We are all sick.
Remember that Gymboree class I mentioned a few days ago? Yeah well, Little Man caught a Gymboree germ.
Two days later, the germ travelled to me.
Two days after that, Husband caught it.
We're now all in the throes of a nasty summer cold. There are boxes of tissues in every room, a fridge stocked full of gatorade and orange juice, a bottle of thick pink antibiotic in the cupboard and boxes of decongestant in the bathroom.
The nights are restless because none of us can breath, but that does make for some really good family snuggle naps on the couch in the late afternoon.
The days are long because we're not getting outside much--we don't want to infect the general population. But it means we get to have movie marathons and spend hours reading surrounded by fluffy pillows and snuggle blankets.
Being stopped up means is no fun, but sneezing is a really silly sound and makes Little Man laugh every time.
There's even an up side to being a sickie-poo.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Performance Anxiety
We joined a Gymboree class here in the big city. For those of you that don't know the toddler lingo, Gymboree is a big open room with lots of things to climb and roll down and slide on. During classes, a teacher does group activities on the center mat, sings songs, and blows bubbles.
Little Man hates it.
A very specific part of it, actually: the teacher led portion. The rest of it--the running, the climbing, the rolling--he loves. For the past few classes he's tolerated the group activities, but today he simply refused, and no amount of coaxing would get him involved. So while the other children rolled the air log to music and played with Baby Gymbo, Little Man did his own thing.
And I worried. I know, I know, he's not even two yet. And he gets along fine with adults, and there are a few select little people he doesn't run screaming from. But I still worried: did I wait to long to socialize him with children his own age? Was the class too much for him? Should I enroll him in a younger class? Is he overwhelmed?
I worried all the way home, and all the way through lunch. And then Little Man brought me his "Wheels on the Bus" book, and as I read it to him, he did all the hand motions the other children had learned that day in class. After the book, I sang another song from Gymboree class. Little Man's face lit up and bopped along with me, doing all the motions. Lastly, I sang a rhythm song, sure he wouldn't be able to keep up with the complicated clapping and pounding, especially since he'd totally ignored it in class.
I was delighted when Little Man proved me wrong, clapping and pounding and stomping his feet, and then requesting to sing it again.
I'm no longer worried.
Little Man hates it.
A very specific part of it, actually: the teacher led portion. The rest of it--the running, the climbing, the rolling--he loves. For the past few classes he's tolerated the group activities, but today he simply refused, and no amount of coaxing would get him involved. So while the other children rolled the air log to music and played with Baby Gymbo, Little Man did his own thing.
And I worried. I know, I know, he's not even two yet. And he gets along fine with adults, and there are a few select little people he doesn't run screaming from. But I still worried: did I wait to long to socialize him with children his own age? Was the class too much for him? Should I enroll him in a younger class? Is he overwhelmed?
I worried all the way home, and all the way through lunch. And then Little Man brought me his "Wheels on the Bus" book, and as I read it to him, he did all the hand motions the other children had learned that day in class. After the book, I sang another song from Gymboree class. Little Man's face lit up and bopped along with me, doing all the motions. Lastly, I sang a rhythm song, sure he wouldn't be able to keep up with the complicated clapping and pounding, especially since he'd totally ignored it in class.
I was delighted when Little Man proved me wrong, clapping and pounding and stomping his feet, and then requesting to sing it again.
I'm no longer worried.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Happy Father's Day!
Ode to the Dada
A poem by Little Man
Translated by the Mama
You're the ying to my yang
The big to my bang.
You're the down to my up
The milk in my cup.
You're the wheels to my wagon
You're the roar to my dragon.
You're the hero, I'm the cape.
You're the Stich to my great escape.
You're the C3P0 to my R2D2
You're the Tigger to my Pooh.
You're the Mickey to my mouse
The meeska mouska to my club house.
You're the driver to my bus
You're the calm to my fuss.
You're the 'sic em, I'm the dawg
You're the jump, I'm the frog.
You're the rock to my climb
You're the pattern to my rhyme.
You're the ball to my hoop
You're the digger, I'm the scoop.
You're the Daddy, I'm the baby bear
And I think you'll agree we make a pretty good pair.
A poem by Little Man
Translated by the Mama
You're the ying to my yang
The big to my bang.
You're the down to my up
The milk in my cup.
You're the wheels to my wagon
You're the roar to my dragon.
You're the hero, I'm the cape.
You're the Stich to my great escape.
You're the C3P0 to my R2D2
You're the Tigger to my Pooh.
You're the Mickey to my mouse
The meeska mouska to my club house.
You're the driver to my bus
You're the calm to my fuss.
You're the 'sic em, I'm the dawg
You're the jump, I'm the frog.
You're the rock to my climb
You're the pattern to my rhyme.
You're the ball to my hoop
You're the digger, I'm the scoop.
You're the Daddy, I'm the baby bear
And I think you'll agree we make a pretty good pair.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Returning the Favor
Today, Little Man carried his case of Winnie the Pooh books (10 tiny board books in a toddler friendly carrying case) into the living room, where he sat down across from me on the floor. He started pulling them out one by one and going through them, using his limited but growing vocabulary to tell me what was going on for each page.
Using a string of exclamations and "up up up-pah!" he narrated Tigger finding a new house with more bouncing room.
"Uh-oh, down!" he told me as Eeyore's house fell down and Pooh, Piglet and Owl helped him build it again.
"Bubbles, bubbles!" he said as Roo got his bath from Kanga.
And at the end of each mini-book he held his hands out, opened palmed and said, "aw done!"
We sat for almost an hour and went through all his books twice, and he told me their stories using his favorite words and hand gestures. I couldn't tell you what I was doing when Little Man sat down with his books. Whatever it was, it quickly became abandoned and forgotten as I realized with joy that he was returning the favor and reading to me.
Using a string of exclamations and "up up up-pah!" he narrated Tigger finding a new house with more bouncing room.
"Uh-oh, down!" he told me as Eeyore's house fell down and Pooh, Piglet and Owl helped him build it again.
"Bubbles, bubbles!" he said as Roo got his bath from Kanga.
And at the end of each mini-book he held his hands out, opened palmed and said, "aw done!"
We sat for almost an hour and went through all his books twice, and he told me their stories using his favorite words and hand gestures. I couldn't tell you what I was doing when Little Man sat down with his books. Whatever it was, it quickly became abandoned and forgotten as I realized with joy that he was returning the favor and reading to me.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Before and After
Godmother Teacher and Godfather Engineer are expecting their first baby.
Husband and I are VERY excited, as they are our closest friends and we didn't think they would be having any children. When Little Man was born, we handled the transition pretty smoothly with them: you know, finding the balance between spending time with adult friends as a parent. Of course, they love Little Man very much, so that made it easier. But I am excited that they are becoming parents too, because it adds a whole new level to the friendship.
We recently spent an afternoon with them, discussing OBGYNs and hospital tours, baby registries and the progression of Godmother Teacher's pregnancy. As usual, I was amused that once you become pregnant, and after you have a baby, that it becomes perfectly natural to discuss things like dilation and epidurals over lunch.
They were full of questions that, because they didn't have children when I had Little Man, they hadn't thought to ask at his birth. And so I spent a good part of the afternoon talking about my false alarms in the hospital, the contractions that started a month before Little Man made his arrival, how I knew when I was actually in labor, what an epidural was really like, and the classes we took prior to his birth. I tried to recount the experience as honestly as I could without scaring the crap out of the mom-to-be, who is in the "I don't know nothing 'bout birthing no babies" phase of pregnancy--I phase I so fondly remember being in myself:
She kept repeating to us, "It can't be that bad, because people wouldn't go back and have a second one!" And I agreed with her. Labor and delivery wasn't as bad as many people told me it would be. There were plenty of aspects of it I'm not eager to repeat any time soon, and a couple of specific moments I would avoid going through again at all costs. But over all? Not the screaming hours of agony TV often depicts.
"Does being around the pregnant lady make you want another baby?" Husband asked me after they left. I glanced at my own 'baby', who was running laps around the apartment and throwing balls, and grinned.
"More nostalgic," I answered. And that was the truth. I remember very well the feeling of being pregnant, the anxious and excited anticipation, the ultrasounds and doctor visits, hearing the heartbeat. The showers and the shopping, washing all those teeny-tiny clothes for the first time and putting them away on equally tiny hangers. The kicks from the inside, the crazy cravings, squeezing into maternity clothes. Making an effort to go on dates and focus on Husband, have quiet moments with him, with the knowledge that soon it won't be like this. The before.
And the after: the first moment your child is in the world, the first time he smiles, laughs, makes eye contact. The sheer exhaustion of being a new parent that makes you feel drunk all the time. The deep sleep that can only come from having an infant on your chest. The rapid movement of time, so that one day you look up and you realize your baby is a month away from two years old, even though the start of his life seems like yesterday.
Our friends did not take expanding their family lightly. I know it was a decision they thought about for a long time. It has been a pleasure knowing them before--and I can't wait to know them after.
Husband and I are VERY excited, as they are our closest friends and we didn't think they would be having any children. When Little Man was born, we handled the transition pretty smoothly with them: you know, finding the balance between spending time with adult friends as a parent. Of course, they love Little Man very much, so that made it easier. But I am excited that they are becoming parents too, because it adds a whole new level to the friendship.
We recently spent an afternoon with them, discussing OBGYNs and hospital tours, baby registries and the progression of Godmother Teacher's pregnancy. As usual, I was amused that once you become pregnant, and after you have a baby, that it becomes perfectly natural to discuss things like dilation and epidurals over lunch.
They were full of questions that, because they didn't have children when I had Little Man, they hadn't thought to ask at his birth. And so I spent a good part of the afternoon talking about my false alarms in the hospital, the contractions that started a month before Little Man made his arrival, how I knew when I was actually in labor, what an epidural was really like, and the classes we took prior to his birth. I tried to recount the experience as honestly as I could without scaring the crap out of the mom-to-be, who is in the "I don't know nothing 'bout birthing no babies" phase of pregnancy--I phase I so fondly remember being in myself:
She kept repeating to us, "It can't be that bad, because people wouldn't go back and have a second one!" And I agreed with her. Labor and delivery wasn't as bad as many people told me it would be. There were plenty of aspects of it I'm not eager to repeat any time soon, and a couple of specific moments I would avoid going through again at all costs. But over all? Not the screaming hours of agony TV often depicts.
"Does being around the pregnant lady make you want another baby?" Husband asked me after they left. I glanced at my own 'baby', who was running laps around the apartment and throwing balls, and grinned.
"More nostalgic," I answered. And that was the truth. I remember very well the feeling of being pregnant, the anxious and excited anticipation, the ultrasounds and doctor visits, hearing the heartbeat. The showers and the shopping, washing all those teeny-tiny clothes for the first time and putting them away on equally tiny hangers. The kicks from the inside, the crazy cravings, squeezing into maternity clothes. Making an effort to go on dates and focus on Husband, have quiet moments with him, with the knowledge that soon it won't be like this. The before.
And the after: the first moment your child is in the world, the first time he smiles, laughs, makes eye contact. The sheer exhaustion of being a new parent that makes you feel drunk all the time. The deep sleep that can only come from having an infant on your chest. The rapid movement of time, so that one day you look up and you realize your baby is a month away from two years old, even though the start of his life seems like yesterday.
Our friends did not take expanding their family lightly. I know it was a decision they thought about for a long time. It has been a pleasure knowing them before--and I can't wait to know them after.
Friday, June 1, 2012
This Toddler's Life: A Tour of Doors and Elevators
For most people, doors and elevators are the means to an end--the way to get somewhere. To Little Man, they are the main event and destination.
He's always liked doors. He's always liked things that open and closed. Oh, it's gone way past that now. He's obsessed. He's always at the front of a crowd to open the door and happy to hold it open until everyone has passed through. In fact, he insists on holding it open, waving people through if they stop to question him with a disgruntled look on his face.
And previously, elevators were things that we rode occasionally--at the mall, at the doctor's office, when we visited Nana at work. But now that we have our very own elevator in our building, we can't mention leaving without Little Man's eyebrows shooting up and hearing an incessant chatter of "Edda! Edda! Edda!"
Take the zoo, for example. While there are no elevators, there's a plethora of doors of all different sizes and shapes, weights and types. While most little people are running amok exclaiming over the animals, Little Man is content to enter and exit the door to the lemur house 37 times. The only way to move him through the zoo is to say things like, "okay! Lets go check out the door at the gorilla house now!"
We have found some upsides to the door and elevator fascination. Turning a doorknob requires pretty good fine motor skills, and it's a great time to teach some manners: ladies first, don't slam doors, things like that. And the elevator provides a great lesson in numbers: Little Man knows what floor we live on, and we always count as we go up and down. And if I try and trip him up by stopping on a floor that isn't ours, he is quick to correct me.
Another big upside? Little Man doesn't fuss at all on a rainy day when we can't go outside. He's content to enter and exit our apartment a few times, then walk down the hallway to the elevator where he happily informs the other passengers that he's going "up up up-pah!"
It's free and fun, and we'll "ride" it out as long as it lasts.
He's always liked doors. He's always liked things that open and closed. Oh, it's gone way past that now. He's obsessed. He's always at the front of a crowd to open the door and happy to hold it open until everyone has passed through. In fact, he insists on holding it open, waving people through if they stop to question him with a disgruntled look on his face.
And previously, elevators were things that we rode occasionally--at the mall, at the doctor's office, when we visited Nana at work. But now that we have our very own elevator in our building, we can't mention leaving without Little Man's eyebrows shooting up and hearing an incessant chatter of "Edda! Edda! Edda!"
Take the zoo, for example. While there are no elevators, there's a plethora of doors of all different sizes and shapes, weights and types. While most little people are running amok exclaiming over the animals, Little Man is content to enter and exit the door to the lemur house 37 times. The only way to move him through the zoo is to say things like, "okay! Lets go check out the door at the gorilla house now!"
We have found some upsides to the door and elevator fascination. Turning a doorknob requires pretty good fine motor skills, and it's a great time to teach some manners: ladies first, don't slam doors, things like that. And the elevator provides a great lesson in numbers: Little Man knows what floor we live on, and we always count as we go up and down. And if I try and trip him up by stopping on a floor that isn't ours, he is quick to correct me.
Another big upside? Little Man doesn't fuss at all on a rainy day when we can't go outside. He's content to enter and exit our apartment a few times, then walk down the hallway to the elevator where he happily informs the other passengers that he's going "up up up-pah!"
It's free and fun, and we'll "ride" it out as long as it lasts.
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