Not for the Squeamish: October 2009

20 (billion) questions

Sometimes I wonder if the G-man thinks he's on Jeopardy. Or if we know how to form a sentence that isn't a question. Or if we really don't know which car is red. Because, on average, we ask him for a staggering amount of information in a day.

Is it too much? Is he on overload? Can I really not stop asking questions, even in this post?!

In an effort to be a "good" parent, I try to make his day a learning experience. Everything can be educational. Serve him lunch and ask him to find something round, or something orange or sign for what he wants. Read a book and quiz him on what the cow says, where the bus is or what is [that]. (Answers: moo; at the top of the page; and beach.)

But really, instead of helping the G-man, this quiz show could be putting so much pressure on him that he feels he can't enjoy himself. Perhaps I'm still a little hung up on doing the stay at home thing, thinking that he is missing some vital pieces of education by not being in day care all week. They are studying - albeit loosely - a letter of the week or a color of the day or have a nook with amazing interactive toys and puzzles I could never dream of finding. We, on the other hand, are studying...um...how many times a week I can serve him avocado (it's green! it's bumpy! it's soft!) before he totally rebels.

At this point, I don't know if I can stop myself. There are so many things to show him, tell him, teach him. If I'm not engaging him, could his mind turn to mush? I don't want him to feel like he has to perform all the time, but when I think of it, he is put to the test on a continuous basis. Even a simple visit from a friend - Can you say hi? Where is Michelle's nose? What does a dinosaur sound like? - turns into the Spanish Inquisition.

Tomorrow I will try to keep it in check, but I guess all of this leads to the big question: Is our children learning?

There's no such thing as a quick errand

My mission: go to Barnes & Noble and purchase some flash cards for the G-man.

Expected time of said mission: 10 minutes

Actual time of mission: 1 hour, 13 minutes

That wouldn't be unusual if it was just me. After all, time to spend in a bookstore is one of life's delights. Time spent there with a toddler is one of Dante's circles of hell.

Ok, ok, it didn't have to be. The main error, the focal point of my entire problem, my achilles heel: I didn't bring a stroller. Why would I? Sure, we might have to park a block or two away but he can walk. I have in my mind that the cards are on the first floor, somewhat near the register. In and out in a few fluid motions.

Ah universe, you always have a few tricks up your sleeve.

For starters, I quickly found out that Can walk and Will walk are two entirely separate notions. He demanded I carry him. Kind of good b/c there was traffic but I think a strong grip on his hand could have handled it. To make it worse, I had to bring his winter coat. It was too cold to go even a short distance outside without it. At least, that's what the DCFS would have said. Both of our coats are kind of slippery and while he wanted to be held, he did not want to be still. With diaper bag and baby both slipping from my shoulder, we made it inside.

Hot! It's hot in here! Shed the jackets. Keep the bag. Keep the kid. Uh, no wait, there's not enough arm space for all of that. Lose the kid, he's ready to walk now. Make that run. Oh dear, I forgot how many things there are within his reach. Leaving a trail of destruction, he examines calendars, opens books, removes an entire section of greeting cards and collects treasures to take around with him. Frantically scurrying behind, I try to simultaneously keep a close eye on him, clean up the mess and look for the damn flash cards. If I can just find them, we are good to go.

Scratch that. I can't do it all at once. Taking even one eye off of him to find the cards is asking for trouble. Finally scoop him up and ask the information desk where they are. Coats are sliding, bag is getting heavier, G-man may be upside down. Oh, I should ask the kids section on the third floor. The third floor?! Are you kidding me? I understand exiling us, but you should just put some sort of transport tube in the doorway to effortlessly suck us up there immediately upon entering.

Haul everyone/everything to the escalator. G-man is intrigued and holds fairly still in my arms. We reach the top and nirvana, the children's area! He instantly spies a display of tractor and train books. Pages are flying but he's in one spot by my foot and I can resume my neck-craning to find the best spot to locate the flash cards.

Freakin' impossible. Thankfully, an employee sees my distress and lets me know where to find what I need. Great, but how to get him away from the books he's already so into? Easy, she says, there's a train table right near the flash card shelf. With a too-high voice and sugary promises of train ecstasy, I manage to get him within sight of the table. Smiles for all. He takes the bait, the cards are literally right next to the play area and divine luck has placed a chair there for me to sit in.

Coats fall to the floor. Bag is flung. Soon-to-be-ours flash cards are in my lap. G-man is enthralled with the train set.

We'll just pass some time here. After all, he deserves a little fun and we have nothing like this at home. A few minutes and we'll be out the door.

A few minutes more. He's really happy.

And more...I'm comfy.

And more...

Uh, we really have to go now. Lunch time and all. Surely if I explain that he got a lot of play time and we are going home, he'll just come along.

Not gonna' happen. Major meltdown. Worst mama in the world for tearing him away from the set. No wonder we are on the third floor. Screams of no and toy-time tears. I have to peel him off and lift him out. But uh, now I have coats in hand, diaper bag, whirling dervish toddler and the boxes of flash cards to carry. Did not think this through.

As fast as my harried self can travel, we make it down the escalators and to the...line at the register. I can't hold it all any longer. He's down. He's off. He's dismantling a halloween display.

It's finally our turn and I approach with the last bit of patience I have. I'll need it as I have to figure out how to complete the transaction while he takes off the coat I just put on, they ask for my gift card, another card for the difference and my ID. Do I want to join their club? Do I look like I want to do anything besides get the hell out of there?

Time to repeat the sherpa impression back to the car. Don't even think about putting up a fight on the car seat. We're outta' here buster.

Mission accomplished.

And really, he LOVES the flash cards. Totally worth it.

How do you solve a problem like a toddler?

The G-man is 22 months old. The terrible twos are approaching. I can hear them sneaking up on us, complete with "Jaws" music playing in the background. Da-dum......da-dum......da-dum...da-dum...da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-dum, eek!

I've read the books, watched Supernanny, clicked the links on the daily toddler emails, talked to friends and what have I achieved? A boy that hits when he's frustrated, thinks it's funny to be in time-out, acts as though I'm speaking in a pitch only dolphins can hear when talking to him and has no problem turning into a thrashing maniac in 0.2 seconds.

The hitting, that sucks, for two reasons. First, he's hitting. Duh. Not nice. He hits me, his papa, the dog, cat and playmates. But only around us. For daycare/PDO he's an angel. Uh huh, go figure. The second reason is that I have to work harder. Now it's not just enough for me to keep an eye on him at play group or Gymboree; I have to be vigilant about watching that little arm go up and try to stop it before it comes down. Then I have to pull him aside, mention how it's unacceptable, try to get him to apologize and wonder what the magic words are to stop him from doing it again. Really puts a dent in our day...and my chatting with other mommies.

As for time-out, I think I just need to work a little harder on that. Maybe I'm rushing his release (I know he's not there for a minute like he should be, and soon it will have to be two minutes). Maybe the attention of me putting him there is what he wants anyway. No, he really wanted the stroller from Sophie. That's why he hit her. Right?

I will say that if it's an object involved, like throwing his train, one warning and taking the toy away seems to work. Doesn't prevent it from happening again yet but maybe it will in time. He may not be to the understanding consequence stage of maturity. At least it shows him I mean what I say and I don't give it back for a while.

And then there's the tantrums. The constant threat that strikes terror into any parent's heart. A sight and sound display that even Helen Keller would wince at.

They actually don't bother me at home. (My god, is this my new normal?) I do feel bad when I've inadvertently done something to set him off and he's upset. Like moving his fork or breathing. At those times, he simply needs a safe environment and some private time to calm down. If he's on the floor, I just step over him and move on. It eventually ends.

In public, though, that's tough. I have to take into consideration other people that really may not have ventured outside their homes just to experience this. Letting him wail it out isn't really an option but I'll admit, I did it anyway at Target this week. For many, many aisles, he screamed, screeched and squirmed in the cart. We got 'the look' from shoppers and the 'may we help you find something (so you can get out of our store)' from staff. It may not be good parenting or good shopping etiquette, but desperate times call for pretending you don't hear it measures.

Our days are already filling up with other toddler warning signs: the same song in the car over and over and over again. And then again some more. Defcon 4 if his milk is in the wrong cup. Chernobyl over putting a shirt on. An attachment to a magazine page. The same word/thought expressed a million times in a row.

Those of you past this stage with your kiddos are probably thinking how much more is to come and chuckling to yourselves. And those of you that haven't reached it yet are probably thinking it won't happen to you. I'm guessing it's actually a unique experience for all of us. Here's to the ride.

Hooray for play group

Before I had the G-man, the thought of play groups, play dates and other kid activity things caused me to shudder. But he's supposed to do things like that to get used to other kids, and for his sake, I sucked up my reservations (visions of minivans, soccer mom chit-chat and endless, boring small talk) and started his social calendar.

And did he appreciate it? He couldn't have cared less. But me, oh my! What a revelation to find the amazing parents that have become my friends. I have to admit, I've gotten way more out of these relationships than he has so far.

So, my fellow play group mommies, thank you for:

1. allowing me to attempt to kill you every week with my baking (non)skills

2. watching my child at the last minute so I can attend a meeting, take the dog to the vet or make a phone call

3. understanding when I'm insanely late for our fun

4. letting G-man mooch your snacks and steal your child's drink

5. not flinching when a banana is mashed into your floor by my kiddo

6. not mentioning when I show up in something that's obviously not clean

7. ditto for when G-man does the same

8. letting me throw G-man's dookie diapers in your trash even when they need a hazmat symbol

9. allowing us to borrow your toys when a grand meltdown is imminent if we don't get to take them home

10. not kicking me out when we severely overstay our welcome after play group is over so I can talk to an adult

11. continuing to invite me to lunch even when you know I'll say no (new budget!)

12. pretending my dog did not just eat your child's snack

You ladies, friends and just-like-family have been an amazing source of inspiration, support and enjoyment. We have many different opinions on child-rearing, politics, entertainment and activities yet we've all come together to form amazing bonds based on the love of our children, but built with the respect and kindness we all share.

I don't know about that whole It Takes a Village thing, but at the least, it takes a play group.

Lost in translation

G-man is starting to get into the groove of this whole talking thing. Ok, maybe talking isn't quite the word, more like, uh, randomly uttering things that seem to have some meaning, especially to him. I've been told by our Parents as Teachers person that if he uses the same sounds consistently for an object/idea, it counts as a word. Still, this can be a little confusing if you don't know his language. So here is a handy G-man to Mommy dictionary:

ge-ge (with hard G): kitty

ma-mow: lawn mower

drawn out O: hose

nyum-nyum: ice cream

pa-pua: pumpkin

bac-whee: vacuum

nay: horse

dakter: tractor

wreee-ooo: fire engine

rooooommmm: broom

da-dayr: hair dryer

bou-ber: blueberry

riiide: i want you to push me on a toy

dirdy: trash

wrhee-wrhee: race car

kaka: avocado

du-ree: turtle

e-yi-yi: sing or play Old MacDonald

ba-boo: caterpillar (no idea why)

roc-whee: rocking horse, rocking chair, rocking toy, etc.

bo-bo: 1. police car (our fault, we call it the po-po); 2. we have no idea but he uses it a lot outside

daddy: the catch-all for everything that doesn't have a word yet

no: no; yes; maybe; stop touching that; you should touch that; i like to hear my voice; the dog is near me; the cat is over there; I'm hungry; wait, no I'm not; I'm awake

I'm writing this while he's sleeping, so I'm sure I'm missing many, many "the general population has no idea what you are talking about" words. Maybe I'll add more tomorrow. What have you heard him say that leaves you perplexed?