Not for the Squeamish: February 2010

Mr. Smartypants

News flash: two-olds are smart! Wait, you knew this already? Well, it's been a surprise to me.

It's not like the G-man is a genius. I mean, he still hasn't figured out to get his jacket off if the hood is up. He just struggles as he tries to shimmy his arms out while his head snaps back snug in the hood. Mensa does not yet have us on speed dial.

But I am still really amazed at how much kids his age know and learn. Am I the only one? Maybe if I had read the rest of my What to Expect: The Toddler Years, I would know what's coming/what's normal, but I see a flaw in their thinking because they expected me to have time to read it.

Take this evening: I was putting G-man to bed and reciting Big Red Barn after the lights were out (I'm not a genius either, but after 1000 readings, it's firmly planted in my head). What I didn't realize is that it's in G-man's head, too. Because as I was saying it, with no book in front of him or visual clues, he knew what was coming and started to recite parts of it with me. Not just repeating what I said, but doing it before I did. And he hasn't even heard it for at least two weeks. I guess I underestimate him, but I did not know a kid his age would do that. It's cool.

He's been doing more things like that lately, too, that just go beyond my expectations. He's spent 26 months riding backwards in the car, yet can identify where we are and where we might be going just from his limited view of the upper portions of the rear window. And I get still get lost with an address and navigation system.

In the rare moments where I'm allowed to sing, he treats me like a human jukebox, "Eraser song! Sister song! Sing railroad crossing!" The only problem is, sometimes there is no song for his topic of the day so I have to make it up on the fly. The next time he requests it, I don't always remember what I did during the last performance. But he does. And he reminds where I've messed up. Guess I should be flattered that he's paying so much attention to me?

He also knows when I've skipped a page in something we've only read a few times. He's memorized a book from the library that he has limited access to and even I forget. He knows when we pull into a parking garage that we parked there to see Santa in December (shouting, "No Santa!" from the back of the car; don't worry, Santa is probably in the caribbean right now). He knows what scene will be next in a video he hasn't watched that often. He remembers seemingly random things from random places that I never would have thought he'd noticed or cared to store in his mind.

And yes, this wonderment has been going on the whole time. For the first, oh, 34 years of my life I didn't like kids and kept myself in a self-imposed exile from all creatures short, sticky and simpering. So I'll admit, I knew nothing about the G-man going in.

It started when I was pregnant. Sure, I took some sort of class or seminar or something freshman year of high school that covered things like this, but I either missed a lot or it skipped a lot because I was truly astounded to learn how the wee thing was growing. Each weekly Babycenter email update told me something completely new about how far baby-to-be progresses each week and when the parts all come together. Maybe I was naive, but it was kind of like a special surprise each week to see what happened while I wasn't paying attention.

Fast forward to the real baby part and wow, who knew they could do this stuff so quickly?! When G-man was holding his head up and looking around during tummy time at just a few weeks old, I thought it was incredible. Never mind that other babies the same age were doing the same thing. I just wasn't expecting it. Each time he hit another milestone (big or small), it's like I got a present for a holiday I didn't know existed. I knew the milestones, just not that they'd come as fast as they do. They do so much so young and I was/am not ready.

*Side note: I will say this doesn't stop me from wondering why we seem to be the only species that is so helpless and dependent for so long. I'm pretty sure when the baby zebras popped out at the zoo, started walking and saw me pushing G-man in a stroller when he was already 6 months old, they giggled.

It's fascinating to see and be a part of. I think I like not knowing what's next on the developmental timeline. Learning that his current stage is to start forming clear memory and association with the world around him opens my eyes, too.

So if you're a seasoned mom - or just have been paying attention to human progress - and know when more exciting things will happen way before I thought they were supposed to, keep it to yourself and don't spoil my surprise!

It's good to be king

The G-man has a new title in play group: Drama King. Unfortunately, this isn't due to his amazing thespian talents. Rather, it's his ability to melt down over the tiniest thing, a practically unseen slight, the most miniscule of shifts in the universe.

I'm so proud.

One mom described him as sensitive. As in, perhaps he simply feels so much and must react to anything. Hmm, could be. But really, he's never tracked that way. He used to be the laid-back kid in the crowd. The one voted most likely to adapt. And in a way, as far as traditional triggers go, he still is. Being dropped off at PDO doesn't phase him. Loud noises are no problem. Changes in scenery, routine, people don't really seem to throw him off.

But it's in the details, isn't it? He skips the big stuff that might not happen so much and zeroes in on the little things that, on the surface, mean nothing.

Unfortunately, this happens all the time. I swear, when he's screwing around in his crib at night instead of going to sleep, he's planning ways to perfect his tantrums, reduce the time needed to get into full swing and cataloging new things that will light the fuse.

In the past few days, the following have resulted in complete global thermonuclear war:

marker caps that wouldn't stack
the mere presence of a rocking horse
a kid looking at a toy that he was looking at
dinner (not a specific part of it; the concept itself)
mommy talking to a friend
tap water
playing the song he asked me to play
going to gymboree
being offered a muffin

There is no way I can even predict all of the things that are going to send him screaming to the floor. Add to it that he's not immune to the typical toddler issues (refusal to share, excessive resistance to leaving an activity, getting dressed) and we should be on red alert all day.

And maybe that's his goal: to rule his subjects, not with an iron fist but with flailing noodle limbs and ear-splitting screeches, hoping to reap the rewards of lavish attention. But oh, I'm sorry my liege, this loyal subject doesn't play that game.

Contrary to your beliefs, your powers are limited and you will be ignored or simply scooped up under my arm and taken to another kingdom. Sure, it might be a little hard on the ears of visitors to your land, especially when it is you that seemed to be visiting theirs. They may not quite understand our local customs, but I'm willing to take that chance. Look at it this way, at least you're getting exercise rolling around on the floor. Maybe your royal highness will even wear yourself out and take a nap!

The terrible twos? I hear the threes are way worse. Long live the King.

License and registration please, ma'am

Ok, I'll admit it: a few months ago I caught my first episode of Supernanny (on WE. Or was it Oxygen? Either way, don't ask why I was there...) and have been watching it ever since.

There are many things I can relate to, and some I'm just dreading coming up that I see when she visits older children, and Scott and I have sometimes come away with a plan or idea to improve things in the family. We're not perfect parents - remember when we forgot to feed G-man breakfast? - and don't mind learning, especially from the comfort of our sofa.

But there are many episodes where we end up feeling like we are AWESOME(!) because, damn, some of these parents are complete idiots.

Why is it you need a driver's license, a marriage license, a liquor license, but no freakin' parenting license?! I'm starting to feel the pre-baby parenting classes should be a requirement and let's start thinking about a mandatory refresher course every few years. Or just a quick pop-in by the parenting police to see how things are going.

I'm not saying they can't find some dust in the house, a stash of cookies, a preschooler that doesn't speak French yet. Just some basics. I imagine the interview going something like this:

"Do you know where your kids are? As in, right now? Yes, I mean all of them. Our records show three. Did you know that?"

"I see, and now that little Mary is two, have you ever taken her anywhere besides the mall?"

"Do you realize that just because your kitchen knives are pretty colors, they are not toys?"

"Will bedtime be happening sometime before midnight? Oh, well, of course, I understand that the Late Show is educational. Just something to think about."

And so on.

How is it some of these parents have managed to keep their kids alive when they clearly aren't all together? The ones with kids ranging from 1-4 that have never baby proofed and seem surprised to see the video playback of their child poking electrical sockets, climbing cabinets and peering into the toilet. In four years, three kids and you didn't think of this?! How about the parents that couldn't keep their 3-year-old from leaving the house and running into the street? They were truly shocked that they could simply lock the front door to solve the problem.

We've seen footage of parents that never get off the couch and wonder why their boys are bored and acting up. Moms who won't let little ones ever get dirty. Over-scheduled wunderkids that are so frazzled they can't relax. Dads that never come home from work (or play). Parents that look so out of place just being near their kids. Entire families that have given up on themselves.

So many of the kids problems really turn out to be the parents' issues. (Kind of like the Dog Whisperer where I know a lot of Tino's, um, quirks are my fault.) I guess those episodes simply remind us not to slip and forget that we signed up to be real parents, not just providers of food and shelter. Thanks, Supernanny!

And now, the G-man would like to have a word with you about sharing your Time Out policy with us.

The answer key

Is it so much to ask to be right? Not just that, but to KNOW I am right? Because this mommy thing involves a lot more guessing than I signed up for and way less confirmation that my guess is on track. I mean, I don't even get a hot/cold system response when I make a decision. That's so unfair.

I don't mean I have to be right all the time, but that would be nice. I just want a simple pass/fail from time to time.

As strange as it may seem, I LIKE to be evaluated. I want to know where I stand. Grade me, grade me! And yes, I get a total rush when it's positive. I think that's why I was an accounting major: audits, yes/no concepts, and the chance at complete objectivity on every project. (full disclosure: I promptly went into the la-la-land of complete subjectivity by choosing a career in marketing/advertising the moment I graduated.)

Remember when we were little and the teacher answer key book was the most amazing thing in the world? Ah to know it all. Or be able to fake it by simply flipping a page. How come kids don't come with that?

In previous posts I've lamented on the lack of a G-man manual. I get it, we're on our own to figure him out. But hey, how about a little props when I get it right? A motivational nudge that I'm going down the correct path would be a nice touch.

Take the whole daycare/PDO thing. What's best? Home provider or formal school/organization? Both have their good points. Both have their bad points. None of these points seem to be adding up to anything! Not even airline miles. Stretch this concept out to preschool (preview! post on that coming up soon.) and I'm adrift in a sea of morning only schools, all-day schools, X days a week, montessori vs. traditional vs. keeping him in PDO vs. doing nothing vs. ice cream. The G-man will always choose ice cream, but I'm pretty sure that is not the final answer.

Everyone says there's no right answer, blah, blah, blah, it's what you are comfortable with, blah, blah, blah, it's what's best for your child. Got it. G-man, I just need your personal answer key.

Seriously, when do I know what's best? My maternal instinct only goes so far and some of these situations don't give off a reading at all. I feel that this is all a big trick and I'll only know if I did the wrong thing after the fact (like he's 30 and telling his therapist that he would be a brilliant artificial flower researcher instead of a sub-par monkey impersonator if he had just gone to preschool one year later and one day longer) and the real joke is that I'll never know if I did the right thing.

Awesome.

G-rex

By night, he's mild-mannered G-man, sleeping quietly and bringing peace to the land. But by day, he instantly transforms into...dum de dum...G-rex! And his sidekick, Dogzilla.

While I appreciate and encourage his interest in dinosaurs, his new identity as G-rex is a bit unwelcome. And since most of his dinosaur books and toys do nothing but interrupt baths (as in "Dinosaur! by Peter Sis), hang out on puzzles, shirts and jammies, pop-out and drink from straws ("Flapadoodle Dinosaur" by David Carter), or hitch a ride on a passing dump truck in our living room, I don't think he's just imitating something he's seen. This is his own personality creation.

What does G-rex do? Destroy. Ravage and destroy.

The G-man is on a mission to break a toy a day. And he's pretty good at it. His bus is missing its mirrors; the horse trailer lost a wheel and almost a door; puzzle pieces are ripped in half; the trains, table and track all have scratches/chips out of them; crayons are nubs; books are torn; our floors will never be the same.

This is mostly because his new favorite hobby is throwing things. Launching things. Sometimes for fun, sometimes in frustration, always resulting in trouble. He can't take something off a shelf, he has to push it off. He can't move the track from the table, he has to do a raucous full body sweep. Add to that the 'topple effect': if it's stacked, it must be felled. He simply can't stand to see something just sitting there. Like him, all toys must be in motion. It's like toy abuse. They need a hot line.

Is this a phase? I hope so. We've tried time out to little success. Our current tactic is to take away the victim(s) to at least save them for one more day. But how to actually stop it from happening in the first place? I don't know. I'm asking you.

As for Dogzilla, well, Tino simply has no idea how big he is, no concept of his own spatial relations, can't figure out how to move when he's in the way, lacks all aspects of grace and has yet to discover the things on the end of his paws are claws. He is a lost cause but oh, will G-rex soon be extinct?

Because I said so

Exactly when did I lose control? When the G-man was a baby, I determined our food, environment, what we were both going to wear and what we were going to do. Now, even though I'm pretty sure I'm still the parent, it's the G-man that's calling the shots.

I am now told what song we will listen to; what food I will serve; whether or not we are going to story time; which shoes are acceptable (hint: none); where I will sit; who I will talk to; and what we are going to play, plus how to do it. All because he said so.

And I let it all happen.

I think at some point, when he was first discovering who he was and that he could express desires, I thought it was cute. And probably layered that with some blah, blah, blah about his developmental process and growing independence. Oh, he wants this to be the mommy chair. Of course, how adorable. Look at that, he has a favorite book. Let's read it 100 times just to see him smile.

Um, too much? Too much.

A benevolent dictator, he gives me a loving look as he proclaims, "no mommy hat" and takes my hat, that I'm definitely using at the moment, off of my head. Immediately upon demand, I am required to hand over any and all food that I might want to possibly put in my mouth and am expected to not say anything when he decides the dog or the floor is more worthy of its nutrition. If I have been ordered to play with Green Train, I'd damn well better not touch Blue Train. Violate any of his rules, go against any demand, and suffer the consequences.

He's two! Like he's got the mad skillz for any consequences. What, a booger on my leg?

Think more in terms of global meltdown, tantrum frenzy, the inability to do anything else for the next 5-15 minutes while the shrieking/throwing/tears keep coming.

The odd thing is, it's not just me under his spell. At Xmas dinner with my parents, he suddenly uttered one word and declared, "Pie." Never mind that I was still eating my meal; oh no, the whole family sprung into action to clear the table and get the boy some pie. Which, incidentally, he simply uses as a vehicle for his main goal of whipped cream consumption. I've seen his every whim catered to by restaurant servers, Costco shoppers and adult friends in a trance. We've all been brainwashed. How did he do it?

Obviously, he had help. He's not alone in his world domination. His friends command and expect the same results. I've found myself in a fog as I put up no resistance when other toddlers come up to me and want to be held. A simple hand near mine and all at once I'm being led to god knows where by someone 34" tall. I've sat where his friends have selected, played with what they wanted me to, and basically abandoned all pretense of being in charge. And all without putting up a fight.

I'm assuming that at some point, the ball will be back in my court and I will regain control over my life, and maybe even some of his. But for now, think of me as a full-size mommy puppet.