When I was pregnant, I was afraid I would have a hard time with boy things. The rows of trucks and cars and superheroes in Target overwhelmed me. I had a hard time transforming even the smallest level one Transformer. My tugboat noise sounded like a Mac Truck drowning, and I kept slipping up and calling light sabers "light savers".
A year into parenting a critter who is 110% boy, I am starting to see that my fears were slightly misguided. Sure, I'm still working on my vehicle noises and converting robots into miniature Camaros, but these are things I SHOULD have been thinking about:
--My skills as a catcher. Not because my kid is a baseball prodigy, but because he likes to fling everything with a surprisingly accurate overhand swing. Pillows, remotes, shoes...
--Working on my car braking noise, not just the zooming noise. For awhile, I would make all the vehicles I was pushing around the floor with my boy go "zooooooooooooooooom crash!" and run into something. Then he started to mimic me. I am a little afraid about when he starts driving for real.
--My reaction time. The reflexes of a Mama have to be like lightning. Sweep that ball up before he trips on it. Block the bathroom cabinet with a knee while brushing your teeth and drying your hair. Stand up and get the toliet lid down before the baby can throw something in there. Quick like a fox, quick like a fox.
--Distractionary tactics to avert a meltdown when hiding the cellphone/blackberry/iPod.
--The ability to spot something attractive to a small boy and remove it from view before he notices it. Think long sticks, computer mice, cords, anything pointy, anything pointy, anything pointy.
And while I'm sure there will be a day when Little Man will sit and actively play with the toys he's amassed over his short life, right now he's too busy discovering the nooks and crannies of his world to be distracted by things like puzzles and blocks. After all, rocks can be thrown just as well as a ball, tupperware is very satisfying to knock down, and emptying and filling a box full of magnets and Nana's office supplies helps with fine motor skills.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Judge Me: I Bought a Harness for My Kid
I am beginning to discover a topic that ignites as much drama and opinion as breastfeeding: putting your kid in a harness.
Also called reins (or leashes, depending on who you're talking to), most of them consist of a furry animal back-pack that has a strap that crosses the child's front as well, and a strap that a parent can hold on to. The one I found was even less obvious than that--just a simple chest harness with a strap that fits securely on my wrist.
Oh, the looks I have gotten from some people when I mention this. I've heard everything from, "why don't you get a dog if you want to walk something?" to "don't you trust your parenting skills enough to make your child listen to you?"
As a matter of fact, I do trust my parenting skills. Husband and I are raising an inquisitive, independent little boy who is learning to listen and follow directions. Does a one-year-old have the capability of always understanding and following directions? No. Does he have the capability of understanding the consequences if he doesn't stand where Mommy tells him? No. Is he strong? Yes. And so when we go out in public into a crowded place where I want Little Man to have the freedom to explore, the harness will be on.
But far more important than trusting my skills as a parent is my fear of my beautiful baby boy being scooped up by another person. It's not something I like to think about a lot, but its a sad and true fact: there are a lot of weird people out there.
Will I keeep my child in a harness until he's 12, like one harness-cynic asked me? No. It's merely a tool to use in those crowded, hectic places until Little Man can truly understand what it means to hold Mommy or Daddy's hand or to only go so far.
Until then, I'll be doing everything in my power to keep him safe and sound.
Also called reins (or leashes, depending on who you're talking to), most of them consist of a furry animal back-pack that has a strap that crosses the child's front as well, and a strap that a parent can hold on to. The one I found was even less obvious than that--just a simple chest harness with a strap that fits securely on my wrist.
Oh, the looks I have gotten from some people when I mention this. I've heard everything from, "why don't you get a dog if you want to walk something?" to "don't you trust your parenting skills enough to make your child listen to you?"
As a matter of fact, I do trust my parenting skills. Husband and I are raising an inquisitive, independent little boy who is learning to listen and follow directions. Does a one-year-old have the capability of always understanding and following directions? No. Does he have the capability of understanding the consequences if he doesn't stand where Mommy tells him? No. Is he strong? Yes. And so when we go out in public into a crowded place where I want Little Man to have the freedom to explore, the harness will be on.
But far more important than trusting my skills as a parent is my fear of my beautiful baby boy being scooped up by another person. It's not something I like to think about a lot, but its a sad and true fact: there are a lot of weird people out there.
Will I keeep my child in a harness until he's 12, like one harness-cynic asked me? No. It's merely a tool to use in those crowded, hectic places until Little Man can truly understand what it means to hold Mommy or Daddy's hand or to only go so far.
Until then, I'll be doing everything in my power to keep him safe and sound.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
This, Not That
I've come to an interesting hurdle in Little Man's development. How do I explain to a one-year-old to do this, not that?
For example: one of his favorite things to do is to throw the little stuffed reindeer that is Small Dog's favorite toy. Small Dog goes scampering after it and drops it at his feet, eliciting giggles from him (and, in all honesty, from me). We praise him when he plays nicely with Small Dog, and for about a week this game of fetch goes on at every opportunity.
Until yesterday, when Little Man took a plastic jug out of the cupboard and hurled it at Small Dog's head, then waited expectantly for her to bring it back. When she didn't come out from the under the table where she had (rightly so) darted, he looked crestfallen.
We think he's terribly clever when he walks around picking up items and putting them in his blue bucket, then emptying it out at another location. He is very methodical about this process, and I love to watch him.
What I don't love is when he puts things in the garbage can. Today he took several of his letter magnets and, with great gusto, tossed them into the garbage. He then looked at me and clapped his hands.
I obviously did not praise him for putting his magnets in the garbage--or his shoes, or my shoes, or his nana's computer mouse. I told him no and moved him away from the garbage. When he continued completely ignoring me, I realized that to him, the garbage can is just a really big bucket. I guess I'm lucky he didn't try to push the garbage can to another location and empty it.
Same goes for playing with Small Dog. She likes to chase her reindeer--why wouldn't she like to chase a 2-liter jug?
And so begins the teaching of uses: we throw balls, not apples--even though they're round. We put toys in our bucket, and trash in the garbage. We toss Small Dog gentle toys, not toys that could knock her unconscious.
No one ever said learning was easy.
For example: one of his favorite things to do is to throw the little stuffed reindeer that is Small Dog's favorite toy. Small Dog goes scampering after it and drops it at his feet, eliciting giggles from him (and, in all honesty, from me). We praise him when he plays nicely with Small Dog, and for about a week this game of fetch goes on at every opportunity.
Until yesterday, when Little Man took a plastic jug out of the cupboard and hurled it at Small Dog's head, then waited expectantly for her to bring it back. When she didn't come out from the under the table where she had (rightly so) darted, he looked crestfallen.
We think he's terribly clever when he walks around picking up items and putting them in his blue bucket, then emptying it out at another location. He is very methodical about this process, and I love to watch him.
What I don't love is when he puts things in the garbage can. Today he took several of his letter magnets and, with great gusto, tossed them into the garbage. He then looked at me and clapped his hands.
I obviously did not praise him for putting his magnets in the garbage--or his shoes, or my shoes, or his nana's computer mouse. I told him no and moved him away from the garbage. When he continued completely ignoring me, I realized that to him, the garbage can is just a really big bucket. I guess I'm lucky he didn't try to push the garbage can to another location and empty it.
Same goes for playing with Small Dog. She likes to chase her reindeer--why wouldn't she like to chase a 2-liter jug?
And so begins the teaching of uses: we throw balls, not apples--even though they're round. We put toys in our bucket, and trash in the garbage. We toss Small Dog gentle toys, not toys that could knock her unconscious.
No one ever said learning was easy.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Home Entertainment
Who needs fancy, expensive toys when you have a milk carton and a Daddy who is a professionally trained clown?
Little Man has recently been allowed to explore the kitchen when a grown-up is in there with him. This explains the influx of tupperware, magnets and empty bottles that have found their way into our living room.
Today Little Man got ahold of an empty milk jug. When Husband dropped a few pieces of uncooked pasta to it, it became THE BEST TOY EVER. He shook it, chewed on it, carried it around, and tried to stuff it in the hidey-hole of his fire truck. Then he "shared" it with his Dad.
That's when the real fun began. From his front row seat on the couch next to me, Little Man squealed and giggled as his father tossed the jug around, danced with it, bounced it off his head and elbows, and put on a show. It was obviously the highlight of his morning, and to be honest, it was mine, too.
I love those little moments--its nothing you can plan, nothing you can arrange. When the strangest thing in the world suddenly makes your heart smile. I hugged my Little Man, grinned at my husband, and thought to myself, there's nothing in the world better than this.
Little Man has recently been allowed to explore the kitchen when a grown-up is in there with him. This explains the influx of tupperware, magnets and empty bottles that have found their way into our living room.
Today Little Man got ahold of an empty milk jug. When Husband dropped a few pieces of uncooked pasta to it, it became THE BEST TOY EVER. He shook it, chewed on it, carried it around, and tried to stuff it in the hidey-hole of his fire truck. Then he "shared" it with his Dad.
That's when the real fun began. From his front row seat on the couch next to me, Little Man squealed and giggled as his father tossed the jug around, danced with it, bounced it off his head and elbows, and put on a show. It was obviously the highlight of his morning, and to be honest, it was mine, too.
I love those little moments--its nothing you can plan, nothing you can arrange. When the strangest thing in the world suddenly makes your heart smile. I hugged my Little Man, grinned at my husband, and thought to myself, there's nothing in the world better than this.
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