To all the mothers that I secretly cursed at when they told me "3 is way worse than 2":
I'm sorry. You were right; I was wrong.
If the twos are terrible, the threes are terrorizing, traumatic, and way too thought out. It's so much worse when the whining and disobedience is coupled with clever manipulation and an actual thought process that results in planning....planning to thwart me in the most creative and annoying ways.
It's so bad that even Appa is scared of our tiny treasure. 11 months to go and counting!
Sincerely,
A battle-worn mama
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Fire Bus
This morning Little Bug held up a toy ambulance and called it a bus. Appa countered with emergency medical vehicle, which for our child is like asking him to repeat the Pledge of Allegiance...not going to happen.
Little Bug countered with a new word (that I am super proud of): fire truck.
We probably should have left it at that for this morning. After all, we were sitting on the floor in the middle of our hallway (because Little Bug insisted on looking at the holiday lights that lined our banister) attempting to put on Little Bug's inserts and shoes while our wet hair dripped onto our half ironed work clothes and the clock ticked away. But Little Bug was clearly intent on learning more about this toy, and I can't say no to a learning opportunity.
So, to recap. Little Bug is holding an ambulance. We've ruled out bus and fire truck and offered the impossible emergency medical vehicle option.
You'd think this shouldn't be so hard. You'd think we'd look our 3-year-old in the eye and tell him the toy he was holding was an ambulance. It's not that hard of a word. I'm fairly confident Little Bug could have repeated some sort of sound combination resembling it.
It is an ambulance.
But NO, the actual name for the toy didn't even cross my mind to share with my sponge of a child. Instead I spit out some total nonsense and told him the toy in his hand was a fire bus.
A fire bus. A mythical thing that goes. A noun that does not appear in any reputable dictionary and probably not in any urban one, either.
And of course, that is the name he latched onto and now calls that toy.
Little Bug countered with a new word (that I am super proud of): fire truck.
We probably should have left it at that for this morning. After all, we were sitting on the floor in the middle of our hallway (because Little Bug insisted on looking at the holiday lights that lined our banister) attempting to put on Little Bug's inserts and shoes while our wet hair dripped onto our half ironed work clothes and the clock ticked away. But Little Bug was clearly intent on learning more about this toy, and I can't say no to a learning opportunity.
So, to recap. Little Bug is holding an ambulance. We've ruled out bus and fire truck and offered the impossible emergency medical vehicle option.
You'd think this shouldn't be so hard. You'd think we'd look our 3-year-old in the eye and tell him the toy he was holding was an ambulance. It's not that hard of a word. I'm fairly confident Little Bug could have repeated some sort of sound combination resembling it.
It is an ambulance.
But NO, the actual name for the toy didn't even cross my mind to share with my sponge of a child. Instead I spit out some total nonsense and told him the toy in his hand was a fire bus.
A fire bus. A mythical thing that goes. A noun that does not appear in any reputable dictionary and probably not in any urban one, either.
And of course, that is the name he latched onto and now calls that toy.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Fighting the Skeletons
When I was very young, I had a dream that my dad and grandpa were outside my bedroom window fighting skeletons. The dream was so vivid that I can still, some 25+ years later, recall in detail everything from the thin but strong look of the skeleton bones to the color of my bedroom carpet and the way the moon shone into the window.
Ever since that dream, I have had a nervous twitch at night. Even as a high school student, I would be comforted by the sounds of my parents still awake in our home as I fell asleep. (My dad has stress-induced insomnia like I do, so he would often be up very late). It's silly, I know, but hearing the TV or couch shift was the tiny trigger I needed to release my tension and feel safe. My parents were my protectors simply by being there.
Last night as I laid in bed with Little Bug, I realized that I have somehow become the protector. It's me that his hand is seeking out for a single confirmation stroke as he drifts in and out of sleep. I'm the one whose touch can ease his moans. My presence in a room is what he wants and needs when he wakes up scared in the middle of the night after what could have been a truly cracked out dream about skeletons.
Just by being there and being me, I'm protecting him.
That so much responsibility that it humbles me and makes me want to be stronger and smarter and better for him. It makes me feel like a superhero who could totally kick skeleton butt (if they had butts, which they don't).
It makes me feel so lucky to be his mom.
Ever since that dream, I have had a nervous twitch at night. Even as a high school student, I would be comforted by the sounds of my parents still awake in our home as I fell asleep. (My dad has stress-induced insomnia like I do, so he would often be up very late). It's silly, I know, but hearing the TV or couch shift was the tiny trigger I needed to release my tension and feel safe. My parents were my protectors simply by being there.
Last night as I laid in bed with Little Bug, I realized that I have somehow become the protector. It's me that his hand is seeking out for a single confirmation stroke as he drifts in and out of sleep. I'm the one whose touch can ease his moans. My presence in a room is what he wants and needs when he wakes up scared in the middle of the night after what could have been a truly cracked out dream about skeletons.
Just by being there and being me, I'm protecting him.
That so much responsibility that it humbles me and makes me want to be stronger and smarter and better for him. It makes me feel like a superhero who could totally kick skeleton butt (if they had butts, which they don't).
It makes me feel so lucky to be his mom.
Monday, December 6, 2010
First Day of School
This morning I snapped the first of many "first day of school" pictures of my Little Bug. Decked out in a Rocky-profile tshirt and a sweet Elmo backpack, he was ready to face the unknown (because he knew it contained buses and bubbles) of his new half-day developmental preschool.
Little Bug goes to school all day already, so this isn't some life-altering thing for us, but it is the first time he has gone somewhere new. His current school (where he will still go early in the morning and in the afternoon) was hand picked by me. I know his teachers and the administration. I see the teachers and students and classroom each day. I have my finger on the pulse. I can see and feel how much they love my boy and how happy he is there.
His new school is probably pretty awesome, too, and one where he will receive many of the therapies he continues to need. We took great pains to move into a district where we would be happy with the education system, and that gamble is most likely going to pay off even earlier than we had anticipated. I'm not anticipating Little Bug have much trouble (no more than is normal) transitioning into this new routine. He'll still have his normal school in the afternoon to keep his routine familiar.
My biggest problem is the oddness of this moment. The way that I drop him off somewhere I know and then some stranger comes and takes him on a bus, drives him to a school that I've only been inside once. He'll do this whole thing on his own, without Appa or I there to ease him into it. I'll pick him up at his normal school this afternoon, none the wiser to a huge part of his day.
It's so stinkin grown up and scary.
Obviously his new teacher and I plan to touch base and keep in contact and after an adjustment period I am welcome to come into the classroom (but not encouraged, which I get). It's not like my 3 year old is being left to wander the couple miles between schools alone and in the snow. Quite frankly, he is such an easy going child he won't be nervous at all so long as buses or bubbles are involved. I'm proud of how easy he adjusts to new things, and I know that is a strength of his that will serve him well.
And this is an exciting new part of his life. Real school! Real Bus! Real backpack!
Edited to add: As if the universe knew we all needed a little more of a gradual transition, the bus service was messed up and Appa, who happened to not be traveling today, was able to take Little Bug to school. He told me Little Bug was apprehensive to walk into the classroom, so I am so grateful Appa was there to hold his hand and show him that it is okay.
Little Bug goes to school all day already, so this isn't some life-altering thing for us, but it is the first time he has gone somewhere new. His current school (where he will still go early in the morning and in the afternoon) was hand picked by me. I know his teachers and the administration. I see the teachers and students and classroom each day. I have my finger on the pulse. I can see and feel how much they love my boy and how happy he is there.
His new school is probably pretty awesome, too, and one where he will receive many of the therapies he continues to need. We took great pains to move into a district where we would be happy with the education system, and that gamble is most likely going to pay off even earlier than we had anticipated. I'm not anticipating Little Bug have much trouble (no more than is normal) transitioning into this new routine. He'll still have his normal school in the afternoon to keep his routine familiar.
My biggest problem is the oddness of this moment. The way that I drop him off somewhere I know and then some stranger comes and takes him on a bus, drives him to a school that I've only been inside once. He'll do this whole thing on his own, without Appa or I there to ease him into it. I'll pick him up at his normal school this afternoon, none the wiser to a huge part of his day.
It's so stinkin grown up and scary.
Obviously his new teacher and I plan to touch base and keep in contact and after an adjustment period I am welcome to come into the classroom (but not encouraged, which I get). It's not like my 3 year old is being left to wander the couple miles between schools alone and in the snow. Quite frankly, he is such an easy going child he won't be nervous at all so long as buses or bubbles are involved. I'm proud of how easy he adjusts to new things, and I know that is a strength of his that will serve him well.
And this is an exciting new part of his life. Real school! Real Bus! Real backpack!
Edited to add: As if the universe knew we all needed a little more of a gradual transition, the bus service was messed up and Appa, who happened to not be traveling today, was able to take Little Bug to school. He told me Little Bug was apprehensive to walk into the classroom, so I am so grateful Appa was there to hold his hand and show him that it is okay.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
A Lump of Coal
This weekend we made two attempts with Little Bug and Santa. The last two years have resulted in tearful pictures of the nanosecond Little Bug was on Santa's lap.
This year, we tried twice more. The result, two more tearful pictures. Which, I admit, I think are sort of endearing in the memory/tradition aspect. But he's old enough now to have more of a say in these sorts of things, so after attempting to get him comfortable with Santa like we successfully did with Disney characters, we're letting him take the reigns from here on out.
But here's the thing
The backhanded comments I have received regarding these pictures sort of shock me. It's one thing to not agree with someone and mentally cluck, but to make some thinly-veiled critique about how selfish it is as a parent or some nonsense like that....I think people should save it for things that really matter.
I'm not saying I don't judge. I do...all the time. But unless someone is doing something unsafe, I keep my self righteousness to myself. I don't post my comment and then congratulate myself on what a better parent I am.
This has reminded me to take more time before judging other parents. I don't know their circumstances, just like people don't know that Little Bug is obsessed with Santa (he even carries a small Santa around our home). It wasn't selfishness, but rather an earnest attempt to allow him more access to someone he shows great interest in. He was interested and curious up until the moment he got right next to Santa. One camera snap later and he was outta there and happy again. But people don't know that...nor do I know what is going on behind the snap shots in their lives.
My child is happy and healthy and loved, despite meeting Santa four times. That's what matters to me.
This year, we tried twice more. The result, two more tearful pictures. Which, I admit, I think are sort of endearing in the memory/tradition aspect. But he's old enough now to have more of a say in these sorts of things, so after attempting to get him comfortable with Santa like we successfully did with Disney characters, we're letting him take the reigns from here on out.
But here's the thing
The backhanded comments I have received regarding these pictures sort of shock me. It's one thing to not agree with someone and mentally cluck, but to make some thinly-veiled critique about how selfish it is as a parent or some nonsense like that....I think people should save it for things that really matter.
I'm not saying I don't judge. I do...all the time. But unless someone is doing something unsafe, I keep my self righteousness to myself. I don't post my comment and then congratulate myself on what a better parent I am.
This has reminded me to take more time before judging other parents. I don't know their circumstances, just like people don't know that Little Bug is obsessed with Santa (he even carries a small Santa around our home). It wasn't selfishness, but rather an earnest attempt to allow him more access to someone he shows great interest in. He was interested and curious up until the moment he got right next to Santa. One camera snap later and he was outta there and happy again. But people don't know that...nor do I know what is going on behind the snap shots in their lives.
My child is happy and healthy and loved, despite meeting Santa four times. That's what matters to me.
Hung with Care
We're in full holiday swing in our home, but with that has come some unexpected feelings. I don't want to belabor the point, which is probably why I haven't felt like blournaling lately, but the fact is, I've been a bit blue this holiday.I honestly (naively) wasn't expecting to be so sad. I've really felt at peace during the wait, but for some reason, as soon as the decorations came out, my heart started to hurt. But, I've continued to celebrate our growing family with joy, and I am trying exceptionally hard not to let my sadness affect Little Bug's holiday joy (I'll leave that to his nemesis, Santa Claus). The stockings are hung with care, including one for our sweet big star that will be filled Christmas morning with the things that will be sent in his next care package.
Usually looking at those stockings makes me excited, thrilled, grateful; but sometimes, especially in the evenings when I'm the only one up (like now), the sadness comes back.
So that's where I am at....exactly where every mama in my position is this holiday season. I don't know why I thought I would be different, why it would affect me less.
But it has. And it will pass.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The Cool Kid
Little Bug has taken to choosing an item each morning to bring to school to show his teacher. Usually it's a raggie or his ferret ball, but today it was his train book, a prized possession of his. He proudly walked it the entire way into school, clutching the over sized book with both his hands (not an easy feat even now for my little guy), and showed it to his teacher in the hall, who ohhhed and awwed enough to make Little Bug drunk on joy to be sharing and praised.
We're not supposed to bring toys from home into school because kids fight over them, but I allowed Little Bug to bring the book into his classroom to show his friends. Little Bug is fiercely protective over this book, but he held it out in front of him like something out of the Lion King, proudly showing the book to all his friends. The clustered around him (including the boys who like to exclude Little Bug), and Little Bug sat the book on the table so everyone could see.
God, I wish I had a camera in that moment.
It's a rare sight for me to see Little Bug truly, truly, truly interacting with a larger group of kids in such a positive way for an extended period of time (and I think it happens more often than I think, I just don't get to see it), but there he was, with friends clustered tight around him on other side as he turned the pages of this train book. They all exclaimed over the pictures, pointing and laughing. Little Bug looked up at me and met my eye for just a moment, with the most genuine, happy smile on his face.
For that one moment, he was the.coolest.kid. in that room.
We're not supposed to bring toys from home into school because kids fight over them, but I allowed Little Bug to bring the book into his classroom to show his friends. Little Bug is fiercely protective over this book, but he held it out in front of him like something out of the Lion King, proudly showing the book to all his friends. The clustered around him (including the boys who like to exclude Little Bug), and Little Bug sat the book on the table so everyone could see.
God, I wish I had a camera in that moment.
It's a rare sight for me to see Little Bug truly, truly, truly interacting with a larger group of kids in such a positive way for an extended period of time (and I think it happens more often than I think, I just don't get to see it), but there he was, with friends clustered tight around him on other side as he turned the pages of this train book. They all exclaimed over the pictures, pointing and laughing. Little Bug looked up at me and met my eye for just a moment, with the most genuine, happy smile on his face.
For that one moment, he was the.coolest.kid. in that room.
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