The Helping Stage - diverted

Little Man is loving his new table and chairs. So much so that cleaning up after each meal is extremely easy as he can get down from the chair himself and throw everything away.

And I mean EVERYTHING. First meal at the table was the paper plate. 2nd meal was the bib. 3rd meal was the plastic bowl. I am not sure what upset him more - the fact that I took the bib and the bowl out of the trash or that I was laughing so hard I was crying. Since he wasn't laughing, I couldn't claim the "laughing WITH you" defense.

He paid me back. He stopped throwing things out all together. At least with me. With dad, he was perfect. He would only throw away the paper plate. Everything else went on the counter. But don't worry, it didn't take long for dad to screw it up too.

Little Man steals daddy's cup and chugs most of the water. When done, he attempts to put the cup on the counter (which is still over his head) and since daddy's cup doesn't have a lid.....

Yup - water straight down on his head. I was not home for this episode but I was on the phone when it happened. I detoured around a RR track screw up in the time it took for him to stop laughing long enough to tell me what happened.

Needless to say, Little Man is now on strike with daddy too... you want it on the counter dude? YOU put it there. I'm DONE!

Never say never

I am NOT a fan of mommy/daughter outfits. I think family portraits with coordinated outfits smack of the Stepfords. One incident in my childhood scarred me for life. I thought my huband agreed with me until they both left the house yesterday in Yankees gear. That is only acceptable if you are going to or watching the game. They were doing neither.

Now should my son and I leave the house both decked out in RS gear - that is an entirely different matter and not Stepfordish at all.

TV or Not TV?

I spent most of my childhood without a TV. I listened to both of my parents refer to it as the boob tube or the idiot box and say that it would rot one’s brain. The few times we did have a TV, no one was allowed to watch more than one hour a day. Exceptions were made for the Super Bowl and the Olympics. Such events fell under the category of acceptable, non-brain-rotting entertainment apparently. Oh, as did Miami Vice. 10 PM Friday nights my dad would actually plop down in front of the tube sans newspaper and watch, fully engrossed. Miami Vice. Don’t even bother trying to figure it out, your head will explode.

I’ve read most of the studies related to TV and children and frankly, I’m not sure there is anything truly conclusive so I fell back on my upbringing. Little Man was not exposed to the boob tube with the exception of football and NASCAR. And then the other exceptions crept into our lives.

The first exception occurred when my husband travelled for work and was gone for over 2 weeks. The first weekend, I cheated. I went to a friend’s house so her son could entertain my son and she could entertain me. The second weekend I was stuck entertaining my son all by myself. We exhausted all the toys in the house and my throat was getting a tad raw from the growling contest. I was quickly running out of options and I could see the wild look begin to creep into his eyes so I did the unthinkable. I turned on the TV. I appeased my guilt by sitting with Little Man as he watched Little Bear and talked to him about what was going on. Right up until he put his little hand over my mouth and pushed away from me.

The second exception was when Little Man contracted Noro virus and kindly shared. With zero energy and negative zero appetite, Little Man and I curled up on the floor wrapped in a blanket and watched Prince Caspian. Thankfully he was too young for all the violence to register and it proved a great reminder to pre-screen anything he may want to watch!

And the avalanche began to pick up speed and force. My husband stopped hiding the fact that he was letting Little Man watch TV beyond our Sunday sports. So I provided him with a list of stations I considered appropriate for Little Man. A list contained a whopping 2 stations.
Thankfully Little Man’s attention span is still very short and he’s only interested in a show if there is singing involved which caused the avalanche to knock me on my ass and bury me under 3 ft of snow. This means a fascination with Backyardigans. Murphy’s Law dictates that said show will not be on the air at an appropriate time. I swear the producers, studios, whatever powers that be do this on purpose. Why you ask? Because it entices idiots like me to go out and buy the stupid DVDs. In an extremely short time span we went from owning NO such DVDs to owning THREE. Little Man now knows what the TV is. He now ASKS for it (granted he actually has to be in the room with it to remember and the TV is in the basement so I have some leeway still). If I take too long cuing up the DVD and fast-forwarding through all the ADS for other shows – ADS on a DVD marketed to toddlers. Ok, I’ll rant on that later. Where was I? Oh yes – He will sit there with his hands up in the air asking “where?” . And once it starts he walks up the TV to stroke the characters, try to play with the worm and physically attempt to interact with a cartoon.

So my child, years down the road when you are listing all the ways I scarred you for life, you may place this one near the top. I rotted your brain before you were even two. When I counter with all the books we have read since you were born, it won’t matter. The decay has started and once decay sets in, there is no turning back. So I’ll counter again with I couldn’t afford Ivy League baby so I figured what the hell.

And it was all decided and executed with love.

Deciphering a Toddler

My son said: More more more more more

It sounded like: Me me me me me

Is there a difference at this age?

Happy Birthday to me...

Attempting to get Little Man in the house last night was not going well. The neighbor’s cat was much more interesting than anything with which I attempted to bribe him. Until he noticed the box I was picking up off the porch. The same box which had been right in front of him since we first walked up the stairs but apparently didn’t register during the excitement of (torturing) playing with the cat. The box now firmly registered in his brain, Little Man proceeds to run into the house, scramble up on the couch, pat the location on the couch where he expects me to place the box (right in front of him) and bounces up and down clapping hands and giggling in excitement. He even grabs my car key and attempts to slice open the tape.

The box is addressed to me.

It was my birthday present.

I did not get the joy of opening my own present. Nope. My son had that joy. I got to watch. And now I have the wonderful job of trying to explain to him that the contents are not his. They are MINE. Well, he decided I could have the pjs. They are too big and not quite as soft as he likes. Why thank you light of my life. I feel so honored.

The lavender candle we fought over. Unfortunately for my little midget, he forgets that mama goes to bed after him. HA! Stole it back little boy and guess what – you ain’t gonna find where I hid it!

BLAH BLAH BLAH

Little Man has taken to talking out of the side of his mouth. I couldn't mimic it for all the tea in China. He stood at the front door last night waiting for mommy to get off the phone so he could go outside. He entertained himself by having a lovely conversation with his reflection and the neighbor's cat; all out of the side of his mouth.

When that was no longer entertaining he walked up to me, through his arms around my legs, looked up oh so sweetly and shouted: "BLAH BLAH BLAH".

Nothing like being schooled by a toddler.

Mornings

My darling husband normally gets Little Man in the morning. They get to have some great father-son time while mama attempts to downplay the Medusa look she sports first thing in the AM. My son has learned that mama miraculously ends up in a better mood after the loud machine forces brown liquid into a tiny cup which she downs in one gulp (I believe in training ‘em young. Once he is old enough to reach the espresso machine, he is old enough to bring mama her coffee in bed). Once the light turns green and the machine begins to chug away, Little Man claps and screeches in delight. “Mama’s gonna smile now! Mama’s gonna be nice now! Mama’s gonna stop grunting at me now!”. Yes, the little things that entertain our children…

My sweet, darling, wonderful husband had to be up at the ungodly hour of 4 AM this morning which means I was up at the only-somewhat-ungodly hour of 5 AM. Showered, dressed and happily chugging double espresso #1 (yes, the mornings in my house involve more than 1 double) as 6 AM rolls around. I skip into Little Man’s room; pull out his clothes, diaper, etc., and not being quiet about it. He rolls over, opens one eye, glares, rolls over again and goes back to sleep.

“Oh no sweetie pie, it’s time to get up. Come on baby boy. HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT SMELL?”

You can have your father-son bonding time honey. There is not enough espresso in the world to make dealing with that first thing in the morning bearable. No really. I insist. The mornings are all yours.