I know you're awfully busy ensuring the marbles stay put in so many other heads, but if you could just spare a moment I think I might have an idea that could save you some precious time. Life for moms and dads every where would be so much saner if you could, you know, maybe, see to it that their children didn't already know everything. It's awfully difficult to keep it together when the 5 year old or 3 year old is smarter than you. Or at least when they think they are.
Thanks,
Loopy Mom in U.S.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
4.14.2008
4.02.2008
It'd be peachy without you
I've learned something very important over the last 6 years.
I don't like other parents.
Ok, let me clarify. I have lots of wonderful friends that are parents - these parents I like. There are lots of other parents that I can readily identify with or feel at ease with - these parents I like.
It's the rest of them: the prima-donna-mom's that force their crying girls into the dance studio because "she will dance and she will like it!"; the parents that do all of their preschooler's 'child led' project without the child's input; the dads that coach little league like it's make or break for their son's future in MLB; the parents that decide the teacher is unreasonable because she didn't want 80 bottle of bubbles coming in for "Spring Fling"; the parents that are peeved the preschool is not "academic" enough; and the ones that wonder what in the world they'll do to amuse their children if they can't quickly find some sort of extracurricular activity - every day of the week. Yes. THESE are the parents that make me cranky.
Instead of launching the giant tirade loaded with specific examples that I had been winding up too, let me ask you this. When is it that our kids get to be kids? When do they get to just sit and play? When do they get to explore the world and learn by experience? When do they get to do the things *they* want to do and build the life they want - not the one you missed?
Yet it's even bigger than that, isn't it? Why do we remove the biggest teacher of all from our children's lives? What's wrong with learning by falling? We do a great disservice to our children when we hand them the world on a platter - when we make it 'easy.' I'm not suggesting strife. I'm saying we all need to learn to get knocked down again so we can figure out how it is one goes about getting back up. It's not an easy thing to watch your child go through, and yet it's a gift that we can give them. That chance to learn they ARE not perfect but they are resilient. It's the one that says they aren't good at everything, but they are great at the most important things:
- Being loved
- Giving love
- Having the courage to go out on that limb
- Having the fortitude to try again and again
The more I grow into these parenting britches, the more soap boxes I find calling me. At times it seems that there are just too many when in truth they are stepping stones to the same box.
This one:
Young minds are sponges - but they absorb best when they're allowed to expand through age appropriate leaning opportunities and in directions they're most interested in going.
You had your childhood. You ran that leg of the race. Your job now is not to carry your children on your back as they toe the starting line Your job is to be the cheerleader holding out the cup of water for them as they run their race.
I don't like other parents.
Ok, let me clarify. I have lots of wonderful friends that are parents - these parents I like. There are lots of other parents that I can readily identify with or feel at ease with - these parents I like.
It's the rest of them: the prima-donna-mom's that force their crying girls into the dance studio because "she will dance and she will like it!"; the parents that do all of their preschooler's 'child led' project without the child's input; the dads that coach little league like it's make or break for their son's future in MLB; the parents that decide the teacher is unreasonable because she didn't want 80 bottle of bubbles coming in for "Spring Fling"; the parents that are peeved the preschool is not "academic" enough; and the ones that wonder what in the world they'll do to amuse their children if they can't quickly find some sort of extracurricular activity - every day of the week. Yes. THESE are the parents that make me cranky.
Instead of launching the giant tirade loaded with specific examples that I had been winding up too, let me ask you this. When is it that our kids get to be kids? When do they get to just sit and play? When do they get to explore the world and learn by experience? When do they get to do the things *they* want to do and build the life they want - not the one you missed?
Yet it's even bigger than that, isn't it? Why do we remove the biggest teacher of all from our children's lives? What's wrong with learning by falling? We do a great disservice to our children when we hand them the world on a platter - when we make it 'easy.' I'm not suggesting strife. I'm saying we all need to learn to get knocked down again so we can figure out how it is one goes about getting back up. It's not an easy thing to watch your child go through, and yet it's a gift that we can give them. That chance to learn they ARE not perfect but they are resilient. It's the one that says they aren't good at everything, but they are great at the most important things:
- Being loved
- Giving love
- Having the courage to go out on that limb
- Having the fortitude to try again and again
The more I grow into these parenting britches, the more soap boxes I find calling me. At times it seems that there are just too many when in truth they are stepping stones to the same box.
This one:
Young minds are sponges - but they absorb best when they're allowed to expand through age appropriate leaning opportunities and in directions they're most interested in going.
You had your childhood. You ran that leg of the race. Your job now is not to carry your children on your back as they toe the starting line Your job is to be the cheerleader holding out the cup of water for them as they run their race.
3.16.2008
Catching my breath
Six years ago, I made the choice to quit full-time work and find a solution that allowed me to meet our financial needs without giving up more time at home then necessary. It was an easy choice to make but a hard one to implement. In the back of my mind was Harry Chapin's song "Cats in the Cradle." I never wanted to be "that" parent. So far. So good.
Lately, however, the corner of the blogosphere I'd been frequenting could easily say I've been neglectful. I don't blog regularly and I surely don't read elsewhere all that often. I'm not apologizing for it; it's simply been a causality of a busy life. It does mean, however, that I've fallen out of touch with some friends. I'm slowly trying to catch up here and there. Bear with me.
Back to the kids and the cat. Well no, I don't own a cat. Real cats make my eyes itch and my nose stuff up. I'm talking about that song again. It's been a while, so you might have forgotten - I'm one of those stream-of-consciousness writers.
In January I struggled to find a "50% off calender" I really liked. This thing has to hang on my wall for 12 months, I need to adore the images at least a little. I finally settled upon one of those "family organizers" with big, lined blocks that stretched the wall calender to two pages and the graphic to a mere header. I never thought I'd fill up those blocks, but I went with it.
The truth?
I've run out of room in some of those blocks.
Sometimes it's the incredibly mundane. Other times its a tad off the wall. "2 slices of bread into K. Easter Grass for K. Press release to T. Dog sit - Let S out am." That's my Monday. And that's just what I fit in the little space on my wall calender.
There's dance class and t-ball games. There's "read Dr. Seuss to Kindergarten" and "Family Fun night at preschool." There's meetings. There's haircuts. There's work. There's all that stuff that makes a family dash.
And it's all good.
Somewhere between scheduling and the fullness of life, we sneak in some down time too. These are the moments I cherish. The ones I think about jotting down in a blog or a journal somewhere so I can preserve the daily nuances that make these quirky people mine. Yet the intent barely makes it past the idea stage.
The truth, however, is that I'm ok with that. I'm too caught up in living it to document it - well ok, so I do often photograph it.
Here's the quick summary. The boy is mind-boggling good with numbers. He's 5 1/2. He multiples stuff like 15 x 3 or 12 x 12 in his head without missing a beat. He subtracts stuff like 247 - 24 or 1299 - 20 - 100 without pause. He's constantly asking for equations to play with or pelting us with numbers to manipulate for him. If this stuff is inherited, then he's got some mutated genes. Math and me? We do not get along. Numbers aren't a big fan of Dad either.
The girl is determined to read. We work on it when she wants; she is, after all, only 3. There's no hurry. Last night she wanted to try. She proceeded to sound out most of the words on the first 5 pages of Hop on Pop. Logan reads everything in sight - Meg will be there sooner rather than later. Clearly their blog fodderness will need to find it's way 'press' after bed time.
Girl is in love with her dance classes. Boy is loving t-ball. They have picked up a passion for photographing anything in their path. They're really pretty good at it. They play. They sing. They write. They draw and create. They love. They are the two best huggers I know. That makes all those challeneging moments worth it.
Lately, however, the corner of the blogosphere I'd been frequenting could easily say I've been neglectful. I don't blog regularly and I surely don't read elsewhere all that often. I'm not apologizing for it; it's simply been a causality of a busy life. It does mean, however, that I've fallen out of touch with some friends. I'm slowly trying to catch up here and there. Bear with me.
Back to the kids and the cat. Well no, I don't own a cat. Real cats make my eyes itch and my nose stuff up. I'm talking about that song again. It's been a while, so you might have forgotten - I'm one of those stream-of-consciousness writers.
In January I struggled to find a "50% off calender" I really liked. This thing has to hang on my wall for 12 months, I need to adore the images at least a little. I finally settled upon one of those "family organizers" with big, lined blocks that stretched the wall calender to two pages and the graphic to a mere header. I never thought I'd fill up those blocks, but I went with it.
The truth?
I've run out of room in some of those blocks.
Sometimes it's the incredibly mundane. Other times its a tad off the wall. "2 slices of bread into K. Easter Grass for K. Press release to T. Dog sit - Let S out am." That's my Monday. And that's just what I fit in the little space on my wall calender.
There's dance class and t-ball games. There's "read Dr. Seuss to Kindergarten" and "Family Fun night at preschool." There's meetings. There's haircuts. There's work. There's all that stuff that makes a family dash.
And it's all good.
Somewhere between scheduling and the fullness of life, we sneak in some down time too. These are the moments I cherish. The ones I think about jotting down in a blog or a journal somewhere so I can preserve the daily nuances that make these quirky people mine. Yet the intent barely makes it past the idea stage.
The truth, however, is that I'm ok with that. I'm too caught up in living it to document it - well ok, so I do often photograph it.
Here's the quick summary. The boy is mind-boggling good with numbers. He's 5 1/2. He multiples stuff like 15 x 3 or 12 x 12 in his head without missing a beat. He subtracts stuff like 247 - 24 or 1299 - 20 - 100 without pause. He's constantly asking for equations to play with or pelting us with numbers to manipulate for him. If this stuff is inherited, then he's got some mutated genes. Math and me? We do not get along. Numbers aren't a big fan of Dad either.
The girl is determined to read. We work on it when she wants; she is, after all, only 3. There's no hurry. Last night she wanted to try. She proceeded to sound out most of the words on the first 5 pages of Hop on Pop. Logan reads everything in sight - Meg will be there sooner rather than later. Clearly their blog fodderness will need to find it's way 'press' after bed time.
Girl is in love with her dance classes. Boy is loving t-ball. They have picked up a passion for photographing anything in their path. They're really pretty good at it. They play. They sing. They write. They draw and create. They love. They are the two best huggers I know. That makes all those challeneging moments worth it.
3.10.2008
New Math
We play a lot of hide-and-seek in our house. It burns energy. It amuses them immensely and as a side-benefit, it helps hone their ability to count. All good stuff, right?
Yesterday they begin playing and my 3 year old decides to change up the rules. "Wogan," she says to her 5 year old brother, "Don't count to 10. Count to 20 so I have more time."
He starts to argue but the look on her face tells him it's only going to mean a long drawn out, game ending battle. He relents. He's 5, after all, he can work his way around her rule. With a nod he turns to face the wall and she starts to dash off giggling.
"2....4.....6...." he counts out loud.
She stops in her tracks. "Wogan!" she yells, "You're doing it wrong! Mom!! My brother is doing it wrong. Wogan you're missing numbers!"
Logan smiles at her sweetly, "No Megan, I'm counting right. I'm counting by twos. It's called skip counting. I'm going to skip count to 20."
She weighs this and then finally decides it's time to hide. She takes off running again and he returns to his count. He comes down the hall seeking - and he does so like a good big brother pretending not to know where she is even though she's been in the same spot the last 4 times. He inches closer to that very spot, looking everywhere BUT the space behind the recliner he knows she's wedged into. She leaps out and yells "BOO!"
He feigns surprise before calling out "Ok. My turn to hide!"
She, who usually remains in her spot to count, rises from behind the chair and starts to hop from foot to foot. "1" she says as the first foot fits the ground and her knee desperately tries to reach waist level. "2" she says as the opposite foot hits the floor. "3, 4, 5...." feet alternate as she hops out of the room towards the hall to seek her prey.
"Meg honey?" I ask my bopping and hopping child, "What are you doing?"
She looks at me like I've got those extra heads sprouting from my shoulders again. "Moooom!" she drags the word out to display her annoyance, "I'm SKIP counting! Geesh."
Yesterday they begin playing and my 3 year old decides to change up the rules. "Wogan," she says to her 5 year old brother, "Don't count to 10. Count to 20 so I have more time."
He starts to argue but the look on her face tells him it's only going to mean a long drawn out, game ending battle. He relents. He's 5, after all, he can work his way around her rule. With a nod he turns to face the wall and she starts to dash off giggling.
"2....4.....6...." he counts out loud.
She stops in her tracks. "Wogan!" she yells, "You're doing it wrong! Mom!! My brother is doing it wrong. Wogan you're missing numbers!"
Logan smiles at her sweetly, "No Megan, I'm counting right. I'm counting by twos. It's called skip counting. I'm going to skip count to 20."
She weighs this and then finally decides it's time to hide. She takes off running again and he returns to his count. He comes down the hall seeking - and he does so like a good big brother pretending not to know where she is even though she's been in the same spot the last 4 times. He inches closer to that very spot, looking everywhere BUT the space behind the recliner he knows she's wedged into. She leaps out and yells "BOO!"
He feigns surprise before calling out "Ok. My turn to hide!"
She, who usually remains in her spot to count, rises from behind the chair and starts to hop from foot to foot. "1" she says as the first foot fits the ground and her knee desperately tries to reach waist level. "2" she says as the opposite foot hits the floor. "3, 4, 5...." feet alternate as she hops out of the room towards the hall to seek her prey.
"Meg honey?" I ask my bopping and hopping child, "What are you doing?"
She looks at me like I've got those extra heads sprouting from my shoulders again. "Moooom!" she drags the word out to display her annoyance, "I'm SKIP counting! Geesh."
12.09.2007
The kid will take a tall. Make mine a Venti.
I don't even remember how it came up but I recently found myself saying:
My daughter is addicted to Starbucks.
And if I recall the other end of the conversation seemed to need a moment to pop her eyes back in her head.
"Starbucks?" she said, "You mean your three year old?"
Some how the funny of a story gets lost when you need to explain it. I hate that. Even as I back tracked slightly and then moved again to push ahead I knew the tale would fall flat.
"Well, yes, actually. Only she calls it Star-boo-cks," I mumble, before hastily adding in, "It's the cow-milk. She loves it. Well really I think it's the ambiance but she knows she's only drinking the cow-milk."
"The cow milk?"
"Right. You know, the little juice box milk with the cow on it...vanilla. She doesn't like the chocolate..ahh...hey look! Is it snowing?"
Speaking of coffee houses. . .
My church moved into it's current facility in 1969. Before that the congregation occupied a small, colonial style church building down town.
Sometime during my childhood our creepy, itty, bitty library migrated to a big, airy, spacious new building. The then 'new' library was built off the back end of the old church building. The old clock tower, the bell - all still there. The choir loft remained in tact. The stained glass that did not make it's way to the new building still poured colored sun light onto the floor of what was now meeting space. I always loved having story time in there.
Over the last two years that same library underwent another overhaul. It began with a busted pipe that left water damaged books, carpet and lord knows what else in it's wake. It ended up a brand new wing and a tremendous face lift for the old section. Today our library is buzzing with the sorts of services and programs that earn it on some national association's list of top 5 libraries in the nation. Seriously.
As a child I truly believed our library was the most amazing one ever constructed. It was a treat to go poke around the stacks of books. My children, luckily, agree. We make frequent trips and leave with large, over stuffed bags of books each time.
Last week was our most recent trip. The girl child was at preschool. The boy and I were ducking in quickly to return our previous stash and to restock. He was antsy. He wanted a slew of books but he wanted them quickly. We ran through, picked out, checked out and with Logan setting the pace, we hustled out past the circulation desk into the lobby.
He was pulling my hand and dragging me towards the front of the building - the old church building that still looks like the church from the outside while boosting bits and pieces of its history on the inside.
"Can we?" he asked, knowing what lie inside that former sanctuary is off-limits when Megan is with us.
I gave in, as I normally do knowing this is a rare treat for him. I let him jog two paces ahead of me and came to a stop in line behind him. The woman behind the counter smiled at Logan's exuberance and waited for him to stop waffling over his choices.
When he finally did, I said to her, "Ok, we'll have one vanilla frosted donut with sprinkles, one container of milk and one large vanilla spice coffee. Thanks."
Moments later the boy and I were settling into the iron backed chairs at our little table just feet from the overhang of the old choir loft. His donut resting on the bag as he licked the first bits of frosting from his fingers. I swirled the sweetners and cream in my coffee. . .and then I used that Dunkin' Donuts emblazoned napkin to wipe up the bit I had spilled.
If we're being honest, I felt a small nudge of guilt for not making the kid say grace before digging into that donut - or maybe that was just a bit of stain glass tined light clouding my mind.
My daughter is addicted to Starbucks.
And if I recall the other end of the conversation seemed to need a moment to pop her eyes back in her head.
"Starbucks?" she said, "You mean your three year old?"
Some how the funny of a story gets lost when you need to explain it. I hate that. Even as I back tracked slightly and then moved again to push ahead I knew the tale would fall flat.
"Well, yes, actually. Only she calls it Star-boo-cks," I mumble, before hastily adding in, "It's the cow-milk. She loves it. Well really I think it's the ambiance but she knows she's only drinking the cow-milk."
"The cow milk?"
"Right. You know, the little juice box milk with the cow on it...vanilla. She doesn't like the chocolate..ahh...hey look! Is it snowing?"
Speaking of coffee houses. . .
My church moved into it's current facility in 1969. Before that the congregation occupied a small, colonial style church building down town.
Sometime during my childhood our creepy, itty, bitty library migrated to a big, airy, spacious new building. The then 'new' library was built off the back end of the old church building. The old clock tower, the bell - all still there. The choir loft remained in tact. The stained glass that did not make it's way to the new building still poured colored sun light onto the floor of what was now meeting space. I always loved having story time in there.
Over the last two years that same library underwent another overhaul. It began with a busted pipe that left water damaged books, carpet and lord knows what else in it's wake. It ended up a brand new wing and a tremendous face lift for the old section. Today our library is buzzing with the sorts of services and programs that earn it on some national association's list of top 5 libraries in the nation. Seriously.
As a child I truly believed our library was the most amazing one ever constructed. It was a treat to go poke around the stacks of books. My children, luckily, agree. We make frequent trips and leave with large, over stuffed bags of books each time.
Last week was our most recent trip. The girl child was at preschool. The boy and I were ducking in quickly to return our previous stash and to restock. He was antsy. He wanted a slew of books but he wanted them quickly. We ran through, picked out, checked out and with Logan setting the pace, we hustled out past the circulation desk into the lobby.
He was pulling my hand and dragging me towards the front of the building - the old church building that still looks like the church from the outside while boosting bits and pieces of its history on the inside.
"Can we?" he asked, knowing what lie inside that former sanctuary is off-limits when Megan is with us.
I gave in, as I normally do knowing this is a rare treat for him. I let him jog two paces ahead of me and came to a stop in line behind him. The woman behind the counter smiled at Logan's exuberance and waited for him to stop waffling over his choices.
When he finally did, I said to her, "Ok, we'll have one vanilla frosted donut with sprinkles, one container of milk and one large vanilla spice coffee. Thanks."
Moments later the boy and I were settling into the iron backed chairs at our little table just feet from the overhang of the old choir loft. His donut resting on the bag as he licked the first bits of frosting from his fingers. I swirled the sweetners and cream in my coffee. . .and then I used that Dunkin' Donuts emblazoned napkin to wipe up the bit I had spilled.
If we're being honest, I felt a small nudge of guilt for not making the kid say grace before digging into that donut - or maybe that was just a bit of stain glass tined light clouding my mind.
8.07.2007
Catch it before you miss it
My kids are not known for being quiet. In fact, their verbosity is sometimes enough to send me cowering in the bathroom with the door locked and pleas of "I'm in the bathroom guys, just give me a minute. . ."tripping off my lips in the hopes that they buy it. Yeah, they talk. A. Lot.
Hand in hand with the amount of time their lips are moving is a fairly extensive vocabulary for their respective ages. Sometimes I take that for granted; I readily admit it. And although they may use words that seem to be a big fit for such a small body, they still have some of that adorable age-appropriate struggle with enunciation. Logan, for example, is still "Wogan" when his not-quite-yet-3-year old sister decides to actually call him by name.
These are the things I'll miss. Long before they head off to college or their own homes leaving mine dreadfully silent, I will miss the little misspoken words and phrases. The ones I try so hard not to repeat back to them no matter how much I want to hear it again and again. It was cute and smile inducing when Logan did it. It's almost cuter now - not because Megan is the "baby" of the house...but because Logan has become her interpreter. It's like living in the UN with the toddler-oozing-into-preschooler nation trying to communicate with the United-Front of Adults and the Kindergartener standing between them to translate into English.
This weekend my new little fish invited us all over to Grandma's house to see his new skill. Logan has decided swimming underwater is actually a very, very, cool thing that should occupy roughly 90% of every hour he's awake. He prefers to swim with goggles on. It's something his sister copies, just as she copies most everything else he does. The original set each kid had was actually more mask than goggle. Logan had upgraded....Megan has not.
"I want my snorple," she demanded as I held her almost treading water body in the pool.
"You're what?" I said, "I'm not sure what that is Meg."
"I want my snorple! I want to put my eyes in," she explained, clearly annoyed at having to repeat herself. "You know. My snorple. Like Brubee. I want my mask and my snorple."
Logan popped up for air at about that moment and said, "She means snorkle. Her mask has a snorkle tube so she can talk when she's underwater."
Of course, because why should we breathe when we can talk?
Hand in hand with the amount of time their lips are moving is a fairly extensive vocabulary for their respective ages. Sometimes I take that for granted; I readily admit it. And although they may use words that seem to be a big fit for such a small body, they still have some of that adorable age-appropriate struggle with enunciation. Logan, for example, is still "Wogan" when his not-quite-yet-3-year old sister decides to actually call him by name.
These are the things I'll miss. Long before they head off to college or their own homes leaving mine dreadfully silent, I will miss the little misspoken words and phrases. The ones I try so hard not to repeat back to them no matter how much I want to hear it again and again. It was cute and smile inducing when Logan did it. It's almost cuter now - not because Megan is the "baby" of the house...but because Logan has become her interpreter. It's like living in the UN with the toddler-oozing-into-preschooler nation trying to communicate with the United-Front of Adults and the Kindergartener standing between them to translate into English.
This weekend my new little fish invited us all over to Grandma's house to see his new skill. Logan has decided swimming underwater is actually a very, very, cool thing that should occupy roughly 90% of every hour he's awake. He prefers to swim with goggles on. It's something his sister copies, just as she copies most everything else he does. The original set each kid had was actually more mask than goggle. Logan had upgraded....Megan has not.
"I want my snorple," she demanded as I held her almost treading water body in the pool.
"You're what?" I said, "I'm not sure what that is Meg."
"I want my snorple! I want to put my eyes in," she explained, clearly annoyed at having to repeat herself. "You know. My snorple. Like Brubee. I want my mask and my snorple."
Logan popped up for air at about that moment and said, "She means snorkle. Her mask has a snorkle tube so she can talk when she's underwater."
Of course, because why should we breathe when we can talk?
7.07.2007
One of those blatant Mommy-brags
Logan's been tinkering with his shoe laces in recent months. He gets about as far as a string of knots before he throws his hands up and announces the task of tying a bow simply impossible. He'd given up trying, having informed me that he would only be wearing Velcro for the rest of his life if I refused to tie shoes for him. Thankfully, he gave up that idea. Something got him motivated Friday morning, although I'm still not sure what:
5.24.2007
I'm digging five
The boy will be five next month. The very, very end of next month. There were times during the last two years one might have wondered if he'd live to see the day. We had a glimmer of hope earlier in the year when we attended back-to-school night at the preschool. The little hand-outs they had available summarizing 3, 4 and 5 year olds promised a calming and cooperative stage at 5.
There were days I clung to that promise like a water-logged lost-soul on the open sea clings to a life raft.
Don't get me wrong, over all Logan is a great kid. Really. He's got a great wit and a deep compassion - but sometimes that gets tucked neatly behind his mother's sarcasm and his father's selective hearing. Combine that with a sister who fully embraced "terrible twos" and is shaping up to reinforce my long held belief that "three is worse than two." You can see why sometimes my sanity was in doubt.
Yet lately there's been a change in the boy. He's been calmer. He's pushed back less. He's demanded infrequently. He's begun to pitch-in without being asked or reminded. He's sudenly much more interested in being helpful and giving than he is in 'having it all my way right now.' In short, he's fulfilling that little 'developmental sheet' prophecy.
Now, let's be honest. I stopped reading after the 5 year old sheet because sometimes I like living in ignorant bliss. I can sit and pretend that those tween/teen years are not going to make 2-3-4 look like a cake walk. I can stick my fingers in my ears chanting "La-la-la-I-can't-hear-you" when you try to tell me that there are still going to be 'rough' days at 5 or "just wait to see what he learns in school."
Ignorant bliss. Do you hear me?
I'm going to sit and relish the moment when the days are good much more often than they're challenging. I'm going to enjoy this time when our biggest struggle is whether he reads the first line to me or I read it to him. I'm going to hoard the lot of kisses and cuddles I get today because I already see that it's coming to an end (we are already forbidden to fuss and "snuggle" in public.)
So far 4 11/12ths, as Logan will declare himself, is making 5 look mighty fine.
There were days I clung to that promise like a water-logged lost-soul on the open sea clings to a life raft.
Don't get me wrong, over all Logan is a great kid. Really. He's got a great wit and a deep compassion - but sometimes that gets tucked neatly behind his mother's sarcasm and his father's selective hearing. Combine that with a sister who fully embraced "terrible twos" and is shaping up to reinforce my long held belief that "three is worse than two." You can see why sometimes my sanity was in doubt.
Yet lately there's been a change in the boy. He's been calmer. He's pushed back less. He's demanded infrequently. He's begun to pitch-in without being asked or reminded. He's sudenly much more interested in being helpful and giving than he is in 'having it all my way right now.' In short, he's fulfilling that little 'developmental sheet' prophecy.
Now, let's be honest. I stopped reading after the 5 year old sheet because sometimes I like living in ignorant bliss. I can sit and pretend that those tween/teen years are not going to make 2-3-4 look like a cake walk. I can stick my fingers in my ears chanting "La-la-la-I-can't-hear-you" when you try to tell me that there are still going to be 'rough' days at 5 or "just wait to see what he learns in school."
Ignorant bliss. Do you hear me?
I'm going to sit and relish the moment when the days are good much more often than they're challenging. I'm going to enjoy this time when our biggest struggle is whether he reads the first line to me or I read it to him. I'm going to hoard the lot of kisses and cuddles I get today because I already see that it's coming to an end (we are already forbidden to fuss and "snuggle" in public.)
So far 4 11/12ths, as Logan will declare himself, is making 5 look mighty fine.
5.02.2007
Is he trying to tell me something?
Megan said "Maybe you can be my teacher next year at my school."
Logan cut in, "Maybe you can be MY teacher next year at MY school."
I said, "I can't teach at school but we can learn together any time you want at home." I explained that I didn't have the right certification - the right paperwork - to be a teacher at school. They, of course, asked why. "I didn't go to school to be a teacher" I explained.
Logan, without missing a beat, replied, "Well, maybe when you grow up you can be a teacher."
Logan cut in, "Maybe you can be MY teacher next year at MY school."
I said, "I can't teach at school but we can learn together any time you want at home." I explained that I didn't have the right certification - the right paperwork - to be a teacher at school. They, of course, asked why. "I didn't go to school to be a teacher" I explained.
Logan, without missing a beat, replied, "Well, maybe when you grow up you can be a teacher."
4.06.2007
So long, farewell
This relationship has been going on for almost 5 years. Although I'm still a little nervous to let go, I must confess that it's really time to move on. We need to part ways, you and I. I will no longer come to you for security and protection. I will no longer depend on you - except maybe at night when sleep settles upon my house.
Yes, Pampers, we're through.
Can I get an Amen?
A week ago Megan woke up and announced she was done with diapers and that was that. She does still need them at night, although she did go one night dry after waking up mid-way through to use the potty. She has had the occasional accident when she tries just a little too hard to be independent and a button slows her down. I still insist on a pull-up OVER underwear when we're going to be out of the house and I won't be with her - like child care at the gym or church.
For all intenstive purposes, however, she's an underwear wearing, potty using big kid.
Wow.
Can't say I'm sad to see the diaper phase pass.
Yes, Pampers, we're through.
Can I get an Amen?
A week ago Megan woke up and announced she was done with diapers and that was that. She does still need them at night, although she did go one night dry after waking up mid-way through to use the potty. She has had the occasional accident when she tries just a little too hard to be independent and a button slows her down. I still insist on a pull-up OVER underwear when we're going to be out of the house and I won't be with her - like child care at the gym or church.
For all intenstive purposes, however, she's an underwear wearing, potty using big kid.
Wow.
Can't say I'm sad to see the diaper phase pass.
3.25.2007
He gets it and he knows
Logan can be a confident kid. I mean really, how can one lack confidence when they're apt to roll his eyes a little and say, "Mom, I know everything." Yet sometimes he can be easily steeped in a little self-doubt. The boy that would readily tell us he knows something about everything didn't seem to have a grasp on exactly how well he could read.
It began two years ago. Logan was 2 1/2 and could tell you what sound every letter made - albeit short vowel sounds only. He began to understand how these sounds bled together to form words. He learned sight words. He learned to recognize familiar words. He started to read phrases which led naturally to short sentences. He was a master of Reader Rabbit games on the computer.
He'd seem to do it when no one was paying attention -- most of all him.
For a long time he denied it. We didn't push. When he would read I'd commend him for it. A little high five and a great job. One day he admitted what single fear held him back - he was afraid no one would read to him any more if he could read to himself.
In response we began to read big classic books: Wind in the Willows, Tom Sawyer, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Stuart Little, etc. We explained that even if he could read picture books and early readers, we'd still climb into his bed with him every night to read something bigger to him and/or with him.
He began to experiment more with words.
Yesterday he sat down with one of Megan's board books and read it aloud to her - fumbling over only a few larger words he was unfamiliar with. Tonight we cuddled up in his bed just before lights out and we took turns reading pages from another book. I nearly broke out a present the Easter Bunny is bringing him in two weeks -- the book "You Read to Me. I'll Read to You."
When I tucked him in tonight I kissed him on the forehead then moved close to his ear. "I'm so proud of you," I whispered to him knowing he didn't want me to make a big deal when Daddy and Meg could hear.
I could see his smile through the dark. He whispered back, "I can read! I'm proud of me too."
It began two years ago. Logan was 2 1/2 and could tell you what sound every letter made - albeit short vowel sounds only. He began to understand how these sounds bled together to form words. He learned sight words. He learned to recognize familiar words. He started to read phrases which led naturally to short sentences. He was a master of Reader Rabbit games on the computer.
He'd seem to do it when no one was paying attention -- most of all him.
For a long time he denied it. We didn't push. When he would read I'd commend him for it. A little high five and a great job. One day he admitted what single fear held him back - he was afraid no one would read to him any more if he could read to himself.
In response we began to read big classic books: Wind in the Willows, Tom Sawyer, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Stuart Little, etc. We explained that even if he could read picture books and early readers, we'd still climb into his bed with him every night to read something bigger to him and/or with him.
He began to experiment more with words.
Yesterday he sat down with one of Megan's board books and read it aloud to her - fumbling over only a few larger words he was unfamiliar with. Tonight we cuddled up in his bed just before lights out and we took turns reading pages from another book. I nearly broke out a present the Easter Bunny is bringing him in two weeks -- the book "You Read to Me. I'll Read to You."
When I tucked him in tonight I kissed him on the forehead then moved close to his ear. "I'm so proud of you," I whispered to him knowing he didn't want me to make a big deal when Daddy and Meg could hear.
I could see his smile through the dark. He whispered back, "I can read! I'm proud of me too."
2.17.2007
All at once
When we had our children two years apart we knew there'd be times when their milestones managed to overlap. Big moments coming at us all at once.
Wait, first you need to understand something about me. I'm not the type of mom that really mourns the passing of a particular stage. I didn't get sad to see my baby grow to toddler. IN fact, I was almost relieved. I adore my children. I loved their little fingers and their baby quirks...but frankly, I'm really not a big 'infant' fan. I prefer the interaction and the give and take that the toddler years brought and I'm loving these preschool years. We get to a new beginning and I get excited about what comes next - to excited to miss what we're leaving behind.
So, you see, when it came to the big "start of school' ages, I didn't expect any lump in the throat or catch in the chest. I figured it'd be more of the same. More building excitement. More "yup, we're moving on and that's ok." what I didn't bank on is that it'd come all at once. . . even though I knew it would.
A few days ago we began to get information about Kindergarten registration. Our son will turn 5 over the summer and begin school in September. He's excited. He can't wait for the bus and the 'real big kid school.' He's practically counting down the days.
Then today I reach into my mailbox and see a familiar return address - our preschool. What was different was the way the envelope was addressed. It was in regards to my daughter. My baby. She'll turn 3 in September and she'll begin preschool at the same time. She's dying to go. She's begging. She's even willing to give up the diapers to go. (In fact upon seeing the letter today she ran to the bathroom giggling about being a big girl! Granted, she put a pull-up on right after that, but hey, baby steps.)
There it was - all at once. One off to elementary school and the other starting her adventure at preschool -- all at once. Suddenly I found myself looking at my oldest thinking "Wow, he's going to ride that school bus next year on his own. Without me? How's he going to get to class? Holy cow!" Then I looked at my headstrong daughter, "She's really going to sit in circle time? She's going to be gone for two mornings a week...on her own?"
It wasn't that one kid was on the precipice of a giant leap forward -- it was that both were, all at once. And suddenly that lump started to build and my heart skipped a little beat.
Wait, first you need to understand something about me. I'm not the type of mom that really mourns the passing of a particular stage. I didn't get sad to see my baby grow to toddler. IN fact, I was almost relieved. I adore my children. I loved their little fingers and their baby quirks...but frankly, I'm really not a big 'infant' fan. I prefer the interaction and the give and take that the toddler years brought and I'm loving these preschool years. We get to a new beginning and I get excited about what comes next - to excited to miss what we're leaving behind.
So, you see, when it came to the big "start of school' ages, I didn't expect any lump in the throat or catch in the chest. I figured it'd be more of the same. More building excitement. More "yup, we're moving on and that's ok." what I didn't bank on is that it'd come all at once. . . even though I knew it would.
A few days ago we began to get information about Kindergarten registration. Our son will turn 5 over the summer and begin school in September. He's excited. He can't wait for the bus and the 'real big kid school.' He's practically counting down the days.
Then today I reach into my mailbox and see a familiar return address - our preschool. What was different was the way the envelope was addressed. It was in regards to my daughter. My baby. She'll turn 3 in September and she'll begin preschool at the same time. She's dying to go. She's begging. She's even willing to give up the diapers to go. (In fact upon seeing the letter today she ran to the bathroom giggling about being a big girl! Granted, she put a pull-up on right after that, but hey, baby steps.)
There it was - all at once. One off to elementary school and the other starting her adventure at preschool -- all at once. Suddenly I found myself looking at my oldest thinking "Wow, he's going to ride that school bus next year on his own. Without me? How's he going to get to class? Holy cow!" Then I looked at my headstrong daughter, "She's really going to sit in circle time? She's going to be gone for two mornings a week...on her own?"
It wasn't that one kid was on the precipice of a giant leap forward -- it was that both were, all at once. And suddenly that lump started to build and my heart skipped a little beat.
2.14.2007
Can't argue with him
Megan is clearly overtired and easily melting down over anything and everything. She came to running over asking for help with the bathroom. So we dashed down the hall. She was wearing a diaper but insisting she take it off on her own. The problem, however, is that she’d already gone in it and it was a mess. Not something I wanted her yanking off and getting every where. I took it off for her – and the massive melt-down ensued.
I cleaned her, cheered for her as she did use the potty, calmed her tears and finally got her to lay down on her bed to ‘rest.’ In the midst of all that, Logan comes into the bathroom. “Excuse me,” he says ever so politely, “But I need some ice cubes and a straw for my drink of water. Can you please come get them.”
I said (maybe not as the complete paragon of patience since Megan was flailing around in a fit on the toilet at that moment) “Logan it needs to wait until I’m done here.”
“But I have the hiccups,” he said. I pointed out that I hadn’t heard a single hiccup and he needed to wait.
During a break in the action, I got him his ice and the straw. I returned to Megan and settled her on her bed, then tracked down Logan to chat. I explained that I wasn’t mad at him but that sometimes even saying “excuse me” doesn’t mean you can interrupt. You need to simply wait sometimes. “Logan, you could have had the drink you already poured without the straw or the ice. I needed to clean and calm your sister at that moment. The ice and straw could have waited for a few minutes while I did it.”
He thought about it. He left the room to retrieve his construction paper to make even more Valentine’s. Then he stopped and said, “Hey Mommy. I have a question.”
Ok?
“What’s more important, cleaning a kid or curing a kid?” he asked.
“Well Logan, it was the hiccups which go away on their own and I’m not even sure you actually had them. In this case, the answer is cleaning the kid.” I said.
He shook his head, “Mommy, it is always more important to cure the kid.”
--
Megan finally drifted off to sleep for what has become the rare nap. Logan and I made Valentine's for Daddy. He wanted to play hangman - which, for some reason has become one of his favorite games of late.
He drew the gables, not knowing the true nature of a hanging man, he finds this amusing. He drew dashes under to represent the letters we were to uncover. There were a lot of letters.
"Do you know what that word is supposed to be?" I asked him, wondering if he had something in mind or just liked making the dashes.
"No," he said matter of factly.
"Then how do we know if we guess the right letters?" I asked.
"It's a mystery," he said and he set about guessing.
I cleaned her, cheered for her as she did use the potty, calmed her tears and finally got her to lay down on her bed to ‘rest.’ In the midst of all that, Logan comes into the bathroom. “Excuse me,” he says ever so politely, “But I need some ice cubes and a straw for my drink of water. Can you please come get them.”
I said (maybe not as the complete paragon of patience since Megan was flailing around in a fit on the toilet at that moment) “Logan it needs to wait until I’m done here.”
“But I have the hiccups,” he said. I pointed out that I hadn’t heard a single hiccup and he needed to wait.
During a break in the action, I got him his ice and the straw. I returned to Megan and settled her on her bed, then tracked down Logan to chat. I explained that I wasn’t mad at him but that sometimes even saying “excuse me” doesn’t mean you can interrupt. You need to simply wait sometimes. “Logan, you could have had the drink you already poured without the straw or the ice. I needed to clean and calm your sister at that moment. The ice and straw could have waited for a few minutes while I did it.”
He thought about it. He left the room to retrieve his construction paper to make even more Valentine’s. Then he stopped and said, “Hey Mommy. I have a question.”
Ok?
“What’s more important, cleaning a kid or curing a kid?” he asked.
“Well Logan, it was the hiccups which go away on their own and I’m not even sure you actually had them. In this case, the answer is cleaning the kid.” I said.
He shook his head, “Mommy, it is always more important to cure the kid.”
--
Megan finally drifted off to sleep for what has become the rare nap. Logan and I made Valentine's for Daddy. He wanted to play hangman - which, for some reason has become one of his favorite games of late.
He drew the gables, not knowing the true nature of a hanging man, he finds this amusing. He drew dashes under to represent the letters we were to uncover. There were a lot of letters.
"Do you know what that word is supposed to be?" I asked him, wondering if he had something in mind or just liked making the dashes.
"No," he said matter of factly.
"Then how do we know if we guess the right letters?" I asked.
"It's a mystery," he said and he set about guessing.
2.13.2007
I think Bill Cosby had it right
Do you remember that show Bill Cosby had in the late 90's? The one with the cute kids spouting comic gems with no effort? Yes, "Kids say the Darndest Things."
Anyone sitting for more than a few moment with a young conversationalist knows this is true - Cosby (and Art Linkletter before him) simply had the good fortune of exploiting it on national television, while the rest of us get to enjoy the show (and possibly the humiliation) from front row seats in our day to day lives.
A few days ago, WordNerd explored the same topic (even referring to the same Linkletter show, which, by the way, is not something I had remembered until I went back to the site for the url to link.) Reading her thoughts reminded me that I had also slacked off from writing in the kids' respective blogs - the ones I like to use for future blackmail by preserving these comic gems for future reference. Then it occurred to me that some of those aforementioned topics (see yesterday's post) swirling 'round my brain were such prime examples.
Of course the tragedy is I have forgotten many of them already. Yet fret not. There are children involved here and they are apt to provide more fodder before I even realize I need it. For example there is Miss Independent Megan who likes to put her own shoes on yet does not always get the right foot and the right shoe matched up properly.
Grandma said, "Meg, honey, I think you have your shoes on the wrong feet."
Meg stopped running. She stared at her feet as she lifted her toes up and down a few times. Then she gave Grandma a puzzled look.
"No, Grandma, they're on my feet."
Or there's Mr. Romance Logan who sat at the table writing out his Valentine's Day cards for the preschool friends. I handed him a card and said, "Is this one ok for Sophie?"
And he said, "Mom! It's not like I'm going to marry her or anything. Geesh!"
Oh, lest we forget the joys potty training can bring. Megan, who knows darn well what to do on the potty and does so when the whim hits her, has developed that oh-so-charming-knack of discussing her (or anyone else's bathroom habits (or lack thereof) at any given moment. For example, kid-gym on Monday. She was lounging on mats waiting for her turn to tumble. She looked up with her eyes really wide and then started to giggle. "I peed and now my diaper is really hot," she informed me and every other mother in a 5 mile radius. Needless to say we took a quick break for a diaper change.
Or last but not least, there was the fine skill of peer-to-peer tutoring. As we left preschool the other day Logan's friend D came running over to a giant bear hug good bye. Logan's pretty particular about who is allowed to hug him. Mom/dad/grandparents/sister? Yes. Rest of world? Not so much. He pulled away, clearly not thrilled with the affectionate display. Seeing the boy was about to attack again, I jumped in with "Oh! Logan, can you high five him good bye?"
Both boys loved the idea. Logan held out his hand. His friend held his high, "Slap me high!"
And Logan did.
"In the middle," said the friend as he moved his hand slightly lower. And Logan did.
"Down low. . ." said the friend who moved his hand quickly away when Logan tried to catch it. "You're too slow!" the boy yelled in a familiar refrain*.
Logan laughed and patted his friend's shoulder. We left the class and as we did, Logan shook his head a little and smiled really wide. "I taught him that you know," he said in the prideful way any master might display when his prodigy excels.
*Damn those cousins in the far away place. It's so nice the things they teach.
Anyone sitting for more than a few moment with a young conversationalist knows this is true - Cosby (and Art Linkletter before him) simply had the good fortune of exploiting it on national television, while the rest of us get to enjoy the show (and possibly the humiliation) from front row seats in our day to day lives.
A few days ago, WordNerd explored the same topic (even referring to the same Linkletter show, which, by the way, is not something I had remembered until I went back to the site for the url to link.) Reading her thoughts reminded me that I had also slacked off from writing in the kids' respective blogs - the ones I like to use for future blackmail by preserving these comic gems for future reference. Then it occurred to me that some of those aforementioned topics (see yesterday's post) swirling 'round my brain were such prime examples.
Of course the tragedy is I have forgotten many of them already. Yet fret not. There are children involved here and they are apt to provide more fodder before I even realize I need it. For example there is Miss Independent Megan who likes to put her own shoes on yet does not always get the right foot and the right shoe matched up properly.
Grandma said, "Meg, honey, I think you have your shoes on the wrong feet."
Meg stopped running. She stared at her feet as she lifted her toes up and down a few times. Then she gave Grandma a puzzled look.
"No, Grandma, they're on my feet."
Or there's Mr. Romance Logan who sat at the table writing out his Valentine's Day cards for the preschool friends. I handed him a card and said, "Is this one ok for Sophie?"
And he said, "Mom! It's not like I'm going to marry her or anything. Geesh!"
Oh, lest we forget the joys potty training can bring. Megan, who knows darn well what to do on the potty and does so when the whim hits her, has developed that oh-so-charming-knack of discussing her (or anyone else's bathroom habits (or lack thereof) at any given moment. For example, kid-gym on Monday. She was lounging on mats waiting for her turn to tumble. She looked up with her eyes really wide and then started to giggle. "I peed and now my diaper is really hot," she informed me and every other mother in a 5 mile radius. Needless to say we took a quick break for a diaper change.
Or last but not least, there was the fine skill of peer-to-peer tutoring. As we left preschool the other day Logan's friend D came running over to a giant bear hug good bye. Logan's pretty particular about who is allowed to hug him. Mom/dad/grandparents/sister? Yes. Rest of world? Not so much. He pulled away, clearly not thrilled with the affectionate display. Seeing the boy was about to attack again, I jumped in with "Oh! Logan, can you high five him good bye?"
Both boys loved the idea. Logan held out his hand. His friend held his high, "Slap me high!"
And Logan did.
"In the middle," said the friend as he moved his hand slightly lower. And Logan did.
"Down low. . ." said the friend who moved his hand quickly away when Logan tried to catch it. "You're too slow!" the boy yelled in a familiar refrain*.
Logan laughed and patted his friend's shoulder. We left the class and as we did, Logan shook his head a little and smiled really wide. "I taught him that you know," he said in the prideful way any master might display when his prodigy excels.
*Damn those cousins in the far away place. It's so nice the things they teach.
2.03.2007
1.17.2007
This little piggie
New parents often have a weird obession with their newborn's toes. At some point in those early hours of life, there's a tally taken - do we have 10? Yes we have 10. Well all right then! (I have no idea what we'd do if we ever counted more or less.) Then there are the non-parental adults in a child's world that seem to have a baby foot thing going. A friend of mine was giddy waiting for the day she could get peek at the little baby toes of both my kids. So tiny to the point you questioned their reality. Could a person be THAT small?
I must confess to finding the small feet in my house a bit of an intrigue. They're invovled in some pretty big 'firsts', if nothing else - those often well documented first steps. The 'biggie' as notable milestones go. And yet, they are so darn small. So flat and so fat. Yup, we're talking puffy little toddler feet.
A few weekends ago when the weather denied it ought to celebrate winter and we basked in the warm sun on the beach Megan gave up her insistance that beach sand on naked toes was unacceptable. She plugged her foot deep into cool, damp piles of sand. She ran across the uneven ground sending clumps of sand about knee high (to her) out behind her to illustrate the nature of speed. She sat and wiggled those toes in the fine grains.
And of course I took pictures.
I sat looking at this particular one for a while. It seemed a little odd at the time to take it - but that never stopped me from doing so before. My husband laughed a little when he saw it. Megan finds it terribly amusing. Yet it illustrates something to me in a way other photos can not.
In our hallway there is a picture frame with a black and white photo of Megan merely days old. Below her photo is a black stamped footprint next to her name and details of her birth stats. (We have an indentical frame for Logan on the opposite wall.) When we stamped her foot that day, it seemed so big - She seemed to have such 'huge' fit as newborns go. Yet now that print seems so tiny it's surreal. So hard to believe my bundle of energy was every that little bundle of baby.
And yet this photo. That foot. Still so small.
Megan is not quite two and half years old. She's got so much life ahead of her and at the same time, so much change already behind her. She's done some major growing recently - not just in size. We've come to know her personality and have begun to understand how to make adjustments in our behaviors to have some success with hers.
And then there's her brother. When he's on his own or with her seems so big. When he's with "big" kids though, he still so small. He's wise beyond his years. He's still such a little kid at the same time.
In the next few weeks we're going to sit with his teacher at the preschool and we're going to talk about his progress this year - and the antipation of next year. The big "K."
He's excited. He can't wait ride a school bus and hit Kindergarten!
Me, I'm a bit in a daze over it. I look at that tiny foot print in my hallway. I look at the photos of his first steps - the big pride-filled smile on his little 10 month old face. I look at the mix of joy and nervous on his face his first day of preschool last year. I look at his foot today - so much bigger and yet still quite small in a way. This same foot that's going to walk him up the steps of that big yellow vehicle and then into those big brown doors of elementary school. I can imagine the years ahead as that same, albeit much larger foot, walks him down an aisle with a cap and gown - so many years away and yet not so many.
Those little feet taking them so very far.
12.29.2006
The kid view of holidays
We wade through the remanents of Christmas here at my house - the piles of unwrapped toys that slowly make their way from tree skirt to new resting place, the decorations that will eventually come down, the left-over food in the fridge, the birthday decorations the kids insisted we put up on Christmas Eve. (Including a Thomas the Tank Engine birthday banner because Baby Jesus is a boy so he'll like Thomas.)
And now we prepare for New Year's.
Logan 'got' Santa a few years ago. This year he's asking questions that start my wheels turning fast. "Doesn't Santa get full?"
"Huh?"
"He gets cookies at every house. Doesn't he get full?" he asks with one eye partially squinted at me in way that tells me the question is really about him analyzing every itty bitty detail.
"Well, all that hard work makes him very hungry."
"I'm leaving him one cookie. He's going to get fat eating too many at every house."
"Honey, Santa is fat. That's party of his charm."
"Yeah, but I think he needs an apple."
There was the discussion Santa coming to his school: Mommy? Is it the *real* Santa coming to preschool or just a fake one?
WHAT?!
And finally, "Why can't I stay up to see Santa on Christmas Eve?"
"Well, Santa is shy," I say with a wink to Dad as we sit in the front seats of the darkened car.
"He wasn't so shy when he talked to me at school," Logan quips back.
Crap.
Megan caught on to Santa too. She requested a big, fat, squishy red Veggie Tale tomato. Ask her today why she begged Santa for one.
"Because Mommy said no. I tell Santa can bring it."
Mommy said no to a lot of things leading up to Christmas. Apparently Santa hasn't learned that word. (For the record, Grandma bought the tomato and gave it to us to stick it with the rest of the Santa loot.)
Yes, they both "got" Christmas. This year, however, Logan actually 'gets' New Years Eve. He's understood days of the week prior to this. He'd even had an understanding of the months. This year, though, he's got a full appreciation of a year change beyond the realm of his own birthday. To boot, this year he wants to party, baby.
And so we are.
No. The preschooler and the toddler will not welcome the year with the drop of the sparkley ball in Times Square. But they will get party hats, noise makers, confetti and sparkling apple cider in fake champagne glasses before their natural bedtime. I've told Logan to start thinking - during the celebration he's to share one thing that was special during 2006 (his soccer team, he's already decided) and one thing he looks forward to in 2007 (the school bus and Kindergarten.)
It'll be a nice start to a new tradition.
And now we prepare for New Year's.
Logan 'got' Santa a few years ago. This year he's asking questions that start my wheels turning fast. "Doesn't Santa get full?"
"Huh?"
"He gets cookies at every house. Doesn't he get full?" he asks with one eye partially squinted at me in way that tells me the question is really about him analyzing every itty bitty detail.
"Well, all that hard work makes him very hungry."
"I'm leaving him one cookie. He's going to get fat eating too many at every house."
"Honey, Santa is fat. That's party of his charm."
"Yeah, but I think he needs an apple."
There was the discussion Santa coming to his school: Mommy? Is it the *real* Santa coming to preschool or just a fake one?
WHAT?!
And finally, "Why can't I stay up to see Santa on Christmas Eve?"
"Well, Santa is shy," I say with a wink to Dad as we sit in the front seats of the darkened car.
"He wasn't so shy when he talked to me at school," Logan quips back.
Crap.
Megan caught on to Santa too. She requested a big, fat, squishy red Veggie Tale tomato. Ask her today why she begged Santa for one.
"Because Mommy said no. I tell Santa can bring it."
Mommy said no to a lot of things leading up to Christmas. Apparently Santa hasn't learned that word. (For the record, Grandma bought the tomato and gave it to us to stick it with the rest of the Santa loot.)
Yes, they both "got" Christmas. This year, however, Logan actually 'gets' New Years Eve. He's understood days of the week prior to this. He'd even had an understanding of the months. This year, though, he's got a full appreciation of a year change beyond the realm of his own birthday. To boot, this year he wants to party, baby.
And so we are.
No. The preschooler and the toddler will not welcome the year with the drop of the sparkley ball in Times Square. But they will get party hats, noise makers, confetti and sparkling apple cider in fake champagne glasses before their natural bedtime. I've told Logan to start thinking - during the celebration he's to share one thing that was special during 2006 (his soccer team, he's already decided) and one thing he looks forward to in 2007 (the school bus and Kindergarten.)
It'll be a nice start to a new tradition.
12.18.2006
4 year old frienship
Today was cuddle-and-story time at preschool. I dropped Meg off at Grandma's and headed over for my date. Logan was quite excited to see me arrive. I was instructed on how to sit (criss-cross-applesauce...or for those that don't have children in a PC world - Indian Style.) Logan snuggled himself onto my lap and leaned back against me.
He turned slightly to look at me and whispered with some measure of excitement, "I asked Mark if I could go to his birthday party and he said yes."
"Oh, ok. Well that's great," I said. I glanced at the row of cubby boxes on the wall but my vantage point wasn't one that allowed a good peak. I assumed I'd find the invite when Logan retrieved his papers at the end of class. I mean surely this came up because the kids were talking about a party - right?
Yet, there was no invite. No sign of any pending party.
We walked out the car - Logan yammering on about this and that. I helped him with his seat belt, climbed into my seat and waited for a pause in his running commentary.
Finally my chance.
"Logan? When is Mark's birthday?"
" I don’t know. I guess he’ll tell me when it is and when I’m supposed to come to his party."
He turned slightly to look at me and whispered with some measure of excitement, "I asked Mark if I could go to his birthday party and he said yes."
"Oh, ok. Well that's great," I said. I glanced at the row of cubby boxes on the wall but my vantage point wasn't one that allowed a good peak. I assumed I'd find the invite when Logan retrieved his papers at the end of class. I mean surely this came up because the kids were talking about a party - right?
Yet, there was no invite. No sign of any pending party.
We walked out the car - Logan yammering on about this and that. I helped him with his seat belt, climbed into my seat and waited for a pause in his running commentary.
Finally my chance.
"Logan? When is Mark's birthday?"
" I don’t know. I guess he’ll tell me when it is and when I’m supposed to come to his party."
12.15.2006
Mushy Mush
If you're easily nauseated by outright parental gushing, a word of caution - proceed at your own risk.
Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm simply an emotional girl with easily misting eyes; I don't know. Sometimes one of my kids can say something or do something that makes me so proud of them I start to tear up a bit, which is what happened tonight.
Today is Meg's December sleepover. It's also Bruce's big trek to the perfect barber night. This left Logan and on our own - a date night. He picked the where and the when. I had to supply the wallet. We had dinner out together with plans to come home for a rousing Monopoly match and a good video before bed. We got sidetracked at the mall.
First it was to peek at Santa. Not speak to him, just peek at him. We peeked. Then it was chocolate at the forbidden zone (aka, peanut laden). And then it was the Disney store. I reminded Logan that he had recently spent the generous porition of his helping bucket money on a gift he'd donate through the church school program this weekend. He nodded. I pointed out the Toys for Tots table and asked if he wanted to get someone else a toy this Christmas. He nodded again and clapped.
The Disney store presented lots of nice options and so we rooted through their giant white plush winter animals marked down generously. Logan picked out the winner - a big, soft, cuddly white Heffalump. We paid. He marched back through the ball - both hands on the oversized Disney bag. He was determined to do this himself. When we got to the donation bin, Logan reached inside the bag, removed the prize and placed it gingerly in the bin with a giant smile. The two volunteers exhaled deeply and told him he was sweet. They offered him a candy cane. He took it with a nod and thanked them.
As we walked away he took my hand, clutching his reward tightly in the other hand. "You know what?" he asked me. I responded appropriately - What?
"My favorite part of Christmas is giving gifts to other people," he said with the sort of complete sincerity 4 year olds have yet to figure out how to fake. He went on to explain why he picked the toy he did - it was soft and squishy. Certain to make someone really happy and so therefore perfect for this sort of thing.
I was so proud. I *am* so proud. And I'm just a little teary eyed.
Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm simply an emotional girl with easily misting eyes; I don't know. Sometimes one of my kids can say something or do something that makes me so proud of them I start to tear up a bit, which is what happened tonight.
Today is Meg's December sleepover. It's also Bruce's big trek to the perfect barber night. This left Logan and on our own - a date night. He picked the where and the when. I had to supply the wallet. We had dinner out together with plans to come home for a rousing Monopoly match and a good video before bed. We got sidetracked at the mall.
First it was to peek at Santa. Not speak to him, just peek at him. We peeked. Then it was chocolate at the forbidden zone (aka, peanut laden). And then it was the Disney store. I reminded Logan that he had recently spent the generous porition of his helping bucket money on a gift he'd donate through the church school program this weekend. He nodded. I pointed out the Toys for Tots table and asked if he wanted to get someone else a toy this Christmas. He nodded again and clapped.
The Disney store presented lots of nice options and so we rooted through their giant white plush winter animals marked down generously. Logan picked out the winner - a big, soft, cuddly white Heffalump. We paid. He marched back through the ball - both hands on the oversized Disney bag. He was determined to do this himself. When we got to the donation bin, Logan reached inside the bag, removed the prize and placed it gingerly in the bin with a giant smile. The two volunteers exhaled deeply and told him he was sweet. They offered him a candy cane. He took it with a nod and thanked them.
As we walked away he took my hand, clutching his reward tightly in the other hand. "You know what?" he asked me. I responded appropriately - What?
"My favorite part of Christmas is giving gifts to other people," he said with the sort of complete sincerity 4 year olds have yet to figure out how to fake. He went on to explain why he picked the toy he did - it was soft and squishy. Certain to make someone really happy and so therefore perfect for this sort of thing.
I was so proud. I *am* so proud. And I'm just a little teary eyed.
12.12.2006
What would she say to John? and other kid stuff
We have the original Little People Nativity.
Damn it.
Except today I could not talk over him because it made the throat hurt too much. I told him this. He got quite and then started talking again after a pause too short for me to say much more.
Of course that's not as antique as it sounds up there in italics. We got ours about 5 years ago when you could only order it from the catalog and the animals were not yet the new "touchy-feely" variety. We have no shepards quaking or drummer boys drumming. Just a few wise men and a new family with a angel to watch over them all.
It's been a favorite toy in our house from it's debut, in large part because it only appears in December each year.
Megan has spent a great deal of time playing with this thing since it came upstairs a few weeks ago. Sometimes she replaces the wise men for Little People kids dressed as Easter Bunnies and (LP styled)Dinosaurs.
We egg her on. After all, the baby did come for all and not just a select few.
Tonight, as we huddled with our collective runny/stuffy noses under quilts and watched the Grinch steal Christmas yet again, Megan dragged out a camel and a handful of wise men.
She'd place each of the two kings she was toting around upon the camel's back and take them for walks. Until she got bored of that. Then she retrieved the poor baby laying in a manger. She pet him with one finger as gently as a two-year old can. Then she tilted her head to one side and said, "Come on. You have to take a bath Baby Jesus."
Luckily the Grinch and Max distracted her before she filled a bowl up with water from the water cooler in the kitchen.
-
In other holiday goings on, Santa's going to get this mom in trouble. We were shopping for a book at small shop. Megan spied the tomato from the Veggie Tales. Mind you, Megan has never actually SEEN the Veggie Tales unless they've shown a video or two at church that I didn't know about. She just knew this big, red, stuffed tomato was soft and squishy....and something she did not already have.
"Mommy, I want the tomato," she said to me quite sweetly.
"Honey, no. I'm not buying you a stuffed Veggie Tale that you'll play with today and then forget about tomorrow. Besides, it's so close to Christmas and you're going to get so many neat things."
"I want the Veggie!" she wailed.
And I stood firm.
When we got home she was still pouting. I reminded her again about Christmas and the lovely gifts that awaited her. She didn't care. Instead she's launched a new mantra -- one that continues a week later:
"I want tomato but Mommy say no. Santa will bring me Veggie Tale!"
Damn it.
--
At least I'm not the only one she's harping on. We took their soon-to-be cousin (pending a family wedding) Christmas shopping yesterday afternoon. Three kids - 9, 4, 2 - and me in the massive chaos that was Target. I know.
As we stood in line waiting to check out, Megan spied a small stuffed elephant with a tag around it's neck - the tag is where you're supposed to put a gift card.
Hmmm.
Stuffed? Check.
Cute? Check.
Not already in inventory? Check.
Megan wailed, "Elephant! I want that! Can Santa bring it to me?" (Now, frankly folks, Santa's all done with her shopping and she's not buying another thing no matter how cute the kid is.)
Instead cousin-to-be-G stepped in. She decided to get it for Megan as her Christmas present. "But you have to wait for Christmas," she said to Megan as she put it up on the belt. I didn't bother trying to explain the whole "two-year-olds-lack-patience" problem to the 9-year old.
Megan saw her new toy-in-waiting when we got back to our house. She asked. G said no. Megan flew into full pout mode: “G say no. I can not have my elephant. Bad G.”
To prevent future outbreaks of toddler scolding big kid, the cousin decided to hide the elephant at our house. Logan suggested they hide it where he has Grandma’s gift hidden. G decided to put it near Logan’s laundry basket. Long story not so short – Megan found it tonight. We won’t telling her cousin.
--
Movie review? Happy Feet - Logan loved it and is now on a real "don't liter" kick. Megan says she liked it but she's judging the total of 20 minutes she sat still (scattered throughout the film, of course.) She will also tell you that when Daddy took her out of the theatre the fourth time he would not let her return again.
"Daddy say no I can not go back in. Bad Daddy not let me see Happy Feets."
Unless you catch on her on happy upswing in moods. Then she'll say "I saw Happy Feets Pang-in in the feeture"
Logan saw his first movie at 29 months old -- The Polar Express. He did not flinch the entire time except when he was clapping wildly in the right places. Megan, on the other hand, clearly *not* ready for the cinema.
--
Speaking of the boy. . .his teacher is working on a 'good citizens' unit at the moment. They've started a "Good Behavior Chain." Each extraordinary good deed is considered for the day's link. (Being preschool everyone is going to end up with a link sooner or later.) Logan loves this and has instituted his own chain at home -- for him.
When I pick the kids up on my work days, they both have a tendency to talk. Without. Pause. At. All. No. Stopping. Ever. On these days I sometimes have to work at talking over them saying repeatedly, "Logan. Logan. Stop. Talking. Listen. Shhhh....."
Except today I could not talk over him because it made the throat hurt too much. I told him this. He got quite and then started talking again after a pause too short for me to say much more.
"I think when we get home, I need to get your water so your throat might feel better." he said. He's thinking of what we do for him in the morning when he wakes up with a dry mouth/dry sore throat. The water always helps.
As soon as we got in the house he ran for the kitchen, dug out his favorite plastic Diego depicting cup and added water from the water cooler. He handed it to me (with about a sip worth of water in it - haste never equates to full cups.)
The hand off complete he eyed me thoughtfully and said “Ok, do I get a link on my chain for this?”
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