When you enforce consequences, you kind of get screwed, too. Case in point: Out to eat with Norah and Auntie Sarah. Stipulation: Norah must eat half of her meal if she wants to go to Cherry Berry (a frozen yogurt joint). Doesn't happen.
Consequence: Auntie and I were clearly the ones who wanted fro-yo, and got screwed, as we ate half of our dinners. But going there and eating it in front of her seemed usually cruel.
Also, after watching Despicable Me in the theater this afternoon, Norah had a complete and total meltdown in the restaurant attached to the theater. We were there with our friends and Norah's bff Minta. I took Norah out to the car, as she was causing a scene. Apparently she was sad the movie was over, and wanted to go to another one. Stipulation: Norah has to calm down before we go back in. Doesn't happen.
Consequence: Ryan gets to drink the beer I ordered as I sit in the car in the rain with Norah screaming, and me nearly in tears because I usually start crying when she's inconsolable. And I feel like a douche for being firm when she's crying. I did try to console, but she was hysterical, so I sat there and tried to ignore it. I don't know how to parent.
Another situation. We went to a birthday party. All was well. I even let Norah pick out the gift. MISTAKE. ATTENTION PARENTS: don't let your preschooler/toddler pick out gifts for birthday parties. Maybe this is a big duh, but no one told me. She picked out things she loved, and grew an instant attachment to the items. So when the party was over, she obviously wanted to bring rubber frog home with her, as it was her friend. She named it Seesaw.
I made her give it back to her little friend, and carried her wailing to the car. "I want my fwoggy! I want my Seesaw!" Meanwhile, my heart is breaking over a stupid fucking rubber frog that she clearly loves and I am making her leave it behind like Sophie's Choice, and this sweet little boy runs up to us with the frog, freely giving it back to Norah.
What do I do? I say "Oh, you are so sweet. But you keep your frog, Honey."
Consequence: Norah is now hysterical, and I am torn. I wanted her to learn about giving gifts, but now I'm certain I screwed up. I don't want her to thinking tantrums are the way you get your way, but she loved that dumbass frog. We drive the entire way back home in tears. I get her calmed down for about ten minutes, when Ryan returns from the party again, because I left my purse and he happily volunteered to go back as Norah wailed, and Norah thought he had gone back for her fwoggy. Tears for what seemed like an eternity.
I really have no idea what I'm doing.
The next morning, I got Norah ready, had her count out some money from her bank, and we hit Target to purchase Seesaw II. We thought at least we'd show her about money and goods exchanging hands, and that lesson would offset the fact that we're total pussies.
So, I know that setting consequences and enforcing them is a good thing. Right? But I don't know when I should be doing this. Is it for eating food? Having tantrums? Or is it just for violence and dangerous activities? Or for smart mouthing? Or all of the above? I don't know. I have no idea.
I guess it should be for things that are important to Ryan and I. Hitting and such is bad. Bad manners is not good. But the tantrums... I'm not sure. A communications professor once told our class "Feelings are facts." And while this is a corny thing to say, it's true. Should I allow this behavior? Let her let it out? Or should I be encouraging self-regulation? Or would that teach her to hide her feelings and push them down until they become ulcers or time bombs? I don't know!
I suppose no one said parenting is easy. And my friend, Kristi, said something like if it is easy, you're probably screwing it up pretty bad. I think I'll cling to that for a while.
Read along as I bumble my way through parenthood.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Bike Day and Subsequent Events
It was Bike Day last Friday at Norah's school. Thankfully, her teacher called me before we'd left the house to remind me. I guess it's no secret that I'm an idiot.
Anyway, it's March in Minnesota, and while we had a very, very mild winter, the weather was still a little iffy at times. One day it was beautiful-- 70 degrees and sunny. The next day, cold and drizzly. We hadn't broken out the outdoor toys. So into the shed we went, and Norah chose her princess bike.
We got to school, and she saw the other little bikes lined up, and wanted to ride down to them. She couldn't even get her knees past the handle bars. Too small.
Shit.
No prob. I told her I'd get her tricycle. We'd gotten it from our good friends when their sons had outgrown it. It was navy blue and white, and was a little rusty. But it works. I ran home and got it. When I got back, Norah was playing with her little pals, and I surveyed the bikes. They were big kid bikes with training wheels. Yikes. And fancy ones. Lightening McQueen grinned out from a couple of them. I looked down at Norah's trike.
I made my way back to the car, and considered hitting Target. Don't be stupid, I told myself. They're too little to make fun of each other for that stuff... right? I made myself go home to work, as I was now about 10 minutes late. Which is really damn sad when you work from home.
I called my mom later. I told her about Bike Day, and how I was worried because Norah doesn't really "get" pedaling yet. Had we missed the boat? Rob and Tamara's kids practically pedaled out of the womb. Her BFF Samantha was tooling around their basement last time we went over for a visit. Ruh-roh.
My mom advised we start working on pedaling and steering with the trike. Once she started to understand and do better, we should get a big kid bike. She reminded me that one of Norah's strengths is athleticism. She's not dunking or doing triple lutzes yet, but she runs, jumps, somersaults, dances, and moves constantly. We weren't nurturing one of her strengths.
She was right. I threw up my hands and resigned myself to the fact that our college savings account would now be designated to future therapy. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration. But I was disappointed in myself, because I usually try to make Norah do what I value-- art, music, reading. She likes that, too, but I need to nurture her in her other strengths. Which blows, because I'm frickin' lazy, and I hate running and shit.
Later that night, my sister called. We were at Target for a couple essentials (and $100 worth of stupid shit we can't resist because Target is the Devil), and she decided to meet us. She had decided to buy Norah a bike. Weird coincidence. I told her about Bike Day, and our plans to practice with the trike. She dismissed that (and said she normally would have just brought one over without consulting at all, so she was actually being good, which I suppose is true) and later that evening, Norah had a new bike. Aunt Sarah spoils her a tad.
She's happy, we're practicing, which is a whole other story, and we get to be creeped out by the dead button eyes of Lalaloopsys. Norah likes creepy. Shrug. We're nurturing that.
 |
| Princess Cycle |
We got to school, and she saw the other little bikes lined up, and wanted to ride down to them. She couldn't even get her knees past the handle bars. Too small.
Shit.
No prob. I told her I'd get her tricycle. We'd gotten it from our good friends when their sons had outgrown it. It was navy blue and white, and was a little rusty. But it works. I ran home and got it. When I got back, Norah was playing with her little pals, and I surveyed the bikes. They were big kid bikes with training wheels. Yikes. And fancy ones. Lightening McQueen grinned out from a couple of them. I looked down at Norah's trike.
I made my way back to the car, and considered hitting Target. Don't be stupid, I told myself. They're too little to make fun of each other for that stuff... right? I made myself go home to work, as I was now about 10 minutes late. Which is really damn sad when you work from home.
I called my mom later. I told her about Bike Day, and how I was worried because Norah doesn't really "get" pedaling yet. Had we missed the boat? Rob and Tamara's kids practically pedaled out of the womb. Her BFF Samantha was tooling around their basement last time we went over for a visit. Ruh-roh.
My mom advised we start working on pedaling and steering with the trike. Once she started to understand and do better, we should get a big kid bike. She reminded me that one of Norah's strengths is athleticism. She's not dunking or doing triple lutzes yet, but she runs, jumps, somersaults, dances, and moves constantly. We weren't nurturing one of her strengths.
She was right. I threw up my hands and resigned myself to the fact that our college savings account would now be designated to future therapy. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration. But I was disappointed in myself, because I usually try to make Norah do what I value-- art, music, reading. She likes that, too, but I need to nurture her in her other strengths. Which blows, because I'm frickin' lazy, and I hate running and shit.
 |
| Lalaloopsy bike |
She's happy, we're practicing, which is a whole other story, and we get to be creeped out by the dead button eyes of Lalaloopsys. Norah likes creepy. Shrug. We're nurturing that.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Nuk Fairy II
(Disclaimer-- I stole this tactic from another mom.)
A few weeks ago, I found the one toy that could be Norah's weakness. The one toy that might outweigh the need for a nuk. It was walkie talkies.
I figured this out because Norah thought our baby monitor was sort of like walkie talkies. She'd go in her room and try to talk to me on the monitor. Or she'd have me stay in her room and pretend to be her, and she'd be me, and I'd pretend to wake her up through the monitor, and she'd come to her room and yell at me for waking her up. (I don't know where she gets this-- seriously. I am awesome at putting on a happy face in the morning.)
Anyway. I explained to her what walkie talkies were all about.
"Ooooooo," she replied, eyes widening.
So I'd plant little seeds every once in a while.
"Wouldn't it be cool to play with walkie talkies?"
"YES! Let's get some right now."
Then I started telling her about the agents that work for the Nuk Fairy as well as Toys R Us. I told her if you're ready to give up the nuk, you can trade it for walkie talkies at Toys R Us. She looked incredulous, to say the least. And she shook her head. She wasn't ready.
That was okay. I kept reminding her. Soon, she started to believe it.
She'd start telling me to get ready to go to the toy store. I'd remind her that it's forever. No bedtime nuk after you trade it in. Then she'd back down.
Was I sabotaging her? Or making sure she was truly prepared? Not sure. Maybe a little of both.
Then on Sunday, she said, "Let's go to the toy store!" She grabbed her nuk payment. The three of us were on our way.
She picked out black walkie talkies (of course), and we also got some foam swords and shields. Hell, I probably would have bought her anything she wanted. I was so scared. Nervous. Sad. Guilty. But she was happily dancing around the store, looking at giant crayon banks and clearance toys near the registers.
I went up to the cashier first. A dude in his twenties with a goatee.
"Hi. Can you do me a huge favor?"
He looked at me blankly.
"My daughter is trying to give up her nuk, and we made a deal with her."
Blank stare.
"Do you know what the Nuk Fairy is?"
Blank stare. Ok. Time was a-ticking. Norah and Ryan were making there way to the register. No time for a back story.
"Here's how this is going to go down," I said. "My daughter is going to give you her nuk. You are going to give her the walkie talkies she wants to buy. Then she and I are going to play on that coin-operated horse, and my husband will give you actual money and you can give the nuk back. Is that ok?"
"Sure."
The transaction took place. She did it with a big smile. I didn't make a big deal out of it, although I wanted her to say goodbye or something. Look at it solemnly for a moment before releasing it to this stranger. Nope. Not Norah's way. She practically threw it at the dude. Okay.
Then we took her to McDonalds. I still felt guilty about making her ditch the nuk and was trying to buy back her love, even though she made no signs of being pissed in the first place.
We went home and played walkie talkie (which was a lot of "Hold it in the whole time you talk! Then let go!" She'll get it.) She laughed hysterically. She made us all go to different parts of the house. She tried to make Mongo meow in it. Her Smurf figures took turns. Then we played swords. Mongo exited pretty swiftly when the swords came out.
Then it was bedtime. Ryan settled her down, and I went to my room to read more Sookie Stackhouse, and I listened in. No trouble. One "I miss my nukkie." That was it. She went to bed.
The next day there was no utterance of the nuk.
Success.
*Sniff.*
A few weeks ago, I found the one toy that could be Norah's weakness. The one toy that might outweigh the need for a nuk. It was walkie talkies.
I figured this out because Norah thought our baby monitor was sort of like walkie talkies. She'd go in her room and try to talk to me on the monitor. Or she'd have me stay in her room and pretend to be her, and she'd be me, and I'd pretend to wake her up through the monitor, and she'd come to her room and yell at me for waking her up. (I don't know where she gets this-- seriously. I am awesome at putting on a happy face in the morning.)
Anyway. I explained to her what walkie talkies were all about.
"Ooooooo," she replied, eyes widening.
So I'd plant little seeds every once in a while.
"Wouldn't it be cool to play with walkie talkies?"
"YES! Let's get some right now."
Then I started telling her about the agents that work for the Nuk Fairy as well as Toys R Us. I told her if you're ready to give up the nuk, you can trade it for walkie talkies at Toys R Us. She looked incredulous, to say the least. And she shook her head. She wasn't ready.
That was okay. I kept reminding her. Soon, she started to believe it.
She'd start telling me to get ready to go to the toy store. I'd remind her that it's forever. No bedtime nuk after you trade it in. Then she'd back down.
Was I sabotaging her? Or making sure she was truly prepared? Not sure. Maybe a little of both.
Then on Sunday, she said, "Let's go to the toy store!" She grabbed her nuk payment. The three of us were on our way.
She picked out black walkie talkies (of course), and we also got some foam swords and shields. Hell, I probably would have bought her anything she wanted. I was so scared. Nervous. Sad. Guilty. But she was happily dancing around the store, looking at giant crayon banks and clearance toys near the registers.
I went up to the cashier first. A dude in his twenties with a goatee.
"Hi. Can you do me a huge favor?"
He looked at me blankly.
"My daughter is trying to give up her nuk, and we made a deal with her."
Blank stare.
"Do you know what the Nuk Fairy is?"
Blank stare. Ok. Time was a-ticking. Norah and Ryan were making there way to the register. No time for a back story.
"Here's how this is going to go down," I said. "My daughter is going to give you her nuk. You are going to give her the walkie talkies she wants to buy. Then she and I are going to play on that coin-operated horse, and my husband will give you actual money and you can give the nuk back. Is that ok?"
"Sure."
The transaction took place. She did it with a big smile. I didn't make a big deal out of it, although I wanted her to say goodbye or something. Look at it solemnly for a moment before releasing it to this stranger. Nope. Not Norah's way. She practically threw it at the dude. Okay.
Then we took her to McDonalds. I still felt guilty about making her ditch the nuk and was trying to buy back her love, even though she made no signs of being pissed in the first place.
We went home and played walkie talkie (which was a lot of "Hold it in the whole time you talk! Then let go!" She'll get it.) She laughed hysterically. She made us all go to different parts of the house. She tried to make Mongo meow in it. Her Smurf figures took turns. Then we played swords. Mongo exited pretty swiftly when the swords came out.
Then it was bedtime. Ryan settled her down, and I went to my room to read more Sookie Stackhouse, and I listened in. No trouble. One "I miss my nukkie." That was it. She went to bed.
The next day there was no utterance of the nuk.
Success.
*Sniff.*
Monday, February 6, 2012
Nuk Fairy... of doom
Norah is three and still uses a nuk at nap and bedtime. I know she's too old for it. But it's like an addiction. She feels she needs it. She cries when she doesn't have it. She's placed it on the level of Bear Bear and Blanket. I don't want to be the one to take it away.
That's where the Nuk Fairy comes in. She's there to do the dirty work, while I come off scot-free.
I started prepping Norah about the Nuk Fairy months ago. At the first mention of it, there were tears.
"I don't like the Nuk Fairy!" she wailed.
"Honey, she's so nice. She'll give you a present."
"I want my nukky!"
"What about all those new babies who need nukkies?" I asked, pulling something out of my ass I read on another blog about weaning off the pacifier.
"WAAAAH!!"
I stopped the Nuk Fairy talk for a few days after that. But I kept mentioning it occasionally throughout the last few weeks.
"...then she comes while you sleep, and she'll take the nuk and leave you a great, big present."
"She comes in my room?! WAAAH!!"
Oops.
I enlisted the help of my friend, Kim. She had successfully weaned her son, who's just a few weeks older than Norah, off the pacifier. She had told him his nuk was broken. The first night, she poked a hole through the nipple. He didn't notice. Then she cut off a bit. He seemed a little agitated, but nothing serious. More of the nuk "broke," and eventually he was done. I can do that, I thought.
So I started prepping again.
"Sometimes you use your nuk SO much, that it breaks."
"Then we buy a new one?"
"Uh...no. They don't allow 3-year-olds to buy nuks."
"Oh."
What can I say? I'm not good off the cuff. Anyway, we kept talking about it. We told her that it would break little by little, and when it was all gone, the Nuk Fairy (yeah, her again) would bring her a sweet present. She actually seemed semi-cool with it.
Then one evening, as Ryan brushed his teeth and I got Norah a drink before bedtime, she came running into the kitchen.
"MOMMY! MY NUKKY IS BROKEN!"
"What the--" I started. I took a look. Ryan. Ryan.
She was surprised. She still used it, but would take it out of her mouth once and a while and look at it, and fiddle with it with her tongue.
The next day, she didn't use it for nap time. It didn't come up.
And the next night, she had it, but didn't seem so... attached to it.
So, go Team Ryan, right? No. I was kind of pissed. Part of me didn't want her to give up her nuk. I'm a crazy person, right? I know I am. I just feel like it's the last vestige of babyhood. I don't want my baby to grow up. I don't think I'll have another chance at babyhood. I was unreasonably sad, and I went to bed early to read my book alone and cry a little bit, leaving the once-smug-about-the-nuk-thing Ryan mystified at my bizarre behavior.
Then next morning, I heard her singing "Old MacDonald had a farm and Bingo was its name-o!" over the monitor, and I went in her room to say good morning.
"Look, Mommy! I found another nukky!"
Yeah, we didn't look behind the bed. Ryan said we need to let her have this little victory, so I guess I get a few more days of babyhood.
That's where the Nuk Fairy comes in. She's there to do the dirty work, while I come off scot-free.
I started prepping Norah about the Nuk Fairy months ago. At the first mention of it, there were tears.
"I don't like the Nuk Fairy!" she wailed.
"Honey, she's so nice. She'll give you a present."
"I want my nukky!"
"What about all those new babies who need nukkies?" I asked, pulling something out of my ass I read on another blog about weaning off the pacifier.
"WAAAAH!!"
I stopped the Nuk Fairy talk for a few days after that. But I kept mentioning it occasionally throughout the last few weeks.
"...then she comes while you sleep, and she'll take the nuk and leave you a great, big present."
"She comes in my room?! WAAAH!!"
Oops.
I enlisted the help of my friend, Kim. She had successfully weaned her son, who's just a few weeks older than Norah, off the pacifier. She had told him his nuk was broken. The first night, she poked a hole through the nipple. He didn't notice. Then she cut off a bit. He seemed a little agitated, but nothing serious. More of the nuk "broke," and eventually he was done. I can do that, I thought.
So I started prepping again.
"Sometimes you use your nuk SO much, that it breaks."
"Then we buy a new one?"
"Uh...no. They don't allow 3-year-olds to buy nuks."
"Oh."
What can I say? I'm not good off the cuff. Anyway, we kept talking about it. We told her that it would break little by little, and when it was all gone, the Nuk Fairy (yeah, her again) would bring her a sweet present. She actually seemed semi-cool with it.
Then one evening, as Ryan brushed his teeth and I got Norah a drink before bedtime, she came running into the kitchen.
"MOMMY! MY NUKKY IS BROKEN!"
"What the--" I started. I took a look. Ryan. Ryan.
She was surprised. She still used it, but would take it out of her mouth once and a while and look at it, and fiddle with it with her tongue.
The next day, she didn't use it for nap time. It didn't come up.
And the next night, she had it, but didn't seem so... attached to it.
So, go Team Ryan, right? No. I was kind of pissed. Part of me didn't want her to give up her nuk. I'm a crazy person, right? I know I am. I just feel like it's the last vestige of babyhood. I don't want my baby to grow up. I don't think I'll have another chance at babyhood. I was unreasonably sad, and I went to bed early to read my book alone and cry a little bit, leaving the once-smug-about-the-nuk-thing Ryan mystified at my bizarre behavior.
Then next morning, I heard her singing "Old MacDonald had a farm and Bingo was its name-o!" over the monitor, and I went in her room to say good morning.
"Look, Mommy! I found another nukky!"
Yeah, we didn't look behind the bed. Ryan said we need to let her have this little victory, so I guess I get a few more days of babyhood.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Things I Say and Things a Toddler Listens To
Wash your hands. Backs, too. Brush your teeth. Your way-backs, too. Don't forget to say thank you. What are your magic words? You are funny. It's important to say you're sorry if you hurt someone. Eat your dinner. We don't eat floor food. No. Five more minutes. Because that's the way it is. Don't pull the cat's tail. Hug your grandma. Keep your socks on. Keep your hat on. Say bless you. Be careful! Don't jump off the couch. We don't spit. Please eat more dinner. Get that out of your mouth. That's Mama's juice. You are smart. It's bath time! Washing your hair is a big part of bath time. You're so silly. Parking lot rules! Say excuse me. Tell Papa you love him. Don't touch the computer screen. Use your inside voice. Don't run with that sucker in your mouth! Nuks are for nighttime. Please be careful! Wave goodbye to Daddy. No fingers in your cup. Cats don't like stickers. Put your blocks away. You can do it! Tell Mama if you have to go potty. How do you ask nicely? It's good to share with your friends. Good job! I love you! You'll have to ask Santa. Go to sleep. Stop! What do you say when you meet someone new? Play nice! Let's settle down. Try again. You can't have a cookie unless you eat more dinner. Wait your turn. Use your patience. Holy shitballs-- spider! Don't jump in the tub. I missed you today! Listen to your auntie. We are lucky. Be thankful. Pick out some books. You are beautiful. Get your hand away from the cat's butt. Cover your cough. Use a tissue, not your hand. Don't throw things at the driver. Use your words. It's okay. Mama loves you. No. Try to play by yourself for a few minutes. Play with Daddy. What do you say? Stay with Mama. You have to wear clothes before you go outside. Go potty before we leave. Just please eat a few more bites. You've got to cover your cough! No thank you. Say goodbye. Mama loves you.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Getting Your Toddler to Listen
We've been talking a lot about listening at our house lately. And it turns out, so have some other parents of toddlers. More specifically, all of them. So I've decided to share with you the secret of how to make your toddler listen to you.
1. Present your need.
"Hey, please come over here and get your shoes on."
2. Confirm understanding.
"Hey. Norah. Shoes on. Let's go."
3. Convey the reasoning behind the request.
"You need your shoes on before we go to the park. You don't want to step on something sharp or gooey or anything, do you?"
4. Focus on the action you wish completed.
"No, Honey, we're not playing piano with our butt right now. We're getting our shoes on."
5. Present options.
"Would you like your pink shoes or your shiny shoes that make you extra fast?"
6. Illuminate alternatives.
"Fine. We can either get our shoes on and go to the park, or we can clean up your toys. Your choice."
7. Discuss and affirm feelings.
"I thought you wanted to go to the park. Why do you make Mommy crazy?"
8. Consider a show of vulnerability.
"Look, Baby, you wanted to go to the park. Mommy called our friends. Now they're waiting for us. We need to go now."
9. Put on an air of authority-- firm, but kind.
"We. Are. Getting. Our. Shoes. On. Right. Now."
10. Explain what it means to listen and comply.
"Honey Buns, you know when you demand a cup of milk? And I go get it? That means I'm listening. And I do it because I love you. So when I ask you to do something, it would be nice if you did it, because we love each other."
11. Use force only when necessary.
"Stop squirming!"
12. Console and affirm feelings once again.
"Oh, Honey. You're okay. We're going to the park! There's no need to cry. Mommy loves you."
13. Present an opportunity for positive behavior and reward such behavior.
"Baby, if we get out the door, Mommy will give you an M&M. If we make it to the car, a unicorn."
14. Know when to engage and when to disengage.
"Fine. I'm putting on a Blue's Clues and you're eating broccoli for dinner and nothing else."
15. Remain in control, confident, and cool-headed.
N: "I want to go to the park now! Put your shoes back on!"
1. Present your need.
"Hey, please come over here and get your shoes on."
2. Confirm understanding.
"Hey. Norah. Shoes on. Let's go."
3. Convey the reasoning behind the request.
"You need your shoes on before we go to the park. You don't want to step on something sharp or gooey or anything, do you?"
4. Focus on the action you wish completed.
"No, Honey, we're not playing piano with our butt right now. We're getting our shoes on."
5. Present options.
"Would you like your pink shoes or your shiny shoes that make you extra fast?"
6. Illuminate alternatives.
"Fine. We can either get our shoes on and go to the park, or we can clean up your toys. Your choice."
7. Discuss and affirm feelings.
"I thought you wanted to go to the park. Why do you make Mommy crazy?"
8. Consider a show of vulnerability.
"Look, Baby, you wanted to go to the park. Mommy called our friends. Now they're waiting for us. We need to go now."
9. Put on an air of authority-- firm, but kind.
"We. Are. Getting. Our. Shoes. On. Right. Now."
10. Explain what it means to listen and comply.
"Honey Buns, you know when you demand a cup of milk? And I go get it? That means I'm listening. And I do it because I love you. So when I ask you to do something, it would be nice if you did it, because we love each other."
11. Use force only when necessary.
"Stop squirming!"
12. Console and affirm feelings once again.
"Oh, Honey. You're okay. We're going to the park! There's no need to cry. Mommy loves you."
13. Present an opportunity for positive behavior and reward such behavior.
"Baby, if we get out the door, Mommy will give you an M&M. If we make it to the car, a unicorn."
14. Know when to engage and when to disengage.
"Fine. I'm putting on a Blue's Clues and you're eating broccoli for dinner and nothing else."
15. Remain in control, confident, and cool-headed.
N: "I want to go to the park now! Put your shoes back on!"
Thursday, September 8, 2011
If Dads Were Moms
Disclaimer: This post is riddled with sexism. However, it's also just a joke, so don't freak out.
If dads were moms...
The world would be crawling with filthy children with ridiculously long fingernails.
Meals would be planned according to difficulty level and speed. Eg: donuts, Happy Meals, cereal. Repeat.
Clothing would be ill-fitting and mismatched.
Bedtime would be at whatever-o'clock.
There would be an abundance of Star Wars action figures and Hotwheelsin the toy chest all over the floor.
ER visits would quadruple.
They would be singing AC/DC before Itsy Bitsy Spider.
School would be optional. Eg: "Daddy, can I stay home today?""Hell yes. I will, too. XBox marathon!"
There would be no braids, barrettes, or any hairstyle more difficult than a ponytail. Some children may be forming natural dreadlocks or hair is just shaved off. Including girls.
All children's sports would keep score. Snacks would be beef jerky and Red Bull
.
Routine dentist appointments, eye exams, hair appointments, school registration, professional photos, playdates, and well-child visits would not happen.
Potty training would happen at a much earlier age.
Less children in ballet. More children in UFC
.
:)
If dads were moms...
The world would be crawling with filthy children with ridiculously long fingernails.
Meals would be planned according to difficulty level and speed. Eg: donuts, Happy Meals, cereal. Repeat.
Clothing would be ill-fitting and mismatched.
Bedtime would be at whatever-o'clock.
There would be an abundance of Star Wars action figures and Hotwheels
They would be singing AC/DC before Itsy Bitsy Spider.
School would be optional. Eg: "Daddy, can I stay home today?""Hell yes. I will, too. XBox marathon!"
There would be no braids, barrettes, or any hairstyle more difficult than a ponytail. Some children may be forming natural dreadlocks or hair is just shaved off. Including girls.
All children's sports would keep score. Snacks would be beef jerky and Red Bull
.Routine dentist appointments, eye exams, hair appointments, school registration, professional photos, playdates, and well-child visits would not happen.
Potty training would happen at a much earlier age.
Less children in ballet. More children in UFC
.:)
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Potty-Training Bootcamp
"I don't think it's as hard as you're making it out to be."
This was my mother, Sunday morning, right after I told her I was about to wimp out on potty-training. Let me digress.
I dropped Norah off at daycare on Friday, and the teacher cornered me, inquiring about potty training.
Teacher: So, how's potty training going?
Me: Pretty terribly.
Teacher: Well, This Other Kid will be doing an intensive potty-training session over the weekend. If you and Ryan wanted to do that, then I could train both of them next week. It's more effective when more than one child is being trained.
Me: Huh. I, uh, suppose. We. Could. Maybe. Do that. Huh.
Teacher: Great! See you next week.
Shit.
So, we had planned to go to our friends' place on Saturday, but Norah was ill. We chilled all day. Then Sunday came.
Me: Norah's still coughing. I think we should wait until next weekend.
Ryan: Good idea.
Translation----------->
Me: I'm scared. This is going to suck. I don't want to do it. I'm not mentally prepared. I am not ready for the next phase. I don't want to plan our lives around bathrooms. I don't want to deal with accidents. I don't want to force her if she's not ready and make it harder than it would be if she were ready. I fear change.
Ryan: Ditto.
Then I called my mom to tell her we were postponing, and I got the message you read on top. And I listen to my mom. She's smart. And I felt somehow if we didn't do it, we'd be screwing over the teacher and This Other Kid. So we put Norah in underwear and let it ride.
Strategy:
Here are our stats:
Sunday: 5 1/2 successes, 5 1/2 accidents. (We didn't start right away in the morning.)
Monday (Ryan was off): 10 1/2 successes, 7 1/2 accidents
(1/2's mean that she told us she had to go, but then she did immediately, and we only got her on the pot half way through.)
And here are some gruesome highlights. Warning: Not for the faint-of-heart:
Norah sitting on the potty for 20 minutes, not wanting to get off. I finally stand her up and shimmy up her uns, and she pees. This happened at least three times.
Two "number twos" on Monday. One success. One horrible, gag-inducing, non-success. And a bonus bath for Norah.
Auntie Sarah got Norah an Undie Day present of Moon-Dough. Moon-Dough is kind of awesome. But between that and the urine, we'll be replacing our carpet in the near future.
Ryan noticing some fidgeting or fiddling with private area and asking, "Norah, do you have to go potty?" and her saying, "Noooo," and then peeing 30 seconds later.
Me, never wanting to run down the street screaming obscenities while tearing my hair out more in my whole life. But squashing that urge down and saying, "That's okay, Honey. Remember to tell Mama if you have to pee. Or just sit on your potty, okay?"
Major worries that she'll never "get it." Well, "never" isn't accurate, obviously. High schoolers generally use the facilities when they have to go. But in the moment, it's a life-sentence.
A mix of fear, jubilation, and guilt. Fear of sending her to school in uns. Jubilation that someone else will be taking care of it and training today. Guilt because you've never been happy about sending Norah to daycare before.
And one kick-ass success:
This morning we removed the diaper. She peed on the potty. Then she ran to me and said, "I need my underwear. I'm a big girl." Wow.
This was my mother, Sunday morning, right after I told her I was about to wimp out on potty-training. Let me digress.
I dropped Norah off at daycare on Friday, and the teacher cornered me, inquiring about potty training.
Teacher: So, how's potty training going?
Me: Pretty terribly.
Teacher: Well, This Other Kid will be doing an intensive potty-training session over the weekend. If you and Ryan wanted to do that, then I could train both of them next week. It's more effective when more than one child is being trained.
Me: Huh. I, uh, suppose. We. Could. Maybe. Do that. Huh.
Teacher: Great! See you next week.
Shit.
So, we had planned to go to our friends' place on Saturday, but Norah was ill. We chilled all day. Then Sunday came.
Me: Norah's still coughing. I think we should wait until next weekend.
Ryan: Good idea.
Translation----------->
Me: I'm scared. This is going to suck. I don't want to do it. I'm not mentally prepared. I am not ready for the next phase. I don't want to plan our lives around bathrooms. I don't want to deal with accidents. I don't want to force her if she's not ready and make it harder than it would be if she were ready. I fear change.
Ryan: Ditto.
Then I called my mom to tell her we were postponing, and I got the message you read on top. And I listen to my mom. She's smart. And I felt somehow if we didn't do it, we'd be screwing over the teacher and This Other Kid. So we put Norah in underwear and let it ride.
Strategy:
- We put her in uns.
- We put her on the pot every 30 minutes.
- When she peed, we reset the timer.
- Then we regrouped and decided 25 minutes was better.
- Then we decided that if she didn't go during the potty time, to set the timer to 15 minutes. 25 after a pee.
- We used tons of positive reinforcement, i.e. cheering and M&Ms.
- When there was an accident, we told her it was okay, and reminded her to think of how it felt before she went and to tell mom and dad if she has to go, etc.
- We made an Undie Bucket. We filled it with clean uns and told her that we wanted to have at least one pair still in the bucket at the end of the day. But the bucket got stepped on and broke (stupid knock-off Tupperware). We abandoned this. It was dumb anyway. We just read that we're supposed to make it fun. Hooray. Fun.
Here are our stats:
Sunday: 5 1/2 successes, 5 1/2 accidents. (We didn't start right away in the morning.)
Monday (Ryan was off): 10 1/2 successes, 7 1/2 accidents
(1/2's mean that she told us she had to go, but then she did immediately, and we only got her on the pot half way through.)
And here are some gruesome highlights. Warning: Not for the faint-of-heart:
Norah sitting on the potty for 20 minutes, not wanting to get off. I finally stand her up and shimmy up her uns, and she pees. This happened at least three times.
Two "number twos" on Monday. One success. One horrible, gag-inducing, non-success. And a bonus bath for Norah.
Auntie Sarah got Norah an Undie Day present of Moon-Dough. Moon-Dough is kind of awesome. But between that and the urine, we'll be replacing our carpet in the near future.
Ryan noticing some fidgeting or fiddling with private area and asking, "Norah, do you have to go potty?" and her saying, "Noooo," and then peeing 30 seconds later.
Me, never wanting to run down the street screaming obscenities while tearing my hair out more in my whole life. But squashing that urge down and saying, "That's okay, Honey. Remember to tell Mama if you have to pee. Or just sit on your potty, okay?"
Major worries that she'll never "get it." Well, "never" isn't accurate, obviously. High schoolers generally use the facilities when they have to go. But in the moment, it's a life-sentence.
A mix of fear, jubilation, and guilt. Fear of sending her to school in uns. Jubilation that someone else will be taking care of it and training today. Guilt because you've never been happy about sending Norah to daycare before.
And one kick-ass success:
This morning we removed the diaper. She peed on the potty. Then she ran to me and said, "I need my underwear. I'm a big girl." Wow.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Ending on a High Note
It worked for George Costanza.
But ending on a high note with Norah is the worst thing you can do. In fact, leaving any event or place that's more fun than going home to get ready for bed-- which is pretty much everything and everywhere-- is always a very dramatic scene. Sobbing, wailing, "I don't WANT to go home," and thrashing.
Here are some examples.
Where: On a picnic table outside of Mr. Twisty (Ice cream place that puts candy eyeballs on their kids' cones. Creepy or awesome? You decide.)
Who: Ryan, Norah, me. And a number of strangers eating ice cream.
Time: 7:45 pm
Norah: I love ice cream! I love Mr. Twisty!
She stands up on the picnic table to wave back to "Mr. Twisty."
Me: Are you all done, Honey?
Norah: Yes! Look at that dog! That is silly! (She points to a dog eating ice cream a few tables away.)
Me: That is silly! Let's clean up.
Cleanup ensues. Norah is giggling at the dog and wagging her imaginary tail.
Ryan: Let's make our way to the car, everybody.
Norah: NOOOO!! I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!!!
The happy child goes from complete contentment--if not glee-- to raging meltdown in less than two seconds. She loses her will to stand on her own and slumps to the dirty ground, sobbing. People freeze and stare, mid-lick. We scrape her heaving body off of the pavement and walk briskly to the car, not looking back at the horrified people as we try to strap her flailing body in her car seat.
Where: The park.
Who: Ryan, Norah, Sara, "Minta," Norah's BFF, and me. And other park children and parents.
Time: 8:00 pm
Minta: LOOK! Monkeys!
Sara: Monkeys? Where? What color are they?
Minta: Black! And red!
Me: That's disturbing.
Minta: Here they come!
Norah and Minta run away, screaming and laughing. Other children join in on this evil monkey game. Some are evil black and red monkeys, some are being chased by said evil monkeys. Eventually, the monkeys and monkey victims thin out.
Me: Okay, I think the last of the monkeys had to go home for bed. Let's get a-move-on.
Ryan: No! Remember? Give a warning.
I remembered our plan. Warnings will help Norah adjust to leaving. Instead of just scooping her up out of something she's into, we'll ease her out.
Me: Five minutes!
Playing ensues.
Me: Two minutes!
Playing ensues.
Me: One minute!
Playing ensues.
Me: Okay! Let's walk Sara and Minta to their car.
Norah: NOOOO!! I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!!!
She runs across the little bridge, bursts into tears, and starts shaking her arms and hands as if she's trying to get something off of them. I climb up the playground equipment trying to catch her, as she darts between slides and ascends and descends to different platforms. After persuading her to at least walk to the car, she accepts that it is indeed time to go home, and wails "I want my Minta" and "I miss Minta" for three blocks.
Where: Walgreens
Who: Norah and me. Customers, employees.
Time: 6:45 pm
Norah: TOYS!
Me: Yes, there are toys. Let's look at a few of them.
Blah, blah, blah. You get the picture.
Me: Okay, let's grab what we need.
Norah: No.
Me: Come on, Baby. Mama needs to get a few things, and then we've got to go.
Norah: NO.
I try to hold her hand to gently drag her with me.
Norah: NOOOO!
She runs to the other side of the wide seasonal toys aisle and grabs a rubber snake.
Me: Do you want a treat?
I cringe at what I've said, but am feeling desperate. She's starting to act unstable. The clock is ticking.
Norah: No.
Me: Do you want that snake?
Norah: No.
She flings snake to the floor. Now I'm irritated.
Me: Pick that up and put it away, please.
Norah: Nooo.
She starts to cry. I put the snake away and pick her up.
Me: Pull it together, Sweetheart. We just need juice and ibuprofen, and then we're home free.
Norah: I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!
Me: I will buy you ice cream and a unicorn if you just hold it in until we leave.
Old lady looks at me with raised eyebrows.
Norah: I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!
Me: Jesus, Kid, we're at Walgreens, not Disney World.
Norah: I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!
Me: I know, Baby.
Grab stuff. Head to checkout. Norah has giant tears spilling out of her eyes. She's now just muttering her mantra. People are sneaking looks at us. I'm holding her, a jug of apple juice, and my precious ibuprofen tucked under my chin, and sort of bouncing up and down, as if she were a newborn, which may or may not have been soothing.
So, what are we to do? Never do anything or go anywhere? Or just take the suck with the good? I suppose the latter. But if anyone has any tips on how to make leaving places less hysterical, I'd appreciate it.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Swearing Conclusion
I did actually reduce my swearing. Not completely. It's a hard habit to break. But I learned something valuable. There are words that are much worse than curse words that I don't want Norah to say.
We were at my Mom and Dad's, and I had just changed Norah's diaper and was attempting to put her pants back on. As Norah loves nakedness, this can be a struggle. She ran away from me, and I said, "Norah, please come back here." And she said...
"I hate you."
Without thinking, I practically shouted, "Norah! We never, never say that. Never!"
I rarely raise my voice; it's just not in my nature, I guess. So this outburst from me scared the shit out of Norah and she just burst into tears. I picked her up and shimmied her pants on without a word. She ran into the kitchen to Grandma. Grandma said, "Oh, honey, why are you crying?" Norah just sobbed. She couldn't even muster a "Mom was mean to me" or anything.
But while I feel a little guilty for scaring her, I am actually glad that it made a real impact. She can say "shit" or "Bambi sucks" or anything (not that this is a regular occurrence), but "I hate you" is unacceptable. Hating anything, or at least saying you "hate" something, isn't really great either, especially from a two-and-a-half-year-old kid. It's disturbing.
So I am going to keep watching my bad language, but I'm going to focus on truly "bad" words, like "hate."
We were at my Mom and Dad's, and I had just changed Norah's diaper and was attempting to put her pants back on. As Norah loves nakedness, this can be a struggle. She ran away from me, and I said, "Norah, please come back here." And she said...
"I hate you."
Without thinking, I practically shouted, "Norah! We never, never say that. Never!"
I rarely raise my voice; it's just not in my nature, I guess. So this outburst from me scared the shit out of Norah and she just burst into tears. I picked her up and shimmied her pants on without a word. She ran into the kitchen to Grandma. Grandma said, "Oh, honey, why are you crying?" Norah just sobbed. She couldn't even muster a "Mom was mean to me" or anything.
But while I feel a little guilty for scaring her, I am actually glad that it made a real impact. She can say "shit" or "Bambi sucks" or anything (not that this is a regular occurrence), but "I hate you" is unacceptable. Hating anything, or at least saying you "hate" something, isn't really great either, especially from a two-and-a-half-year-old kid. It's disturbing.
So I am going to keep watching my bad language, but I'm going to focus on truly "bad" words, like "hate."
Thursday, July 7, 2011
You Hurt Me
This is Norah's new catch phrase: "You hurt me."
This catch phrase is preceded by any time we say no. We don't physically hurt her. We're not spankers or anything. But we do occasionally tell her "no," which is consistently met with the following exchange:
"YOU HURT ME." Falling on the ground, dramatically. Tears. "OW!"
We've tried telling her that we didn't hurt her. This doesn't work.
"Honey, no one hurt you."
"YOU HURT ME!"
We've tried correcting. It doesn't work.
"Honey, do you mean we hurt your feelings?"
"YOU HURT ME!!"
We've tried ignoring. No workie.
"YOU HURT ME!"
Silence.
"YOU HURT ME!!!" Sobbing. Falling on the ground. Hanging on a leg.
So, why do I care? Well, as any parent, I imagine, I'd like my child to graciously accept what I've told them to do, and even apologize, if necessary.
"No, Norah, you can't climb up the back of the couch and try to jump down to the floor."
"Okay, Mommy. You are so thoughtful and wise."
I also am a little worried this "You hurt me" business is going to make her daycare providers or passerbys think that Ryan and I use excessive physical discipline. We've got a kid who is always saying someone hurt her. What would you think?
And maybe it's more that I don't want people to think I spank or physically discipline at all because I'm so against it. (Sorry, spankers. Just my opinion.)
Or maybe it's just because it's super... annoying. I'm not used to Norah being annoying. Every syllable she has spoken has been perfect, like birds singing Mozart. (Yeah, I'm "that" mom.) And now this "You hurt me" phase (please let it be a phase) is... well... ANNOYING AS SHIT. I've actually felt the urge to tell my beautiful, perfect angel to SHUT IT. Wow.
Anyone have a similar experience so that I don't feel as bad?
This catch phrase is preceded by any time we say no. We don't physically hurt her. We're not spankers or anything. But we do occasionally tell her "no," which is consistently met with the following exchange:
"YOU HURT ME." Falling on the ground, dramatically. Tears. "OW!"
We've tried telling her that we didn't hurt her. This doesn't work.
"Honey, no one hurt you."
"YOU HURT ME!"
We've tried correcting. It doesn't work.
"Honey, do you mean we hurt your feelings?"
"YOU HURT ME!!"
We've tried ignoring. No workie.
"YOU HURT ME!"
Silence.
"YOU HURT ME!!!" Sobbing. Falling on the ground. Hanging on a leg.
So, why do I care? Well, as any parent, I imagine, I'd like my child to graciously accept what I've told them to do, and even apologize, if necessary.
"No, Norah, you can't climb up the back of the couch and try to jump down to the floor."
"Okay, Mommy. You are so thoughtful and wise."
I also am a little worried this "You hurt me" business is going to make her daycare providers or passerbys think that Ryan and I use excessive physical discipline. We've got a kid who is always saying someone hurt her. What would you think?
And maybe it's more that I don't want people to think I spank or physically discipline at all because I'm so against it. (Sorry, spankers. Just my opinion.)
Or maybe it's just because it's super... annoying. I'm not used to Norah being annoying. Every syllable she has spoken has been perfect, like birds singing Mozart. (Yeah, I'm "that" mom.) And now this "You hurt me" phase (please let it be a phase) is... well... ANNOYING AS SHIT. I've actually felt the urge to tell my beautiful, perfect angel to SHUT IT. Wow.
Anyone have a similar experience so that I don't feel as bad?
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Bedtime on Vacation
Well, if you've read this blog thoroughly, as I'm sure you have, ahem, you'll know that bedtime for us isn't easy. While it's better than it was, it's still not the smoothest experience. But who knew I'd be desperately craving our clunky bedtime ritual this week while on vacation? Because bedtime on vacation sucks. Sucks hard.
My family rented a lake place for the week. We moved in Saturday evening. It's beautiful-- right on the lake, enough space for everyone, nice yard. Of course, the owner has an unsettling collection of chickens and roosters, but other than my mom being a little afraid of the dead chicken eyes always upon her, it's fantastic.
That is, it was fantastic until bedtime. There's something about the house's construction that makes every tiny little noise amplified about a million times. That paired with being in a strange place, a different bed, and the knowing that there is a lot of fun out there waiting to be had for those not going to bed, makes for a shitty, shitty bedtime.
We nabbed the downstairs/basement part of the house, because Norah goes to bed before others, and we thought it would be nice for everyone if they could go about their business as she slept. But as we were downstairs, people going about their business sounded like a construction site. Every footstep sounded like the floor was about to crash down upon us. Every creak of the door sounded like a screeching harpy. The boats on the lake might as well have been a lawn mower on the other side of the couch. As I cuddled her on the couch downstairs in the dark, she couldn't help but be distracted.
Creak.
"What's that, Mommy?"
"It's just Nana and Papa going to bed."
Reeeee.
"What's that?"
"It's just Papa saying goodnight to Hannah." [Their dog.]
Vrrrrrrrrr.
"What's that?"
"Just someone Mommy's trying to decapitate with her mind."
"What's cap-tate?"
"Close your eyes, Sweetie."
When I finally got her down to sleep, I was so tired, I went to bed as well. Then a few hours later, I heard:
"Mommy? I need up."
Shit.
I tried to remember that she was probably nervous about being in a new place, and to be understanding, but I am also fighting a cold and my tolerance level, which is usually about a niner, was down to approximately a two.
I scooped her up and brought her to the daybed, where I was sleeping. (Ryan had to work, so he wasn't there yet.) Daybeds are small-- twin-sized. I laid her down and closed my eyes. She chattered a little while. Started playing with her feet. Started kicking the oil painting above the bed. Kicked me in the boob so hard, tears squeezed out of an eye. I stayed silent. My goal was to bore her to sleep. It eventually worked.
Once sleeping, I tried to scooch her over a bit. I can't sleep when I'm being touched or if I'm too hot. Every time a scooched her, she would slip right back, head in my neck, whole body against me, like a sweaty, 28-pound tumor.
I got up and moved her back to her bed, trying to hold in a phlemy cough as to not wake her. It, of course, erupted out of my mouth like a giant juicy hack, and I heard:
"No, Mommy."
I went to the couch and started over.
"What's that?"
"The wind, Baby."
"What's that?"
"Mommy's brain exploding."
"Nooo. You're silly."
When I got her down again and placed her in her little bed, I went back to the daybed, almost giddy to close my eyes. Then one of my nostrils got clogged (summer colds are the worst), and I laid there for another eon, flipping from side to side to get it to unclog so I could breath semi-normally. Awesome.
Please pray with me. All together now. May the rest of vacation have happy, peaceful sleep.
My family rented a lake place for the week. We moved in Saturday evening. It's beautiful-- right on the lake, enough space for everyone, nice yard. Of course, the owner has an unsettling collection of chickens and roosters, but other than my mom being a little afraid of the dead chicken eyes always upon her, it's fantastic.
That is, it was fantastic until bedtime. There's something about the house's construction that makes every tiny little noise amplified about a million times. That paired with being in a strange place, a different bed, and the knowing that there is a lot of fun out there waiting to be had for those not going to bed, makes for a shitty, shitty bedtime.
We nabbed the downstairs/basement part of the house, because Norah goes to bed before others, and we thought it would be nice for everyone if they could go about their business as she slept. But as we were downstairs, people going about their business sounded like a construction site. Every footstep sounded like the floor was about to crash down upon us. Every creak of the door sounded like a screeching harpy. The boats on the lake might as well have been a lawn mower on the other side of the couch. As I cuddled her on the couch downstairs in the dark, she couldn't help but be distracted.
Creak.
"What's that, Mommy?"
"It's just Nana and Papa going to bed."
Reeeee.
"What's that?"
"It's just Papa saying goodnight to Hannah." [Their dog.]
Vrrrrrrrrr.
"What's that?"
"Just someone Mommy's trying to decapitate with her mind."
"What's cap-tate?"
"Close your eyes, Sweetie."
When I finally got her down to sleep, I was so tired, I went to bed as well. Then a few hours later, I heard:
"Mommy? I need up."
Shit.
I tried to remember that she was probably nervous about being in a new place, and to be understanding, but I am also fighting a cold and my tolerance level, which is usually about a niner, was down to approximately a two.
I scooped her up and brought her to the daybed, where I was sleeping. (Ryan had to work, so he wasn't there yet.) Daybeds are small-- twin-sized. I laid her down and closed my eyes. She chattered a little while. Started playing with her feet. Started kicking the oil painting above the bed. Kicked me in the boob so hard, tears squeezed out of an eye. I stayed silent. My goal was to bore her to sleep. It eventually worked.
Once sleeping, I tried to scooch her over a bit. I can't sleep when I'm being touched or if I'm too hot. Every time a scooched her, she would slip right back, head in my neck, whole body against me, like a sweaty, 28-pound tumor.
I got up and moved her back to her bed, trying to hold in a phlemy cough as to not wake her. It, of course, erupted out of my mouth like a giant juicy hack, and I heard:
"No, Mommy."
I went to the couch and started over.
"What's that?"
"The wind, Baby."
"What's that?"
"Mommy's brain exploding."
"Nooo. You're silly."
When I got her down again and placed her in her little bed, I went back to the daybed, almost giddy to close my eyes. Then one of my nostrils got clogged (summer colds are the worst), and I laid there for another eon, flipping from side to side to get it to unclog so I could breath semi-normally. Awesome.
Please pray with me. All together now. May the rest of vacation have happy, peaceful sleep.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Time-out update!
I am totally jinxing everything by posting this, but...
I think we actually taught Norah something valuable.
Neighbor Girl and Other Neighbor Girl came over last night to play. (Completely uninvited, of course.) All three girls sat down by our walkway with sidewalk chalk and began their creations. Norah stepped on Other Neighbor Girl's drawing of a girl with a heart head.
ONG: Norah! Watch out!
Norah: I'm sorry.
Then she came running up to me and said, "I said I'm sorry, Mommy!" I replied, "Good manners, Noonie."
Ho. Lee. Shit. Is this what it feels like to do something right? It's good stuff.
I think we actually taught Norah something valuable.
Neighbor Girl and Other Neighbor Girl came over last night to play. (Completely uninvited, of course.) All three girls sat down by our walkway with sidewalk chalk and began their creations. Norah stepped on Other Neighbor Girl's drawing of a girl with a heart head.
ONG: Norah! Watch out!
Norah: I'm sorry.
Then she came running up to me and said, "I said I'm sorry, Mommy!" I replied, "Good manners, Noonie."
Ho. Lee. Shit. Is this what it feels like to do something right? It's good stuff.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Time Out
We gave Norah her first time out. It failed miserably.
Norah and Neighbor Girl were playing in the sandbox as Ryan, my sister, and I sat gabbing. The sand was pretty damp, being that she had dumped cup after cup of water in it the day before trying to make rivers. She shook her hands and globs of sand landed in Neighbor Girl's hair. Neighbor Girl sort of froze and looked like she might cry.
Ryan: Norah, be careful. You shook sand all over Neighbor Girl. Say you're sorry.
Norah: No.
Ryan: Norah, can you say, "I'm sorry" to Neighbor Girl?
Norah: Nooo.
Ryan: If you don't say you're sorry, you're getting a time out.
Heather: Really? Are we doing this? Now?
Ryan: Say you're sorry.
Norah: No.
Ryan stood up and plucked Norah out of the sandbox, then sat her in her tiny camping chair. She started to cry.
Ryan: Norah, the reason you're in a time out is because you won't say you're sorry to Neighbor Girl. Now you have to sit here for one minute.
He sat back down and looked at the time on his cell after channeling SuperNanny. My sister and I looked at each other, not really knowing what to say. Norah sobbed.
Heather: Well this is officially the longest minute ever.
After a minute of crying and pleading eyes, Ryan went to Norah and crouched down.
Ryan: Norah, the reason you had to sit in your chair for a minute was because you didn't apologize to Neighbor Girl for putting sand in her hair. You can play if you say you're sorry.
Norah (sobbing): Noooo.
Heather: Honey, can you say, 'I'm sorry?'
Norah (sobbing): Nooooo.
Ryan: Then you have to sit here for another minute.
I looked at Ryan and my sister in panic. Neighbor Girl stepped out of the sandbox and stared at all of us. Norah wept and looked horribly confused.
Heather: Why won't she just say she's sorry? I don't get it. I ask her to say lots of words and she does.
Sarah: I don't think she understands the concept.
Heather: I say it a hundred times a day. Ryan tells me to stop saying it so much.
Norah (sobbing): I play.
Ryan also looked panicked now. We were not doing this right. She was supposed to sit in the chair quietly and contemplate the interaction in question and then look down remorsefully and apologize to Neighbor Girl. He crouched down by Norah again.
Ryan: Honey, sometimes when we accidentally do something that makes someone sad, we need to say 'I'm sorry.'
Sarah: Like if someone bumps into you. They didn't mean to, but they say they're sorry.
Heather: Watch!
I smacked my sister's arm.
Heather: I'm sorry Auntie Sarah. I didn't mean to hurt you.
Ryan: It's good manners.
Heather: Yes! Like please and thank you. When we do something like fling sand in someone's hair, we have to say sorry.
Sarah: Can you say you're sorry?
Norah (sobbing uncontrollably): NOOOO.
We were all clearly trying to end this horror, but save face at the same time. It wasn't working.
Heather: Oh, ff... forget this.
I can't even remember if I scooped her up and held her or if Ryan or Sarah did, but Norah got some cuddles and kisses and was returned to the sandbox with the very confused Neighbor Girl. After a few minutes, all was well.
Heather: That was a major fail. Why didn't she just apologize?
Sarah: I just think she knows an apology is kind of important, and doesn't want to say it unless she knows why.
We chatted a little more, and thought Sarah's point was valid. It would take some practice, I guess. And maybe next time we wouldn't have an audience looking on in horror.
So that's the story of Norah's first time out. Which proved embarrassing, for Norah, Ryan and I as bumbling idiots, awkward for Sarah and Neighbor Girl, and elicited a visit from Neighbor Mom, surprisingly, to see if her daughter was the source of the tantrum. I hope SuperNanny is streaming on Netflix.
Norah and Neighbor Girl were playing in the sandbox as Ryan, my sister, and I sat gabbing. The sand was pretty damp, being that she had dumped cup after cup of water in it the day before trying to make rivers. She shook her hands and globs of sand landed in Neighbor Girl's hair. Neighbor Girl sort of froze and looked like she might cry.
Ryan: Norah, be careful. You shook sand all over Neighbor Girl. Say you're sorry.
Norah: No.
Ryan: Norah, can you say, "I'm sorry" to Neighbor Girl?
Norah: Nooo.
Ryan: If you don't say you're sorry, you're getting a time out.
Heather: Really? Are we doing this? Now?
Ryan: Say you're sorry.
Norah: No.
Ryan stood up and plucked Norah out of the sandbox, then sat her in her tiny camping chair. She started to cry.
Ryan: Norah, the reason you're in a time out is because you won't say you're sorry to Neighbor Girl. Now you have to sit here for one minute.
He sat back down and looked at the time on his cell after channeling SuperNanny. My sister and I looked at each other, not really knowing what to say. Norah sobbed.
Heather: Well this is officially the longest minute ever.
After a minute of crying and pleading eyes, Ryan went to Norah and crouched down.
Ryan: Norah, the reason you had to sit in your chair for a minute was because you didn't apologize to Neighbor Girl for putting sand in her hair. You can play if you say you're sorry.
Norah (sobbing): Noooo.
Heather: Honey, can you say, 'I'm sorry?'
Norah (sobbing): Nooooo.
Ryan: Then you have to sit here for another minute.
I looked at Ryan and my sister in panic. Neighbor Girl stepped out of the sandbox and stared at all of us. Norah wept and looked horribly confused.
Heather: Why won't she just say she's sorry? I don't get it. I ask her to say lots of words and she does.
Sarah: I don't think she understands the concept.
Heather: I say it a hundred times a day. Ryan tells me to stop saying it so much.
Norah (sobbing): I play.
Ryan also looked panicked now. We were not doing this right. She was supposed to sit in the chair quietly and contemplate the interaction in question and then look down remorsefully and apologize to Neighbor Girl. He crouched down by Norah again.
Ryan: Honey, sometimes when we accidentally do something that makes someone sad, we need to say 'I'm sorry.'
Sarah: Like if someone bumps into you. They didn't mean to, but they say they're sorry.
Heather: Watch!
I smacked my sister's arm.
Heather: I'm sorry Auntie Sarah. I didn't mean to hurt you.
Ryan: It's good manners.
Heather: Yes! Like please and thank you. When we do something like fling sand in someone's hair, we have to say sorry.
Sarah: Can you say you're sorry?
Norah (sobbing uncontrollably): NOOOO.
We were all clearly trying to end this horror, but save face at the same time. It wasn't working.
Heather: Oh, ff... forget this.
I can't even remember if I scooped her up and held her or if Ryan or Sarah did, but Norah got some cuddles and kisses and was returned to the sandbox with the very confused Neighbor Girl. After a few minutes, all was well.
Heather: That was a major fail. Why didn't she just apologize?
Sarah: I just think she knows an apology is kind of important, and doesn't want to say it unless she knows why.
We chatted a little more, and thought Sarah's point was valid. It would take some practice, I guess. And maybe next time we wouldn't have an audience looking on in horror.
So that's the story of Norah's first time out. Which proved embarrassing, for Norah, Ryan and I as bumbling idiots, awkward for Sarah and Neighbor Girl, and elicited a visit from Neighbor Mom, surprisingly, to see if her daughter was the source of the tantrum. I hope SuperNanny is streaming on Netflix.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Neighbors
We got new neighbors. This isn't shocking, as the duplex next to us has pretty high turnover. And we've had some doozies. The drug dealers, the evil kids, the perpetual garage sale people. This time it's a family. They have three young children.
At first I thought, hey, some little friends for Norah. Hooray! Ryan thought somewhat differently.
"Don't even wave to them."
Ryan's philosophy, while antisocial, did make some sense. What if we strike up a friendship and they turn out to be losers or assholes or something. I agreed.
A few weeks rolled by. Then one day, Norah was out playing with her water table
. The little neighbor girl sat on her bike staring. Then she started honking the little horn on her bike. Norah noticed and looked at me.
"She plays with me."
I thought for a few minutes. What could it hurt?
"You can ask her to play with you," I said.
Norah ran over into the neighbor's yard and shouted, "Come play with me!" I walked over and told the girl she had to ask her mom. Eventually, Norah and Neighbor Girl were having a good ol' time in our yard.
I sat in a chair watching and thinking, isn't that nice. Then suddenly I heard a voice.
"Can I play, too?"
There was another little girl standing by me. She told me she lives across the alley. Now there were three. And then her brother came over. And then Ryan pulled into the driveway.
I saw his face go from expressionless to majorly irritated. He walked over and I blamed Norah. Shameful, but true.
Probably because I didn't want to be blamed for what was inevitably to happen next.
Saturday I had a couple friends, Amy and Sara, over. While we enjoyed some grown-up time, Ryan watched Norah and her BFF Samantha. Soon the girls came inside to play, and I noticed there was a third.
"Ryan! Neighbor Girl can't be inside! Her parents are going to freak!"
"She asked and they didn't care."
"They didn't care that their four-year-old was in a stranger's house without them?"
"Nope."
Weird.
Then she came over Sunday. No Neighbor Parents in sight. I just sighed and let it go.
Then Monday. Ryan got off early, and we were sitting outside in the shade during one of my breaks (I work from home). Norah was at daycare.
"Hi!" Neighbor Girl called, running into the yard.
"Honey, Norah's not here. She goes to school all summer."
"I don't have school."
I blinked. "Yes, well... Norah does. She won't be home until 5."
She stood there, staring.
"So... off you go."
Staring.
"...See you later."
Nothing.
"You can come over later, okay?"
She ran off.
Later that day, Ryan came into the office and announced that Other Neighbor Girl was just outside sitting in a patio chair.
"Son of a..." I muttered. I sent him off to be the bad guy.
So is this our life now? Constant neighbor kids? Heather's Free Babysitting Service? I don't like it. I don't want to be the "cool mom" or have the house where kids hang out. Or where they get hurt and I get sued. And sure, they seem nice, and it appears that they're craving some attention. Ugh. Just typing that made me feel guilty. But why is it my problem? I have no idea what to do.
At first I thought, hey, some little friends for Norah. Hooray! Ryan thought somewhat differently.
"Don't even wave to them."
Ryan's philosophy, while antisocial, did make some sense. What if we strike up a friendship and they turn out to be losers or assholes or something. I agreed.
A few weeks rolled by. Then one day, Norah was out playing with her water table
. The little neighbor girl sat on her bike staring. Then she started honking the little horn on her bike. Norah noticed and looked at me."She plays with me."
I thought for a few minutes. What could it hurt?
"You can ask her to play with you," I said.
Norah ran over into the neighbor's yard and shouted, "Come play with me!" I walked over and told the girl she had to ask her mom. Eventually, Norah and Neighbor Girl were having a good ol' time in our yard.
I sat in a chair watching and thinking, isn't that nice. Then suddenly I heard a voice.
"Can I play, too?"
There was another little girl standing by me. She told me she lives across the alley. Now there were three. And then her brother came over. And then Ryan pulled into the driveway.
I saw his face go from expressionless to majorly irritated. He walked over and I blamed Norah. Shameful, but true.
Probably because I didn't want to be blamed for what was inevitably to happen next.
Saturday I had a couple friends, Amy and Sara, over. While we enjoyed some grown-up time, Ryan watched Norah and her BFF Samantha. Soon the girls came inside to play, and I noticed there was a third.
"Ryan! Neighbor Girl can't be inside! Her parents are going to freak!"
"She asked and they didn't care."
"They didn't care that their four-year-old was in a stranger's house without them?"
"Nope."
Weird.
Then she came over Sunday. No Neighbor Parents in sight. I just sighed and let it go.
Then Monday. Ryan got off early, and we were sitting outside in the shade during one of my breaks (I work from home). Norah was at daycare.
"Hi!" Neighbor Girl called, running into the yard.
"Honey, Norah's not here. She goes to school all summer."
"I don't have school."
I blinked. "Yes, well... Norah does. She won't be home until 5."
She stood there, staring.
"So... off you go."
Staring.
"...See you later."
Nothing.
"You can come over later, okay?"
She ran off.
Later that day, Ryan came into the office and announced that Other Neighbor Girl was just outside sitting in a patio chair.
"Son of a..." I muttered. I sent him off to be the bad guy.
So is this our life now? Constant neighbor kids? Heather's Free Babysitting Service? I don't like it. I don't want to be the "cool mom" or have the house where kids hang out. Or where they get hurt and I get sued. And sure, they seem nice, and it appears that they're craving some attention. Ugh. Just typing that made me feel guilty. But why is it my problem? I have no idea what to do.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Learning Words
I drill please and thank you into my child a million times a day. Yet I still hear "Take my shoes off!" and "I want chocolate milk!" But I say one word ONE time, and she locks on like a pit bull.
Science Museum
We are nearing the end of the King Tut exhibit, and after looking at ancient relics and learning how they were discovered and what the relics were used for, we ended up in a horribly tacky gift shop filled with glittery Sphinx hats, pyramid-shaped suckers, and sarcophagus-shaped pencil boxes. There were a bunch of people crammed in there, looking at their Egyptian treasures, and Norah decides to announce to everyone, while grabbing both my breasts, "My Mommy has BOOBIES." Thank you for the alert.
Macy's
We were shopping for a baby gift in Macy's, and it happened to be prom night for some local high schools. There were prom couples everywhere. On a side note, had my prom date taken me to the mall before prom, I probably would have kicked him in the groin. Anyway, a girl and her date were walking down the aisle at Macy's, toward the exit. The girl had a tangerine-colored, strapless dress with a jeweled bodice. Norah burst out of a clothing rack and shouted, "Oooooooo! Look at her BOOBIES!" The girl gasped, "Oh my God!" and her date doubled over with laughter. I apologized and carried my awed little girl back to the cashier.
Grandma's
We were innocently playing Whack-a-Mole, when Norah grabbed the plastic bag for the toy and wrapped it around her chest. "I have BOOBIES!" she declared, dancing, while my mother looked on in horror. "It's a swim top, Norah. Can you say swim top?" She repeated and continued to dance around in her boobies.
She had also told the entire locker room at swim class that I had boobies, and has told Ryan he does not have boobies. It's clearly time to nip this in the bud, but no matter how I correct, it's lost on her. I guess I'll just wait for the note to come home from her Catholic daycare. Great.
Science Museum
We are nearing the end of the King Tut exhibit, and after looking at ancient relics and learning how they were discovered and what the relics were used for, we ended up in a horribly tacky gift shop filled with glittery Sphinx hats, pyramid-shaped suckers, and sarcophagus-shaped pencil boxes. There were a bunch of people crammed in there, looking at their Egyptian treasures, and Norah decides to announce to everyone, while grabbing both my breasts, "My Mommy has BOOBIES." Thank you for the alert.
Macy's
We were shopping for a baby gift in Macy's, and it happened to be prom night for some local high schools. There were prom couples everywhere. On a side note, had my prom date taken me to the mall before prom, I probably would have kicked him in the groin. Anyway, a girl and her date were walking down the aisle at Macy's, toward the exit. The girl had a tangerine-colored, strapless dress with a jeweled bodice. Norah burst out of a clothing rack and shouted, "Oooooooo! Look at her BOOBIES!" The girl gasped, "Oh my God!" and her date doubled over with laughter. I apologized and carried my awed little girl back to the cashier.
Grandma's
We were innocently playing Whack-a-Mole, when Norah grabbed the plastic bag for the toy and wrapped it around her chest. "I have BOOBIES!" she declared, dancing, while my mother looked on in horror. "It's a swim top, Norah. Can you say swim top?" She repeated and continued to dance around in her boobies.
She had also told the entire locker room at swim class that I had boobies, and has told Ryan he does not have boobies. It's clearly time to nip this in the bud, but no matter how I correct, it's lost on her. I guess I'll just wait for the note to come home from her Catholic daycare. Great.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Oh, Target. I Apologize.
We need to go to Target tonight. This is what will happen.
1. Go to MIL's to pick up Norah. (She watches her once a week.)
2. Listen to stories about all the cute little things her amazing Papillon did today.
3. Repress urge to vomit and collect child.
4. Go home, make dinner. At this time, Norah either watches a Diego or a Dora, or she stands on a chair by the sink and fills cups with water.
5. Eat dinner. Norah dips dinner in applesauce and proceeds to eat.
6. Clean up.
7. Tears or screams of "NO, MOMMY!s"during clean-up.
8. "Norah, do you want to go shopping?"
9. "YES!" Brief boogie dancing.
10. Chase around house with coat and hat.
11. Drive to Target.
12. Begging to forgo Target and enter Playland.
13. Tears.
14. Enter Target. Explore dollar aisle.
15. Long conversation ensues. Short version: "Can you put that back, Sweetie? No thank you, Norah. No-no, Sweetheart. We don't need a tiny pot that grows something. Nope. We don't need tiny notepads. No. No. No, Honey. No plastic bugs. No. No. Uh-uh. Sorry, Sweetie. OH, JUST PUT IT IN THE CART."
16. We move on from the dollar aisle.
17. I scowl at the bathing suit display. Norah says loudly, "Look, Mommy! Boobies!"
18. We hit the baby clothes and I pick out things that Norah doesn't need, but that are on clearance. Which makes them irresistible.
19. Norah starts to beg: "I want look at toys. Toys. I want toys. Over there, Mommy, over there. Mommy. Toys!"
20. We go to the toy aisles and she plays with the exact toys she plays with every time we go to Target.
21. When I can't take it anymore, I muster up an enthusiastic: "Hey! Let's look at something else!"
21. "No."
22. Eventually I pry her away and we desperately look for something else mildly entertaining in order to transition into the extra-painful part of shopping. Usually we end up in the camping area or backpacks.
23. We transition to the painful part of shopping-- actually shopping for things we need. If it's a cart-worthy trip, I will bribe Norah into cooperation by allowing her to sit in the cart-- not the seat designed for children, mind you, but the cart. I will brave judgmental looks from workers and random people. If it's a basket-worthy trip, I try to put Norah in charge of finding things. This works for one item. Possibly two.
24. After we make it through food, health and beauty, and hit cleaning materials, Norah is done with shopping. She starts getting extra squirrelly. This usually includes singing loudly, trying to escape my clutches, dancing or trying to skip, and pulling things off the shelves to play pretend. "This is Mommy," she will say, pointing at a box of Q-Tips she placed on the floor. "This is Daddy," she says about another Q-Tip box. "This is Baby," to a travel-sized Q-Tip box.
25. This will only last a few minutes. I've got a time-bomb on my hands. Once she gets bored, then entertains herself, the last stage is always "I GO HOME."
26. I take too long looking for something. Norah starts yelling, "I GO HOME! I GO HOME NOW!"
27. Now people are staring at us, as I try to reason with her, like a total moron. "Baby, we're almost done. Just let Mommy get the dryer sheets and we'll go home. Settle down, Honey. Come here, Norah. Norah! Stay by Mommy. Sweet Jesus, we'll get dryer sheets next time."
28. We go to the least busy checkout line.
29. I try to throw everything on the conveyor belt while holding Norah, because at this point, she has lost the will to walk.
30. People piling up behind us are visibly regretting choosing our line, as I try to open my purse and wallet while holding Norah, while fumbling for my check card, while apologizing for taking so long, while loading the Target bags back into the cart, while kicking myself for buying Norah more clothes.
31. Norah sweetly says, "Thank you!" to the check-out person. They smile, aww, and give her a sticker.
32. We stop by the customer service area and I chase her around with her coat and hat.
33. We head back to the car. Norah starts begging for Playland.
34. Tears.
35. We finally pull into the driveway.
36. Norah says, "I want go shopping!"
 |
| Papillon |
2. Listen to stories about all the cute little things her amazing Papillon did today.
3. Repress urge to vomit and collect child.
4. Go home, make dinner. At this time, Norah either watches a Diego or a Dora, or she stands on a chair by the sink and fills cups with water.
5. Eat dinner. Norah dips dinner in applesauce and proceeds to eat.
6. Clean up.
7. Tears or screams of "NO, MOMMY!s"during clean-up.
8. "Norah, do you want to go shopping?"
9. "YES!" Brief boogie dancing.
10. Chase around house with coat and hat.
11. Drive to Target.
12. Begging to forgo Target and enter Playland.
13. Tears.
14. Enter Target. Explore dollar aisle.
15. Long conversation ensues. Short version: "Can you put that back, Sweetie? No thank you, Norah. No-no, Sweetheart. We don't need a tiny pot that grows something. Nope. We don't need tiny notepads. No. No. No, Honey. No plastic bugs. No. No. Uh-uh. Sorry, Sweetie. OH, JUST PUT IT IN THE CART."
16. We move on from the dollar aisle.
17. I scowl at the bathing suit display. Norah says loudly, "Look, Mommy! Boobies!"
18. We hit the baby clothes and I pick out things that Norah doesn't need, but that are on clearance. Which makes them irresistible.
19. Norah starts to beg: "I want look at toys. Toys. I want toys. Over there, Mommy, over there. Mommy. Toys!"
20. We go to the toy aisles and she plays with the exact toys she plays with every time we go to Target.
21. When I can't take it anymore, I muster up an enthusiastic: "Hey! Let's look at something else!"
21. "No."
22. Eventually I pry her away and we desperately look for something else mildly entertaining in order to transition into the extra-painful part of shopping. Usually we end up in the camping area or backpacks.
23. We transition to the painful part of shopping-- actually shopping for things we need. If it's a cart-worthy trip, I will bribe Norah into cooperation by allowing her to sit in the cart-- not the seat designed for children, mind you, but the cart. I will brave judgmental looks from workers and random people. If it's a basket-worthy trip, I try to put Norah in charge of finding things. This works for one item. Possibly two.
24. After we make it through food, health and beauty, and hit cleaning materials, Norah is done with shopping. She starts getting extra squirrelly. This usually includes singing loudly, trying to escape my clutches, dancing or trying to skip, and pulling things off the shelves to play pretend. "This is Mommy," she will say, pointing at a box of Q-Tips she placed on the floor. "This is Daddy," she says about another Q-Tip box. "This is Baby," to a travel-sized Q-Tip box.
25. This will only last a few minutes. I've got a time-bomb on my hands. Once she gets bored, then entertains herself, the last stage is always "I GO HOME."
26. I take too long looking for something. Norah starts yelling, "I GO HOME! I GO HOME NOW!"
27. Now people are staring at us, as I try to reason with her, like a total moron. "Baby, we're almost done. Just let Mommy get the dryer sheets and we'll go home. Settle down, Honey. Come here, Norah. Norah! Stay by Mommy. Sweet Jesus, we'll get dryer sheets next time."
28. We go to the least busy checkout line.
29. I try to throw everything on the conveyor belt while holding Norah, because at this point, she has lost the will to walk.
30. People piling up behind us are visibly regretting choosing our line, as I try to open my purse and wallet while holding Norah, while fumbling for my check card, while apologizing for taking so long, while loading the Target bags back into the cart, while kicking myself for buying Norah more clothes.
31. Norah sweetly says, "Thank you!" to the check-out person. They smile, aww, and give her a sticker.
32. We stop by the customer service area and I chase her around with her coat and hat.
33. We head back to the car. Norah starts begging for Playland.
34. Tears.
35. We finally pull into the driveway.
36. Norah says, "I want go shopping!"
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Potty Training
Warning: Potty language ahead. Literally.
We've started the wonderful journey of potty training. And by wonderful, I mean scary and gross.
The first thing I did was research books and articles. Hey, it's what I do. The book I chose to be my potty-training bible is Stress-Free Potty Training
by Sara Au and Peter L. Stavinoha. One, because "stress-free" is in the title, and two, because it boasted to tailor potty-training to a child's unique personality.
In the beginning of the book, you and your partner separately take a personality assessment of your toddler. Fun! The different personality categories are: The Goal-Directed Child, the Internalizer, the Impulsive Child, the Sensory-Oriented Child, and the Strong-Willed Child.
I started rating behaviors from always to never. I noticed myself semi-trying to push the results to what I wanted: The Goal-Directed Child. That seemed to be the best one. But as I went over the Impulsive Child questions, I couldn't deny it. Each one was always. Always. Almost always. Always. I was a little freaked out, but relieved that other child also exhibit these crazy behaviors. After we were done, we looked at each others' results, and they were nearly identical. Impulsive Child.
Okay. Embrace the label. Impulsivity has it's pros: energetic, willing to try new things, outgoing, adventurous. These are good things. Most of the time. Granted, sometimes I wish she'd just sit and play with one thing for five seconds and let me veg out without worrying that she's about to do something dangerous with it. But it's good.
So after this little revelation, we read on (I read on. Ryan listened to my summary.) and started to plan on implementing The Plan.
We bought four little Ikea potties. My sister, Sarah, was unimpressed and bought some cushy pinky princessy one for Grandma's house. Whatever. We also bought a Dora toilet ring
, since potty chairs are outlawed at daycare. Sarah had a good point about children learning to potty in different types of toilets. It's good to encourage flexibility in all situations.
Norah loved her little potty and would sit on it with her clothes on and giggle: "I potty!" This was good.
Then we implemented phase one: Announce you are going to the potty. Invite child in to observe. Awkward? For us, yes. I'm an uptight WASPy kind of person. But we're doing it. One thing that is a challenge for the Impulsive Child is remembering to take time to notice bodily sensations, so by reminding her that sometimes you need to stop what you're doing to pee or whatever is a good thing.
Now we're in phase two: regularly sitting on the potty at key times. These times are right away in the morning, after nap, and before bed. Of course, if she says she has to potty in between, we rush in there and let her go. Sometimes she sits with her pants on, sometimes off. She has successfully gone in the potty a number of times. She number twoed on the big potty, which was nice, because I am dreading having to clean out that little Ikea potty. Ew.
She still has wet diapers, so we're a long way off, but it's a pretty good start.
On the dark side of potty training, Norah has learned that "I go potty!" is an out for everything. She doesn't want to get dressed? "I go potty!" Bedtime? "I go potty!" In these situations, I'm 90% sure she is bluffing-- just looking for an excuse to stall something she doesn't enjoy doing. But you never know. I don't want to squash her potty training by not allowing her to go. But I don't want to send the message that by declaring her need to pee, she doesn't have to do something. I try to judge the situation, but then she gets desperate.
"It's nigh-night time, Baby."
"No! I go potty!"
"We just sat on the potty a little while ago."
"I GO POTTY!"
"It's bedtime."
Whimper.
"Norah. Do you really have to go potty?"
"YES! Widdle [little] poops." She makes a gesture with her thumb and pointer finger, indicating small.
"Do you have to go poop?"
"Tiny poops." More gesturing.
Sigh. "Okay. Let's go sit on the potty."
"YAY!" she laughs and runs toward the bathroom, smugly.
"Sit on the potty."
"No! I brush my teef [teeth]!"
Dammit. Fooled again.
I haven't even read phase three yet. Maybe that's the part about being stress-free.
We've started the wonderful journey of potty training. And by wonderful, I mean scary and gross.
The first thing I did was research books and articles. Hey, it's what I do. The book I chose to be my potty-training bible is Stress-Free Potty Training
by Sara Au and Peter L. Stavinoha. One, because "stress-free" is in the title, and two, because it boasted to tailor potty-training to a child's unique personality.In the beginning of the book, you and your partner separately take a personality assessment of your toddler. Fun! The different personality categories are: The Goal-Directed Child, the Internalizer, the Impulsive Child, the Sensory-Oriented Child, and the Strong-Willed Child.
I started rating behaviors from always to never. I noticed myself semi-trying to push the results to what I wanted: The Goal-Directed Child. That seemed to be the best one. But as I went over the Impulsive Child questions, I couldn't deny it. Each one was always. Always. Almost always. Always. I was a little freaked out, but relieved that other child also exhibit these crazy behaviors. After we were done, we looked at each others' results, and they were nearly identical. Impulsive Child.
Okay. Embrace the label. Impulsivity has it's pros: energetic, willing to try new things, outgoing, adventurous. These are good things. Most of the time. Granted, sometimes I wish she'd just sit and play with one thing for five seconds and let me veg out without worrying that she's about to do something dangerous with it. But it's good.
So after this little revelation, we read on (I read on. Ryan listened to my summary.) and started to plan on implementing The Plan.
 |
| Ikea potty |
, since potty chairs are outlawed at daycare. Sarah had a good point about children learning to potty in different types of toilets. It's good to encourage flexibility in all situations.Norah loved her little potty and would sit on it with her clothes on and giggle: "I potty!" This was good.
Then we implemented phase one: Announce you are going to the potty. Invite child in to observe. Awkward? For us, yes. I'm an uptight WASPy kind of person. But we're doing it. One thing that is a challenge for the Impulsive Child is remembering to take time to notice bodily sensations, so by reminding her that sometimes you need to stop what you're doing to pee or whatever is a good thing.
Now we're in phase two: regularly sitting on the potty at key times. These times are right away in the morning, after nap, and before bed. Of course, if she says she has to potty in between, we rush in there and let her go. Sometimes she sits with her pants on, sometimes off. She has successfully gone in the potty a number of times. She number twoed on the big potty, which was nice, because I am dreading having to clean out that little Ikea potty. Ew.
She still has wet diapers, so we're a long way off, but it's a pretty good start.
On the dark side of potty training, Norah has learned that "I go potty!" is an out for everything. She doesn't want to get dressed? "I go potty!" Bedtime? "I go potty!" In these situations, I'm 90% sure she is bluffing-- just looking for an excuse to stall something she doesn't enjoy doing. But you never know. I don't want to squash her potty training by not allowing her to go. But I don't want to send the message that by declaring her need to pee, she doesn't have to do something. I try to judge the situation, but then she gets desperate.
"It's nigh-night time, Baby."
"No! I go potty!"
"We just sat on the potty a little while ago."
"I GO POTTY!"
"It's bedtime."
Whimper.
"Norah. Do you really have to go potty?"
"YES! Widdle [little] poops." She makes a gesture with her thumb and pointer finger, indicating small.
"Do you have to go poop?"
"Tiny poops." More gesturing.
Sigh. "Okay. Let's go sit on the potty."
"YAY!" she laughs and runs toward the bathroom, smugly.
"Sit on the potty."
"No! I brush my teef [teeth]!"
Dammit. Fooled again.
I haven't even read phase three yet. Maybe that's the part about being stress-free.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Suck It
Nuks, that is. Pacifiers, binkies, whatever. These cute little plastic plugs seem to inspire some hostile attitudes in some people.
Daycare frowns upon nuks. I can sort of understand that policy, because toddlers don't seem to understand how germs are spread and that it's socially unacceptable to take something out of someone's mouth and put it in your own.
Family members make a sour face and yank it out of the kid's mouth, invariably saying, "You don't need that."
Strangers make passive-aggressive comments.
Me (at a store): "Norah, can you say thank you?"
Norah: "Tank you."
Clerk: "Aww.. I heard her. ...Through her plug."
So why am I the only person who isn't disgusted by my two-year-old using a pacifier occasionally? Am I just a pathetic enabler?
For what it's worth, I've read plenty about the subject. I've read plenty about every subject involving babies and toddlers. Mostly because I freely admit that I'm an idiot and need a special amount of studying to just keep me from being harmful. I know that the American Association of Pediatrics recommends that you ditch the nuk at two. Nuk usage at two may mess us baby teeth. And nuk usage at three and above may mess up permanent teeth. I am concerned with this.
I also know the theoretical arguments, such as nuks impede speech development. Norah is a crazy talker, though, and I'm not very concerned about that.
So, what are the benefits of a nuk?
*crickets*
Um, okay. It's soothing. That's all I've got. Sucking is the first soothing strategy a human learns. Before nuks were invented, babies sucked their fingers and hands, and of course their food source. Sucking is a calming force. That's why nuks were invented.
I guess I'm a little hesitant to take it away because of this. Her soothing mechanism. When she's upset, she wants nuk. When she's sleepy, nuk. And I give it to her. I want to make her happy. I don't want to be the cause of her angst. I don't want to force her to face her nuk addiction. Maybe it's because I smoked for so many years, and I know what it's like to quit. I don't know.
Anyway, we're establishing a new rule: Nuks Are For Nigh-Nighs. Of course, if she's completely freaking out about something, like we only let her brush her teeth for 20 minutes, and she screaming and begging for the nuk, we'll probably give it to her. I don't want to be a total hardass about this. But for the majority of the time, Nuks Are For Nigh-Nighs.
But if you see a toddler with a nuk when you're out grocery shopping or whatever, and you feel the urge to spout off some judgmental bullshit, try to restrain yourself. Think about what the toddler is doing to the nuk. That's right. Suck it.
Daycare frowns upon nuks. I can sort of understand that policy, because toddlers don't seem to understand how germs are spread and that it's socially unacceptable to take something out of someone's mouth and put it in your own.
Family members make a sour face and yank it out of the kid's mouth, invariably saying, "You don't need that."
Strangers make passive-aggressive comments.
Me (at a store): "Norah, can you say thank you?"
Norah: "Tank you."
Clerk: "Aww.. I heard her. ...Through her plug."
So why am I the only person who isn't disgusted by my two-year-old using a pacifier occasionally? Am I just a pathetic enabler?
For what it's worth, I've read plenty about the subject. I've read plenty about every subject involving babies and toddlers. Mostly because I freely admit that I'm an idiot and need a special amount of studying to just keep me from being harmful. I know that the American Association of Pediatrics recommends that you ditch the nuk at two. Nuk usage at two may mess us baby teeth. And nuk usage at three and above may mess up permanent teeth. I am concerned with this.
I also know the theoretical arguments, such as nuks impede speech development. Norah is a crazy talker, though, and I'm not very concerned about that.
So, what are the benefits of a nuk?
*crickets*
Um, okay. It's soothing. That's all I've got. Sucking is the first soothing strategy a human learns. Before nuks were invented, babies sucked their fingers and hands, and of course their food source. Sucking is a calming force. That's why nuks were invented.
I guess I'm a little hesitant to take it away because of this. Her soothing mechanism. When she's upset, she wants nuk. When she's sleepy, nuk. And I give it to her. I want to make her happy. I don't want to be the cause of her angst. I don't want to force her to face her nuk addiction. Maybe it's because I smoked for so many years, and I know what it's like to quit. I don't know.
Anyway, we're establishing a new rule: Nuks Are For Nigh-Nighs. Of course, if she's completely freaking out about something, like we only let her brush her teeth for 20 minutes, and she screaming and begging for the nuk, we'll probably give it to her. I don't want to be a total hardass about this. But for the majority of the time, Nuks Are For Nigh-Nighs.
But if you see a toddler with a nuk when you're out grocery shopping or whatever, and you feel the urge to spout off some judgmental bullshit, try to restrain yourself. Think about what the toddler is doing to the nuk. That's right. Suck it.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Labels
Everyone labels people. You may think you're a good person, but if you see a 30-something male wearing skinny jeans, you think "Hipster." If you see an elderly person shopping for toys and candy, you think "Grandparent." If you see a kid stealing toys from other kids on the playground and pushing and hitting, you think "Bully." And you might even think "Assholes" about the kid's parents.
And you may even label your own kid. If you're like me, the labels for your kids are "Go-getter," "Brain," "Beauty," and "Perfect." So when someone labels your kid in a different manner, you stop.
I went to pick up Norah from school the other day, and as I picked up her daily report card, I noticed it again read that she'd not eaten her lunch.
"Norah, no lunch today?"
She didn't answer, and instead showed me the toy she had been playing with. I stooped down and inspected it with her.
The teach responded, "Yeah, she's kind of a... picky eater."
I just looked at her. My daughter? A picky eater? My brain fought to answer politely.
"She kind of goes through phases. We're working on it," I smiled tightly.
I gathered up the kid and her stuff and we headed out. But my mind kept replaying it over and over.
"She's kind of a... picky eater." (echo: eater... eater... eater...)
Now, I know full well that Norah is selective in what she eats. Der. I feed her occasionally. I am very aware of it, especially since she used to eat anything given to her: beans, broccoli, artichoke, squash, books, crayons, anything. Then she slowly began refusing food. First it was broccoli. I vividly remember her pinching a piece with her thumb and forefinger, removing it from her plate, and saying, "Blech." I was surprised.
"Honey. It's just broccoli."
"Blech."
Then other foods were rejected. Her menu options were getting slimmer and slimmer. I didn't want to foster this behavior and started reading websites and going through a couple of my go-to books, Toddler 411 and A Guide to the Toddler Years. They recommended to keep offering. I kept offering, while also including one item I knew (hoped) she still liked, but the rejected food remained untouched.
Now the only vegetables that I can get in her are canned peas (yes, canned) and sweet corn, if you can even count that as a vegetable. Meat? Fish sticks. (Not that I care about the meat aspect, but the protein is important.) Thankfully she still likes a few fruits, and of course she eats starches like rice and noodles, like every other toddler.
So why was I startled at the label "Picky Eater?"
"Picky Eater" conjures up images of a spoiled brat. A delicate little flower. A willful child. And parents who kowtow to every urge or whim of their child. This is not my child and this is not me. Norah is very happy and spirited. She tries new things all the time, without fear or even hesitancy. She's tough, not delicate. And, yes, I joke about my little perfect angel being a little perfect angel, but I'm not delusional. I joke about our house rules, but we're not permissive people who don't impose boundaries on our child. And I don't want people to think these negative generalizations about us based on one small aspect of our lives. The label "Picky Eater" grates at my nerves because it seems to attack our very essence.
Labels are tough. You can't help but label. I think it's in our DNA, to help us survive.
Caveperson: "Ug. That animal has pointy teeth and is looking at me. Must run away now."
But I think next time I see a kid push Norah out of the way so he can go down the slide first, instead of automatically thinking "Little Jerk," maybe I'll just take it at face value. The kid wants to slide really bad and at this particular moment, isn't thinking about taking turns. There's no other explanation for skinny jeans on men, though. Hipsters.
And you may even label your own kid. If you're like me, the labels for your kids are "Go-getter," "Brain," "Beauty," and "Perfect." So when someone labels your kid in a different manner, you stop.
I went to pick up Norah from school the other day, and as I picked up her daily report card, I noticed it again read that she'd not eaten her lunch.
"Norah, no lunch today?"
She didn't answer, and instead showed me the toy she had been playing with. I stooped down and inspected it with her.
The teach responded, "Yeah, she's kind of a... picky eater."
I just looked at her. My daughter? A picky eater? My brain fought to answer politely.
"She kind of goes through phases. We're working on it," I smiled tightly.
I gathered up the kid and her stuff and we headed out. But my mind kept replaying it over and over.
"She's kind of a... picky eater." (echo: eater... eater... eater...)
Now, I know full well that Norah is selective in what she eats. Der. I feed her occasionally. I am very aware of it, especially since she used to eat anything given to her: beans, broccoli, artichoke, squash, books, crayons, anything. Then she slowly began refusing food. First it was broccoli. I vividly remember her pinching a piece with her thumb and forefinger, removing it from her plate, and saying, "Blech." I was surprised.
"Honey. It's just broccoli."
"Blech."
Now the only vegetables that I can get in her are canned peas (yes, canned) and sweet corn, if you can even count that as a vegetable. Meat? Fish sticks. (Not that I care about the meat aspect, but the protein is important.) Thankfully she still likes a few fruits, and of course she eats starches like rice and noodles, like every other toddler.
So why was I startled at the label "Picky Eater?"
"Picky Eater" conjures up images of a spoiled brat. A delicate little flower. A willful child. And parents who kowtow to every urge or whim of their child. This is not my child and this is not me. Norah is very happy and spirited. She tries new things all the time, without fear or even hesitancy. She's tough, not delicate. And, yes, I joke about my little perfect angel being a little perfect angel, but I'm not delusional. I joke about our house rules, but we're not permissive people who don't impose boundaries on our child. And I don't want people to think these negative generalizations about us based on one small aspect of our lives. The label "Picky Eater" grates at my nerves because it seems to attack our very essence.
Labels are tough. You can't help but label. I think it's in our DNA, to help us survive.
Caveperson: "Ug. That animal has pointy teeth and is looking at me. Must run away now."
But I think next time I see a kid push Norah out of the way so he can go down the slide first, instead of automatically thinking "Little Jerk," maybe I'll just take it at face value. The kid wants to slide really bad and at this particular moment, isn't thinking about taking turns. There's no other explanation for skinny jeans on men, though. Hipsters.
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