"Can I climb this?" Lauren said. I looked over. The item in question was a chicken wire covered chicken tractor, which would probably, but not absolutely, hold her weight.
"No," I said.
"Why?" she asked, because that is the stage we're in.
Later, she was swinging the punch balloon that Sydney had gotten her for her birthday around. Sydney was tired of being pummeled by her sister and suggested that Lauren could have "something else to punch" for her birthday. With a mischevious glint in her eye, she asked:
"Can I hit you with this?"
"No," I said.
"Can I hit the chair with this?"
"Yes," I said.
"Can I hit Hoolio with this?" Hoolio is our cat.
"No."
"Can I hit the wall with this?"
"Yes."
"Can I hit Daddy with this?"
"No."
"Can I hit Sydney with this?"
"No."
"Can I hit myself with this?"
"....yes. I guess so." So she did.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Friday, May 11, 2012
Reflections on Two
For the past two years Lauren has made it clear that she is an entirely different child than her sister. Sure, there are similarities-- they both like olives, for instance. But Lauren adores milk, and her sister barely tolerates it. Lauren climbs up structures with impunity; Sydney is still tentative about the potential gravitational implications. Sydney made a leisurely crawl towards walking, finally deciding to do the deed when she was around 18 months; Lauren was up and running at 9 months. Sydney's language skills are spectacular, but she would wait until she could fully pronounce a word before trying it out publicly for the first time. Lauren just barges right in with sometimes less than stellar results, but immensely long and complicated sentences.
So we've arrived at Two and that's precisely what we have. We don't have two babies anymore, or even a baby and a kid; we have two blond, slight, actively curious, highly intelligent, completely different kids.
Lauren has been traveling backward per the recommendation of the Car Seat Expert people, who actually recommend that you keep your child riding backwards until they leave for college, which I find would be awkward for many reasons, not the least of which it would be hard to explain to the driver's ed teacher why your child can only learn to drive in reverse. But recently she has been emphatically reminding us that everyone else is riding forward, by saying, petulantly, "I don't see that!" whenever I mention a cow or a pretty tree or something interesting passing by our car.
So yesterday, for her second birthday, acknowledging that she is no longer a baby, I turned her car seat around. Now she's facing forward. Let's not look back.
So we've arrived at Two and that's precisely what we have. We don't have two babies anymore, or even a baby and a kid; we have two blond, slight, actively curious, highly intelligent, completely different kids.
Lauren has been traveling backward per the recommendation of the Car Seat Expert people, who actually recommend that you keep your child riding backwards until they leave for college, which I find would be awkward for many reasons, not the least of which it would be hard to explain to the driver's ed teacher why your child can only learn to drive in reverse. But recently she has been emphatically reminding us that everyone else is riding forward, by saying, petulantly, "I don't see that!" whenever I mention a cow or a pretty tree or something interesting passing by our car.
So yesterday, for her second birthday, acknowledging that she is no longer a baby, I turned her car seat around. Now she's facing forward. Let's not look back.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
To Make a Bed
For her entire life, all, 20 months of it, Lauren has slept with me.
For some reason, I was able to move her sister onward in her sleeping journey, and was even able to be coherent enough in the middle of the night when she was done eating to place her back into the co-sleeper which sits right next to the bed. But for Lauren, I would only wake up partially, drag her into the bed with me, attach her sleepily, and then fall back to sleep. Two hours later she'd be hungry again, and I'd wake up to see that once again I'd failed to place her back in her own sleeping area.
In the past few months she's moved on from breastfeeding and sleeps mostly through the night and even mostly in her own bed, but recently I placed her in the co-sleeper, and noted that with all that breastfeeding and such, she's grown quite a bit. Her head and her feet almost touch the ends of the little bed.
And so Operation Bedroom finally commenced.
Even though we live in a monstrously large, leaky old colonial with a million rooms, we've managed to fill them all up with various detritus through the years, and so what was to be Lauren's room had to be cleared of what used to be the office, and the new office had to be cleared of what used to be another office-cum-junk-accumulation space. That took a while. Then, some discussion ensued about who would occupy the old office space, Lauren, or her sister? After her sister took dibs on the new room, we decided that it really needed a closet, and so we had that built, and then finally we had to strip the wallpaper and paint it, all of which could only happen after the gardens, orchard, chickens and wood were put to bed, Christmas was taken care of, and we officially moved indoors and started hibernating for the winter.
So for the past few weeks we've shuffled furniture and covered things with plastic and finally created a very cute little kid's room for Lauren's older sister, who moved into her new room proudly. We then moved all the assorted items for Lauren's new room into her new room, including the fire engine toddler bed we bought at a flea market in the summer, and watched with wonder as both kids took to the new arrangements with gusto, running back and forth between the two rooms and jumping on the beds.
As we settled down to enjoy the moment, we took stock of the situation.
"That bed sure is red."
"Yeah... and the walls are blue."
"Syd drew on the wall over there."
"Yeah. The trim is a little dirty."
"Lauren's going to be in that bed for a long time. Look how big it is!"
"Yeah. And the walls are blue. And the bed is red."
We looked at each other.
"What if the room was brown?" I said, slowly, reluctant to bring this up.
"Yeah. Brown would work."
"Probably should paint it soon. Before Lauren is settled."
"We have the primer..."
"I'll get paint chips tomorrow..."
"I can paint on Friday..."
So, we took all the furniture out, covered everything in plastic, and started over. At least this room already has a closet. Meanwhile, for the past few nights Lauren has woken up around 4am and crawled into bed with me. She's warm and cuddly. It's okay if we share a bed a little longer.
For some reason, I was able to move her sister onward in her sleeping journey, and was even able to be coherent enough in the middle of the night when she was done eating to place her back into the co-sleeper which sits right next to the bed. But for Lauren, I would only wake up partially, drag her into the bed with me, attach her sleepily, and then fall back to sleep. Two hours later she'd be hungry again, and I'd wake up to see that once again I'd failed to place her back in her own sleeping area.
In the past few months she's moved on from breastfeeding and sleeps mostly through the night and even mostly in her own bed, but recently I placed her in the co-sleeper, and noted that with all that breastfeeding and such, she's grown quite a bit. Her head and her feet almost touch the ends of the little bed.
And so Operation Bedroom finally commenced.
Even though we live in a monstrously large, leaky old colonial with a million rooms, we've managed to fill them all up with various detritus through the years, and so what was to be Lauren's room had to be cleared of what used to be the office, and the new office had to be cleared of what used to be another office-cum-junk-accumulation space. That took a while. Then, some discussion ensued about who would occupy the old office space, Lauren, or her sister? After her sister took dibs on the new room, we decided that it really needed a closet, and so we had that built, and then finally we had to strip the wallpaper and paint it, all of which could only happen after the gardens, orchard, chickens and wood were put to bed, Christmas was taken care of, and we officially moved indoors and started hibernating for the winter.
So for the past few weeks we've shuffled furniture and covered things with plastic and finally created a very cute little kid's room for Lauren's older sister, who moved into her new room proudly. We then moved all the assorted items for Lauren's new room into her new room, including the fire engine toddler bed we bought at a flea market in the summer, and watched with wonder as both kids took to the new arrangements with gusto, running back and forth between the two rooms and jumping on the beds.
As we settled down to enjoy the moment, we took stock of the situation.
"That bed sure is red."
"Yeah... and the walls are blue."
"Syd drew on the wall over there."
"Yeah. The trim is a little dirty."
"Lauren's going to be in that bed for a long time. Look how big it is!"
"Yeah. And the walls are blue. And the bed is red."
We looked at each other.
"What if the room was brown?" I said, slowly, reluctant to bring this up.
"Yeah. Brown would work."
"Probably should paint it soon. Before Lauren is settled."
"We have the primer..."
"I'll get paint chips tomorrow..."
"I can paint on Friday..."
So, we took all the furniture out, covered everything in plastic, and started over. At least this room already has a closet. Meanwhile, for the past few nights Lauren has woken up around 4am and crawled into bed with me. She's warm and cuddly. It's okay if we share a bed a little longer.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Furry Communications
The ability to communicate is, fundamentally, a two way street—you may, for example, speak impeccable English, but if you fail to get your point across to your fellow human, or to your dog, than you have failed at communication. Thus it is with the 19 month old.
“Lauren,” I said the other day as I was strapping her into her car seat, “you’ve scratched your face again.”
“Cut!” she said, holding out her finger to be inspected. For this particular child, “cut” doesn’t mean “I cut my finger” or “I cut my face with my finger.” It means “you need to cut my fingernails.”
“Okay,” I said, “I can cut your nails when we get home. But why did you scratch your face?”
“Bunny!” she said. Sometimes it is entirely unclear what your toddler is talking about.
“Bunny?” I asked. “Where is the bunny?”
“Face!” she said. When confronted with absolute non sequiturs, close the car door and keep going. It will all become clear in time. And it did.
A little while later when we got home, I mentioned to my husband that Lauren had managed to scratch her face again. I didn’t know she was within earshot, but from the living room I heard her exclaim, once again, “bunny!”
This time I can’t ignore it, so I go into the living room and I say, “What is bunny? You said that before. What do you mean by bunny?”
Ever the helpful little child, she runs past me, goes into the bathroom, points upwards towards the shelf at a box and says clearly, “bunny!”
She’s pointing at bandaids. She wants a bandaid for the scratch on her face and her nails cut so she doesn’t do it again. Obviously.
“Lauren,” I said the other day as I was strapping her into her car seat, “you’ve scratched your face again.”
“Cut!” she said, holding out her finger to be inspected. For this particular child, “cut” doesn’t mean “I cut my finger” or “I cut my face with my finger.” It means “you need to cut my fingernails.”
“Okay,” I said, “I can cut your nails when we get home. But why did you scratch your face?”
“Bunny!” she said. Sometimes it is entirely unclear what your toddler is talking about.
“Bunny?” I asked. “Where is the bunny?”
“Face!” she said. When confronted with absolute non sequiturs, close the car door and keep going. It will all become clear in time. And it did.
A little while later when we got home, I mentioned to my husband that Lauren had managed to scratch her face again. I didn’t know she was within earshot, but from the living room I heard her exclaim, once again, “bunny!”
This time I can’t ignore it, so I go into the living room and I say, “What is bunny? You said that before. What do you mean by bunny?”
Ever the helpful little child, she runs past me, goes into the bathroom, points upwards towards the shelf at a box and says clearly, “bunny!”
She’s pointing at bandaids. She wants a bandaid for the scratch on her face and her nails cut so she doesn’t do it again. Obviously.
Friday, December 2, 2011
NooNoo & NydNee
Because she is second we have been quietly confident that Lauren would progress from the babbling baby to the talking toddler, but that doesn't make the journey any less significant. The sudden leaps and strides Lauren makes in vocabulary are coupled with the creative way she uses the words and syllables she posesses, which means she says alot by saying very little, or rather, saying a little over and over and over again. Witness:
"Lauren, please don't push the buttons on the dishwasher."
"My!"
"No, mommy's."
"Mommy!"
"Yes."
"nnnDaddy?"
"Yes, Daddy too."
"Nnn...NydNee?"
"Well, sometimes Sydney can too."
"Mommy."
"Yes, it is mommy's button."
Some words are brave approximations of the actual word in question. Where Sydney called both olives and avocado (both favorites at the time, adding to some confusion) "a-a", Lauren spit out something the other day with way more syllables than necessary, ending with something like "avoficiandocco." Since we unfairly named her with advanced letters of pronunciation in both the L and the R of her actual name, she has gone ahead and re-named herself "NooNoo." Other words, on the other hand, take on some attribute of the item in question. "Dog" has become "Bow-wow," and the phone has logically become a "Hi."
These malapropisms are endearing and fleeting, as we have learned (I will always miss Sydney's version of "because" which instead came out as "kapuz". I knew I would miss it and therefore I tried to find occasions for her to use the word as often as possible--possibly hastening its demise.) Our favorite Laurenism to date, though, is her willingness to play along with our "Happy Song." The object is to get Lauren to say the word "happy" at the right time:
"I like to be.."
"Happy!"
"I want to be.."
"Happy!"
"Daddy is..."
"Happy!"
"Lauren is.."
"Happy!.."
"Mommy is..."
"Happy!"
"Hoolio is..."
"...CAT!!"
Well, it's true. Hoolio IS the cat.
"Lauren, please don't push the buttons on the dishwasher."
"My!"
"No, mommy's."
"Mommy!"
"Yes."
"nnnDaddy?"
"Yes, Daddy too."
"Nnn...NydNee?"
"Well, sometimes Sydney can too."
"Mommy."
"Yes, it is mommy's button."
Some words are brave approximations of the actual word in question. Where Sydney called both olives and avocado (both favorites at the time, adding to some confusion) "a-a", Lauren spit out something the other day with way more syllables than necessary, ending with something like "avoficiandocco." Since we unfairly named her with advanced letters of pronunciation in both the L and the R of her actual name, she has gone ahead and re-named herself "NooNoo." Other words, on the other hand, take on some attribute of the item in question. "Dog" has become "Bow-wow," and the phone has logically become a "Hi."
These malapropisms are endearing and fleeting, as we have learned (I will always miss Sydney's version of "because" which instead came out as "kapuz". I knew I would miss it and therefore I tried to find occasions for her to use the word as often as possible--possibly hastening its demise.) Our favorite Laurenism to date, though, is her willingness to play along with our "Happy Song." The object is to get Lauren to say the word "happy" at the right time:
"I like to be.."
"Happy!"
"I want to be.."
"Happy!"
"Daddy is..."
"Happy!"
"Lauren is.."
"Happy!.."
"Mommy is..."
"Happy!"
"Hoolio is..."
"...CAT!!"
Well, it's true. Hoolio IS the cat.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Beware the masked turtle
On Saturday we began the now annual pilgrimage to find pieces and parts of Sydney's Halloween costume. In prior years, she has been spinach and a bee, but this year she wants to be Buzz Lightyear, which challenged our costume making abilities a little bit. Fortunately we found others who had gone through this already online, and were able to print out what amounted to a recipe for costume making complete with ingredient list. The list found us making a trip to the nearest Michael's.
Often on shopping excursions I hand one or both children a "store toy", which is a toy that can be held or played with while we are in the store, but will be given back to the store upon our departure, relieving me of both the issues associated with boredom and also with constantly buying the children useless toys. So far, both children have been fine with this arrangement. So while in an aisle stacked with odd assorted toys we came across a plastic, and well formed, tortoise. Lauren pointed at this toy and even handed back the squishy ball she had previously been playing with. "Baby!" she said, which is her word for any stuffed animal which she will hold onto.
A little while later into the shopping excursion, Sydney informed me that she wanted to wear a mask with her Buzz Lightyear costume. This was not part of the ingredients list, but we settled on a green eye mask which actually fit her. We finished our shopping, which is when it became apparent that the tortoise was coming with us and was not a store toy, after all.
"Lauren," I said, "We have to give the turtle back, now."
"Baby!" she said, looking very serious, and hugging it tighter.
"Honey, we're not buying it. It has to go back."
"na na na na." She shook her head. Then she pointed at herself. "My!"
I glanced in the shopping cart. All the items there were intended to make Sydney a Buzz Lightyear costume, and there actually wasn't anything in there for Lauren. My Fairness Meter kicked in. It has slowly dawned on me, as Lauren gets older and more aware, that things must be equal for the kids, or at least as equal as they can get. And so the store toy became Lauren's baby.
"Okay," I said, "You can have it."
Later on, we went shopping for food. Sydney, taken with the mask, wore it inside the store. Lauren carried her plastic turtle. Yes, I went food shopping with one masked child and one turtle-carrying child. "Baby!" Lauren would respond to anyone who would ask. I'm aware that we make a spectacle. But I wouldn't change it, not for the world.
Often on shopping excursions I hand one or both children a "store toy", which is a toy that can be held or played with while we are in the store, but will be given back to the store upon our departure, relieving me of both the issues associated with boredom and also with constantly buying the children useless toys. So far, both children have been fine with this arrangement. So while in an aisle stacked with odd assorted toys we came across a plastic, and well formed, tortoise. Lauren pointed at this toy and even handed back the squishy ball she had previously been playing with. "Baby!" she said, which is her word for any stuffed animal which she will hold onto.
A little while later into the shopping excursion, Sydney informed me that she wanted to wear a mask with her Buzz Lightyear costume. This was not part of the ingredients list, but we settled on a green eye mask which actually fit her. We finished our shopping, which is when it became apparent that the tortoise was coming with us and was not a store toy, after all.
"Lauren," I said, "We have to give the turtle back, now."
"Baby!" she said, looking very serious, and hugging it tighter.
"Honey, we're not buying it. It has to go back."
"na na na na." She shook her head. Then she pointed at herself. "My!"
I glanced in the shopping cart. All the items there were intended to make Sydney a Buzz Lightyear costume, and there actually wasn't anything in there for Lauren. My Fairness Meter kicked in. It has slowly dawned on me, as Lauren gets older and more aware, that things must be equal for the kids, or at least as equal as they can get. And so the store toy became Lauren's baby.
"Okay," I said, "You can have it."
Later on, we went shopping for food. Sydney, taken with the mask, wore it inside the store. Lauren carried her plastic turtle. Yes, I went food shopping with one masked child and one turtle-carrying child. "Baby!" Lauren would respond to anyone who would ask. I'm aware that we make a spectacle. But I wouldn't change it, not for the world.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Kissing makes it better
While her sister is questioning the existence of the Tooth Fairy (she’s 4, okay, and hasn’t even lost any teeth yet), Lauren wholeheartedly believes that if you kiss where she got hurt, it will make it feel better.
Which is good, because this kid falls down, gets scratched, pinches her fingers..in short, she gets hurt a lot.
But the Kiss.. and it can be anybody’s kiss (I have recently employed Sydney to do the Kissing for me when I am otherwise occupied), it works wonders. Lauren will be wailing uncontrollably and holding her head, and wala....instantly upon being kissed she is smiling and pointing at whatever object she just fell off of, ready to give it another go.
Sometimes no words, or crying, are exchanged. Lauren falls down, gets up, wanders over, and presents the offending body part to be kissed, then wanders off, content that she has been medicated again.
The other day, though, might have shaken her faith in the Kiss a little bit. She touched a thistle, and a blister developed. She cried, and presented her finger to be kissed. I kissed it and she stopped crying. Two seconds later she looked at her finger with surprise. It still hurt! So she presented it again. I kissed it. No. Still hurts. Kissed it again. No go. Kiss. Wait! Try again? Kiss. Still hurts!
After awhile she simply forgot that her finger hurt and wandered off again. A little while later she was back, pointing to her head and crying. I kissed it. She smiled. Doesn’t hurt!
Phew! The Kiss still works.
For now.
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