While I cherish every milestone, here is a list of things that I wish he didn't know QUITE just yet:
~ How to open doors
~ How to hide in a closet with bi fold doors- because he knows how to open them
~ How to turn on the water in the sink
~ How to climb on the toilet to reach the faucet
~ How to climb a full-sized ladder. In the pouring rain
~ How to place calls with a telephone
~ How to place calls with an iphone
~ How to crawl into the tub and turn on the water
~ How to work my ipod. ...really, he's one...how can he know this?
~ How to leverage his weight to pull his highchair down
~ How to escape almost any highchair
And just for kicks... a list of things I wish he DID know:
~ How to safely go up and down a flight of stairs (really, he can do a ladder, why not stairs?)
~ How to use the toilet
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Friday, May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 ~ Who's Afraid of the Dark?
Last night, in the middle of the night all of the power went out in our neighborhood. No big deal, except for my alarm not working, right?
Well, Billy is used to his projector nightlight in his room as well as some glow from the streetlamp outside. So, when the usual light in his room was suddenly gone, he started screaming.
People have asked me today why I didn't just go get one of our camping lanterns. Or, why don't I have those glowing loveys for Billy? Well, he's never been afraid of the dark before. And I have no idea where the camping lanterns are. Finding them in the dark would first require finding a flashlight, then digging through our storage closet, meanwhile dealing with a screaming baby. And it was well past my bedtime, so looking for light wasn't in my thinking. I was attempting to coax my tired lil man back to sleep.
First I tried him in the big bed with us. He spent an hour cataloging the features of my face. Nose! Eye! Hair! Ear! Teeth! After an hour Daddy was fed up and sent him back to his crib. Mind you, Billy didn't catalogue Daddy's face. And each item came with a poke to that part. He also danced a jig on my belly with his feet. But Daddy insisted back to the crib and go to sleep.
Billy only listened to the first part. I could hear him moving his toys around in the crib over Daddy's snores. I was awake from the sounds of the BGE trucks outside and the flashing lights from the truck and the men on foot with flashlights.
The lights came back on and Billy settled down. His room was back to normal. But after about a half hour the lights went out again and he started screaming in fear. Clearly, he'd never fallen back to sleep.
So I tried to bring him into the big bed to get him to calm down and go back to sleep. But he attempted to recatalogue my face. At this point Daddy was pissed and sent us out of the room. I rocked him in the rocker, which soothed him, but he wouldn't go back to sleep. I Slow danced him around his dark room, but it wasn't enough.
I thought about CIO and stuck him in his crib. But he immediately attempted to climb out, and having gotten one leg up onto the crib rail, I think he would have succeeded. I relented and did the only thing I could think to do- grabbed my pillow and blanket from the bed and made a a bed on the floor in his room.
I tried first to sleep on the floor with him in the crib, but that was still too far away for him. He was just too afraid. I I let him snuggle in with me on the floor. He tried briefly to roam around his room, but I explained he either had to come lay down next to Mommy or go back in his crib because it was bedtime. He decided to lay down beside Mommy.
He cuddled up under the blanket and lay his head on the pillow beside me. Then he pulled my arm over him and went to sleep. I woke up when the sun was up and put him back in his crib. There was plenty of light in his room by then and no reason to fear.
Daddy says that I am teaching him bad habits and letting him walk all over me. He thinks Billy should never be allowed in our bed. But I don't think Daddy remembers being small. Late night thunderstorms, blackouts, and other things often sent me scurrying to my parents bed for safety. Especially power outages in winter during snowstorms, where staying warm meant sleeping in my parents bed.
Can you blame a little guy for being afraid when things are suddenly different?
Well, Billy is used to his projector nightlight in his room as well as some glow from the streetlamp outside. So, when the usual light in his room was suddenly gone, he started screaming.
People have asked me today why I didn't just go get one of our camping lanterns. Or, why don't I have those glowing loveys for Billy? Well, he's never been afraid of the dark before. And I have no idea where the camping lanterns are. Finding them in the dark would first require finding a flashlight, then digging through our storage closet, meanwhile dealing with a screaming baby. And it was well past my bedtime, so looking for light wasn't in my thinking. I was attempting to coax my tired lil man back to sleep.
First I tried him in the big bed with us. He spent an hour cataloging the features of my face. Nose! Eye! Hair! Ear! Teeth! After an hour Daddy was fed up and sent him back to his crib. Mind you, Billy didn't catalogue Daddy's face. And each item came with a poke to that part. He also danced a jig on my belly with his feet. But Daddy insisted back to the crib and go to sleep.
Billy only listened to the first part. I could hear him moving his toys around in the crib over Daddy's snores. I was awake from the sounds of the BGE trucks outside and the flashing lights from the truck and the men on foot with flashlights.
The lights came back on and Billy settled down. His room was back to normal. But after about a half hour the lights went out again and he started screaming in fear. Clearly, he'd never fallen back to sleep.
So I tried to bring him into the big bed to get him to calm down and go back to sleep. But he attempted to recatalogue my face. At this point Daddy was pissed and sent us out of the room. I rocked him in the rocker, which soothed him, but he wouldn't go back to sleep. I Slow danced him around his dark room, but it wasn't enough.
I thought about CIO and stuck him in his crib. But he immediately attempted to climb out, and having gotten one leg up onto the crib rail, I think he would have succeeded. I relented and did the only thing I could think to do- grabbed my pillow and blanket from the bed and made a a bed on the floor in his room.
I tried first to sleep on the floor with him in the crib, but that was still too far away for him. He was just too afraid. I I let him snuggle in with me on the floor. He tried briefly to roam around his room, but I explained he either had to come lay down next to Mommy or go back in his crib because it was bedtime. He decided to lay down beside Mommy.
He cuddled up under the blanket and lay his head on the pillow beside me. Then he pulled my arm over him and went to sleep. I woke up when the sun was up and put him back in his crib. There was plenty of light in his room by then and no reason to fear.
Daddy says that I am teaching him bad habits and letting him walk all over me. He thinks Billy should never be allowed in our bed. But I don't think Daddy remembers being small. Late night thunderstorms, blackouts, and other things often sent me scurrying to my parents bed for safety. Especially power outages in winter during snowstorms, where staying warm meant sleeping in my parents bed.
Can you blame a little guy for being afraid when things are suddenly different?
Thursday, May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 ~ Fire Trucks, Bubble Blow-Ups and the Sushi Incident
This morning a gave Billy a new shirt. It has a fire truck on it. Nothing special, but he likes trucks, so I picked it up when I saw it. I held it up this morning for him to see. He likes to pick out his clothes each morning. He has very discerning taste- airplanes always beat out monkeys.
So there I am holding up his brand new shirt. He lays it in my lap and pets it like it's "my precious!" At this point I'm thinking he's going to want me to put in on. Nope. He cuddles it. In my lap. Again, I'm thinking "my precious!" It's a shirt. With a fire truck.
I put it on him and he freaks out. "Off! Off!" How can he hug his shirt if it's on him? Don't worry. Billy has a solution to that. Hug himself! He spent all morning hugging himself. If I pointed to the truck on his shirt he would cover it with his arms and say, "Mine!" At school he did the same. I think he likes his new shirt...
After school I took him out in the backyard to play with bubbles. I thought this would be a great idea. I found them at the dollar store, 3 for 1 dollar. How can you beat that? And I've seen the teachers at school, like pied pipers, gather the kids around and blow bubbles. The kids chase after the bubbles in a trance-like state. Time to try this out at home.
So I had some trouble getting into the bubbles which got Billy riled up to begin with. Then when I whipped the bubble wand from the bottle he started screaming "Mine! Mine! Mine!" This morning it was Lord of the Rings and now onto Finding Nemo. I blew some bubbles, which only made him scream and cry. Tears streaking down his face in frustration of not holding the wand. So, I relented and gave him the wand. Only, he started poking his finger through the holes and then blowing randomly into the air. This brought on more screaming tears. "No bubbles! No bubbles!" Finally, I wrested the wand back from him and blew some big bubbles that clung to the grass. But he only wandered away defeatedly crying about "mine bubbles!" I give up. I don't have the pied piper magic that the teachers at school have. No more bubbles.
For dinner we joined Grandpop and Uncle Alex and his girlfriend at my favorite sushi bar for dinner. Enter the problem. The high chair had the safety strap going across Billy's knees. It was designed this way. Not the kind where the harness comes from the back and really holds the kid in. Nope. Across the knees. AKA: F this, I'm outta here suckas! No matter how tight, Billy only had to scoot back and pull up his feet to find freedom. And oh, didd he exert his freedom.
Mommy's lap. Grandpop's lap. Batting the curtains behind Mommy in the booth. Removing the entire contents of the diaper bag. One item at a time. Flinging dumplings. Crawling up onto Mommy's head. Stealing chopsticks. Eating edamame faster than I could pop the beans out. Back to Grandpop. Back to using Mommy as a jungle gym. Getting scolded to behave by a four year old boy.
And that's when Mommy wrapped up dinner to go and left the other three adults to enjoy their dinners at the restaurant while monkeyman and myself went home.
Billy word of the day: cockle. otherwise known as a motorcycle. Not to be confused with keckle, a freckle.
So there I am holding up his brand new shirt. He lays it in my lap and pets it like it's "my precious!" At this point I'm thinking he's going to want me to put in on. Nope. He cuddles it. In my lap. Again, I'm thinking "my precious!" It's a shirt. With a fire truck.
I put it on him and he freaks out. "Off! Off!" How can he hug his shirt if it's on him? Don't worry. Billy has a solution to that. Hug himself! He spent all morning hugging himself. If I pointed to the truck on his shirt he would cover it with his arms and say, "Mine!" At school he did the same. I think he likes his new shirt...
After school I took him out in the backyard to play with bubbles. I thought this would be a great idea. I found them at the dollar store, 3 for 1 dollar. How can you beat that? And I've seen the teachers at school, like pied pipers, gather the kids around and blow bubbles. The kids chase after the bubbles in a trance-like state. Time to try this out at home.
So I had some trouble getting into the bubbles which got Billy riled up to begin with. Then when I whipped the bubble wand from the bottle he started screaming "Mine! Mine! Mine!" This morning it was Lord of the Rings and now onto Finding Nemo. I blew some bubbles, which only made him scream and cry. Tears streaking down his face in frustration of not holding the wand. So, I relented and gave him the wand. Only, he started poking his finger through the holes and then blowing randomly into the air. This brought on more screaming tears. "No bubbles! No bubbles!" Finally, I wrested the wand back from him and blew some big bubbles that clung to the grass. But he only wandered away defeatedly crying about "mine bubbles!" I give up. I don't have the pied piper magic that the teachers at school have. No more bubbles.
For dinner we joined Grandpop and Uncle Alex and his girlfriend at my favorite sushi bar for dinner. Enter the problem. The high chair had the safety strap going across Billy's knees. It was designed this way. Not the kind where the harness comes from the back and really holds the kid in. Nope. Across the knees. AKA: F this, I'm outta here suckas! No matter how tight, Billy only had to scoot back and pull up his feet to find freedom. And oh, didd he exert his freedom.
Mommy's lap. Grandpop's lap. Batting the curtains behind Mommy in the booth. Removing the entire contents of the diaper bag. One item at a time. Flinging dumplings. Crawling up onto Mommy's head. Stealing chopsticks. Eating edamame faster than I could pop the beans out. Back to Grandpop. Back to using Mommy as a jungle gym. Getting scolded to behave by a four year old boy.
And that's when Mommy wrapped up dinner to go and left the other three adults to enjoy their dinners at the restaurant while monkeyman and myself went home.
Billy word of the day: cockle. otherwise known as a motorcycle. Not to be confused with keckle, a freckle.
Drawn In Thursdays: Things Kids Do #5
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From this morning. Yes, he really thinks you bless the choo choo (train). Ok, maybe he didn't give me flowers this morning. I still blame the flowers on my sneezing. Not the ones he gave me specifically, just all flowers in general.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 ~ I Heart Roomba
I am in love with a robot. It's true. I pilfered it from Grandma (I swear I'll give it back soon, Mom!) Here's how my day goes with my favorite robot:
Turn Roomba on. Ignore.
Make dinner.
Empty Roomba. Turn back on. Ignore.
Eat dinner.
Relocate Roomba after getting stuck. Turn on. Ignore.
Watch TV.
Empty Roomba. Turn back on. Ignore.
Blog.
Ok, it always misses spots and can't handle stairs, but I can go about my evening and do chores while not having to actually DO the chores. How awesome is that?
Hey Grandma, can we work out a custody agreement on Roomba? Until Daddy buys me my own, anyways. ;-)
Turn Roomba on. Ignore.
Make dinner.
Empty Roomba. Turn back on. Ignore.
Eat dinner.
Relocate Roomba after getting stuck. Turn on. Ignore.
Watch TV.
Empty Roomba. Turn back on. Ignore.
Blog.
Ok, it always misses spots and can't handle stairs, but I can go about my evening and do chores while not having to actually DO the chores. How awesome is that?
Hey Grandma, can we work out a custody agreement on Roomba? Until Daddy buys me my own, anyways. ;-)
Monday, May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 ~ Beware the Zombie Mommy!
Beware the Zombie Mommy, it could be lurking anywhere. You'll know her when you see her. Bloodshot eyes, the walk of the dead and moaning for "more coffee!" Her clothes will be unkempt and you might even find a stray cheerio clinging to her Zombie Mommy boob. She will also appear deaf to the screaming passel of small people running around her.
Be warned! Zombie Mommy is out there. I know. I've been her. Some days I return to the living dead.
Seriously, I think I should change my blog name to Zombie Mommy. It would be more fitting. The only thing that gets me through the day is caffeine. I couldn't make it without coffee. How did I get here from zero caffeince during pregnancy to living off of coffee? I couldn't have been the 5 months of being woken up every hour to stick the binky back in lil man's mouth. But that was last year, and I'm still the walking dead.
I guess it's just the result from being on the other side of Mommyhood. Hello, Zombie...bring on the coffee!
Be warned! Zombie Mommy is out there. I know. I've been her. Some days I return to the living dead.
Seriously, I think I should change my blog name to Zombie Mommy. It would be more fitting. The only thing that gets me through the day is caffeine. I couldn't make it without coffee. How did I get here from zero caffeince during pregnancy to living off of coffee? I couldn't have been the 5 months of being woken up every hour to stick the binky back in lil man's mouth. But that was last year, and I'm still the walking dead.
I guess it's just the result from being on the other side of Mommyhood. Hello, Zombie...bring on the coffee!
May 13, 2012 ~ Don't Feed Buddy!
So, today, being a holiday and all, I was preparing a big meal for our family. Normally, because I have an impatient toddler, I make food with a combined prep + cook time of under twenty minutes. This minimizes the amount of stress in my life so that I don't have to hear Billy whine the whole time about being hungry.
Today I was making a more complicated meal than normal. Nothing terribly fancy. No, that would have meant hours or days of prep work. I've done Thanksgiving before... not that level of prep. Daddy was responsible for the burgers, but I was handling everything else. So, over an hour of prep time for everything. With a one-year-old this is asking a LOT.
I prepped for prepping by bringing boxes of toys into the kitchen. I'm skilled at cooking in an obstacle course, but less skilled at removing a screaming, clingy toddler from me while pouring boiling water out of a pan. So, distractions. It's the name of the game.
I neglected to take into account that Billy likes food. LIKES food. Who needs toys when there's food? He told me he was hungry. No problem. This is good. Perfect, even. He will be confined to the high chair eating and busy (read distracted!) while I prep. I'm all for this. He wants apple. Even better- it's already cut up and ready to go. I love it when a plan comes together.
Or not.
Billy has tossed his apple to Buddy. All of it. I remind him that we don't feed Buddy. Then he asks for rice. I'm not cooking rice, but have it ready to go. I heat it up, add butter and serve. Voile!
Or not.
Suddenly, it's like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Only, instead of pretty, sparkly lights, tiny kernels of rice fly everywhere in an outward exploding fashion. Billy giggles and tells me he's feeding Buddy. Major scolding. Not to mention, Buddy doesn't like rice. Don't feed Buddy!
But Billy insists that he's hungry. So I break down and go for the treats. Really, he doesn't deserve them, but maybe he will be distracted for 5 minutes so I can get stuff done. And...raisins fly around the room. Buddy loves raisins. Of course, because they are poisonous to dogs. LOTS of scolding. Don't feed Buddy!
So Daddy comes in and makes him a quesadilla for dinner and tries to give it to him. He looks at it, doesn't take a single bite, and tosses it on the floor. Don't feed Buddy!
At this point I give up on the food. I take it away and plop him on the floor. Look! Toys! Beepbeeps and Neeyowums and a book! Forget it. He stands by make leg, pulling on my pants whining for food. He spends the next fifteen minutes begging me for an egg. This is problematic, since I am currently cooking eggs, but not the way he's used to and not for him to consume stand alone. They are being hardboiled to add to a salad, not sunny-side up like he's used to. Once they are done though, he continues to harass me for an egg, so I give him a slice. Bring on the refrain. You know it's coming. Don't feed Buddy! Yup. One bite and off to the belly of Princess Fuzzy Butt (Daddy's new nickname for Buddy since he needs a haircut).
And of course, Billy then proceeds to whine for more food.
So I do what any good Mom would do. I play the Mother's Day card. I send Daddy off to the store and make him take Billy. It's amazing how much you can get done without a whining weight attached to your hip. Dinner was done and I sat down to a cocktail with plenty of time to spare.
Bring on dinner.
We all sit down to eat. I fix Billy a plate with only a small amount of food on it, hoping that if he chucks it he won't be able to toss too much to the dog. He did chuck cheese at Buddy, which I gave him to keep him quiet while we served up. C'est la vie. He whined for his hamburger. "Mine!" Then threw it to the dog. Don't feed Buddy!
But, of course, he couldn't get enough watergate salad. Two seconds flat and it was gone. Then he went around the table asking for up from each adult, hoping to swipe the watergate off of their plate. Grandma was a sucker, but I swallowed all of mine down before he could snarf it from my plate. He didn't like that too much, but I made it, so I get to eat it. And enough sugar before bed, already.
I'm all for sharing, but Buddy got more food out of Billy today than his usual doggy dinner, and a lot of it stuff I'd prefer he never eat, especially the stuff that makes him sick. I just can't figure out how to convince Billy... don't feed Buddy!
Today I was making a more complicated meal than normal. Nothing terribly fancy. No, that would have meant hours or days of prep work. I've done Thanksgiving before... not that level of prep. Daddy was responsible for the burgers, but I was handling everything else. So, over an hour of prep time for everything. With a one-year-old this is asking a LOT.
I prepped for prepping by bringing boxes of toys into the kitchen. I'm skilled at cooking in an obstacle course, but less skilled at removing a screaming, clingy toddler from me while pouring boiling water out of a pan. So, distractions. It's the name of the game.
I neglected to take into account that Billy likes food. LIKES food. Who needs toys when there's food? He told me he was hungry. No problem. This is good. Perfect, even. He will be confined to the high chair eating and busy (read distracted!) while I prep. I'm all for this. He wants apple. Even better- it's already cut up and ready to go. I love it when a plan comes together.
Or not.
Billy has tossed his apple to Buddy. All of it. I remind him that we don't feed Buddy. Then he asks for rice. I'm not cooking rice, but have it ready to go. I heat it up, add butter and serve. Voile!
Or not.
Suddenly, it's like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Only, instead of pretty, sparkly lights, tiny kernels of rice fly everywhere in an outward exploding fashion. Billy giggles and tells me he's feeding Buddy. Major scolding. Not to mention, Buddy doesn't like rice. Don't feed Buddy!
But Billy insists that he's hungry. So I break down and go for the treats. Really, he doesn't deserve them, but maybe he will be distracted for 5 minutes so I can get stuff done. And...raisins fly around the room. Buddy loves raisins. Of course, because they are poisonous to dogs. LOTS of scolding. Don't feed Buddy!
So Daddy comes in and makes him a quesadilla for dinner and tries to give it to him. He looks at it, doesn't take a single bite, and tosses it on the floor. Don't feed Buddy!
At this point I give up on the food. I take it away and plop him on the floor. Look! Toys! Beepbeeps and Neeyowums and a book! Forget it. He stands by make leg, pulling on my pants whining for food. He spends the next fifteen minutes begging me for an egg. This is problematic, since I am currently cooking eggs, but not the way he's used to and not for him to consume stand alone. They are being hardboiled to add to a salad, not sunny-side up like he's used to. Once they are done though, he continues to harass me for an egg, so I give him a slice. Bring on the refrain. You know it's coming. Don't feed Buddy! Yup. One bite and off to the belly of Princess Fuzzy Butt (Daddy's new nickname for Buddy since he needs a haircut).
And of course, Billy then proceeds to whine for more food.
So I do what any good Mom would do. I play the Mother's Day card. I send Daddy off to the store and make him take Billy. It's amazing how much you can get done without a whining weight attached to your hip. Dinner was done and I sat down to a cocktail with plenty of time to spare.
Bring on dinner.
We all sit down to eat. I fix Billy a plate with only a small amount of food on it, hoping that if he chucks it he won't be able to toss too much to the dog. He did chuck cheese at Buddy, which I gave him to keep him quiet while we served up. C'est la vie. He whined for his hamburger. "Mine!" Then threw it to the dog. Don't feed Buddy!
But, of course, he couldn't get enough watergate salad. Two seconds flat and it was gone. Then he went around the table asking for up from each adult, hoping to swipe the watergate off of their plate. Grandma was a sucker, but I swallowed all of mine down before he could snarf it from my plate. He didn't like that too much, but I made it, so I get to eat it. And enough sugar before bed, already.
I'm all for sharing, but Buddy got more food out of Billy today than his usual doggy dinner, and a lot of it stuff I'd prefer he never eat, especially the stuff that makes him sick. I just can't figure out how to convince Billy... don't feed Buddy!
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