I grew up around water. I mean REALLY grew up around water. I could fish, crab, swim and sail and handle a power boat long before I could ever drive a car. It's second nature to me.
Billy's turn.
Only, this time around, I have to wonder...
Daddy just bought him is very own fishing rod. Now, when I say fishing rod, I mean it looks like a fishing rod, but really it's a toy. No hook (there's a rubber fish in lieu of a hook) and a push button release for the line. It reels in the same way. Oh, and it's a Mickey Mouse fishing rod. All of maybe 3 feet long.
Granted, I'd never give a fishing rod with a hook on it to a 2 year old without serious supervision... aka me holding the rod and letting him help me reel it in. I'd never let him cast it.
But when I was little, I learned with a real rod with a real hook on it. We baited the line and I wasn't allowed to cast, just to drop it into the water. Casting came later when I was older. I have no idea how old I was when I learned to fish. Not very old, since my hatred of fishing goes way back. (Sitting in the sweltering sun waiting to catch a tiny fish you can't eat is not all that appealing. Little different now that I'm older... bigger fish and beer.)
I'm wondering how this will play out with Billy learning to fish on a rod that is hookless. Daddy is already teaching him to cast. They were fishing in the back yard last night. I'm wondering if it will make him (and us) blase to the real dangers with fishing. Hooks are sharp. I've seen plenty of people stab themselves with one. Nasty things, hooks.
Just another thing to add to the list of uber-safety for the little ones. Not sure if it's better than when I was growing up. I made it out alright. I guess we'll find out in 30 years.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Monday, July 1, 2013
June 30, 2013 ~ The Special Stick
You would think with all of the wonderful toys out there that Billy would prefer one of those. Nope. He wants a stick.
Not just any stick.
This stick is a piece of driftwood he found along the river. It's his special stick. (Yes, yes. Laugh now. Minds out of the gutter, folks.)
Billy was playing with 3 other boys of varying ages and insisted on carrying his Stick with him everywhere they went. Swimming? Had to bring Stick. Fishing? He used it as his fishing pole- and didn't catch anything. Playing around the house? You betcha that Stick was there. Eating? Stick was nearby.
2 days. 1 Stick.
And so as the boys were getting ready to leave, the dad was cleaning and chucked Stick into the river. Oh. My. God. In slow motion the adults in the know screamed "Nooooo!" There went Stick floating down the river.
This required a Stick rescue effort. Spotters on shore watching Stick drift away. (Did you know driftwood drifts slower than new wood?) The dad down on the dock prepping himself for a Stick retrieval. Luckily, Stick was saved from the perils of the lazy river and was completely fine except for getting wet.
When the boys left it was time for Billy to head off for a nap. On the way down the hallway he was swinging Stick and...
"Snap!"
Oh. My. God. A broken Stick! All that for a rescue only to have Stick perish in a hallway??? We had to whisk Stick off to the the Emergency Room of Wood Repair (aka the kitchen) and surgically reattach the broken end. It's only temporary, though. Stick will require another surgery to permanently reattach his severed limb.
We'll keep you updated on Stick's progress.
Not just any stick.
This stick is a piece of driftwood he found along the river. It's his special stick. (Yes, yes. Laugh now. Minds out of the gutter, folks.)
Billy was playing with 3 other boys of varying ages and insisted on carrying his Stick with him everywhere they went. Swimming? Had to bring Stick. Fishing? He used it as his fishing pole- and didn't catch anything. Playing around the house? You betcha that Stick was there. Eating? Stick was nearby.
2 days. 1 Stick.
And so as the boys were getting ready to leave, the dad was cleaning and chucked Stick into the river. Oh. My. God. In slow motion the adults in the know screamed "Nooooo!" There went Stick floating down the river.
This required a Stick rescue effort. Spotters on shore watching Stick drift away. (Did you know driftwood drifts slower than new wood?) The dad down on the dock prepping himself for a Stick retrieval. Luckily, Stick was saved from the perils of the lazy river and was completely fine except for getting wet.
When the boys left it was time for Billy to head off for a nap. On the way down the hallway he was swinging Stick and...
"Snap!"
Oh. My. God. A broken Stick! All that for a rescue only to have Stick perish in a hallway??? We had to whisk Stick off to the the Emergency Room of Wood Repair (aka the kitchen) and surgically reattach the broken end. It's only temporary, though. Stick will require another surgery to permanently reattach his severed limb.
We'll keep you updated on Stick's progress.
Friday, June 28, 2013
June 27, 2013 ~ How Many Trips to the Potty???
(This is a tale of toddlers and bodily functions. If you are easily offended, turn back now. Do not go this way. Stop reading now!)
Billy and I sat down to the table at a nice restaurant with PeePop. Just as the hostess handed us our menus, Billy declared, "I gotta go potty!"
I whisked him off to the potty to do his business. Mission accomplished.
We head back to the table. PeePop already has a drink. The waiter circles around so I place drink orders and Billy's food order.
"Mommy, I gotta POOP!" He says this last word with extra vigor and start bouncing up and down in his chair in a manner which can only be called 'the poop dance."
Off to the potty we go. Mission NOT accomplished. "Mommy, is that a window? What's this? What's that? Who's in there (the other stall)? Why are they in there? Do you need to potty? Do I need to potty? I don't need to potty."
Back to the table. By this time PeePop is eating salad and bread sticks. And no, we weren't at Olive Garden.
I get two minutes to read the menu while Billy restarts the Poop Dance and the whining. I wait for the waiter so I can order and then head back to the bathroom.
"Last chance until after dinner. Poop or else!"
Again, mission NOT accomplished. Now I can't tell if he's bored, constipated or really does need to poop.
We go back to the table and he started to tell me about the pain in his butt. He says he's not hungry while he shovels fistfuls of chicken tender into his mouth, complaining all the while about the poopy pain in his butt.
I threaten loss of dessert, loss of toys if he's faking, but what can I do? Back to the potty we go. And another failure. Strike three.
"Ok, you have to hold it until we get home. Mommy wants to eat her dinner."
By now PeePop has eaten salad, soup and half of his dinner. I have had salad and a bite of dinner. And I have an idea. I give him an olive (owl lip as Billy calls them). He hates olives. Never mind that.
"See this? It looks an awful lot like a prune, doesn't it? Do you know the olives are also poop fruit? (okay, stretching, but go with me). If you eat it, that poop will fly right out of your butt!"
"Really?" He gobbled it up. "I love owl lips!" Unfortunately, there were none left except that one, but I was hoping that the mental trick would take.
And, of course, he wanted to go back to the potty. So back we went and again nothing. Okay, seriously this time is the last time. I swear. No more until we get home.
We get back to the table and he starts the Poop Dance again. I seriously would love to, I don't know, actually get to eat my dinner to more than two minutes at a time. No, no potty. 4 trips of nada. N.O. NO.
He gives me a red faced look and says "I'm POOOOOPING!!!!!!"
Seriously? I mean, really? Here? At the table? Now?
I do what any parent of a toddler would do... the reach around. Yep. Grab the bum and feel for that extra lump which is not a cute little toddler cheek. Three lumps. Damn. One too many.
Back to the potty we go to deal with the carnage.
By now PeePop has asked the waiter to bring me a box. He's with the program here. I'm ready to go home. Check please.
Billy and I sat down to the table at a nice restaurant with PeePop. Just as the hostess handed us our menus, Billy declared, "I gotta go potty!"
I whisked him off to the potty to do his business. Mission accomplished.
We head back to the table. PeePop already has a drink. The waiter circles around so I place drink orders and Billy's food order.
"Mommy, I gotta POOP!" He says this last word with extra vigor and start bouncing up and down in his chair in a manner which can only be called 'the poop dance."
Off to the potty we go. Mission NOT accomplished. "Mommy, is that a window? What's this? What's that? Who's in there (the other stall)? Why are they in there? Do you need to potty? Do I need to potty? I don't need to potty."
Back to the table. By this time PeePop is eating salad and bread sticks. And no, we weren't at Olive Garden.
I get two minutes to read the menu while Billy restarts the Poop Dance and the whining. I wait for the waiter so I can order and then head back to the bathroom.
"Last chance until after dinner. Poop or else!"
Again, mission NOT accomplished. Now I can't tell if he's bored, constipated or really does need to poop.
We go back to the table and he started to tell me about the pain in his butt. He says he's not hungry while he shovels fistfuls of chicken tender into his mouth, complaining all the while about the poopy pain in his butt.
I threaten loss of dessert, loss of toys if he's faking, but what can I do? Back to the potty we go. And another failure. Strike three.
"Ok, you have to hold it until we get home. Mommy wants to eat her dinner."
By now PeePop has eaten salad, soup and half of his dinner. I have had salad and a bite of dinner. And I have an idea. I give him an olive (owl lip as Billy calls them). He hates olives. Never mind that.
"See this? It looks an awful lot like a prune, doesn't it? Do you know the olives are also poop fruit? (okay, stretching, but go with me). If you eat it, that poop will fly right out of your butt!"
"Really?" He gobbled it up. "I love owl lips!" Unfortunately, there were none left except that one, but I was hoping that the mental trick would take.
And, of course, he wanted to go back to the potty. So back we went and again nothing. Okay, seriously this time is the last time. I swear. No more until we get home.
We get back to the table and he starts the Poop Dance again. I seriously would love to, I don't know, actually get to eat my dinner to more than two minutes at a time. No, no potty. 4 trips of nada. N.O. NO.
He gives me a red faced look and says "I'm POOOOOPING!!!!!!"
Seriously? I mean, really? Here? At the table? Now?
I do what any parent of a toddler would do... the reach around. Yep. Grab the bum and feel for that extra lump which is not a cute little toddler cheek. Three lumps. Damn. One too many.
Back to the potty we go to deal with the carnage.
By now PeePop has asked the waiter to bring me a box. He's with the program here. I'm ready to go home. Check please.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
So behind...
I am busier than ever with life, work and toddler.
With my mobile device refusing to post to Blogger it's making it difficult for me to stay on top of posts. Daddy is in constant use of the main computer at home for school work, making my ability to post at home all but impossible. My laptop was once owned by a Roman, who got it from a T-Rex, so there's not much hope there.
I do promise to try to get back to regular posting.
Here's some highlights of what you missed:
~ Billy is refusing to sleep. Welcome to the Terrible Threes. Just like the Twos, only that much worse. We're pushing back his bedtime a bit to help him sleep.
~ We've instituted a positive rewards system. After some epic battles of will, we're finally getting him to do what he's told when there's a golden prize at the end. That would be gummi bears. Haribo Gold-Bears to be exact. And he will do anything to win another. So far so good.
~ Billy and Cub went to the pool together. They had a fabulous time. Billy showed off his ability to go under water a bazillion times without any issue. Show off. My heart stops every time he does it.
And that's about it. We've had a slow week to report, even though I was very busy. But with being sick last week and playing catch up this week, that's how it goes.
With my mobile device refusing to post to Blogger it's making it difficult for me to stay on top of posts. Daddy is in constant use of the main computer at home for school work, making my ability to post at home all but impossible. My laptop was once owned by a Roman, who got it from a T-Rex, so there's not much hope there.
I do promise to try to get back to regular posting.
Here's some highlights of what you missed:
~ Billy is refusing to sleep. Welcome to the Terrible Threes. Just like the Twos, only that much worse. We're pushing back his bedtime a bit to help him sleep.
~ We've instituted a positive rewards system. After some epic battles of will, we're finally getting him to do what he's told when there's a golden prize at the end. That would be gummi bears. Haribo Gold-Bears to be exact. And he will do anything to win another. So far so good.
~ Billy and Cub went to the pool together. They had a fabulous time. Billy showed off his ability to go under water a bazillion times without any issue. Show off. My heart stops every time he does it.
And that's about it. We've had a slow week to report, even though I was very busy. But with being sick last week and playing catch up this week, that's how it goes.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
June 18, 2013 ~ Conversations With an Angry Toddler
Billy was extra mad today about just about everything.
Conversations with an angry toddler:
Billy: I don't want to get in the car. I want to throw your keys in the grass. I want to throw your keys in the trees. Mommy, give me your keys so I can throw them away!
Me: Why won't you get in the car?
Billy: it's a monster car. It's yucky!
Billy: I don't want to go to our house. It's a monster house. Monsters live in that house. That's why I don't want to go there. Spiders live there. Yucky. And a mean old witch. We can't go to our house.
Billy: I am a monster. I'm mean. That's why I have sharp teeth. I'm a mean puppy dog.
Billy: I'm going to hit you. I want to hit Daddy but he's too far away.
Me: Because he's a work?
Billy: Yes, he's too far.
So Annoyed...
I've been publishing from my phone, but my phone apparently tells me it's sending then doesn't bother to send... so there's a week of posts missing that I can't get off my phone. And like hell I'm going to retype everything.
1.) Happy Birthday, Grandma!
2.) Silly glasses... trying on pairs to find a new pair at the store...
He was in such a bad mood that he started screaming about the kids glasses. He DIDN'T want the blue Spiderman glasses that I bought him. Nope. He asked me to give them to other people, stomp on them, throw them in the parking lot...whatever. But when we got home he was so proud of them that he wore them through dinner and then went to bed with them on. He loves them now.
3.) Happy Father's Day to Daddy:
I asked Billy what he wanted to get Daddy for Father's Day (this is what Billy thought Daddy wanted, not what Daddy asked for...) Billy replied, "a ship of hot blondes."
We actually got him vegetables for his garden.
4.) Billy has had the stomach flu plus a fever for a few days. He was home. I was home. He was a cranky pants and spent most of the time laying on the sofa begging for cuddles and watching every Disney movie we own.
He's back at daycare now that the fever has passed. He's still a cranky pants, but I think that's more from wanting me to stay home with him than from him actually being ill.
And no more mobile posts!
1.) Happy Birthday, Grandma!
2.) Silly glasses... trying on pairs to find a new pair at the store...
He was in such a bad mood that he started screaming about the kids glasses. He DIDN'T want the blue Spiderman glasses that I bought him. Nope. He asked me to give them to other people, stomp on them, throw them in the parking lot...whatever. But when we got home he was so proud of them that he wore them through dinner and then went to bed with them on. He loves them now.
3.) Happy Father's Day to Daddy:
I asked Billy what he wanted to get Daddy for Father's Day (this is what Billy thought Daddy wanted, not what Daddy asked for...) Billy replied, "a ship of hot blondes."
We actually got him vegetables for his garden.
4.) Billy has had the stomach flu plus a fever for a few days. He was home. I was home. He was a cranky pants and spent most of the time laying on the sofa begging for cuddles and watching every Disney movie we own.
He's back at daycare now that the fever has passed. He's still a cranky pants, but I think that's more from wanting me to stay home with him than from him actually being ill.
And no more mobile posts!
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
June 10, 2013 ~ Tomato Storms
Last Thursday I was watching the Discovery Channel when Billy wandered into the TV room. It was well past his bedtime, but we've been having issues getting him to go to sleep. He goes to bed and hangs out for awhile, then gets bored and gets up to wander around. Sometimes outside. Sometimes downstairs. I have a few gray hairs from his wanderings.
Anyway, seeing that there was no chance of him immediately going back to sleep, I allowed him to watch the last 10 minutes of Mythbusters with me. At least it was science, right?
As soon as the show was over there was footage of that terrible tornado the week before with pictures of the storm chasers that were killed. I am actually a huge fan of Storm Chasers the show. When Team Twistex was killed it was very upsetting to me, not that I know them personally. My attention, was therefore immediately drawn and I erred in not turning off the TV as soon as the programming changed.
Billy got to see that same tornado from last week pick up two cars and chuck them down the road and then pick up a house, reminiscent of the Wizard of Oz. He was hooked.
I changed the channel but he begged, "Mommy put the tomato storm back on!" I sent him off to bed instead.
The next morning he went downstairs (an unusual thing) to fetch his movies. He was digging through them, "Mommy, where's the tomato movie?"
"Why?"
"I want to take the tomato movie to school to show my friends!"
Since then I've been hearing a lot about tomatoes. No matter how many times I correct him, he continues to call them tomatoes.
Yesterday our region was treated to a rare outbreak of tornadoes. It's not that we don't get them. We get a lot of watches and warnings, but not like in Tornado Alley. However, before I even left work there had been documented funnel clouds.
I have on my iPhone the Weather Channel App. Everyone should have this app. It beeps with the same sound as the Emergency Alert System and it's loud. It kept going off, since our house was directly in the path of the storm.
I decided to put the local weather on while we sat in our "safe spot". I can see the tv from there. Billy was THRILLED. "More tomatoes, Mommy!"
Luckily, we just got heavy rain and a few thunder rumbles. When the local stations stopped showing round the clock coverage he was so sad. "But Mommy, I want more tomato show!"
Yep. He's obsessed. Here's to no more tomatoes. He'll just have to be disappointed.
Anyway, seeing that there was no chance of him immediately going back to sleep, I allowed him to watch the last 10 minutes of Mythbusters with me. At least it was science, right?
As soon as the show was over there was footage of that terrible tornado the week before with pictures of the storm chasers that were killed. I am actually a huge fan of Storm Chasers the show. When Team Twistex was killed it was very upsetting to me, not that I know them personally. My attention, was therefore immediately drawn and I erred in not turning off the TV as soon as the programming changed.
Billy got to see that same tornado from last week pick up two cars and chuck them down the road and then pick up a house, reminiscent of the Wizard of Oz. He was hooked.
I changed the channel but he begged, "Mommy put the tomato storm back on!" I sent him off to bed instead.
The next morning he went downstairs (an unusual thing) to fetch his movies. He was digging through them, "Mommy, where's the tomato movie?"
"Why?"
"I want to take the tomato movie to school to show my friends!"
Since then I've been hearing a lot about tomatoes. No matter how many times I correct him, he continues to call them tomatoes.
Yesterday our region was treated to a rare outbreak of tornadoes. It's not that we don't get them. We get a lot of watches and warnings, but not like in Tornado Alley. However, before I even left work there had been documented funnel clouds.
I have on my iPhone the Weather Channel App. Everyone should have this app. It beeps with the same sound as the Emergency Alert System and it's loud. It kept going off, since our house was directly in the path of the storm.
I decided to put the local weather on while we sat in our "safe spot". I can see the tv from there. Billy was THRILLED. "More tomatoes, Mommy!"
Luckily, we just got heavy rain and a few thunder rumbles. When the local stations stopped showing round the clock coverage he was so sad. "But Mommy, I want more tomato show!"
Yep. He's obsessed. Here's to no more tomatoes. He'll just have to be disappointed.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
The Sunday Post ~ The Little Boy With Wings
It was somewhere around the time that my son declared his favorite color to be pink that I started thinking about the inequities between girls and boys.
For the longest time I have always considered that girls had the short end of the straw, and certainly as adults that may occasionally be the case. But our world is ever more gender neutral. And I started thinking about all of the things I could do as a child that my son is not supposed to do.
There were days that I was the girly girl with pink dresses and dolls and tea parties full of lace. And then I would cast those off for blue shorts and soccer balls and riding bikes. Anything a boy could do I could do too. There were no limits.
So, with my two year old son in love with pink, I dragged him off to the clothing store to buy him some clothes. But there was no pink to be found. Not for boys anyway. The girls section is like a rainbow with every color you could imagine. Want to dress your little girl in navy blue or brown? They have it. Orange, red, teal, green? Not a problem.
But try to find a nice polo shirt in pink that's not dripping in bows and frills. The boys colors- even for the little ones- are blues and greens and browns or orange. Often darker, muted colors. He's immediately attracted to the vibrant pastels and bright jewel tones offered to the girls. And with a look of disappointment I have to point him away from those to the limited boys section, half the size of the girls' offerings.
And then there are shoes. Girls can wear shiny shoes, glitter shoes, every color shoe. And he wants to know why he can't have glitter shoes. Why all of his shoes are blue or black or brown. And I have to tell him, "because you're a boy."
He sees me painting my nails and doing my makeup and he wants to do it too. I have to tell him, "you can't, because you're a boy." But then I stop myself.
Why?
He's not trying to be a girl. He's only two. He has no concept of gender. He's seeing me be "creative." I'm painting. Yes, sure I'm painting my nails. And I'm painting color onto my face. This isn't about looking like a girl to him. This is about creativity and having fun. It would be the same as if I were putting a sticker on my shirt. Of course, he would want to as well.
In the airport one day he asked if I would put his hair up in a ponytail. He has a boy cut, so the best I could accomplish was a top knot. I was shocked at how many people complimented me on my little girl. My "girl" dressed in boy colors in a polo and shorts and rugged shoes. But despite every other indication that he was a boy, everyone assumed by a navy blue hair tie that this must be a girl. Even a gay couple assumed he was a girl, proving that even those that break the social "norm" of male are still biased by it.
And I have to wonder if I'm harming my little boy by allowing him to venture into the realm of things that are girl?
But how can I stop him?
He wants to play with girl toys. Sure, he loves to play with balls and cars and sticks. But equally he wants to play with ponies and fairies and play dress up. When did ponies become a girl only toy? Certainly My Little Ponies are plastered in pink, but he loves pink. And he thinks horses are cool. He wants to play with them. He wants to dress up like a princess one day and a fireman the next. And I have to stop myself from telling him to "stop playing like a girl."
Why shouldn't he want to play with ponies or fairies? Why must he be relegated to playing cops and robbers or pirates? These are violent things that he's not into right now. Why should I force it?
And so, after watching a Tinker Bell movie with boy and girl fairies in it, he wanted to have a pair of fairy wings. My husband scoffed at the idea. "Those are for girls." I had a pair of my own tucked away in the attic, so I fetched them for my son. He immediately put them on and wore them all day. He was so proud of himself.
And I realized this is not about girl vs. boy. It's not a gender issue. I still teach him the social "norm" but I'm not going to hinder his play. This is about a little boy wanting to express his creativity and his imagination. I want to give him this freedom. So I gave him wings.
For the longest time I have always considered that girls had the short end of the straw, and certainly as adults that may occasionally be the case. But our world is ever more gender neutral. And I started thinking about all of the things I could do as a child that my son is not supposed to do.
There were days that I was the girly girl with pink dresses and dolls and tea parties full of lace. And then I would cast those off for blue shorts and soccer balls and riding bikes. Anything a boy could do I could do too. There were no limits.
So, with my two year old son in love with pink, I dragged him off to the clothing store to buy him some clothes. But there was no pink to be found. Not for boys anyway. The girls section is like a rainbow with every color you could imagine. Want to dress your little girl in navy blue or brown? They have it. Orange, red, teal, green? Not a problem.
But try to find a nice polo shirt in pink that's not dripping in bows and frills. The boys colors- even for the little ones- are blues and greens and browns or orange. Often darker, muted colors. He's immediately attracted to the vibrant pastels and bright jewel tones offered to the girls. And with a look of disappointment I have to point him away from those to the limited boys section, half the size of the girls' offerings.
And then there are shoes. Girls can wear shiny shoes, glitter shoes, every color shoe. And he wants to know why he can't have glitter shoes. Why all of his shoes are blue or black or brown. And I have to tell him, "because you're a boy."
He sees me painting my nails and doing my makeup and he wants to do it too. I have to tell him, "you can't, because you're a boy." But then I stop myself.
Why?
He's not trying to be a girl. He's only two. He has no concept of gender. He's seeing me be "creative." I'm painting. Yes, sure I'm painting my nails. And I'm painting color onto my face. This isn't about looking like a girl to him. This is about creativity and having fun. It would be the same as if I were putting a sticker on my shirt. Of course, he would want to as well.
In the airport one day he asked if I would put his hair up in a ponytail. He has a boy cut, so the best I could accomplish was a top knot. I was shocked at how many people complimented me on my little girl. My "girl" dressed in boy colors in a polo and shorts and rugged shoes. But despite every other indication that he was a boy, everyone assumed by a navy blue hair tie that this must be a girl. Even a gay couple assumed he was a girl, proving that even those that break the social "norm" of male are still biased by it.
And I have to wonder if I'm harming my little boy by allowing him to venture into the realm of things that are girl?
But how can I stop him?
He wants to play with girl toys. Sure, he loves to play with balls and cars and sticks. But equally he wants to play with ponies and fairies and play dress up. When did ponies become a girl only toy? Certainly My Little Ponies are plastered in pink, but he loves pink. And he thinks horses are cool. He wants to play with them. He wants to dress up like a princess one day and a fireman the next. And I have to stop myself from telling him to "stop playing like a girl."
Why shouldn't he want to play with ponies or fairies? Why must he be relegated to playing cops and robbers or pirates? These are violent things that he's not into right now. Why should I force it?
And so, after watching a Tinker Bell movie with boy and girl fairies in it, he wanted to have a pair of fairy wings. My husband scoffed at the idea. "Those are for girls." I had a pair of my own tucked away in the attic, so I fetched them for my son. He immediately put them on and wore them all day. He was so proud of himself.
And I realized this is not about girl vs. boy. It's not a gender issue. I still teach him the social "norm" but I'm not going to hinder his play. This is about a little boy wanting to express his creativity and his imagination. I want to give him this freedom. So I gave him wings.
Friday, June 7, 2013
June 6, 2013 ~ Blanket King
He is obsessed with wearing as many blankets as he can. The latest incarnation:
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
June 4, 2013 ~ Out of Control
There are days when Billy is a dream and there are days when he is not.
And when he's not, he's out of control.
Despite all of our best efforts we could not get Billy to behave at all. He refused dinner, tried to paint with his food instead of eat it, ran amok and then some. After multiple time outs he just laughed at our attempts to get him to settle down.
Daddy sent him to bed early.
But then Daddy went and mowed the grassed where he was unavailable to deal with an unruly, screaming toddler.
Billy wasn't tired and he wasn't haven't it.
I keep saying bed shouldn't be a punishment. It only makes him think sleeping is a punishment. It's not. And I don't want bedtime to be harder than it is.
I have no idea what the failure to adhere to timeouts punishment should be. I'm going to have to think up something good. Like worm soup. Just kidding. I've already tried that threat. And he challenges me right back "I want to eat it. Where's my worm soup?"
And when he's not, he's out of control.
Despite all of our best efforts we could not get Billy to behave at all. He refused dinner, tried to paint with his food instead of eat it, ran amok and then some. After multiple time outs he just laughed at our attempts to get him to settle down.
Daddy sent him to bed early.
But then Daddy went and mowed the grassed where he was unavailable to deal with an unruly, screaming toddler.
Billy wasn't tired and he wasn't haven't it.
I keep saying bed shouldn't be a punishment. It only makes him think sleeping is a punishment. It's not. And I don't want bedtime to be harder than it is.
I have no idea what the failure to adhere to timeouts punishment should be. I'm going to have to think up something good. Like worm soup. Just kidding. I've already tried that threat. And he challenges me right back "I want to eat it. Where's my worm soup?"
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Gate Ridge Salad
It's like Watergate Salad or Ambrosia, but with a chocolate twist!
Ingredients:
1/2 container of Original Cool Whip
1 package of chocolate Jello Instant Pudding
1/2 bag of mini marshmallows
1 cup of semi sweet chocolate chips
1/3 cup of diced maraschino cherries
1/2 cup of milk
splash of cherry juice
Mix together the pudding, cool whip, milk and cherry juice. If the consistency is too gloppy, add more milk until you achieve a creamy pudding.
Add the rest of the ingredients and mix thoroughly.
Chill. Serve cold.
Optional: top with chopped pecans when serving. Do not mix nuts into the pudding however, as they will become soggy.
Ingredients:
1/2 container of Original Cool Whip
1 package of chocolate Jello Instant Pudding
1/2 bag of mini marshmallows
1 cup of semi sweet chocolate chips
1/3 cup of diced maraschino cherries
1/2 cup of milk
splash of cherry juice
Mix together the pudding, cool whip, milk and cherry juice. If the consistency is too gloppy, add more milk until you achieve a creamy pudding.
Add the rest of the ingredients and mix thoroughly.
Chill. Serve cold.
Optional: top with chopped pecans when serving. Do not mix nuts into the pudding however, as they will become soggy.
June 3, 2013 ~ First Day of Pre-School
Wait, what? He's only 2!
Yes, but he's actually 2.5 and he's in a classroom with 3.5s, so it's time for pre-school. Today was his first day.
I decided to prepare him for it by telling him he would be in a new classroom this morning before we left for school. We talked about all of the new toys and new adventures he would get to have. He seemed to like that.
I let him wear his favorite shirt to make him feel extra special. It's his favorite because it's the only one with pink on it. It's red and blue plaid, but where the red is "light" it's close to pink. Close enough, anyway.
Then we had to have the talk about toys. Every day he brings in a different toy (or five) to show his friends. Not any more. No toys. Only one stuffed animal, and it cannot rattle. Very limiting. He's not fond of the rules. But he decided on a pooh bear (one that doesn't rattle- we have those too).
And off we go!
Of course he immediately went to his old room when we got to school. I had him hand a present to each of his former teachers and they hugged him and wished him well on his first day in his new room.
Then we wandered into the new room full of bright and shiny toys to play with. Off he went to become a fireman chef and play with his friends. (He saves the world one prepared dinner at a time?) He waved goodbye and that was that.
Being the first day of pre-school Murphy's Law would dictate that I would be late picking him up. Of course. So, I didn't get to talk to his teachers about how his day went. However, he was in a completely different outfit- shoes included. His favorite pooh was missing and we had to go back to school to retrieve it. Once home I realized we were also missing all of his sippy cups and his tennis shoes.
He told me he misses his old teachers and wants to go back to his old room. I think that's to be expected. It's hard to move to a new classroom, have new teachers and new rules. But as Billy likes to tell me every day,
"Mommy, I still growing up. I not done yet."
Yes, but he's actually 2.5 and he's in a classroom with 3.5s, so it's time for pre-school. Today was his first day.
I decided to prepare him for it by telling him he would be in a new classroom this morning before we left for school. We talked about all of the new toys and new adventures he would get to have. He seemed to like that.
I let him wear his favorite shirt to make him feel extra special. It's his favorite because it's the only one with pink on it. It's red and blue plaid, but where the red is "light" it's close to pink. Close enough, anyway.
Then we had to have the talk about toys. Every day he brings in a different toy (or five) to show his friends. Not any more. No toys. Only one stuffed animal, and it cannot rattle. Very limiting. He's not fond of the rules. But he decided on a pooh bear (one that doesn't rattle- we have those too).
And off we go!
Of course he immediately went to his old room when we got to school. I had him hand a present to each of his former teachers and they hugged him and wished him well on his first day in his new room.
Then we wandered into the new room full of bright and shiny toys to play with. Off he went to become a fireman chef and play with his friends. (He saves the world one prepared dinner at a time?) He waved goodbye and that was that.
Being the first day of pre-school Murphy's Law would dictate that I would be late picking him up. Of course. So, I didn't get to talk to his teachers about how his day went. However, he was in a completely different outfit- shoes included. His favorite pooh was missing and we had to go back to school to retrieve it. Once home I realized we were also missing all of his sippy cups and his tennis shoes.
He told me he misses his old teachers and wants to go back to his old room. I think that's to be expected. It's hard to move to a new classroom, have new teachers and new rules. But as Billy likes to tell me every day,
"Mommy, I still growing up. I not done yet."
Monday, June 3, 2013
June 2, 2013 ~ Water Fun
For the first weekend of summer Mother Nature made sure it was a hot one. What better way to break into summer than a weekend of water fun?
Saturday Billy played with his water table for the first time this year. He's been eying it all Spring just waiting for weather warm enough for bathing suits. Then Daddy got out the sprinker. He's run through it before but without much gusto. He didn't like it last year.
I think he's changed his opinion:
The Sunday we made two trips to the pool- one in the morning and one after nap. He's already asking to go off the diving board and down the big water slide. No yet, kiddo.
I post a photo but water and cameras don't get along very well...
Saturday Billy played with his water table for the first time this year. He's been eying it all Spring just waiting for weather warm enough for bathing suits. Then Daddy got out the sprinker. He's run through it before but without much gusto. He didn't like it last year.
I think he's changed his opinion:
The Sunday we made two trips to the pool- one in the morning and one after nap. He's already asking to go off the diving board and down the big water slide. No yet, kiddo.
I post a photo but water and cameras don't get along very well...
Sunday, June 2, 2013
The Sunday Post ~ Tiny Terrors on the Loose
When you first have a baby they tell you "It gets easier." Who are they anyway? Then you hear things like, "Don't you just love this stage?" and "cherish every moment."
And you're sleep deprived so you believe them. I mean, your little munchkin is the cutest thing you've ever seen. They spend most of their time in squished into a tiny ball and sleeping. You coo whenever they yawn, burp or rip a fart so loud you can't believe it came from something so tiny. It can only get better.
Then you're warned about the Terrible Twos.
But nobody warns you about the stage between Squishy Ball and Terrible Two. Yeah, there's a whole other stage in there that no one mentions, because if they did you might go running and screaming from this parenthood thing.
Welcome to the Tiny Terror Stage. Okay, okay they can be tiny terrors at just about any age, but this is the age at which they really excel. 6 months-18 months.
It's hard to believe that your Squishy Ball will one day be mobile. Really mobile. But you baby proof all the same, because some day they will, in fact, start crawling around. And then they will find new and inventive ways to attempt to kill themselves.
I don't care how well you baby proof, unless you wrap everything you own in bubble wrap, your child will find that one way to potentially kill themselves in a more creative way than you could ever imagine. In fact, right now your baby is working on a plan to attempt death with the bubble wrap. Scratch the bubble wrap.
You may think you can outsmart this tiny person. But rest assured, they are smarter than you. You can clean your floors until the cows come home, and still they will find that one clump of dog hair you missed. And shove it in their mouth. Probably in front of company- just for effect.
Your once Squishy Ball is now a fully mobile, non-speaking, non-listening, incredibly bored little one intent on finding something interesting to do. Having Mommy chase him around and avert mass crises every fifteen minutes is a particularly popular pastime. Enter Tiny Terror.
You're not smarter. You're not faster. Oh, yes. They will outsmart you at every turn. You'll blink and they'll be in the other room attempting to shove sticky, wet fingers into a light socket. I'm pretty sure they have super powers at this stage. No one tells you that.
So when someone says "it gets easier," "don't you just love this stage?" or "cherish every moment" what they're really saying is, "you have no idea what you're in for."
And you're sleep deprived so you believe them. I mean, your little munchkin is the cutest thing you've ever seen. They spend most of their time in squished into a tiny ball and sleeping. You coo whenever they yawn, burp or rip a fart so loud you can't believe it came from something so tiny. It can only get better.
Then you're warned about the Terrible Twos.
But nobody warns you about the stage between Squishy Ball and Terrible Two. Yeah, there's a whole other stage in there that no one mentions, because if they did you might go running and screaming from this parenthood thing.
Welcome to the Tiny Terror Stage. Okay, okay they can be tiny terrors at just about any age, but this is the age at which they really excel. 6 months-18 months.
It's hard to believe that your Squishy Ball will one day be mobile. Really mobile. But you baby proof all the same, because some day they will, in fact, start crawling around. And then they will find new and inventive ways to attempt to kill themselves.
I don't care how well you baby proof, unless you wrap everything you own in bubble wrap, your child will find that one way to potentially kill themselves in a more creative way than you could ever imagine. In fact, right now your baby is working on a plan to attempt death with the bubble wrap. Scratch the bubble wrap.
You may think you can outsmart this tiny person. But rest assured, they are smarter than you. You can clean your floors until the cows come home, and still they will find that one clump of dog hair you missed. And shove it in their mouth. Probably in front of company- just for effect.
Your once Squishy Ball is now a fully mobile, non-speaking, non-listening, incredibly bored little one intent on finding something interesting to do. Having Mommy chase him around and avert mass crises every fifteen minutes is a particularly popular pastime. Enter Tiny Terror.
You're not smarter. You're not faster. Oh, yes. They will outsmart you at every turn. You'll blink and they'll be in the other room attempting to shove sticky, wet fingers into a light socket. I'm pretty sure they have super powers at this stage. No one tells you that.
So when someone says "it gets easier," "don't you just love this stage?" or "cherish every moment" what they're really saying is, "you have no idea what you're in for."
Saturday, June 1, 2013
May 31, 2013 ~ When Buddy's Done
"Mommy, when Buddy's done being a boy and he can growed up and be a girl people. He can have hair and this mouth."
"He can have your mouth?"
"No silly Mommy. My mouth is attached to me."
"Okay."
"And he can be a girl and have hair- after he's done being a boy. And he can paint his toes pink. And his tongue. Haha."
"He's going to paint his tongue?"
"Haha, no! His tongue is already pink!"
Friday, May 31, 2013
May 30, 2013 ~ Pre-school
Billy starts pre-school on Monday. Oh, yeah. That's right. Pre-school.
And pre-school (aka still the same daycare, but a different teacher) has a bunch of new rules. There's homework folders, take home folders, and other folders.
Wait... homework???
Yes. I now have, erm- I mean Billy- now has 1-3 homework assignments to be completed each week. We already have the first one.
I have to- I mean Billy- has to take a photo of his family, print it out, attach it to a provided quilt square and then decorate said quilt square. I'm so fortunate that my two year old can work a camera, a computer, a printer and has mad art skills and the ability to work with fabric.
I look forward to all of this homework I - I mean Billy- will be doing.
And now instead of the previously provided breakfast that has made my mornings so much easier, I will be responsible to feed him breakfast prior to school- I mean daycare- I mean school. How much am I paying them?
And new rules state there are to be no binkies and no luvies in the classroom after the first month. I guess we have to kill the binky habit pronto, huh. It's a good thing my highly advanced kid can self-soothe without a luvie or binky at the ripe old age of 2.
I'm pretty sure I slept with a luvie until at least 5 or 6. Man, was I way behind.
BUT, they also have to take turns babysitting a school-owned luvie on the weekends and writing in the journal everything that the luvie did. I'm so glad my pre-schooler is so advanced that he can "write."
This is some serious learning going on here.
Which I would be inclined to take more seriously if the welcome packet wasn't littered with spelling and grammatical errors in such high quantity that I'm pretty sure one of the advanced pre-schoolers "wrote" it.
And pre-school (aka still the same daycare, but a different teacher) has a bunch of new rules. There's homework folders, take home folders, and other folders.
Wait... homework???
Yes. I now have, erm- I mean Billy- now has 1-3 homework assignments to be completed each week. We already have the first one.
I have to- I mean Billy- has to take a photo of his family, print it out, attach it to a provided quilt square and then decorate said quilt square. I'm so fortunate that my two year old can work a camera, a computer, a printer and has mad art skills and the ability to work with fabric.
I look forward to all of this homework I - I mean Billy- will be doing.
And now instead of the previously provided breakfast that has made my mornings so much easier, I will be responsible to feed him breakfast prior to school- I mean daycare- I mean school. How much am I paying them?
And new rules state there are to be no binkies and no luvies in the classroom after the first month. I guess we have to kill the binky habit pronto, huh. It's a good thing my highly advanced kid can self-soothe without a luvie or binky at the ripe old age of 2.
I'm pretty sure I slept with a luvie until at least 5 or 6. Man, was I way behind.
BUT, they also have to take turns babysitting a school-owned luvie on the weekends and writing in the journal everything that the luvie did. I'm so glad my pre-schooler is so advanced that he can "write."
This is some serious learning going on here.
Which I would be inclined to take more seriously if the welcome packet wasn't littered with spelling and grammatical errors in such high quantity that I'm pretty sure one of the advanced pre-schoolers "wrote" it.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
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