Not for the Squeamish: July 2010

The 10-minute Milk

Page 63 of the Toddler manual:

Ask your mommy for milk. No, juice. No, milk. Ummm...what? Milk. No, milk.

Let her get it out of the fridge, then declare you want to do it. This works best with a new gallon. Eventually "help" by placing one finger on the carton as she carries it over.

Wait until she pours some into a cup. Immediately, no matter what cup she has selected, request a different cup. If possible, go through the cups in the cabinet yourself. All of them. Try to finally choose a cup with a lid.

After she starts pouring into the new cup, cry. Proclaim through tears that you want to do it "all by himself."

(Expert level: get your mommy to pour it back in the carton to start over.)

Help pour "a lot. not little. a lot!" of milk. To the top, if you can. Over the top if you're quick. Don't fall for her trick of, "That IS a lot!" when it clearly is not. Keep going.

Whine until you get to put the cap back on the milk.

Snatch the lid from her hands to declare, "No mommy do lid!" Cry.

Slam lid onto full milk. As your mommy gets more paper towels, try again, this time squeezing the cup or tipping it for more leverage. Accidentally knock over cup in attempt to help or get out of the away.

Accept new cup of milk but refuse lid altogether.

Finally, take one sip, leave cup behind.

Ask your mommy for water.

Perpetual Motion G-man

One thing we learned from the very beginning: the G-man rarely stops moving.

He was a fidgety baby, always grabbing something, kicking, squirming, forever waving his arm in the air. I feel it's one reason he didn't nap; he was too busy being busy. I was almost a bit concerned about it. I mean, what kind of little one never relaxed? He was so go, go, go all the time. He even kept his bones and muscles ready for action, refusing to sit down and bend at the waist if given an opportunity stretch out. He wouldn't fold into the baby sling, sit for music class (before he could stand, he simply arched and made me hold him up so he could move around at will) or quietly contemplate his mobile.

In order to fall asleep, he needed a lot of movement, from both himself and us. He flailed around for a bit and we had to rock, swing and sway him. A LOT. Not a gentle movement but a full-on aerobic workout. If he fell asleep and we slowed our rhythm or shortened our swing, whoops! He woke up. Violent motion, eyes closed. Gentle sway, eyes open. Put him down? Forget about it.

On the rare times he fell asleep in the car, it was on the highway or after a long stretch at a fairly constant rate. Slow down to turn, stop for a traffic light, pull into a parking spot? Waaah! It was like being in the movie Speed. "I'm sorry officer, if I slowed down to 35, the baby would wake up. We. Do. Not. Wake. The. Baby."

I thought it was all a phase, but as I've been trying to teach him to sit still, I see he's more active than ever. He kicks, jumps, knocks around (for fun) in his crib to fall asleep. He cannot sit for more than 4 seconds, even during an activity he likes. I've never seen someone turn doing sticker books, coloring or watching TV into a cardio workout.

G-man is constantly climbing on me (despite my lesson "Mommy is not a playground"), even if it's during supposedly quiet storytime. His arms continue to flail and squirm with his heartbeat. He bounces when he eats. He's always reaching out to grab my hair or his hair or whatever he can reach. He must always be squeezing my thumb or patting something as I try to get him to nap. My toes are black and blue from him trying to balance on them while he has snack. I have a perpetual swollen lip as he shoots up into me from my lap. He lunges, goes noodle-like or pops out without any advance warning. Fidget, fidget, FIDGET!

We have arguments about settling down - I'm for it, he's against it - and battles to do the smallest things because I can't get him to stop long enough to put shoes on, eat an almond, change a diaper. His constant motion leads to falls off the sofa and spills from a bench and the occasional vocal outburst (yet always in my head), "G-man, sit STILL!" But not to a pause in the action.

How someone can be sloth-like yet never fully stopped is a mystery.

I get worn out just thinking about it!

Liar, liar, pants on fire

My britches are burning. That's right, I'm a big ol' liar. If the G-man knew how many fibs I've thrown at him, he'd never believe another word I said.

What? I'm not totally honest with my 2.5 year old? Uh, would you be? Besides, I usually use my tall tales for good. Well, good for me...

And really, this stage won't last long, but while it does I'm going to milk it. The G-man is just old enough to start to understand some concepts and reasoning, but not quite old enough to realize my powers are limited.

For example, did you know attractions open and close at my mere presence? Things like the zoo, the playground, the pool; they are only open if we are there and when we leave, they close. Sometimes, we leave because they are "closing" and if it just happens to look like people are still there, don't worry, they have to go home, too.

Speaking of the zoo, the animals - all of the animals - and the carousel and the tram have to take naps. We have been lucky enough to get there when they are awake but right around G-man's hypothetical naptime, they have a snooze-fest, too. We'll have to sneak out quietly so as not to wake them.

Gymboree takes a lot of naps, too. If we aren't there, it's because the entire playplace is resting.

Did you also know that biting a toy train hurts it? Or that only mommies can scrape the tomato paste out of can? How about that there are some candies you can only get on a plane? Or that the iPod randomly breaks and we can't listen to a certain song? Ok, that last one is sometimes real.

As far as G-man knows, I can control a lot of the universe. If only it were true.

A boy and his snake

Oh, seriously, get your mind out of the gutter! Not that snake! Besides, he calls that his junk.

No, no, this is about G-man's stuffed snake, Alice. Recently, thanks to the snake exhibit at the zoo and its proximity to the ladybug on the carousel, G-man is very into snakes. I draw snakes. We look for stickers with snakes. He hisses sometimes. Don't get me wrong, trains are still the main attraction in his life, but snakes are taking up what little time is left for another interest.

Alice is one of several snakes in our house now, but by far the biggest. In order of size, we first have the little ones from a pack o' snakes purchased at the shore. I think there were originally eight, but one never made it home from the boardwalk. These occasionally are seen buried in sand, collecting debris under a chair or simply piled in a bowl somewhere.

Next comes Joey. Joey preceded Alice by about a week and was the "big snake on campus" for that time. He's a long, red rubber snake, lovingly selected from the zoo gift shop and the winner of G-man's endurance test to see what snake he could play with the longest on the floor of said gift shop. In his heyday, Joey took stroller rides, accompanied the G-man on car outings, was fed from a toy bottle and carried around all willy-nilly.

But then Alice arrived. Also from the zoo gift shop, she's plush, at least 6 feet long and red. G-man adores her. He reads stories to her and with her. She helps him do puzzles. Alice sleeps on the rocking chair in his room at night after completing G-man's bedtime routine. They play games together. She's also been on car rides. Alice gets snuggles, pets and is often proclaimed to be "silly." And, as a long, stuffed toy that is dragged around the house, she performs a sort of dusting service for me, too.

Alice is the closest thing we've had so far to a non-train lovey. But fear not for Joey. His ability to curl up into a small footprint earned him the right to come on vacation with us, whereas we didn't think US Airways would go for Alice's presence. (that's right, there were snakes on that plane!) Bandaids stick to Joey better so he gets to wear Cars and Hello Kitty. He and Alice sometimes share the job of doing puzzles or reading books and get to relax together some evenings. Both keep somehow ending up in G-man's mouth. However, Alice alone gets to turn on the sound machine at night. As for the little snakes, well, they didn't get their own names, but are at least known by their colors.

And here's a little secret the G-man doesn't know about yet. There is another red snake, a teeny-tiny squishy snake, in the house. In his school bag! Just waiting for the right moment - or meltdown - to make him or herself known.

Thanks for the memories

We recently returned from our annual vacation to the Jersey Shore. And if you didn't hear about it on the news, that's because it went well! Unlike last year's disastrous flight home. The G-man was a top-notch traveler, far exceeding our expectations. As for an overall vacation companion, he was great at that, too. Took everything in stride and seemed to enjoy all of the experiences.

Oh, what experiences he had! It was pure toddler heaven. He got to ride in a jet plane; take a trip on a steam excursion train; dine out in new places; watch fireworks; play in the sand and ocean everyday; visit playgrounds; watch boats, planes, seagulls and lifeguard vehicles from the beach; stroll the boardwalk; ride every carnival-type ride he was tall enough to get on; eat his weight in ice cream; stay up late and so much more.

Each evening we went over his day and he talked about how much fun he had. It was wonderful.

And for the most part, he doesn't remember a thing.

When you ask him what he did on vacation, he'll tell you that he went on a jet plane. Or that he had stickers on the jet plane. Or that he "did great" on the jet plane (true). Mostly, because going home on the plane was the last thing we did. Occasionally, if we've just talked about it, he'll mention the train ride. After some prodding he might tell you about a moment at the amusement park, getting sand in his eyes or the snack he had at Uncle David's. Sadly, in just a few weeks, even these small snippets will probably be gone from his conscious memory.

To try to save some of this for posterity, I took a ton of photos and some short videos. Hopefully, when we show these to him, he'll remember something or at least recognize that he is there, doing...something, somewhere. But in reality, I don't have much hope. Will he ever really know all the stuff we did with him and for him? How we ate peanut butter non-stop to save up so he could do anything he wanted for an entire week? How we longed to take a nap but powered through our days to entertain him?

It made me think of all the times I went down the shore as a kid and what I remember. I bet my parents did a lot for us and made a lot of sacrifices to give our family a great week of fun, sun, sand and surf every summer. I'm sorry to say though, I have no clue what they were. Here is a brief synopsis of my shore memories:

Swimming in the pool at the motel in Wildwood. That's right, I'm sure we went to the beach every day, but I remember going down the slide into the outdoor pool wearing my floatie. I don't, however, remember if anyone caught me.

Watching TV with my brother while eating gumballs in the hotel room at Wildwood. May have been the same hotel. May have been the same year. I'm guessing they were even a treat from my parents and that we got them on a fun-filled excursion to the boardwalk. No clue.

Getting sand in my swimsuit.

Knowing when my little brother had been in the surf for too long because his lips turned blue.

Wearing my shoes (jellies!) into the ocean because I didn't want to step on seashells.

The year I bought a swimsuit whose lack of coverage shocked my father.

Kissing a boy from the beach (same summer as the swimsuit, go figure).

Playing board games with my older brother.

I'm going to venture to say that my parents provided me with hours of entertainment, perhaps even side trips, fun dinners, family time on the beach, and what I remember is a sad testament to their own hard work.

I think that for the next few years, the G-man will have only fleeting memories of anything we do with him or for him. I will, of course, continue to stalk his every move with the camera like a deranged paparazzi, if only to give him plenty of material to look back at when he's older and say, "Oh, I did that? Hope it was fun."

Well G-man, it was fun. And I loved being there with you. The fact that just today when I asked you about vacation and you told me you had strawberry milk on the train and that it was pink gives me hope that your brain is storing all this up and will do something awesome with it someday. Maybe you won't recall every clickety-clack of the wheels, but when a whistle blows in the distance, you'll have an inexplicable urge to become a strawberry farmer.