Not for the Squeamish

That's entertainment

I recently became what could be the last mom on earth (or at least in all of our playgroups) to get a smartphone. I'll admit that I already love it and not just because it makes phone calls, which I can only assume it does since I don't talk on the phone that much. It's got my email, text messages and of course, apps. All things designed to keep me busy should I get to school pick up early, have to wait in the parking lot for Costco to open or just feel like vegging out on the sofa.

But this morning it found a new use, one I swore I wouldn't let happen: preschooler entertainment. That's right, the G-man watched a video while eating breakfast. I have since tried to deny this. When he saw my phone later in the day and demanded a viewing, I played it off saying that it wasn't my phone that did that; it was daddy's. He didn't buy it (damn smart kid) but did take the bait when I said that only daddy could make it happen. Hopefully, he'll forget and there won't be a repeat. Or at least, too many repeats.

You see, I've always been a little uncomfortable when I see little kids glued to their parents phones. Do they really need that? You'd be surprised at how many of the G-man's friends already know how to play games on these devices, know how to work the apps and beg for their favorite videos.

In looking at the apps for kids last night, I was surprised to see how many of them were designed to just give your kid the phone and walk away. Some are marketed as ways to keep them calm in the car or brag about how you can go out in public without letting your child even realize they are there.

A playgroup mom recently got a fancy phone and when we dined in a restaurant she immediately brought it out as the kids were sitting down. Granted, we had 4 moms and 5 kids, all 3 and under so it was definitely a bit chaotic. And, for the most part, the children were instantly mesmerized (G-man was the only one that didn't know what was going on). She was understandably proud to have brought peace in the land and talked about how it was her newest favorite thing - she, her husband and daughter could all go out to eat without any drama as long as the princess was watching Mickey Mouse. Imagine that! They could have an adult conversation. Eat their food. Remain clean. And hold their heads up high upon departure. All things that elude our experiences right now.

But it made me wonder, do 3 year olds really need constant entertainment? Is an outing really a success if the kiddo doesn't make a peep because it's staring at a screen? No.

I already hate when restaurants have televisions in them. Sports bars, ok, I get that. Everything else? No reason. And yes, I get sucked into watching them, even if it's golf. They are so there, so in your face.

I understand that little ones get bored. After all, the G-man never stops moving and never stops needing something new. Fish have longer attention spans. Too often I see products marketed to parents to entertain their children every second of the day, and a lot of them are to entertain them without parental interaction. If we think he might need it, we bring crayons or books to read to G-man when we go out. But most of the time, it's sink or swim.

It seems everyone has a DVD player in their car, not for journeys across country, but literally for trips 6 minutes away. Can today's children not look out the window for that long? Or talk about their day? I've seen cars at preschool with the video already running before the kid gets in. Instead, we play "find the red car," "watch for train tracks" and listen to silly songs in the car. Sure, G-man gets antsy. Oh well. He's still strapped in; except for our sanity sometimes, there's not too much damage he can do. And yes, I understand playing his CDs is still kid entertainment, but I feel like he's not checked out, he can chat with us or at least peek outside.

I have nothing against these things some of the time. It's just that nowadays, they're expected all of the time. Preschoolers are naturally ADHD; don't you think the barrage of constant media/screen-time entertainment fuels that?

The temptation is great; the G-man does command my attention on a continual basis. Yes, I want a break! But I need to keep it in check. Using our imaginations is important for both of us. Downtime is, too. There are so many ways to keep ourselves entertained that don't involve technology. Of course there are walks, drawing, building train tracks at home but there are things to do when we are out, like watching buses go past before our food is served, thinking of things that start with the letter T as we wait in the parking lot while picking up daddy and simply jumping off a curb before our friends get to an event.

That said, G-man gets to watch some TV with me during the day. He loves breakfast with daddy and his YouTube videos. And I did download some apps that I'm saving for a total breakdown moment. Once that happens, the floodgates will be open and there may be no turning back. Time will tell.

*steps off soapbox*

Choosy moms choose margaritas

I like giving the G-man the chance to voice his opinion. Solicited opinion, that is. According to the books, sites, etc., this helps kids feel empowered, important and in control. Whatever. All I know is that this strategy works. Sometimes. Ok, as I've mentioned before he is in opposite land so most decision opportunities do not go smoothly. But, I have been starting to see success in his eating if he's heavily involved in the selection process.

There are times I give him choices - eggs or oatmeal? - and times I leave it open - what do you want for breakfast? If he has input, he's been eating more. However, food consumption and meal cooperation seem to have a direct correlation with when his choice is made and when the food appears. Ask him about dinner at 4:30 and serve it at 5:15? Chances are, he'll refuse to come to the table, much less eat it. And that includes when he helps make it, too. But, ask him at 5:00 and serve it at 5:05? Look out, calories may be consumed.

I'll state right now that unless we are having cereal for dinner, that 5 minute window is really hard to achieve. Good thing he likes cereal.

Try as I might to get his input and agreement on what to serve, when to serve and how to serve it, there are some things that stump me. No matter what I do, I fail.

Take school lunch. I make it the night before to save time in the morning. Yesterday, he said he wanted celery in his lunch. Check. Got it in, cut the way he likes it. So when I asked him what he ate for lunch today, part of our conversation went something like this:

"What else was in your lunch today?"

"Celery!"

"Did you eat it?"

"No."

"I thought you said you wanted it."

"I did."

"Why didn't you eat it?"

"I just wanted it in my bag. I didn't want to eat it."

"..."

Sadly, this is becoming the norm. I'm realizing the choices G-man makes are for different reasons than I intended. When he asks for pancakes, he doesn't want to eat them, he just wants to stir batter. He swears he likes tomatoes at the market only to shamelessly tell me later that he wanted them because they are red. When asked to pick a shirt in the morning, he seems shocked that I expect him to wear it and not just carry it around or give it a prize for being the chosen one.

Perhaps one day our expectations will sync up. Until then, I'll do my best to stay one step ahead of where I think his logic is going...or just get out of the way.

Letter of the law

The G-man has a new secondary obsession: the alphabet. He loves letters and sings his ABCs non-stop. Wherever we go, he points out letters, naming them himself and then asking me to as well. Constantly.

I can't simply read a story anymore; I have to do each word letter by letter. Longest. Story times. Ever.

Driving in the car? I have to read makes, models and license plates, forwards and backwards, for as many cars as I can figure out from the instructions in the back seat of, "That one! Do that one! No, the B first!" (Note: I have no idea what direction he's even looking in.)

Now that he recognizes all the letters and can write most of them, he's moving on to learning the individual sounds they make. Suddenly, I'm realizing that the alphabet and the english language don't always make sense.

For example, why do we have C? Aren't both of its sounds already covered by S and K? I'm having a hard time explaining to the G-man that the hard C in "cat" is not a K and the soft C in "center" is not an S. Come to think of it, what the hell is with one letter making two sounds anyway? As it seems superfluous now, can't I trade C for one of the G sounds? That would be easier to work through with G-man, too. Guitar and giraffe both start with the same letters in his name, but don't actually sound alike. Poor li'l guy.

Why does X sound like Z? What is up with W looking like two Vs, called double-u, but sounding like "Wuh"? A nod to the French for at least calling it dooble-vay for double-v, but they lose points for Z (zed), Y (ee-grek) and the boatload of letters they tack the 'vay' sound onto in general.

And don't get me started on the vowels. Ever try to start sounding out words with a 3-year-old and having to tell him why they all seem to keep changing?

However, let's just leave all that behind. I don't think G-man is going to start reading for some time but he can be happy "reading" his letters and writing them out. Surely, there's no controversy in that. Right?

Ah, but there is! G-man was quite perplexed that the A in the Candyland name on the game board had a rounded top. "That's not A," he said. "A is pointy."

Sigh.

Some letters are pretty standard, but in looking at the fonts in his books and even my own handwriting, others are subjective. At least three ways to write big G, two for little g. M's with pointy tips or round? Little a is a crapshoot. He gets confused when people/print materials don't use the horizontal lines on the top and bottom of big I, so that it ends up looking like little l. Or not dotting little i or little j. I put a line through my Zs. And cursive?! Surely, that will freak him out.

Just when I think he can't take any more, he started writing his numbers, too. Write 1-10 on a piece of paper and then consider how many acceptable ways there are to symbolize all of those.

Double sigh.

The P word

I didn't want to say anything before because I might jinx it, but the G-man is potty trained. It went surprising well. Almost too well? For starters, there was no drama. He hasn't had an accident yet. He accepted the new rule of going to the potty without question. He woke up one day, was told to use the potty and simply transitioned to a new world order without fanfare. Hooray, no more diapers!

I'm supposed to be jumping for joy, right?

But, um, I kind of miss diapers. Apparently way more than he does.

That's like blasphemous, right? I mean, some moms are desperately trying to train kids as young as 18 months. Online forums are filled with questions about when to start and how someone's precious snowflake will be scarred for life if she's not trained by 27 months. It's portrayed as a battle and one that should be fought hard and won early. Personally, I was going to wait until summer and just do a whole free-range-baby in the backyard kind of thing. But then G-man's teacher said he was ready, and it snowed so all of our stuff was canceled, and well, we needed something to do. Honestly, I thought it was going to be a big deal and since it wasn't, we still needed something to do.

So how can I not love this amazing milestone?

Diapers are easy! Let's face it. Maybe not a ton of fun to change and damn expensive to buy, but oh my god, they are convenient. I've actually been dreading this time. I've noticed that the parents of G-man's potty trained friends are on constant alert, questioning whether someone needs to use the potty every 60 seconds, abruptly leaving to go find a potty. But with G-man in diapers, I was in control. He could go anywhere, anytime.

And I could change him anywhere, anytime. I mean that.

I've done it in the trunk of my car. Poolside. Watching the sea lion show at the zoo. He's been changed on a blanket at the park, on a bench outside of Macy's, and on the desk of a used car salesman. The G-man can't be modest at this point since he's been on, uh, full display in his stroller, the harvest garden at the botanical gardens and an airplane seat. Nowhere has been off-limits and I never had to think twice about it. Now, I have to plan where potties are and keep an eye on G-man to make sure he remembers where to go, too.

And that's not even the worse part. The G-man has mastered procrastination, but this is a whole new level of being late for everything. Whipping a fresh diaper on him before we leave the house is no longer all I need to do. We have to visit the potty before going anywhere - our house to an activity, the activity back to our house, and any and every stop in between. This alone takes time even if he goes right away, but if thinks he needs to go and there is a wait, well, that's why we have books in the bathroom.

He's also already figured out that the phrase, "Mommy, I want to go potty" brings immediate results. If I'm busy doing something, he can say this and I'll drop it all to come to him. If he's in quiet time, this is the magic key to getting out of bed. When he doesn't want to go somewhere, the potential for a future pee can set us back a long time.

The forums are right, this IS a battle. Not in the way they mean about a strong-willed child refusing to use the potty or do everything in there, but in a logistical attack way. Map out where the bathroom is (and if there is a stool for him to stand on b/c he'll only pee standing up), monitor the troops for signs of movement, and try not to lose all patience when there is a lull in the action and the whole plan stalls because we cannot ever get out the door.

Tie game

This week, the G-man had his first swimming lesson. It's not the kind of lesson filled with mommies gently holding their babies as they kick with joy. Why? Because once you turn 3, swim lessons don't involve mommy. Not in the water. Not on the pool deck. The closest parents get is behind the glass.

The lesson was Monday. My mother called Thursday not to see how it went, but to see how bad it was. Why did she think it was less than stellar? She pointed out that I hadn't blogged about it or posted any photos. Apparently, she's got my system figured out. And she's stalking my sites.

She's right of course. Swimmingly is not how I would describe the experience. Of the 30 minute lesson, G-man was in the water maybe, maybe 10 minutes total. He also spent time out of the water crying and looking at us behind the glass or simply standing there not wanting to get back in. In fact, the only reason he went in at all, well, 2 reasons: one, the patient instructor kept putting him back in the water and; two, his best friend is in the class and she was his partner. But even with that, way before the class was over, my little Michael Phelps was being wrapped in a towel by the instructor and pushed back out to the waiting area.

Swimming lesson fail.

But all is not lost! Tuesdays are soccer. This is going much better, even though the mommies don't participate in it, either. The first day he was a little hesitant to go in without me, but he's actually enjoying it now. I think. Guess we'll see what this week brings. Still, I score this as a victory.

When I think of it, this whole week has been a yin-yang kind of thing.

He pitched a HUGE fit about going to school on Wednesday - crying, screaming - but I won.

He pitched a HUGE fit about going to lunch with me and Auntie Lolo on Thursday - crying, screaming, thrashing - but...no but, he won.

He was out of diapers. I win.

He was not in underwear. He wins.

I think batting .500 is pretty good. But I'm not all about pretty good. I banked the last point of the week when he said he didn't want to go to an event on Friday. Granted, he didn't really put up much of a fight and we were 10 minutes late, but in the end, it was success.

Still, who's keeping score?

No means no...except when it means yes

My friends, you may not have heard, but today is opposite day! In fact, in G-man's world, everyday is opposite day. I'm starting to adjust to this change in the new world order, but there are times I forget and actually take what he says at face value. Silly mommy.

We're supposed to give preschoolers choices to help them feel more in control and independent. Seems logical. But someone forgot to mention wee ones like the G-man are not logical or rational themselves, so results may vary. A lot.

Large portions of my day are spent on THE DECISION, an event that is clearly rivaled only by the spectacle revealing Lebron's choice to not let the door out of Cleveland hit him in the ass. Getting G-man to commit to anything - milk or water? red or blue shirt? monkey or robot plate? - is almost impossible, and if a yes or no answer is required, only a true miracle will get a result. All mostly because he changes his mind in the middle of making up his mind.

Do you want some of your sandwich? No [as he takes a bite].

Should we go to the zoo or the park? Zoo [and then refuses to get out of the car because it's not the park].

Would you like an apple? Yes [never a nibble and touches it only to kick it under his bed].

He is the epitome of mary, mary, quite contrary. No matter what, he seems to say the opposite of what he wants and immediately loses control when we do what he says and not what he...well, I usually have no idea where he's going with his thought process sometimes.

Getting dressed in the morning is a chorus of, "Nooooooooo, I don't want that shirt! Not that one. Not that one. Not that one! THAT one. (sob, sob)" Guess what? He picks the original shirt. Breakfast starts with a request for mommy to make cocoa and quickly segues into a whirling dervish of how he wanted to make it, sometimes even before I've had the chance to get the damn can out of the cupboard in the first place. I've been told that the box car always goes behind the engine, unless of course, it doesn't and that little misstep will launch a chernobyl meltdown. And the classic dinnertime drink dance is always in play as the choice between juice, water, milk or brown milk takes at least 5 minutes and is already wrong by the time he climbs into his chair. Ah good times, good times.

So if I look doubtful when the G-man requests a red spoon, or agrees with his choice of pants or even says he has to go potty, I'd like to think I know what I'm doing. But I don't. And neither does he.

Four-legged Bambino

After losing our 13-year-old cat to cancer in the fall of 2009, I wasn't prepared to be back at the vet's office in just over a year looking at another ominous x-ray, this time for our dalmatian, Tino.

Unlike the year before, we thought there was something we could do. Wonderpup had surgery, started chemo in October and I started looking forward to his ninth birthday in March. But alas, he only made it through two rounds of treatment before he too, was gone, before we even unpacked his xmas stocking.

It's different this time, because G-man is a year older and a year wiser than when Timothy cat moved on. But still, I don't think he's quite old enough to carry memories of Tino very long. And that hurts, because even though this is a blog about the G-man, he might not be here at all if it hadn't been for Tino.

You may recall that for most of my life, I didn't want a kid. And the same held true for dogs. I was a cat person through and through - they are smart, self-sufficient, mostly clean. Oddly enough, the reasons against both baby and puppy were the same: they smell, they always seem to leaking some sort of fluid, you have to clean up their poop, they require a lot of work, you have to hire someone to watch them and they make a general overall mess.

Then Tino came home. He was everything I hated and became everything I loved. I learned that cleaning up poop isn't the end of the world. Hiring a sitter seemed like a natural thing to do. I caught the paparazzi bug and took pictures of him just being cute. We bought teething toys and worried about potty training. He was clingy and needy and nicknamed Captain Underfoot. We puppy-proofed shelves and installed baby gates. We carefully selected a daycare to make sure he was happy and well cared for when we weren't home. I became friends with people in the neighborhood just because they had dogs. We had birthday parties, complete with canine guests and doggie cake/ice cream. And when he was about 3 years old, we sent him to camp...where he earned merit badges. Upon regaling his week to my mother and admitting he had spent a day there dressed as a cowboy, she finally said, "You need a child."

Maybe she was right; it turned out I had a pretty strong maternal instinct and Tino got the first benefits. Through him, I learned more about myself and who I could be. He taught me patience and selflessness. When it was finally time for "the real thing" I wasn't nervous to be a mom because it seemed I'd been one already. In fact, when I quit my job to work at home, spending more time with my dog was definitely a leading factor in the decision. It's like I was a SAHM before I was a SAHM. I was hooked.

I've heard that dogs are practice kids. I always sang to Tino on our walks and made up songs just for him, so when I got pregnant and started thinking about lullabies and kids music, he simply got more added to his playlist. He listened to me as I pondered names, curled up on baby-to-be's play mat the moment we took it out of the box and saw every ball that came into the house for our new human kid as his own. And after G-man arrived, I secretly loved that if we went out and hired a babysitter, Tino got the company, too. It was sort of like getting two for one.

The G-man spent a lot of time with Tino - daily walks, sharing my lap with him and constantly telling him to go to his bed instead of playing with us. So right now, he still knows that he had a dog and what his name was. He knew that Tino was sick and differentiates his doctors between the kitten vet (one had kittens for adoption in the waiting room) and the fish vet (the other had a fish tank) and remembers the buildings when we pass by. And he knows he's gone. That took a few days to sink in - some questions about when he was coming home or if we should pick him up or when to get the stroller out to take the dog on a walk, and once he assured me that Tino would come back - but then it was so complete that I was shocked at how quickly G-man could move on.

A late 2-year-old/early 3-year-old doesn't really grasp death, but when I think about it, what more does a 37-year-old like me need to know other than our loved one is not actually coming back? They say that when pets die, they go to the Rainbow Bridge where they are happy and play and are never sick and are reunited one day with their owners. So when G-man asked where Tino was, I simply told him he was gone and now in the sky. He accepted that without question.

Then last week, one of G-man's leftover birthday balloons, his favorite train one, accidentally escaped out the back door, into a tree and then on up and away. When he asked me where the balloon went, I said, "Into the sky." My little guy looked at me and solemnly replied, "With Tino."

I'd like to think that somewhere on the Rainbow Bridge, Tino is excited that a train balloon found him. And I hope that he knows he was never my practice child, but a real big brother.