2 snippets of F July 17, 2008

I’m in the midst of writing my 10month F update, but thought of this now. . . . she has developed a new nursing protocol. We start out nursing on our sides, laying down, as usual. She (now that she can roll over) flips over, on to hands and knees and approaches the breast thusly, like a small puppy. A small, happy puppy, as she is grinning devilishy all the while. And so she nurses facing me, on all fours. It’s a little freaky.

Also, last night driving home from G/G’s house, she entertained K and me with 45 minutes of straight screeching. At the end K started getting a little hysterical himself, “Stop crying!” “Mom, stop talking, you’re making her cry.” “MOM, DON’T SING.” Oh it was a comfortable ride home. Perhaps my habit of crawling into the back seat to nurse whilst T is driving is . . . . .not such a good idea in the long run. Because sometimes, you know, I’M driving and then it’s just not possible. I don’t think she gets that part. Poor thing.

what *they* said July 16, 2008

I am not alone. . . .

http://indigogirl.typepad.com/linda/2008/07/fast-forward.html

http://www.sundrymourning.com/2008/06/02/room-for-improvement/

pillow talk July 14, 2008

So many stories, such as that to follow, are probably a lot funnier in real life and/or in my head than they are when rendered in typewritten black and white on the page. But here goes.

We’ve been working on bedtime with K. . . well bedtime and daytime and whineytime and mealtime, generally all-time. He’s been a bit of a challenge lately. A cute, smart challenge, but nonetheless. So I put him to bed and tell him: This is it. After I leave, it’s bedtime and I’m not going to talk to you anymore or come in here. If you say, “Mommmmm I need XXXXX,” I am going to say “Goodnight K.” And that will be that.

Right. In my head, that will be that.

So this night he agrees to my terms, I leave to do dishes, and return upstairs an hour later, congratulating myself on a job well-done. He finally gets it, I say. My consistence and clear communication are working, I pat myself on the back. Clear sailing ahead.

At the top of the stairs I hear, “I need a different pillow.”

I visibly deflate.

Then say firmly, “Good night K.” (That is, after all, our deal.) He cries, he screams, he tosses things around his room. At one point, he walks out holding pillows A and B in his outstretched arms, “These pillows are not good.” He throws them, I collect them and they go away (another deal: You throw it, you lose it).

Then he goes to get pillow C and carries that out, still wailing. “This pillow is not comfortable.” Pillow C is thrown, picked up, gone away.

All this time, he is following me out of his bedroom. I turn around and walk him back in; he runs ahead of me and jumps into bed. I turn to leave, he follows me out. You get the idea. . . this goes on and on. He is wailing; I don’t speak. With every fiber of my being, I hate doing this. But I know from experience that if I stop and talk to him, or reason with him, or tuck him in, then we start over. So I continue.

All the windows are open; it’s 10pm. I can only assume that everyone in the neighborhood can hear what’s going on. It’s a little embarrassing.

Then on one of his trips back into his bed, he slips and falls, bumping his heel on the bedframe. Wailing increases tenfold. Now it’s not only, “Mommy, mommy, mommy, please listen to me mommy. PLEASE.” It escalates to “Mommy, mommy, mommy, owie, mommy owie, it hurts. Owie, mommy, PLEASE.”

So what do you think the neighbors are thinking NOW? T even comes in, looking concerned, to see what is going on. Needless to say, I have not touched K, have barely looked at him. Now it’s a lot embarrassing. I close the windows to spare the neighbors (and probably implicate myself further if anyone really *is* listening).

And here, finally, is the hardest part for me to think about. After about 30 minutes he gathers his composure, as best a very upset 3.75 year old can. Through his sobs, which become swallowed and muffled in his attempt to calm himself, he says, “Excuse me mommy, could I please have a different pillow.”

It hurts me to type this, but I didn’t give him one. I walked him back to bed. First and foremost in my mind was: BE CONSISTENT. And whoo-boy was I consistent, but I don’t think I did the right thing. I honestly don’t know what I should have done and this nutshell represents my hardest parenting moment. I don’t know if I did the right thing.

He has an anger problem; he throws toys and kicks and hits and screams. I am really struggling with how best to teach him and help him and guide him. I remember that anger; I’m pretty sure I was the same way. How can I help him?

I know that I will have moment after moment like this throughout the years. Indeed F is showing signs of her own magnificent temper. I need to figure this out.

To end the story, however, after 60 hellish minutes, K fell asleep. By that time his disdained/beloved pillows were gone, his bedsheet was gone, his diaper was gone (pulled off by him), his stuffed animals had all been thrown and confiscated. My small, dear, sweet, sweet boy was sprawled asleep, naked on his naked bed. I love him.

father’s day: 1 day late June 16, 2008

He is attentive, generous with his time, helpful, engaged. He is the game-player, the wrestler, the ball-player. He excels at a game called CHASE. He makes up stories on demand. He turns the music up loud and quizzes k on BobDylan, JohnnyCash, BobMarley, and MickJagger. He loves to snuggle; lying with a child on his chest. He falls asleep first when putting k to bed.

When k was little, t would lament that k seemed to only want me (or rather, my milk). Now with f it’s the same and a little worse; she tends to scream for me and can smell me if I’m within 100 miles. I always thought: this too will change. They will grow and realize that he is so something worth wanting. They will start to say: Where’s dad? When is dad coming home? I want dad to read me stories. I want dad to put me to sleep. And indeed, that is what k says now. I imagine it will be the same as f grows.

He and I are very different and I am counting on him to expand their worlds like he did mine. So far, k is somewhat introverted and sensitive, as I am. I don’t want to change him into something different, but I want him to have exposure right now, every day, to another world view. . . . that life is big, beautiful, wide-open, full of experiences and people and food and places to be consumed.

I am lucky, I know, to have a partner in parenting. He doesn’t “babysit” k and f; he’s integral to their fun, their care, their sense of being and worth.

time +/or energy June 14, 2008

If only I had more time, and yes more energy, I would have so many more entries here. By the end of each day I am exhausted. Perhaps the downside of being a 41 year old new mother?

So what would I like to write about:

• Developmental updates for both k/f.
• K’s school updates.
• K all-of-a-sudden doing everything by himself.
• F being charming and delightful to all she surveys.
• Many the-things-they-say updates
• The daycare illnesses: A chronicle
• K’s budding fashion sense.
• K + F playing together are so funny.
• My severe lack of attention and other impending disasters.

For now, let me choose a couple to briefly update. . . . .

I have been trying to clear out old clothes, new clothes, clothes coming and clothes going. There are piles everywhere in every room. It could, yes it could, drive someone crazy. So I try. I finally cleared out some baby stuff of K’s and put it in the OUT pile. I came home last week to K wearing a cute little pair of capri-type pants. Then I thought to myself, he does not *own* any cute little capri-type pants. When he took them off that night I looked and yes, they were size 6month baby pants. My 3.5 year old can fit into 6month baby pants. He put on another pair yesterday but they couldn’t button, thankfully.

In related news he has quite recently (last week) taken to dressing himself 100%. And then undressing himself and re-dressing himself a couple of times a day. I’m not sure if this is fashion or just a simple pride in having mastered a new skill. Either way, I get a big kick out of it. I think the most we’ve seen is perhaps 3 or 4 new outfits in a day. He gets mad when T or I see him doing the changing. . . he wants it to be a surprise so he says, DON’T LOOK AT ME. And we can’t look until he’s done.

He’s quite newly self-sufficient in other ways too. I suppose this could be developmental or it could be his pre-school experience. But in the evening, he will go to the bathroom, wash his hands, brush his teeth . . . all by himself. We’re all quite pleased with this new independent behavior. I must mention though that last night the new independent behavior did prompt one phone call to poison control. You see, I’ve been letting k use adult toothpaste, you know with fluoride (which I guess is technically a poison). Last night in his flurry of independence he didn’t want me in the bathroom to watch his whole routine. I agreed. He was awfully quiet in there for quite some time; I should have been suspicious. He came out clean and smelling, no, reeking of toothpaste. Did you eat the toothpaste? Yes. How much? I don’t know. I looked at the tube and it was pretty squished down. Soooooooo, I called poison control because that’s what it says to do on the back of the toothpaste tube and if nothing else, I do follow directions. The man said how much did he eat? I said I don’t know. He said a teaspoon or half a tube? I said more like a teaspoon, but I don’t know. He said give him some milk; it will bind with the fluoride. He said based on his weight, he would have to eat 2ounces for detriment to occur. He said watch him and call back if he throws up in the next hour. So k drank the milk, went to bed, he never threw up, he lives today.

And one more thing, this final incident of the day was but one of many. K also decided to play hi-ho-cherry-o on the floor in the living room. Of course he didn’t pick UP all the cherry-os. I found them throughout the afternoon, scattered around F’s blanket and toys. Perhaps a choking hazard? Then later I was making dinner. K was playing and F in her saucer. I glanced over and thought, How nice that they are both content. Then I glanced over again and thought, What is F doing playing with a circus peanut. Well it was actually playdoh the color of a circus peanut. And yes I think she ate some. So I talk to k about all of these things. . . . . don’t leave the cherries around, be careful of small choke-able items, you can’t give playdoh to a baby. But at the end of the day *I* need to be more careful. Have I mentioned lately? This is hard work.

overheard May 19, 2008

“Clap clap clap dad, we’re going to go to the library to get some books about people that died.”

hand to mouth May 15, 2008

well as of last night F can pick up cheerios and feed herself. further proof of genius. two days ago she was picking them up between her thumbs and getting them to her mouth 50% of tries. then last night, she was picking them up in a pincer grasp and getting them to her mouth 90% of tries.

she likes to pull herself up and is getting stronger standing while holding on to things.

she is so damm happy.
we love her.

The first day of school (or how *could* you?) May 13, 2008

Let me tell you a little, true story. . . .

Yesterday was the first day of daycare/school for k/f. Because K is kind of sensitive, we had been to visit twice and had talked about the experience quite a bit. He woke up grumpy and got grumpier. He whined, wanted to be held and carried, wasn’t “comfort-ble” anywhere we put him. He didn’t want to eat breakfast, he wanted to lie on the couch.

At a certain point, I had to go to work – - and did. And the rest of the story, as relayed by T. . . .

He got them to the school. F was dropped off (happily, no tears). K was dropped off (not so happily, many tears). As T left, K was being held by a teacher, sobbing and looking over his shoulder at T, betrayed. Or rather, BETRAYED.

T got a call mid-day that K had stopped crying and indeed seemed to enjoy himself at Arts and Crafts time.

I got there to pick them up at about 5pm, thinking that I would be in the throes of the other parent-pickups. I certainly didn’t imagine being the second-to-last parent to pickup. But I was. I walked in the door and spotted him right away. He had on a fleece shirt with juice dripped down the front, his second pair of extra pants, his red boots. He was peaking out from behind an easel at the back of the room. The look in his eyes was forlorn, a little despairing, and reeked somewhat of abandonment. Even when I went over to him, he didn’t lose the look, in fact it just turned into blame, with betrayal close behind.

He wanted to get F right away, so off we went. He wanted to be carried, which I did for a bit. He slowly started to warm up to me and began to talk as we left the building. By the time we got to the car he was almost himself, ie not listening to me anymore.

And so it goes.
Yipes.

I find myself wishing that he could be different than me, ie not quite so introverted and sensitive. I had thought that he might be more like T. . . .extroverted and confident in the face of anything. I wonder from where do these things come? Nature or nurture? Could K be changed, or even encouraged to be a certain way?

Upon further reflection (and some probing questions from a colleague/friend), what am I saying by, “I wish he could be more like. . . .(insert anything here).” And what if he picks up on that? Does he feel like the way he is isn’t good enough. I am who I am today bc I was/am an introverted sensitive person. For certain, I don’t like it some days, but would I change it if I could go back to my childhood? I don’t know the answers here but I am surely thinking about what I want for my child. How do I accept him as he is, guide him toward something better, and yet love him and help him feel confident whatever the case may be.

You know. . . the fine line of balance, eluding me again.

my particular May 5, 2008

K said last week that he had been practicing saying “girl” instead of “girlluh” because “girlluh” wasn’t right.  Sometimes these little things just break my heart. Or at least bend it a little.

He is very particular about how he says things. Lately I have also noticed him practicing the “th” sound. He enunciates it very carefully.

Why does it break/bend my heart?  I think because I extrapolate. He likes to do things right. He always has. He didn’t walk until the later end of the scale, I think because he wanted to do it right– he didn’t want to try and fall (fail).  Now he will be going to this new preschool. It’s going to be a big huge adjustment for him. Firstly, he is sensitive and shy. Secondly, because he likes so much to do things right.  And, as with any new thing, he might falter a little in this new setting – - or perceive that he’s faltering. Then he gets that look, you know, the look in your child’s eye that says, “I’m scared. I don’t know what to do and I’m scared.”

That look breaks my heart.

in earnest. April 14, 2008

k says,

i love baby to the moon and back.
i love mom to carter’s house and back.
i love dad to bob’s house and back.

N.B. carter lives about 3 miles from us.
bob lives next door.