe one!) A tiny little part of my brain worries that we're setting her up for some serious nightmares by finding insects in her mouth and lions and tigers in her diapers. But mostly, this stage is way fun.
Careful Baby, Careless Mother?
The other day, Audrey had her heart set on holding an expensive glass figurine that we received as a wedding present. So I let her.
When I mentioned this to James, the look that crossed over his faced indicated that he was not 100% positive that he should be entrusting me with the care of the two-year-old or with the care of the bric-a-brac.
Given his reaction, I gave further thought to the implications of my actions, and my imagination conjured up images of a figurine in shards on the floor, and a babe with nasty cuts on her hands or feet.
At the time, though, facing certain tears if I denied her the figurine, I decided that letting her hold the heavy and not overly breakable object was worth it if she would accept certain ground rules. I led her into the living room, had her sit on the thick rug, sat right next to her, and warned her that she needed to be very, very careful.
Then I gave her the figurine. And she held it for a while. And she was very, very careful. When she'd had her fill of the figurine, she gave it back to me and moved on to other interests, and I hid it away in a spot where it wouldn't tempt her again.
So I dunno. I probably should have just dealt with the tears instead. But my instinct was that I could trust her. That she was mature enough to understand that holding the figurine was a special privilege, that she was responsible enough to take special care of it. And she responded to my trust by being very responsible and taking extra special care.
Two Years of Observing the World
I don't believe that children are born as blank slates. If there's anything that being Audrey's mother has taught me, it's that children enter the world with their personalities pre-programmed. Still, while my daughter has been the intense type from day one, her knowledge of the world and its ways was pretty much zero two years ago. So she sometimes astonishes me with her daily demonstrations of all that she has managed to figure out and commit to memory. A couple examples:
*The other day, when she returned from a shopping trip with Daddy I asked if they'd completed their intended purchase, "Did you and Daddy buy a new wallet?" "Macy's," she nodded.
*Audrey "played" Connect-4 with her friend Kai way back in July. Upon seeing the game again two months later, she excitedly exclaimed, "Kai!"
And sometimes, what she hasn't figured out is even more amusing than what she has figured out.
She has a musical Winnie the Pooh book which includes the song "Kookaburra."
On the Kookaburra page, there's a picture of Winnie the Pooh swinging on a swing tied to a tree, as well as a bird sitting on a tree branch. We've tried to point out that the bird is a Kookaburra. But as she interprets the song, the bear swinging on the swing must be the "Kooka bear." So now, whenever she sees Winnie the Pooh, she gets all excited, "Kooka Bear!"
Daddy’s Girl
Audrey's preference for mama used to be so strong that it kind of hurt her poor papa's feelings. So I am happy to report that now she thinks that her mama and her papa are both really, really cool to be with. Yesterday, we went out to eat, and as the three of us strapped into the car, Audrey happily observed, "Daddy in car. Mommy in car." It was pretty clear from her body language that the message she was trying to get across was, "The three of us are together, so all is right with the world." Later, I tried to go out to the car with Audrey while James paid the bill for our meal, and she fussed and complained until we went back in to find him.
Social Skills
We attended a fairly raucous birthday party for Audrey's friend Kai last weekend. And, while it would be an exaggeration to say that she had a great time, she did tolerate the noise, chaos, and strangers extremely well, and there were periods of time when I think it would be fair to say that she enjoyed herself. In comparison to previous parties that we've tried to attend, that was a pretty huge improvement.
Which is not to say that she has become a social butterfly, by any means. Yesterday, as she was drawing with chalk on our front porch, a neighbor child had the temerity to toddle up our sidewalk and watch her (gasp!) from a distance of a couple of feet (heaven forbid!). She responded to this unbearable invasion of her privacy by bursting into tears and insisting on going into the back yard.
Love Havin’ a Talkin’ Baby
Audrey is very cutely picking up some of the little bits and pieces that glue the English language together nicely, in addition to the main nouns and verbs and adjectives that serve to get basic messages across.
She has had quite an appetite in the morning recently, so we've been trying to feed her substantial things for breakfast. This morning James asked her, "Do you want French toast or pancakes?" "Ooooor strawberries!" she selected, motioning to a container of dried strawberries on the counter.
Later, when she had agreed to some pancakes in addition to her strawberries, she rejected the rather large piece that I had speared on a fork for her. (She's once again not much interested in spearing foods herself.) "How bout little piece?" she politely requested.
Her dad and I are an easy audience, but when we get requests like that, we melt like butter.
Just Call Her Yuppie Baby
I started a yoga class over the summer, and while I really haven't had a chance to practice much at home, Audrey has seen me stretching a couple of times. (A while back, she got very excited when she saw me in a pose called "downward facing dog," and excitedly called out "triangle! triangle!" I was initially very pleased, because if my body was forming a triangle, that meant I was getting it right. But then for the next few days she made frequent requests for "triangle." And she liked me to hold the pose for a long time so that she could crawl between my legs and hang out inside the triangle for a while. So she's definitely more stern a taskmaster than my other yoga teacher.)
James and I have also taken to calling any toddler stretches that she engages in yoga. So she's very familiar with the term yoga now.
A few days ago James had Audrey in the cart at Whole Foods, a yuppie organic-type grocery store. She was a bit tired, and she leaned forward and rested her head on the handle bar. "What are you doing, Audrey?" asked her pop.
"Doing yoga," she explained.
This would have been classic enough. But it just so happened that another shopper was within earshot, and he turned gaping to James and asked incredulously, "Did she just say she was doing yoga?"
Well, yes. Our two-year old is studying yoga. She manages to fit it in between her Pilates classes and her organic composting workshops. Now if you'll excuse us, we're going to go feed her some olives from the olive bar, and then we'll load up the old Prius (err, minivan) and head for home. Ta-ta!
Thoughts on Growth Charts
With little kids, doctors are constantly measuring height, weight, and head circumference, and then plotting the child's growth on a standardized chart. So parents of young children are constantly comparing their kids' percentiles.
And I suppose this chart stuff is important, because kids whose growth is unusual can be watched for signs of illness. But I've also grown increasingly skeptical of the charts, because almost all of my friends' kids are "off the chart" for at least one measurement. Indeed, while many of my friends have kids who are above or below the charts, only a few that I can think of have kids who actually fall somewhere on the chart for all three measurements.
This includes my child. Audrey's head size has been running above the chart since a few months after she was born. Having an extra large head can be a sign of any number of ghastly diseases. Or it can simply indicate that she, like her large-headed father, will always have trouble finding hats that fit well.
If so many kids that I know personally are off the charts, I really suspect that it may be the charts and not the kids that need recalibration.
She Knows Me Too Well
Audrey wasn't in the mood for her diaper change this afternoon. So as I changed her, I incorporated her repeated request into a song (to the tune of Wheels on the Bus)
The babies on the bed say
I wanna stand up
I wanna stand up
I wanna stand up
The babies on the bed say
I wanna stand up
I wanna stand up right now!
The song made her laugh, and she stopped complaining. As we finished that verse, I asked her what we should sing for the second verse, "What does the Mommy say?"
And then it was her turn to make me laugh. Because apparently the mommies on the bed say wait just "one minute!"
No Nap, No Problem
Now that I've adjusted to Audrey not napping during the day, I think I can officially say that I love her new schedule. She's sleeping from around 9:30 to 9:30 (which is by far the most regular her schedule has ever been in her entire life), and it is so wonderful having her in bed so easily and early, and not having to wonder when or whether she'll nap. It really frees us up to do things in the afternoon.
She is still having some night waking issues, but I have some suspicions that she may be working on cutting her second set of molars, so if that's the case, hopefully it will improve when the teeth are in.
And it really hasn't been difficult preventing naps from happening. If she starts to look sleepy, I just keep her busy rather than having quiet snuggle time.
Looking for an Excuse to Vent
Once in a while, Audrey just gets grumpy and feels like picking a fight. So she urgently requests to do things she knows she not supposed to do. Like "Pull Mommy hair." Or "Touch Daddy glasses." We say no, of course. And then she wails and protests life's many injustices with all of the passion that her little lungs can muster.
While these episodes are no fun for any of us, Audrey's method of being naughty is quite endearing in a certain sense. I mean, even when she's misbehaving, she doesn't participate in actual misbehavior. Simply expressing a desire to engage in forbidden activities is enough for her.
We Gave It the Old College Try
As I scrubbed my daughter's bottom with a wipe this afternoon, she made a cheerful assessment of the situation, "Mommy tickle butt."
In response to which I must say, "Aargh!" How did she learn the word "butt?" OK, it's not exactly a bad word. But it's a little coarse, so we've always tried to model gentler terms like "tushie" and "bottom."
And somehow she goes and picks up "butt" instead. From the way she was grinning at me as she said it, I think she knew she was just skating on the edge of naughtiness. She's probably been casing out the belly button rings when she goes to the mall with Daddy, too. Hmmmph.
Hours in the Day
"My lessons are planned through Septemeber 21st!" I crowed triumphantly to James. Delighted at my productivity over the three-day weekend, I walked back towards the bedroom. That's when I spotted the pile of unfolded laundry on the guest bed. And the load that got washed a couple of days ago but hasn't made it to the drier. And the trash that needs to go out because it's trash night. And the papers piled up 10 feet high on the desk in the office, which beg tearfully to be filed and organized. I closed the office door to muffle their cries.
I don't suppose anyone has enough time to get to all of the projects that they should get to. But with a small child in the house, I find that the problem is particularly acute. If I manage to whack down one chore, two more pop up in its place. Then I just need to decide whether it is a better use of my time to empty the dishwasher, or go blog about how much I have to do.
OK, Now It Counts
Audrey has eaten completely independently with both a spoon and a fork now. I don't have pictures of the first independent utensil moment, because I was a too busy trying to get the strawberry juice out of her shirt and my jeans and a couple of sheets to pull out the camera. (And no, I wasn't really planning to let her eat strawberries with a fork in the bedroom but….well, it's a long story.)
Anyhoo, we did manage to snap some shots of her eating tomato soup with a spoon in the kitchen this afternoon. After a few somewhat errant spoonfuls, she got pretty good at getting the soup from bowl to mouth. When she did spill, she would pause and request that I mop up before continuing her meal.
So long as we continue providing her with foods that have excellent potential for staining everything in the vicinity (preferably, bright red foods) I have every expectation that she will continue to make use of the flatware.
Different Perspectives on Scrapes and Bumps
While at the mall with Daddy, Audrey tripped and fell on a tile floor. She reacted to the bump on her head and her bloodied nose and lip by crying briefly, and then requesting to eat a banana crepe and forgetting all about it.
James, on the other hand, practically wept with remorse for not preventing the fall every time he looked at her face for the next several days.
Praying That She’ll Have the Opportunity to Miss That Dog
Faithful readers may recall that Audrey's first word was "dog," because our next door neighbor's incredibly loud canine has been a major influence in her life. While Audrey has never actually seen Pepper, (I've seen him once in the four years we've lived here) she hears him every day. So Pepper still provides us with plenty of fodder for conversation. "Why's the doggie barking?" she often inquires. Sometimes I try to guess, "Maybe the mailman's here!" Other times, we go to the front window to see if we can spot the source of the dog's consternation. (Is someone walking by?)
Dogs bark at the mailman. C'est la vie. Unfortunately, Pepper has another habit that is not as tolerable. He barks at night. Sometimes he barks constantly, all night long. And at one in the morning, when James and I have been lying in bed listening to the dog bark for more than an hour, we have a tendency to start fanaticizing about ways that we can help Pepper meet an untimely demise. Once morning comes, we remember that it is really not Pepper's fault that he lives outside in a small area of the backyard, is never walked, and never seems to get much human companionship. But when it is yet another the-dog-is-keeping-us-awake-in-the-middle-of-the-night night, it is difficult for us to find our compassion.
Which is why we were so excited when our (otherwise perfectly nice) neighbors moved off to fancy-schmancy Saratoga a few weeks ago. Practically giddy with anticipation when we saw the moving truck.
They're gone all right. They're gone. And Pepper remains. Presumably they're still dropping by to throw some raw meat over the fence for him periodically. But they're showing no signs of taking him along to their new place. I'm not sure if that's because they dislike the dog or because they dislike their old neighbors.
Girl Loves Choo Choos
Audrey started crawling around on the bed this evening and explained, "Here goes the choo choo up a hill!"
"Are you a choo choo Audrey?" inquired Daddy?
"Box car," she specified.
At her direction, all three of us were soon crawling around on the bed saying "Whoo whoo!"
When she got tired of the hill, she changed the scenery. "Here goes the choo choo over a waterfall!"
Inexplicably, neither James nor I thought to take a dramatic fall off the bed at that point. Talk about your missed comedic opportunities.
The Continuing Chronicles of Neat and Tidy Girl
We went to the Palo Alto Junior Children's Museum and Zoo today. (We can't get enough of that place!) The museum has a little play kitchen, in which many plates and cups were strewn about. Audrey sent plates sliding down an incline for a couple of minutes. When she'd had enough of that, she spotted a cupboard, and she knew she'd found her true mission. She stacked up a few plates, carried them to the cupboard, opened it, stowed them away, closed the cupboard, and returned for more plates. Once she'd picked up all the plates, she started in on the cups. And once she'd taken care of those, well, it was time to move on to another exhibit, now, wasn't it?
Anywhere But Here!
Audrey woke up congested this morning, so I didn't know if she'd be up for her (nearly) nightly outing with Daddy. But he was barely in the door before she was chomping at the bit. "Ready go car, Daddy? Ready go? Hurry, please, Daddy! Where are shoes?"
"Where do you want to go, honey?" we asked. For a few moments she looked stumped. Then she brightened. "Toy store! Ready go toy store, Daddy?!"
Superdaddy
I thought it should be recorded that this evening, James used a sharp object to remove a splinter from Audrey's foot--without waking her up.
That Does It, Young Lady! No More Naps for You!
One of our parenting philosophies is that Audrey should sleep when she's tired and eat when she's hungry and just generally learn to listen to the signals that her body is sending her.
But we're instituting two new rules that run a bit counter to this philosophy. Absolutely no more naps, even if she seems tired in the afternoon. And no going to bed for the night before at least 9, even if she seems tired earlier.
We've devised these rules out of necessity. Bedtime on no-nap days is a peaceful affair, with a sleepy child drifting contentedly into dreamland. But bedtime on nap days is a contentious nightmare. Nowadays, when Audrey naps, it's at least 1 a.m. before she's fussily, crankily tired enough for sleep. And if it's 1 a.m. and the baby isn't asleep, I'm nearly as fussy and cranky as she is. As for the 9 p.m. rule, last night I let Audrey fall asleep a little before 8, and she woke up ready to play at 10:30 and didn't tantrum down for the night until 2 in the morning.
Of course, it may be easier to make these rules than to keep the child awake some days. Lot's of people take their kids for rides in the car to lull them to sleep. Perhaps I'll have to resort to taking my child for a ride to keep her awake.
She Calls It Like She Sees It
Background: 1. Audrey is pretty much willing to try pronouncing any word these days. 2. James has been putting in a new back yard recently (rototilling, trenching, etc.)
In a quest to teach Audrey a new cute thing to say (along the lines of, "How old are you?" "Two!") James taught the child how to say the name of his company. She was doing pretty well at it. (Tensica!) Then he moved on to step two of his project. "OK, Audrey, where does Daddy work?" She didn't miss a beat, "Daddy work in the dirt!"
Pretty Soon I Suppose She’ll Have Her Own Ipod
Cell phone independence day today. Audrey learned how to scroll through the different ring tone options by herself, and she learned how to turn on the camera phone and take a picture. I was proud of my daughter's newfound skills, but I was probably even more delighted that now I no longer have to flip constantly through those stinkin' ring tones, because electronic Bach holds a lot more appeal for her than for me.
Pronoun Edition
Audrey has started to use a few pronouns. Mostly incorrectly. ("Do you want to walk or do you want mommy to carry you?" "Carry you.") But occasionally correctly (I found it! I listen music.)
Our Little Foodie
When my child has more of an appetite (as she continues to have), it suddenly gets much easier to feed her healthy foods. She helps the situation, too, when she suddenly gets a strong hankering for sweet potatoes. SWEET POTATOES! The only inconvenient thing was that there were no actual sweet potatoes in the meal that we were eating. SWEET POTATOES! We did have some sitting on the counter, which was how she knew sweet potatoes exist in the first place. SWEET POTATOES! We tried to explain that you can't really just eat a sweet potato raw, they really need to be cooked. COOK SWEET POTATOES! Then we figured out that we could probably cook one fairly quickly in the microwave. EAT SWEET POTATOES! While we were waiting for the potato to cook in the microwave, we got out some grapes to tide her over. GRAPES. She began eating grapes with enthusiasm, but then started to balk at eating little baby safe pieces. EAT THE BIG ONE! Marketing genius James figured out that if he turned the pieces over, the little pieces looked whole to a two-year-old's eye. YUMMY GRAPES. By that time, the sweet potatoes were done. She was no longer interested.
Fun with Sand and Water
It was supposed to be a scorcher today, so I planned an outing to a park with both a sand and water feature, and a plain old fountainy sort of water feature. Audrey took full advantage.
She started off in the sand, sitting in a water filled sand canal and digging for a while. She tolerated the presence of other kids well, not panicking when a grade schooler dug a new canal right around her. (He was a bit less tolerant of the presence of a toddler in the middle of his sand and water engineering project, but hey, we got there first.)
Next she moved on to the fountain, not only touching the water that bubbled up from the ground, but even happily standing in the middle of the water that spurted out from top and the sides. At that point, when an ice cream truck came by and most of the other park goers emptied out to get treats, she put in a request for more people. (I'm sure she would have requested ice cream, instead, had she understood the meaning of the musical truck.)
Finally, we went and played on the swings. Audrey showed no interest (as usual) in swinging by herself, but she very much enjoyed swinging on Mommy's lap.
When we got home, Audrey was so tuckered out, she immediately went down for a nap. (She's averaging a nap every couple of days now.)
As the baby napped, it came to me that our outing was somewhat significant for its insignificance. I took her to a park expecting that she would play, and she played. Just a couple months ago, if I took her to a park, there was a good chance she wouldn't want to leave my hip. So here she is…playing at parks, sometimes sitting in her own chair at the table, sometimes even sitting in a shopping cart at the grocery store...the signs seem to be pointing towards a bit of social maturation.
Blogging Every Time She Eats a Vegetable
"She doesn't eat as many vegetables as we'd like," I mentioned over the din of my wailing child. (She started crying the moment we entered the waiting room, and didn't stop until her 2-year check-up was over and we were safely back in the parking lot. A doctor's office is not a happy place for someone who doesn't like having her personal space invaded. Nor for the parents of said someone.)
The doctor licked her lips in anticipation of delivering her "modeling good behavior" lecture. "Does she eat fewer vegetables than you guys do?"
But James and I ruined her fun, "Yes!"
The doctor went on to ask if we ate meals together. And perhaps the fact that Audrey gobbled up a bowl of vegetable soup and asked for more at lunch today is related to the fact that we're all eating together at the table once again. Or perhaps it is merely related to her unprecedentedly high level of hunger. I cannot recall the child ever eating three substantial means in a single today, but in addition to her soup, she had French toast and raisins for breakfast and mushroom pizza for dinner, and she even snacked on raisins and dried peas in the car on our way home from the park. But I suppose now she won't be hungry for the rest of the month.
A Big Fan of Public Transit
James and Audrey took Light Rail to the Children's Discovery Museum today while I got ready for the beginning of the new semester. James said Audrey had a good time playing at the museum, but when I asked her about the experience I couldn't get her to talk about anything other than the choo choo.
Once More, At the Table
Audrey has always had a strong need to be in constant contact with us, which means that her high-chair (like her crib and her stroller) were little used. (Who would have guessed that we could have skipped purchasing a crib, a high chair, and a stroller for our baby?)
Some months ago, we purchased a cool, but outrageously expensive stool for her to sit on at the dinner table. She rejected it outright.
So, we'd taken to eating Korean-style on a table on the floor. Given that she is rarely hungry when we are, (or perhaps more accurately, given that she is rarely hungry) that allowed her to simply run around while we ate, which was easier than having her squirm and complain on our laps at the table. We'd also given up completely on going out to restaurants, because it was no fun for any of us trying to keep Audrey content at a table.
A couple of days ago, James gently tried reintroducing the expensive stool and…drumroll please…..it worked! We can once again eat dinner at the table as a family. Well, Audrey still doesn't eat much, but she's at least willing to play with her food and utensils at the table while we eat. And we've gone out to eat a couple of times recently with very pleasant results. How lovely to have a table baby once more!
Does That Count?
Audrey is quite competent at feeding herself using a loaded fork, but shows little interest in spearing foods herself. So I don't think it would be quite accurate to say that she feeds herself with a fork independently. Yesterday, she did manage the empty fork to loaded fork to mouth maneuver. However, the mouth that she fed after spearing a stalk of broccoli was mine and not her own. (She did later eat a couple of bites of the broccoli herself, by hand. And I'm pleased anytime a vegetable makes to her stomach, regardless of methodology.)
Similarly, I offered her some of my yogurt a couple of days ago, and she enthusiastically grabbed the spoon. Because, as it turned out, she wanted to feed me. While she did an excellent job of feeding me without making a mess, the spoonfuls of yogurt that she fed me were too big, and came too quickly for me to really enjoy the experience. Which made me very glad that, despite her pickiness, we've never been pushy about trying to get food down her gullet.
Have Stool, Will Wash
When it comes to hand washing time, all I need to provide is a stool, a boost, some water, and some soap. Audrey takes care of the other details herself. (Sometimes providing a running play-by-play, "And soap,…and rub,…and rinse,…and TOWEL!")
Sing a Song, Etc.
After months of frequently demanding to hear her parents croon, (Mommy! Sing the choo choo song!) Audrey has finally begun to sing herself. She's not particularly tuneful. Actually she rarely hits the proper notes. (We figure she just likes to sing harmony.) But she makes up for any pitch problems with her enthusiasm. (That is to say, loudness.) She's also willing to tackle lyrics that are otherwise far beyond her normal vocabulary (including a recognizable rendition of "one for the master, one for the dame, and one for the little boy who lives in the lane").
Speaking of vocabulary building, Audrey has also shown clear signs that she has picked up vocabulary from the books that we read. She likes to use the phrase "big, fat" which is straight out of "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" and she uses the phrase "big, strong Daddy" from the book "I Love My Daddy Because…"
Audrey has also been experimenting with prepositions-in, on, off, next to, to, around, behind…(Twice now, upon waking up in the morning she has sleepily observed, "Audrey sleeping next to Daddy." Awwww.)
Happy 2nd Birthday, Baby Girl
Dear Audrey,
At this stage in your life, you are an animal-lover, so on your second birthday, Daddy and I took you to the San Francisco Zoo, and then we had dinner in the city with Uncle Andrew and Linda. (In lieu of a party, because I can't think of many things you would have enjoyed less than a big party. Well, I guess we're taking you to the doctor on Monday for your 2-year well-baby check, and you'll probably enjoy that less than a party.)
You were excited to see the zebras and giraffes and gorillas and lions and peacocks at the zoo. Your favorite animal was the tapir, because the tapir was swimming in murky water, and it would disappear and then resurface in a new spot, and in your mind there are few things more exciting than a good game of peek-a-boo.
After a while you got a little bored of the animals, but luckily the zoo had plenty of grates, circular and rectangular manhole covers, leaves, and dirt to keep your attention. It was your day, so Daddy and I just hung around and let you sift through the dirt next to the exhibits for as long as your little heart desired. Because it was your birthday, we also periodically fed you French fries. I don't know if you'll thank us or look down on us for that later, but as a two-year-old, you were very appreciative. As we let you play in the dirt and eat French fries, lots of other kids with clean hands and clothes rolled by passively by in their strollers munching on tofu and broccoli. You don't do strollers, and you're not much for vegetables, and the only time you are ever passive is when we strap you in your carseat and let you watch DVDs. But if you were a passive-veggie-stroller type baby, you just wouldn't be you. And at one point in our zoo visit (as you demanded to see, "More animals! More animals! More animals!") my heart swelled to fill my entire chest as I contemplated your cuteness and charm and enthusiasm. In that moment, it was clear to me that there is no greater pleasure in this world than having a daughter.
Happy birthday, baby. And many, many more.
Love,
Mommy
No Self-Esteem Issues
It was two hours until Daddy would come home, and we were bored. (We haven't yet figured out a good way to fill those two hours that used to be consumed by naptime. Another negative to her new no-nap schedule is that, whereas she used to be pretty good about sleeping through the night, she's now waking up at least once or twice. The earlier bedtimes (often between 10 and 11) are still nice, though. I guess overall I think it's a tossup whether I prefer this schedule or the old one.)
Given the situation, I decided to let Audrey "help" me bake her birthday cake. I knew this would involve letting the child play with flour. But I decided that a project that would entertain Audrey and allow me to get some work done was worth turning the kitchen into a Winter Wonderland disaster zone.
So, I set Audrey up on a little table on the floor with a few scoops of flour, some spoons, and some containers, and proceeded to work with my own flour and spoons on the counter. So far, so good.
I did not foresee that Audrey would need to scoop spices into her flour when I scooped spices into my flour. But while my instinct was to lecture her about how spices are expensive and shouldn't be wasted, I gritted my teeth and reminded myself that in the grand scheme of things, it was pretty cheap entertainment to let the baby have a heaping quarter teaspoon of ginger.
I was able to get through mixing all of the dry ingredients before Audrey needed me to play with her on the floor. She's not much for independent play, so I was pretty pleased with that outcome.
I was also pleased to note that Audrey became quite adept at spooning her fragrantly spiced flour from her big bowl into the very small opening of a spice jar. The first time I observed this accomplishment I offered praise, "Good job, honey!" Thereafter, she wanted to hear accolades for every "spoonful into the spice jar" attempt. Even when all of the flour ended up on the floor rather than in the jar, she would turn to me and prompt, "Good job!" And when her attention turned to stacking up the spice jars on the table, it was irrelevant to her whether she managed to create a tall tower or sent a pile of jars crashing to the floor. Each time she would look at me and insist that I cheer her on with the phrase, "Good stacking!"
Proof that Advertising Works
We were flipping through a magazine and saw an add for crackers. "Crackers" Audrey said thoughtfully. "Do you want some crackers, honey?" "Yeah." And though she hasn't been interested in crackers in weeks, she ate a bowlful.
We were reading a book in the "Bright Baby" series. We own the yellow one (Animals) and the green one (Trucks). As we finished up "Trucks," I asked Audrey what book she wanted to read next. Audrey looked at the back cover of the Trucks book, which displays pictures of the two other books in the series, the blue one (First Words) and the pink one (Colors). "Read the blue book," she decided. Luckily, it was 10 o'clock at night, because my first instinct was to rush to the store to purchase the book that my little darling had requested. Clearly someone other than me needs to teach her how not to be overly influenced by advertising.
Blast from the Past
A new turning point in Audrey's language and thinking skills: The ability to discuss past events in addition to things that are happening here and now.
Sometimes this is exciting. Whenever Audrey returns from an outing with James, I always ask her questions about their itinerary, and basically I used to carry on a conversation with myself. "Where did you and Daddy go? Did you go to the farmer's market? Did you eat corn on the cob?"
A few days ago when I asked, "Where did you and Daddy go?" Audrey responded, "Bookstore!" By gosh, we had a real conversation.
On the other hand, we now need to be more cautious when discussing the past. The other day James was asking if we'd purchased new guppies at the pet store as he requested. Without giving it much thought, I explained that we had to leave the pet store without buying the fish because a parrot had been squawking loudly and Audrey was scared. "Yeah," her little voice piped in sorrowfully. Looking down, I saw that her face was terrified. My words had had the power to bring back memories of a traumatic event. Oops.
Sometimes, it's just odd to know what she remembers. This morning, James offered Audrey some plum. She rejected the fruit, and requested waffles instead. It's been months—months—since the child had a waffle. And out of the blue, that's what she wanted. (Daddy had ingredients on hand to whip up a homemade batch. What a lucky kid.)
Another False Alarm?
Audrey has taken only one nap in the past five days. She went through an infrequent napping phase once before only to resume almost daily naps. But this time I think she may be giving up naps for real. If naps are on the way out, I shall miss my daily break. The days are a lot longer when she doesn't nap. But on the other hand, I'm enjoying her new, earlier to bed schedule. (In the past week, she's fallen asleep before 11 (as early as 8:30!) at least three times, and she's still sleeping in until at least 9:30.) I'd almost forgotten what it's like to spend an evening alone with my husband.
Fun with Language Skills and Thinking Skills
Lot's of fun with questions this week. The child is producing some honest to goodness complete sentences now such as, "Why's the doggie barking?" and "Where did Andrew go?"
Audrey sometimes tries to climb on the bed wearing her shoes, and I always remind her that we need to take our shoes off before climbing on the bed. A couple of days ago she went over to the bed, remembered that she was wearing shoes, and called me over before attempting to climb on, "Mommy! Take shoes off!" Ahhhh…Love that kid.
Odd Combination
Audrey's recent extra-shy phase seems to be waning a bit, thankfully. (The same goes for the tantrums and mommy-centrism.) She had a lovely time in music class with Daddy on Saturday, rushing away from James to get toys and put toys away. And on one occasion HOUNDING THE TEACHER for sticks. Yes, while the other children in class demurely waited their turns, my baby--my shy, shy baby--followed the teacher around demanding "Audrey sticks! Audrey sticks!"
In some ways it's not so surprising. She's always been persistent about getting her needs met. As a newborn she would frequently fuss like crazy until I found just the right combination of bouncing and singing to make her feel content. More recently, when we went for a ride in the minivan with her friend Kai and his folks, Kai sat quietly and contentedly looked out the window while Audrey gave us a continuous string of directives. "Daddy, play choo choo song. Mommy sing. Mommy dance. Daddy dance. Daddy sing. More choo choo song."
Still, there's something a bit incongruous about this shy/demanding combination. The first task is coaxing the child to bravely face the world. Once that is accomplished, the next task is to rein her back a bit so that her demands aren't too obnoxious. Still, as someone who can be too passive, it pleases me to think that Audrey may be much more naturally assertive.
See, Mom and Dad? Now That Wasn’t So Bad.
It was our sixth anniversary tonight, and we took the plunge. We left the baby with a babysitter for the first time.
Well, almost for the first time. She hung out with my folks for a couple of hours while we car shopped once at around nine months. She napped while in the care of Kai's folks while we went out for 30 minutes for dessert on our anniversary last year. And she was supposed to stay with James' folks while we attended his company party in the winter, but that fell through due to ear infection.
But this was her first official non-napping, non-grandparent babysitting experience, courtesy of the neighbor girl who watches her one day a week while I get ready for work. Audrey loves playing with our neighbor, but getting out the door with the baby calm required administration of both Elmo and a popsicle, so James and I were on edge as we arrived at the restaurant, ready to jump at the buzz of a cell phone.
As our entrees arrived and our phones stayed quiet, we relaxed a bit and chatted. Sometimes even about topics other than our child. We were even brave enough to order dessert. Then we couldn't stand it any longer. We headed home, ears peeled for the sounds of tears as we approached the front door. Instead we heard our giggling child running around. So we finished up our evening out with a stroll around the neighborhood.
It was a successful experiment. In some ways it was nice to be at a restaurant without having to work hard to keep our toddler entertained. Yet mostly, there's no place we'd rather be than with her.
No Fair!
Why did my daddy take such a big bite?
Flattery Will Get You Everywhere
Recently, Audrey has been requesting the "Porcupine Song" and the "Snail Song" a lot. Perhaps you are not familiar with these tunes, and that is because I made them up. The Porcupine Song borrows its melody from a Skippy Peanut Butter jingle, and I take credit (or rather, blame) for both the melody and lyric of the Snail Song. Inexplicably, it's quite an ego boost when the small child who lives in my house puts in a request for my compositions. Must be a hormonal thing that promotes the propagation of the human race. ("Wow. Raising a child is mind-bogglingly hard work. But by-gosh, she appreciates my music! Maybe having another one wouldn't be such a bad idea!)
Words I Never Expected to Hear
We were in the midst of a diaper change this afternoon when Audrey grabbed at the dirty diaper. "Oh, don't touch that diaper, honey. It's dirty. Here, you can play with this clean diaper."
She accepted the clean diaper and smiled at me, her eyes twinkling the way they do when she has every intention of following a rule, but wants to pretend that she is hellbent on misbehavior. "Touch dirty diaper."
"You can't touch the dirty diaper," I replied in mock dismay. "It's poopy Yuck!"
"Touch dirty diaper," she teased.
My pretend horror escalated, "You can't touch the dirty diaper! Silly girl! Here, take another clean one."
We continued teasing each other back and forth as she lay on her back, a clean diaper in each fist. This transitioned into a play by play report of my progress through her anatomy. ("And now I'm wiping your cute little tushie.") I sang a few verses of our favorite diaper changing song. (Wheels on the Bus.) And then we were done.
As I washed my hands in the bathroom, I reflected what a lovely time we'd had during that diaper change, and what a contrast the experience was from the first 20-some months of her life, when diaper changing time was the bane of her existence.
Apparently, she was thinking the same thing, because she called out from the nursery with a special request. "Mommy! More change diaper!"
Finding the Bright Side
Audrey has always been shy, but she's going through an even more shy phase right now. Even people and situations that were previously comfortable for her are now greeted with suspicion (e.g. halmony, music class). Last night we went to a small dinner party at our friends' house. The last time we visited them, she had a great time with their kids and toys. This time, she was tense and on edge for our entire visit. Yet as soon as we got home, she was as chipper and cheerful as can be. This increased shyness is a little rough on Mom and Dad as it makes socializing pretty hard work for us. (We have to expend a lot of energy helping Audrey feel comfortable rather than enjoying adult conversation.)
But aside from the increased tantrums, increased mommy-centrism, and increased shyness we're going through, I have a positive development to report.
Audrey has been turning her nose up at chunky soups for months now. So I've been picking out mostly pureed soups. This week I was in the mood for a traditional vegetable soup, and I figured I'd just give Audrey some of the broth.
To my astonishment, when I offered the child a spoonful of broth at lunch today, she turned up her nose disdainfully and pointed at my bowl. Carrots! (She ate a carrot.) Triangle! (She ate some zucchini.) Circle! (She ate a mushroom.) More carrots! (She ate more carrots. And more! And she didn't complain when I included a few other little veggies on the spoon along with her carrots!) No matter how inconvenient the shyness, it's really hard to complain when your child is enthusiastically requesting vegetables.
Neat and Tidy Girl Strikes Again!
A: (Pointing out a dried brown drip on the white cupboard) Brown!
M: Oh, yeah. Looks like we spilled something, huh? We should clean that.
A: (Emphatically) Clean it!
M: (Getting a dish rag out of the drawer and wetting it in the sink.) Do you want to clean it or should Mommy do it?
A: (Reaching for the rag) Audrey do it.
Vigorous scrubbing ensues. The spot diminishes, diminishes….and finally disappears.
A: (Surveying her handywork, feeling a sense of inner peace) All done.
M: Wow! Great job honey!
A: (Attempting to open the dishrag drawer) Away!
M: Yeah, when we get the dish rag dirty we don't want to put it away with the clean rags. Why don't you put it here on the table.
A: (Places the rag back on the table, resumes pouring dried pinto beans into different containers.)
I think I'd be amazed, except that I find spot cleaning to be just as satisfying as she does. So I think the question is, nature or nurture?
Finding the Pattern
Audrey's pronunciation of the word caterpillar used to be something like "catpila." But suddenly in the last couple of days she has amended it to "cat-bug."
So now she likes to request the "si-bug book" (The Very Busy Spider).
And the "cat-bug book" (The Very Hungry Caterpillar).
In her neat and orderly little mind, all creatures classified as bugs should reflect that classification in their names. (Like ladybug! Now there's a well-named bug.) Who can argue with her logic?
Jumping the Gun
It's two weeks to Audrey's second birthday, and she's getting a jump on the terrible twos:
1. We've had a minimum of one temper tantrum a day for the last five days. Sigh. (The books warned me that Audrey's personality type was tantrum-prone, but I didn't want to believe it.)
2. Audrey has been doing a lot of experimenting with the word "no" over the last couple of days. That's been kind of cute, actually, and not too difficult to handle.
M: Audrey, do you want to go to the farmer's market with Daddy?
A: No.
M: You can eat grapes and nectarines and cherries…
A: (Heading towards the front door) Nectarines!
3. Audrey is in a very Mommy-centric phase right now, to the point where James has to remove her from the house in order for me to even take a shower. She loves hanging around with Daddy if I'm not there. But if I'm around, she does not tolerate being separated from me.
May these phases be short!
Other Fish in the Sea
Our trip to the Monterrey Bay Aquarium did not start out auspiciously as a long wait in line for tickets sparked a humdinger of a tantrum. Once we had that calmed down, Audrey was fascinated….by all of the staircases in the building. With Mom holding one hand and Dad the other, she climbed up and down just about every stair in the aquarium. She was having a blast, and it was certainly preferable to the tears. Still, from an adult perspective, it didn't seem like the stairs in the Monterrey Bay Aquarium were quite worth the price of admission. Finally we managed to coax the child into the fish viewing areas. "Look, Audrey!" gawked Mom and Dad, pointing at big sharks and humungous tuna in the enormous tank. "Look at the big fish!"
For a moment or two, she looked. Then she pointed towards the much smaller tanks across the hall. "See the little fish!" So little fish it was for the rest of our visit. I guess our little person feels more of an affinity towards the smaller fish.
Never in a Million Years
In my pre-baby days, I would have scoffed if you had suggested that I might someday:
Let my child watch DVDs in the car.
Calm down temper tantrums by popping in DVDs.
Have a child who often stays up past midnight.
Buy my child French fries to keep her busy and happy while I ate my own lunch on a bench.
Give my child an ice cream cone to keep her busy and quiet while I ate my own dinner in restaurant.
Nurse past one year.
Love sleeping snuggled next to my child at night.
Here's to the noble ideals that have gone by the wayside, and to all that I've learned on the job.
Faulty Analogy
We've been having a heat wave, and Audrey is now quite familiar with the concept of air conditioning, and is exploring the concept of air in general. We've had this discussion a couple of times.
Audrey: Air blowing in the vents.
Mom: That's right, there's air blowing from the vents.
Audrey: Birds flying in the air.
Mom: Yeah, birds fly in the air, too.
This morning, she tried taking the logic a bit further.
Audrey: Air blowing in the vents.
Mom: That's right, there's air blowing from the vents.
Audrey: Birds flying in the air.
Mom: Yeah, birds fly in the air, too.
Audrey: Birds flying in the vents.
A swing and a miss I'm afraid, but I'll give her an A for effort.
Coming Unglued
Many of the kids in Audrey's music class wander all around. Audrey normally clings to me like glue. So when Audrey repeatedly ran halfway across the room to put away instruments, scarves, and other props this week, I was so proud it nearly brought tears to my eyes. The teacher also commended her for her bravery.
The source of this bravery? Audrey is really into putting things away, and throwing trash away these days. I sometimes call her "neat and tidy girl." One game that she enjoys is to wipe her nose with a Kleenex or mouth with a napkin, and then run to throw it in the trash. Over and over. A new Kleenex or napkin every time. Thus far, she is not listening well to my admonitions that we shouldn't kill trees unnecessarily.
A Big Fan of Adam Smith’s
Audrey was in no mood to have her morning diaper changed yesterday, so James resorted to bribery. "Do you want a dollar?" As she accepted the money, Audrey upped the ante. "Another dollar." James went back into his wallet. "OK, here's another dollar."
For a few moments, there was peace. Then, when James was about half way through the change, Audrey returned to the bargaining table, "Another dollar!" "OK," agreed her father. "You can have another dollar as soon as we're done with your diaper."
When the diaper was changed, James went to make good on his promise. This time, he opened up Audrey's pink Hello Kitty wallet (which we keep stocked with card board credit cards and a bit of cash).
Audrey shrieked. She howled. She wailed. She didn't relent until Daddy put down her wallet and went back into his own wallet for the promised third dollar. We do not appear raising a Marxist.
Language Update
Some language things I've been noticing…
These days, Audrey regularly uses four or five word-long utterances. I even clocked a seven word sentence last week. But that was unusual.
Here are some typical utterances: Mommy open the window. See the red flowers? Find bird eating berries.
Speaking of birds eating berries, Audrey really loves reading "Stokes Beginner's Guide to Birds," and comments on the characteristics of the birds
Mom: That's a quail. See the funny feather on it's head?
Audrey (thoughtfully): Quail funny feather head.
She also parrots the names of the birds back to me, including an accurate rendition of the six syllable tongue twister: "yellow headed black bird."
Audrey can count from 11-15 successfully. She is rather less successful when it comes to 16-20, but she tries. She once correctly noted that she was carrying four crackers.
My favorite pronunciation trait is Audrey's substitution of the d sound whenever she says a word with an internal l. For example, pillow=pidow, flower=fwoder. She once pronounced pillow correctly, and I was actually kind of wistful. But now she's back to her old, inaccurate pronunciation. Perhaps just to please me. ;-)
Napping Ruminations
Audrey has always slept better when in physical contact with a parent. Soon after she was born, we learned that we all got much more sleep at night with the baby snuggled between us. Even for daytime rest parental contact was important to her, though. As a newborn, Audrey had days when she napped fine in her bassinette, but more days when she would wake up as soon as you put her down, no matter how long you waited in the hopes that she would fall deeply asleep. In those days, I resented having to hold her during her naps because I had things I wanted to do. (You know….get dressed, eat lunch, do laundry...) But naptime was my break time from the physically and emotionally draining work of constantly rocking and nursing and walking and singing to keep my fussy baby content, so hold her I did. I wanted those naps to last as long as possible. Not even lunch was more important.
As an older baby, she more or less kept up the same pattern. On her own, she'd be awake after half an hour or 45 minutes. Held, she'd sleep an hour and a half or two hours. I found it was well worth the inconvenience of holding her to get that longer break, but I looked wistfully at the unwashed dishes in the sink. Eventually, I made a major breakthrough. I stopped resenting needing to hold my baby during naptime. I started looking forward to naptime as my uninterrupted two-hour stretch of reading time.
I read the newspaper. I read magazines. I read parenting books. I read fiction!
For some months now we've been in a very interesting pattern. Audrey still usually takes a two hour nap. Nowadays, after I snuggle her to sleep on the bed, I get up. I select my reading material for the day, and I place it on the bed with a smile of delicious anticipation. Then, I leave the room. For one hour, I have me-time. (I can blog! I can eat! I can do laundry!) After one hour (sometimes to the minute), my sleepy baby awakens and calls for Mommy. Then I swoop back in, pick up my reading material, and snuggle her back to sleep for the second hour of her nap. If I try to leave again at any time during the next hour, she wakes up and weeps until I return. But I very rarely try to leave. I have the best of both worlds now. Baby-free chores time and baby-enforced reading time. The almost-two-year-old and I are in a pretty good place.
Work it, Work it!
Diaper changed, hair brushed, nails clipped, clothing changed. Until recently, Audrey heartily protested all such invasions of her privacy. So we certainly never tried doing cute things with her hair. Just brushing it occasionally took enough energy out of us. But Audrey's becoming more reasoning and reasonable, and has longer hair. So when James tentatively suggested to her that her hair would be cute in a pulled back in a hair band, she was just intrigued enough to stand still. And a few moments and just a few grumbles later, there it was, her first ponytail. Mom and Dad oohed and aahed. And the babe….preened. Both hands on the mirrored closet doors, staring, twisting her head left and right to check out the effect from different angles. She's cute, and honey, she knows it.
We Were Out of Matches
So I let her play with small coins and plastic bags.
(I know it looks like a bad idea. But the child never, never, ever puts anything in her mouth. Well, she makes an occasional exception for food.)
Creative Daddying
The other night we were all snuggling in bed. Audrey was cuddling with Daddy, enjoying looking out at the moon. Then she came over to snuggle with Mommy. To her great dismay, the moon was not visible from Mommy's side of the bed! Tears commenced and there was just no comforting her. So off went Daddy to the office. A minute later he returned and taped a custom-made moon to the window. Voila! A happy baby once more. Plus now she can even look at the moon during daylight hours!
A few days later, Audrey was insistent upon viewing a spider that Mommy had just smashed. We traipsed through the house trying to find another spider, but to no avail. The baby was moving towards a meltdown so Daddy went to quickly to work again. He drew not one, but five spiders. Two were taped to the ceiling, one to the wall, one to Audrey's shirt, and one to Mommy's shirt. And then, Audrey was practically beside herself with joy. I really must commend myself for making such a fine selection for the father of my child.
Fun with Risk Factors
Audrey developed what seemed like a run-of-the-mill cold at Grandpa and Grandpa's house. But yesterday morning after we had returned home, it took a worrisome turn. She had a high respiration rate and was having to work a little to breathe, little chest heaving. So off to the doctor's we went. The doctor diagnosed Bronchiolitis (an infection of the tiny airways that lead to the lungs) and had her inhale an asthma drug for a few minutes to help open her airways.
Once we got home, I looked it up. Here are the risk factors:
Male (no)
Exposure to cigarette smoke (no)
Day care attendance (no)
Not breastfed (no)
Living in crowded conditions (no)
Winter or early spring (no)
Peaks at 3-6 months of age (no)
Under 24 months. (OK. Yes. Just barely.)
So it looks like she just has a bit of a contrarian streak. (I'm gonna try out this illness even though they say I shouldn't!) On the other hand, her recovery was similarly atypical. The doc warned us that she'd probably be sick for a week or more, and suggested we dose her several times a day for several days with the asthma meds. But she'd recovered so well by the afternoon that we didn't even bother filling the prescription, and her situation had improved enough by the evening that I didn't even skip my yoga class.
Guess Who Fell Asleep in the Car!
No, no not the baby. The trip down to my cousin-in-law's baby shower was actually kind of a pain because "She Who Cannot Sleep in the Car" needed a nap and was grumpy for the first few hours of the ride. We finally managed to lull her to sleep when we made a pit stop to see our friends near San Luis Obispo. But on the return tip, we got from Grandma and Grandpa's house to our house in record time. Just under 5 hours, not a single stop. And Audrey was so enthralled by a new Elmo DVD that she didn't need me to entertain her much, so I actually got to sleep for about an hour in the car.
Two Uses of Too
Audrey has figured out how to use too to mean both "also" and "there's a problem."
Audrey: (Climbing out of the small box in which she has been sitting) Mommy box too!
Mommy: (Stepping into the small box, and pretending to try and sit down) Uh oh!
Audrey: Mommy too big!
Caribbean Music Appreciation
We were playing with the train set, listening to the latest CD from Audrey's music class. A steel drum solo came on. "What's that?" asked the babe. "That's a steel drum," replied Mom. "Isn't it pretty?" "Steel drum. Pretty," agreed the babe. We continued playing. The song ended. The babe requested that we play the song again. We played with the trains some more. The steel drum solo came on again. "Steel drum," the babe announced to Mom. "Pretty."
Hard Day at the Office
Time to kick off my shoes and put down my cell phone and keys.
(Audrey loves to imitate Mom and Dad. As soon as I had the cell phone clipped to her pants, she requested the keys. She also loves to carry around a wallet.)
Paging Sherlock Holmes
The child and I were clashing. I was hungry. She wasn't. I wanted to eat lunch in the kitchen. She wanted to play in the bedroom. Every time I tried walking to the kitchen, she wailed plaintively until I returned to the bedroom. If I tried bringing her into the kitchen, she went back to the bedroom and cried. I explained that Mommy was hungry and needed to eat. She ignored me. I was getting really frustrated, and wanted to raise my voice. I knew that wouldn't help. She would just cry harder. But I was hungry and cranky and wanted to vent.
C'mon. I told myself. You are smarter than the (almost) two-year-old. Figure out a solution. Why doesn't she want to be in the kitchen? She's not hungry. She's having fun in the bedroom. She's not old enough to fully empathize with my need to eat, so that explanation isn't helping. There won't be anything for her to do in the kitchen so being in the kitchen sounds really boring to her. Okay.
I picked up Audrey's set of wooden blocks and carried it into the kitchen. "Audrey, come play with your blocks in the kitchen!" And just like that, without a peep, the baby scampered obediently into the kitchen. She played quietly with her blocks while I filled my tummy.
My point: There's a woman whose been getting a lot of press lately for writing a book in which she asserts that stay-at-home moms are wasting their talents, minds, and education. I've no quarrel with moms who work full time by choice. Some women would go nuts staying home with a baby all day. Fine. I'd go nuts if I had to leave my baby in the care of a stranger. Different strokes for different folks. But stay-at-home motherhood, in my experience, is hardly a brain atrophying experience. It gives me an entirely new perspective on the world. It's always stretching me. It makes me more patient, more observant, more compassionate, and more tolerant (at least usually). And I'm constantly analyzing, pondering, brainstorming, and seeking creative solutions that will allow our little family to live happily and harmoniously.
The Network Censor
Ranking very high on the charm list, Audrey sometimes reads to us. I love her interpretations of "The Very Busy Spider." On the page where the spider finishes her web: "Web all done." On the page where the spider catches a fly: "Spider eating fly." On the page where the spider falls asleep: "Spider sleeping." Speaking of spiders, we were checking out spider pictures on Wikipedia the other day, and came across one of a spider having lunch. I was rather squeamishly wondering how I should describe that picture, but Audrey was way, way, ahead of me. "Spider eating fly." On the other hand, when our search for boar pictures brought up an image of a hunger proudly standing over his bloodied prize, and the child described it as "boar walking on the grass"……well, I decided to leave it at that.
Armed with Letters
The baby who loves to carry stuff around has a new fixation. Letters. The letters A and P from her alphabet playmat, to be specific. They spend most of the day on her arms. She is also really enthusiastic about carrying around car keys recently. (The minivan keys only, please. She rejects the keys from our other car.) So, with the letters, the keys, and whatever other intriguing items she picks up, she's often toting around quite an armful.
On an unrelated note, it's still too early to assess whether baby has picked up Daddy's artistic talent or Mommy's lack of artistic talent, but her coloring skills have markedly improved in the past week. Rather than drawing random lines anywhere on the page, she now draws random lines in targeted areas. For example, if she decides the fish should be blue, the fish ends up a little bit blue.
Grammar Lover’s Edition
Do all Mommies feel such intense feelings of pride when their offspring experiment with the "one foot/two feet" distinction? Or is it just Mommies who teach English for a living? Speaking of teaching English, I am really intrigued by the fact that the first grammatical concept that Audrey seems to have down pretty well is the singular/plural distinction. Remembering to add an "s" to plural nouns is something that gives even advanced adult English learners fits. Yet the 22-month-old already knows that the question needs to be plural even when the answer is singular. She plays the following game constantly: "Count the Mommies! How many Mommies?? One Mommy!!!! Count the Daddies! How many Daddies?? One Daddy!! Count the babies! How many babies??? One baby!!" I wonder why a concept that is apparently one of the easiest for a baby to pick up is so tricky for adults.
Experts at Leaving the House
Would you believe the child and I went out every morning last week, and not even a single trip to the library! Aren't we expanding our horizons well, huh? The biggest problem at the moment is that some mornings I wake up without a planned itinerary, and I'm still trying to come up with a destination as we're getting into the minivan. So I've decided to put together a schedule to give us a little structure.
Mondays: Park Day
Tuesdays: Shopping Day
Wednesdays: Music Class Day
Thursdays: Library Day
Fridays: Animal Day ( The Palo Alto Zoo, The San Jose Zoo, the pet store, etc.)
Please. PLEASE!
Over the past few days Audrey has taken to yelling out requests. MOMMY JUICE! MOMMY GET THE BALL! MOMMY READ THE BOOK! It's rather annoying, so I've been pondering how to deal with it. Finally, I tried this tact:
"MOMMY GET THE BALL!"
"Ask me nicely, Audrey. Can you say, ‘Mommy, get the ball please'?"
"Mommy get the ball peese."
"I like it when you ask nicely. Here's the ball."
It was working like a charm every time, and I was patting myself on the back for my fine parenting. Stopped the yelling and taught her "please" to boot! Except that now from the start I sometimes get, "MOMMY JUICE PEESE!"
What Do You Get for the Neighbor Who Put Out the Fire in Your Backyard?
This afternoon, Audrey was asleep and I was puttering around in the kitchen. Then, from outside, I heard the sound of something happening with the electrical wires running to our house. (Our power used to go out a lot, so I know that sound well.) This time, though, I looked out the window to see sparks flying to the ground. James is working to landscape the yard. Thankfully he had recently weed whacked, so the yard wasn't full of foot-tall dried weeds like it was a few weeks ago. But there was still fire fuel back there, and embers glowed ominously in the short dry grass. Three thoughts ran almost simultaneously through my mind: HOSE! 911! BABY!
If it hadn't been for the baby, I probably would have sprinted out the back door for the hose. But the triage department in my brain selected 911!, and I grabbed the cordless. (Somehow, we still had power.) As the dispatcher connected me to the fire department the glowing embers slowly sprouted into flames. As I spluttered out the details, the flames spread, towards the peach tree, towards the fence, towards the pile of firewood that we inherited from the previous owners and have never used. Smoke began to rise. The triage department decided that the situation had escalated to BABY! I went to the bedroom, scooped her up, and headed out the front door, still on the phone to the dispatcher.
As I stood in the driveway holding the sleeping baby, a neighbor from across the street (a neighbor with whom I have exchanged many a friendly wave, but never a name) marched over, and asked if we had a hose in the back yard. I said yes, but the dispatcher warned that if there was a possibility of electrical fire, we shouldn't be dousing it with water. I warned the neighbor, who ignored me and continued into the back. Smoke drifted over the roof.
The dispatcher hung up after assuring me that the fire department was on its way. I waited for the fire department. And waited. I looked through the windows to the back yard. The neighbor was working busily away with a hose and seemed alright. I waited some more for the fire department. The smoke lessened. The baby woke up and wept that she wanted to be back in bed. I told her that we'd go back inside soon. My neighbor kept spraying away with the hose. The fire department still hadn't arrived. The baby rested quietly against my shoulder. There was no more smoke. The neighbor was still in the back yard. Finally I could hear sirens. The baby requested bed again. The fire truck arrived. Having finished putting out the fire, the neighbor escorted the firemen into the backyard to show them what he had done. The baby requested bed again, but quieted as I explained how exciting it was that a fire truck with flashing lights was parked right outside our house. "Fire truck," she sleepily agreed.
The neighbor went home, brushing off my thanks, assuring me that he was happy to have had the opportunity to play fireman. The real firemen hung out in the back for a while, digging around the dirt and spraying more water. Finally, the real firemen went home, too. Turns out the fire was sparked by a tree branch that fell on the wires. (The neighbors behind us ended up with a live wire down in their yard.) And the end result? Some charred weeds, a slightly charred fence, a charred pile of firewood, a melted trash can lid, and our little peach tree is probably a goner. In short, no biggie.
So what do you get for a man who put himself at risk and most likely saved your house from damage? We settled on a Home Depot gift card and a commemorative duckie wearing a fireman's hat (left over from Audrey's duck fixation days). In truth I can't even express the depth of my appreciation for neighbors who think that putting out a neighbor's grass fire is a fun and cool way to spend an afternoon.
This and that
Audrey is getting much more in to running in the past few days. Before, she was never interested in running more than a few steps, but now she'll run around the house.
Just two weeks ago, Audrey was just starting to string two words together at a time, but now she often puts together three or four words at once. "Baby off the bed." "Kitty eating orange." "Choo choo through the tunnel." It's so wonderful now that she can use words to communicate almost all of her needs. She's really starting to transition from babyhood into little girlness.
And finally, I just have to mention that our daughter, little Miss Finicky, loves, loves loves olives. And we're not talking black olives from a can here. We're talking intensely flavored, salty, kind of bitter, fancy-schmancy, from the Whole Foods olive bar olives. She can't get enough of them. Go figure.
We’re Clearly Hurtin’ for Good Entertainment Around Here
I was figuring out our menu for the week, cookbooks strewn about me on the couch, and the child wandered over. "Read the book," she requested. "Which book should we read, sweetie?" "Soup book," she decided, pointing at Vegetarian Soups for All Seasons. Umm…..OK. While that one is chock full of excellent recipes, its visual appeal is limited to a few black and white sketches. So I estimated that our reading session would last about 15 seconds. "Black Bean Soup," I began. "Minestrone Soup. Italian Pasta and Bean Soup." I glanced over to see if she was bored, but she was paying close attention. "Italian Vegetable Stew with Gnocchi. Macaroni and Cheese Soup. Dilled Potato, Pink Bean, and Green Bean Soup. Winter Celery, Potato, and Mushroom Soup." With another glance over I could see that not only was she not bored, she was settling in for more, a look of complete contentment on her face. For the next several minutes she could think of nothing more interesting to do than to listen to me reading recipe names. It seems that she enjoys listening to the names of vegetables a lot more than she enjoys eating them.
Off of her Game
Audrey is a picky and intermittent eater. Some days she barely seems to consume any solids. But she generally has an uncanny sense when there's junk food in the vicinity, even if she's seeing that junk food for the first time. Daddy buys a Mountain Dew for energy on the long drive? She immediately requests "green drink." And don't even think about trying to pass off an oven baked sweet potato fry as a French fry. That'll earn you a icy glare for sure. So I was really surprised at Fresh Choice yesterday, not when she ignored my lentil soup or my bran bread or my salad, but when she failed to perk up and show interest in my ice cream and apple cake. What was up with that?
Drama Queen
Audrey has become a bit of a train enthusiast (she gets so excited whenever we go over train tracks!), and this afternoon she was enjoying playing with some circus themed cars that Uncle Andrew recently contributed to her train set. She really developed quite a story! Apparently, there was some sort of catastrophic derailment (the cars and animals went crashing down from the coffee table onto the rug.) The mama bear somehow managed to escape unharmed, and so the kindly bear promptly set about rescuing all of the other crash victims and the train cars (never letting go of the bear, Audrey would pick up the elephant, the red car, the giraffe, etc. and place them back on the coffee table). That's my best interpretation of the plot anyway. Audrey was keeping up a running commentary, but it came across as "bear gibberish gibberish choo choo gibberish bear gibberish gibberish elephant gibberish red car!" I may not have been picking up on all of the nuances, but the raised, excited pitch of her voice made it clear that this was a high drama situation. In fact, Audrey was emoting with such enthusiasm in the living room that Daddy came over from the kitchen to see why she was pitching a fit. I had to convince him that the baby was, in fact, contentedly playing.
That’s Not Our Baby!
Like her father and mother before her, Audrey is a shy little thing. Once you've earned her trust, she's charming and affectionate. But she generally meets the friendly overtures of strangers by clinging to a parent and hoping that if she glares and ignores them, they'll go away. She's especially uncomfortable in loud and noisy groups, and (with some justification) she views other children as bothersome little tykes who are prone to touching her and grabbing things that she's playing with. So, up until now, if you took her to the play area at the mall, she would sit on our laps and watch while other kids scrambled around on the play equipment. Thus James was completely astonished when, on a trip to the mall this evening, Audrey immediately wanted down when she saw the play area, and she then ran and climbed in the chaotic and crowded space for nearly an hour.
On, Off, Up, Down…Still Smiling!
At nearly 22 months, Audrey is really becoming more mature and communicative. At times, she deigns to hold an adult hand and be guided about. Even more excitingly, for the first time in her life, it is no longer a miserable chore to dress her and change her diaper. She's pretty good about hand and face wiping. We also manage tooth brushing without tears at least half the time. So, while hair washing time is still inevitably an occasion for squalls, now that Audrey no longer fights many of the necessary tasks of daily daily life, daily life is just a little bit more pleasant for all of us!
Questionable Curriculum
When a Baby Einstein video begins, the letters D, V, and D fly one by one onto the screen. Audrey knows all of her letters, so she names them as they pop up. D! V! D! Well, today, she not only named the letters, she seemed to make the connection between the letters and the word it represents. "D! V! D!" A pause. Then, "DVD!" Yes, that's right. The first word she can read is "DVD." Just what does that say about our parenting?
Ode to a Minivan
Strap most babies into their carseats and they're asleep before you turn on the engine. Or so I hear. When my baby is strapped into her carseat, she usually can't fall asleep no matter how tired she is. And so it was on our trip down to visit my folks and sis this weekend. The trip down was a breeze of watching DVDs, identifying cows, blue signs, green signs, yellow signs, grass, hills, the ocean, and the bells that line the 101 all the way down the state.
On the trip back home, though, Audrey was tired. Nor Baby Einstein, nor Elmo, nor animal crackers, nor Grandma's rice crispy bars could keep her happy for long, because what she really needed was a nap. We kept trying to feed her, switching videos, making brief stops….but with an hour and a half left in our drive, Audrey was fast deteriorating and I was desperate for a quiet and cozy bed where I could snuggle her down to sleep. Desperation being a mother of invention, I finally remembered that our minivan has a third row of seats. So in a strip mall parking lot in Soledad, I stretched out (more or less) in the backseat, baby on my chest. And the whirring of the wind and the whizzing of the cars on the freeway finally lulled her to sleep. So score another point for the minivan. That DVD player equipped, third row of seats containing contraption is really starting to earn my affection.
Our Little Parrot
Audrey's latest trick is to mimic everything you say, including ums, ers, and laughs. It's pretty amusing and darned cute. This weekend, Grandma couldn't get enough of having Audrey repeat the phrase "Oh my goodness." (Audrey's slightly mangled versions were "Oh goodness" and "Oh the goodness.")
Nature Girl
My little nature lover adores looking at pictures of animals in books and on the internet. (How was parenting possible before Google Images and Wikipedia?) Shown pictures of a variety of fish, she can confidently point out a guppy. She's remarkably good at differentiating frogs and toads. Flipping through "A Beginner's Guide to Birds, Western Region" she cheerfully i.d.s ducks, owls…. So, basically I'm feverishly studying the Bird Guide in the hopes of staying one step ahead of the kid.
Update: It's official. Audrey's knowledge of birds has surpassed mine. She was flipping through her "Water Animals" book naming all of the animals (puffin, sea dragon, walrus, etc.) and she came to a picture of a bird. Hmm, I thought to myself. I don't remember what that one is. But before I even had a chance to glance at the word on the page, Audrey filled me in, "crane."
Let’s Cut to the Chase, Here
Audrey hasn't picked up many politeness forms yet, so her requests can sound comically bossy. Her favorite book right now is "The Very Busy Spider." As we read the book, she frequently likes us to pause to sing "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," and "Old McDonald Had a Farm." And oh boy does she tell us exactly what she wants us to do.
Audrey: Read
Mom: Neigh, Neigh said the horse. Want to go for a ride….
A: EIO
M: (Singing) EIEIO. And on this farm he had a horse. EIEIO. With a neigh….
A: Read.
M: The Spider didn't answer. She was very busy spinning her web…
A: Ity Bity
M: (Singing) The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout…
A: Read
M: Moo, moo said the cow….
Two Word Queen
Audrey has mastered the art of stringing two words together. It's really fun to have her communicating so well. Should we read the same book or a different book? "Different book." Are you ready to go home? "Ready home." Daddy had to go run an errand. He'll be back soon. (Tearful request) "See Daddy." She also sometimes pulls off a multiple word phrase. "Open the window." "Close the door."
From my English teacher perspective, she's pretty good at using plural s. And she's starting to use a rudimentary present progressive (walking, cooking, eating)
Once in a while, her language skills and general knowledge just knock me off my feet. Tonight, Daddy had bread with Brie at dinner. The cheese looked a lot like frosting to Audrey, so she kept requesting bites of his "cake." It clearly didn't taste quite like she hoped it would though. James had some baking to do after dinner. Informed what he was up to she brightly requested, "Bake a cake, Daddy!"
I didn't know she knew the word bake! I didn't know she knew that cakes are baked! Where does she pick this stuff up?
A Little Detective Work
For the first 21 months of Audrey's life, she and Mommy were mostly homebodies. She was miserable in the car, so I was miserable trying to take her anywhere in the car, so we usually stayed home. Nowadays, it's much easier taking her out, and she seems to need more stimulation than the house can provide, so our new goal is to go somewhere every morning.
Probably what Audrey and Mommy would both enjoy most is just to hit the libraries every morning. (We've been to the Saratoga library, the Campbell library, the Cupertino library, the West San Jose library. They're calm and quiet and have books. Life is good.)
Still, I feel we should make an effort to go to places other than the library. (Bookstores don't count as diversifying, though we like those, too.) But the zoo can only be an occasional treat, and after a few trips down the slide, Audrey has had enough of the park. (And we end up yet again at the library.)
I was pondering the fact that the Cupertino library sort of has it all as far as my daughter is concerned. A huge fountain (water!), a huge acquarium (animals!) and books! And then I remembered a park in Cupertino that has ponds, fountains, and ducks. Paydirt! Instead of our usual 15 minute park trip, we entertained ourselves for over an hour. It's just too bad we don't live in Cupertino.
All Together Now
Audrey recently acquired the word, "too." She hates to see anyone missing out on a fun activity, so she finds this word extremely useful. Last night, Audrey and Daddy were flossing their teeth. Mommy too! (There was no convincing her that my teeth were already clean.) Sifting gravel at the park. Mommy too! Tossing a puzzle piece into the air. Mommy too! Sometimes, she likes to make sure the whole family is involved. Stretching out on a pillow. Mommy, Daddy too!
Daddy’s Bedtime II
The hour was approaching midnight. Daddy had been asleep since 11. Audrey had been trying valiantly to fall asleep, but was twistingly, turningly not tired enough. (I married a man who sleeps easily but alas, have passed on my own night owl, insomniac genes.) Giving up on sleep for the moment, Audrey climbed out of bed and spotted her "Phonics Radio" toy. She raced over, grabbed it, and brought it over to the bed. "Sorry sweetie," I apologized, switching it off. "Daddy's sleeping. We can't play with your radio right now. It will wake Daddy up." Her eyes register disappointment. She momentarily considers pitching a fit. Then she recognizes my logic, masters herself, and graciously returns the radio to its spot on the floor.
Totally unrelated note: Baby's fine motor skills have improved a lot recently. Now has ability to put together puzzles, two part flute toy.
A Squat in the Right Direction.
After watching me use the bathroom this evening, Audrey expressed a desire to use the toilet. ("Audrey poo-poo." Sidenote: She can pronounce her own name perfectly now.) She's expressed interest in the toilet many times before, but whenever I ask if she wants her pants off, she's always said no and moved on to other interests. Tonight, however, she agreed to have her pants removed. Then she agreed that she wanted her diaper off. And then she agreed that she wanted to sit on the toilet. The toilet was a little scary, so she wanted off of there fast. Next James brought over her little potty. She squatted right next to the potty, and after a moment's hesitation, peed on the bathroom floor. So that's progress. Sort of. I think.
Generous Baby
Audrey likes to be spun (very gently) around on the computer chair in our office. She requests the game by saying, "whee!" She's given her animals rides too. The other day she came into the office while I was sitting at the computer and said, "whee." I got up and tried to pick her up to put her in the chair, but she stopped me. "No. Mommy." And I realized that she wanted to give me a ride on the chair. Then, with a very serious face and a good deal of exertion (and just the slighted bit of assistance from me) she spun me around and around. My sweet, sweet generous babe.
A Matter of Trust
When Audrey was perhaps 10 months old, we were visiting friends who have a baby the same age. Their baby was napping in his crib, and when he woke up, he cried. It was a gentle, expectant cry. If he had been old enough to use words, he clearly would have been saying, "OK. I'm awake now. Come and get me."
Listening to that cry was a revelation for me, because my daughter had no similar cry. Whenever she awakened to find herself alone in a familiar room, she would let out the piercing, frantic, panicked wail of a child who is completely terrified. If she had been old enough to use words, she clearly would have been saying, "I'm ALONE. They've ABANDONED me. HELP! Someone, please, HELP! I'm so ALONE!" Hearing that cry, I would drop whatever I was doing and sprint as fast as my legs could carry me to her side. Our house is not big. It did not take me long to get there. But despite 10 months of sprinting, of holding her almost constantly (often even when she was sleeping), of letting her sleep snuggled between her parents at night, she still didn't trust that even if she woke up alone, I was somewhere very nearby.
I was thinking about this, because a few days ago I realized that Audrey has finally learned to trust us when it comes to naptime. At 21 months, when she wakes up alone, her cry is, at long last, gentle and expectant. I don't know exactly when she learned to trust in our presence. It's been a while probably. It sure is nice.
Of course, this newfound trust does not extend to the dinner table, where new foods are regarded with profound suspicion and (usually) rejection. (My dad smirks that he knows where she got that trait.)
Proof of Concepts
Audrey took delight in opposites yesterday. "Up" she announced, standing up in my lap. "Down" she giggled, collapsing onto her tush. "Up, down, up, down, up, down," all day long she demonstrated the concept in various ways. We also played open and closed with cell phones and doors.
She also now seems to understand the concept of "two," announcing in the course of an impromptu concert that she had "two maracas." She's pretty accurate counting from 1-10 these days, but previously she'd only attached numbers to items after parental prompting, so it wasn't clear that she understood what she was saying.
Another interesting little conceptual tidbit is Audrey's word for spider. She calls them "sigh-bugs." Such an inaccurate pronunciation, providing such a charming window into how spiders are categorized in her brain.
Me and My Bright Ideas
We don't have a decent book about shapes, I decreed. So off to the bookstore we went. Found a fairly cute one called "Silly Shapes." Made the purchase, and figured we'd add it into the rotation.
Audrey had other ideas. Audrey LOVES, LOVES, LOVES "Silly Shapes." There was no more rotation of books. For about 36 hours after we purchased that book, she could hardly be persuaded to take part in any activity other than reading her "silly book." After a hundred times or so, Mom was ooooh so tired of reading about how Sid Circle could be a ball, an orange, or the sun.
Listening in on reading number 300 or so, my husband was impressed that I'd developed different voices for all of the characters in the story. Really, it was a survival mechanism. Trying to perfect Sid's Texas twang or Ted Triangle's used car sales pitch gave me something at least semi-interesting to concentrate on.
Thankfully, Audrey's initial fixation on the book has subsided a but. She still likes to hear it, periodically. But now that it's only five times a day or so, I'm no longer tearing my hair out.
Speaking of silly things, Audrey has been going through a phase of carrying things by tucking them between her chin and her chest. Apparently I'm in the habit of calling her a "silly girl" when she does this, because now as soon as she has something under her chin she looks at me and cheerfully prompts me, "silly!"
I’m Not Sure What It Means, But It’s Working
It appeared that one of our shrimp had met an untimely demise this morning, perhaps at the fins of one of our other new fish. James assessed the situation by grousing about the "stupid fish." Dit-dot picked up on that phrase instantly. "Stupid fish," she intoned seriously. That got a big laugh, so she repeated the performance for a while. I was tempted to urge her to refer to other objects in the vicinity as stupid, but managed to restrain myself.
Product Endorsement
We've been taking music classes through the "Music Together" program, and Audrey just loves the music. She marches around to the marching song, claps her hands to the clapping song, dances, is starting to sing along a bit, and requests her favorite songs over and over. It's a quality program.
Words a Parent Loves to Hear
Audrey's ability to articulate more than one word has really improved in the past couple of days. Up until now, attempts to say more than one word in a row have often resulted in a clear first word, but monosyllable gibberish for the second (blue car = blue na, two rabbits = two na). This morning, I was encouraging Audrey to tell Daddy about the yellow bus that we saw yesterday. She paused for a long time, clearly thinking really hard about it, and then very clearly articulated "yellow bus!" She looked so pleased with herself.
After that, the progression was really fast. This afternoon, after she and Daddy purchased some new fish for our tank, she rushed in the door holding the bag of fish and excitedly announced to me, "I got fish, I got fish!"
By this evening, she called me over to the bed by saying, "Mommy, go bed." Then to make sure I got the message, she added, "Sleepy. Nap." The timing could have been better. (It was about 7:30 p.m. A recipe for either a really inconvenient nap, or going down for a very fitful night of sleep.) But it's hard to argue when those sentiments are coming from our reluctant little sleeper!
Some other cute recent additions to her vocabulary: here, and OK, which she uses all the time. She's also started saying "all done," which really provides Mom with useful information. Also, she loves to request tickles.
Special Toys
Audrey has outgrown her latest special toy. Her first special toy was a bear, which she carried around constantly, until one day she just lost interest. Next came a duck. And most recently an elephant. For months "mini" was the first thing she asked for every morning. But for the past week it has sat untouched and forgotten. Will she eventually develop a crush on another toy, or has she outgrown this phase?
Amazing Discoveries
Audrey discovered a scab on her leg today, and thinks it's the neatest thing ever. When Daddy was taking her picture this evening, she wanted the scab to feature prominently in every shot. (It's a little tricky to take her picture these days, because she usually says "camera, picture" and then wants to come over and see the pictures on the viewscreen rather than continuing whatever cute activity it was that caused us to pull out the camera.)
A Question of Gender
I discovered today, quite by accident, that Audrey can correctly differentiate men from women. (Presented with a picture of the cast of Scrubs, she correctly I.D.ed gender with 100% accuracy.) Makes me wonder what other mysteries of the world she's figured out and stored in that little brain of hers.
Perhaps We Won’t Fail Parenting 101…
The child has learned to say thank you. A stickler for good manners, she insists that we follow up with "you're welcome."
OK, Who Taught Her That?
Audrey has begun saying Daddy (instead of Dada.) Also, very earnestly attempting to communicate some unknown sentiment, she loudly and clearly repeated something that sounded exactly like the f-word over and over.
Cell Phone Fanatic
Baby can count from 1-10 (with very variable reliability) and recognizes those numbers by sight. Is fixated on phones currently. Loves to push the buttons and provide a running commentary on what she sees on the screen. (6! 2! 8!) Also takes requests. ("Can you press the 3?" "3!") Occasionally presses the Send button with who knows what long distance numbers plugged in, prompting parental yelps. Slightly apprehensive to see next cell phone bill.
A Day for Acquiring Really Useful Words
Open, close, off, on, light, away (as in put away), again, done, help, juice, radio, ribbit. Well, maybe ribbit won't come in handy all that often. Still quite a day, though.
Mmm Mmm Good
I picked out a menu that I hoped would be tempting. James cooked up a storm. What did our Dottie eat for dinner? Heaping spoonfuls of Trader Joe's parmesan cheese.
Knee Highs? Thigh Highs? Chest Highs?
Audrey wanted to wear Daddy's socks.
Bedtime (for Daddy)
Audrey and Mommy usually stay up late (at least until 11:30 or 12) and wake up late (around 9 lately). This is a schedule that works well for us.
This is not a schedule that works well for Daddy, however. For a while he was staying up with us, and getting up for work at around seven, and was completely sleep deprived. So our recent family rule is that Daddy needs to go to sleep by 11. At first, Daddy's bedtime was tough on Audrey because she kept wanting to wake him up to play. She has now learned to be quiet and respect Daddy's bedtime, though. As an added bonus, when Audrey sees that Daddy is going to sleep, she is often open to going to sleep herself, so we all end up sleeping earlier.
I should probably note that it's a very bad thing if Audrey goes to bed earlier than about 10 pm. Last night, her usual schedule thrown off by a cold, she went down for the night at a little before 7 (we thought it was just a nap) and as a result she was ready to get up at 4 a.m. Needless to say, Mom and Dad were not ready to get up at four, so that was an unpleasant experience.
Too Verbal for Our Own Good
Audrey went to Lowes with Daddy, and found it extremely dull. So she started requesting DVD, DVD, DVD over and over again. (As in, take me to the car, Daddy!) Daddy was subsequently able to make Lowes a bit more entertaining by pointing out interesting letters and objects in the aisles, and the DVD requests subsided.
This and That
Some New Words: see, pinch, whack, ready, eat, OK, bed, couch, yellow, green, pink, red, halmony, shoe, fish, owl, feet, choo choo, tweet tweet, bath, pig, cat
Knows all of the letters of the alphabet with the possible exception of Q.
Cows finally say moo.
New Skills: Blowing her nose, getting on and off of her snail rocker independently, climbing onto the bed independently
Baby’s First Time-Out
Audrey is generally very obedient. She refrains from walking on the bed, doesn't walk with her toothbrush in her mouth, never tries going into the street, stops asking to hold the knife when I tell her it's sharp, etc. (She does like to pull up the letters on her alphabet playmate when the neighbor girl is watching her, but one of the joys of a babysitter is getting away with stuff Mom and Dad don't allow. ;-) Yesterday though, Audrey couldn't resist the urge to stand and jump on the chair despite repeated warnings from Daddy, so he had to remove her from the scene for her first "time-out."
The Good Weather Continues
New words: bark (as in tree bark), bird, ant, bug, frog, teeth, mouth, back, home, tickle, T, Z, R, V, X, 3.
Letters
Audrey's latest spoken letter is G. Also, she's become a fairly competent hunt-and-peck typer. I pull up an empty word doc, make the font huge, hit the Caps Lock key, and she loves to type away while sitting on my lap, babbling cheerfully about the letters that she's typing (Y! I! O!). She can also type letters on request. If I ask her to type a Y, for example, she'll enthusiastically comply.
Numbers
Audrey can now count from 1-5 fairly clearly. We like to count ants outside. She likes to clap and say "yay" when we get to five or 10. Tooth-brushing time is much less of a hassle now, because Audrey is pretty willing to open up and let us "count" her teeth. Playing peekaboo, Audrey says "boo." Also, she intones "there is is!" (For example, where's the toy? There it is!) New words: go, out, DVD, oval, bye dada. Also, she now uses "up" to indicate that she wants to be picked up, sometimes without bothering to lift her arms up.
Blossoming Language
Audrey's really starting to experiment more with words. Even the first time she hears a word she'll sometimes try to repeat it, and she tried several two word combinations today: big rock, little rock, mommy knee, blue line. She also chimed in with several words of the alphabet song (C, D, me.) New words today: more (usually while making the more sign), rock, stripe, bug, geese. (It's finally stopped raining, so we've been outside a lot, hence a lot of outside themed words!)
It's funny, I'm starting to learn from her interests. We spotted some beautiful big birds flying overhead today, and because they were honking, I guessed they must be geese. (That's when Audrey picked up the word geese, of course.) I don't know much about birds, and I wanted to double check that I was giving her the right information, so I googled geese. Sure enough, I immediately confirmed that we had seen Canada geese. So it was a learning opportunity for both of us.
It’s raining words
Audrey's vocabulary is expanding by leaps and bounds, with a few new words added each day. It's getting hard to keep up, but some of the latest are socks, beak, outside, pod, one, duck (correct pronunciation), dog (finally sort of added on that final g), big tree, mini (the name of her favorite toy).
Clever Toddler
When Audrey and I went to check the mail today, a new Newsweek had arrived. Audrey was thrilled, and immediately asked to see Elmo. See, in last week's magazine there was a picture of Katie Couric hugging Elmo. Mom was pretty blown away by the fact that the kid knew it was Newsweek (she didn't ask to see Elmo when we got a vitamin catalog in the mail yesterday, for example, though the catalog looked similar to the magazine in color and shape) and that she remembered an entire week later that Newsweek has Elmo in it. This week's Newsweek had a pretty cool picture of a bee in it (Audrey loves to look for bees every time we go outside these days.) But we eventually had to pull out last week's magazine so she could get her Elmo fix.
Audrey can also do all of the hand motions in a song that we sing in our music class without parental prompting, including shutting her hands tight, opening them wide, putting them together, making them hide, etc. Pretty amazing to see what a comprehending, thinking little person she's becoming.
Life’s Simple Pleasures
Audrey had her first candy a few days ago when she and Daddy got a free sample at a See's Candy store. She then made it very clear that she wanted more! (No, she didn't get more.)
Audrey had her back scratched for the first time recently, and she was in heaven. Every time Daddy tried to stop she patted herself on the back to indicate that he should continue.
Also, Audrey has been willing to smell flowers for a while, but she didn't really understand why it was a good idea since we don't have any flowers that smell very good. The other day, one of our neighbors presented her with a very fragrant rose. At my urging but without enthusiasm, she smelled it. Oh!!!!! For the next 20 minutes she wandered around with the rose clutched tightly in her hand, frequently lifting it up savor the fragrance. "Does it smell good?" I asked. "Di" (yes), she earnestly replied.
Torrents of new words continue to be acquired including heart, hot, butterfly, flower and Kai. Audrey also now pretends to count, though 9 is the only number she enunciates clearly, and she rarely inserts that one at the appropriate time.
Priorities
This weekend, Mommy had a conference in San Francisco, so Daddy and Audrey hung out in the city for the day. They went to a farmer's market, played at a park with Audrey's friend Kai, and generally had a pretty grand time. At one point, Daddy tried to get Audrey to admire the Golden Gate Bridge. She was having none of it, though, because she was way too busy admiring some pigeons.
Speaking of birds, Audrey's latest word is seagull. (She pronounces it pretty clearly.) Other words acquired just in the last few days: elbow, knee, purple, hat, circle, C, H, and P.
Kissy Baby
To James' great delight, Audrey has been pretty willing to grant kisses on command for the last week or so.
Mommy’s little helper II
Audrey was playing in a weedy spot in our yard for an extended period a few days ago, and my fingers started itching to pull some. I hesitated, knowing my daughter would want to "help" as soon as she noticed what I was doing, but finally I couldn't resist. I started pulling weeds and throwing them into a weed pile. Sure enough, Audrey soon noticed and enthusiastically began throwing dirt and rocks into the pile. Not ideal, but not really getting in my way either. We moved to a different spot in the yard, and I started pulling more weeds and making another weed pile. Then something interesting happened. Audrey took it upon herself to move weeds from my new pile into the original pile. Back and forth, back and forth she went, consolidating the piles. Not only was she not getting in my way, it was actually fairly helpful! So a new milestone: Audrey provides helpful help.
Mommy’s little helper I
Audrey likes to help with the laundry. One of us hangs up clean laundry on the drying rack. The other hangs up dirty laundry. One of us sorts dirty laundry into the laundry baskets. The other takes clean clothes out of drawers to put into the laundry baskets.
Words
New words: Mommy (correct pronunciation), Audrey (ah-do), no (she's been shaking her head no for quite a while, but now she can really say it) paper, blue, letter E, car, bye, yay, whee.
New sound effects: owl, chick
As Expected
We're back to night owl baby mode.
Miss Noodle
Today was a real do it myself day for Audrey. First she wanted to soap herself and wash her own hair in the bathtub, and then she wanted to dress herself after the bath. Her attempts to put on her own shirt were a bit comical, and reminded me of nothing so much as the bumbling Mr. Noodle who resides in Elmo's World. First her arm went through the head hole rather than the sleeve. Then she got the arm into the sleeve, but via the head hole, and so forth. We cheered her on anyway. The sooner she can wash and dress herself the better, because she really hates it when we wash and dress her!
Morning Baby
Audrey has been getting up in the 8 o'clock hour for maybe two weeks now and going to sleep pretty consistently at 11 or earlier. OK, that doesn't exactly make her a morning person. (My neighbor's baby has been getting up at 5:30 for the last couple of weeks. ;) Still, it's a fairly nice schedule.
Baby’s first sentence
Lately, Audrey is very fastidious, and insists that spills be immediately cleaned. Yesterday, unbeknownst to me, Audrey spilled a couple drops of water on her kitty shoes. "Wa-wa, wa-wa, wa-wa," she told me, clearly somewhat distressed.
"What do you need honey?" I asked. "Are you thirsty?"
"Wa-wa," she insisted. Then, inspiration stuck. "Meow meow," she added. I looked down at her shoes, spotted the water, and dried it off, to Audrey's great relief.
Her first time really stringing two concepts together like that. :)
Other language related accomplishments: When you ask her what the wind says, she blows and moves her arms in imitation of windblown tree branches. She says the letter "B," and number 8, and color white. She says "wipe." (Her first verb.) She is babbling conversationally almost constantly for the last week or two. She really really seems to want to talk. Also, Audrey now says "eyes" instead of "eye" for both the letter and the body part.
Language Update
Newest words: bee, airplane, line, poo-poo(!), up, nine
Latest sound effects: microwave (beeeeep) airplane (eeeeeeee) vacuum cleaner (eeerrrrr) lawn mower (eeerrr) car doors locking (beep beep) motorcycle (vvrrrooom) parrot (squawk!)
Two legs bad, four legs good
This weekend, inspired by the nice soft carpet at Grandma and Grandpa's house, Audrey decided it was time to learn how to crawl (a good seven months after learning how to walk).
A Charming Travel Companion
Travel with Audrey has been much easier since we got our DVD player-equipped van. But this last weekend when we took a trip down to Ventura, traveling with the baby was, well, actually pretty enjoyable! She sat in her seat babbling cheerfully away for long stretches of time. She looked with interest when we pointed out passing scenery (airplanes, fields, cows, tractors, horses, sheep, rivers, the ocean, etc.) She watched her DVDs attentively. She kicked her feet along with the CD from her music class. She joyfully chased birds and squirrels at rest stops. As a matter of fact, on our trip home, we only stopped once (at the aforementioned rest stop. Well OK, we stopped twice if you count a quick pit stop for gas and to retrieve Audrey's favorite toy from the floor of the minivan) and made the trip in about six hours. Previous trips with Audrey have required up 10 hours in the car with frequents stops and tears.
Two-syllable-pallooza
Quite a day for language expansion! Up until now, Audrey has only pronounced the first syllables of all words other than mama, dada, Elmo, and (sometimes) water. Today Audrey added four new words in which she correctly pronounces both syllables: apple, bubbles, pee-pee(!), and baby. (Her old word for baby sounded something like dit-dit, so her sudden ability to pronounce it clearly was quite a change.)
In addition, Audrey really "read" for the first time. She has a bath book that has the sentence "Uh-oh! Bubble trouble." She was flipping through the book, and when she got to that page she said "Uh-oh, bubble" and then babbled a little bit. Pretty neat.
Also, for a while Audrey has liked to look at pictures in magazines. Now when we get a new magazine, she likes to look through it for both interesting pictures and letters. ("O" she'll point and announce triumphantly. Then, after flipping through a few pages, "Y.") Mom now kind of judges magazines based on how good the content is for baby. (Great Newsweek this week! Lots of pictures of animals!) It's really changed my perspective. :)
Words, words, words
Words: Eye, lion, and (when Daddy knocked over a bag) uh-oh!,
Letters: Says the letter "O", recognizes quite a few other letters now
A continuing trend
Audrey has taken just three naps in the last six days.
Table Matters
While out to dinner with Dad, Audrey insisted on using chopsticks to eat chowmein. She even managed to spear and eat a few noodles.
Also, yesterday Audrey picked up a cup, drank from it, and then put it back down on the table without spilling a drop.
Simple as A,B, C
Well, she doesn't know A, B, or C yet, but she can now identify talk about D and M and U and I in addition to Y, and she recognizes R. (So she's well on her way to being able to spell her name, first and last. :)
Independence Days
Since she was born, Audrey has always had a very strong need to be in nearly constant contact with Mom or Dad. She's always needed to be held. A lot. My favorite parenting authors (William and Martha Sears) refer to babies that need to be held a lot as "high-need" babies, and they promised that such kids tend to become more independent at 18 months. Sure enough, a couple days before that milestone arrived, Audrey starting playing independently with her toys for fairly long stretches. She's now much more amenable to hanging out in the kitchen while I get lunch ready or playing with blocks while I get dressed. This evening Audrey played with toys and read books independently for maybe an entire hour while I folded laundry. So these are really independence days for both of us.
It’s all in the marketing…
For months now we've been trying to get Audrey into shoes, but she would collapse wailing onto the floor at every attempt. Since she's in an "Elmo" phase, today we tried approached her with Elmo shoes. Voila! She spent the whole day practicing walking around in them and didn't want to take them off even for her nap. Similarly she used to complain heartily whenever we try to get her into a jacket, but she's now taken enthusiastically to a "bug" themed jacket and enjoys pointing to and asking about the bee, the ladybug, the grasshopper, etc.
Latest Feats
New words: bowl, wall, book, nana (refers to the little boy across the street, who used to say nana a lot.)
New animal sounds: monkey, parrot, bird, rooster, horse and (somewhat to my disappointment) cows have at long last stopped saying "baa" and now seem to say something between baa and moo.
New favorite sound: deedle deedle
New gestures: I want to wear a hat, I'm hungry
New skills: Loves using spoons and forks, crawls up stairs
New Favorite Book: Once Upon a Potty
Cleaning Baby
Audrey loves to clean. She sometimes goes to the closet and insists that I get out the broom and sweep, and she likes to drag around a mop. She also loves it when I use the dust buster. She always complains when I stop sweeping or vacuuming. More! More! (You would think our house would be tidier!)
Pretend Play
Audrey has recently started pretend play. She'll pretend to feed her stuffed animals her food, brush their teeth, etc.
Literacy
Audrey likes to scribble on her MagniDoodle and proudly declare "Y." She gets pretty close, actually.
Helpful Suggestions
Our current diaper changing song is Wheels on the Bus. We like to sing about what the different animals do on the bus. (The cats go meow, the sheep go baa, and so forth.) Sometimes when the diaper change is taking a while, I run out of ideas for animals to sing about. Today when I got stuck, Audrey helpfully piped in, "Hiss hiss."
"Good idea!" replied Mom. Let's sing about the snakes on the bus! We haven't done that yet! It was such a cool little interaction.
Words, Words, Words
The latest acquisitions: dirt, Elmo, whoa, and a fish sound effect
The latest accomplishment: Can correctly identify blue, yellow, orange, red, and green crayons. (When I ask her, "Where's the blue crayon?" she picks up the blue crayon.)
Naps are for Babies
Audrey transitioned from two naps to one at around a year. And now, at 18 months, I suspect she's starting to transition from one nap to none. Most days she still takes her normal 2-hour nap in the afternoon. However, sometimes her nap is somewhat restless and only lasts about an hour. And a couple of times over the last few weeks, she hasn't taken a nap at all. Yesterday she didn't take a nap, and went to sleep for the night at 8:30, which I'm pretty sure was a record for her. Unfortunately, when she goes to bed early, she tends to sleep restlessly and wake up several times during the night, so I actually prefer that she falls asleep later and sleeps more soundly.
Baby’s First Metaphors
A couple of weeks ago, Audrey looked at a lemon and said duck. I tried not to read too much into it. A couple of days ago, she started to make her frog sound when she wants to hold her (green) toothbrush. I still wasn't positive. Then yesterday, she stared at the brown and white crust on the spinach casserole and meowed. When I asked her how the crust was like a cat, she pointed at a potato in the casserole and said "baa." She later pointed at her (white) diaper pail and informed me that it was "baa." And to make absolutely sure that I got it, today she pointed out that the lettuce in my salad was "ribbit." Knock me over with a feather. I think this creative wordplay may be cooler than if she could actually vocalize the color words.
Audrey has been in a really cheery mood for a few weeks, and I think it's because she's excited about her growing ability to understand and communicate with language. Often when she's upset, I can calm her down simply by whispering some of her favorite words into her ear (kitty cat, doggie, ducky, water, ball, eye, mama, dada…)
Newest words: Says "yes," identifies and says the letter "Y" (sometimes confused with the letter V), makes an elephant sound effect, and says "me" while pointing at self. Also, she's become very good at shaking her head for no.
In other news, Audrey has yet another cold. What a bummer!
Two Word Stage
While on an outing, James asked Audrey if she wanted some water. "No wa-wa," she replied. Her first time stringing two words together!
Table Matters
This evening, Audrey decided it was time to learn how to use a fork.
Water Water Everywhere
Now that Audrey has learned to say wa-wa, she can't seem to get enough of that word. She seems to find occasion to use it about every 5 minutes. Depending on context, wa-wa can mean: I'm thirsty. I want to play with water. I see water. I know that water comes out of that thing. I want to hold my (empty) cup. And sometimes it just seems to mean: I sure do like water.
Ball is Audrey's other favorite word at the moment. She uses it to identify balls and other round objects (grapes, oranges, lemons, etc.) She loves to watch the girls next door playing ball, so she says ball every time we go buy their house. And (my personal favorite) she says ball whenever a picture of me in my third trimester of pregnancy pops up on our screen saver.
Over the last few days, Audrey has also, at long last, started consistently and correctly using the word Mama. Hallelujah.
I Ain’t Big on Social Graces
Baby picked her nose today for the first time. Mom and Dad cheered her on.
Baby’s First Antibiotics
Unfortunately, Audrey's fifth cold has turned into Audrey's first ear infection. What a trouper, though! We took her to the doctor because she was a little hot and breathing rapidly, but she hadn't seemed overly cranky or sick. So I was completely surprised to learn that the fever (which was causing the rapid breathing) was caused by an ear infection!
Audrey had been taking a breather on adding new words to her vocabulary for the past few weeks. But oddly enough, despite being sick (and with ear problems, no less!) she's added a few new words in the past few days: door, water (wa-wa), hiss (a snake sound effect), uh-uh for no, and a blowing sound for "hot." Also, for a while now she's been saying baby.
La, la, la
Or rather ba, ba, ba. Baby has sung her first song. Audrey and I started a music class last week. Today, we were listening to the CD from the class, and when the singer on the CD sang ba ba ba, Audrey sung ba right back. Guess we've gotten our money's worth out of this class already. (
On a less positive note, after catching only two colds in her first year, Audrey is now already on her third cold of her second year.
Tasty, tasty
We have cups in the tub since Audrey likes to practice scooping water with them. However, her latest trick is to practice drinking from a cup during bath time. In some ways it's the perfect place for her to practice as she's not getting her clothes or the floor wet. But it doesn't seem like good parenting to let her ingest too much tub water.
Mommy’s Little Helper
Our neighborhood welcomed in the New Year with a big storm and a 40-hour power outage. That meant that all of the food in our fridge and freezer had to go. After dumping all of the food in the fridge, I cleaned all of the shelves. (A task that was on my list of things to do anyway.) As I scrubbed with a dish rag, Audrey insisted on having her own rag and scrubbing with me. It was really cute, and the first time I can recall accomplishing a major project with her at my side. She might have even helped me get some dirt off!
Christmas Treats
Audrey was an enthusiastic eater over Christmas to the delight of assorted grandmas and aunts. She had a few gustatory firsts: Baby's first ice cream cone (we stopped at a Dairy Queen on the way south). Baby's first gingerbread cookie and fudge (thanks Grandma.) Baby's first carbonated drinks (sparkling cider and Orangina, yum yum!) Baby's first turkey soup (thanks to Great-Grandma and Aunt Sharon) Baby's first salami. Well, only in the package. For a few days, Audrey was more enthusiastic about carrying the sausage around than she was about any of her new toys.
Favorite Things
Two things elicit squeals of delight lately. The prospect of bathtime, and the prospect of getting into the car to watch DVDs. This from the child who has hated her carseat since her newborn days. Grandpa says Mom and Dad were fools not to buy a portable DVD player long ago. At this point, I'd willingly give Baby Einstein testimonials.
A Little Slice of Audrey Heaven
Audrey went to the Santa Barbara Zoo over Christmas, and was completely enthralled by ducks (duck! duck! duck! duck!) , turtles (though she kept making her frog sound rather than her turtle sound), giraffes (What's that? What's that? What's that?), lions (meow, meow, meow, meow), and the waterfall in the boa constrictor's habitat. Despite Audrey's love of her sheep toy and her love of saying baa , she was quite underwhelmed by the sheep, much to the disappointment of Mom, Dad, and Grandma. We eventually convinced her to baa, but I think she only did it to humor us.
Head Shoulders Knees and Toes
Audrey can point to her own eyes, nose, mouth, and toes.
Also, yesterday was Audrey's first no-nap day. She got a late start (11:00) and then was being dragged around town when she wanted to nap (about 6:00) so she ended up going down for the night at 9:30, which is early for her. But boy was she cranky by then!
An Early Start on a Life of Crime
James let Audrey walk around at a store a few days ago. She responded by grabbing some merchandise and hurrying out the door. There's no spot to record baby's first shoplifting experience in her baby book.
Language Update
Says: Bear (so clearly even a stranger might understand), ball, toe
Says dog with the correct vowel sound (still no g)
Understands: Banana, more, outside
Shakes head no.
Also, cold number four has followed quickly on the tail of cold number three, unfortunately.
Enticing Elmo
Audrey has enjoyed turning on the TV for a few weeks. She likes to hit buttons at random, channel surfing and adjusting the brightness and tint of the screen, and that sort of thing. She doesn't generally pay much attention to content.
A couple days ago, though, Audrey came across Sesame Street. She immediately stopped channel surfing and stared at the screen transfixed as Elmo played the piano for dancing fish. When Big Bird came on a couple of minutes later, she informed me excitedly that Big Bird was a duck. (I never knew.) Then, as soon as the program ended (about 5 minutes after we started watching) she immediately resumed channel surfing.
New tricks
Audrey makes kissing sounds, and uses them to request the book "Counting Kisses."
Audrey identifies feet, duck beaks.
When Mama suggests that we check the mail, Audrey promptly walks from the bedroom to the front door (where the mail slot is located.)
Audrey enjoys kicking a lego around the house.
Audrey's animal infatuation continues. The vast majority of her words are animal related (meow, dog panting, dog, baa (for sheep and cows), ribbit, breathing like her toy turtle, duck). She spots images of frogs and ducks and cats everywhere we go. She always baas when we get milk out of the fridge, because there's a picture of a cow on the milk carton.
Thanksgiving Machines
We drove to Ventura for Thanksgiving. The DVD player made the trip soooo much easier. Three cheers for Baby Einstein. Now instead of wailing when she gets into her carseat, Audrey points up at the screen in happy anticipation. I feel no guilt having her watch numbers and animals themed videos at a time when she'd be sitting still anyway. James still feels somewhat conflicted about our daughter's new video addiction, though.
We went to see the new house my parents are constructing, and Audrey got to sit in a Bobcat. She also noticed the picture of a (bob) cat on the machine and started meowing. Completely cracked me up.
Audrey slept through Thanksgiving dinner. Later, she rejected turkey, but liked yams. She prefers her veggies flavored with some butter and salt.
Audrey adored bouncing up and down on an oversized stuffed bear at Grandma and Grandpa's.
Misc: Audrey now enjoys playing fetch. Tooth seven has poked though. She makes "v" sounds.
Audrey loves:
Duck toys, Duck toys, Duck toys!
Looking at the neighbors' cats and dogs
Panting like a dog and meowing like a cat
Her new tricycle
Crushing crackly fall leaves
Playing with water from the faucet
Turing on the television
Pulling large things (waste baskets, luggage) from one room to another
Pulling Mommy and Daddy's cookbooks off the shelf and reading them
New words:
Laduladuladula: Refers to a book called "Moo Baa La La La"
She has also started to ribbit like her frog bath toy.
Other notable events:
Baby is just finishing up her third cold. (The first two arrived at four and nine months.)
Teeth five and six have just poked through on top.
The Wonderful World of Animal Words
New words: Duck, bear.
Baby can mimic: Meows, yelps
Baby can identify: Belly buttons
Baby keeps asking for the names of the letters on her alphabet play mat.
Also, baby can walk around carrying a bowl of cereal without spilling it. (Until she has finished eating all of her favorite cereal, at which point she is likely to immediately dump the less favored cereal all over the floor.)
Baby’s First Tantrum
A real honest-to-goodness tantrum resulted when I tried to brush Audrey's teeth a few days ago. She was absolutely furious at me and yelling and crying so hard I thought she was hurt. None of the usual calming tricks worked (nursing, going outside, checking out the contents of the freezer) so after 10 or 15 minutes of screams and tears I was at my wit's end and wondering if we needed to go to the doctor's. Luckily when I called Daddy, he had the brilliant idea that I should try a Baby Einstein DVD. That calmed her almost immediately, and she stood quietly on my lap and watched. But I discovered she was still mad at me when I tried to kiss her and she ducked away. So I gave her more time. Eventually she sat down on my lap to watch the TV. Then she leaned her head against my chest. And finally near the end of the half hour video, I knew all was forgiven when she wanted to nurse.
Putting Humpty Dumpty Back Together Again
Audrey is usually a grump in the morning (just like her mama) and this morning was no exception. Well, in the middle of today's grumpy morning, Audrey decided to tackle a massively complicated new task. She has a carton of toy eggs, and the shells of each egg come off to reveal a chick. Getting the shells off the eggs is something she's enjoyed for a while. But this morning, Audrey wanted to figure out how to put the shells back on the eggs. It's a really tricky task for an almost 15-month-old, requiring her to grasp both pieces at specific angle and maneuver them together with a certain amount of accuracy and finesse. Since she was in a foul mood to begin with, every time she failed in her attempt to get an egg together, she blew a fuse. So at the beginning, she kept blowing fuse after fuse after fuse. I had to keep calming her down and giving her another egg to try. I really admired her determination. Despite her frustration, she kept at it and kept at it, and slowly got more adept, until finally she was reasonably competent.
Sprinting and Gabbing
Audrey has started to run a few steps at a time. She's very stable now. (Except when she's trying to run.) She very consistently avoids obstacles, and is great at regaining her balance when she becomes a little unstable.
She just started making twisting motions with her wrist, and successfully dimmed and brightened the hall light a couple days ago.
Over the past couple of days, her language skills, which hadn't seemed much changed recently, have made clear signs of progression. When she's curious about the name of something, yesterday she sometimes started saying "whada" instead of just "da." Also, she seems to have started mimicking sounds more. Yesterday when we were picking up the mail, she said something that sounded a lot like "letter" and watching an animal DVD in the car, she said something that sounded kind of like "ca" for cat. While we were all in the kitchen, James started reciting some lines from one of her books, so she rushed to the bedroom, retrieved the book, and brought it into the kitchen. Yesterday, she made the sign for "more." (It's not clear that she was asking for more bread, but she ate it when James gave it to her.) She might have identified a shirt as being "blue." She very clearly says "na" for no. Sometimes she seems to say "hidada." And sometimes dada sounds more like daddy. And she babbles and babbles.
She really wants to be able to sit on a little footstool that we have in the kitchen, but she's just not quite tall enough. She loves sitting and lying on her crib mattress, which we put on the floor for her to play on.
She occasionally seems to try to put things away after getting them out. (A bib back into her high chair. My running shoe back onto the elliptical machine.)
She'd back to screaming bloody murder during many diaper changes.
Daddy’s Home
A few days ago, Audrey was playing in the bedroom. When she heard James at the door, she got up exclaimed "dada" and toddled in the hall to greet him with a hug around the knees.
This and that
Audrey's new favorite toy is a rubber ducky that she seems to refer to as "du." She used to really fuss when we brushed her teeth, but recently she's been really really good about it, obediently opening her mouth and accepting the brush without a whimper. She likes to eat pears but, given a choice, really prefers to smoosh them. She loves to play "so big." She loves to play in the refrigerator (groan). She loves to be in the bathroom (groan). She loves to say "baa" when she sees sheep and cows. (Including when she sees milk and yogurt containers that have cow pictures on them.) She loves to eat vegetables from tomato based soups. She loves to open and close things. She loves to carry things around (especially puzzle pieces) and now seems to prefer putting things into containers to taking things out of containers. She loves Puffins (corn cereal). She loves sitting in her little chair. Whenever she sees something that doesn't belong on the floor (a piece of fuzz, a leaf) she picks it up and hands it to me.
She still hates having her clothes changed. She still hates having her hands and face wiped. And she still hates, hates, hates going to bed. She's a little better during diaper changes of late.
The other day, I was searching for Audrey's favorite stuffed animal, a sheep we call "Baa." I was calling Baa's name in that sing-song tone you use when you're searching for someone, and Audrey mimicked my intonation. Also, when we have babble conversations, Audrey has started using intonation such that it sounds like we're really conversing. She's really babbling up a storm lately. Duwaybadubuway?
New Tricks
Nothing earthshattering of late. Baby is becoming a reasonably competent walker. She successfully negotiates inclines, thresholds, and other hazards and falls pretty infrequently nowadays. She's just started babbling a lot with the l sound. She's stringing together sounds like Dibblelaladibilga. She's really getting into throwing things.
For a few days, right after she really started walking, she would frequently walk nearly up to a toy. Then, she'd stop and grunt until Mom or Dad came to get it for her. It cracked us up, "It's right there child, how lazy can you get?" My theory is that she was looking for reassurance that, despite her newly found mobility, Mom and Dad were still willing to lend her a hand.
She's been pretty good in the car of late. We did resort to using our new minivan's DVD player once last week, and I'm pleased to report that it worked like a charm to dry up some pretty serious tears. (She finally hit 20 pounds, so we got to turn her car seat around to face forward.)
Mom’s not too bad, either
A few days ago, while I was at work, James and Audrey spent a few hours at the mall. (James likes to take the baby out when he's caring for her.) I wasn't home yet when they got home. As soon as they came in the door, Audrey made a room to room search of the house looking for me. Her final stop was the master bathroom, where the door was closed. Apparently she banged on it, and, getting no response, burst into tears. Aww. She still says Dada a lot more than Mama, though. ;)
New Tricks
Points to a picture of a bed when asked where the bed is. Says baa when referring to a stuffed sheep toy. Um…also says baa when referring to a cow. Says ba for ball. Possibly, says da for dirt. (Really loves dirt.) Also says da for duck. Annoyingly, no longer really seems to say mama. Makes spin-able part of a toy spin and spin and spin. Wails vigorously when you take things away from her.
Have Legs, Will Travel
Huge milestone today. Baby finally became truly independently mobile. Or rather, she finally took advantage of her independent mobility. As of today, she's no longer confining her walking efforts to one room at a time and sticking fairly close to Mom and Dad when practicing her steps. I think perhaps the best way to describe it is that today, Audrey stopped practicing walking, and started walking to get places. Down the hall, out to the living room, into the kitchen. She has places to go and she's confident she can get there with or without Mom and Dad nearby. The house is her oyster. The change in behavior was sudden and drastic.
Dad is a bit distressed that he can no longer put the baby down and expect her to stay in more or less the same place. Mom is a little scared by baby's new independence, (and corresponding ability to get into danger) but also finds it a bit freeing.
Daddy’s Girl
A few days ago we were out for a walk. Audrey was ignoring passing cars until a Jeep drove by, which prompted her to suggest "dada." This morning, soon after Audrey and I had awakened, the phone rang, and Audrey said dada. It wasn't dada on the phone, so she looked over at the closed bathroom door and asked, "dada?" Alas, he was already at work. But when we were going to meet him for lunch, I told her we were going to see dada. This seemed to help her stop her usual into-the-carseat tears, and she kept repeating dada, dada, dada as we headed down the street. This evening, I was trying to nurse Audrey to sleep. Though she was clearly very sleepy, she was having trouble settling down. She started to fuss a bit, which brought James into the room. As soon as Daddy lay down next to us, she relaxed and was able to fall asleep almost immediately.
Other New Tricks
When asked what sound the sheep makes, replies "baa." Identifies teddy bear's eyes in addition to his nose. Pats and smells pages in books when prompted to do so.
Itty Bitty Naysayer
Says "nah nah" and waves arms vigorously when she doesn't want something. Also, screams rather than crying when she doesn't want her diaper changed. Clearly recognizes (and dislikes) being in her new car. Is jealous and cries when other children play with her toys. Shows great persistence when she sees a desired object, and resists being distracted by a different object. (A few days ago, James tried to give her the DVD remote when she wanted the TV remote. She accepted the DVD remote, but then tried to "trade up" for the TV remote.)
No Obstacles in my Way
The baby is getting much better at noticing and avoiding possible slipping hazards (toys, books, pieces of paper, comforters) rather than plowing right over them as was previously her wont.
On the talking front, she's been making a lot of multi-syllable babbling sounds like dubidoo recently.
She now "talks" to James on the phone when he's at work, generally saying "dada dada dada" over and over for her end of the conversation.
Baby Draws Blood
A couple of days ago, Audrey was exploring Daddy's face. (Patting his cheeks, providing a free dental exam, etc.) Suddenly, she jammed a finger up his nostril with such force that he ended up with a bloody nose.
Increasing courage
Baby is growing more courageous and ever more stable in her walking exploits. She's now much more apt to walk during the daytime, and she walks in the living room and kitchen, in addition to the bedroom. She also feels completely at ease racing along on sidewalks. (Mom feels considerably less comfortable about the sidewalk thing, but tries not to be too overprotective. A few falls on the concrete, but no major scrapes yet.)
Daddy's Home
Today, when Daddy came home, Audrey gave a big smile and toddled over to him for a hug.
Devil or Angel?
Devil: Baby squeals and cries when Daddy won't give her a cob of the (piping hot) corn she sees on the table. Wails and kicks and throws back head and hits Daddy with a puzzle piece when Daddy takes her from Mommy.
Angel: Baby charmingly kisses Daddy on the cheek, squeals in delight when playing peek-a-boo with Daddy.
Of Note
Baby makes "s" sound. Climbs up on bed. Gets first hair cut.
Night Owl
Audrey continues to practice walking mostly at night and mostly in the bedroom. She is steadier still, and can get from sitting to walking at will, even when holding objects in both hands. (Since she never much cared to pull up on inanimate objects, I think she is actually better at getting up independently than at pulling up.)
Alas, she is also back to her old tricks of staying up very late and fighting bedtime tooth and nail. (Sometimes literally.)
Baby’s First Indian Buffet
Audrey and I visited James at lunchtime today, and we went out to an Indian buffet. James was feeding the baby various things from his plate. We were pleased that she was eating the creamed spinach dish since she generally rejects vegetables. However, James didn't realize quite how spicy the dish was. After a few bites, the baby had tears running down her face and a runny nose. James was aghast, Lisa was kind of amused, and the baby was gamely opening her mouth for another bite. I guess she can take the heat. She also got her first taste of ice cream (mango) for dessert, and she liked it, but didn't seem overly impressed.
Waking Up Dada.
It's so sweet to see Audrey trying to wake up James. She pats his arm and implores "Dada. Dada. Dada."
The Latest Walking News
Tonight, Audrey primarily practiced stopping, starting, and turning. Night owl that she is, she tends to mostly practice walking in the evenings, and is still content not to be particularly independently mobile during the day. Also she generally walks a lot in our bedroom, but not much in other parts of the house.
Full Speed Ahead
New feats: Walked further. Walked steadier. Went from sitting to standing to walking. Walked over to a desired object, bent over, picked it up, stood up straight, and continued walking.
Also of note. Mr. Gigglesworth has been reintroduced and she know accepts him with a fair amount of enthusiasm. (Still going for that blue paw.)
Oh, also she's clearly been saying mama for maybe a week now. And she made the "t" sound for the first time today. And she's been babbling gibberish quite a bit lately.
Also, she met and gently pet a neighbor's dog. (Not the noisy one.) Then she mimicked the dog's panting sound.
It’s Official
Today, she's figured out that she can walk. First, she walked several feet to Mama at Kai's first birthday party. Back home, she cruised confidently around the coffee table for the first time ever. Later in the evening, she walked a few feet from the bed to Mama. Then back and forth between Mom and Dad, who were perhaps six feet apart. And finally, she experimented with letting go of mama's hand periodically as she toddled through the house. Mama found herself throwing stuff out of the baby's reach left and right. We officially need to get this house fully baby proofed and pronto! Mom and Dad so aren't prepared for this independent mobility thing. :-)
New Tricks
Points with index finger
Points at teddy bear's nose when asked, "Where's the nose?"
Says "da" and points at things when curious about their names.
New Schedule
Back to a 10:30 wake up time. Pretty consistently having one two to two and a half-hour nap. Time of nap varies.
The Demise of Mr. Gigglesworth
The appeal of Mr. Gigglesworth is no more. Whether it's because he spent several days in the wash basket after Audrey's party before being reunited with his mistress, or because Daddy bought a backup giggle bear and showed Audrey both at the same time it's impossible to say. But she now shows absolutely no interest in playing with him.
Brilliant Little Bugger
Audrey likes to be next to an adult side or in adult arms constantly. So she hates it when Mommy puts her down in order to get dressed, wash her hands, comb her hair, etc. This morning, I put Audrey on the floor to play with her puzzle toy, and I walked a few feet away to the closet to find some clothes. Audrey immediately began scheming to get me back. First, she offered me a puzzle piece, lifting it high in the air, but I politely declined to take it. Then, Audrey reached down to the floor, picked up something I couldn't see, and deposited it in her mouth. I swooped over immediately, swept my finger through her mouth and found…nothing. So I stepped back to the closet. The baby picked up more air and theatrically ate it. I went back to her to make sure it was really just air. It's a completely brilliant, sure-fire ploy to get Mommy right back where Audrey wants her. And she repeated it several times throughout the day.
On the other hand, when Audrey really does want to taste a forbidden item, she knows to do it when Mommy is not looking. She loves picking up leaves outside. Generally she doesn't try to eat one, but a few days ago, there was one that looked particularly tasty. She tried several times to insert it, but I kept stopping her, and was watching her like a hawk, so she stopped trying. Perhaps 10 minutes later, a couple rode by on bicycles arguing in a language I didn't recognize. I stared after them for a moment, wondering about the language. Then I looked back down at Audrey, who had apparently been biding her time, and had rapidly stuffed the leaf into her mouth the moment I was distracted.
Walking is a Confidence Game
Today, excited to get to the neighbor kids who were playing next door, Audrey let go of my hand, took 5 or 6 steps on the sidewalk, and then retook my hand without losing her balance and without really thinking about what she was doing. She periodically repeated the feat throughout the evening. As with standing unsupported, Audrey is perfectly stable as long as she's not thinking about how daring her actions are. As soon as she realizes that she's unsupported, she becomes anxious, seeks a hand, and sometimes loses her balance.
A Little Language Confusion
Last night Daddy was snoozing in bed while Audrey and I played next to him. Audrey patted Daddy and said "dada." "Yes, good," I said. Then she patted me. "Dada.." "No," I giggled, "Mama." "Maba," she replied. "Yes, that's better. Mama." She patted Daddy. "Dada." "Good," I said. She patted me, "Dada." "No," I giggled, "Mama." "Maba," she corrected. Then she patted Daddy. This went on for a while, much to my amusement.
How can I foil this plot?
Sometimes, Audrey finishes nursing and is contentedly playing on the bed. But then she hears Daddy coming, and she quickly resumes nursing so that he won't take her away from Mommy. If Daddy shows no interest in taking her away, she stops nursing and resumes playing. It's hilarious.
New Tricks
I think we can officially say that Audrey says dada now.
Also, she sometimes now babbles into the phone upon hearing dada's voice. (Before she would just listen.)
She raises her voice when she wants to get the attention of someone in another room or across the street.
She occasionally seems to wave (and perhaps say) bye-bye in appropriate contexts.
She sometimes waves when you say "hi" to her.
She tries to comb her own hair.
She walks a few steps independently between Mommy and Daddy, occasionally somewhat steadily.
She flips through books at will, going forwards and then backwards to favorite pages.
She motions and makes noises to indicate that she wants a different book or toy.
A Lesson for Mama
Not too long ago, I complainingly wrote that Audrey didn't like to walk holding on to only one adult hand because she sometimes lost her balance that way. I was a little tired of always providing two hands, and slightly annoyed that she wasn't willing to take more risks and progress faster on the walking front.
Well, I've decided that my complaints were truly silly. After about three months of two-handed practice, Audrey now frequently practices walking holding on to only one adult hand. She is marvelously stable and rarely loses her balance. This means hardly any spills or bumps, making the learning-to-walk process almost stress-free for mother and child. Clearly, I need to just trust my child and be grateful that she is cautious, doesn't like taking spills, and knows her limits. Well, I need to trust her when it comes to walking, that is. Not when it comes to pulling on electrical cords or eating dirt. ("Numnum," she cheerfully asserted this afternoon, attempting to insert some sidewalk gunk into her mouth. I decided it might be time to go inside for a snack.)
Independence Day
I'm pleased to report that Audrey is showing signs of expanding her food repertoire. Previously, she wasn't very interested in feeding herself anything other than Cheerios. For the past few days, she's started wanting to feed herself a variety of things. In fact, sometimes she refuses things that we try to feed her, but is willing to feed them to herself. Items on this list include Cheerios, bread, blueberries, a banana, and most excitingly, Daddy's special tomato and basil pizza. As I've written, Audrey generally ignores what Mommy and Daddy are eating. But today at lunch, she seemed to be showing interest in my pizza. She wasn't interested when I offered her a little bite-sized piece. But when I offered to let her take a bite of my slice, she sucked tentatively for a while. Then she starting gnawing pieces off the edges. After a bit, she grabbed the whole slice away from me and gnawed away on the edges for a few minutes. (Oh, to have upper as well as lower incisors. Curses.) A bit later, she was slurping away at the top of the pizza, experimenting with tomatoes, basil, feta, garlic. I held my breath, as she's always rejected cheese and she spit out the tomatoes we introduced a couple of days ago. But instead of turning her nose up, she kept eating with enthusiasm. It's fair to say my hear was singing as I picked up the second slice of pizza and mother and daughter enjoyed the same food together. Maybe she won't be a horribly picky eater after all!
My big girl sometimes also shows a desire to have meals in her high chair rather than in mommy and daddy's lap these days. And when she's practicing drinking from a cup, she gets really upset when I step in and try to help her get it tipped right. Such independence.
On the gross motor skills front, Audrey is standing for longer periods of time. She stands independently for the longest amounts of time when she doesn't really realize what she's doing. For example, last week, I was across the room, and Audrey pulled up on the bed to get a better view of me. I waved hi and greeted her. So, she cheerfully waved back at me. In her enthusiasm to greet me she didn't seem to realize that in order to wave, she had completely let go of the bed. It cracked me up.
Finally, Audrey's schedule. Audrey continues to be much better about going to bed. She's almost always asleep by 11, often earlier, and it's not nearly as much of a struggle to get her to sleep. Waking tends to happen between 8 and 9:30, which is lovely for all of us. The weird thing about her current schedule is I just never know what her napping needs are going to be. Some days it's one one hour nap. Some days it's two two hour naps. And many variations between those extremes. When, how many, and how long with they be today? It's always the big mystery of the day.
Two parties, two babies
Audrey has attended two large parties recently. Last Saturday, we got her up early, stuffed her into her dreaded car seat, drove her hundreds of miles, and then immediately immersed her into the groundbreaking party for my parents' new house. The result: She was cheerful and charming, bouncing willingly from one strange set of arms to another, smiling and playful.
Yesterday, in keeping with Korean tradition, we threw her a big birthday bash at a park near our house. To prep for this party, she had a good night's sleep and a restful morning nap. The car drive to the park took less than five minutes. And the baby? Clingy, fearful, and tearful, refusing to leave mama's arms just about the entire time.
I guess it's her party, and she'll cry if she wants to.
Talking up a storm
Now that Audrey knows how to say dog, she just can't get enough of the word. She always says dog when she hears a dog barking. And, when she hears a crow cawing. And an airplane flying. And, well, just about any loud noise that catches her attention. We keep pointing out dogs in pictures and real dogs around town to help her make the sound-object connection. So now she also seems to say dog when she sees a picture of a dog. Or a picture of a pig. Or, well, just about any animal. The world is a simpler place when every sound and animal is dog. (
Audrey also has a couple of other vocalizations now. Charmingly, when she's eating something she enjoys, she likes to say, numnumyum.
Also, pretty heartwarmingly, she copies us by kissing us and making a sound something like mmmma. (We're still working on training her to give closed-mouth kisses, I'm afraid.)
She also has a kind of low growl sound that means, "take this please." I wrote before that she had started occasionally handing me items. Well, now it's something she does frequently, almost always accompanied by the growl. These days, she's often willing to let us hold on to the items that she gives us for quite a while. A few days ago, she developed a new version of the game. She was in her high chair, holding on to a toy. She handed it to me for a few moments. Then she reached out her hand to get it back. Then she handed it to Daddy. Then she reclaimed it. Then she handed it to Mommy. Then back to Daddy. It went on for quite a while, and she had us totally charmed.
Finally, for her birthday, Audrey got a new turtle bath toy that makes a kind of breathing sound when you squeeze it. Audrey loves this turtle and the noise he makes. Whenever she's near it, she lifts it up and hands it to us, making a heavy breathing sound herself. It's her way of telling us, "Make my turtle make this noise, please!"
But, but…We Don’t Own a Dog
I think we have to officially declare that "dog" is Audrey's first word. This would be less odd if we actually owned a dog. But I guess living in close proximity to a frequent barker is close enough. Today when the neighbors' bothersome mutt started barking, Audrey piped in with a clear and unambiguous "dog."
Audrey's other favorite things to say right now are "gum" and "go." I'm not sure if she attaches any particular meaning to those, but all day long, in response to her utterances, I ask her, "Do you want some gum? Do you want to go somewhere?"
Audrey also officially drank from a cup independently today. She's been drinking independently from a cup with a built-in straw for about a week now, and that works so well I'd kind of stopped trying to get her to drink from a real cup, since she spills so much with real cups and needs so much assistance to get it tilted correctly. Actually, I wasn't intending to have her drink from a real cup today. I gave her the cup full of water after lunch because her hands were a mess, and the easiest way to clean them is to have her swish them around in a cup. But after she finished playing with the water, she grabbed the cup away from me, brought it to her lips, and with an astounding improvement in coordination, tilted it up to drink.
An interesting little toileting milestone today as well. This afternoon, Audrey pooped, and then she started grabbing at her diaper. I've read that pulling at a poopy diaper is a sign that kids are starting to realize they've had a bowel movement. A first step towards being ready to potty train? It would be nice is she were earlier on the curve for that!
Speaking of early on the curve, our pediatrician (at our almost 1 year appointment) mentioned that Audrey might start hitting and kicking when she doesn't get her way, and we noted that she already does that. The pediatrician also noted that her pickiness at the dinner table was a little ahead of schedule. So lucky us! Our babe is ahead of the curve on tantrums and being finicky!
Mr. Gigglesworth, You’re the One
A few notes about Audrey's favorite toy, Mr. Gigglesworth (a.k.a. Giggle Bear, Bear Bear, Giggles. (She used to giggle whenever we shook it in front of her.)). A few nights ago, James handed her the bear after taking her out of her car seat. As he carried her to the house she kept grabbing one paw and then another, never able to settle on one. James realized that, in the dark, she couldn't find the blue paw! Very unsettling. ;)
Also, yesterday I set Audrey on the kitchen floor to play with pot lids while I got lunch ready. Generally, when you set Audrey down to play with something, she stays put and plays with it. But to my surprise, a few moments later I heard grunts of exertion indicating that the child was traveling in her slow and laborious crawling fashion. What could be motivating this unusual desire to traverse the kitchen floor? I looked down and, sure enough, Giggle Bear was a few feet away from the lids, and well worth the effort.
Also of note, Audrey said the "pa" sound for the first time today.
Language Production Skills
A few interesting occurrences to report. Yesterday, I made several short phone calls in a row. Every time I said "bye bye" Audrey said something like "ba" or "ba ba."
The day before yesterday, Audrey said something like "ki" when we gave her her plastic key toys.
And tonight, we seemed to make further progress on the "dog" front. The dog baked, and Audrey chimed in with her usual "ga." But when I prompted her to say "dog" she concentrated hard. "Da" she uttered. Then, her little brain whirred and her tongue moved and a few second later she added. "Gu." She repeated this sequence a few times, and once she was able to say "Da-gu" almost right together. Mom was thrilled. But, as the child never ever sees the pesky pooch, it's impossible to say what she really means when she says it.
Let’s Read
Audrey has seemed a little bored with her "Touch and Feel" type books for a while. She flips through them quickly and only pauses to touch the pages that are really interesting to her. But tonight, she showed she can really appreciate picture books. We have a color book which displays pictures of various items (e.g. a fire truck, rose, and ladybug for "Red"). We read through it several times. On each page, I would point and name the items on the page. Her head would turn and follow my finger as I pointed at the pictures. Then I would encourage her to turn the page, and she'd do so. Then she'd look and listen carefully as I named the new items. When I was finished, she'd turn the page. It was soooo cool.
On a not quite so cool note, she also seems to be becoming really adept at throwing little mini-tantrums when she's not pleased.
Back on a cool note, blue is definitely her favorite color. She was playing with some multi-colored plastic keys today, and sure enough, she grabbed it by the blue key every time.
Also today, Audrey was experimenting with refrigerator magnets. Sticking them together, sticking them to the refrigerator, putting them in a lid and seeing what cool sounds they would make when she shook the lid. Seeing whether or not the lid would stick to the refrigerator.
Steady, steady, steady now
James and I are sometimes tempted to use adjectives with negative connotations (e.g. chicken, wimpy) to describe our daughter's tendencies when it comes to attempting new physical feats. But I try to stick with the more positive terms "cautious" and "risk-averse." It's nice that she doesn't take as many spills and bumps as other, less cautious tykes. But it's getting a little annoying that she doesn't want to cruise around unless mom and dad are holding tightly to both of her hands. We know she can walk holding just one hand (she's done it before) but she sometimes loses her balance that way, so she usually refuses to even try. I betcha she'd be walking independently by now if she could give up her training wheels (us, that is). I think we need to have Kai over again to inspire her to forget her fears. (
Language Comprehension Skills
Today, Audrey displayed unambiguously clear signs of English comprehension. She likes to bounce up and down when she hears music, as I've mentioned before. When she's bouncing, I often say "bouncy, bouncy, bouncy" over and over. Well, today, for no particular reason, I said bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, and though there was no music, Audrey got a big grin on her face and started to bounce! Further testing indicates that we can get her to bounce at any time simply by urging her to bouncy bouncy.
Later in the day, I said "patty-cake, patty-cake" and to my astonishment, without any prompting from me, the child started to clap her hands. And thereafter, consistently, anytime we started saying patty-cake, Audrey started clapping. How cool is that.
It's not clear that Audrey has attempted to say any words yet. However, a few nights ago, ours neighbors' very noisy dog was barking all through dinner. Every time the dog barked, Audrey would pause and say "ga." James and I kept prompting her "dog, doggie, dog." A few times she did seem to be trying to get closer to the correct pronunciation, but never very close. And who knows. I suppose she could have been trying to say "What's that?" or "loud noise" or "Please make it stop." So perhaps saying dog wasn't her intention at all.
Nailing the Dismount
Audrey continues to show more interest in pulling up on inanimate objects. I'm also happy to note that she has vastly improved her ability to get down once she pulls up. Previously, I had to be right next to her whenever she was standing because she was really wobbly and apt to come crashing down sideways or backwards. Today, she developed a new method for getting down. She kind of twists around and lands on all fours.
On the crawling front, she hasn't gone far, but she has been doing a little traveling on all fours (sometimes on hands and knees, sometimes semi-standing). And she's becoming an expert at getting from her tummy to sitting. So her gross motor control has really improved by leaps and bounds over the past week. It's kind of astonishing watching her. She almost seems like a different baby! The neighbors have all been commenting on how much bigger she's looking, too.
If You Promise to Give It Back…
Two new tidbits. Recently, Audrey has been practicing holding two objects in the same hand. Also, she occasionally hands objects to me, and then quickly takes them away again.
Daddy’s Girl
Audrey has been a little less of a Momma's girl of late. And, for the past few days, she fusses when James goes out the door in the morning, and I have to take her outside to watch him drive away. Yesterday, she woke up and started fussing. I tried to nurse, but she was having none of it. Finally I realized that she needed to see Daddy. (I think she knew that if she nursed first he might leave for work without playing with her!) I took her out to the kitchen and plopped her in James' arms and she stopped fussing immediately. But when he got in the car to leave, she fussed again. Awwww.
She's a little too reserved for his tastes when it comes to greeting him after work, though. We hear about other babies going crazy when Daddy gets home, but Audrey's reaction is typically a very pleased (but brief) smile.
Just Do It!
Another pretty big day in Audreyland. The themes of the day were crawling, waving, and containers.
Generally, when Audrey tries to crawl, she moves forward tentatively with her arms, tries to move her legs, and then splats down on to her tummy. This evening, Audrey was playing on the bed and she saw some paper that intrigued her. So, without even thinking about it for a moment, she nonchalantly moved forward a foot or so on her hands and knees to grab it, and then she sat down and started playing. I don't think she even realized what she'd done. Maybe being really tired helped her not overanalyze, but just do it?
Audrey has waved a few times in the past, but today she really, really seemed to get it, waving in response to Mommy waving.
As for containers, Audrey has enjoyed taking things out of containers for a while, but over the past few days, she has also occasionally put things into containers, too.
You’re the Inspiration
Yesterday was James' 30th, and as a present for Daddy, Audrey learned how to clap, learned how to cruise, stood alone independently for several seconds at a time, and even attempted to take her first steps! The inspiration for all of the standing and stepping was Kai (10 months), a champion cruiser, who was visiting along with his folks to help us celebrate the B-day. Kai cruised happily around our coffee table and Audrey, who is normally super, super cautious, and not really interested in much coffee table play, was fascinated by Kai, and was really inspired by him to experiment and step out of her physical comfort zone. Pretty soon she was walking (albeit unsteadily) with one hand on the coffee table and the other holding her trusty pink bear. She was dropping bear and then bending over to pick it up (while still clinging to the table). And, when she saw Daddy on the couch, perhaps 8 inches from the end of the coffee table, she hesitated, hesitated, hesitated, and then, throwing caution to the wind, let go of the table and tried to walk to him. She lost her balance immediately, but it was a valiant attempt!
Also of note, for the last couple of days, Audrey has occasionally pulled up on inanimate objects (the bed and the coffee table). And today, Audrey walked down the hall a ways holding on to only one of Daddy's hands. (Though she was very tentative and really wanted both of Daddy's hands.) Quite a busy few days!
Motherhood II
Today, Audrey missed her morning nap, and was extremely cranky until, after a great deal of effort, I finally managed to get her down for an early afternoon nap. Then, after she woke up from that, she continued to be in a foul mood until about 15 minutes before James got home. I wasn't able to eat lunch until after 2, and every diaper change was a nightmare because she would wail as soon as I laid her down. Fun, fun, fun.
Motherhood I
Tonight I was trying to walk Audrey to sleep with no success. So, though she's rarely willing to nurse down for the night, I decided to give it a try. I lay down on the bed and she nursed for a while, but didn't fall asleep. When she finished nursing, she pulled off and gazed at me for a while, smiling. I smiled back. Then she moved her face next to mine and nuzzled me for a minute. Then she pulled back and smiled some more. Then she nuzzled me again. Then, trying to find a comfortable position in which to fall asleep, she laid her head on my shoulder and rested for a minute. That wasn't working for her, so she tried laying her head on my chest. She still couldn't get comfortable, so she decided to try nursing again. She relatched, and gently nursed herself into a deep and peaceful sleep.
All She Wants to Do is Dance
Audrey now likes to sit and bounce up and down when she hears music. Pretty much any type of music will do. A jingly rattle. The little jingle that plays between segments on the NewsHour. Sometimes she keeps dancing when there's no music, but it definitely seems to be the music that gets her started.
Not such a Night Owl now?
Audrey seems to be developing a new schedule. She's back to taking two naps every day, but she's shifted her hours. Now, she's getting up around 8:30, napping around 10:00 for about an hour, napping around 2:00 for about two hours, and getting tired for bed at about 9:30 or 10:00. (We haven't even had to struggle to get her to sleep at night for the past week!) This is a pretty good schedule! Honestly, it was a little bit embarrassing for me to be waking up with her at 10:30 or 11:00 every day. Only two little problems with it. It's not as easy to run around doing errands at night now that she's sleeping earlier, and I need to start going to bed earlier so I'm ready to get up at 8:30. We'll see if this new schedule lasts.
Cookie, cookie, cookie!
First of all, Audrey doesn't generally show much interest in anything that we're eating (other than fruit, which she watches intently). She never looks with interest at bread. She ignores burritos. She pays no attention to soup.
Second, Audrey has never eaten a cookie (they're full of stuff she's not allowed to have yet, like eggs and chocolate). So how on earth does she know that she should be interested in cookies? How can she know already that cookies are good stuff? For the last couple of days I've eaten a cookie after lunch, and Audrey has watched me with clear desire. Twice now she even grabbed my hand and tried to redirect the cookie towards her open mouth!
How does she know??! Is she so observant that she can see that I seem to enjoy cookies more than the rest of my meal? Can she smell all that fat and sugar? How does she know??!
Body language
I think my child and I have set up a new pre-verbal signal. The last couple of days, she's "walked" over to the front door and stood there, and then been very pleased when I take her outside for a while.
Strangers make me anxious
The babe is showing some stranger anxiety again. At a Fourth of July BBQ with Halmony, Halabogi, and Uncle Andrew, she wouldn't allow anyone other than mom and dad to hold her the entire evening. I think maybe it was because she was in an unfamiliar place.
She does it her way?
Audrey definitely prefers people to things. When she first started pulling up, I commented to my mom that she only seemed interested in using mom and dad's fingers or bodies to pull up, and was not interested in pulling up on furniture. My mom predicted that that would soon change, but it really hasn't. Audrey rarely shows an interest in pulling up on anything other than a warm body. I'm wondering if she'll really cruise at all before walking. ("Cruising" is walking while supporting oneself on furniture.) I'm sure she could cruise if she put her mind to it, as she's getting quite adept at getting around on her own two feet. But, again, she never shows interest in letting go of our fingers and using the couch to get around. My theory is that she's a cautious child by nature and is smart enough to know by now that Mommy and Daddy catch her when she loses her balance, but the couch wouldn't.
Look Ma, One Hand
The other big event of the day was a new walking development. I was "walking" Audrey (holding both of her arms) when she pulled one arm away to get a better grip on the large container she was carrying. She continued to walk (with me holding just one arm) for maybe five or six steps. She experimented with one handed walking for another minute, then nearly lost her balance, and decided she wanted to stick with two handed support. Still, it was really cool.
Say bye-bye
Today was quite an accomplishful day. We might be able to log Audrey's first word. Or maybe we should have done that already. Here's the story. For quite a while now, Audrey has been saying ma and mum and mama. Often, if she's feeling very upset and wants me to hold her rather than James, she wails and says ma ma. But we're never quite sure if we can officially call it a word, cause she never seems to say ma in other situations. (Such as when she's not really upset and not crying but wants to be held by me. Then she just reaches out her arms without the ma.) Today, Halmony and Halabogi (Grandpa and Grandma Kim) dropped by to drop something off. As they were leaving, we waved her hand and said bye-bye, like we always do when someone is leaving. After they were gone and the door was closed, Audrey waved her own arm, and she said ba ba several times! So, it was definitely her first wave. Whether or not she really made the bye-bye connection remains to be seen, I guess.
Sittin’ on up
New milestone! Audrey got from tummy to sitting position last night! Actually she's a little slow on this one. Most babies her age accomplished this long ago. But she's always hated being on her tummy, so she's slow on all tummy related milestones (crawling, etc.) I was actually a little concerned that she hadn't done this yet, since What to Expect the First Year says 90% of eleven month olds have accomplished this task, so it's nice that she pulled it off a week before turning 11 months. I really need to stop reading What to Expect the First Year. I'm starting to think that book is really evil. I disagree with most of its advice, and I wouldn't even have been concerned about the not sitting from tummy thing if I hadn't been reading it. Anyway, all three of us were very excited about the sitting from tummy thing. James and I cheered loudly. Watching Audrey work hard to scramble from tummy on to all fours and then flip over a leg to get to sitting was just adorable.
A Helping Hand (and Head)
Audrey has always hated being dressed. So it's very nice that, recently, she's begun to help us dress her and complain a little less. She'll pull her arms out of shirts with our help, and when it's time to pull a shirt over her head, she braces herself and tilts her head to a helpful angle. If she's holding a toy while we change her clothes, she'll even switch the toy from one hand to the other, with a little prompting. It's very charming.
Nursing Giggles
Often, when Audrey sees me getting ready to nurse, she giggles with pleasure. It's the cutest thing ever, and it always makes me laugh, too.
Only babies need two naps
Audrey has sometimes started to cut down to one nap a day. I kind of prefer the one nap a day schedule, actually. When she takes two naps, the second nap is kind of inconveniently timed in the early evening when we'd like to be eating dinner and running errands.
Mama’s girl
Audrey has become a mama's girl, of late. She's always holding out her arms to me held by mama if someone else is holding her, and she sometimes cries is someone else takes her away from mama, even if that person is papa. This is a little annoying for papa.
We’re walking, we’re walking
Audrey hates going to bed. She almost always stays up until we go to bed. In some ways, though, it's not so bad. She's a light sleeper, so on those rare occasions when she does fall asleep before us, we have to tiptoe around the house, and even that doesn't stop her from waking up really grumpy at the slightest floorboard creak. Forget trying to wash dishes or do laundry. So we prefer to have her awake with us so that we can at least get some work done. Even when we are ready for bed, it's a struggle to get her to sleep. She'll usually nurse down for her naps, but that doesn't work at bed time. Neither does a bath, reading, lullabies, lying quietly in bed together….we've tried everything. The only thing that works consistently is pacing up and down a dark hall for at least 10 to 20 minutes. Usually, we take turns doing the pacing. Whoever is less tired gets to walk the baby. The other night, though, the system broke down a little. James got the baby totally totally riled up, tickling her and having a "pillow fight." (For some reason being hit with a pillow made her giggle hysterically.) Then, he lay down in bed and promptly fell asleep. The baby was, to say the least, not happy when I then started going to sleep procedures. It took me forever to get her calmed down. Still, both of them were having so much fun, and James was so exhausted, that I couldn't be too mad.
Vegetables are for rookies
It appears I spoke too soon. For a couple of weeks Audrey was cheerfully eating vegetables, beans, whole wheat bread, and all manner of healthy tidbits. But no more. Now vegetables come out moments after going in. The only things she is now willing to eat are Cheerios and fruit. She's just too savvy now. She watches us and knows exactly what we're eating. If we're eating (or offering her) vegetables or beans or bread or tofu or yogurt or cheese, she busily plays with her toys and ignores us in her high chair. The moment we have cherries or melon or blueberries or strawberries or peaches or banana, she's at the edge of her chair with her mouth open. If we don't get some of that good fruit into her mouth quickly enough, she grunts in complaint. Even if the fruit isn't particularly sweet, she still wolfs it down. At least she eats fruit, says one of James' co-workers, who swears her son will only eat bread and cereal. Still, phooey.
Toothed and Dangerous
Audrey has two teeth now. (One is about half-way in and the other maybe a quarter.) Teething really bugs her at night. We hate to give her drugs, but we've been giving her Tylenol to help her sleep better. It was a little scary nursing when her first tooth started coming in. I kind of felt like I was exposing myself to a loaded weapon. She kind of bit a few times, but not too terribly hard. I yelped a bit when she did bite the first time, which caused her to pull off and look at me with great concern. I've read that babies can get so upset when you yell, that they'll go on a nursing strike. So, I tried to be really careful how I handled it. I calmly urged her not to bite, and had her latch on again. Having her latch on again was quite scary for me, but it seemed to reassure her, and she never bit that hard again. The next couple times when she nipped me I just told her no. That seemed to do the trick, as we haven't had any further problems. I wonder what will happen when she starts getting upper teeth.
Dada
On June 23, Audrey started saying the da sound.
Wedding Bliss
Our baby is 10 months old and she's already been to two weddings. (The first was Maggie & Alex's when she was just two months old.) Last weekend we went to Emmanuel and Shane's wedding in Sonoma. She was a little problematic in the car on the way there, but was great at the wedding and on the way home.
Indian Music
Our child likes classical Indian music. On two occasions now, when we found classical Indian music on the radio in the car, the repetitive rhythms successfully helped her fall asleep. James needs to get a CD from a coworker so we can try to replicate the effect at home!
Security Bear
Audrey has settled upon a favorite toy. It's a bear/rattle/teether bear that Lisa received as a gift from one of her students. Audrey likes to carry it everywhere. The past week or so it's been in her hand most of the day. Sometimes as she's "walking," she likes to switch it from hand to hand. This means Mom and Dad have to hold on to her elbows rather than her hands. On one or two occasions while she's crying, she's quieted down upon being given the bear. Right now she's teething, and I've seen her bite on it a couple of times today. Usually, she just likes to hold it, though. The bear has four paws. Blue, red, green, and yellow. Audrey always carries it around holding it just below the blue paw. I guess blue is her favorite color.
Car troubles
Audrey is much better in the car than she used to be, but once in a while she still has a pretty bad breakdown in the car. When she breaks down in the car she practically hyperventilates. It's very traumatic for parent and child. Mommy's still a little scared to take her out. (Daddy does it all the time with no fear. He gets bored just staying at home.)
O-Hit rate
Audrey really likes O cereal. (She absolutely loved them when we first introduced them!) It's really cute to watch her eat them. When she first started feeding them to herself, it was a two handed procedure to get them in her mouth (one hand supporting the other, fingers reaching practically back to her throat). At first her hit rate was probably only about 25%. Now she's pretty good at it, and she no longer needs two hands.
Stranger Anxiety
For a few weeks, depending on her mood, Audrey sometimes had pretty bad stranger anxiety. One night, she wouldn't let Uncle Andrew hold her until she had been with him for 45 minutes. Thankfully, though, she seems much better now. That didn't last long!
Sweaty palms
When Audrey first starting walking holding on to Mommy and Daddy's hands it was thrilling but scary for her. You could tell she was nervous because her palms would get all sweaty. Just like Mommy's hands get sweaty when she's nervous…..
Night owl
It's funny the type of things that can apparently be inherited.
I'll be darned if we can get the get to bed before 11 or midnight. Even then it's sometimes a fight. Sometimes she won't go to sleep until after 1. Mommy has no one to blame but herself.
Veggie lover
Nothing beats fruit in our child's eyes, but we've discovered that she does appreciate vegetables and beans—as long as they have a little seasoning and a little texture! We started by feeding her pieces of potatoes, carrots, peas, and garbanzos from a minestrone soup we had made. (We were a little hesitant to give her stuff from the soup since it had a tomato base, and she's not supposed to have tomatoes until she's a year old, but we just sucked off most of the soup.) All of a sudden, our child who hates vegetables was gobbling them up. The pattern has held. This week she's eating black beans, plantains, potatoes, carrots, and brown rice and even polenta from the table. It's really fun to watch to eat with enthusiasm. Hopefully she won't be too picky an eater. And really, I wouldn't have wanted to eat those cold, pureed, unseasoned veggies we were trying to give her before, myself, so I can hardly blame her for not liking them. (
Book lover
Tonight at the B&N, Audrey only wanted to take a few steps to get herself close enough to a bookshelf to start sorting through all the books on the shelf. We're gonna have to rearrange our books at home so that our photo albums aren't the easiest things for her to play with!
Dependent mobility
Baby shows no particular interest in crawling still, but she has finally achieved mobility—of a sort. She just loves to walk around with mom and dad holding her hands or elbows. Whereas it used to be that she really had to just concentrate on getting one foot in front of the other, now she is competent enough to navigate herself to points of interest. So, she can explore things that she finds interesting—cupboards, plants, brooms, etc. She can walk a surprisingly long way, and she often wants to be walked rather than be carried these days. We had to buy her a pair of shoes at the mall the other day because she wanted to walk all around the mall. Also, she loves to carry things around as she walks—sometimes one toy or item in each hand. She's never had a particular favorite toy before but now she seems to be developing a fondness for a bear doll that is, apparently, very nice to carry around.
Nursing exercises
Sometimes, Audrey likes to exercise her legs and nurse at the same time. I find it quite amusing and cute. With me sort of leaning back, she'll have her head on my chest with her little tush kind of in the air, and her legs sort of walking and kicking and standing. (She's in sort of an L shape.) Then she'll kneel. Then she'll stand. She likes to experiment with all sorts of different positions, actually.
Food, Glorious, Food
We're feeding the babe quite a few different foods now. We're giving her a lot of foods from the table, which makes things more fun. For example, tonight James cooked carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli to death, and we fed little pieces of the cauliflower and brocc to the babe. (Not carrots, cause they gave her pretty bad gas a while back, we think. We should probably try them again, though.) Surprisingly, the babe accepted a bit of those vegetables. She generally disdains veggies. Also, it's really fun that summer fruits are coming into season, because we've been giving her cherries for the past couple of days, and she loves them! It takes a while to prep them for her (we've been chewing off the skin and them feeding her pieces of cherry meat) so it's kind of a pain but mostly fun.
Ma ma, ra ra
Baby has been babbling quite a bit recently. Mostly mamamabababamaba. Sometimes eggi (which sounds like Korean for baby." ) A couple of days ago she started rarararagaragara! That really surprised me because ra is a pretty tough sound, and she hasn't started easier sounds like dadada yet. Today she also broke out with a few num-nums! For the last couple days, I've been wondering if she's really making the connection with mamama. A couple times she's looked right at me when she says it. And when I was dropping off some paperwork at school the other day, my boss asked her "Where's mamama?" and Audrey smiled and hugged me. I'm not 100% ready to log it as her first word yet, but I'm getting pretty close.
Pulling up and “walking”
Baby is quite picky about pulling up. She doesn't really like to do it using anything other than Mommy or Daddy's fingers. She now enjoys "walking" around the house with a little help from the folks. (She hangs on to our hands.) She even likes to negotiate obstacles (walking up onto Mommy's leg, and that sort of thing.) She likes to try standing using just one hand for support, but her balance isn't good enough for that yet. We laugh that she's getting cocky.
Drinking from a cup.
Audrey loves drinking water. Even before she had officially had water from a sippy cup (when we introduced solids) she would taste the (often slightly soapy) water in the bathtub and smack her lips with relish. Nowadays we give her water in a sippy cup and directly from a cup. The other day when I was eating lunch, Audrey was playing in her high chair and showed interest in my cup. I went to give her a cup of her own to play with, but rather than grabbing it (like she usually does when you hand things to her) she opened her mouth and looked at me expectantly. I was so excited that she knew what a cup was really for! I went and put in some water and gave her a drink rather than a plaything.
Upwards motion.
New milestone two days ago—Audrey pulled up on Daddy. This was very exciting for all three of us. It initially happened at about midnight, and we spent the next hour finding new places for the baby to try pulling up. By one, Daddy was zonked and fell asleep, but Mommy and the baby were still kind of worked up. So, another couple of milestones were achieved, this time book related. Mommy pulled out Audrey's current favorite book, Bunny and Friends. Bunny and Friends is a touch and feel book, and the baby particularly likes the pages featuring bunnies and tigers. Her first book milestone was that when I tried to turn to a less favored page containing chicks, the baby purposefully (I think) turned back to the bunny page. The second milestone was that the baby quietly pulled on the bunny's fur and the tiger's whiskers until she had settled down enough to nurse herself to sleep at around 2. It was Audrey's first time lulling herself to sleep with a book (something Mommy does all the time.) (For the past few weeks we've also been proud of the baby because she knows exactly where to touch her touch and feel books to find the interesting textures.)
Backwards motion!
Audrey has officially moved a few feet on her own. On her tummy, she can reach out and push herself backwards. When she first discovered this ability, she didn't seem to be able to decide if she was pleased to be moving or frustrated to be moving backwards. However, after a few days of experimentation, she seems to have settled for being more frustrated than pleased! She clearly seems to understand that forward motion on her hands and knees would be preferable, but never lasts long on hands and knees before ending up on her tummy, where she quickly whines in frustration. Poor kid. And poor mom who must constantly be at the ready to rescued a stranded babe.
Motor control. Audrey loves nothing better than playing with spoons. She'll reach over all of her other toys to get at a spoon, and she's hang on to it and play with it for a long, long time. She's had pincer grasp for quite a while now, and really enjoys manipulating things with her hands. She's more gradually developing her gross motor skills. Over the past couple of days she's been experimenting a bit with her positioning when nursing, latching herself on from (sometimes really uncomfortable looking positions) seemingly just for a change of pace and because she can. She's also sometimes delatching and rolling off of my lap when she's finished. Inching closer to being more independently mobile. She hasn't done anything spectacularly new recently (like crawling, pulling up, or going from tummy to sitting) but she's clearly making small but significant strides in her motor development. (She pulls herself up a little bit, though not nearly all the way to standing. She once got from hands and knees to sitting, etc.) By nature, she seems physically cautious—not eager to take risks that might result in a hard tumble. Little, safely manageable physical feats seem more her style. Her sitting is pretty stable now, but she gets frustrated and whines when she goes from sitting to her tummy and gets stuck. Again, she doesn't seem eager to work really hard to make forward progress. She's more apt to whine and get herself rescued.
Newton’s Inspiration
Dropping games have begun in earnest. When sitting in her high chair, Audrey loves to drop her toys and books on the ground. Then she swings her head over the side of her chair to see where they went, staring at them on the floor in fascination. It's a slightly tiresome game for mom and dad.
Poop frequency.
Just a comment that, with the introduction of solids, it's a nice change because our child no longer poops 5 or more times per day. Now it's a couple times, max, and sometimes she even goes for days at a time without pooping. James thinks the more solid, smellier poops are gross, but I kind of prefer them to the liquidy breastmilk ones.
Sleeping through the night
Last night we were discussing our baby's sleep habits, and we realized that, over the past few weeks, without our really being aware of it, she may have started sleeping through the night. Lisa thought about it and couldn't remember being awakened in the middle of the night for quite a while (with the exception of baby's bad reaction to carrots, which caused her to awaken crying several times one or two nights in a row). Of course, once we realized the baby was sleeping through the night, we had jinxed it, and Audrey promptly had a really bad night and woke up numerous times.
Forward progress!
Baby certainly isn't crawling yet, but over the past few days she seems to have developed a stronger desire to make forward progress. And today, some success! Daddy put her on the bed on her tummy, and put a pacifier just out of her reach. (She doesn't actually suck the rubber nipple part of the pacifier, but enjoys nibbling on the hard plastic sides.) Audrey, working very hard, twisted and inched her way forward. Finally, she had scooted forward far enough to grab the pacifier, and she yelped with joy. Wish we had it on tape!
Sore eyes
A traumatic Sunday evening for Mommy, Daddy, and Baby. Something was irritating Audrey's right eye. The white of the eye and the skin around the eye were red and irritated looking. The baby would close her eyes tightly and wail, and the eye teared so badly that her nose would run and she had to swallow hard. It got better and worse throughout the evening, almost disappearing at times only to reappear with a fresh round of wails. We called the Palo Alto Medical Foundation where someone (a nurse practitioner?) offered to prescribe some "drops" and said if it was still bad in the morning we could bring her in. Daddy went off to get the drops at a 24-hour pharmacy, and we were shocked to discover they were antibiotic drops when he got them home. We didn't really think it was an infection, and didn't use them. Finally got the poor babe to sleep at around 1 am. Thankfully, she slept through the night and, by morning, she seemed fine.
Daddy decided to video tape one of the cycles to show it to the doctor if need be. When one of the episodes hit, Audrey teared up with clenched eyes, but when she saw the camera she gave a little smile – always posing for the camera!
Talkin’ up a storm.
Yesterday, the babe started officially babbling a bit. Gi gi gi, and mum mum mum seem to be her favorites. Some bahs and lahs too. She also makes sounds that sound like eggi. (Korean for baby.) Her second word? (
Our little diva.
Audrey enjoyed her high chair very much the first few times we had her in it, exploring every inch of it with her little fingers and watching Mommy and Daddy eat from a new angle with great interest. After a few days though, she started to find being in the high chair while we eat very, very dull. She expressed her boredom by slumping over and leaning on the side of the chair with a listless expression on her face. No amount of toys or cajoling succeeded in amusing her. We, however, found her "bored, bored, bored" body language quite amusing, and James ran to get the camera. But the moment he appeared with the camera, the baby perked up and sat up and flashed him a big smile. No one's gonna catch her bad side on film. ;)
Solids!
Audrey enjoys bananas from Mommy's finger with great gusto.
Tongue play.
Audrey loves to experiment with her tongue. Today she's curling it up and around. (Read to make a retroflex "r"??) Mommy and Daddy are excited to try solids with her after her six-month appointment!
Volume control.
A couple of times recently Audrey seems to be experimenting to see how loud she can get. Not a skill we necessarily want her to practice a lot. ( Also, when she's tired, the little bugger can get quite cranky and wail when you try to take a toy away.
Audrey's verbal repertoire is expanding. Recently she's mostly been making growling noises, but today she's making some very clear new sounds. "Buh" "Guh" "Luh." Once she even said "Guh guh." But I think we need a repeat performance of that before we officially call it babbling.
Audrey discovers gravity!
For the first time, she seems to be purposefully dropping toys to see where they go and how Mommy and Daddy react. (Mommy and Daddy react by calmly retrieving them for her every time.)
After taking a couple of tumbles, Audrey is a little more tentative about sitting today, though still pretty good. When placed in the center of her boppy, she's feels very secure and happy to practice her new skill. Also today, while being held by Daddy, Audrey reached out her arms as though to indicate that she was ready to be held by Mommy!
Guess who’s sitting?
Yesterday, Audrey very tentatively moved from slumping over while leaning on her hands to pulling herself into an upright position. (Followed by a big smile.) Today, she progressed from sitting for just a few seconds before toppling over in the morning, to nonchalantly sitting for minutes at a time by evening. The quick progression has been amazing to watch!
Audrey’s first raspberry. Should we be happy, or admonishing?
A huge week!
Audrey spends 4 hours alone with daddy, while mommy goes to work. Daddy survives.
Audrey wrote her first composition. She still has to hunt and peck (and lick) though. But, the Nobel prize in literature can't be far off.
YJJJB j 111111111111111111111111223/333333333333 ……………………2lkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk kkkkq,, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm4888888888389999 9988888888888888888877777il::33/;
*Says "agua". (Very early)
*Tears up Kleenex (3 months)
*Baby is placed in the center of the bed, and she begins squirming. She wiggles over from the center of the bed to be near Daddy's chest, and then is still. Placed back in the center of the bed, she repeats this process. (3 ½ months)
*Turns own pages during story time, sometimes even transferring pages from the right hand to the left in order to complete the page turning process. (3 months)
*Passes plastic key ring from one hand to the other, but often fails to let go with the first hand. Sometimes cries in frustration when she fails to transfer the keys successfully. Mom and Dad have to be careful to remove the keys before she gets too upset. (3 ½ months)
