One of D's frequent comments in the last several months has been, "What a busy day, Momma!" I'm sure he got this from hearing me say it, but I'm not sure exactly what it means to him. Sometimes he, very appropriately, says it in the car on the way home in the afternoon, when, indeed, we have had a full day of fun. Recently, though, he said it to me on a gloomy Friday morning when I was stressed and exhausted and had allowed him to watch at least an hour of TV. "What a busy day, Momma!" uttered at 10AM after the end of Sesame Street seems to miss the point.
In any case, the teacher in me responded to this comment eagerly. It seemed an ideal opportunity to work on some language, recall, and sequencing skills by recapping all that we had done that day. I'd ask him to help me, and he consistently seemed unable to recall or express his recollections about the day's events, so I'd proceed with a careful retelling. "We had breakfast, we played with play-doh, we went to your friend Danny's house, we came home and had lunch..."
Alex had just recently expressed concern that we not encourage this line of thinking too much. We both desire that our kids' lives would not be defined by the cultural idol of busy-ness, so despite D's foggy understanding of the concept, we don't want to encourage him to equate full or fun with "busy." So lately as D has said, "What a busy day, Momma," I've tried to respond instead by saying, "Yes, we've had some fun today. What was your favorite part about today?"
But still he resisted becoming any part of the retelling process. Not sure what's going on in his mind.
In the last couple of days, the phrase, still oft-repeated, goes like this: "What a busy day, Momma, I don't want to talk about it."
Friday, April 20, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Disequilibrium
My favorite series of child development books, called Your One-Year-Old, Your Two-Year-Old, etc..., published by the Gessell Developmental folks, assert that about every 6 months for the first 5 years, children hit a point of disequilibrium. This means that their cognitive, language, emotional, and physical skills aren't all in sync, and for a time, this shows up in all kids of maladjustment to the world.
In our house, we are experiencing disequilibrium right now. It started a week or so ago when suddenly, D began having trouble falling asleep at night. His previously reliable routine of being put to bed at 7:30, playing for a few minutes, and then sleeping for the rest of the night was replaced by being put to bed at 7:30, playing for a couple of hours, needing some intervention from Mommy and Daddy, finally falling asleep at 9 or 10, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night, and then waking up by 6:30 every morning. This results in a tired, cranky three year old who can be, for the first time in several months, convinced to nap in the afternoon, the nap then kicking off the same cycle at bedtime.
Disequilibrium also means that D is incredibly hungry right now. As soon as a meal is over, he begins asking for more food. He needs snack before we leave in the mornings to do whatever outing is planned, snack on the way there, snack while we're there, snack on the way home, and lunch when we arrive at home. He is ravenous and willing to eat whatever I will give him, which convinces me it is not a ploy for junk food, as most of what I'm offering between meals is a steady flow of fruit, cheese, and Cheerios.
But disequilibrium also has a much darker side. It means he wakes up in the morning literally having a temper tantrum as he awakens. Once finally settled and filled with food, he relaxes for some play, but as the morning begins, he is particularly aggressive with his sister and is for the first time sneaky about attacking when my back is turned. Once I find separate activities for my two offspring, he settles in for a bit. Then something imperceptible to me but earth-shattering to him happens... his toy train hits a bump, he can't find the purple egg, the wind blows the wrong way... and the immediacy and extent of his rage and frustration is shocking to me. He throws things. He yells. He uses the worst words he knows; "poopy" and "No, Mama" are about all he has to offer in this department, but he means them as if they were the worst words I know. He won't obey. He hits Z on his way to time-out. He hurls things on the way to his room.
When I finish taking a deep breath and praying for God's insight into this tornado that is my child, I walk into his room, and the still, small voice tells me to pull him onto my lap. To talk quietly and with understanding. To affirm that it's hard to obey. To talk about options for handling frustration. To tell him I love him. To pray with him for Jesus's help in making good choices.
I don't want to validate his extreme, inappropriate behavior. I'll keep sending him to time-out and to his room when he loses control. Part of me wants to yell and scream and spank. Yet it's clear to me that this season of disequilibrium is also a season of growth. So I'm just praying for the wisdom to guide him gently, patiently, firmly through this season without being driven to throw things myself.
In our house, we are experiencing disequilibrium right now. It started a week or so ago when suddenly, D began having trouble falling asleep at night. His previously reliable routine of being put to bed at 7:30, playing for a few minutes, and then sleeping for the rest of the night was replaced by being put to bed at 7:30, playing for a couple of hours, needing some intervention from Mommy and Daddy, finally falling asleep at 9 or 10, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night, and then waking up by 6:30 every morning. This results in a tired, cranky three year old who can be, for the first time in several months, convinced to nap in the afternoon, the nap then kicking off the same cycle at bedtime.
Disequilibrium also means that D is incredibly hungry right now. As soon as a meal is over, he begins asking for more food. He needs snack before we leave in the mornings to do whatever outing is planned, snack on the way there, snack while we're there, snack on the way home, and lunch when we arrive at home. He is ravenous and willing to eat whatever I will give him, which convinces me it is not a ploy for junk food, as most of what I'm offering between meals is a steady flow of fruit, cheese, and Cheerios.
But disequilibrium also has a much darker side. It means he wakes up in the morning literally having a temper tantrum as he awakens. Once finally settled and filled with food, he relaxes for some play, but as the morning begins, he is particularly aggressive with his sister and is for the first time sneaky about attacking when my back is turned. Once I find separate activities for my two offspring, he settles in for a bit. Then something imperceptible to me but earth-shattering to him happens... his toy train hits a bump, he can't find the purple egg, the wind blows the wrong way... and the immediacy and extent of his rage and frustration is shocking to me. He throws things. He yells. He uses the worst words he knows; "poopy" and "No, Mama" are about all he has to offer in this department, but he means them as if they were the worst words I know. He won't obey. He hits Z on his way to time-out. He hurls things on the way to his room.
When I finish taking a deep breath and praying for God's insight into this tornado that is my child, I walk into his room, and the still, small voice tells me to pull him onto my lap. To talk quietly and with understanding. To affirm that it's hard to obey. To talk about options for handling frustration. To tell him I love him. To pray with him for Jesus's help in making good choices.
I don't want to validate his extreme, inappropriate behavior. I'll keep sending him to time-out and to his room when he loses control. Part of me wants to yell and scream and spank. Yet it's clear to me that this season of disequilibrium is also a season of growth. So I'm just praying for the wisdom to guide him gently, patiently, firmly through this season without being driven to throw things myself.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Noodles
In an attempt to distract her from tormenting her brother by stealing his trains and ripping apart the track, I settle Z in the kitchen on a big beach towel with a large container full of dry pasta and various spoons, scoops, and bowls. My goal is to get some kitchen work done while she plays contentedly, but I find myself captivated by watching her.
At 15 months, she is 24 pounds of delightful chubbiness. Her cheeks are round and just begging to be kissed, her arms plump, her hands dimpled and sweet. The back of her head is a mass of curls; her hazel eyes shine. She is totally focused on scooping and dumping the pasta, squatting down like a Chinese man at a bus stop, tongue rolled in concentration. After a successful scoop and dump maneuver- pretty impressive for such a little one- she stands victoriously, wide-eyed and grinning, knowing that I will be ready to celebrate this monumental accomplishment. And I clap and squeal with true delight. And I can't believe she has made it this far without being devoured by my kisses. But she is too busy to be slowed down by such shows of affection. There is still more pasta to be scooped and dumped, and so she squats down again, back at her task, completely oblivious to the joy she brings to my heart, but aware nonetheless that I am there, watching for the next chance to celebrate with her.
At 15 months, she is 24 pounds of delightful chubbiness. Her cheeks are round and just begging to be kissed, her arms plump, her hands dimpled and sweet. The back of her head is a mass of curls; her hazel eyes shine. She is totally focused on scooping and dumping the pasta, squatting down like a Chinese man at a bus stop, tongue rolled in concentration. After a successful scoop and dump maneuver- pretty impressive for such a little one- she stands victoriously, wide-eyed and grinning, knowing that I will be ready to celebrate this monumental accomplishment. And I clap and squeal with true delight. And I can't believe she has made it this far without being devoured by my kisses. But she is too busy to be slowed down by such shows of affection. There is still more pasta to be scooped and dumped, and so she squats down again, back at her task, completely oblivious to the joy she brings to my heart, but aware nonetheless that I am there, watching for the next chance to celebrate with her.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Yucky
One of the delights of being a three year old boy is to discover a slightly naughty/off-color word and use it prolific-ly. So D has discovered "yucky" and finds it very convenient to describe things which are distasteful as well as things he doesn't like, things he does like, things that are silly, things that aren't yucky at all, and so on. Today, he threw his arms around me and said, "Momma, I love you so much in the whole yucky world." Pretty high praise, I thought.
To Be Three
He comes in to wake me up in the morning with a bucket full of trains, his 5 favorites, and 2 blankies and baby. "Look, Mama, at my trains!" he exclaims with delight, as though Thomas, Percy, James, Rheneas, and Molly are new to him again this day. He is so proud that he can jump high and run fast and pee-pee in the potty. He works intently at beautiful masterpieces of fingerpaint, crayon, marker, and bathtub paint and is pleased with his careful, colorful work. He counts and sings and recognizes the letters of his name and those in his sister's. He relishes time with his buddies, chasing and running until I am exhausted just watching. On his own, he rides his bike and shoots hoops and chases down bubbles and plays in the sandbox with his sister. He assists in the kitchen, dumping and mixing and stirring and proudly presenting his creations. He wrestles and chases with Daddy with glee. He makes up silly songs and silly words and loves to be the source of a good laugh. He is tender and gentle with his sister, reading her a story and kissing her gently. He knocks her over when she gets too close to his block tower. He is angry when he has to go to time out, but then repentent, and he throws his arms around me and tells me he loves me. He reports honestly to Daddy that he was sad and threw toys today. He asks politely for drinks and snacks, and sometimes he demands these things and has to be reminded to ask nicely. He likes to be read to, book upon book upon book, even the stories that go on forever. He really likes to watch TV. And, oh, that laugh...the delighted giggle that gurgles up at something which catches his fancy. If I could bottle that free, joyful, pure laugh... Then the day is done, and he is clean and sweet after a bath, and stories are read and songs sung and prayers offered, and the lights are off and the door closed. And then the light comes back on again and there is some muffled noise from that blue bedroom upstairs which finally quiets. I go in to turn off the light on my way to bed, and there he is, that angelic face, curled up with Thomas and Percy and James and Rheneas and Molly and 2 blankies and baby...my baby, my big three year old.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
And one on the way...
We're expecting a third baby-- a surprise, for sure, but one we've embraced fully. However, I often wonder how I'm going to handle the 3-under-4 scenario. My dear friend Kristin in Vancouver just asked me how I was feeling about this one on the way, and here is a bit of my response to her:
"This pregnancy is, by far, the tiredest one I've had, but now that I'm over the first bit, I am more optimistic and excited about this next babe. Most of the time. Except for when my adorable and willful 1 year old spends the day tantruming and my sweet and emotional 3 year old spends the day testing my limits...and then I really don't know what I'm going to do to muster up the energy for another. But some days I just can't get enough of the chubby cheeks and the bright eyes and the hilarious comments and the explosion of learning and the sweet affection that fills our house...and then I wonder why we wouldn't want to add another one! "
"This pregnancy is, by far, the tiredest one I've had, but now that I'm over the first bit, I am more optimistic and excited about this next babe. Most of the time. Except for when my adorable and willful 1 year old spends the day tantruming and my sweet and emotional 3 year old spends the day testing my limits...and then I really don't know what I'm going to do to muster up the energy for another. But some days I just can't get enough of the chubby cheeks and the bright eyes and the hilarious comments and the explosion of learning and the sweet affection that fills our house...and then I wonder why we wouldn't want to add another one! "
The Title
Haven't yet mentioned why I titled this blog "So Much in the Whole World." This is a reference to my sweet son, who frequently pronounces, "Mommy (or Daddy, or Z), I love you SO much in the whole world!" D, we love you so much in the whole world.
Caterpillar Torture
Early spring in North Carolina is a delightful time. The air is warm, everything's blooming, and those pesky mosquitoes seem to still be slumbering. We spend most of our days outside where, to D's delight, about a zillion caterpillars have hatched and are climbing all over the patio near the sandbox. He is enthralled with them. In his big pink cup, he collects as many as he can possibly hunt, provides them with choice grass, leaves them in my care to ride his scooter for a while, and checks back in on them regularly. Z, on the other hand, prefers a more intimate level of connection. She gets down nose-to-nose with a caterpillar, right up in it's "face," and yells "HI!! bi-bi-bi-bi" [caterpillar]. Not sure which caterpillars are most tormented, the ones in a pink cup with 100 of their closest friends, or the ones who experience heart failure when yelled at by a one year old.
I've Caved
... and started a blog. But not so anyone will read it. At the end of my days, most of which are spent with my kids, my head is full of stories and moments that I hope I won't ever forget, and yet considering I can't remember the three items I need at the grocery store five minutes after I leave the house, this hardly seems likely. So I've intended to write all these musings down in a journal, but the journal remains blank, and my head is full. I find myself at the computer most evenings, a convenient time and place to write. Here, then, is my attempt at preserving some precious memories.
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