I came home from work today to be greeted by Helen. At 21 months, she can act quite official. Today, she appeared as if she would like to be playing the role of official greeter and tour guide, but was drawn away by another task that was even more enticing.
"Momma, baby see!"
"Yes, Helen, I see the baby," I replied, thinking that she meant herself. That was a reasonable guess, since she usually refers to herself as baby and in fact have only heard her use the name "Helen" once. However, today, she clearly indicated that I was wrong.
"No, Momma. Baby PU!
Well, that seemed more serious, since PU (as in Pee-You) is how she communicates a stinky diaper. I checked, and she was clean.
"Momma, c'mon!" Out went her little hand, fingers wagging behind, in her favorite gesture and phrase.
I followed her up the stairs, to the bathroom. There, on the floor, she was in mid-operation. She had her favorite baby doll (Baby Diana, so named by Maggie years earlier, who is nearly as big as Helen is now) on the floor. The open box of wet wipes was next to them. Helen was vigorously wiping the "PU" from the baby doll. I was very glad that this PU belonged only to a doll, since the same wet wipe then proceeded to be used to wipe the floor, the wall, the bathtub, and everything in between. Helen is a very enthusiastic house cleaner once turned loose.
Later this afternoon, I tried to get Helen to put a bib on. I prefer that for any time that she is eating, but it seemed particularly appropriate since she was now eating somewhat runny yogurt. Helen, however, has recently decided that she is not interested in wearing bibs. The one we have with the best coverage unfortunately closes with velcro, which means it is as good as useless now. Helen rips it off immediately.
This day, though, I struck upon a winning solution. I suspected that she was starting to reject a bib because it seemed too baby-ish to her. I was wearing an apron, so I decided to try that with her. We have several very small kids' aprons in the cupboard, so I tried one out. She rejected the first, so I doubted my idea, but tried just one more. Wow! When she saw the yellow apron with the red and blue flowers, she held both of her arms straight out in front of her and waited to be dressed. Then, she sat looking at her lap, amazed. She kept muttering a word to herself, and later to me, that might have been "See!" or might have been "Pretty!" When I stopped replying to this word, she climbed down off her chair, spread the apron out in front of her, and repeated her word so that I would notice.
Umm, really Helen? A fashionista before two? Sorry, kiddo, you ended up in the wrong family for that. But, I guess we can try to find her a few "pretty" things if it matter that much. :)
Friday, November 16, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
Helen's wake-up antics
We have said before that Helen is a smart little bugger. At 20 months, her language is perhaps not as far developed as some of the other kids' was. Still, she clearly understands a situation, and manages to communicate her needs. When it is time to nurse, she points imperiously at the recliner and shouts, " 'ide!" (This is her shorthand for "side," as in "other side," which is her name for nursing.) If I don't respond quickly enough, she takes me by the hand and drags me to the chair. If I don't sit down fast enough, she picks up the blanket and pillow and shoves me down with them. Today, we even heard a new full sentence from her: "Mama, please sit down." Apparently manners are formed at the point of greatest need (a snuggle and milk).
This morning, she tried something new and interesting upon waking. I had already left the bed and been up getting ready for work. When she woke to find me gone, she began to cry, then slid out of bed and started towards the door to look for me. At the door, she apparently reassessed the situation. She stopped crying, turned back into the bedroom, arm extended and fingers waggling in her signature way as she said brightly, "Daddy, c'mon!" She repeated this several times, trying to extract Jeremy from the bed. Then, mission accomplished, she continued out of the room to find me. At this point she pointed back towards the bed and implored, " 'ide!"
In other words, "Mom, I have succeeded in clearing the riff-raff out of our bed. Now please come back to bed with me and nurse me."
This morning, she tried something new and interesting upon waking. I had already left the bed and been up getting ready for work. When she woke to find me gone, she began to cry, then slid out of bed and started towards the door to look for me. At the door, she apparently reassessed the situation. She stopped crying, turned back into the bedroom, arm extended and fingers waggling in her signature way as she said brightly, "Daddy, c'mon!" She repeated this several times, trying to extract Jeremy from the bed. Then, mission accomplished, she continued out of the room to find me. At this point she pointed back towards the bed and implored, " 'ide!"
In other words, "Mom, I have succeeded in clearing the riff-raff out of our bed. Now please come back to bed with me and nurse me."
I am the MOM
I remember when I first became aware of the differences between boys and girls. It was about third grade, and at school we were watching "Free to Be ... You and Me," Marlo Thomas's 1970s ode to gender-neutral parenting. I came home eager to tell my family, "Girls can do anything as well as boys." (In that era of nascent women's rights, things were still very much benchmarked against the male experience as the standard to be achieved. I much prefer the subtler direction of today's movement, which comes closer to "both boys and girls can do what they prefer.")
My father, ever the grinning devil's advocate, challenged my claims to equality. (He has always been my strongest champion for equal opportunity, but he loved to provoke us.) We argued back and forth about the equivalent worth of the sexes.
"Name one thing that a boy can do better than a girl," I taunted.
It was my ever-logical older brother who cut the bantering short. "Sure. Going into the boys' bathroom."
I gave up in frustration, feeling that my nascent sense of equality was not being taken seriously by my family. To be honest, though, I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to continue the discussion, because I was harboring a secret. I distinctly remember, even at that age, recognizing that I did NOT believe in the equality of the sexes. In fact, I felt a profound pity for all males. I frequently offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving that I had been born a girl, because only girls could carry a baby in their womb, nurse an infant, and be a mom. Even before I entered my second decade, I desperately longed to become not a parent, but a mother.
And so it is this reality that I try to recall on the difficult days. The times when bedtime, which could involve two loving parents, seems to be all about four needy children clamoring only for Mom, all at the same time. The times when I am supposed to be home but not home, closeted away to work, and the kids will walk past Dad to come ask me for things. The times when my husband, who is truly a caring, involved parent beyond what most men even strive for today, seems unaware of and even uninterested in some basic issue related to the kids - what they are struggling with in school; whether they have clothes that fit; who feels lonely and needs more attention or just a play date.
"Why won't he look at things the way I do and act more concerned?" I moan to myself. Why? Because he is the dad, that's why. And every day, I thank God that I am the Mom. For all the good and the bad that that entails.
My father, ever the grinning devil's advocate, challenged my claims to equality. (He has always been my strongest champion for equal opportunity, but he loved to provoke us.) We argued back and forth about the equivalent worth of the sexes.
"Name one thing that a boy can do better than a girl," I taunted.
It was my ever-logical older brother who cut the bantering short. "Sure. Going into the boys' bathroom."
I gave up in frustration, feeling that my nascent sense of equality was not being taken seriously by my family. To be honest, though, I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to continue the discussion, because I was harboring a secret. I distinctly remember, even at that age, recognizing that I did NOT believe in the equality of the sexes. In fact, I felt a profound pity for all males. I frequently offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving that I had been born a girl, because only girls could carry a baby in their womb, nurse an infant, and be a mom. Even before I entered my second decade, I desperately longed to become not a parent, but a mother.
And so it is this reality that I try to recall on the difficult days. The times when bedtime, which could involve two loving parents, seems to be all about four needy children clamoring only for Mom, all at the same time. The times when I am supposed to be home but not home, closeted away to work, and the kids will walk past Dad to come ask me for things. The times when my husband, who is truly a caring, involved parent beyond what most men even strive for today, seems unaware of and even uninterested in some basic issue related to the kids - what they are struggling with in school; whether they have clothes that fit; who feels lonely and needs more attention or just a play date.
"Why won't he look at things the way I do and act more concerned?" I moan to myself. Why? Because he is the dad, that's why. And every day, I thank God that I am the Mom. For all the good and the bad that that entails.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Perspective
John was complaining at dinner tonight about how James doesn't play fairly with him. "James made me run into the wall!"
"Well, that doesn't sound very nice. What happened?"
"I was trying to buck him and he moved out of the way!"
"Well, that doesn't sound very nice. What happened?"
"I was trying to buck him and he moved out of the way!"
Helen's speech makes a leap - UPDATED
Just this week, Helen started talking in earnest using sentences. It has been fun to hear. Her vocabulary has really exploded in the last month. If we stop to decipher, we find that she is saying about any word that she wants to. But now she is putting three or four of those words together on a regular basis. She still prefers to point and pull, generally, but there are too many demands and stories obviously waiting to bubble out of her for that to last long.
This week we heard:
Daddy sit down book ("Read to me now")
Mom(pp) - chair side ("Sit in this chair and nurse me" - "side" means nurse, as in "other side"; the "pp" at the end of Mom is a persistent but cute mystery to us)
Of course, she can still be direct when needed. Her current favorite book is Miss Mary Mack. When she wants that read to her, she just whacks me solidly with the book and yells "Mack!"
She keeps adding words and phrases! Today (10-9-12), clear as bell, she said (to the direction of John and Maggie after they left the car for gymnastics classes), "Bye-bye! See you soon!"
When we pull into the long drive for the kids' school, we go past the playground, where she begins pointing and shouting, "Big slide! Please, slide?" Then, once past the mecca of fun, the chanting turns to, "John? James? Maggie?" Or, actually, it sounds like, "Don! Dame! Mawma!" For herself, she prefers the enthusiastic (but not exclusive) use of the name, "Baby!"
After falling off the stool today and banging her head (a regular occurrence, particularly around naptime), she began crying quite clearly for "Da-yee!" First time I have noticed her specifically scorning me and wanting Daddy to hug away the hurts. I guess she is really enjoying their mornings home together this semester. For which I am very glad.
This week we heard:
Daddy sit down book ("Read to me now")
Mom(pp) - chair side ("Sit in this chair and nurse me" - "side" means nurse, as in "other side"; the "pp" at the end of Mom is a persistent but cute mystery to us)
Of course, she can still be direct when needed. Her current favorite book is Miss Mary Mack. When she wants that read to her, she just whacks me solidly with the book and yells "Mack!"
 |
| Helen at 20 months |
She keeps adding words and phrases! Today (10-9-12), clear as bell, she said (to the direction of John and Maggie after they left the car for gymnastics classes), "Bye-bye! See you soon!"
When we pull into the long drive for the kids' school, we go past the playground, where she begins pointing and shouting, "Big slide! Please, slide?" Then, once past the mecca of fun, the chanting turns to, "John? James? Maggie?" Or, actually, it sounds like, "Don! Dame! Mawma!" For herself, she prefers the enthusiastic (but not exclusive) use of the name, "Baby!"
After falling off the stool today and banging her head (a regular occurrence, particularly around naptime), she began crying quite clearly for "Da-yee!" First time I have noticed her specifically scorning me and wanting Daddy to hug away the hurts. I guess she is really enjoying their mornings home together this semester. For which I am very glad.
The Athlete
After a 4-month hiatus, I started Maggie and John in gymnastics classes again this month. We like our local gym - it is 5 minutes away, and unlike most gyms, it is all about fitness and fun since they don't have any training for competitive gymnastics. (The professionalizing of kids' sports over the past generation is a personal beef of mine.) Maggie has taken classes there once a week for a few years, and we had John enrolled in their preschool program for two years (a little art time, some letters and numbers, lots of time in the gym).
Both kids have been begging to go back ever since we stopped in May. I finally felt that I had the fall schedule figured out enough that I could manage this additional activity, so I signed them up to start today. At the door, we were met by the assistant manager, "Mr. Chad," who helped us find the right instructors. Maggie went to Girls Level B with Kaitlyn.
"John," asked Chad, "You are in kindergarten, right?" (Chad remembered him as a recent preschool graduate.)I explained, a bit nervously, that he was in kindergarten, but that I had signed him up for the Boys Level A, which is for first grade and up. "His preschool teachers told me last spring that he should be okay to skip into Level A. If it becomes a problem, just let me know." Chad agreed to let John try it and escorted him over to "Mr. Nick." I felt a bit more nervous about my decision to promote John as I saw that he was at least a head shorter than all the other boys in his class.
When I picked John up, he was clearly excited to be back in the gym. He ran up to tell me about how he ran up the wall. (The gym has a large mat standing against a wall. It is wedge shaped, so about 1-2 feet deep at the bottom and maybe 6 inches deep at the top. It stands against the wall to a height of maybe 10-12 feet, creating an inclined plane, nearly vertical. Mom, remember how I could run up the mat on the wall about halfway in preschool? I got all the way up and touched the top today!" It was nearly as disappointing to me as to John that I had to stop him from going back into the gym to demonstrate this feat - I will have to stay next week and watch. (The next hour's classes were already using the gym by this point today, unfortunately.)
I got the extended report from the kids at dinner. When I asked John how he liked class with Mr. Nick, John was nonchalant. "It was good. But he does get mad when people don't follow his instructions and listen." Hmm. That wasn't you, was it John? "Umm, no. Well, maybe once or twice." Okay, now I was a bit worried that I might be having to demote John to a kindergarten class. Fortunately, Margaret's report eased my mind quite a bit. "Mr. Nick came over during class and was talking to Miss Kaitlyn. He said, 'Is that kid really only five?! He is awesome at gymnastics!" So, perhaps Mr. Nick will let him stay, after all.
Both kids have been begging to go back ever since we stopped in May. I finally felt that I had the fall schedule figured out enough that I could manage this additional activity, so I signed them up to start today. At the door, we were met by the assistant manager, "Mr. Chad," who helped us find the right instructors. Maggie went to Girls Level B with Kaitlyn.
"John," asked Chad, "You are in kindergarten, right?" (Chad remembered him as a recent preschool graduate.)I explained, a bit nervously, that he was in kindergarten, but that I had signed him up for the Boys Level A, which is for first grade and up. "His preschool teachers told me last spring that he should be okay to skip into Level A. If it becomes a problem, just let me know." Chad agreed to let John try it and escorted him over to "Mr. Nick." I felt a bit more nervous about my decision to promote John as I saw that he was at least a head shorter than all the other boys in his class.
When I picked John up, he was clearly excited to be back in the gym. He ran up to tell me about how he ran up the wall. (The gym has a large mat standing against a wall. It is wedge shaped, so about 1-2 feet deep at the bottom and maybe 6 inches deep at the top. It stands against the wall to a height of maybe 10-12 feet, creating an inclined plane, nearly vertical. Mom, remember how I could run up the mat on the wall about halfway in preschool? I got all the way up and touched the top today!" It was nearly as disappointing to me as to John that I had to stop him from going back into the gym to demonstrate this feat - I will have to stay next week and watch. (The next hour's classes were already using the gym by this point today, unfortunately.)
I got the extended report from the kids at dinner. When I asked John how he liked class with Mr. Nick, John was nonchalant. "It was good. But he does get mad when people don't follow his instructions and listen." Hmm. That wasn't you, was it John? "Umm, no. Well, maybe once or twice." Okay, now I was a bit worried that I might be having to demote John to a kindergarten class. Fortunately, Margaret's report eased my mind quite a bit. "Mr. Nick came over during class and was talking to Miss Kaitlyn. He said, 'Is that kid really only five?! He is awesome at gymnastics!" So, perhaps Mr. Nick will let him stay, after all.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Helen keeps learning words
Helen's speech seems to have just exploded in the last month. (She is 18 months old.) I can't really list all her words any more, because every time I turn around, she is using a new one. Some are clear, and some are not, but there is no stopping her now. Some of my favorites:
"Do-do-do" (Oh, how to capture the sound of that one in writing? Imagine the sound you would make if you were leaning casually against the wall, whistling idly, killing time. Strong emphasis on first syllable.) This one is especially fun because it means, "I want to nurse now." I have no idea why. She used it throughout July and August.
'Ide. This is how Helen now says, "I want to nurse now." It is clearly short for me saying to her "other side," but she doesn't seem to associate any sided-ness with the term - only milk.
John.
Shoes. Socks. Book. Ball. Bike. Mama. Dada. James.
"Do-do-do" (Oh, how to capture the sound of that one in writing? Imagine the sound you would make if you were leaning casually against the wall, whistling idly, killing time. Strong emphasis on first syllable.) This one is especially fun because it means, "I want to nurse now." I have no idea why. She used it throughout July and August.
'Ide. This is how Helen now says, "I want to nurse now." It is clearly short for me saying to her "other side," but she doesn't seem to associate any sided-ness with the term - only milk.
John.
Shoes. Socks. Book. Ball. Bike. Mama. Dada. James.
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