A year ago my sister visited for the Academy Awards, also known, of course, as The Oscars. She had a bunch of presents/prizes sent in advance of her visit from Amazon, including one for Jack: A stuffed Oscar the Grouch, looming out of his trashcan. Funny.
Jack was kind of ambivalent at first, but as he's been with most toys, it gradually has grown on him. Or he suddenly rediscovered it. In any case, in the last week or so, Oscar has become his favorite toy. He's been carrying him around, wrapping him in a blanket every now and then (so Oscar can sleep, obviously). Tonight, when I was putting him to bed, he asked for Oscar for the first time.
So I went downstairs to get Oscar, and came back with him. I had him peek around the door at Jack, because you know, I do silly stuff like that. Jack smiled. I gave him Oscar, kissed them both good night, and left the room.
Jack only came out of his room once this evening; it was a good night. He doesn't like the "you can't come into bed with Mommy and Daddy in the morning if you don't stay in your bed at night" rule, so he's been trying. But that doesn't mean he goes right to sleep.
After waiting in our room a few minutes to make sure he was staying in his bed, I headed downstairs. I paused outside our room, though, because I heard him through his door. Talking to Oscar.
"Do you want fish, or guinea pigs?" This is a game he's been playing lately, remembering the pet store. He then presents you with your invisible choice. "Okay, fish. Here you go."
Then: "Do you want coffee, Oscar?" Pause. "Okay, here."
Pause. "Sipppppppppppppppp. Ahhhh! Thank you."
I headed downstairs.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
"Are you happy at me?"
We've pretty much reached our limit with Jack getting out of bed. Almost always, we have upwards of half an hour of him getting out of bed between when we finish reading stories and close the door and he finally sleeps. You might think we would just put him to bed later, but it's pretty much that same half hour or so regardless. I put him to bed later, and he's up half an hour later.
Then there are the mornings, and the odd thing is that if he goes to bed later, he seems to wake up earlier. So at 5:15, or 5:30, or (this morning!) even earlier, there's Jack. Sometimes Kate probably wakes him up, sometimes it's those dang early birds outside our windows, whatever. And he loves getting into bed with us, which might be OK if he actually SLEPT, but he doesn't. So, I put him back in his bed. And of course he can't tell time, so he doesn't know when it's OK to come in, and if he doesn't go back to sleep, for whatever reason, there he is again 10 or 15 minutes later. Standing there hopefully at the side of the bed, ready to light up and jump into bed (being sure to put his knee(s) into my ribs or groin on the way over me to the middle of us), or let his face crumple as I get up to indicate he needs to return to his own room. This continues for a while, with the result that none of us (or at least, neither I nor Jack) get any sleep the last hour of the morning, and we all feel the effects later on.
So last night, the first time he came out, Emily said that if he came out again, he couldn't get into bed with us the next morning. He came out again (something about such and such hurting or needing another stuffed friend or whatever) and I said, well, I guess you don't want to get into bed with us tomorrow morning. He reacted with dismay, and I said, well, Mommy told you that if you got out of bed.... He wailed and so forth, and I left the room. And he got out of bed again 5 minutes later, some story about some other nonsense. And I put him back in his bed and said, Jack, one more time and you're not going to be able to get into bed with us the next morning, either. And if you keep getting out of bed, we're going to keep taking things away.
This was a mistake, since I meant it in a figurative sense (taking away privileges), and he took it (naturally, since he's 3, and was tired besides, and I was pretty cranky at this point) literally. "Don't take my things away!!!!!!" he wailed and cried. And since I couldn't correctly explain, I just pressed on. "Well, don't get out of bed anymore. When Mommy and Daddy put you into bed and close the door, it's bedtime, and you need to stay. in. your. bed." More wailing. Pretty sure he cried himself to sleep. Which is always really awesome for a parent, I think.
He woke up around midnight, wailing or crying about somesuch. Not really sure. Maybe his pillow was wet, or he remembered I'd said I was going to take things away, or he remembered he couldn't get into bed with us, or wanted to get out of bed but knew he'd get in more trouble. I don't know. After 5-10 minutes, which Kate remarkably slept through, Emily went in, and I guess she was kind of angry and spoke sharply to him, because he continued crying, and she came back feeling all guilty. Jack continued crying, but it was muffled. Pretty rough, really. Like I said, though, we'd had it.
This morning Jack came in around 6:15, which is a fine time to wake up (particularly comparatively). Emily was already in feeding Kate. He stood by the side of the bed looking at me uncertainly. Knew he wasn't supposed to get in. I got up, and he turned and headed back to his room. I went in after him, then asked, Jack, it's morning. Do you want to sleep more or do you want to get up? "I want to get up." So he did.
We went into the bathroom for his morning potty. He sat there doing his thing while I sat on the step stool next to the sink, as is tradition, with me rubbing my eyes and shaking the cobwebs out.
After about a minute or two of silence (I didn't know what to say - "How'd you sleep?" I knew the answer was not well.), Jack said, mournfully,
"Are you happy at me?"
I sat there for a moment, absorbing it, not sure how to respond (and of course touched by his little misspoken phrase, too). "Jack....I'm not NOT happy at you, but, I'm tired. You got out of bed a lot last night. It needs to stop."
Jack (as if he hadn't heard): "Why can't I get into bed with you and Mommy?"
"Mommy told you last night: if you get out of bed after we put you to bed, we're not going to let you into bed with us in the morning. Maybe tonight you'll stay in your bed after we say good night."
Jack, in agreement: "Yes."
So, we'll see.
Then there are the mornings, and the odd thing is that if he goes to bed later, he seems to wake up earlier. So at 5:15, or 5:30, or (this morning!) even earlier, there's Jack. Sometimes Kate probably wakes him up, sometimes it's those dang early birds outside our windows, whatever. And he loves getting into bed with us, which might be OK if he actually SLEPT, but he doesn't. So, I put him back in his bed. And of course he can't tell time, so he doesn't know when it's OK to come in, and if he doesn't go back to sleep, for whatever reason, there he is again 10 or 15 minutes later. Standing there hopefully at the side of the bed, ready to light up and jump into bed (being sure to put his knee(s) into my ribs or groin on the way over me to the middle of us), or let his face crumple as I get up to indicate he needs to return to his own room. This continues for a while, with the result that none of us (or at least, neither I nor Jack) get any sleep the last hour of the morning, and we all feel the effects later on.
So last night, the first time he came out, Emily said that if he came out again, he couldn't get into bed with us the next morning. He came out again (something about such and such hurting or needing another stuffed friend or whatever) and I said, well, I guess you don't want to get into bed with us tomorrow morning. He reacted with dismay, and I said, well, Mommy told you that if you got out of bed.... He wailed and so forth, and I left the room. And he got out of bed again 5 minutes later, some story about some other nonsense. And I put him back in his bed and said, Jack, one more time and you're not going to be able to get into bed with us the next morning, either. And if you keep getting out of bed, we're going to keep taking things away.
This was a mistake, since I meant it in a figurative sense (taking away privileges), and he took it (naturally, since he's 3, and was tired besides, and I was pretty cranky at this point) literally. "Don't take my things away!!!!!!" he wailed and cried. And since I couldn't correctly explain, I just pressed on. "Well, don't get out of bed anymore. When Mommy and Daddy put you into bed and close the door, it's bedtime, and you need to stay. in. your. bed." More wailing. Pretty sure he cried himself to sleep. Which is always really awesome for a parent, I think.
He woke up around midnight, wailing or crying about somesuch. Not really sure. Maybe his pillow was wet, or he remembered I'd said I was going to take things away, or he remembered he couldn't get into bed with us, or wanted to get out of bed but knew he'd get in more trouble. I don't know. After 5-10 minutes, which Kate remarkably slept through, Emily went in, and I guess she was kind of angry and spoke sharply to him, because he continued crying, and she came back feeling all guilty. Jack continued crying, but it was muffled. Pretty rough, really. Like I said, though, we'd had it.
This morning Jack came in around 6:15, which is a fine time to wake up (particularly comparatively). Emily was already in feeding Kate. He stood by the side of the bed looking at me uncertainly. Knew he wasn't supposed to get in. I got up, and he turned and headed back to his room. I went in after him, then asked, Jack, it's morning. Do you want to sleep more or do you want to get up? "I want to get up." So he did.
We went into the bathroom for his morning potty. He sat there doing his thing while I sat on the step stool next to the sink, as is tradition, with me rubbing my eyes and shaking the cobwebs out.
After about a minute or two of silence (I didn't know what to say - "How'd you sleep?" I knew the answer was not well.), Jack said, mournfully,
"Are you happy at me?"
I sat there for a moment, absorbing it, not sure how to respond (and of course touched by his little misspoken phrase, too). "Jack....I'm not NOT happy at you, but, I'm tired. You got out of bed a lot last night. It needs to stop."
Jack (as if he hadn't heard): "Why can't I get into bed with you and Mommy?"
"Mommy told you last night: if you get out of bed after we put you to bed, we're not going to let you into bed with us in the morning. Maybe tonight you'll stay in your bed after we say good night."
Jack, in agreement: "Yes."
So, we'll see.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Swimming, Drawing, and Dancing
Swimming
Jack started swimming class at the YMCA today. It's through his daycare; kids who sign up (whose parents pay for them) all ride a bus a few miles to the Y, and then go in the pool and apparently get some instruction. (We'll be going to a future class to peer from the observation booth.) I'd talked to one of his little friend's Mom, and his teachers, and they all spoke well of it, so what the heck.
Jack was very excited. We dressed him in his swimsuit this morning, with sweat pants over it, and gave him his superheroes backpack with underwear and a towel in it. Right after breakfast, Jack said, "I want to go in to school now." This was rare, plus it was half an hour before he normally went in. "Er, OK. Let me get dressed," I said. When I came down, Jack had his shoes on and backpack slung over his shoulder. Aside from not wearing a jacket, he was ready to go.
Between 10:30 and 11 (when the class was), we fretted, worried that the phone would ring. (He and I hadn't actually been swimming since briefly taking group lessons there a year earlier, which Jack seldom enjoyed, it being cold and all.) It didn't. Emily picked him up at the end of the day, and Jack, apparently, had done great. The teachers said they weren't sure how he'd do his first time. (Emily: "We thought he could go either way." Liz, the teacher: "Exactly!" They know him pretty well.) But he jumped in and was apparently a-OK.
Jack's version: "We rode on a bus like that one ... I was a little scared to jump in the water, but I jumped in, and then I was in the water swimming, and there was a big shark." "There was?" "Yeah! And he swum up and bit my toe!" "Now, I don't believe that." "Yeah!" "Really?" "No. Daddy, I was just making a joke." Then: "Do you know the Buddy system?" "Er, sure. Where you keep close to somebody else and they do with you?" "Yeah. My buddy was Casey. There was a swimming teacher, but he didn't get in the water. Just Miss Ruthie and Miss Lizzie."
Later, Jack showed us swimming on the living room rug. "C'mon, swim with me." And so we did.
Drawing
Jack's been drawing a lot lately, and it's starting to actually look like stuff. What was once random scrawls or dots now has shape. He drew something the other day that looked kind of like a tree. Emily was looking at it thinking that when Jack said, "It's a tree." I drew The Jungle Book characters on his board. Jack drew the elephant. It had kind of a triangular head, an eye, a bump for a nose. "I drew the elephant," he said.
Dancing
Jack dances around naked before and after his bath. Sometimes he does it before his bath, only wearing socks. Not so much dancing as just running around. I don't know when kids develop modesty or self-consciousness about their bodies. I hope for Jack that it doesn't happen for a long time.
Jack started swimming class at the YMCA today. It's through his daycare; kids who sign up (whose parents pay for them) all ride a bus a few miles to the Y, and then go in the pool and apparently get some instruction. (We'll be going to a future class to peer from the observation booth.) I'd talked to one of his little friend's Mom, and his teachers, and they all spoke well of it, so what the heck.
Jack was very excited. We dressed him in his swimsuit this morning, with sweat pants over it, and gave him his superheroes backpack with underwear and a towel in it. Right after breakfast, Jack said, "I want to go in to school now." This was rare, plus it was half an hour before he normally went in. "Er, OK. Let me get dressed," I said. When I came down, Jack had his shoes on and backpack slung over his shoulder. Aside from not wearing a jacket, he was ready to go.
Between 10:30 and 11 (when the class was), we fretted, worried that the phone would ring. (He and I hadn't actually been swimming since briefly taking group lessons there a year earlier, which Jack seldom enjoyed, it being cold and all.) It didn't. Emily picked him up at the end of the day, and Jack, apparently, had done great. The teachers said they weren't sure how he'd do his first time. (Emily: "We thought he could go either way." Liz, the teacher: "Exactly!" They know him pretty well.) But he jumped in and was apparently a-OK.
Jack's version: "We rode on a bus like that one ... I was a little scared to jump in the water, but I jumped in, and then I was in the water swimming, and there was a big shark." "There was?" "Yeah! And he swum up and bit my toe!" "Now, I don't believe that." "Yeah!" "Really?" "No. Daddy, I was just making a joke." Then: "Do you know the Buddy system?" "Er, sure. Where you keep close to somebody else and they do with you?" "Yeah. My buddy was Casey. There was a swimming teacher, but he didn't get in the water. Just Miss Ruthie and Miss Lizzie."
Later, Jack showed us swimming on the living room rug. "C'mon, swim with me." And so we did.
Drawing
Jack's been drawing a lot lately, and it's starting to actually look like stuff. What was once random scrawls or dots now has shape. He drew something the other day that looked kind of like a tree. Emily was looking at it thinking that when Jack said, "It's a tree." I drew The Jungle Book characters on his board. Jack drew the elephant. It had kind of a triangular head, an eye, a bump for a nose. "I drew the elephant," he said.
Dancing
Jack dances around naked before and after his bath. Sometimes he does it before his bath, only wearing socks. Not so much dancing as just running around. I don't know when kids develop modesty or self-consciousness about their bodies. I hope for Jack that it doesn't happen for a long time.
Friday, April 04, 2008
Cinema Jackadiso
A rainy Friday afternoon. What better time to take Jack to his first ever movie? Horton Hears a Who was playing at the Port Chester cinema at 12:30, so off he and I went.
As we got ready to go, I told Jack he had to use his quiet voice in the theater. We practiced talking softly to each other and for Mommy. On the way there, I explained, OK Jack, if you have any questions, just make sure you ask me quietly. He whispered, "Okay." He was pretty eager to do the right thing.
Walking into the lobby was funny. It was one of these big 14-cinema Loews things -- a huge sprawl of carpet, lengthy candy counter, ropes showing you where to walk to get tickets. Jack walked a little ahead of me, slowly. I'm guessing the size of the place awed him a little; it did me. Since there was no one in line, I taught Jack his first subversive action: going under the ropes up to the counter. Granted, he didn't even have to duck, but it still felt brave. Ha!
After we got tickets, I asked Jack if he wanted popcorn. Jack loves popcorn, but as we were waiting in line, he started to get nervous about something or other, and said he didn't. I ignored him and we got popcorn. His nervousness, though, was a sign of things to come.
We headed into the movie. As we walked up the little ramp, the huge screen slowly came into view. Jack walked slower. His eyes, I'm guessing, got wider. For the next several minutes, everything was a nod. The place was nearly empty, which was nice; we wouldn't have to sit near anyone. I considered going to the far side of the theater, where there were fewer people, but didn't know whether being a long way from the door would be a good idea.
We walked up a few rows to a nearly empty aisle. "Do you want to sit here?" I asked. Jack nodded solemnly and sat down on the step. "Er, no, Jack, come here." I got him up and into the seat. Put him in it (they had booster seats, but I hadn't grabbed one on the way in, so I thought we'd try the seat). I sat next to him and offered him the popcorn. He dug in, but his eyes were glued to the big screen.
The previews started: other kids' movies. Something called "WallE" about a robot by Pixar. Another Ice Age movie. More previews. Now, I'm an adult, and I've seen a lot of movies, and even I was having my world rocked a little bit here by the yelling, the close-ups of various animals, the loud music, and the rapid cuts from image to image. So you can imagine that a 3-year-old at his first-ever movie was having a hard time with it. "I want to go home now," said Jack. A couple minutes later: "I just want to go home." I patted his shoulder reassuringly, sure it would be OK once we got through this preview. Another preview started. "I want to go home," he said again, hiding his eyes and starting to get upset. I started to worry.
Another preview. "I'm sure THIS will be the last one," I said nervously. "Popcorn?" "I just want to go home," he said, but he reached for the popcorn.
You never realize how loud and annoying previews can be until you see them through the eyes, or at least empathically, with a 3-year-old. Of course, I'll now probably end up seeing all of these movies, with Jack, but anyway. Pretty jarring stuff.
Finally the movie started. Opening credits, music. That was all nice. The the elephant showed up. And his friends, who were all yelling. Then the elephant -- voiced, I must add, by Jim Carrey, for whom yelling is kind of a staple -- fell into some water, and got attacked by some leaf bugs, and .... well, it was pretty loud, jarring, and headache-inducing. "I just want to go home now," observed Jack.
I decided -- 10 minutes too late, but better late than never -- that we were sitting too close. I picked up Jack, our popcorn, and my jacket, and headed to the back. We sat in the next to last row, on the side. At the same time, the movie settled down. Things improved.
Jack asked lots of questions. "Who's he?" "Where's the elephant?" "Is that Balloo?" "Where did the elephant go?" "Why is he doing that?" "Why is he the mayor?" "What's that?" Every other question was in his quiet voice. The rest were at normal speaking voice. Which was fine, because the movie was really loud. Which I suspect was largely for that reason. I'm guessing kids movies are played louder than other movies. Just a guess, though.
When the vulture showed up -- because all kids' movies have to have a "villain" and conflict and stuff, just like every other movie I suppose -- Jack gaped for a few seconds, then turned away from the screen and sort of curled his head down into his arm and reiterated a desire to go home. This continued for several minutes, while I silently pleaded for the scary scene to end. Then I said, "Oh, no, he's a NICE vulture. Yes, you see, he wants to play with Horton." Cautiously, Jack watched. Although he still didn't like the vulture, and I admit, the thing was kind of scary at times. Er, for a 3-year-old, I mean.
When the vulture attacked Horton, I said to Jack, well, the vulture just doesn't understand...he doesn't know that there's a whole world of Who's on that clover. This will become important later.
The last half hour of the film, Jack was glued to the screen. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes were wide, he was like me during The Usual Suspects or something, the first time I saw it. Fascinated. Anxious to see what would happen. And at the end, when everything worked out all right and the vulture smiled and cried because he was touched and stuff, Jack turned to me and said "He LEARNED!"
The movie ended, and Jack got right up. I said, well, that's your first movie. Jack kind of nodded, and started down the steps. He seemed pleased with himself, or happy from the movie, one of the two. We walked out of the theater and Jack splashed through every puddle. Got in the car, drove home.
Emily asked him how he liked it. Jack proceeded to go on a 5-minute monologue, most of which I don't recall. "The vulture got him!" was one of them. And "He LEARNED." (Jack sort of has a love-hate relationship with scary figures in movies - Sher-Kahn in Jungle Book, for example.) I'm pretty sure he said something along the lines of wanting to see it again right now.
And that was Jack's first movie.
As we got ready to go, I told Jack he had to use his quiet voice in the theater. We practiced talking softly to each other and for Mommy. On the way there, I explained, OK Jack, if you have any questions, just make sure you ask me quietly. He whispered, "Okay." He was pretty eager to do the right thing.
Walking into the lobby was funny. It was one of these big 14-cinema Loews things -- a huge sprawl of carpet, lengthy candy counter, ropes showing you where to walk to get tickets. Jack walked a little ahead of me, slowly. I'm guessing the size of the place awed him a little; it did me. Since there was no one in line, I taught Jack his first subversive action: going under the ropes up to the counter. Granted, he didn't even have to duck, but it still felt brave. Ha!
After we got tickets, I asked Jack if he wanted popcorn. Jack loves popcorn, but as we were waiting in line, he started to get nervous about something or other, and said he didn't. I ignored him and we got popcorn. His nervousness, though, was a sign of things to come.
We headed into the movie. As we walked up the little ramp, the huge screen slowly came into view. Jack walked slower. His eyes, I'm guessing, got wider. For the next several minutes, everything was a nod. The place was nearly empty, which was nice; we wouldn't have to sit near anyone. I considered going to the far side of the theater, where there were fewer people, but didn't know whether being a long way from the door would be a good idea.
We walked up a few rows to a nearly empty aisle. "Do you want to sit here?" I asked. Jack nodded solemnly and sat down on the step. "Er, no, Jack, come here." I got him up and into the seat. Put him in it (they had booster seats, but I hadn't grabbed one on the way in, so I thought we'd try the seat). I sat next to him and offered him the popcorn. He dug in, but his eyes were glued to the big screen.
The previews started: other kids' movies. Something called "WallE" about a robot by Pixar. Another Ice Age movie. More previews. Now, I'm an adult, and I've seen a lot of movies, and even I was having my world rocked a little bit here by the yelling, the close-ups of various animals, the loud music, and the rapid cuts from image to image. So you can imagine that a 3-year-old at his first-ever movie was having a hard time with it. "I want to go home now," said Jack. A couple minutes later: "I just want to go home." I patted his shoulder reassuringly, sure it would be OK once we got through this preview. Another preview started. "I want to go home," he said again, hiding his eyes and starting to get upset. I started to worry.
Another preview. "I'm sure THIS will be the last one," I said nervously. "Popcorn?" "I just want to go home," he said, but he reached for the popcorn.
You never realize how loud and annoying previews can be until you see them through the eyes, or at least empathically, with a 3-year-old. Of course, I'll now probably end up seeing all of these movies, with Jack, but anyway. Pretty jarring stuff.
Finally the movie started. Opening credits, music. That was all nice. The the elephant showed up. And his friends, who were all yelling. Then the elephant -- voiced, I must add, by Jim Carrey, for whom yelling is kind of a staple -- fell into some water, and got attacked by some leaf bugs, and .... well, it was pretty loud, jarring, and headache-inducing. "I just want to go home now," observed Jack.
I decided -- 10 minutes too late, but better late than never -- that we were sitting too close. I picked up Jack, our popcorn, and my jacket, and headed to the back. We sat in the next to last row, on the side. At the same time, the movie settled down. Things improved.
Jack asked lots of questions. "Who's he?" "Where's the elephant?" "Is that Balloo?" "Where did the elephant go?" "Why is he doing that?" "Why is he the mayor?" "What's that?" Every other question was in his quiet voice. The rest were at normal speaking voice. Which was fine, because the movie was really loud. Which I suspect was largely for that reason. I'm guessing kids movies are played louder than other movies. Just a guess, though.
When the vulture showed up -- because all kids' movies have to have a "villain" and conflict and stuff, just like every other movie I suppose -- Jack gaped for a few seconds, then turned away from the screen and sort of curled his head down into his arm and reiterated a desire to go home. This continued for several minutes, while I silently pleaded for the scary scene to end. Then I said, "Oh, no, he's a NICE vulture. Yes, you see, he wants to play with Horton." Cautiously, Jack watched. Although he still didn't like the vulture, and I admit, the thing was kind of scary at times. Er, for a 3-year-old, I mean.
When the vulture attacked Horton, I said to Jack, well, the vulture just doesn't understand...he doesn't know that there's a whole world of Who's on that clover. This will become important later.
The last half hour of the film, Jack was glued to the screen. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes were wide, he was like me during The Usual Suspects or something, the first time I saw it. Fascinated. Anxious to see what would happen. And at the end, when everything worked out all right and the vulture smiled and cried because he was touched and stuff, Jack turned to me and said "He LEARNED!"
The movie ended, and Jack got right up. I said, well, that's your first movie. Jack kind of nodded, and started down the steps. He seemed pleased with himself, or happy from the movie, one of the two. We walked out of the theater and Jack splashed through every puddle. Got in the car, drove home.
Emily asked him how he liked it. Jack proceeded to go on a 5-minute monologue, most of which I don't recall. "The vulture got him!" was one of them. And "He LEARNED." (Jack sort of has a love-hate relationship with scary figures in movies - Sher-Kahn in Jungle Book, for example.) I'm pretty sure he said something along the lines of wanting to see it again right now.
And that was Jack's first movie.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Dah Dah
Kate says DaDa. Kind of. The other day I smiled at her and she said "Dah. Dah." She seemed to be talking to me. She said it again the next day when I peered over the crib in the morning. "Dah. Dah." Now, I can't guarantee she doesn't say it at other times -- when she's thinking about eating, or getting tired, or waking up, or making a messy diaper. But I'm going to tell myself that she's saying "DaDa." And, I might be right.
Fortunately, despite my working most of the day until the wee hours of the morning during her first three months of existence, and then working in an office all day during two of the next three, she likes me, and knows who I am. That's kind of cool.
KATE'S TOYS
One of the great things about Kate right now is that virtually all of her toys -- possibly all of them -- have identical charm. No matter what it is, she basically wants to grab it with her hands and put it in her mouth. This can be bad (today I had to keep a metal, musical "kittie in the box" away from her), or it can be good. I was reading Jack a book on the couch, and I noticed that she was sitting on the floor with no toys within reach, gazing up at us. A stuffed penguin, that Nana and Baba gave Jack, was on the couch near me. Without missing a line in the book, I tossed the penguin near her. She looked at it for a few seconds. Reached for it, just like all her various plastic rings and teething toys. And put it in her mouth. Jack didn't notice.
Fortunately, despite my working most of the day until the wee hours of the morning during her first three months of existence, and then working in an office all day during two of the next three, she likes me, and knows who I am. That's kind of cool.
KATE'S TOYS
One of the great things about Kate right now is that virtually all of her toys -- possibly all of them -- have identical charm. No matter what it is, she basically wants to grab it with her hands and put it in her mouth. This can be bad (today I had to keep a metal, musical "kittie in the box" away from her), or it can be good. I was reading Jack a book on the couch, and I noticed that she was sitting on the floor with no toys within reach, gazing up at us. A stuffed penguin, that Nana and Baba gave Jack, was on the couch near me. Without missing a line in the book, I tossed the penguin near her. She looked at it for a few seconds. Reached for it, just like all her various plastic rings and teething toys. And put it in her mouth. Jack didn't notice.
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