No good deed goes unnoticed

On a business trip recently, a co-worker and I were talking about our 4 year olds and how the word "no" doesn't always work with these little irrational beings (i.e. it's not effective, saying it gets old, everyone gets frustrated, etc) and we don't spend enough time focusing on good behavior.  She was telling me she recently started a positive rewards jar for her daughter to help everyone in the family recognize good stuff her daughter does.  I thought it was a good idea and worth a try so I initiated the "good guy" jar for Boden.  When he exhibits positive behavior (being a general good guy, helping out, using his listening ears, etc) he gets to put a rigatoni noodle in his jar; when the jar is full, he gets to pick out something awesome ( likely a toy construction or rescue vehicle of some kind).  It's a no exit jar--once the rigatoni goes in, it doesn't come out.  Bonus: once it's full, we can cook the rigatoni and eat all his good deeds!

Why did the apple go out with the fig?

Because he couldn't find a date :)  hee hee.

Well, that's what happens when I can't think of titles for my posts; I end up with bad jokes.  But this post does have something to do with apples!  This morning we went to kid club--while Boden played I "had to" go work out.  (side note:  This system of finding the benefit for him is working out for a couple potential tantrum inducing events.  Instead of "No, I don't want you to go work out!!" it goes something like this:  me: "okay, I guess I'll work out while you play and have lots of fun! Can mommy please come back in an hour to get you?!"  Boden: "Okay, I'm going to go play now."  Off I skip to work out; everyone's happy).  Then, because it was a glorious day, we live minutes from an apple orchard, and he was being a great guy this morning, we headed to pick some overpriced apples and pet some farm animals all for the nostalgia and experience of it.  And we were home by noon to have apple slices and cheese for lunch!

I'm going to pick this one!

I finally did it...



Check out my tatts!

I uttered the world renowned parental colloquialism tonight:  The "Don't come crying to me when you do-whatever-it-is-I-told-you-not-to-do-and-experience-the-consequence-I-wanted-to-help-you-avoid" expression.  Boden was playing on the steps (I'm not a fan of this newly claimed "play space") and threw a hop up and down, throw a punch towards momma, and scream type fit when I suggested he move his dump truck to the landing where it was safer.  His response was a bit dramatic, if you ask me, and after a long week at home with little sleep and without Todd to assist, I walked away from this situation to put away laundry calling out over my shoulder "Don't come crying to me when you fall down the steps, bang your melon, and break all your bones!".  I was immediately struck by my words and the familiarity of hearing them (more on the receiving end than the uttering end). 

The expression is ridiculous, right, but it certainly symbolizes the exasperation parents get when they try to pass on years of wisdom to their offspring in an effort to make their life better/easier/safer...and that good intention is met with immediate dismissal. I'll put this down in Boden's baby book.  I don't think there's a line item for this, though...surprisingly.

One more.

Running through the leaves at the Arboretum

Much to my surprise, Boden is learning (and refining) the art of bargaining...it's actually a bit impressive.  Here's how a conversation usually goes...
"mommy, shmallow?" (translation "momma can I have a marshmallow?")
"Yes. You can have one."
"Two?" he asks, sweetly, while holding two fingers up.
"One."
"Two?" Boden asks again, while grabbing two marshmallows out of the bag.
"One or none?" I ask.
"One shmallow." he says, definitively and puts the extra marshmallow back into the bag.
I put thebag away and turn back to him.
"one more?" he asks with his mouth full of marshmallow.

Brilliant. He doesn't usually win the battle of the marshmallows but this is probably because he can't reach them by himself, yet.  On the other hand, Boden can reach the raisins and the chocolate covered raisins and he usually trots past me or Todd while announcing his intent: "Raisins." This is usually followed by "It's time for bed." or "You just ate." to which he replies without missing a step on what he's doing "Just a couple."  He's almost becoming reasonable.

If only I were taller...

Boden seems to know exactly what he would do if he were 6 inches taller.  I brought home a kid stool the other day thinking how empowering it would be for him to be able wash his own hands in the sink, reach the light switches, and get some books off of his dresser.  I handed it to him and he didn't miss a beat: He grabbed it and headed for the pantry, used his newfound 6 inches in height to reach the toaster oven buttons.  Of course, that was a "no, no", so he picked it up again and placed the stool right under the refrigerator door where he pressed the ice button repeatedly...another "no, no".  Hmmm, maybe a stool wasn't such a good idea.

A pee pee in the potty

After hours of sitting in front of the potty with Boden perched on top of it "reading" books and talking away about cars, books, and bunnies, and whatever else pops into his head, I finally experienced a bit of the pay off--we got a successful "pee pee in the potty". 

I think Boden was incredibly surprised since sitting on the potty usually ends with me giving up with an "All done?", but this time, there was pee!  It was likely pure coincidence--we haven't been able to replicate the results for over a week now, so I still have a lot of sitting and waiting to do with him, but there's a glimmer of hope that eventually pee and "pooch" (a Boden-ism for poop) will end up in the toilet bowl where it belongs. 

Nooo!

"Cheese!  I dressed myself!"

We consider ourselves fortunate: it took Boden about 20 months to figure out that he could say "no", too.  Now, he says it a lot.  This morning, it was "Noooooo!  Self."  i.e.  I don't need your help getting my pants on, dear mother.  I can do it myself.  A backside picture might help explain this photo a little better--he got his pants on, mostly by himself (I had to help get the waistband over his buns), but he put them on backwards (zipper and snap are in the back)...and "noooo!" he wouldn't let me turn them around.  Luckily, this wasn't a school day because a) we would have been really late as putting your pants on by yourself can take an amazingly long time. and b) I'm not sure I could have dropped him off with his clothes on wrong...it's just not in me, but some days, the struggle might not be worth it.  We'll see what the future brings and if my mind changes on this.

Cozy Coupe

Todd spied Boden in the daycare's Cozy Coupe one afternoon from his office window and said, and I quote, "We have to get that.". I asked Todd if he realized that he wouldn't actually fit in the little car.

I personally didn't think we needed the car for the full retail price and for no apparent reason, so I held him off on the purchase for a little while by first reasoning (It's not even his birthday, or anything. We can't buy toys for him all the time), then stalling (Maybe your mom can find this at a rummage sale--let's check with her first), and then cutting off the point of purchase (No, I'll go to Target, don't worry. OMG, I totally forgot to look for the car!). I thought the enthusiasm for it would die and I was completely unsuspecting when Todd headed off to Home Depot one evening. I got a text later that said, "I swung by Target. I'm at Tony's putting together the car.".

From the recap of the evening, I got the sense that setting up this little kid car in Tony's garage with several neighborhood dudes directing with beers in hand, was the ultimate dad experience. It was the culmination of toy assembly, talking smart with guy friends, beer drinking, and a little reminiscing about childhood toys. One of the guys asked Todd if Boden was getting the car for his birthday...the answer of course was "no" (his birthday is in October). The guy paused, and then asked with a tone of familiarity that comes with having two sons and several more years of experience, "Is he getting it because he's your son." And Todd said, "Yep."

Please leave the play area

Todd and I made a quick trip to the mall last night and stopped off at the kid play area for Boden to stretch his legs. Within 5 minutes, Todd said, "Why don't you go get us a coffee?" and I was like "I don't really want one, do you?". "No, not really, but I think you should leave--you're helicoptering and your face is all anxious.".

I was actually relieved to leave. The kids in the play area seemed to have zero parental supervision and were running like wild dogs. The younger tots were getting jostled and nearly run over by the bigger kids--some seemed too old to be in there (I swear one had facial hair!). It was chaotic and seemed a bit like Lord of the Flies. I could feel my mama bear instincts taking over as I prepared to elbow these ill-behaved children out of Boden's way or tackle them before they were able to knock him down. So, yes, perhaps I was helicoptering, but at least I was interested in what my child was doing there.

It's Private

The other day, a colleague was talking about her 3 year old daughter's recent fascination with her girl parts and the one million questions she had about her recent self-discovery. What followed this little parenting tale was a more serious debate among 5 women about whether or not to teach your kids anatomically correct terminology.

I'm kind of riding the fence on the issue and probably could be swayed either way by a good argument. But I haven't found a solid piece of advice anywhere. It seems to me, that up to a certain age the terms "boy parts" and "girl parts" should be good enough info to give kids the tools they need to express and understand themselves, but maybe not. Maybe the cutesy names are totally inappropriate. Maybe the sterile medical terms are too scary. Maybe the point is to just be open about self-exploration. Hmmmm. I don't really know.

What I do know is that the issue will come up in our home and a decision will be made...And with luck, Boden will be with his dad when he decides he really wants a term for his bits and pieces.

My Bad Advice

As I was writing an e-mail to my friend, I thought, "This will make a lovely blog post" and then I patted myself on the back for my stellar multi-tasking. *grin*

E-mail to friend:
Subject: Bad advice
...mine, unfortunately. I feel like a bad momma because I told you I gave Boden raisins and that I thought it was okay. I told someone at work in a non-chalant way when she was asking about what Boden eats these days and when I mentioned raisins (among other foods) she was all "Already?! I think it’s a choking hazard?!" Complete with an overexagerated look of undisguised horror. And I was all "He hasn’t gagged on them once and I give him like 5 at a time, all separate so they aren’t one big dried fruit clump" (so take that!). Then she was all “ohhh” in a very disapproving, eyebrows raised kind of way. Grrr. So, I looked up the answer on the all-knowing Internet and the wise pediatricians at the AAP say dried fruit, including raisins, is not okay until age 3 “or older” depending on the ability of your child. Fine. I’m still going to give them to him once in a while if I chop them up, but seriously—3??! So, wanted you to know that I passed on bad advice…again :/

Sliding into tantrum territory

We appear to be entering the phase of temper tantrums. A friend of mine who works with kids with all types of cognitive and social disorders reminded me that this is a good thing--tantrums are completely normal. Fine, they're normal, but I don't have to like them or welcome them.

I was under the impression we were going to have a few "good" months before the "Terrible Twos" hit. But, we've gone straight from throwing food, repeatedly hitting the dogs, and ignoring anyhthing that sounds like the word "no" into tantrum territory. One of Todd's friends warned him that shortly after Boden turned a year old, we'd witness behavior that would make us think "Oh, this is the terrible twos hitting us early"...and then we'd actually hit the terrible twos LATER". So, apparently this is an intro course.

Pick it up.

I say these words about 1,001 times per day. Boden is in a horrible habit of throwing down his sippy cups, toast, crackers, shoes, "monkey", and everything else he runs off with onto the floor wherever. Some things I don't really care about (bad momma) but the food and cups are really annoying to constantly pick up and I don't think it's especially safe for Boden to be toddling about with mouthfuls of choking hazards (fruit, toast, crackers). Of course, the simple way around this is to follow daycare rules and eat and drink only while sitting down. As I was practically chasing Boden around the daycare room this morning with a waffle in his hand gently reminding him that he needs to sit until he's all done, his teacher chimed in something about choking while eating on the run. Yep, I've got a couple bad habits to break. At least he didn't throw his waffle on the floor while I was there. Once again, the daycare way of life has pointed out my lackadaisical parenting skills...sigh.

Content. Sensitive - off and on.

That was the way Boden's daycare teacher described his disposition yesterday morning and today. "Sensitive" appears to be a softer way of telling the parents that your child is "crying". Poor guy. He had his first full day of new daycare today, and they definitely do things a little differently than we do at home. They don't let him have a sippy cup, he drinks out of an open cup; they don't wear bibs, and they actually trust him with utensils, plates and bowls. Learning self-feeding skills is great and I'm glad they are letting him explore and refine his capabilities, but until he has this mastered, more spills and dribbles equals more laundry. Maybe they can teach him how to do that, too.

One thing I am amazed by is the herd mentality of Boden's little daycare class (and all daycare classes, I'm sure). When we walked into the class this morning, there were 6 little people sitting properly in chairs pulled up to little tables, chewing on waffles and watching my every move. I put Boden in a chair next to a cute little gal and went to sign him in. He proceeded to climb on top of the chair and then onto the table--all while the little conformists stared on in awe. Needless to say, we didn't make a stellar impression. I'm standing by the excuse that he is a) the youngest and b) free-spirited. We'll see what happens.

All. Nothing.

These are the only two options acceptable to little B, these days. Anything in between results in tears, a crumpled face, and maybe some angry fist pounding. For example, a whole piece of toast is okay. A kid-size strip of toast cut from a whole piece of toast is not okay. I found out that I somehow ruin the toast eating experience for Boden by cutting it into the appropriate size for him, thereby resulting in aforementioned fist-pounding unhappiness. This guy's hard to please.

More!

Oh, glorious day!! Finally, after what feels like a hundred years of encouraging and demonstrating the signs for "more", "milk", "banana", and a few others, Boden signed "more" appropriately-- as in it was actually part of our conversation. Here's how it went down: I said "do you want more toast?", using the sign for "more". Boden said "yeah." and then signed "more" and pointed to the toast...I will admit that it was a modified "more" that was a cross between "more" and "again", but good golly, he actually understood that the sign could be used to communicate his needs so I'm jazzed. Of course, pointing also communicates his needs but this seems more sophisticated...and I'm not going to brag about pointing. It's the little things that tickle my mom-fancy.

Child proof, schmild proof.

Over the course of a couple days, the part of Boden's baby brain that figures out child-resistant safety locks, caps, and such has kicked into overdrive. He's on the fast track to becoming the next great Houdini...or a criminal with a long rap sheet for breaking and entering. He now plucks out the electrical socket caps (and brings them to me), has mastered child-resistant caps on medication bottles, can climb up his high chair like a skilled mountaineer, and understands how the safety gate works but thankfully isn't strong enough to pry it open on his own. It seems our "child-proofing" is just creating more thought-provoking tasks and teaching him problem solving techniques...while keeping us on our toes. I predict he'll have the cabinet door locks figured out by Thursday and the Rubic's cube solved this weekend.

Bumpy ride into the danger zone

Last night, Boden nearly succeeded in really harming himself, (burnt his finger on the oven door, nearly knocked himself out by running into the doorjamb, and dropped a full sippy cup onto his little toe).  After putting him to bed, I sank into a chair feeling both mentally and physically exhausted.  It reminded me of Sylvester the cat in the cartoon episodes where his owner leaves him in charge of the baby while she's out for the day (yes, it's a silly plot):  he runs around the whole day averting disaster for the unknowing little tyke and ends up getting the angelic babe asleep right before the owner returns.  The whole adventure leaves him feeling spent and bedraggled. Years later, I can now relate to this. 

The fun continues today, too.  By noon, Boden had cut open his forehead by falling face first into the banister...Captain Danger is into everything!  I need to spend the rest of his nap time throwing rubber mats down and putting bubble wrap on everything.

Sit still?

Boden is so much fun, right now...and a real handful.  He is in constant motion from literally the moment he wakes up.  This morning, I brought him to bed for a little extra dozing because he was still sleepy (yea!) after nursing.  As I was debating whether or not I should get out of my cozy spot,  I watched him sleep soundly on his back with his arms flung upwards and legs spread (i.e. not leaving a lot of room for mom and dad to sleep comfortably).  I was thinking "awwww, how peaceful and sweet he is" when, in an instant, he went from eyes shut, heavy deep breathing to eyes wide open, straight to standing in an instant.  From that moment we were off and running..."Boden, come here.  Boden, where did you go?  Boden we don't play with Tylenol bottles even if they are "child-proof".  Boden, don't pinch the dog...again.  Boden, stay out of the garbage.  Boden, don't feed the dogs.  Boden, please, stop feeding the dogs.  Boden, stay out of the dog dish.  No, Boden, we don't play in the toilet."  And this is all before I had a chance to pour myself some coffee.  Whew.  It's like trying to manage a bull in a china shop--disaster looms around every corner.

Picture:  Boden is a blur because he wouldn't stop moving :)

Safety. Dance.

Boden's head continued to break his tumbles this week. In addition to the goose egg on his forehead, I helped him out with another bruise right next to it by dropping a sea shell (my bribe to keep him "in position" on the changing table) on his head. He followed that up with two more bruises at daycare.

I used to feel like I just needed to protect Boden from the big worries (child predators, falling into the lake, tumbling down the steps, getting run over). But learning to walk has led to a new sense of autonomy and adventure for Boden and I now see that every little corner, rift in the carpet, and open drawer is a potential threat to my little one's safety--and it makes me feel like every day is marked with flashing yellow caution/beware lights. Every waking moment I'm with Boden, I'm putting my hand over corners, moving dogs, pushing in chairs, telling him to duck, shutting toilet lids, closing drawers (or getting my own hands slammed in them), re-directing him to "safer" activities...etc. and it's exhausting.

I remember awhile ago, stopping my car for a mama deer and her fawn to cross the road and I yelled to the mama, you need to be safer with your fawn, lady, because I'm not always going to be around. Look both ways! I told Todd if I could make a living patrolling the highways to help animals cross safely, I would do it because the sight of any animal who's met his death by way of an ill-timed road crossing brings me to tears--always. While it's definitely part of my nature to keep my own "little deer" safe, I'm apt to going a bit overboard. It's clear that I'm on the path to becoming the dreaded "helicopter parent". Today, I'm clearing away physical obstacles to make Boden's life easier and in 17 years I'll be writing Boden's college application essays and arguing with college admission's offices about why my son didn't get accepted.

(Video: Boden gettin' his groove on.)