I used to think that I didn't want my son to be afraid to the water. That was a month ago. But after watching him run headlong towards deep water with no fear of jumping in, despite an inability to swim, I've completely changed my mind.
Yesterday, he fell in the baby pool. I was Right there when he tripped and his head went under just long enough to scare him. Suddenly, the fearlessness was gone and he didn't want to be in the pool anymore. Since then, he's garnered a healthy respect, if not blatant fear, of the water. I'm ok with this.
No fear of the water is a bad thing. Running headlong into deep water drop is a bad thing. I read a book last year, a true story, in which the one and a half year old (that's Billy's age!) wandered off to investigate a duck pond and drowned. Yes, a fear of the water is good.
Don't get me wrong, I want him to love the water- later- when he learns how to swim. And, you know, doesn't try to dive into the deep end because he knows it's over his head.
But now? I'm ok if the deepest he wants to get is on the first step and no further. Yep, I'm ok with this.
(Sorry for rambling or being incoherent- it's hard to write with a one-year-old attempting to rewrite your post while you're writing it!)
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Thursday, June 7, 2012
June 7, 2012 ~ The Toy Catalog
This morning Billy found a toy catalog in the trash. It's one of those Sunday circulars from a big toy store... you know, that big toy store. Ok, ok I'll just come out and say it was from Toys'R'Us. Sheesh.
He found it just on the way out the door for school and insisted on bringing it along for the car ride. Poor ChooChoo. Banished to the back seat. And poor Red BeepBeep, relegated to hanging out with outcast ChooChoo. Tigger? Well, Tigger got to sit in the carseat. Under Billy's feet. Feet pillow. Poor Tigger.
Nope. No other toys. He read that toy catalog cover to cover on the way to school. Then he walked into his classroom and triumphantly announced, "Bicockle!" Yes, this particular issue is filled with bicycles, affectionately known as bicockles to Billy.
Then this evening we had storytime. What book did he want? That damn toy catalog. We read all about his very own Green Piece of Awesome, now on sale. And let's not forget the terrifying tale of inflatable pools and plastic slides! Then there was the scary story about swings. The fearsome fable of water tables. The parable of the play house. And the legend of Power Wheels, the Ultimate BeepBeep.
And I bet you thought it was just a piece of junk mail.
He found it just on the way out the door for school and insisted on bringing it along for the car ride. Poor ChooChoo. Banished to the back seat. And poor Red BeepBeep, relegated to hanging out with outcast ChooChoo. Tigger? Well, Tigger got to sit in the carseat. Under Billy's feet. Feet pillow. Poor Tigger.
Nope. No other toys. He read that toy catalog cover to cover on the way to school. Then he walked into his classroom and triumphantly announced, "Bicockle!" Yes, this particular issue is filled with bicycles, affectionately known as bicockles to Billy.
Then this evening we had storytime. What book did he want? That damn toy catalog. We read all about his very own Green Piece of Awesome, now on sale. And let's not forget the terrifying tale of inflatable pools and plastic slides! Then there was the scary story about swings. The fearsome fable of water tables. The parable of the play house. And the legend of Power Wheels, the Ultimate BeepBeep.
And I bet you thought it was just a piece of junk mail.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
June 5, 2012 ~ One in the Hand
When I picked Billy up from daycare today there was nobody left in his room. (No worries, he was in another room with kids and teachers). But we had to go in his room to gather his things.
"Mommy, oush-shide." He points to the window. Normally, outside means "I want to go outside", but today he meant "I want to look out the window."
These windows are up high, so I have to pick him up for him to be able to see out. He loves to look out this window and his teachers often pick him up so he can look at a dog (either it lives there or it's owner works in the building behind the daycare- not sure) and to look at the yellow truck often parked in the lot behind the daycare. Dogs and trucks...what more could a boy want?
Well, just as I picked him up a bird flew right at the window. Wait! This is not a tragic bird crashing into a window story. No birds were harmed in the making of this post. But Billy did want a closer look at the dive-bombing birds that was now happily eating on the ground beneath the window.
Unfortunately, the bird was just visible, but not really where it was in relation to the window. This irked the lil man, who really wanted a look at that bird. That's when I looked up. And sitting on the lowest branch of the tree right outside the window was a goldfinch.
"Oooh!" Billy said. "Birdie!"
It wasn't just a pretty bird. It was a pimping bird. He had two goldfinch gals hanging out eating dinner with him.
What an opportunity, I thought to myself. A colorful birds- to work on colors. AND, the male and females are right next to each other, which is an awesome science lesson (albeit for someone maybe a little older).
"Billy, what color is that bird?"
"Yay-yow!"
Here's where I explained about the boy bird being bright yellow and the girl birds being brown and trying to point out the difference and relate it back to toddler boys and girls in general (like that girls wear skirts, etc.).
His response?
"Mommy, isha birdie! Yay-yow!"
"That's right. It is a yellow bird."
(I would be proud at this moment, but he loves to say "yellow" and calls everything yellow regardless of color, even if he knows the difference.)
"Mommy, oush-shide." He points to the window. Normally, outside means "I want to go outside", but today he meant "I want to look out the window."
These windows are up high, so I have to pick him up for him to be able to see out. He loves to look out this window and his teachers often pick him up so he can look at a dog (either it lives there or it's owner works in the building behind the daycare- not sure) and to look at the yellow truck often parked in the lot behind the daycare. Dogs and trucks...what more could a boy want?
Well, just as I picked him up a bird flew right at the window. Wait! This is not a tragic bird crashing into a window story. No birds were harmed in the making of this post. But Billy did want a closer look at the dive-bombing birds that was now happily eating on the ground beneath the window.
Unfortunately, the bird was just visible, but not really where it was in relation to the window. This irked the lil man, who really wanted a look at that bird. That's when I looked up. And sitting on the lowest branch of the tree right outside the window was a goldfinch.
"Oooh!" Billy said. "Birdie!"
It wasn't just a pretty bird. It was a pimping bird. He had two goldfinch gals hanging out eating dinner with him.
What an opportunity, I thought to myself. A colorful birds- to work on colors. AND, the male and females are right next to each other, which is an awesome science lesson (albeit for someone maybe a little older).
"Billy, what color is that bird?"
"Yay-yow!"
Here's where I explained about the boy bird being bright yellow and the girl birds being brown and trying to point out the difference and relate it back to toddler boys and girls in general (like that girls wear skirts, etc.).
His response?
"Mommy, isha birdie! Yay-yow!"
"That's right. It is a yellow bird."
(I would be proud at this moment, but he loves to say "yellow" and calls everything yellow regardless of color, even if he knows the difference.)
Monday, June 4, 2012
June 4, 2012 ~ (dramatic pause) No!
I can't help it. During some of his latest tantrums I just want to laugh. I should be serious, but really, it's pretty funny. For instance (an except of a tantrum from today):
My MeMe. Give!
Say please.
(dramatic pause) No! (waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!) Give!
Billy, just say please and I will give it to you.
(dramatic pause) No!
Do you want your MeMe?
(dramatic pause) No! (reaches and grabs for MeMe in a desperate attempt to get it back)
And it's when we get to this point in the tantrum that I want to break out my Inigo Montoya "I do not think it means what you think it means".
"Do you want a cracker?"
(dramatic pause) No! (shovels crackers in his mouth like a hamster)
He loves his dramatic pause. But honestly, he needs to fill that void or I'm going to end up filling it with laughter.
My MeMe. Give!
Say please.
(dramatic pause) No! (waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!) Give!
Billy, just say please and I will give it to you.
(dramatic pause) No!
Do you want your MeMe?
(dramatic pause) No! (reaches and grabs for MeMe in a desperate attempt to get it back)
And it's when we get to this point in the tantrum that I want to break out my Inigo Montoya "I do not think it means what you think it means".
"Do you want a cracker?"
(dramatic pause) No! (shovels crackers in his mouth like a hamster)
He loves his dramatic pause. But honestly, he needs to fill that void or I'm going to end up filling it with laughter.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
June 3, 2012 ~ Mommy's Lil Helper
So, the weather is nice and...holy crap, it's June!...so I am in full garden mode. It's pretty much entirely impossible to get any gardening done with a small person under foot. There are the really cool looking snippers, that look so appealing to cut off little fingers. Then there are spades and shovels and other sharp garden digging tools that are perfect for causing injury. And that whole, not paying attention to your toddler attempting to dash into the road to get a better look at a beepbeep... yeah, well. Gardening + toddler=No Go.
So, I've been working on my garden when Billy is sleeping. It's slow going, especially since the weeds have been growing since February. I think the new house is looking pretty sharp. I turned the grass-filled fire pit into a begonia haven. And I ripped out undergrowth to have an impatiens bed.
But those pesky weeds. Constant maintenance. What boy wouldn't want to dig in the dirt and kill plants? Whoa. We have a winner. I rip, he tosses. Then he rips out random non-flowering whatevers, even things that aren't weeds and I let him go to town. He's occupied. He's happy. I get to garden without major mishap. Win win.
Until he throws dirt in my underpants and Daddy laughs. It's not that I was sporting plumber's crack, but bent over the weeds there was enough of a gap for him to chuck a handful of soil into my pants, which quickly ended up in places I had hoped would never have garden soil associated with them. And, of course, since Daddy laughed, Billy took it as "do that again, but with more vigor this time." So, he threw dirt on my seven times. He got warned. He got 3 time outs. Then he got a 5 minute time out in hiss room- the first time ever to be sent to his room. And he STILL did it.
Here I find the perfect blend of boy fun and Mommy fun and Daddy goes and gives him a rotten idea. I think Daddy needs a time out. And I think I need new underpants...
So, I've been working on my garden when Billy is sleeping. It's slow going, especially since the weeds have been growing since February. I think the new house is looking pretty sharp. I turned the grass-filled fire pit into a begonia haven. And I ripped out undergrowth to have an impatiens bed.
But those pesky weeds. Constant maintenance. What boy wouldn't want to dig in the dirt and kill plants? Whoa. We have a winner. I rip, he tosses. Then he rips out random non-flowering whatevers, even things that aren't weeds and I let him go to town. He's occupied. He's happy. I get to garden without major mishap. Win win.
Until he throws dirt in my underpants and Daddy laughs. It's not that I was sporting plumber's crack, but bent over the weeds there was enough of a gap for him to chuck a handful of soil into my pants, which quickly ended up in places I had hoped would never have garden soil associated with them. And, of course, since Daddy laughed, Billy took it as "do that again, but with more vigor this time." So, he threw dirt on my seven times. He got warned. He got 3 time outs. Then he got a 5 minute time out in hiss room- the first time ever to be sent to his room. And he STILL did it.
Here I find the perfect blend of boy fun and Mommy fun and Daddy goes and gives him a rotten idea. I think Daddy needs a time out. And I think I need new underpants...
The Sunday Post ~ It's the Small Things
It's the small things that make life with child easier. Getting to drink your coffee before it goes cold. A smile. A hug. 15 uninterrupted minutes to shower. You know, the small things.
Today the highlight of my day was to be there when he pooped. Ok, it's gross. But somebody has got to change his diaper and that's a very short list of volunteers, me being at the top. So, to be there when the disaster occurs means I can cut it off at the pass. Instead of major diaper destruction, there was only minor diaper duty. AND, I happened to be standing there for not one, but both bomb drops for the day. My day was just that much easier. Yes, this was the highlight of my day.
Like I said, it's the small things.
Today the highlight of my day was to be there when he pooped. Ok, it's gross. But somebody has got to change his diaper and that's a very short list of volunteers, me being at the top. So, to be there when the disaster occurs means I can cut it off at the pass. Instead of major diaper destruction, there was only minor diaper duty. AND, I happened to be standing there for not one, but both bomb drops for the day. My day was just that much easier. Yes, this was the highlight of my day.
Like I said, it's the small things.
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