This morning Craig and I were still sleeping when Isaac woke up at 7:10. Through the baby monitor we heard him calling out, calm yet insistent: "I want Dad or Mama to come get you from your room and bring you into the big bed in Mama and Dad bedroom."
Well, it pays to be precise -- and thorough -- when specifying what you want. Although a simple "Mama!" would have accomplished the same thing.
He has picked up a few phrases of precision from his parents as well. Isaac sometimes says that an illustration in a book is "supposed to be a picture of a mouse," or whatever. I'm not sure he really understands what "supposed to be" means, because sometimes he seems to use it as just another way to say "is." But I'm sure he learned it from either Craig or me, as we are both vocal in our criticisms of picture book illustrations that don't live up to our standards. (Hey, if it doesn't look quite like a mouse, and he asks me what it is, I'm not going to say, "It's a mouse.")
He also says, when informed that his meal is ready, "Isaac doesn't seem to want any lunch." Perhaps he means that although he is hungry, by God you can't tell him when it's time to eat! Actually, I'm not sure he knows what "seems to" means either. But he's ready to talk now, so he'll just have to figure the language out as he goes along.
I hope he continues to take linguistic chances when he's older. If you're used to getting everything right, it's easy to get intimidated and stop using interesting new words -- you're afraid someone is going to notice you've gotten it wrong and correct you. I hope he makes the leap of faith necessary to try new intellectual challenges, even though he will most certainly get things wrong along the way.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
The evening's entertainment
For the past 15 minutes or so Craig and I have been listening to Isaac talk to himself through the baby monitor. We're trying to ease him back into the habit of falling asleep without anyone else in the room -- which he used to be able to do, for a period of about two weeks, about four months ago. If Isaac gets upset or calls for us, we go back into his room. But so far tonight he's been very cheerful. Not asleep, mind you, but cheerful.
He likes to quote from books, recite nursery rhymes, and sing songs as he falls asleep. We like to listen to him. Sometimes it can be a challenge to decipher what he's saying through the monitor, but this makes the evening's entertainment even more entertaining. It's like a revue of childhood favorites crossed with "Name that Tune."
We heard the nursery rhyme "Boys and Girls Come out to Play," and then the song "Waltzing Matilda." He sang a few verses of "Michael Finnegan," followed by the recitation of "Hot Cross Buns" and "Jack and Jill," with an immediate segue into a musical version of "Shoo Fly."
Then came a series of phrases we didn't recognize. It ended, "Bick, bick, bick, all around the town." Craig and I looked at each other in puzzlement. Was it a new verse from "The Wheels on the Bus"?
Then Isaac provided clarification. "Isaac making book up. Daddy doesn't know that one."
Well, that was true.
- - - - -
And eventually he fell asleep!
He likes to quote from books, recite nursery rhymes, and sing songs as he falls asleep. We like to listen to him. Sometimes it can be a challenge to decipher what he's saying through the monitor, but this makes the evening's entertainment even more entertaining. It's like a revue of childhood favorites crossed with "Name that Tune."
We heard the nursery rhyme "Boys and Girls Come out to Play," and then the song "Waltzing Matilda." He sang a few verses of "Michael Finnegan," followed by the recitation of "Hot Cross Buns" and "Jack and Jill," with an immediate segue into a musical version of "Shoo Fly."
Then came a series of phrases we didn't recognize. It ended, "Bick, bick, bick, all around the town." Craig and I looked at each other in puzzlement. Was it a new verse from "The Wheels on the Bus"?
Then Isaac provided clarification. "Isaac making book up. Daddy doesn't know that one."
Well, that was true.
- - - - -
And eventually he fell asleep!
Games Isaac plays
In addition to all his regular favorites -- tools, vehicles, kitchen gear, and books -- Isaac has recently developed some new games:
"Smell some soaps"
About a month ago, Isaac and I went to a health food store and picked out scented soap products; two weeks later we returned with Craig and picked out some more. Since then, the process of examining soaps -- or, as Isaac calls it, "smell some soaps" -- has become a favorite game.
Isaac will approach me with a bottle or two of shampoo under his arm. Then he says, "May I please smell that soap?" This, you understand, is my line.
"May I please smell that soap?" I say obligingly. He unscrews the cap of the bottle and presents it to me. I take a whiff, and say, "Mmm, smells like apricot." He screws the cap back on again.
Then he says, "Will you open the cap for me?" This, you realize, is my line.
"Will you open the cap for me?" I say obediently. He does so, and again holds out the bottle. I lean over and take another whiff.
He usually plays this game with my apricot shampoo and conditioner, but sometimes he likes to go around to all the bathrooms until he has collected quite an assortment of bottles. Sometimes he'll use his play shopping cart to gather them, and then he lines them up on the coffee table. After just a few minutes of this game -- I've been required to smell apricot, grapefruit, tea tree oil, coconut, and lemon scents -- my nose rebels, and I try to pretend to smell.
"Build some funny vehicles"
For Christmas in 2006, Isaac's paternal grandparents gave him some Lego-style vehicles (they're technically called Mega-Bloks). The body of the vehicle snaps onto the chassis in two components for mix-and-match fun -- you have a choice of bulldozer cab, truck cab, backhoe back, dump truck back, or cement mixer back. There are also some plain blocks which fit onto the chassis.
For an entire year, Isaac used these toys only as whole vehicles. He didn't have the dexterity to remove the components himself, and he didn't appreciate the humor when an adult created, say, a cement truck with a bulldozer blade. But suddenly this December he discovered he could remove the component blocks himself.
He also discovered the toy's humorous possibilities, and very quickly he developed a game he calls "build some funny vehicles." Sometimes this means a two-cabbed vehicle, or one with no cab at all, or (his favorite) one with a bunch of extra blocks inserted between the chassis and the components to make the vehicle tall and off-center.
After he constructs a vehicle, he holds it up so I can see it, and he says, "What?!" He says it in exaggerated disbelief, with five drawn-out syllables, more like, "Wha-a-a-a-t?!" This, you gather, is my line.
"What?!" I say obediently. Sometimes he also prompts me to say, "That's the funniest truck I've ever seen!"
This activity can go on for 20 minutes, which makes it an excellent game for me to play while blogging or checking email. Often he builds the same vehicle over and over again, because there are a finite number of components. I say "What?!" every single time, though.
"Mama needs a hug"
Isaac puts on a sad face and says in a pitiful little voice, "Mama needs a hug." This, you comprehend, is my line.
"Mama needs a hug," I say obligingly. I also use a pitiful little voice and put on a sad face. Isaac gives me a big hug, and I cheer up immediately. (Wouldn't you?)
There are variations on this game, most notably "Mama needs a kiss." I tried to encourage Isaac's interest in playing "Mama needs a nap" one afternoon when I was lying down, but he kept hugging me and sleep was impossible.
- - - - -
All of these are tightly -- if minimally -- scripted games, where the words spoken seldom vary, and where the words are equal in importance to the props and activities. I can't help but wonder what this says about Isaac's personality.
"Smell some soaps"
About a month ago, Isaac and I went to a health food store and picked out scented soap products; two weeks later we returned with Craig and picked out some more. Since then, the process of examining soaps -- or, as Isaac calls it, "smell some soaps" -- has become a favorite game.
Isaac will approach me with a bottle or two of shampoo under his arm. Then he says, "May I please smell that soap?" This, you understand, is my line.
"May I please smell that soap?" I say obligingly. He unscrews the cap of the bottle and presents it to me. I take a whiff, and say, "Mmm, smells like apricot." He screws the cap back on again.
Then he says, "Will you open the cap for me?" This, you realize, is my line.
"Will you open the cap for me?" I say obediently. He does so, and again holds out the bottle. I lean over and take another whiff.
He usually plays this game with my apricot shampoo and conditioner, but sometimes he likes to go around to all the bathrooms until he has collected quite an assortment of bottles. Sometimes he'll use his play shopping cart to gather them, and then he lines them up on the coffee table. After just a few minutes of this game -- I've been required to smell apricot, grapefruit, tea tree oil, coconut, and lemon scents -- my nose rebels, and I try to pretend to smell.
"Build some funny vehicles"
For Christmas in 2006, Isaac's paternal grandparents gave him some Lego-style vehicles (they're technically called Mega-Bloks). The body of the vehicle snaps onto the chassis in two components for mix-and-match fun -- you have a choice of bulldozer cab, truck cab, backhoe back, dump truck back, or cement mixer back. There are also some plain blocks which fit onto the chassis.
For an entire year, Isaac used these toys only as whole vehicles. He didn't have the dexterity to remove the components himself, and he didn't appreciate the humor when an adult created, say, a cement truck with a bulldozer blade. But suddenly this December he discovered he could remove the component blocks himself.
He also discovered the toy's humorous possibilities, and very quickly he developed a game he calls "build some funny vehicles." Sometimes this means a two-cabbed vehicle, or one with no cab at all, or (his favorite) one with a bunch of extra blocks inserted between the chassis and the components to make the vehicle tall and off-center.
After he constructs a vehicle, he holds it up so I can see it, and he says, "What?!" He says it in exaggerated disbelief, with five drawn-out syllables, more like, "Wha-a-a-a-t?!" This, you gather, is my line.
"What?!" I say obediently. Sometimes he also prompts me to say, "That's the funniest truck I've ever seen!"
This activity can go on for 20 minutes, which makes it an excellent game for me to play while blogging or checking email. Often he builds the same vehicle over and over again, because there are a finite number of components. I say "What?!" every single time, though.
"Mama needs a hug"
Isaac puts on a sad face and says in a pitiful little voice, "Mama needs a hug." This, you comprehend, is my line.
"Mama needs a hug," I say obligingly. I also use a pitiful little voice and put on a sad face. Isaac gives me a big hug, and I cheer up immediately. (Wouldn't you?)
There are variations on this game, most notably "Mama needs a kiss." I tried to encourage Isaac's interest in playing "Mama needs a nap" one afternoon when I was lying down, but he kept hugging me and sleep was impossible.
- - - - -
All of these are tightly -- if minimally -- scripted games, where the words spoken seldom vary, and where the words are equal in importance to the props and activities. I can't help but wonder what this says about Isaac's personality.
Watchful eye (and ear)
Although I usually sit with Isaac until he falls asleep, I've recently begun leaving the room while he's still awake. I wait until he's drowsy and content and doesn't seem to need a lot of input from me. Then I tell him I'm going to get a drink of water or see what Craig is doing.
Tonight as I left the room, I heard Isaac say to himself, "Now there's no one to keep an eye on you."
As if, kid. As if.
- - - - -
Tonight it didn't work. We could tell from listening to the baby monitor that Isaac stayed quiet after I left the room, so we figured he had fallen asleep, but five minutes later he suddenly began calling for me and Craig. He sounded upset.
When Craig went to him, Isaac said, "You listened through baby monitor! I said 'Daddy come' and Daddy came!"
And he was happily, securely asleep about six minutes later.
Tonight as I left the room, I heard Isaac say to himself, "Now there's no one to keep an eye on you."
As if, kid. As if.
- - - - -
Tonight it didn't work. We could tell from listening to the baby monitor that Isaac stayed quiet after I left the room, so we figured he had fallen asleep, but five minutes later he suddenly began calling for me and Craig. He sounded upset.
When Craig went to him, Isaac said, "You listened through baby monitor! I said 'Daddy come' and Daddy came!"
And he was happily, securely asleep about six minutes later.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Politics
The presidential candidate who wins the 2008 election will be the first president that Isaac will remember. After all, Isaac will be three years old by the time the election happens in November 2008, and he'll be seven by the time the next election happens in 2012. So we're electing a president who will serve from Isaac's early childhood right through second grade. Second grade! That's getting pretty old.
I know people who say becoming a parent changed the way they felt about the world, and thus about politics. They suddenly wanted to leave a better world for their offspring, so they started to care about the environment, or education, or world peace. (On the other hand, I suppose some people begin to care about lower taxes so they can leave more of their money to their offspring!)
I don't think Isaac's birth caused me to change my political outlook. I think I was always other-oriented and future-oriented in my politics -- I think government has a responsibility to make things better for successive generations -- so having a child fit into my existing worldview. At any rate, I was already pretty darn liberal, so it would be hard for me to become even more radical. I guess I could get more politically active, but activism of any sort is difficult with a toddler in tow. We give money to various causes, but that's about it.
Anyway, today I took an online quiz intended to match up your political beliefs with the positions of the candidates in the presidential primaries. Normally these kinds of quizzes aren't worth the paper they're printed on (ha, ha) but this one seemed pretty good. Here are my results:
95% Mike Gravel
95% Dennis Kucinich
83% John Edwards
80% Barack Obama
78% Chris Dodd
77% Joe Biden
74% Hillary Clinton
71% Bill Richardson
33% Rudy Giuliani
26% Ron Paul
24% John McCain
17% Mike Huckabee
17% Mitt Romney
16% Tom Tancredo
8% Fred Thompson
2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz
I had seriously never heard of Mike Gravel, but I voted for Kucinich in the last presidential primary, and I've been considering Edwards as my more-realistic vote, so the quiz was accurate for me. If you take the quiz yourself, won't you leave a comment and tell me who it suggested for you?
I know people who say becoming a parent changed the way they felt about the world, and thus about politics. They suddenly wanted to leave a better world for their offspring, so they started to care about the environment, or education, or world peace. (On the other hand, I suppose some people begin to care about lower taxes so they can leave more of their money to their offspring!)
I don't think Isaac's birth caused me to change my political outlook. I think I was always other-oriented and future-oriented in my politics -- I think government has a responsibility to make things better for successive generations -- so having a child fit into my existing worldview. At any rate, I was already pretty darn liberal, so it would be hard for me to become even more radical. I guess I could get more politically active, but activism of any sort is difficult with a toddler in tow. We give money to various causes, but that's about it.
Anyway, today I took an online quiz intended to match up your political beliefs with the positions of the candidates in the presidential primaries. Normally these kinds of quizzes aren't worth the paper they're printed on (ha, ha) but this one seemed pretty good. Here are my results:
95% Mike Gravel
95% Dennis Kucinich
83% John Edwards
80% Barack Obama
78% Chris Dodd
77% Joe Biden
74% Hillary Clinton
71% Bill Richardson
33% Rudy Giuliani
26% Ron Paul
24% John McCain
17% Mike Huckabee
17% Mitt Romney
16% Tom Tancredo
8% Fred Thompson
2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz
I had seriously never heard of Mike Gravel, but I voted for Kucinich in the last presidential primary, and I've been considering Edwards as my more-realistic vote, so the quiz was accurate for me. If you take the quiz yourself, won't you leave a comment and tell me who it suggested for you?
Image consultant
Isaac: Mama, I like your new haircut.
Mama: Thanks, Isaac!
Isaac: It looks pretty cool.
Mama: Thanks!
Isaac: How are your teeth doing? [peers in mouth] They look good.
Mama: Uh, thanks.
Isaac: They look mostly yellow.
Mama: Oh, yes?
Isaac: And a little bit white. And a little bit pink.
Mama: I think those are my gums.
Mama: Thanks, Isaac!
Isaac: It looks pretty cool.
Mama: Thanks!
Isaac: How are your teeth doing? [peers in mouth] They look good.
Mama: Uh, thanks.
Isaac: They look mostly yellow.
Mama: Oh, yes?
Isaac: And a little bit white. And a little bit pink.
Mama: I think those are my gums.
"Warm and dry"
It's winter, which means the weather has been either (1) cold or (2) raining. By "cold" I mean highs in the 40s; by "raining" I mean water falling continuously from the sky from dawn until dusk. When it's dry, it's too cold to play outside; when it's wet ... well, you get the idea. We've had a few opportunities to play outside, but not many.
Because we're Californians, we only have two season's worth of clothes -- warm and cool -- so Isaac and I are basically facing the rain in our autumn clothing. And because we're Californians, we always park in the driveway -- we don't even have a garage. When we have to go somewhere, we rush out to the car with our cotton sweatshirt hoods pulled over our heads, and we try not to step in the massive puddles in our sneakers.
Isaac's car seat is installed in the center of the back seat of our station wagon, so once he climbs up into it, I can kneel on the back seat and shut the door behind me while I buckle him in. But all too often he dawdles while climbing into the car, investigates the toys lying on the floor, or sits down in the back seat and declares he's riding there. Meanwhile, I am standing in the driveway getting rained on. About three weeks ago I got upset and hollered that I was getting wet and cold, and wouldn't he hurry up and get in his seat! In the end I had to pick him up, all 28-odd pounds of him, and bodily insert him into the car seat.
This made a big impression on him, although not a helpful one. Now when it's raining and I'm trying to buckle his seatbelt, he reaches up and grabs my head with both arms. He pulls my head down against his chest, and croons, "I'm keeping Mama warm and dry. Waaaarm and drrrry!"
Meanwhile, I can't see to fasten his seatbelt, and my lower back is exposed to the cold and wet. He's got me in a surprisingly strong headlock, and I can't even get free to close the door behind me.
"Yes, thank you," I say, sounding muffled, as my mouth is pressed against his chest. "I am warm and dry. Very nice. Now let me go so I can fasten your seatbelt, please."
I'm so ungrateful.
Because we're Californians, we only have two season's worth of clothes -- warm and cool -- so Isaac and I are basically facing the rain in our autumn clothing. And because we're Californians, we always park in the driveway -- we don't even have a garage. When we have to go somewhere, we rush out to the car with our cotton sweatshirt hoods pulled over our heads, and we try not to step in the massive puddles in our sneakers.
Isaac's car seat is installed in the center of the back seat of our station wagon, so once he climbs up into it, I can kneel on the back seat and shut the door behind me while I buckle him in. But all too often he dawdles while climbing into the car, investigates the toys lying on the floor, or sits down in the back seat and declares he's riding there. Meanwhile, I am standing in the driveway getting rained on. About three weeks ago I got upset and hollered that I was getting wet and cold, and wouldn't he hurry up and get in his seat! In the end I had to pick him up, all 28-odd pounds of him, and bodily insert him into the car seat.
This made a big impression on him, although not a helpful one. Now when it's raining and I'm trying to buckle his seatbelt, he reaches up and grabs my head with both arms. He pulls my head down against his chest, and croons, "I'm keeping Mama warm and dry. Waaaarm and drrrry!"
Meanwhile, I can't see to fasten his seatbelt, and my lower back is exposed to the cold and wet. He's got me in a surprisingly strong headlock, and I can't even get free to close the door behind me.
"Yes, thank you," I say, sounding muffled, as my mouth is pressed against his chest. "I am warm and dry. Very nice. Now let me go so I can fasten your seatbelt, please."
I'm so ungrateful.
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