Jack's only 3 and a half, but he reminisces a lot.
"Remember when we went to the beach and we splashed in the water?" Yes, Jack, that was yesterday.
"Remember when we went and got chicken nuggets and french fries?" Yup, that was yesterday too.
"Remember when you told me the story about the monsters and the robots?" Last night? Or one of the last 10 nights, when that was also the story I told you?
(Side note: Jack likes made-up stories, which is really stretching the limits of my imagination these days. It started with him wanting stories based on books we read. So, we read "Escape of Marvin the Ape," in which Marvin the Ape escapes from the zoo (great book), and Jack wanted a story about that. And each time, the story got bigger, with (for example) a new activity and a new friend for Marvin. I'd go with, for example, Barry the Bear. And Jack took the idea and ran with it, each ensuing night. So, as I'd start to tell the story, Jack would say, "I thought of another friend for Marvin....Snakey the snake." Or, "Giraffy the giraffe." And so on. Until on the 10th night or so, it was "One day, Marvin the ape and his friends, Barry the bear, Giraffy the giraffe, Snakey the snake, Lion the lion, Fishy the fish....(etc.) decided to have a picnic."
I'm not sure how the superheroes stories started. Might have been after I gave him the Iron Man toys as a gift. Suddenly he wanted superheroes to go around fighting monsters. And then monsters and robots. And then monsters and robots and Power Rangers -- I have no idea where that came from, we don't watch them, somebody at school must have had a lunch box or T-shirt or somesuch. Anyway, the stories are the best I can come up with and they all involve the monsters or robots or Power Rangers doing something only mildly bad like stealing people's ice cream or something, and the heroes using their ray beams or webs or whatever on the monsters until they recognize the error of their ways and become good.)
"Remember when I wore Kate's hat?" Yes, it was too small for you and you stretched it out so she'll never be able to wear it again.
"Remember when you tickled me and made me laugh so much? That was so funny." Yes it was. "Let's do that again." OK, Jack.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Musical Kate
I don't know if all little kids and babies like music, but it appears we're 2 for 2. Kate, like Jack, can't get enough of that foot-stompin' musical beat.
Jack used to dance in his crib to musical Tigger from a very young age. (Picture at right.) Kate didn't do that, but she did start playing the little toy piano while just a few months old, and she now rocks back and forth on her haunches, or bounces up and down, to music. Jack plays this tune on one of his toys that he dances to, and I was watching him do this -- when all of a sudden Kate caught my eye, halfway across the room, bouncing up and down, head nodding to the music. She caught me looking at her and shot me a big grin, and went right on "dancing."
Yesterday she was standing at the play table, which also plays music when she hits certain buttons. At one point she was playing that music, AND she stepped on this little book the neighbors gave us that plays musical tunes. A veritable symphony (cacophony?) of music, and she looked at me, laughed, and rocked back and forth on her heels.
Sometimes she claps. Not always to music; sometimes just because she's happy, although the music is part of that. I missed it, but Emily told me she was clapping happily yesterday and accidentally caught her nose in a clap. Hee.
Today I took Kate to the gym (YMCA) for the first time. They have a babysitting service there for while you work out, with all kinds of toys. Kate, um, didn't do so well with it. I checked on her (without being seen) every five minutes. First time: crying. Second time: not crying. Third time: crying harder. Fourth time: not crying as I was first approaching; then, crying. I got there and I honestly worried she'd had an allergic reaction to something, her little eyelids and nose were so red. So yeah, the babysitting with strangers is something we've got some minor problems with.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The Beach
We've made two trips to the beach now this summer. A few things can be said.
1. Jack's an impatient backseat driver. We're sitting in a line of traffic, and Jack says, "Let's just turn around." We're getting close to the beach, and Jack says, "Is THIS the beach?" "Is THIS the beach?" Every mile or so. At one point we were close; you could see a little private beach beyond a stone wall. Jack asked again, and I said, "Well, you could just get out here, and we'll meet you." Jack's also very literal. "What?" he said. "I can't get out HERE. I can't just jump over that WALL." It's really pretty funny.
2. I really envy those commercials for I believe Corona that show a couple walking to a spot in the sand and sitting down, carrying nothing but a bucket of beer. I believe the commercial contrasts that couple with a family that appears to be us. They stumble up to a spot with beach chairs, an umbrella under their arms, towels, toys, a cooler of snacks, suntan lotion, etc. And of course, two kids. We need to invest in one of these things that looks like a laundry hamper for toys and stuff, that you just roll onto the beach with you. That would be nice.
3. Jack has kind of a love-hate relationship with the ocean. I think he likes the beach, and had a blast splashing around in the waves last time, and then when we went yesterday he didn't want to go in the water -- didn't even want to take off his beach sandals. I think the only reason he agreed to go at all was me promising he could bury me in the sand. That was kind of funny, incidentally -- he'd cover part of me with sand, decide he needed water, and ask me to go get him some. "But Jack, I"m buried in the sand!" "Oh," he'd say. "Here, I'll help you get out...." Anyway, Jack thus far appears to like the sand a lot more than the water. I guess some older kid pointed out a horseshoe crab in the water the first time, telling him it would eat him or something. We assured him that was not the case. Then Saturday we were standing near the edge of the water and saw TWO of them, connected in some fashion, perhaps intimately. I'm not familiar enough with horseshoe crab anatomy, nor do I want to be, to be certain. Perhaps I'll raise the question at the Aquarium next time we're there. "Excuse me -- where are....?"
4. Jack did discover one of the new joys of the beach Saturday: beach food. I've never seen him eat so many chicken nuggets and french fries at a sitting.
5. Kate appears to have gotten over her nervousness on unusual surfaces. On Friday she crawled around on grass like it was no big deal, and then Saturday, she scuttled across the beach like a fiddler crab. And put a rock in her mouth, of course, but we got it out. Her hat keeps falling off (too big) and we fret about sunburn, not to mention her efforts to crawl through the sand castle I built with Jack, and her obvious desire to also eat french fries and chicken nuggets, but regardless, she had fun. We held her with her toes in the water, to which she seemed to react with curiosity more than anything else.
6. The art of sand castle building is really hurt by a three-year-old who cares more about pouring water over everything than actually building a castle. I think I really had something going yesterday, but then The Flood came and things looked a lot like Venice after a heavy rain. Maybe next time.
7. Both kids will fall asleep on the way home from the beach. Both adults will spend the afternoon wishing they had slept better the previous night. The beach takes a lot out of you.
1. Jack's an impatient backseat driver. We're sitting in a line of traffic, and Jack says, "Let's just turn around." We're getting close to the beach, and Jack says, "Is THIS the beach?" "Is THIS the beach?" Every mile or so. At one point we were close; you could see a little private beach beyond a stone wall. Jack asked again, and I said, "Well, you could just get out here, and we'll meet you." Jack's also very literal. "What?" he said. "I can't get out HERE. I can't just jump over that WALL." It's really pretty funny.
2. I really envy those commercials for I believe Corona that show a couple walking to a spot in the sand and sitting down, carrying nothing but a bucket of beer. I believe the commercial contrasts that couple with a family that appears to be us. They stumble up to a spot with beach chairs, an umbrella under their arms, towels, toys, a cooler of snacks, suntan lotion, etc. And of course, two kids. We need to invest in one of these things that looks like a laundry hamper for toys and stuff, that you just roll onto the beach with you. That would be nice.
3. Jack has kind of a love-hate relationship with the ocean. I think he likes the beach, and had a blast splashing around in the waves last time, and then when we went yesterday he didn't want to go in the water -- didn't even want to take off his beach sandals. I think the only reason he agreed to go at all was me promising he could bury me in the sand. That was kind of funny, incidentally -- he'd cover part of me with sand, decide he needed water, and ask me to go get him some. "But Jack, I"m buried in the sand!" "Oh," he'd say. "Here, I'll help you get out...." Anyway, Jack thus far appears to like the sand a lot more than the water. I guess some older kid pointed out a horseshoe crab in the water the first time, telling him it would eat him or something. We assured him that was not the case. Then Saturday we were standing near the edge of the water and saw TWO of them, connected in some fashion, perhaps intimately. I'm not familiar enough with horseshoe crab anatomy, nor do I want to be, to be certain. Perhaps I'll raise the question at the Aquarium next time we're there. "Excuse me -- where are....?"
4. Jack did discover one of the new joys of the beach Saturday: beach food. I've never seen him eat so many chicken nuggets and french fries at a sitting.
5. Kate appears to have gotten over her nervousness on unusual surfaces. On Friday she crawled around on grass like it was no big deal, and then Saturday, she scuttled across the beach like a fiddler crab. And put a rock in her mouth, of course, but we got it out. Her hat keeps falling off (too big) and we fret about sunburn, not to mention her efforts to crawl through the sand castle I built with Jack, and her obvious desire to also eat french fries and chicken nuggets, but regardless, she had fun. We held her with her toes in the water, to which she seemed to react with curiosity more than anything else.
6. The art of sand castle building is really hurt by a three-year-old who cares more about pouring water over everything than actually building a castle. I think I really had something going yesterday, but then The Flood came and things looked a lot like Venice after a heavy rain. Maybe next time.
7. Both kids will fall asleep on the way home from the beach. Both adults will spend the afternoon wishing they had slept better the previous night. The beach takes a lot out of you.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Brown Bear
I read different books to Jack each night, but usually certain old favorites creep back in. Like "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see?"
To keep my own interest, I tend to do different voices for the animals. The duck sounds like a duck, the dog rowfs like a dog, the frog gurgles like a frog, etc. Jack loves it.
Yesterday was a new one though, as after I'd finished reading it, HE decided to read it to me. He can't really read per se; he's just memorized it. So, he took the book and started in. With voices. Jack's voices were basically slow, low and deep, so "Brown bear, brown bear" became "brrowwnnbear, brrowwnnbear." And then his next voice for the duck was the same voice, but a little bit lower, and a little bit slowwwerrr, and a little bit deeeepppper. By the time he got to the cat his voice was almost inaudible. "Prpl cat, prpl cat, whaDyuSee...." Pretty funny.
Similarly amusing is that his memory of which animals comes next isn't perfect, so he had to fliip ahead. For example:
"Yllw duck, yllw duck, whuh Dyuh see? I see - Um (This is his normal voice, as he drops out of character and flips to the next page, checks the animal, then turns back, and drops his voice back into character) - I see a blue horse looking at me."
He did this for pretty much the entire book. He even kind of rasped out the teacher's voice, which I do in falsetto with a Southern accent for no apparent reason. Good stuff.
To keep my own interest, I tend to do different voices for the animals. The duck sounds like a duck, the dog rowfs like a dog, the frog gurgles like a frog, etc. Jack loves it.
Yesterday was a new one though, as after I'd finished reading it, HE decided to read it to me. He can't really read per se; he's just memorized it. So, he took the book and started in. With voices. Jack's voices were basically slow, low and deep, so "Brown bear, brown bear" became "brrowwnnbear, brrowwnnbear." And then his next voice for the duck was the same voice, but a little bit lower, and a little bit slowwwerrr, and a little bit deeeepppper. By the time he got to the cat his voice was almost inaudible. "Prpl cat, prpl cat, whaDyuSee...." Pretty funny.
Similarly amusing is that his memory of which animals comes next isn't perfect, so he had to fliip ahead. For example:
"Yllw duck, yllw duck, whuh Dyuh see? I see - Um (This is his normal voice, as he drops out of character and flips to the next page, checks the animal, then turns back, and drops his voice back into character) - I see a blue horse looking at me."
He did this for pretty much the entire book. He even kind of rasped out the teacher's voice, which I do in falsetto with a Southern accent for no apparent reason. Good stuff.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Old Books
Kate and I went to the library, in part because I wanted us to get out of the house and do something, and in part because I wanted to look for this book I'd read about in Entertainment Weekly. (All copies were out, naturally.) We ended up in the kids section, naturally, a pretty cool setup on the third floor with books that a small child can reach and stuffed toys for even smaller kids. Kate crawled around with surprising speed. We even tried doing a puzzle, which is to say, I tried to do the puzzle while she tried to put pieces in her mouth.
Anyway, I ended up taking two books out for Jack, one a recent one about How Do Dinosaurs Play with Their Friends (we both like that series of books), and one that caught my eye among the "Classic" kids books: "Herbert the Lion." That's one I immediately remembered from my own childhood, and I snapped it up without even looking at it. Jack and I would read it tonight.
To his credit, Jack pretty much likes any new books. (These days he also likes stories, so each night as I'm putting him to bed I'm making up stories, often on topics involving things like superheroes fighting with monsters, which he can't get enough of.) And even an old book like "Herbert the Lion" is new to him.
I'm reading it and I happen to check the publishing date. 1931! That's older than either of my parents. And I'm reading it thinking, did my parents read this book to me because THEY had had it read to them when they were kids? Did my grandparents read this book to my parents that I'm now reading to my son? And 35 years from now will JACK be in some huge futuristic library where he finds a tiny digital microchip which has a picture of a Lion on it and minuscule text that reads "Herbert the Lion," and he too will pick it up to read to his child? Maybe.
The third book we read tonight was "The Story of Ferdinand," another book I remembered from my childhood. That was written in 1936.
One aside: it's interesting the way different books could be seen as representatives of their times. In Herbert the Lion, Sally's parents move to the country so Sally can stay with her lion. In Ferdinand, it's OK if the bull wants to just sit quietly and smell the flowers.
In contrast, a while back my Mom gave us some other books we'd had as children. These were from the 1950s. In "Scuffy the Tugboat," a cute little tugboat ventures out into the big river and shipyard, finding it exciting at first but then dangerous and scary. At the end, he goes back to his safe, secure bathtub. In another (whose name I've forgotten), a little train keeps wanting to jump off the tracks and go exploring and adventuring. At the end, everyone else in the trainyard gets together to teach him how dangerous it is and to always stay on the tracks. Jack of course thought it was great; Emily and I were both troubled by its heavy-handed message of obedience and conformity. I won't claim to be a 20th-century historian or anything, but based on this admittedly small sample, I've got to say I like children's books of the 30s more than those of the 50s.
Jack likes all of them, however, which is I guess the most important thing.
Anyway, I ended up taking two books out for Jack, one a recent one about How Do Dinosaurs Play with Their Friends (we both like that series of books), and one that caught my eye among the "Classic" kids books: "Herbert the Lion." That's one I immediately remembered from my own childhood, and I snapped it up without even looking at it. Jack and I would read it tonight.
To his credit, Jack pretty much likes any new books. (These days he also likes stories, so each night as I'm putting him to bed I'm making up stories, often on topics involving things like superheroes fighting with monsters, which he can't get enough of.) And even an old book like "Herbert the Lion" is new to him.
I'm reading it and I happen to check the publishing date. 1931! That's older than either of my parents. And I'm reading it thinking, did my parents read this book to me because THEY had had it read to them when they were kids? Did my grandparents read this book to my parents that I'm now reading to my son? And 35 years from now will JACK be in some huge futuristic library where he finds a tiny digital microchip which has a picture of a Lion on it and minuscule text that reads "Herbert the Lion," and he too will pick it up to read to his child? Maybe.
The third book we read tonight was "The Story of Ferdinand," another book I remembered from my childhood. That was written in 1936.
One aside: it's interesting the way different books could be seen as representatives of their times. In Herbert the Lion, Sally's parents move to the country so Sally can stay with her lion. In Ferdinand, it's OK if the bull wants to just sit quietly and smell the flowers.
In contrast, a while back my Mom gave us some other books we'd had as children. These were from the 1950s. In "Scuffy the Tugboat," a cute little tugboat ventures out into the big river and shipyard, finding it exciting at first but then dangerous and scary. At the end, he goes back to his safe, secure bathtub. In another (whose name I've forgotten), a little train keeps wanting to jump off the tracks and go exploring and adventuring. At the end, everyone else in the trainyard gets together to teach him how dangerous it is and to always stay on the tracks. Jack of course thought it was great; Emily and I were both troubled by its heavy-handed message of obedience and conformity. I won't claim to be a 20th-century historian or anything, but based on this admittedly small sample, I've got to say I like children's books of the 30s more than those of the 50s.
Jack likes all of them, however, which is I guess the most important thing.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Alone with Jack and Kate, Day 1
This was my first-ever full day alone with both Jack and Kate. Emily went back to work a week ago, but her Dad was off last Friday morning (which is the day Jack isn't in daycare). Today it was all me. It's late and I'm beat, but I'm still going to -- quickly -- go hour by hour, more or less.
8:00 a.m. Emily leaves for work. Jack wants to watch TV, which he does while I give Kate breakfast. She's not overly into eating and seems cranky. I end up putting her down for a nap around 8:30, hopeful I'll get 90 minutes out of it. Sadly, while I'm putting her down, Jack has a potty accident. On the couch. It's extremely rare, enough so that we think it's an attention thing. He seems to have them when one of us is upstairs with Kate. I throw the slipcover and Jack's clothes in the wash.
9:30 a.m. Kate's awake. Not good. Ideally she gets about a 90-minute to two-hour nap in the mornings, I give her her first bottle at 11 a.m., and we're off to a decent day. Her being awake this early -- especially considering she woke up at 6 anyway -- will probably be bad later.
10:00 a.m. I'm encouraging her and Jack to play...basically stalling giving her that first bottle. At 10:30 though, it's clear I can't stall any longer -- she's not happy. I give her her bottle while Jack and I watch....I don't even remember now. Might have just been baseball highlights.
11 a.m. We pile into the car for Jack's haircut. Basically getting out of the house for an activity is essential. I push it by going to the post office to return a package, the bank to deposit a check, then haircut, then -- since we're out of the essentials, meaning bread for Jack's lunch and half and half for my coffee -- the supermarket. Jack wants to ride in the cart, so I stumble into the supermarket with half-asleep Kate's car seat on my arm pushing Jack in the shopping cart. I feel like a bad cliche of a Mr. Mom movie. I'm sure people are staring, especially as I stumble around with the both of them getting groceries. Yes, I'm one of those people who thinks they're going in for two things and end up with my arms full of 10 or so.
12:30 p.m. We go through the Wendy's drive-through. Going to the supermarket to get food for lunch makes it too late to consider going home to make lunch. Plus, I don't want a jelly sandwich.
1: 00 p.m. Jack eats his nuggets and fries. Kate eats her avocado and yogurt. I eat my chicken sandwich. I feel a sense of accomplishment.
2:00 p.m. We've had lunch and played a bit. Kate's getting cranky. I didn't bother trying to put Jack down for a nap. At some point he said he was going upstairs for a nap, went upstairs, then came down 2 minutes later. "I did have a nap!" he insists. OK, Jack.
2:30 p.m. I give Kate her second bottle and eventually get her down for a nap. Jack is watching A Charlie Brown Christmas on VHS. He's not exactly a slave to the seasons. Later he'll watch the Halloween special on DVD.
3:30 p.m. Kate's awake, as I'm reading stories to Jack. She's wailing and I tell him I have to go upstairs. "One more story!" he insists, with the hint of a whine that says, no, I haven't napped. I say, Jack, what if I left YOU upstairs wailing like the way Kate is wailing? He is unmoved, but I go anyway. Get Kate, change her, bring her downstairs. Jack wants to go outside and is at the door with his shoes on the wrong feet. You'd think he'd only do that 50 percent of the time, but it's much closer to three quarters.
4:00 p.m. We sit in the back yard. Kate doesn't know what to make of grass, which is to say she doesn't like it. I hold her a lot of the time, then bring out a blanket for her to sit on so I can toss a ball around with Jack. We do. She crawls to the edges of the blanket.
4:15 p.m. Jack wants a snack. We go in. He wants to come back out. I talk him out of it in favor of playing with the beach ball inside. I think Kate has had it with the grass.
4:45 p.m. I start dinner. Jack helps me open a can, which is a big thrill for him.
5:15 p.m. Mommy home. Day not so bad.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Tired Jack
We're kind of in an interesting place with Jack these days. At school, he naps for anywhere from 90 minutes to two hours, with the result being that putting him to bed is a hassle -- he's in and out of his room for up to an hour after we actually put him to bed. On weekends, he doesn't nap, which makes the last few hours before bed time a whirlwind of Jack being tired possibilities.
1. Meltdowns. So tired he gets upset at just about anything. "I WANTED TO CARRY MY MILK OVER TO THE TABLE!!!!!!" Motorcycle outside, which Emily refers to with annoyance. Jack, his face crumbling: "I DON'T LIKE MO............TOR.................CY....CLES....WAAAAHHHHHHH." (This was tonight, and it was quite spectacular. Totally out of nowhere, beyond, you know, he was really exhausted.) With these we just kind of deal with as calmly and abruptly as possible. "OK, let's go to bed!" He's under my arm and up the stairs in minutes. Pretty much anything can be forgiven when he's like this; he's not in control of himself.
2. Half asleep. These ones are fun. A couple of weeks back he was literally too tired to chew his food at the dinner table. He was sitting there in his chair, shoulders slumped, eyes half-closed, gazing at the windows. Food made it into his mouth, sometimes, but chewing looked like an effort. Sometimes I'd think it was him being difficult, but in this case he was just half-asleep.
3. Meltdowns AND half asleep. Friday we were outside and I was putting dinner on the grill, and our neighbor said hi, and he kind of clammed up, then threw his hat in her general direction. Shy and rude, a winning combination. I said something apologetic, but then after she'd gone spoke sharply to Jack. He gave some kind of reply that annoyed me (it was my first day alone with Jack and Kate, and it had been a day), so I said, "Inside." We went inside and his meltdown began, then he suddenly said, through anger and tears, "I'm going upstairs for my nap!" It was 5 in the evening. He went upstairs. It was quiet. I went up two minutes later, and there he was, in bed fully dressed, sound asleep.
4. Goofy. This is the fun one. It's sort of like he's been up all night and is punchy, which is kind of how I am when I'm really behind on sleep -- maybe most people are like this. A lot of people were in college, although granted some of them might have not been entirely sober. Anyhoo, at dinner tonight we talked about how tomorrow he was going to school and Mommy was going to work and Daddy was staying home with Kate, and somehow it got switched around that Jack would go to work and Daddy would go to school (which sounded OK - nap, afternoon snack, playing in the tumble room), and that was good for some laughs, and then Jack said, indicating his cup of milk, "Or maybe my MILK will go to school. And Miss Ruthie would tell it what to do." And this was all very amusing. Another recent incident was Jack in his bathtub, and he'd recently had some shall we say stomach issues, and there was noise from behind him, and Emily thought the worst as Jack reached behind him.....and pulled out his rubber ducky, which he'd sat on. A smile spreads over Jack's face. "It was my DUCK!" he said solemnly. He knew he'd been funny.
1. Meltdowns. So tired he gets upset at just about anything. "I WANTED TO CARRY MY MILK OVER TO THE TABLE!!!!!!" Motorcycle outside, which Emily refers to with annoyance. Jack, his face crumbling: "I DON'T LIKE MO............TOR.................CY....CLES....WAAAAHHHHHHH." (This was tonight, and it was quite spectacular. Totally out of nowhere, beyond, you know, he was really exhausted.) With these we just kind of deal with as calmly and abruptly as possible. "OK, let's go to bed!" He's under my arm and up the stairs in minutes. Pretty much anything can be forgiven when he's like this; he's not in control of himself.
2. Half asleep. These ones are fun. A couple of weeks back he was literally too tired to chew his food at the dinner table. He was sitting there in his chair, shoulders slumped, eyes half-closed, gazing at the windows. Food made it into his mouth, sometimes, but chewing looked like an effort. Sometimes I'd think it was him being difficult, but in this case he was just half-asleep.
3. Meltdowns AND half asleep. Friday we were outside and I was putting dinner on the grill, and our neighbor said hi, and he kind of clammed up, then threw his hat in her general direction. Shy and rude, a winning combination. I said something apologetic, but then after she'd gone spoke sharply to Jack. He gave some kind of reply that annoyed me (it was my first day alone with Jack and Kate, and it had been a day), so I said, "Inside." We went inside and his meltdown began, then he suddenly said, through anger and tears, "I'm going upstairs for my nap!" It was 5 in the evening. He went upstairs. It was quiet. I went up two minutes later, and there he was, in bed fully dressed, sound asleep.
4. Goofy. This is the fun one. It's sort of like he's been up all night and is punchy, which is kind of how I am when I'm really behind on sleep -- maybe most people are like this. A lot of people were in college, although granted some of them might have not been entirely sober. Anyhoo, at dinner tonight we talked about how tomorrow he was going to school and Mommy was going to work and Daddy was staying home with Kate, and somehow it got switched around that Jack would go to work and Daddy would go to school (which sounded OK - nap, afternoon snack, playing in the tumble room), and that was good for some laughs, and then Jack said, indicating his cup of milk, "Or maybe my MILK will go to school. And Miss Ruthie would tell it what to do." And this was all very amusing. Another recent incident was Jack in his bathtub, and he'd recently had some shall we say stomach issues, and there was noise from behind him, and Emily thought the worst as Jack reached behind him.....and pulled out his rubber ducky, which he'd sat on. A smile spreads over Jack's face. "It was my DUCK!" he said solemnly. He knew he'd been funny.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Alone with Kate, Day 1
Emily's starting a temp job that may become permanent. Today was her first day.
8:30 a.m. We say goodbye to Emily at the door. Kate is smiling and happy, no idea her world is changing. Emily is the opposite.
8:35 a.m. I put Kate down in the living room. Par-Tay! She immediately crawls into the midst of Jack's toys. Nothing appears dangerous. When she crawls, she kind of breathes heavily and snuffles with the effort, a little like a bulldog. She goes to his store and starts pulling out vegetables and sampling all of them by putting them in her mouth for a second, then moving on to the next one. I sit nearby. We do this for the next 15-20 minutes.
9:00 a.m. At the coffee table, she pulls books off the underneath shelf. She can do this for an indefinite amount of time.
9:15 a.m. Plays with musical book that plays tunes like "Patty Cake, Patty Cake," and "the Big Bad Wolf." Insipid, but she likes it and is proud of herself for getting the music to play. She turns and smiles. Claps a little.
9:30 a.m. Starting to get a little cranky. She's been up for over two hours. Basically her getting cranky is making loud noises a little more frequently. Getting more easily frustrated with her toys and stuff. Picking something up and putting it down heavily.
9:45 a.m. I put her down for a nap. Doesn't take. Five minutes later I walk in, and she's sitting up, running her little plastic fish on the bars of the crib. Just like a prisoner with a tin can. Funny.
9:55 a.m. Take two. She goes to sleep within minutes. I clean up my desk. Gamble that she's tired enough that I can shower without waking her up. Win that bet. Clean up breakfast dishes. Empty trash.
11:30 a.m. Kate's awake! I prep a bottle and go up to get her. She's crying, then switches it off in an instant. Crawls across her crib to me. I change her diaper and we head downstairs.
11:45 a.m. Kate takes her bottle well, but she's basically doing calisthenics in my lap. She doesn't just lie there, she sits up, rolls over, twists around, continuing to drink. Every once in a while she stops and bats the tip of the bottle, hooks her finger on my lip. Talks: "Baa Baa Baa. Baa. Baaaaaaaaaa. Baa Baa Baa. BAA."
12 noon. I let her crawl around. She does.
12:30 p.m. I give her lunch: yogurt and some blueberries. I think she's doing well with the blueberries until after I get her out of the seat and find most of them in the seat and on the floor. She does eat a lot of yogurt and some small pieces of canteloupe, though.
1:00 p.m. I bring her over to Aunt Cathy's. I have a fantasy draft for a magazine coming up and can't trust her to be OK while I'm doing it.
3:00 p.m. Cathy brings her back. Kate did OK, but she looks a little red-eyed; apparently she slept for about 20 minutes -- not enough not to be tired, but enough so that she might not nap this afternoon. A concern.
3:15 p.m. Bottle for Kate. More calisthenics. I make the final pick in my draft while giving her her bottle. Bet I'm the only guy in the league multi-tasking that way. Then again, it's a fantasy draft in the middle of the afternoon on Tuesday. Maybe everyone has a baby on their laps.
3:30 p.m. Not napping.
3:45 p.m. Take two. Still not napping. Cries indignant now. It's like she's saying to me, It's not happening. Give up.
4:00 p.m. I give up.
4:30 p.m. Kate has spent the past half hour crawling around, mostly happy, also clearly tired. I decide to go get Jack a little early, under the idea that she might sleep in the car. (Yuh.) Instead she pretty much wails in the car, wails when I put her down in Jack's room at daycare to get his lunch box, wails when I carry her back to the car (as does Jack, I might add, because it's raining and I ask him to stay just inside the door while I put Kate in the car, but he evidently doesn't understand and thinks I'm ditching him). I go back to get him and talk him down, and we're off.
4:45 p.m. Kate's still wailing in the car. I ask Jack to sing to her. He does. "Baby Cake, Baby Cake. Baby Cake....." She stops wailing.
5:00 p.m. Jack plays with Kate. Very nicely. She smiles and looks at him, in awe. Then he does something goofy with one of his toys, and she laughs. He does it again and she laughs harder. He does it 5, 10, 15 times, and she's literally gasping for breath -- she's in hysterics. Probably the fact that she's only slept 20 minutes since the morning is part of it, like in college when you'd been up all night and things seem even funnier the next morning. Anyway, he keeps on making her laugh. And Daddy can relax.
5:15 p.m. Mommy gets home. Kids happy. Daddy relaxes even more.
8:30 a.m. We say goodbye to Emily at the door. Kate is smiling and happy, no idea her world is changing. Emily is the opposite.
8:35 a.m. I put Kate down in the living room. Par-Tay! She immediately crawls into the midst of Jack's toys. Nothing appears dangerous. When she crawls, she kind of breathes heavily and snuffles with the effort, a little like a bulldog. She goes to his store and starts pulling out vegetables and sampling all of them by putting them in her mouth for a second, then moving on to the next one. I sit nearby. We do this for the next 15-20 minutes.
9:00 a.m. At the coffee table, she pulls books off the underneath shelf. She can do this for an indefinite amount of time.
9:15 a.m. Plays with musical book that plays tunes like "Patty Cake, Patty Cake," and "the Big Bad Wolf." Insipid, but she likes it and is proud of herself for getting the music to play. She turns and smiles. Claps a little.
9:30 a.m. Starting to get a little cranky. She's been up for over two hours. Basically her getting cranky is making loud noises a little more frequently. Getting more easily frustrated with her toys and stuff. Picking something up and putting it down heavily.
9:45 a.m. I put her down for a nap. Doesn't take. Five minutes later I walk in, and she's sitting up, running her little plastic fish on the bars of the crib. Just like a prisoner with a tin can. Funny.
9:55 a.m. Take two. She goes to sleep within minutes. I clean up my desk. Gamble that she's tired enough that I can shower without waking her up. Win that bet. Clean up breakfast dishes. Empty trash.
11:30 a.m. Kate's awake! I prep a bottle and go up to get her. She's crying, then switches it off in an instant. Crawls across her crib to me. I change her diaper and we head downstairs.
11:45 a.m. Kate takes her bottle well, but she's basically doing calisthenics in my lap. She doesn't just lie there, she sits up, rolls over, twists around, continuing to drink. Every once in a while she stops and bats the tip of the bottle, hooks her finger on my lip. Talks: "Baa Baa Baa. Baa. Baaaaaaaaaa. Baa Baa Baa. BAA."
12 noon. I let her crawl around. She does.
12:30 p.m. I give her lunch: yogurt and some blueberries. I think she's doing well with the blueberries until after I get her out of the seat and find most of them in the seat and on the floor. She does eat a lot of yogurt and some small pieces of canteloupe, though.
1:00 p.m. I bring her over to Aunt Cathy's. I have a fantasy draft for a magazine coming up and can't trust her to be OK while I'm doing it.
3:00 p.m. Cathy brings her back. Kate did OK, but she looks a little red-eyed; apparently she slept for about 20 minutes -- not enough not to be tired, but enough so that she might not nap this afternoon. A concern.
3:15 p.m. Bottle for Kate. More calisthenics. I make the final pick in my draft while giving her her bottle. Bet I'm the only guy in the league multi-tasking that way. Then again, it's a fantasy draft in the middle of the afternoon on Tuesday. Maybe everyone has a baby on their laps.
3:30 p.m. Not napping.
3:45 p.m. Take two. Still not napping. Cries indignant now. It's like she's saying to me, It's not happening. Give up.
4:00 p.m. I give up.
4:30 p.m. Kate has spent the past half hour crawling around, mostly happy, also clearly tired. I decide to go get Jack a little early, under the idea that she might sleep in the car. (Yuh.) Instead she pretty much wails in the car, wails when I put her down in Jack's room at daycare to get his lunch box, wails when I carry her back to the car (as does Jack, I might add, because it's raining and I ask him to stay just inside the door while I put Kate in the car, but he evidently doesn't understand and thinks I'm ditching him). I go back to get him and talk him down, and we're off.
4:45 p.m. Kate's still wailing in the car. I ask Jack to sing to her. He does. "Baby Cake, Baby Cake. Baby Cake....." She stops wailing.
5:00 p.m. Jack plays with Kate. Very nicely. She smiles and looks at him, in awe. Then he does something goofy with one of his toys, and she laughs. He does it again and she laughs harder. He does it 5, 10, 15 times, and she's literally gasping for breath -- she's in hysterics. Probably the fact that she's only slept 20 minutes since the morning is part of it, like in college when you'd been up all night and things seem even funnier the next morning. Anyway, he keeps on making her laugh. And Daddy can relax.
5:15 p.m. Mommy gets home. Kids happy. Daddy relaxes even more.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
They Call Her Katie (sung to the tune of "Flipper")
Five fun things about Kate.
1. She can clap. Sometimes she'll spend several minutes practicing it. Sometimes she'll do something she's proud of, like crawl across the room or play something on the little piano, and she'll stop, sit up on her knees, and clap happily. As if she's applauding herself for what she's just done. Yes, I did that! Yay, me!
2. When she's hungry, she throws her mouth open wide for food. When she's not hungry, she kind of half opens her mouth and looks at me with some mild curiosity, like I'm a bug or something. I put the food to her lips and get some in, and she kind of absently smacks her lips at it. Hmm. This is OK. I guess.
3. Almost since before she could sit up, she kind of sits like a hurdler, or a cheerleader -- like she's doing a split. One leg is bent at the knee, the other is stretched out behind her. She balances like that, and I've never seen her fall from that position. It's pretty impressive.
4. She frequently disregards the toys we give her -- you know, the baby toys -- in favor of the toys we want to keep from her, Jack's toys. So I give her a big old plastic ring, and two seconds later she's tossed it aside (literally, I might add) and is making a beeline for one of Jack's tiny metal cars. Usually the tow truck, with a big metal hook extending from the back. Excellent, Katie.
5a. She's crazy about Jack. When she sees him in the morning, from her crib when he and I hear her and go in, she claps without clapping, then big smiles, then crawls quickly over to the bars to look at him up close. He puts his hands on the bars outside, then does something silly to make her laugh. She smiles from ear to ear. If he's in the living room and she's on the carpet, she crawls over to be near him. Wherever he is, and however many times he gets up and runs across the room. She seems to sigh internally, shrug, then get into crawling pose and determinedly crawl after him.
5b. Tonight I was reading them a story, and Jack stood up for some reason. She gazed up at him, eyes bright, mouth open, on the verge of laughing. It was exactly as if she was thinking, What wonderful thing is he going to do next?
1. She can clap. Sometimes she'll spend several minutes practicing it. Sometimes she'll do something she's proud of, like crawl across the room or play something on the little piano, and she'll stop, sit up on her knees, and clap happily. As if she's applauding herself for what she's just done. Yes, I did that! Yay, me!
2. When she's hungry, she throws her mouth open wide for food. When she's not hungry, she kind of half opens her mouth and looks at me with some mild curiosity, like I'm a bug or something. I put the food to her lips and get some in, and she kind of absently smacks her lips at it. Hmm. This is OK. I guess.
3. Almost since before she could sit up, she kind of sits like a hurdler, or a cheerleader -- like she's doing a split. One leg is bent at the knee, the other is stretched out behind her. She balances like that, and I've never seen her fall from that position. It's pretty impressive.
4. She frequently disregards the toys we give her -- you know, the baby toys -- in favor of the toys we want to keep from her, Jack's toys. So I give her a big old plastic ring, and two seconds later she's tossed it aside (literally, I might add) and is making a beeline for one of Jack's tiny metal cars. Usually the tow truck, with a big metal hook extending from the back. Excellent, Katie.
5a. She's crazy about Jack. When she sees him in the morning, from her crib when he and I hear her and go in, she claps without clapping, then big smiles, then crawls quickly over to the bars to look at him up close. He puts his hands on the bars outside, then does something silly to make her laugh. She smiles from ear to ear. If he's in the living room and she's on the carpet, she crawls over to be near him. Wherever he is, and however many times he gets up and runs across the room. She seems to sigh internally, shrug, then get into crawling pose and determinedly crawl after him.
5b. Tonight I was reading them a story, and Jack stood up for some reason. She gazed up at him, eyes bright, mouth open, on the verge of laughing. It was exactly as if she was thinking, What wonderful thing is he going to do next?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Kate in Real Time
I think the best way to blog about Kate is to just write about her as she does things. So that's what I'm doing right now.
I put Kate down on the living room rug. She makes a beeline for Jack's Spider-man puzzle, that he and I just completed. She's been doing it every chance she gets the past couple of days. I don't know why.
She heads for his easel and markers. Another fascinating thing, another thing we want her away from. I pick her up and put her in the other half of the living room.
She shoots me a big smile and heads for the TiVo box. Starts hitting buttons channels change. She turns and laughs at me, then says "Da. Da."
Mommy calls from upstairs, where she's giving Jack a bath. "Did you call me?" "Nope," I say.
Kate hears Mommy's voice and abandons the TiVo and starts crawling, quickly, toward the stairs. We want to keep her out of that hallway, because there's a bathroom, and a heating grate, and it's a hard tile floor. She reaches the doorway and I say, "Kate, what are you doing?"
She looks at me. Laughs. Heads through the doorway.
I go pick her up and put her back on the rug. She crawls into the other half of the living room. Probably headed for the puzzle again, but stops when she sees the cool wooden car. She likes the car. Plays with it -- i.e., puts it in her mouth -- for a few minutes as I type on the laptop, which I'm carrying around with me.
Now she's on the move again. Headed for the kitchen. Making little gurgling, "heh-HEH" noises, which she does sometimes.
She's in the kitchen. Gotta go.
I put Kate down on the living room rug. She makes a beeline for Jack's Spider-man puzzle, that he and I just completed. She's been doing it every chance she gets the past couple of days. I don't know why.
She heads for his easel and markers. Another fascinating thing, another thing we want her away from. I pick her up and put her in the other half of the living room.
She shoots me a big smile and heads for the TiVo box. Starts hitting buttons channels change. She turns and laughs at me, then says "Da. Da."
Mommy calls from upstairs, where she's giving Jack a bath. "Did you call me?" "Nope," I say.
Kate hears Mommy's voice and abandons the TiVo and starts crawling, quickly, toward the stairs. We want to keep her out of that hallway, because there's a bathroom, and a heating grate, and it's a hard tile floor. She reaches the doorway and I say, "Kate, what are you doing?"
She looks at me. Laughs. Heads through the doorway.
I go pick her up and put her back on the rug. She crawls into the other half of the living room. Probably headed for the puzzle again, but stops when she sees the cool wooden car. She likes the car. Plays with it -- i.e., puts it in her mouth -- for a few minutes as I type on the laptop, which I'm carrying around with me.
Now she's on the move again. Headed for the kitchen. Making little gurgling, "heh-HEH" noises, which she does sometimes.
She's in the kitchen. Gotta go.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Daddy's Day
Emily came into the room after putting Jack to bed. Said,
"Jack was wondering where our clock with hands was. I said, I don't know. He said, Did it die? I said, er, no, Jack, only people and animals die. Jack said, Will Molly die? (Nana and Baba's dog.) Emily said, well, not for a long long long time. Jack said, Will you die?
Emily said, not for a long long long long long long long long long long time. Jack said, Will Daddy die? Emily said, not for a long long long long long long long long long time. Not quite as long, because you're older. (Emily's a riot.) Jack said, Daddy's old old old old old.
Then he said, I think I have the best Daddy in the whole world. Emily said, yes, I think you do. Jack said, he makes you laugh. Emily said, yes, he does. And I think one day you'll be just as funny as Daddy, and you'll make me laugh too. Jack smiled.
"Jack was wondering where our clock with hands was. I said, I don't know. He said, Did it die? I said, er, no, Jack, only people and animals die. Jack said, Will Molly die? (Nana and Baba's dog.) Emily said, well, not for a long long long time. Jack said, Will you die?
Emily said, not for a long long long long long long long long long long time. Jack said, Will Daddy die? Emily said, not for a long long long long long long long long long time. Not quite as long, because you're older. (Emily's a riot.) Jack said, Daddy's old old old old old.
Then he said, I think I have the best Daddy in the whole world. Emily said, yes, I think you do. Jack said, he makes you laugh. Emily said, yes, he does. And I think one day you'll be just as funny as Daddy, and you'll make me laugh too. Jack smiled.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
The Neighbors
Our neighbors have a son about Jack's age, so they play together every so often. They also have an enclosed yard, whereas ours connects with a yard belonging to bigger kids, who as I've mentioned in the past Jack is fascinated with and wants to play with, even though he really can't/shouldn't and it usually ends badly. In short, we usually play over in Max's yard.
Max's 3rd birthday gift was a little house structure, which is basically a child-size plastic house with a front porch, kitchen area, and windows he can peek out. ("And a doorbell!" Jack said to Grandma; apparently it made quite an impression on him after his first visit.) Jack likes it a lot; I think he could quite happily go over there and play in it for a while on a daily basis.
So today we were over there and Max's Dad, Mike, who's fairly tall, crawled into it to entice Max and Jack into playing with it rather than whatever it was they were doing, which appeared to be throwing small rocks into a hole in the dirt and laughing hysterically. Or something similar. Then they moved on to throwing small rocks into a hole in a ladder leaning against the house. Next time Mike needs the ladder, it's going to rattle. Anyway, Jack came over -- Max continued to throw rocks, apparently because playing with Mike and the house didn't have the same novelty for him as it did for Jack -- and walked into the house like he owned the place. Mike crawled out, because it was pretty crowded.
"So Jackie (he calls him Jackie), what are you doing?" Jack: "I'm going to make dinner." "What are you going to make?" Jack: "Potatoes with apple sauce, with some sugar on the side." "Okay......." Jack busied himself in the tiny kitchen. Then: Mike rang the doorbell. Jack ignored it. Mike: "I'm at the door." Jack: "Oh, come in!" Mike: "No, you're supposed to say, who is it?" Jack: "Oh. Who is it?" Mike: "My car broke down, may I use your phone?" Jack: "Okay, come in!" Mike (mock exasperated): "No, you can't just let me in! I could be anybody." Jack: "Oh." Mike: "Can I come in and use your phone?" Jack: "Okay!" Mike: "(sigh)"
(I should mention that while Jack was playing with Max, Max's Mommy, Lisa, was crawling around in the grass shooting pictures of Kate with her camera. I think she just likes having new subjects to take pictures of, or she likes taking pictures, but regardless, she's taken some absolutely outstanding pictures of both Kate and Jack, and one day we're going to schedule her to take Kate's 6 month old picture. Er, Kate will be 8 months old in less than two weeks.)
Later that night, Emily and Jack were looking at houses online. Emily does that sometimes. At one point Jack got really sad. and he said in his quiet, sad voice: "We're not going to move away from Max, are we?"
Emily (long pause): "Er...well, maybe one day, but not for a long time."
And really, who knows.
Max's 3rd birthday gift was a little house structure, which is basically a child-size plastic house with a front porch, kitchen area, and windows he can peek out. ("And a doorbell!" Jack said to Grandma; apparently it made quite an impression on him after his first visit.) Jack likes it a lot; I think he could quite happily go over there and play in it for a while on a daily basis.
So today we were over there and Max's Dad, Mike, who's fairly tall, crawled into it to entice Max and Jack into playing with it rather than whatever it was they were doing, which appeared to be throwing small rocks into a hole in the dirt and laughing hysterically. Or something similar. Then they moved on to throwing small rocks into a hole in a ladder leaning against the house. Next time Mike needs the ladder, it's going to rattle. Anyway, Jack came over -- Max continued to throw rocks, apparently because playing with Mike and the house didn't have the same novelty for him as it did for Jack -- and walked into the house like he owned the place. Mike crawled out, because it was pretty crowded.
"So Jackie (he calls him Jackie), what are you doing?" Jack: "I'm going to make dinner." "What are you going to make?" Jack: "Potatoes with apple sauce, with some sugar on the side." "Okay......." Jack busied himself in the tiny kitchen. Then: Mike rang the doorbell. Jack ignored it. Mike: "I'm at the door." Jack: "Oh, come in!" Mike: "No, you're supposed to say, who is it?" Jack: "Oh. Who is it?" Mike: "My car broke down, may I use your phone?" Jack: "Okay, come in!" Mike (mock exasperated): "No, you can't just let me in! I could be anybody." Jack: "Oh." Mike: "Can I come in and use your phone?" Jack: "Okay!" Mike: "(sigh)"
(I should mention that while Jack was playing with Max, Max's Mommy, Lisa, was crawling around in the grass shooting pictures of Kate with her camera. I think she just likes having new subjects to take pictures of, or she likes taking pictures, but regardless, she's taken some absolutely outstanding pictures of both Kate and Jack, and one day we're going to schedule her to take Kate's 6 month old picture. Er, Kate will be 8 months old in less than two weeks.)
Later that night, Emily and Jack were looking at houses online. Emily does that sometimes. At one point Jack got really sad. and he said in his quiet, sad voice: "We're not going to move away from Max, are we?"
Emily (long pause): "Er...well, maybe one day, but not for a long time."
And really, who knows.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Oscar
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Jack's Fish
Emily and I have really been missing having a pet, so we decided to get Jack a fish. Neither of us had ever had one before, but we figured it's sort of like a pet, without all the walks. Jack seemed into the idea, so much that when Emily mentioned it Saturday morning, he got sort of quiet and nodded, eyes wide, a happy smile on his face.
Little did we know that in order to get a fish, you need to prep the tank/aquarium for 24 hours before. Try explaining that to a 3-year-old, especially when you go out to get a fish and come back with an empty tank in a box. So, he helped me fill the new tank Saturday afternoon, and after each container full of water, said, "NOW do we get the fish?" No, I explained, the tank isn't ready yet. "Why?" Well, it needs to wait a day, or it would be bad for the fish. We got the tank at 2 o'clock, so we'll get the fish at 2 o'clock tomorrow. Jack probably still didn't understand, but at least he stopped asking.
When he woke up Sunday morning, the first thing he said was "Do we get a fish today?" Yes, Jack, we get the fish today. "When?" Well, we'll go out after lunch, probably. When he saw Emily, he said, "At 2 o'clock we get my fish?" Emily said, well, probably sooner than that. He mentioned it once or twice during breakfast, and then we headed out to get the fish.
At the store, we gazed at the same wall of fish we'd seen the previous day. The guy was a little more helpful, steering us away from the goldfish ("They get big and they're dirty") and toward the fish that stay small and don't eat as much. I pulled the receipt out of my pocket just now in order to write down the type: red Danio and a couple of Danio-white cloud. (For all I know, Danio means "small fish.")
I should mention at this point that Jack was a lot more interested in the guinea pig at one side of the store than the fish. At no point did we present guinea pig as an option, so no worries there (at least not this week), but Jack made a point to bend down and talk to the little feller through its cage: "Hi! Hi!" In kind of a quiet, breathy voice. It was cute.
Anyway, we loaded our three fish into the bag, dropped another 30 bucks on, I dunno, some sort of cleaning thing ("You gotta have this...") and some food, and left the store. As we got into the car, we asked Jack what he was going to call them. I don't know if he'd been thinking about it for a while or not, but he didn't hesitate.
"Doh-doh, Tiki, and Tiki Two." OK then.
According to the guy, we were supposed to float the bag for 20 minutes, and then gradually add water to the bag from the tank. We put the bag in. Told Jack we had to wait 20 minutes. There were a few "Why?s" We went into the office, while Jack crawled up on the bed and I sat at the computer.
Jack: "Has it been 20 minute?"
No, Jack, it's been about 2 minutes.
Time passes.
"NOW has it been 20 minutes?"
No, Jack, it's only been 3 minutes.
"These many minutes?" He holds up three fingers, awkwardly.
That's right.
Gradually it became time, and we transitioned the fish. Inwardly, I worried about smothering them somehow. But, they made it. And we fed them, and wondered if we'd fed them enough. Or too much. Watched them swim around. Jack: "Do we give them dinner?" No, only once a day. "I think there are FOUR of them!" he said. No, only three. "No, see?" Er, I think that's a reflection. Hey Jack, which one's which? He pointed: "That's Doh-doh, that's Tiki.....and that's Tiki Two."
It's nighttime now, and I peeked into Jack's room. I was at least partly checking on Jack, who was asleep.
I couldn't really see our new pets. Do fish sleep? Are they afraid of the dark? Were they hungry?
I'd like to think they're doing OK.
Little did we know that in order to get a fish, you need to prep the tank/aquarium for 24 hours before. Try explaining that to a 3-year-old, especially when you go out to get a fish and come back with an empty tank in a box. So, he helped me fill the new tank Saturday afternoon, and after each container full of water, said, "NOW do we get the fish?" No, I explained, the tank isn't ready yet. "Why?" Well, it needs to wait a day, or it would be bad for the fish. We got the tank at 2 o'clock, so we'll get the fish at 2 o'clock tomorrow. Jack probably still didn't understand, but at least he stopped asking.
When he woke up Sunday morning, the first thing he said was "Do we get a fish today?" Yes, Jack, we get the fish today. "When?" Well, we'll go out after lunch, probably. When he saw Emily, he said, "At 2 o'clock we get my fish?" Emily said, well, probably sooner than that. He mentioned it once or twice during breakfast, and then we headed out to get the fish.
At the store, we gazed at the same wall of fish we'd seen the previous day. The guy was a little more helpful, steering us away from the goldfish ("They get big and they're dirty") and toward the fish that stay small and don't eat as much. I pulled the receipt out of my pocket just now in order to write down the type: red Danio and a couple of Danio-white cloud. (For all I know, Danio means "small fish.")
I should mention at this point that Jack was a lot more interested in the guinea pig at one side of the store than the fish. At no point did we present guinea pig as an option, so no worries there (at least not this week), but Jack made a point to bend down and talk to the little feller through its cage: "Hi! Hi!" In kind of a quiet, breathy voice. It was cute.
Anyway, we loaded our three fish into the bag, dropped another 30 bucks on, I dunno, some sort of cleaning thing ("You gotta have this...") and some food, and left the store. As we got into the car, we asked Jack what he was going to call them. I don't know if he'd been thinking about it for a while or not, but he didn't hesitate.
"Doh-doh, Tiki, and Tiki Two." OK then.
According to the guy, we were supposed to float the bag for 20 minutes, and then gradually add water to the bag from the tank. We put the bag in. Told Jack we had to wait 20 minutes. There were a few "Why?s" We went into the office, while Jack crawled up on the bed and I sat at the computer.
Jack: "Has it been 20 minute?"
No, Jack, it's been about 2 minutes.
Time passes.
"NOW has it been 20 minutes?"
No, Jack, it's only been 3 minutes.
"These many minutes?" He holds up three fingers, awkwardly.
That's right.
Gradually it became time, and we transitioned the fish. Inwardly, I worried about smothering them somehow. But, they made it. And we fed them, and wondered if we'd fed them enough. Or too much. Watched them swim around. Jack: "Do we give them dinner?" No, only once a day. "I think there are FOUR of them!" he said. No, only three. "No, see?" Er, I think that's a reflection. Hey Jack, which one's which? He pointed: "That's Doh-doh, that's Tiki.....and that's Tiki Two."
It's nighttime now, and I peeked into Jack's room. I was at least partly checking on Jack, who was asleep.
I couldn't really see our new pets. Do fish sleep? Are they afraid of the dark? Were they hungry?
I'd like to think they're doing OK.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Watching Jack
Sometimes he frustrates me more than I can even believe. Of late, there are two areas this manifests. The first is going to bed. I put him to bed, or Emily puts him to bed, and we say good night. We leave the room when he's half asleep. I go into our bedroom, or downstairs.
And 5 minutes later, there's Jack. Sometimes he says he has to pee (but doesn't really). Or he's thirsty. Or cold. Or warm. Or lonely. Or one of his stuffed animals said "no" to him, or woke him up, or some other equally unlikely scenario. Sometimes he says nothing at all, and when I stand up with my angry or exasperated face on, he turns on his heel and heads back to bed. For the next 5 minutes, anyway.
The second is with going to the bathroom, or rather his reluctance to go. At certain set times -- when he gets up in the morning, before his bath, before we go out on an errand -- he's perfectly obliging. Other times (most notably times when he obviously needs to go) he'd sooner eat all his potatoes (a side dish he inexplicably refuses to eat, I can't figure it out) than admit he has to pee. Forcing him is useless; he wails, cries, screams, insists he doesn't have to, even if we put him on his little potty seat. So, we get him up, and then some 10-15 minutes later he runs to the bathroom, doesn't quite make it, and says, "Well...I went a little bit in my underwear. And on my leg." And then we clean him up and get him into clean clothes and we say, "See, that's why you need to go as soon as you feel you might have to." And he nods solemnly and agrees and then it's the same story two days later.
Both frustrations occurred yesterday, which by the end of the day -- and the fifth or sixth time putting him back in his bed -- had me in kind of a surly mood. So much so that the evening ended in tears after I put him back in bed for the umpteenth time and didn't stick around to tuck him in. Plus I scattered his stuffed animals when I wrenched the covers down. Oh yeah, plus he walked into the door as I opened it -- strangely, though, that bothered him a lot less than the stuffed animals, although it bothered me considerably more. He finally slept, and I paced around angry and frustrated and guilty for the next hour or so.
So this morning I was sort of anxious to see him, to make sure things were OK with us and stuff. I was downstairs making coffee when I heard his footsteps upstairs, so I headed up. I was just at the top of the stairs, expecting to see him heading into our room, as usual, when I paused. He instead was headed for the bathroom. I stopped and watched, out of sight, as he ran into the bathroom and fumbled to pull down his little pajama bottoms and Pull-Ups. He did a little careful, tip-toeing dance, got them down, and sat down on his little potty seat. A big sigh (for such a little person) of relief from him, then I could hear him peeing. It's possible he started singing softly, some little tune; he does that sometimes.
I waited until he was done before going in to wish him a good morning.
And 5 minutes later, there's Jack. Sometimes he says he has to pee (but doesn't really). Or he's thirsty. Or cold. Or warm. Or lonely. Or one of his stuffed animals said "no" to him, or woke him up, or some other equally unlikely scenario. Sometimes he says nothing at all, and when I stand up with my angry or exasperated face on, he turns on his heel and heads back to bed. For the next 5 minutes, anyway.
The second is with going to the bathroom, or rather his reluctance to go. At certain set times -- when he gets up in the morning, before his bath, before we go out on an errand -- he's perfectly obliging. Other times (most notably times when he obviously needs to go) he'd sooner eat all his potatoes (a side dish he inexplicably refuses to eat, I can't figure it out) than admit he has to pee. Forcing him is useless; he wails, cries, screams, insists he doesn't have to, even if we put him on his little potty seat. So, we get him up, and then some 10-15 minutes later he runs to the bathroom, doesn't quite make it, and says, "Well...I went a little bit in my underwear. And on my leg." And then we clean him up and get him into clean clothes and we say, "See, that's why you need to go as soon as you feel you might have to." And he nods solemnly and agrees and then it's the same story two days later.
Both frustrations occurred yesterday, which by the end of the day -- and the fifth or sixth time putting him back in his bed -- had me in kind of a surly mood. So much so that the evening ended in tears after I put him back in bed for the umpteenth time and didn't stick around to tuck him in. Plus I scattered his stuffed animals when I wrenched the covers down. Oh yeah, plus he walked into the door as I opened it -- strangely, though, that bothered him a lot less than the stuffed animals, although it bothered me considerably more. He finally slept, and I paced around angry and frustrated and guilty for the next hour or so.
So this morning I was sort of anxious to see him, to make sure things were OK with us and stuff. I was downstairs making coffee when I heard his footsteps upstairs, so I headed up. I was just at the top of the stairs, expecting to see him heading into our room, as usual, when I paused. He instead was headed for the bathroom. I stopped and watched, out of sight, as he ran into the bathroom and fumbled to pull down his little pajama bottoms and Pull-Ups. He did a little careful, tip-toeing dance, got them down, and sat down on his little potty seat. A big sigh (for such a little person) of relief from him, then I could hear him peeing. It's possible he started singing softly, some little tune; he does that sometimes.
I waited until he was done before going in to wish him a good morning.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
The Artist
Jack's been drawing a lot, and it's fun to see. He fills page after page with circles and broad, slashing lines, in different colors of crayons. The other day he drew a sun, an honest to goodness circle with squiggly lines coming off it. I was pretty impressed, and still am.
But if I get too close to Jack when he's drawing, his interest in drawing is generally replaced by his interest in ME drawing. For a while it was us: "Draw Mommy....Now draw Daddy....now Jack. Where's Kate? Now Grandpa..." Then it was Backyardigans characters, over and over again. Then it was airplanes. Lately, although he hasn't actually watched "The Jungle Book" in several weeks, it's been Jungle Book characters: "Draw Magheera." (I know it's Bagheera, he calls him Magheera. I try and correct him, and he says, "Well. I call him Magheera.") "Draw Mowgli. Is that Mowgli? Mowgli doesn't have that much hair. Draw Sher-Kahn..." Recently it's also expanded into characters who only exist in the Jungle Book of his mind. "Draw Sher-Kahn's Daddy. Now his Mommy." Pause. "Now, over there. Draw Sher-Kahn's grandpa...."
The pictures typically end up a wild mishmash, with no blank space left. "Draw my puppy......draw my other puppy.....draw my Teddy bears.....Draw their babies....."
When they're done, he wants to hang them on his wall over his bed. There was an anxious moment a couple of days ago when we ran out of tape. He says, "Can we get tape and go put it on my wall?" So we get the tape and head upstairs, and he jumps onto his bed and picks a spot -- among the ever-dwindling free space -- and we tape the picture up there. It's quite a collection right now. They make him happy; I think I might have caught him saying good night to them one night.
On a totally unrelated note, Jack came running into Kate's room tonight when I was putting her in her sleeper. He was wearing his pajama pants and nothing else. He made some comment about how we have muscles, and while he did so he kind of flexed his arms and legs. I looked at him, laughed, and repeated what he said, flexing back. "Muscles?" I said, still laughing.
"Yeah, muscles!" he said, laughing back, then giving an even more exaggerated flex, and raising both arms high over his head. "GRRRRR!"
Perhaps we've been playing with the superhero action figures a little too much lately.
But if I get too close to Jack when he's drawing, his interest in drawing is generally replaced by his interest in ME drawing. For a while it was us: "Draw Mommy....Now draw Daddy....now Jack. Where's Kate? Now Grandpa..." Then it was Backyardigans characters, over and over again. Then it was airplanes. Lately, although he hasn't actually watched "The Jungle Book" in several weeks, it's been Jungle Book characters: "Draw Magheera." (I know it's Bagheera, he calls him Magheera. I try and correct him, and he says, "Well. I call him Magheera.") "Draw Mowgli. Is that Mowgli? Mowgli doesn't have that much hair. Draw Sher-Kahn..." Recently it's also expanded into characters who only exist in the Jungle Book of his mind. "Draw Sher-Kahn's Daddy. Now his Mommy." Pause. "Now, over there. Draw Sher-Kahn's grandpa...."
The pictures typically end up a wild mishmash, with no blank space left. "Draw my puppy......draw my other puppy.....draw my Teddy bears.....Draw their babies....."
When they're done, he wants to hang them on his wall over his bed. There was an anxious moment a couple of days ago when we ran out of tape. He says, "Can we get tape and go put it on my wall?" So we get the tape and head upstairs, and he jumps onto his bed and picks a spot -- among the ever-dwindling free space -- and we tape the picture up there. It's quite a collection right now. They make him happy; I think I might have caught him saying good night to them one night.
On a totally unrelated note, Jack came running into Kate's room tonight when I was putting her in her sleeper. He was wearing his pajama pants and nothing else. He made some comment about how we have muscles, and while he did so he kind of flexed his arms and legs. I looked at him, laughed, and repeated what he said, flexing back. "Muscles?" I said, still laughing.
"Yeah, muscles!" he said, laughing back, then giving an even more exaggerated flex, and raising both arms high over his head. "GRRRRR!"
Perhaps we've been playing with the superhero action figures a little too much lately.
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