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.
Cough
Isaac has croup! I shouldn't be surprised -- two kids he knows have recently had croup, and another kid had a bronchial infection. I guess viruses can land in different areas and cause slightly different infections. Croup involves inflammation of the voice box and windpipe, and results in a cough and difficulty breathing.
He has had a slight cough for a few days now. On Friday night he woke up coughing, and he was so upset that he had a hard time calming down -- and of course the more he cried, the more he coughed. He coughed during the day yesterday, but it didn't seem to bother him. (The upside is that Craig got the chance to teach Isaac to cover his mouth when he coughs.)
But he woke up last night coughing harder and calling for mama, and when we brought him into our bed, we finally heard the distinctive croup cough.
We listened with great interest. "He sounds like a dog," I said. Craig said it sounded more like a seal.
"Or like a barking owl!" Isaac said, equally interested in this strange noise he had just made.
- - - - -
At Thanksgiving we stayed with my parents, who live about 100 miles south of here, and one night when Craig was out walking the dog he heard an owl barking. We listened to sound files online until he determined he had heard the territorial call of a female spotted owl. I guess Isaac remembers what it sounded like.
- - - - -
And how sick is Isaac? He doesn't seem too bad, so far. He has a low fever and is still coughing, but now it sounds wet and phlegmy rather than constricted. His voice sounds reedy, probably because of the narrower voicebox. Luckily he's not struggling to breathe, although when a coughing fit lasts for a while he definitely wheezes and gasps. He's not worried about it, though (as you might guess from his owl remark), and I guess kids with serious croup tend to panic because they aren't getting enough air.
This afternoon we let him nap a long time, twice as long as usual -- we finally woke him up at 5:00 p.m. after he had slept for two hours and 50 minutes, so he probably won't go to sleep tonight until 11:00 p.m. -- in the hope that it helps him heal.
But croup is supposed to get worse the second or third night, so it's really too soon to tell. I (naturally) expect the worst.
He has had a slight cough for a few days now. On Friday night he woke up coughing, and he was so upset that he had a hard time calming down -- and of course the more he cried, the more he coughed. He coughed during the day yesterday, but it didn't seem to bother him. (The upside is that Craig got the chance to teach Isaac to cover his mouth when he coughs.)
But he woke up last night coughing harder and calling for mama, and when we brought him into our bed, we finally heard the distinctive croup cough.
We listened with great interest. "He sounds like a dog," I said. Craig said it sounded more like a seal.
"Or like a barking owl!" Isaac said, equally interested in this strange noise he had just made.
- - - - -
At Thanksgiving we stayed with my parents, who live about 100 miles south of here, and one night when Craig was out walking the dog he heard an owl barking. We listened to sound files online until he determined he had heard the territorial call of a female spotted owl. I guess Isaac remembers what it sounded like.
- - - - -
And how sick is Isaac? He doesn't seem too bad, so far. He has a low fever and is still coughing, but now it sounds wet and phlegmy rather than constricted. His voice sounds reedy, probably because of the narrower voicebox. Luckily he's not struggling to breathe, although when a coughing fit lasts for a while he definitely wheezes and gasps. He's not worried about it, though (as you might guess from his owl remark), and I guess kids with serious croup tend to panic because they aren't getting enough air.
This afternoon we let him nap a long time, twice as long as usual -- we finally woke him up at 5:00 p.m. after he had slept for two hours and 50 minutes, so he probably won't go to sleep tonight until 11:00 p.m. -- in the hope that it helps him heal.
But croup is supposed to get worse the second or third night, so it's really too soon to tell. I (naturally) expect the worst.
Cough II
Isaac is still coughing and congested, and certainly not at his happiest, but we're through the worst of the croup. He was playful and mostly cheerful today, and he even had a little appetite.
Saturday and Sunday featured coughing and fairly high spirits, Monday added fever, nasal congestion, and faltering mood, and Tuesday ... well, basically all day yesterday I held Isaac in one arm and a tissue in the other.
I took him for a car ride yesterday afternoon in hopes that he would nap sitting up in his carseat, as his cough and congestion were preventing him from staying asleep when he was lying down. Driving around didn't really work, but when we were hanging out in the car in the driveway once we got back home, he fell asleep in my lap. So I sat in the front passenger seat and held him against my shoulder for 45 minutes as he napped. Thank goodness for my audiobook.
Yesterday he was about as sick as I've ever seen him. He didn't play at all, and he hardly talked besides hoarsely muttering, "Mama. Mama. Mama." For most of the day he could hardly stay awake; often when Craig or I picked him up, he would fall asleep on our shoulder. Even when he was awake, he was lethargic and his eyelids drooped, and he wasn't interested in anything. This sluggishness got worse as evening fell, and when we called our pediatrician's office after hours, they recommended we take him to pediatric urgent care.
Naturally as soon as I made the 8:15 p.m. appointment with them, he began to improve. He asked to eat some ice cream. He was interested in packing a bag with toys and books for the waiting room. And the doctor said he was fine -- no longer very croupy, just generic "viral syndrome," and nothing serious.
And after all that sleep yesterday? No nap today!
Saturday and Sunday featured coughing and fairly high spirits, Monday added fever, nasal congestion, and faltering mood, and Tuesday ... well, basically all day yesterday I held Isaac in one arm and a tissue in the other.
I took him for a car ride yesterday afternoon in hopes that he would nap sitting up in his carseat, as his cough and congestion were preventing him from staying asleep when he was lying down. Driving around didn't really work, but when we were hanging out in the car in the driveway once we got back home, he fell asleep in my lap. So I sat in the front passenger seat and held him against my shoulder for 45 minutes as he napped. Thank goodness for my audiobook.
Yesterday he was about as sick as I've ever seen him. He didn't play at all, and he hardly talked besides hoarsely muttering, "Mama. Mama. Mama." For most of the day he could hardly stay awake; often when Craig or I picked him up, he would fall asleep on our shoulder. Even when he was awake, he was lethargic and his eyelids drooped, and he wasn't interested in anything. This sluggishness got worse as evening fell, and when we called our pediatrician's office after hours, they recommended we take him to pediatric urgent care.
Naturally as soon as I made the 8:15 p.m. appointment with them, he began to improve. He asked to eat some ice cream. He was interested in packing a bag with toys and books for the waiting room. And the doctor said he was fine -- no longer very croupy, just generic "viral syndrome," and nothing serious.
And after all that sleep yesterday? No nap today!
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Trucks, trucks, trucks
So you know Isaac likes vehicles. To your left is the cover of a book we've checked out of the library on many occasions, and the title says it all -- trucks, trucks, trucks.The book is about a little boy who, while pretending his toy trucks are real, is depicted as actually driving them. The author has used the theme of imaginary play in other books as well, including "Fire Truck," which we've checked out of the library several times, and "Ballerina," which we had never checked out.
And why not? I asked myself that last weekend while I was at work at the library, and I didn't have a good answer. So I brought it home.
Isaac immediately wanted me to read it to him, and he listened to it intently, as he does with all new books. And he has asked to hear it again several times since then, which is also typical. But when I read it to him today, for some reason we ended up looking at the back inside flap of the book jacket. On the flap were several small pictures of the author's other books, including "Trucks, Trucks, Trucks" and "Fire Truck."
"Look at that!" Isaac said with astonishment. He pulled the book onto his lap to get a closer look. "There are little trucks there!" He studied the back flap for about five times as long as we had spent reading the book itself. Then I saw the real contrast between the polite interest he gave to the book about dance and the passionate devotion he felt for the book about vehicles -- even though it was only a picture of its cover.
- - - - -
I'm selling Izzy short here. He doesn't know anything about dance, after all, and he knows a lot about vehicles. The book about dance is also intended for kids who are slightly older than he is. And he truly loves all sorts of books, not just ones about vehicles. One of his current favorites is a very emotional book about a girl who temporarily loses a beloved balloon ("Emily's Balloon" by Komako Sakai). And of the ten books he has requested I read to him today, only three were about vehicles.
Milestones of the past
Here's a year's worth of milestones of the past (the last one from six months ago):
First word: 11 months old
First stood on own: 12 months old
Next 13 words: 13 months old
First really began walking: 14 months old
First animal noises: 15 months old
First referred to himself (as "baby"): 16 months old
First (carefully!) negotiated a step down: 17 months
Began regularly speaking in phrases: 18 months old
First fell asleep lying down in own bed: 19 months old
Began sleeping through the night (well, mostly): 20 months old
First said he loved his mama: 21 months old
First played with other kids (sort of): 22 months old
First word: 11 months old
First stood on own: 12 months old
Next 13 words: 13 months old
First really began walking: 14 months old
First animal noises: 15 months old
First referred to himself (as "baby"): 16 months old
First (carefully!) negotiated a step down: 17 months
Began regularly speaking in phrases: 18 months old
First fell asleep lying down in own bed: 19 months old
Began sleeping through the night (well, mostly): 20 months old
First said he loved his mama: 21 months old
First played with other kids (sort of): 22 months old
Cough III
Isaac is almost better. He's much better than he was, but he's not quite well enough to play with other kids. I hope he gets better soon, because I'm getting tired of not being able to hang out with my friends. Uh, I mean, I really want Isaac to be able to play with his friends! Yeah, that's right.
He still has a junky cough and sinus congestion. And he keeps cheerfully announcing, "I coughed up a mucus!" I told him he doesn't have to inform me every time, but I shouldn't complain. At least he's telling me what's going on.
Back in October when Isaac had several days of intermittent vomiting, we could have used that kind of honesty. He would be huddled in my lap, pale and sweating, and I would ask him, "Do you think you're going to throw up? Do you feel bad?"
He would always respond, "No. Feel good." This was so untrue that it got to be ridiculous. Several times he weakly moaned, "Feel good, feel good" over and over again, right up to the point where he leaned over and puked on my feet.
Craig and I assumed Isaac didn't understand the question, but I think it was my father who suggested that perhaps Isaac was using totemic language -- maybe if he insisted he felt good, it would come true.
I'm not usually in a hurry for Isaac to grow up, as I'm totally enjoying him being a toddler, but that's one skill I look forward to Isaac developing -- an awareness of when he's going to vomit.
He still has a junky cough and sinus congestion. And he keeps cheerfully announcing, "I coughed up a mucus!" I told him he doesn't have to inform me every time, but I shouldn't complain. At least he's telling me what's going on.
Back in October when Isaac had several days of intermittent vomiting, we could have used that kind of honesty. He would be huddled in my lap, pale and sweating, and I would ask him, "Do you think you're going to throw up? Do you feel bad?"
He would always respond, "No. Feel good." This was so untrue that it got to be ridiculous. Several times he weakly moaned, "Feel good, feel good" over and over again, right up to the point where he leaned over and puked on my feet.
Craig and I assumed Isaac didn't understand the question, but I think it was my father who suggested that perhaps Isaac was using totemic language -- maybe if he insisted he felt good, it would come true.
I'm not usually in a hurry for Isaac to grow up, as I'm totally enjoying him being a toddler, but that's one skill I look forward to Isaac developing -- an awareness of when he's going to vomit.
Suffrage
Have you ever tried to explain the concept of voting to a two-and-a-half-year-old? Since his birth, Isaac has accompanied me on every trip to the polls, but this is the first time he actually asked me what "vote" meant. I'm not sure I did a very good job explaining it.
At any rate, Isaac came with me when I went to vote today. As I was helping him out of his car seat, he said, "Only womens vote."
"No," I said. "All grown-ups get to vote."
"Even men," Isaac said.
At any rate, Isaac came with me when I went to vote today. As I was helping him out of his car seat, he said, "Only womens vote."
"No," I said. "All grown-ups get to vote."
"Even men," Isaac said.
Aquarium
We took Isaac to the Monterey Bay Aquarium yesterday, and on the way we drove along the coast in Pacific Grove. The sun was blazing, the ocean was blue, and the waves were crashing dramatically on the rocks. I remarked that maybe we should pull over for a moment and go down to the beach.
"I don't like to go down to the beach," Isaac said.
"Oh?" I said. "Why don't you like the beach?"
He paused for a moment. It is true that Isaac didn't like getting too close to the ocean when we last went in December, and I think it was because he didn't like the noise of the breaking waves. So I was expecting him to say it was too loud.
Instead he said, "There are too many clams."
- - - - -
He loved the aquarium, despite the clams there. We went a year ago, and although Isaac certainly found it interesting then, this time he actually understood what was going on. Last time he seemed most intrigued by a big yellow "Caution: Wet Floor" sign. Understandably, there's a big cognitive leap between 17 and 29 months.
He enjoyed the kids' playroom, where he made crayon rubbings of various sea creatures, and where he said he was working in an office; he even pretended to shred his drawings. But I think his favorite was something we called "the fish house," which was a little glassed-in alcove that let you sit beneath a big tank representing the habitat of the rocky shore. (I'll post a picture of us sitting in it soon.) Not only are the fish, starfish, and anemones all around, but you can look up and watch a wave break above you.
Isaac pointed enthusiastically at the exhibits he found appealing and said they were "really cool." And periodically he did a little dance and said, "I excited!"
- - - - -
Also different from last year: we enjoyed a leisurely lunch in the aquarium's restaurant. (My mother and sister came too.) The elegant table setting came complete with white tablecloth, ceramic plates, and binoculars -- we sat right against a window with a view of otters playing in the Monterey Bay. Isaac was a pleasant and happy dining companion, which also wouldn't have happened at 17 months.
"I don't like to go down to the beach," Isaac said.
"Oh?" I said. "Why don't you like the beach?"
He paused for a moment. It is true that Isaac didn't like getting too close to the ocean when we last went in December, and I think it was because he didn't like the noise of the breaking waves. So I was expecting him to say it was too loud.
Instead he said, "There are too many clams."
- - - - -
He loved the aquarium, despite the clams there. We went a year ago, and although Isaac certainly found it interesting then, this time he actually understood what was going on. Last time he seemed most intrigued by a big yellow "Caution: Wet Floor" sign. Understandably, there's a big cognitive leap between 17 and 29 months.
He enjoyed the kids' playroom, where he made crayon rubbings of various sea creatures, and where he said he was working in an office; he even pretended to shred his drawings. But I think his favorite was something we called "the fish house," which was a little glassed-in alcove that let you sit beneath a big tank representing the habitat of the rocky shore. (I'll post a picture of us sitting in it soon.) Not only are the fish, starfish, and anemones all around, but you can look up and watch a wave break above you.
Isaac pointed enthusiastically at the exhibits he found appealing and said they were "really cool." And periodically he did a little dance and said, "I excited!"
- - - - -
Also different from last year: we enjoyed a leisurely lunch in the aquarium's restaurant. (My mother and sister came too.) The elegant table setting came complete with white tablecloth, ceramic plates, and binoculars -- we sat right against a window with a view of otters playing in the Monterey Bay. Isaac was a pleasant and happy dining companion, which also wouldn't have happened at 17 months.
Saturday, December 6, 2014
A peace offering
Yeah, the blogging has been a little slow lately. The weather has gotten really nice, so we've spent the last few days playing outside (and gardening) instead of playing in the living room (and blogging).My gardening has been aided by the fact that Isaac has become amazingly independent in his play. As long as I'm listening and talking to him, and if I join in from time to time to keep the game going, he can entertain himself for hours.
As a peace offering for the lack of posting, here's a photo of us in the "fish house" at the aquarium. It's just an alcove in a much larger tank, but Isaac loved sitting in it.
Gardening
I mentioned that Isaac and I have been doing some gardening together recently. (He seems to have forgotten his need to torment me by standing in the flower beds.) Last year at this time he was busy learning new words associated with springtime and the great outdoors. Now he's busy learning plant identification.
Well, he's been learning this for a while. Even last spring he could tell the difference between roses, daffodils, daisies, orchids, and poppies. By summer he could identify a wide variety of plants, and he seemed to care about their well-being. Sometimes he would ask to go outside just to check out the annuals we'd planted. Then he'd say, "See how our zinnias doing. Look happy!" And in September I was unreasonably proud when, after I showed him one of our several flowering maples, he said, "Another on little hill." He led me over there and, without prompting, identified a completely different variety of the same genus.*
Now he has learned the names of several plants that are still dormant -- together, we cut back several of them, so he's memorized their locations. This should give him quite a surprise when the clematis, lilac, and peonies actually grow leaves and flowers!
It's not just me forcing the information on him -- I'm not a pushy flashcard-wielding mother, either in the garden or out. Sure, I talk about what I'm doing in the garden as he watches, but he voluntarily asks me for the names of plants.** This evening I was busy throwing the ball for the dog, and so I didn't notice Isaac pointing insistently at a forget-me-not growing at the edge of the lawn. Finally I heard him saying, "Mama! Mama, do you know what this flower is?"
And this morning as we returned from the park, he indicated a plant growing at the edge of our driveway. "Don't know what that tree is called," he said. When I told him it was a kind of bamboo, his face lit up. "Panda bears eat bamboo," he said. "They think it tastes yummy."
- - - - -
*Although just now when I showed him pictures of different flowering maples on the Internet, he said, "Those are zinnias!" So he's not a savant after all.
- - - - -
**It's certainly not limited to horticulture. He asks for the names of plants -- and the names of absolutely everything else. Lately when we go somewhere in the car, he asks me to tell him the name of the road we're driving on!
Well, he's been learning this for a while. Even last spring he could tell the difference between roses, daffodils, daisies, orchids, and poppies. By summer he could identify a wide variety of plants, and he seemed to care about their well-being. Sometimes he would ask to go outside just to check out the annuals we'd planted. Then he'd say, "See how our zinnias doing. Look happy!" And in September I was unreasonably proud when, after I showed him one of our several flowering maples, he said, "Another on little hill." He led me over there and, without prompting, identified a completely different variety of the same genus.*
Now he has learned the names of several plants that are still dormant -- together, we cut back several of them, so he's memorized their locations. This should give him quite a surprise when the clematis, lilac, and peonies actually grow leaves and flowers!
It's not just me forcing the information on him -- I'm not a pushy flashcard-wielding mother, either in the garden or out. Sure, I talk about what I'm doing in the garden as he watches, but he voluntarily asks me for the names of plants.** This evening I was busy throwing the ball for the dog, and so I didn't notice Isaac pointing insistently at a forget-me-not growing at the edge of the lawn. Finally I heard him saying, "Mama! Mama, do you know what this flower is?"
And this morning as we returned from the park, he indicated a plant growing at the edge of our driveway. "Don't know what that tree is called," he said. When I told him it was a kind of bamboo, his face lit up. "Panda bears eat bamboo," he said. "They think it tastes yummy."
- - - - -
*Although just now when I showed him pictures of different flowering maples on the Internet, he said, "Those are zinnias!" So he's not a savant after all.
- - - - -
**It's certainly not limited to horticulture. He asks for the names of plants -- and the names of absolutely everything else. Lately when we go somewhere in the car, he asks me to tell him the name of the road we're driving on!
Sticking around
I have been sitting on the floor next to Isaac's bed for 30 minutes already, and he is not showing any signs of falling asleep. The floor is hard, the room is dark, and I am getting uncomfortable, frustrated, and tired. I am considering getting up and leaving him to fuss for a while. It is 9:45 p.m.
Isaac is still lying down, at least, but he is also singing loudly and inventively to himself -- or to me, I guess, because when I tried to sing to him, he said "No! Isaac sing to Mama."
He runs through a few fragmented verses of his bedtime favorites -- a song from Gilbert and Sullivan's "H.M.S. Pinafore," Lulu's Back in Town, and Skip to My Lou. It's especially interesting to hear him deal with the Gilbert and Sullivan song, "When I Was a Lad," because he doesn't understand many of the words or any of the content, so he sings it phonetically but also compresses the verses so the song doesn't make sense.
"Skip to My Lou" is not as intellectually challenging. For a while he sings a pretty accurate rendition of the version from a book we've just checked out of the library, then he creates his own variant of the book's plot, and then he does something he has never done before: he sings my version of the song.
For at least a year and a half I've been singing an Isaac-centric version of "Skip to My Lou" right before we sit down to nurse. One of the verses goes like this:
Tonight Isaac sings it like this:
Okay, I guess I'll stick around until he falls asleep, after all.
.
Isaac is still lying down, at least, but he is also singing loudly and inventively to himself -- or to me, I guess, because when I tried to sing to him, he said "No! Isaac sing to Mama."
He runs through a few fragmented verses of his bedtime favorites -- a song from Gilbert and Sullivan's "H.M.S. Pinafore," Lulu's Back in Town, and Skip to My Lou. It's especially interesting to hear him deal with the Gilbert and Sullivan song, "When I Was a Lad," because he doesn't understand many of the words or any of the content, so he sings it phonetically but also compresses the verses so the song doesn't make sense.
"Skip to My Lou" is not as intellectually challenging. For a while he sings a pretty accurate rendition of the version from a book we've just checked out of the library, then he creates his own variant of the book's plot, and then he does something he has never done before: he sings my version of the song.
For at least a year and a half I've been singing an Isaac-centric version of "Skip to My Lou" right before we sit down to nurse. One of the verses goes like this:
Mama loves Isaac / Dad does too
Mama loves Isaac / Dad does too
Mama loves Isaac / Dad does too
Skip to my Lou, my darling
Tonight Isaac sings it like this:
Mama loves me / So does Dad
Mama and Dad take care of you
Skip to my Lou my darling
Okay, I guess I'll stick around until he falls asleep, after all.
.
Noise annoys
"No more noise. Turn off."
This is what Isaac said eight months ago while he was playing with a friend's toy dump truck. It was a rather noisy truck -- it was operated by remote control, and different buttons made engine noises, honked the horn, made an air brake sound, and, most notably, played a raucous heavy metal song.
When I asked Isaac if he liked playing with the truck, he said, "Big yellow dump truck play music. Big dump truck too loud. Little dump truck more better."
Ironically, he received a similar dump truck for Christmas, although he seems to have outgrown his distaste for it. He likes to play with it now, at any rate, although he doesn't spend a lot of time pushing the buttons on the remote control.
He has never been a big fan of loud noises (although he can readily overcome this hesitation under certain circumstances, as when his Opa offers to take him for a ride on the wheel loader). He has been nervous about the vacuum cleaner for nearly his entire life, but in the last two or three weeks he has become positively terrified of select household appliances. I took out the food processor a few weeks ago, and at the very sight of it -- before I even set it down on the counter! -- he began crying. I had to put him in his room before using it, and even then he cried so hard that his entire face became covered in red blotches -- including his nose, which I had never seen happen before.
Every single day he says, "I don't like the food processor. Or the coffee grinder. Or the garbage disposal. I don't like loud things." Unfortunately he's been adding to this list. Today he said, "Or the coffee maker. Or the microwave."
"Really?" I said. "The microwave doesn't make that much noise."
"It's sort of loud," he said.
- - - - -
He's working through it, though. As he runs his toy vacuum, he says things like, "Sorry, Mama. I have to vacuum. It'll be okay." So then I pretend I'm afraid of the vacuum, which he seems to enjoy. He and Craig have a similar game where Isaac uses a pretend coffee grinder and Craig pretends to be scared of it. And today Isaac told me that one of his alter egos, Loader Driver, actually likes the coffee grinder.
- - - - -
I don't think I've mentioned Loader Driver before. He's Isaac's grown-up persona, the one who likes spicy foods and shaves, as opposed to Loopy, who is often "just a little puppy" and needs to be babied.
This is what Isaac said eight months ago while he was playing with a friend's toy dump truck. It was a rather noisy truck -- it was operated by remote control, and different buttons made engine noises, honked the horn, made an air brake sound, and, most notably, played a raucous heavy metal song.
When I asked Isaac if he liked playing with the truck, he said, "Big yellow dump truck play music. Big dump truck too loud. Little dump truck more better."
Ironically, he received a similar dump truck for Christmas, although he seems to have outgrown his distaste for it. He likes to play with it now, at any rate, although he doesn't spend a lot of time pushing the buttons on the remote control.
He has never been a big fan of loud noises (although he can readily overcome this hesitation under certain circumstances, as when his Opa offers to take him for a ride on the wheel loader). He has been nervous about the vacuum cleaner for nearly his entire life, but in the last two or three weeks he has become positively terrified of select household appliances. I took out the food processor a few weeks ago, and at the very sight of it -- before I even set it down on the counter! -- he began crying. I had to put him in his room before using it, and even then he cried so hard that his entire face became covered in red blotches -- including his nose, which I had never seen happen before.
Every single day he says, "I don't like the food processor. Or the coffee grinder. Or the garbage disposal. I don't like loud things." Unfortunately he's been adding to this list. Today he said, "Or the coffee maker. Or the microwave."
"Really?" I said. "The microwave doesn't make that much noise."
"It's sort of loud," he said.
- - - - -
He's working through it, though. As he runs his toy vacuum, he says things like, "Sorry, Mama. I have to vacuum. It'll be okay." So then I pretend I'm afraid of the vacuum, which he seems to enjoy. He and Craig have a similar game where Isaac uses a pretend coffee grinder and Craig pretends to be scared of it. And today Isaac told me that one of his alter egos, Loader Driver, actually likes the coffee grinder.
- - - - -
I don't think I've mentioned Loader Driver before. He's Isaac's grown-up persona, the one who likes spicy foods and shaves, as opposed to Loopy, who is often "just a little puppy" and needs to be babied.
New pictures
Here's the Loader Driver himself, pretending to drive Opa's loader. (That's Craig's hat he's wearing.)Did you know I haven't uploaded pictures since Christmas? That's nearly two months! That explains why I had several hundred photos to sort through today, and why I ended up adding 29 of them to the album. I need to get back in the habit of uploading fewer pictures twice a month, because this was quite a lengthy process.
Friday, December 5, 2014
Skyward
We began our day by glimpsing a rainbow outside Isaac's bedroom window, and we ended it by viewing the total eclipse of the moon. Life is good.
Isaac and the New Prius
This week Craig came home with a toy Prius for Isaac. It's metal, about five inches long, and metallic silver. Isaac was really excited. He had already been pretending his toy Volkswagen beetle was a Prius, but, as Craig suspected, it was so much better to have the real thing.
(The Prius was one of the first cars Isaac could identify, probably in part because my parents drive one, but also because Toyota really succeeded in making the design distinctive. The other two cars Isaac could identify early on were Jeeps and Hummers.)
So at bedtime on the day that Isaac got the Prius, I decided to tell him a story about the car while I sat by his bed and waited for him to get sleepy. Usually I sing him a song while I wait for him to relax and lie still, but I had never told him a story before.
The story began, "Once there was a little boy named Isaac, and one day his Daddy stopped on his way home from work and bought him a brand new Prius. It was silver and sparkly and very similar to Oma and Opa's Prius. Isaac decided to drive somewhere interesting, so he climbed into the driver's seat and off he went."
Isaac was attentive from the moment I began to talk. In order to make him sleepy, I made the story as safe and boring as possible, full of mundane details like looking for parking, getting gas, and the names of the streets. Finally he was so quiet that I assumed he must have fallen asleep. But as soon as I ended the story with the Prius's arrival at Oma and Opa's house, Isaac said, "Sing it again." I explained that it was a story, not a song, and that one tells a story. He didn't care about semantics at that point. "Sing more about Isaac and the new Prius," he demanded.
I told the story again, this time having Isaac drive the Prius to a different destination, and as soon as it ended Isaac said, "Again." He was wide awake and totally fascinated. It became clear to me that I had made a massive error in judgment.
Craig finally had to come in and rock Isaac to sleep that night, because the kid wouldn't stop asking me to tell him "about Isaac and the new Prius." It hasn't been a problem since then, because I've instituted a rigid moratorium: absolutely no stories about the Prius at naptime or bedtime. But I've told the story at many, many other times throughout the day.
It's still pretty fun, especially now that I realize that these toddler enthusiasms come and go, and I'm not at all afraid that I'll be telling this same story for the next six months. Isaac has learned that I'm telling a story, rather than singing a song -- I guess he thought stories only came from books. It's also teaching him how to tell a story, which is cool, although he has very little narrative ability, and events tend to happen over and over again, as well as out of order.
I especially like to ask Isaac where he wants to drive in the story. Often he says he wants to drive someplace we've just been in real life -- the library, the cafe, the garden store. A trip to Oma and Opa's is still his favorite, though. And one time Craig had the good idea to have the destination be the fair.
(The Prius was one of the first cars Isaac could identify, probably in part because my parents drive one, but also because Toyota really succeeded in making the design distinctive. The other two cars Isaac could identify early on were Jeeps and Hummers.)
So at bedtime on the day that Isaac got the Prius, I decided to tell him a story about the car while I sat by his bed and waited for him to get sleepy. Usually I sing him a song while I wait for him to relax and lie still, but I had never told him a story before.
The story began, "Once there was a little boy named Isaac, and one day his Daddy stopped on his way home from work and bought him a brand new Prius. It was silver and sparkly and very similar to Oma and Opa's Prius. Isaac decided to drive somewhere interesting, so he climbed into the driver's seat and off he went."
Isaac was attentive from the moment I began to talk. In order to make him sleepy, I made the story as safe and boring as possible, full of mundane details like looking for parking, getting gas, and the names of the streets. Finally he was so quiet that I assumed he must have fallen asleep. But as soon as I ended the story with the Prius's arrival at Oma and Opa's house, Isaac said, "Sing it again." I explained that it was a story, not a song, and that one tells a story. He didn't care about semantics at that point. "Sing more about Isaac and the new Prius," he demanded.
I told the story again, this time having Isaac drive the Prius to a different destination, and as soon as it ended Isaac said, "Again." He was wide awake and totally fascinated. It became clear to me that I had made a massive error in judgment.
Craig finally had to come in and rock Isaac to sleep that night, because the kid wouldn't stop asking me to tell him "about Isaac and the new Prius." It hasn't been a problem since then, because I've instituted a rigid moratorium: absolutely no stories about the Prius at naptime or bedtime. But I've told the story at many, many other times throughout the day.
It's still pretty fun, especially now that I realize that these toddler enthusiasms come and go, and I'm not at all afraid that I'll be telling this same story for the next six months. Isaac has learned that I'm telling a story, rather than singing a song -- I guess he thought stories only came from books. It's also teaching him how to tell a story, which is cool, although he has very little narrative ability, and events tend to happen over and over again, as well as out of order.
I especially like to ask Isaac where he wants to drive in the story. Often he says he wants to drive someplace we've just been in real life -- the library, the cafe, the garden store. A trip to Oma and Opa's is still his favorite, though. And one time Craig had the good idea to have the destination be the fair.
Cataloging
These days Isaac wants to classify everything, to sort it into categories, to define its parameters. I'm not sure if this is a typical toddler attempt to understand the world, or if he simply has a logical mind. (His parents are a scientist and a librarian, after all.)
Here are a few of Isaac's recent remarks, and a little background on them:
Here are a few of Isaac's recent remarks, and a little background on them:
"Is this a plant or a weed?" (This is a question I'm always glad to hear, as he's been helping me pull weeds in the garden.)
"A tangerine is a citrus fruit." (That seems pretty self-explanatory.)
"Is Wilder a boy or a girl?" (His good friend Jasper just got a new baby brother.)
"Loader Driver must be a woman, because he wears make-up." (I am glad that he knows women can operate heavy machinery, and amused that his alter ego is sometimes female [but still uses a masculine pronoun], but I did explain that some men do wear make-up, and that not all women do.)
"Milk from Mama is a fluid!" (He sat up from nursing and made this announcement, clearly excited about his discovery, several weeks after the urgent care doctor had told us to give him plenty of fluids during his first bout of croup.)
"Luke has two daddies and no mama." (He found this upsetting at first, and he even suggested that Luke also had two mamas, but then I explained that Luke doesn't actually need a mama, having a perfectly good family that loves him.)
"Wool shirts have to go to the dry cleaners." (At first he said that plaid shirts have to go to the dry cleaners, but then Craig explained that not all of his plaid shirts are wool [although all of his wool shirts are plaid].)
Strangers
Back in the late summer, Isaac went through a brief phase of pointing out people he didn't know. While we were staying at the hotel in Santa Fe, for instance, when we passed someone in the hall Isaac would often say something like, "Don't know that person." In the fall we joined a different playgroup, so we met a lot of new people. At one of our first get-togethers with the playgroup, Isaac looked at two of the mothers sitting side-by-side on a park bench, and I guess he realized that he didn't know their names.
The first woman was white with blonde hair, and Isaac pointed at her and said, "Don't know that pink woman." Everyone laughed a little bit, and Sarah introduced herself to him. Then Isaac turned to the second woman, who was African-American, and he pointed at her and said, "Don't know that purple woman." Everyone was quiet for a second, and I was puzzled, and then we all realized what he was doing -- he was using the color of the women's shirts to identify them. Sarah was wearing a pink shirt, and Cornelia was wearing a purple sweatshirt.
He identified strangers by the color of their clothes for a few more weeks -- sometimes it even worked out, like when he said, "Don't know that white woman" about my aunt Lynn, who was wearing a white blouse in addition to actually being a white woman -- before he stopped. I think he was especially excited about colors at that point, and he was noticing them a lot. I mean real colors, not just variations in skin color. He still doesn't seem to notice racial or ethnic differences, although his playmates and their parents are quite diverse. I think developmentally this awareness happens closer to three years of age.
- - - - -
I thought of this today because after we left the garden store, Isaac said, "I don't know that woman's name." He was talking about the cashier.
The first woman was white with blonde hair, and Isaac pointed at her and said, "Don't know that pink woman." Everyone laughed a little bit, and Sarah introduced herself to him. Then Isaac turned to the second woman, who was African-American, and he pointed at her and said, "Don't know that purple woman." Everyone was quiet for a second, and I was puzzled, and then we all realized what he was doing -- he was using the color of the women's shirts to identify them. Sarah was wearing a pink shirt, and Cornelia was wearing a purple sweatshirt.
He identified strangers by the color of their clothes for a few more weeks -- sometimes it even worked out, like when he said, "Don't know that white woman" about my aunt Lynn, who was wearing a white blouse in addition to actually being a white woman -- before he stopped. I think he was especially excited about colors at that point, and he was noticing them a lot. I mean real colors, not just variations in skin color. He still doesn't seem to notice racial or ethnic differences, although his playmates and their parents are quite diverse. I think developmentally this awareness happens closer to three years of age.
- - - - -
I thought of this today because after we left the garden store, Isaac said, "I don't know that woman's name." He was talking about the cashier.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
New abilities
Isaac can now:
This means that:
- open the door to his room on a regular basis
- fall asleep while I sit in the chair in his room, not on the floor
- open the door to the refrigerator
This means that:
- waking noises heard through the baby monitor are often swiftly followed by the appearance of a small child
- I'm a lot more comfortable waiting around while Isaac falls asleep, and I can even manage to read using Isaac's night light, Light Bulb Man
- we had to throw out a bunch of food this morning, because the fridge stood open all night long
Death
Thankfully, Isaac's personal experience with death has been limited to dead bugs, and a few dead birds, found in our yard. (He will also tell you that the bears that used to live in the woods around here are all dead.) He hasn't seemed interested in discussing death, and he's certainly never been emotionally affected.
But the other day at dinner we were talking about my uncles, and I was trying to explain their relationship to my father. "Uncle Curtis is Opa's dad," Isaac finally concluded. Nope, we said. "Opa doesn't have a dad," Isaac said solemnly. Nope, we said. So I explained that Opa's father was dead.
We then waited to see what Isaac would say. He was deep in thought. It was clear that he understood that this meant that Opa no longer had a father, and that he found this a little troubling.
"People die," Isaac said. Yep, we said. "Birds die," he said. Yep, we said. "Some do," he said. Then he added cheerfully, "Some don't!" (I decided not to counter this particular point.)
Then he asked, "Why dead?" That seemed like a complicated question, so instead I told him that Opa's dad had lived to be a very old man, and that Opa himself was an old man by the time his father died. (Sorry, Dad. Only from a two-year-old's point of view, of course.)
"It's okay," Isaac said. "Oma take care of him."
- - - - -
When Craig and I were talking about this response later on, I wondered why Isaac hadn't said that my father's mother could take care of him, as she is still living. Wouldn't she have been a more natural substitution, especially from a child's perspective?
Craig thought that Isaac had simply observed the family dynamics -- for one, my grandmother is physically frail, so everyone takes care of her instead. And my parents do take good care of each other.
But the other day at dinner we were talking about my uncles, and I was trying to explain their relationship to my father. "Uncle Curtis is Opa's dad," Isaac finally concluded. Nope, we said. "Opa doesn't have a dad," Isaac said solemnly. Nope, we said. So I explained that Opa's father was dead.
We then waited to see what Isaac would say. He was deep in thought. It was clear that he understood that this meant that Opa no longer had a father, and that he found this a little troubling.
"People die," Isaac said. Yep, we said. "Birds die," he said. Yep, we said. "Some do," he said. Then he added cheerfully, "Some don't!" (I decided not to counter this particular point.)
Then he asked, "Why dead?" That seemed like a complicated question, so instead I told him that Opa's dad had lived to be a very old man, and that Opa himself was an old man by the time his father died. (Sorry, Dad. Only from a two-year-old's point of view, of course.)
"It's okay," Isaac said. "Oma take care of him."
- - - - -
When Craig and I were talking about this response later on, I wondered why Isaac hadn't said that my father's mother could take care of him, as she is still living. Wouldn't she have been a more natural substitution, especially from a child's perspective?
Craig thought that Isaac had simply observed the family dynamics -- for one, my grandmother is physically frail, so everyone takes care of her instead. And my parents do take good care of each other.
Trixie Tracker second anniversary
Today marks the end of our second full year of using Trixie Tracker to chart our baby-related data. We started using the program back in March 2006 when Isaac was six months old, and he'll be two and a half years old tomorrow. Here is my post celebrating our first Trixie Tracker anniversary in March 2007, and most of what I said still applies, except that we now only track sleep (which is open to the public to view on our Izzy Info site) and nursing. (Oh, and medicine, too -- he has never taken any prescription medicine, but it's actually pretty useful to know how recently we've given him Tylenol.)
I've always enjoyed the Sleep Probability graphs. They use a gray scale to graphically depict the likelihood of the child being asleep at any given moment in a 24-hour period -- white means they are always awake at that time, black means they are always asleep, and medium gray means there's a 50/50 chance. Pure colors, hard lines, and very little gradation means that the child has a solid and predictable schedule. Obviously the schedules of young babies are not like this, so the early months ended up looking like a continuous hazy blur of medium gray. Even as his daytime schedule got more predictable, Isaac used to wake up at random times during the night, so there are lots of pale stripes within the black of his nights.
You can see all two years' worth of Isaac's Sleep Probability graphs on one page right here, much nicer than I'll be able to lay out using Blogger, but just for fun, here are a few at six-month increments ranging from six months to 29 months of age. You can watch his daytime naps solidify (the graph at one year has blurry daytime naps because he was transitioning from two naps to one), his night-wakings lessen (although not disappear completely), and his bedtime gradually creep later and later.
I've always enjoyed the Sleep Probability graphs. They use a gray scale to graphically depict the likelihood of the child being asleep at any given moment in a 24-hour period -- white means they are always awake at that time, black means they are always asleep, and medium gray means there's a 50/50 chance. Pure colors, hard lines, and very little gradation means that the child has a solid and predictable schedule. Obviously the schedules of young babies are not like this, so the early months ended up looking like a continuous hazy blur of medium gray. Even as his daytime schedule got more predictable, Isaac used to wake up at random times during the night, so there are lots of pale stripes within the black of his nights.
You can see all two years' worth of Isaac's Sleep Probability graphs on one page right here, much nicer than I'll be able to lay out using Blogger, but just for fun, here are a few at six-month increments ranging from six months to 29 months of age. You can watch his daytime naps solidify (the graph at one year has blurry daytime naps because he was transitioning from two naps to one), his night-wakings lessen (although not disappear completely), and his bedtime gradually creep later and later.
Playgroup
Here's Isaac with the kids in his Wednesday morning playgroup. We've been getting together to play with these folks for about six months now, and we really enjoy their company. Well, I enjoy it, anyway.From left to right in the top row, we have Shane, Isaac, Jasper, Max, and Julia, all two years old. Seated on the ground are Sam, who is one year old, and Fia, who is two. (Not pictured are one-year-old Gemma, and infants Kai, Sylvia, Sebastian, Aurora, and Wilder.) Yes, there are 13 kids, which sounds like a lot, but really it is only eight families.
Isaac knows all the kids' names, but he doesn't really play with them. He's not that interested in participating in a group, which is perhaps a trait he's inherited from his parents. (Are these things genetic? It seems too soon for it to be nurture.) Anyway, he's more likely to actually interact with another child in a more intimate setting, but even that is no sure thing.
Isaac had his two-and-a-half year check-up today, and the doctor asked if Isaac was enrolled in a preschool or playschool. I said no, but that we were active in two playgroups -- lots of exposure to other families, but no curriculum or instruction. Then the doctor asked how Isaac reacted to other children, and I said, "He doesn't seem to care one way or the other. I mean, he gets along with them, he doesn't pick fights or anything, but he doesn't really play with them." The doctor nodded and continued taking notes on his little developmental checklist.
I wonder if Isaac passed the "developmentally appropriate" test?
Growing boy (more or less)
So Isaac was weighed and measured at his two-and-a-half-year check-up. He is 37 and 3/4 inches tall and weighs 27.7 pounds. In the past six months he has grown one and three-quarters inches and gained 0.7 pounds.
He's down to the 80th percentile for height, instead of his usual 95th percentile -- where he'd been since he was ten months old -- so perhaps he won't be a giant after all. And he's dropped to the 30th percentile for weight, instead of the 40th. I didn't think that was such a big drop, considering it is a 10-point change compared to the 15-point change in height, but the doctor did seem a little concerned about it. He even asked us if Isaac had had any gastrointestinal illness in the last few weeks, in case that might have contributed to recent weight loss.
The doctor also asked about Isaac's appetite. He relaxed when we assured him Isaac is not a picky eater, he eats the same things we eat, he feeds himself, and he eats decent amounts. The doctor then said something about genetics and having slender parents -- and I would be surprised, frankly, if a child of mine turned out to be plump.
Might this explain why the waistband of some of Isaac's pants seems to be growing larger? Or perhaps he is shrinking, because jeans he has been wearing for the last six months now seem to be slipping off his hips. (This is not the first time this has happened.)
I'm really not worried about his physical development, but it is a little strange that his formerly consistent percentiles are dropping. Is it really just genetics, or could it be his diet? He's not much of a snacker, unlike many of his toddler pals. He leaves food on his plate when he's full, even if it's food he likes. And he certainly doesn't drink 16 to 32 ounces of cows' milk daily, which the doctor recommended, but since he nurses twice a day, he's getting some milkfat that way too. Whatever, I'm not about to force food on him and give him an eating disorder, but I guess I can be sure he has the opportunity to eat whenever he's interested.
He's down to the 80th percentile for height, instead of his usual 95th percentile -- where he'd been since he was ten months old -- so perhaps he won't be a giant after all. And he's dropped to the 30th percentile for weight, instead of the 40th. I didn't think that was such a big drop, considering it is a 10-point change compared to the 15-point change in height, but the doctor did seem a little concerned about it. He even asked us if Isaac had had any gastrointestinal illness in the last few weeks, in case that might have contributed to recent weight loss.
The doctor also asked about Isaac's appetite. He relaxed when we assured him Isaac is not a picky eater, he eats the same things we eat, he feeds himself, and he eats decent amounts. The doctor then said something about genetics and having slender parents -- and I would be surprised, frankly, if a child of mine turned out to be plump.
Might this explain why the waistband of some of Isaac's pants seems to be growing larger? Or perhaps he is shrinking, because jeans he has been wearing for the last six months now seem to be slipping off his hips. (This is not the first time this has happened.)
I'm really not worried about his physical development, but it is a little strange that his formerly consistent percentiles are dropping. Is it really just genetics, or could it be his diet? He's not much of a snacker, unlike many of his toddler pals. He leaves food on his plate when he's full, even if it's food he likes. And he certainly doesn't drink 16 to 32 ounces of cows' milk daily, which the doctor recommended, but since he nurses twice a day, he's getting some milkfat that way too. Whatever, I'm not about to force food on him and give him an eating disorder, but I guess I can be sure he has the opportunity to eat whenever he's interested.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Driving
Whenever I go too long without posting, I feel like I should offer a treat to my readers. So here's a photo taken a few weeks ago during an outing to the Oakland Zoo.I was a little uncertain about letting Isaac try this ride -- I wasn't sure that he fully understood that he would have to ride alone, and I thought he might get scared once the ride started.* (He likes to sit on the train kiddie ride at our local hardware store, for instance, but he refuses to let us put a quarter in it because he doesn't like when it rocks back and forth in place and makes noise.)
But I need not have worried. Isaac went on the car ride four times in a row, and he would have ridden it all day long if I hadn't insisted that we go home for lunch. He chose a blue Mustang for his first ride, and then he moved on to the orange Corvette you see in this photo, a fire engine, and a purple hot rod.
Isaac had a wonderful time, but it was clear that he took his "driving" very seriously. At first when he drove by I called out his name and waved to him, because I thought he looked a little grim, but I guess he didn't need reassurance because he didn't even turn to look at me. He kept his hands firmly on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road, and he even seemed to be "steering" in the right direction. So he didn't smile while he was driving -- but when he got off the ride, he smiled a lot.
- - - - -
It reminded me of when I was in elementary school and "drove" in the Autorama at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. Even though I knew it was only a ride, I was still overwhelmed by the power I wielded from behind the wheel. I never really enjoyed it, because I was afraid that if I made a mistake or if I stopped paying attention to the road, the car would crash. But the Autorama cars had actual gas pedals, if I recall, and their steering wheels really did work! The wheels of the cars straddled a single metal track, so if you didn't steer quite right, your tires would keep banging against it. And if you accidentally let up on the gas, the car would slow down (although not to a stop, I think) and other cars would end up tailgating you. I found it all quite stressful.
If you can't quite picture the ride, here's a (kind of boring) video of a little girl who seems to be enjoying it more than I ever did:
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* Edited to add: Not that I feel the need to completely protect him from being scared, which would be impossible anyway, but his friend Jasper once got so freaked out on this ride that they had to stop it to let him off. I wanted to avoid that, if possible!
Especially perfect
Isaac has been perfect at every age, but he's especially perfect now. Craig said this the other night, and I couldn't agree more. Two and a half seems to be the perfect age.
I had been saying how wonderful Isaac has been lately, how loving and curious and open and funny and eager to learn. I had also been saying how sad I was, because Isaac is bound to change soon, and then he'll be in some other stage I won't find quite as appealing. Then Craig pointed out that I'd been saying this ever since Isaac was a tiny baby! As he grows, I always expect I'm going to miss the stage he has just left, that I'll end up mourning some perfect past moment, and you know what? It hasn't happened yet. But it's bound to happen eventually -- isn't Isaac going to start going downhill soon? He can't keep getting more and more perfect, can he?
Here's an example of a stage I know I will miss. Isaac has been very affectionate his entire life, but his verbal expressions of love have become more frequent. The other night I was getting ready to put him to bed, and he decided to turn the tables. He had me lie down in his bed, and then he proceeded to tuck me in. He put his arms around me, rested his head next to mine on the pillow, and crooned, "Time for bed, my Mommity-mom." When I protested that I didn't want to go to bed, he said, "You have to go to bed. You can play more tomorrow." Then he tried to rock me a little bit, again saying soothingly, "Time for bed, my little Mommity-mom. Even when you make a mistake, I still love you."
He's not going to be doing that when he's 13, I know. I may not even hear him say "I love you" for ten years. I'm sure I'll miss hearing it, but even more I'll miss him thinking that I am so completely awesome! Right now we're a mutual adoration society. I guess that won't change for a few more years, right?
- - - - -
I feel didactic and obvious whenever I tell Isaac that we still love him even when he makes a mistake or does something wrong, but apparently it has made a positive impression on him. He's got some perfectionist tendencies, and he gets worried about making mistakes, so I know it's important for him to hear. This is also why I don't want to discipline him with techniques that could appear to be removal of my affection, like solitary time-outs or angry words.
- - - - -
Isaac became especially perfect when he was around 14 months old. Oh, sure, he was wonderful and perfect and adorable before then, but that was then my enjoyment of him reached a new height, and it has only grown since then. (This was also when he learned to walk and his naps consolidated into a single long afternoon nap -- perhaps not coincidental to my happiness.)
I had been saying how wonderful Isaac has been lately, how loving and curious and open and funny and eager to learn. I had also been saying how sad I was, because Isaac is bound to change soon, and then he'll be in some other stage I won't find quite as appealing. Then Craig pointed out that I'd been saying this ever since Isaac was a tiny baby! As he grows, I always expect I'm going to miss the stage he has just left, that I'll end up mourning some perfect past moment, and you know what? It hasn't happened yet. But it's bound to happen eventually -- isn't Isaac going to start going downhill soon? He can't keep getting more and more perfect, can he?
Here's an example of a stage I know I will miss. Isaac has been very affectionate his entire life, but his verbal expressions of love have become more frequent. The other night I was getting ready to put him to bed, and he decided to turn the tables. He had me lie down in his bed, and then he proceeded to tuck me in. He put his arms around me, rested his head next to mine on the pillow, and crooned, "Time for bed, my Mommity-mom." When I protested that I didn't want to go to bed, he said, "You have to go to bed. You can play more tomorrow." Then he tried to rock me a little bit, again saying soothingly, "Time for bed, my little Mommity-mom. Even when you make a mistake, I still love you."
He's not going to be doing that when he's 13, I know. I may not even hear him say "I love you" for ten years. I'm sure I'll miss hearing it, but even more I'll miss him thinking that I am so completely awesome! Right now we're a mutual adoration society. I guess that won't change for a few more years, right?
- - - - -
I feel didactic and obvious whenever I tell Isaac that we still love him even when he makes a mistake or does something wrong, but apparently it has made a positive impression on him. He's got some perfectionist tendencies, and he gets worried about making mistakes, so I know it's important for him to hear. This is also why I don't want to discipline him with techniques that could appear to be removal of my affection, like solitary time-outs or angry words.
- - - - -
Isaac became especially perfect when he was around 14 months old. Oh, sure, he was wonderful and perfect and adorable before then, but that was then my enjoyment of him reached a new height, and it has only grown since then. (This was also when he learned to walk and his naps consolidated into a single long afternoon nap -- perhaps not coincidental to my happiness.)
Happy boy
We've been visiting Isaac's paternal grandparents in South Carolina. Is Isaac enjoying the visit?This picture should answer that question. Doesn't he look like a happy boy?
The last time we were here was in December 2006, when Isaac was 15 months old. He had a terrible cold and wasn't very happy. Oh, we did have some fun then, but we're having even more fun this time.
We have visited the zoo, looked at beaver dams, toured Grandpa's golf course, played at two parks, and shopped at a toy store. Isaac has received almost more presents than I can list, including puzzles, art supplies, hiking boots decorated with light-up trucks, at least 20 little vehicles, and a tricycle. Every day Grandma has given him a cookie with a candy vehicle on top. And Grandpa let him steer the golf cart.
The highlight for Isaac, I think, has been the tricycle. He can't pedal it yet, but he's absolutely thrilled when we push him around the block on it.
- - - - -
Perhaps he's also happy because he has so many adoring family members under one roof. It's not often he gets a week straight of both Mama and Dad -- not to mention Grandma and Grandpa, uncles Dylan and Wade, and Wade's girlfriend Judy. There's a lot of attention to go around. We're lucky that everyone could come to visit at the same time!
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Did you notice Isaac's new haircut? That's my handiwork. It ended up shorter than I had intended, but I'm pretty happy with it.
Better parenting through products
We've been home from South Carolina for a few days. The visit was fabulous, the flights were easy, everyone had a great time, and yet we are still relieved to be back home. Now I'm getting back into my regular routine, including blogging.
We managed to travel lighter than we did the last time we went to visit Isaac's grandparents. Instead of having nine items of luggage, this time we had only seven:
Our strategy was sound. We checked items 1-3 at the curb where the taxi dropped us off, checked item 4 at the door to the plane, and carried on items 5-7. Isaac is now dependable as an independent walker (meaning that he almost always walks in the direction in which we want him to walk) so often in the airport he ran on ahead, Craig pulled along item 5, and I pushed item 4 containing items 6 and 7. We felt like we were traveling so light, and Craig felt positively liberated at not having to lug item 3 onto the airplane! (More on that later.)
However, when we picked up items 1-3 at the baggage claim, we realized we have one more item than we have hands. Two adults can't simultaneously manage four wheeled suitcases (one containing the carseat) and a stroller. It didn't seem worth it to rent a luggage cart just to go across the street to the rental car bus, so we had to temporarily leave the carseat behind. Perhaps we should invest in a single larger suitcase, instead of two smaller suitcases, thereby combining items 1 and 2 and reducing our total luggage load to a manageable six items.
Speaking of investments, our traveling success was aided by the purchase of a few new products. We didn't need to bring a Pack N Play for Isaac to sleep in, because Craig's parents bought him a folding toddler cot. (Not that Isaac can even fit in a Pack N Play any more.) We didn't need to lug around the carseat, because we bought a wheeled carrying case for it. And we didn't need to bring the carseat onto the airplane for Isaac to sit in, because we bought him a harness that attaches to the airplane seat belt. (After the carseat-related injury to his knee that Craig suffered on an airplane this summer, these last two were, as he said, worth every penny.)
.
We managed to travel lighter than we did the last time we went to visit Isaac's grandparents. Instead of having nine items of luggage, this time we had only seven:
- one small suitcase (for me and Isaac)
- one small suitcase (for Craig, plus extra room for gifts from grandparents)
- one carseat
- one stroller
- one very small suitcase (for computers, cameras, and carry-on essentials)
- one backpack (for food, toys, and books)
- one diaper bag (in addition to holding diapers, it's my purse)
Our strategy was sound. We checked items 1-3 at the curb where the taxi dropped us off, checked item 4 at the door to the plane, and carried on items 5-7. Isaac is now dependable as an independent walker (meaning that he almost always walks in the direction in which we want him to walk) so often in the airport he ran on ahead, Craig pulled along item 5, and I pushed item 4 containing items 6 and 7. We felt like we were traveling so light, and Craig felt positively liberated at not having to lug item 3 onto the airplane! (More on that later.)
However, when we picked up items 1-3 at the baggage claim, we realized we have one more item than we have hands. Two adults can't simultaneously manage four wheeled suitcases (one containing the carseat) and a stroller. It didn't seem worth it to rent a luggage cart just to go across the street to the rental car bus, so we had to temporarily leave the carseat behind. Perhaps we should invest in a single larger suitcase, instead of two smaller suitcases, thereby combining items 1 and 2 and reducing our total luggage load to a manageable six items.
Speaking of investments, our traveling success was aided by the purchase of a few new products. We didn't need to bring a Pack N Play for Isaac to sleep in, because Craig's parents bought him a folding toddler cot. (Not that Isaac can even fit in a Pack N Play any more.) We didn't need to lug around the carseat, because we bought a wheeled carrying case for it. And we didn't need to bring the carseat onto the airplane for Isaac to sit in, because we bought him a harness that attaches to the airplane seat belt. (After the carseat-related injury to his knee that Craig suffered on an airplane this summer, these last two were, as he said, worth every penny.)
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Marriage
Next weekend we're going to my cousin's wedding. When we told Isaac this, he said, "Don't know why people get married."
Craig explained that people get married when they decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together as a family. I said, "Like Oma is married to Opa, and Grandma is married to Grandpa, and Mama and Dad are married too."
Isaac said happily, "You're married to me!"
Craig said, "No, Mama and Dad are married, and you're our son. Together, we're a family."
Isaac pointed us out. "There's Daddy, and there's Mama. I like Mama best."
Craig and I exchanged a look.
Then Isaac continued. "Because Mama doesn't have whiskers."
- - - - -
Nice to know his affection for me has such a sound basis.
- - - - -
And Craig said it's almost enough to make him shave every day.
Craig explained that people get married when they decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together as a family. I said, "Like Oma is married to Opa, and Grandma is married to Grandpa, and Mama and Dad are married too."
Isaac said happily, "You're married to me!"
Craig said, "No, Mama and Dad are married, and you're our son. Together, we're a family."
Isaac pointed us out. "There's Daddy, and there's Mama. I like Mama best."
Craig and I exchanged a look.
Then Isaac continued. "Because Mama doesn't have whiskers."
- - - - -
Nice to know his affection for me has such a sound basis.
- - - - -
And Craig said it's almost enough to make him shave every day.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Mole number one
Like his mother (and unlike his father), Isaac is very fair-skinned. When he was born, there was absolutely nothing interrupting his pale skin -- no moles, freckles, or birthmarks. This isn't the case with his mother and father. Neither of us has freckles, but we have perhaps more than our fair share of moles, and Craig was even born with one on his forehead.
When Isaac was six weeks old, I asked his pediatrician when moles would appear, and the doctor said at two years of age. Well, now Isaac is two and a half, and I think he has his first mole. It's on the back of his left hand, almost on the wrist. It is a tiny, flat, light-brown freckle. It's pretty cute.
- - - - -
Apparently moles are present at birth in only about one in 100 people. Did you know that most moles develop by the time you're 20 years old, although more may appear during pregnancy, and that they last about 50 years before vanishing? Did you know that most people have between ten and 40 moles, and that having more than 50 moles means you're at greater risk of developing melanoma? Without even getting up off the couch to count, I can see that I have 36 moles on my arms alone! Yikes.
When Isaac was six weeks old, I asked his pediatrician when moles would appear, and the doctor said at two years of age. Well, now Isaac is two and a half, and I think he has his first mole. It's on the back of his left hand, almost on the wrist. It is a tiny, flat, light-brown freckle. It's pretty cute.
- - - - -
Apparently moles are present at birth in only about one in 100 people. Did you know that most moles develop by the time you're 20 years old, although more may appear during pregnancy, and that they last about 50 years before vanishing? Did you know that most people have between ten and 40 moles, and that having more than 50 moles means you're at greater risk of developing melanoma? Without even getting up off the couch to count, I can see that I have 36 moles on my arms alone! Yikes.
Red spots
"Don't know why they have red spots," Isaac said today.
I knew the last word, which sounded more like "tee-opps," wasn't actually "spots," but I couldn't understand what he was really saying. However, I thought I'd figure out the subject of the sentence first, so I asked, "Who has red spots?"
"Don't know why the tree service guys have red spots," he said.
I thought I had figured it out. I asked, "Did the tree service guys have red shirts? Are you saying shirts?"
"No," Isaac said. I was puzzled. The tree service guys had come on Friday while I was at work, so I didn't know what color their shirts were, but I also didn't have any idea what else of theirs might have been red. Chainsaws? Sawdust? Chippers? (I knew their trucks were green and yellow.)
"Try it again," I said. "What was red?"
"Spots," Isaac said.
"I'm sorry, honey," I said, "but I don't understand what you're saying." He tried a few more times, but he wasn't any clearer, and I had to keep telling him I didn't understand.
"Mama isn't listening," Isaac said. He sounded both sad and accusatory.
- - - - -
This total failure to communicate doesn't happen very often. Even when Isaac was much littler, we usually found a way to understand one another. (In fact, I can only find one other blog post about a communication breakdown -- and it was another situation where Isaac tried to tell me about something that happened while I wasn't present.)
We narrowly avoided a misunderstanding last night. Isaac kept asking me what the cow was saying, and I kept answering "moo." As he continued asking the exact same question, however, I began to realize that something was wrong. I finally answered in the form of a question: "Moo?"
Then he said, emphasizing each word, "What the yellow Beetle is saying?"
Ah. Not cow, but car. (A toy Volkswagen, to be precise.) It's a little awkward that he pronounces "car" exactly like "cow." Maybe we should teach him to say "automobile" and "bovine" instead.
- - - - -
It turned out, according to Craig, that the tree service guys had red straps to attach them to the trees to keep their hands free. Isaac did his best with "straps," considering he can't pronounce S at the beginning of a word, and he can't pronounce R at all.
I knew the last word, which sounded more like "tee-opps," wasn't actually "spots," but I couldn't understand what he was really saying. However, I thought I'd figure out the subject of the sentence first, so I asked, "Who has red spots?"
"Don't know why the tree service guys have red spots," he said.
I thought I had figured it out. I asked, "Did the tree service guys have red shirts? Are you saying shirts?"
"No," Isaac said. I was puzzled. The tree service guys had come on Friday while I was at work, so I didn't know what color their shirts were, but I also didn't have any idea what else of theirs might have been red. Chainsaws? Sawdust? Chippers? (I knew their trucks were green and yellow.)
"Try it again," I said. "What was red?"
"Spots," Isaac said.
"I'm sorry, honey," I said, "but I don't understand what you're saying." He tried a few more times, but he wasn't any clearer, and I had to keep telling him I didn't understand.
"Mama isn't listening," Isaac said. He sounded both sad and accusatory.
- - - - -
This total failure to communicate doesn't happen very often. Even when Isaac was much littler, we usually found a way to understand one another. (In fact, I can only find one other blog post about a communication breakdown -- and it was another situation where Isaac tried to tell me about something that happened while I wasn't present.)
We narrowly avoided a misunderstanding last night. Isaac kept asking me what the cow was saying, and I kept answering "moo." As he continued asking the exact same question, however, I began to realize that something was wrong. I finally answered in the form of a question: "Moo?"
Then he said, emphasizing each word, "What the yellow Beetle is saying?"
Ah. Not cow, but car. (A toy Volkswagen, to be precise.) It's a little awkward that he pronounces "car" exactly like "cow." Maybe we should teach him to say "automobile" and "bovine" instead.
- - - - -
It turned out, according to Craig, that the tree service guys had red straps to attach them to the trees to keep their hands free. Isaac did his best with "straps," considering he can't pronounce S at the beginning of a word, and he can't pronounce R at all.
Natural history lesson
"Come on, juncos!" Isaac says. "Eat those voles!"
We do seem to have a vole infestation in our yard, although the juncos are not going to be much help.
Isaac knows what birds do eat meat, however. "Great horned owls eat voles, skunks, and big monsters," he says.
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Also, this might help: every night when we look out the window of his room just prior to pulling down the shade, Isaac says, "Good night, voles! Don't eat our plants!"
We do seem to have a vole infestation in our yard, although the juncos are not going to be much help.
Isaac knows what birds do eat meat, however. "Great horned owls eat voles, skunks, and big monsters," he says.
- - - - -
Also, this might help: every night when we look out the window of his room just prior to pulling down the shade, Isaac says, "Good night, voles! Don't eat our plants!"
"Why?"
In the past week we have entered the world of "Why?" It's a lot less fun than I had imagined.
Well, sometimes it is fun. You may have noticed that recent posts have addressed why people get married and why tree service workers wear straps. Not only do those questions have answers, but they're entertaining, too. However, increasingly often the question "why?" leads to a dead end.
I've always enjoyed his curious, engaged, intellectually demanding queries, and I am thrilled to answer those. But today we got these questions: Why did we leave the party? (Because it was time to go home.) Why are we going home? (Because it was time to leave the party.) Why are we going home in the car? (Because it was too far to walk.) Why is it too far to walk? (Because the party was in Oakland, and we don't live in Oakland.)
I read somewhere that the relentless asking of "why?" is one way small children engage in dialog. They don't know how else to keep the conversation going, so they ask "why?" I can understand that, and I'm learning how to derail the "why" train by answering a related question, one that I actually want to answer, and one that moves the conversation in a productive direction. I've also had some success in asking him a question in return, if only to exact some pale vengeance by making Isaac answer "I don't know" himself.
But sometimes it's clear that he really does need to know why -- or at least that he doesn't understand the situation at hand, and his continued asking of "why?" means only that our answers don't do anything to lessen his confusion. This might explain why he asked "Why did Daddy stop?" at every single stop sign between our house and the party we went to today. He understands stop lights, but apparently stop signs are more puzzling.
- - - - -
He also asks "Why did Daddy get a flat tire?" nearly every time he notices a truck with a spare tire mounted on the back. He also frequently asks "Why do cars break down?" and "Why do cars smell like exhaust?" I've answered these questions literally 25 times, and yet he's not satisfied.
- - - - -
No, not all of his questions are vehicle-related! These are just the ones I remember right now. I guess I might be getting a little vehicle-obsessed myself.
Well, sometimes it is fun. You may have noticed that recent posts have addressed why people get married and why tree service workers wear straps. Not only do those questions have answers, but they're entertaining, too. However, increasingly often the question "why?" leads to a dead end.
I've always enjoyed his curious, engaged, intellectually demanding queries, and I am thrilled to answer those. But today we got these questions: Why did we leave the party? (Because it was time to go home.) Why are we going home? (Because it was time to leave the party.) Why are we going home in the car? (Because it was too far to walk.) Why is it too far to walk? (Because the party was in Oakland, and we don't live in Oakland.)
I read somewhere that the relentless asking of "why?" is one way small children engage in dialog. They don't know how else to keep the conversation going, so they ask "why?" I can understand that, and I'm learning how to derail the "why" train by answering a related question, one that I actually want to answer, and one that moves the conversation in a productive direction. I've also had some success in asking him a question in return, if only to exact some pale vengeance by making Isaac answer "I don't know" himself.
But sometimes it's clear that he really does need to know why -- or at least that he doesn't understand the situation at hand, and his continued asking of "why?" means only that our answers don't do anything to lessen his confusion. This might explain why he asked "Why did Daddy stop?" at every single stop sign between our house and the party we went to today. He understands stop lights, but apparently stop signs are more puzzling.
- - - - -
He also asks "Why did Daddy get a flat tire?" nearly every time he notices a truck with a spare tire mounted on the back. He also frequently asks "Why do cars break down?" and "Why do cars smell like exhaust?" I've answered these questions literally 25 times, and yet he's not satisfied.
- - - - -
No, not all of his questions are vehicle-related! These are just the ones I remember right now. I guess I might be getting a little vehicle-obsessed myself.
Happy Anniversary
Today is our eighth wedding anniversary!To commemorate the formation of our family, here's a photo of us at a wedding (appropriately enough) we attended this weekend.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Round and round
A number of Isaac's disparate interests and enthusiasms came together today in a sort of toddler synchronicity. I don't know if he found it surprising to find these various elements merging, but I certainly did:
At first he painted slowly and carefully. He had four containers of paint at his easel, and he dipped into each one sequentially. He put up a blob of yellow paint. He put up a larger teal blob. He painted a green line. He painted a longer blue line. Then he started back over again with yellow. He made about seven different marks, all at the top of the page, and none of these marks touched.
Then he loosened up. He added larger areas of color to the page, and he began to push the existing paint around with vigor. He also worked with increasing speed, moving so quickly that the paint flew off the page and splattered his jeans. Then he began to move the brush in a large circle, covering most of the page, and he began to sing:
- the street sweeper in the book Night Shift, which we've been reading repeatedly for the past two weeks
- a street sweeper driving right in front of our house, which happened this morning (and which has never before happened, to my knowledge, in the six years we've lived here)
- a sudden interest in drawing at the easel, which started only last night
- the song "Wheels on the Van" in the book Punk Farm on Tour, which we've been reading repeatedly for the past two weeks
- the song "Wheels on the Bus," sung by a man with a guitar performing at Studio Grow this morning
At first he painted slowly and carefully. He had four containers of paint at his easel, and he dipped into each one sequentially. He put up a blob of yellow paint. He put up a larger teal blob. He painted a green line. He painted a longer blue line. Then he started back over again with yellow. He made about seven different marks, all at the top of the page, and none of these marks touched.
Then he loosened up. He added larger areas of color to the page, and he began to push the existing paint around with vigor. He also worked with increasing speed, moving so quickly that the paint flew off the page and splattered his jeans. Then he began to move the brush in a large circle, covering most of the page, and he began to sing:
The brush on the street sweeper goes round and round
Round and round, round and round
The brush on the street sweeper goes round and round
All over town
Hi, Grandpa!
Today I was trying to push a wheelbarrow full of compost through our back yard, and there were a variety of toys blocking my way.
I said, "Isaac, would you please move your golf club out of the way?"
He studied the ground carefully, and eventually said, "I don't see any golf club."
I said impatiently, "So what's that red plastic thing right there?"
He said patiently, "It's a putter."
- - - - -
Well, he likes to be precise.
I said, "Isaac, would you please move your golf club out of the way?"
He studied the ground carefully, and eventually said, "I don't see any golf club."
I said impatiently, "So what's that red plastic thing right there?"
He said patiently, "It's a putter."
- - - - -
Well, he likes to be precise.
Structured activity
On Monday, Isaac will be starting a new class -- we'll be taking Music Together once a week for the next ten weeks.
It's been a long time since he's been enrolled in a structured activity. In fact, he's only ever taken two classes, which is extremely unusual for his peer group. Some of the kids he plays with are in preschool already, but even those who aren't in school take classes: art, music, sports, foreign language, science, and so forth. And now we're joining the trend.
Right before Isaac turned one year old, we tried a Kindermusik class, but I didn't like the songs and Isaac didn't seem impressed either, so after our nine classes were up, we didn't enroll again. Then when he was 16 months old, shortly after he learned to walk, he took Kindergym through our local community center. He liked that better, so we stayed with it for about six months. There was no instruction, so he didn't learn any gymnastics -- it was just free play in a kiddie-gym environment, which was fine during the rainy season, but when summer started I couldn't see the point of not playing outside instead.
So that's what we've been doing since last May, when we quit Kindergym -- for nearly a year we've just been hanging out and doing our own thing. In addition to pursuing our own interests (which means doing a lot of gardening!), we belong to two separate playgroups, so we have standing engagements to get together with friends two mornings a week. Both playgroups are informal groups, however, not structured like a class would be. This past week we went to Studio Grow with one playgroup, and took the ferry to have lunch in San Francisco with the other. The week before that, we went to two different parks. Life is good.
I'm mostly hoping the music class has good songs, and that it encourages Isaac's existing interest in singing and playing simple instruments. But I'm also hoping it will help him to feel more comfortable participating in a group. I've noticed that he seems overwhelmed in boisterous surroundings, and he prefers to quietly observe, often from the safety of my lap. For instance, even though he loves to sing, he really didn't enjoy the music time at Studio Grow this week, and he didn't relax enough to sing until later, when he was on his own. Maybe this is just his temperament, and nothing will change it, and that's fine too. But I want to give him a chance to learn to enjoy a group musical experience, and regularly attending a class seems the best way to do that right now.
But if he hates it, then we'll quit after the session is over, and we'll go back to playing duets in our own living room. Two days ago we sang "Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night" together, and I played the autoharp while Isaac accompanied me on the cymbals. Life, as I said, is good.
It's been a long time since he's been enrolled in a structured activity. In fact, he's only ever taken two classes, which is extremely unusual for his peer group. Some of the kids he plays with are in preschool already, but even those who aren't in school take classes: art, music, sports, foreign language, science, and so forth. And now we're joining the trend.
Right before Isaac turned one year old, we tried a Kindermusik class, but I didn't like the songs and Isaac didn't seem impressed either, so after our nine classes were up, we didn't enroll again. Then when he was 16 months old, shortly after he learned to walk, he took Kindergym through our local community center. He liked that better, so we stayed with it for about six months. There was no instruction, so he didn't learn any gymnastics -- it was just free play in a kiddie-gym environment, which was fine during the rainy season, but when summer started I couldn't see the point of not playing outside instead.
So that's what we've been doing since last May, when we quit Kindergym -- for nearly a year we've just been hanging out and doing our own thing. In addition to pursuing our own interests (which means doing a lot of gardening!), we belong to two separate playgroups, so we have standing engagements to get together with friends two mornings a week. Both playgroups are informal groups, however, not structured like a class would be. This past week we went to Studio Grow with one playgroup, and took the ferry to have lunch in San Francisco with the other. The week before that, we went to two different parks. Life is good.
I'm mostly hoping the music class has good songs, and that it encourages Isaac's existing interest in singing and playing simple instruments. But I'm also hoping it will help him to feel more comfortable participating in a group. I've noticed that he seems overwhelmed in boisterous surroundings, and he prefers to quietly observe, often from the safety of my lap. For instance, even though he loves to sing, he really didn't enjoy the music time at Studio Grow this week, and he didn't relax enough to sing until later, when he was on his own. Maybe this is just his temperament, and nothing will change it, and that's fine too. But I want to give him a chance to learn to enjoy a group musical experience, and regularly attending a class seems the best way to do that right now.
But if he hates it, then we'll quit after the session is over, and we'll go back to playing duets in our own living room. Two days ago we sang "Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night" together, and I played the autoharp while Isaac accompanied me on the cymbals. Life, as I said, is good.
Positive thinker
The other day we were driving on the freeway, and as we negotiated a usually congested interchange, Isaac noticed there were very few cars.
"Hey, there's no traffic!" he said.
"Yeah, it's much nicer this way," I said.
"Mama, even when there is traffic, it's still nice," he said.
- - - - -
Isaac said a similar thing about the flowers that Craig brought me for our anniversary.
I noted that the bouquet still looked nice, although the petals were getting close to dropping off. Isaac said, "Even when the petals fall off, they're still nice."
"Hey, there's no traffic!" he said.
"Yeah, it's much nicer this way," I said.
"Mama, even when there is traffic, it's still nice," he said.
- - - - -
Isaac said a similar thing about the flowers that Craig brought me for our anniversary.
I noted that the bouquet still looked nice, although the petals were getting close to dropping off. Isaac said, "Even when the petals fall off, they're still nice."
Imaginary play
Imaginary play has taken over.
Sure, Isaac's play has always involved imagination. There's imitative play, when he pretends to cook or clean; there's symbolic play, when he builds with blocks or drives little vehicles; and there's role-playing, when he'll announce we're both kittens cuddled together in a hayloft.
But the role-playing has intensified in the last few weeks. In the course of 30 minutes, Isaac will assume a dozen different roles (usually announcing the arrival and departure of each): tree service guy, nurse, doctor, bus driver, a mischievous boy named Matt, Loader Driver, a deer walking past, Loopy the dog, construction worker, my daddy, a baby, and a cow about to eat the lawn. (And there are more!)
This type of play usually happens while we're outside, which means he's doing it while I'm pulling weeds, or spreading a wheelbarrow full of mulch, or fertilizing plants, or building a retaining wall. He sometimes works right alongside me (he's a good weed-puller), but of course he's always playing as he works, and he frequently gets caught up in his latest role.
A few of these roles are old favorites (Loader Driver and Loopy), and some are brand-new. Many are based on Isaac's real-world experiences, and a few come from books (although in the book Matt is very helpful, so I don't know why he's such a pain in the neck in Isaac's interpretation). Some require props (the nurse likes to jab me with a pine-needle syringe), but most of them are purely mental exercises. To be a deer walking past, all he needs to do is announce that he's a deer, and then he starts rustling around in the bushes, trying to startle me.
He doesn't seem to need me to play with him to enjoy these games, so I admit I don't physically participate unless asked to do so. And he really has to insist, as when the bus driver demands that I get on the bus (that is, sit down on the swinging bench next to him). I'm not totally ignoring him, though, as I'm usually participating verbally, whether acting out my role in the game or asking him questions to keep the game going. I'm pretty sure he'd like me to be more involved, though.
I'm proud of his imagination, and I feel like it's good for him to be able to play so successfully on his own, but sometimes I do feel guilty. After he's gone to bed at night these days, I find myself wondering if I played enough with him during the day. Sure, my garden looks great, but am I missing out on something even better?
Especially because I've just been talking about how perfect he is lately!
Sure, Isaac's play has always involved imagination. There's imitative play, when he pretends to cook or clean; there's symbolic play, when he builds with blocks or drives little vehicles; and there's role-playing, when he'll announce we're both kittens cuddled together in a hayloft.
But the role-playing has intensified in the last few weeks. In the course of 30 minutes, Isaac will assume a dozen different roles (usually announcing the arrival and departure of each): tree service guy, nurse, doctor, bus driver, a mischievous boy named Matt, Loader Driver, a deer walking past, Loopy the dog, construction worker, my daddy, a baby, and a cow about to eat the lawn. (And there are more!)
This type of play usually happens while we're outside, which means he's doing it while I'm pulling weeds, or spreading a wheelbarrow full of mulch, or fertilizing plants, or building a retaining wall. He sometimes works right alongside me (he's a good weed-puller), but of course he's always playing as he works, and he frequently gets caught up in his latest role.
A few of these roles are old favorites (Loader Driver and Loopy), and some are brand-new. Many are based on Isaac's real-world experiences, and a few come from books (although in the book Matt is very helpful, so I don't know why he's such a pain in the neck in Isaac's interpretation). Some require props (the nurse likes to jab me with a pine-needle syringe), but most of them are purely mental exercises. To be a deer walking past, all he needs to do is announce that he's a deer, and then he starts rustling around in the bushes, trying to startle me.
He doesn't seem to need me to play with him to enjoy these games, so I admit I don't physically participate unless asked to do so. And he really has to insist, as when the bus driver demands that I get on the bus (that is, sit down on the swinging bench next to him). I'm not totally ignoring him, though, as I'm usually participating verbally, whether acting out my role in the game or asking him questions to keep the game going. I'm pretty sure he'd like me to be more involved, though.
I'm proud of his imagination, and I feel like it's good for him to be able to play so successfully on his own, but sometimes I do feel guilty. After he's gone to bed at night these days, I find myself wondering if I played enough with him during the day. Sure, my garden looks great, but am I missing out on something even better?
Especially because I've just been talking about how perfect he is lately!
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