Do I Need to Clean My Ears?

Just overheard from the Wizard, to his father: "What the heck is that?!?"

Must say that's a locution I didn't think he had mastered.

Edited to add: today I heard him say to his little sister, "Don't do that, you idiot!" Guess who mimics his big brother? It's time for another "no stupid people, only stupid things" talk with Newton.

Holiday Prep

On a recent family night, Newton and I put together and decorated this gingerbread train kit we got at a white elephant exchange:


If you look carefully, you can see that our train is decorated very much like the one pictured on the box. That is thanks to Newton. Pretty much any deviation from the picture was my doing.

Lulled into Complacency

So, this afternoon we were all upstairs. I was catching up on e-mail, Newton was watching TV, and Cindy Lou and the Wizard were playing. The Wizard wanted a drink, so Newton opened the gate for him to go downstairs. He knows how to get himself a drink either in the bathroom (using his toothbrushing cup) or the kitchen (using the fridge water dispenser), so I wasn't worried. After a few minutes, though, the sounds from the bathroom seemed a little, well, WET. Newton and I both shouted downstairs for him to turn off the water, and he came upstairs shortly after, saying, "I'm all wet." Great.

It was time to feed Cindy Lou anyway, so we headed downstairs to find a LAKE in the bathroom. I handed off Cindy Lou to Newton and mopped it up with some towels. Besides the lake on the floor, water had splashed up on the walls and toilet. Apparently, coming downstairs and finding a sink full of swimming suits and water, the Wizard had decided it would be fun to use the toothbrushing cup as a ladle to scoop water onto the floor. Eeeeeeee!

So, with the bathroom floor dried and the towels hanging over the tub (and the Wizard's wet clothing removed), Cindy Lou and I headed downstairs for some food, only to discover a LAKE in the kitchen. Apparently the water on the bathroom floor had seeped under the baseboard and was coming out around the kitchen light fixture. Fortunately it was not coming out through the plaster! Besides the four-foot-diameter puddle in the middle of the kitchen floor, there was about 3 inches of water pooled in the shade on the light fixture. I popped Cindy Lou in her high chair and ran back upstairs, cursing all the way, to grab some old towels. I spread them on the kitchen floor, then ran down to the basement. Yes, there was a lake there, too, albeit a smaller one. Ugh ugh ugh.


Not my favorite thing to have happen on a lazy summer afternoon, to say the least. Hopefully I won't have scary mold growing inside my walls where I couldn't mop up the water. But I guess that's one problem with having generally-well-behaved children--you get used to not having to worry about where they are and what they're doing Every. Single. Second., so when they do decide to get, um, creative, you're blindsided. Silver lining? We cleaned the shade of the kitchen light fixture, which was quite grimy, and replaced a burnt-out bulb.

Addendum: Last night after I had calmed down enough not to want to strangle him, the Wizard and I had a big talk about the lake incident. When I told him that his bathroom lake had created a kitchen lake which had created a basement lake, he laughed and said, "That's funny." No, I said, that's bad. "Actually, Mommy, it's bad and funny." Clearly my son and I have very different understandings of what makes something funny.

Conversations

Driving home from church yesterday (a muggy, uncomfortably warm transitional day after three scorchers around 100 degrees--today is still muggy, but much cooler and we are having a thunderstorm), I was kind of zoning out until my reverie was pierced by a panicking Wizard, "Mommy! Say 'Yes we are'!" I told him that I wouldn't say it until I knew what I was agreeing to. He got more panicky, and then exclaimed, "But we aren't in the tunnel any more!" Fortunately there was another short tunnel right after, so we were able to do a repeat: "Mommy, we're in a tunnel!" "Yes, we are."

This is one of many areas in which the Wizard is amazingly different from his older brother. Newton will never repeat himself more than once, and if I didn't understand him, too bad. Nothing like a mumbling proto-teenager to make you feel old and deaf. But he just doesn't seem to have the same need for feedback that the Wizard does. Is this an introvert-extrovert thing? I seem to remember reading that that is what makes the difference between extroverts and introverts, that need for feedback of whatever kind.

Aren't I Pretty?

Voilà the Wizard's first ever attempt at drawing a person. I've been a really lazy mama in the crayon-to-paper department, I admit, because I generally avoid super-close supervision of my children and don't like the crayon-to-woodwork results of breaking out the art supplies. So this was the first time I sat down with him and encouraged him to draw a specific thing, instead of just making abstract multicolored scribbles. So, this is my face. The eyes are pretty obvious, I think. The line above them is my hair. The two parallel lines below them are my lips. The small vertical line between my lips is my nose, and the bottom mark is my bum (what a sweet kid to make it so small!). The small dots on the sides are the corners of my mouth.

I can't remember how old Newton was, exactly, when I sat down with him for a similar exercise. His person had fingers and toes in the appropriate number, but I can't remember if it had hands or feet. It's always fun to see how many parts they think they need for the drawing to be complete--I keep asking "What else?" without suggesting anything in particular, until they say they're done.

Small Miracles

So, we just got back from a three+ week vacation and are trying to get back into some semblance of normality. Sleep schedules are still a bit off (including for Cindy Lou, who has started thinking it acceptable to wake up at 3 am screaming--wish me luck as I try to disabuse her of that notion), and the lawn hasn't been thoroughly de-jungled yet, but at least the house has aired out and the cleaners came today to sweep away the cobwebs. Not caught up with laundry yet, either, but then, when am I ever?

So, at about 11 this morning, I was mostly ready for the cleaners to come, Cindy Lou was napping and the Wizard had had a snack (Newton was, as usual, entertaining himself elsewhere in the house), so I decided to seize the moment and hop in the shower. When I emerged after completing my toilette, the Wizard was sitting on the toilet reading Alphabet Mystery, having removed his pajamas and diaper by himself, and having already finished his business. Wow! I think the example set by his three-year-old boy cousins (both toilet trained) at our recent family reunion has sunk in! I've been saying that pee training would begin after our vacation, and now we're back, so I guess I'd better get started! Eek.

Here he is on the couch this evening as I was going downstairs to start dinner.

Wizardisms

Many of the Wizard's darling mispronunciations are becoming a thing of the past. The other day he said "shabbitch," then worked his way through a bunch of stops and starts before settling on "samwich." "Come-pick-you" long ago evolved into "come-puker," and it's been a similarly long while since I've heard "moozhee."

We are reminded almost every day how different his personality is from his brother's. The other day at my sister's, running through the sprinkler in the yard, it took about one minute for the Wizard to be soaked from head to toe. Newton at that age I'm not sure would have ever gotten much wet at all. (See cute pictures she took of the kids that day here.)

Now we're in Baltimore visiting more family. Last night after we arrived, the Wizard was swept up in his grandmother's arms. I had been downstairs checking out Grandpa & Grandpa's new huge TV, and when I came back up, the Wizard said, "Grandma, this is my mommy." That kind of social impulse just doesn't seem to exist in his brother. Introducing people! And he's not yet three!

And speaking of strange things to be doing at his age, just now he selected a book to read off Grandpa's bookshelf: My Life by Bill Clinton. The funniest thing was that he opened it up and actually started trying to read it! He didn't last long with that small print, though--now he's back to The Cat in the Hat.

"Why?"

The Wizard is changing so rapidly these days I'm having a hard time keeping up in my blog postings. I took the first video a couple of weeks ago, and the second one this morning. He's read Green Eggs and Ham so many times in the last three weeks that he's now skipping ahead to his favorite parts! Such a new reader, and already blasé. We're also shaking our heads at how different he is from his older brother. He makes up stories and songs, does make-believe play with toys, and most of all asks, "Why?" ALL THE TIME. What's more, he usually listens to and seems to understand our explanations! Newton rarely said that word, I suspect because he thought he already had it all figured out. Ha!

Recent Wizard tidbits:

With (some) warmer weather recently, I have occasionally opened the car windows for a fresh breeze, always with the reminder that I'll be closing them as we get on the highway. Saturday we were coming home on the freeway from a barbecue, and traffic was stopped because of an accident. The Wizard had three questions (not right in a row--he did wait for answers in between): "Why we stopped?" "We not going fast?" "Please open the windows?"

In church yesterday, he started talking, and when we asked him to be quiet, observed, "[Cindy Lou]'s not sleeping." We quietly explained that there are other times and places in which it is preferable to speak quietly or not at all. Ah, the beauty of budding logic!

He's also started throwing words into conversation like "fantastic," "amazing," and "actually," used more or less correctly. He also uses the word "dummy" as an adjective--love that toddler sense of humor. Right now he's dancing around the family room singing the "'C'amation point song," with lyrics consisting only of the words, "'C'amation point, 'c'amation point, 'c'amation point," etc.






Cindy Lou's changing even faster. Her top front teeth broke through over the weekend. She can clap her hands. She can sit up by herself. She rolls very efficiently to get to the things she wants, and is just starting forward motion.

Olio

Well, I'm finally about done with the last of the Thanksgiving cleanup. No, really! The last thing was to wash and press all those beautiful lace table linens that came from my grandmother. The trouble is, to get them (or any fine table linens, made of linen or cotton) beautifully shiny and smooth, they have to be pressed while thoroughly damp, and not just from spraying them right before ironing. They have to be damp for a while, so the fibers can relax. Since I have a front-loading washer that spins as fast as my car's engine at freeway cruising speeds, they are perfect for pressing pretty much right out of the washer. So I waited to wash them until I thought I'd have a chance to get around to ironing them right after. That chance finally came last night and this morning.

I did not grow up with cloth napkins--strange for someone whose mother seemed so to love ironing. But I guess with six kids the laundry load was already monumental, so perhaps not so strange after all. Anyway, somewhere along the line I decided I liked using cloth napkins, so any time we eat in the dining room, that's what we use. I have plain white cotton napkins, variously colored ones that match placemat sets (I'm not generally a tablecloth kind of gal, as you may have noticed from pictures of my table), and a few sets of white and ecru linen ones that I bought at an estate sale. More than I can realistically use, really.

Anyway, I love using cloth napkins for anything fancier than a weeknight family dinner. It took me a while to become comfortable really wiping my mouth on them, but now I don't hold back--I suppose it helps that I never wear lipstick, which might give me pause. But with the aforementioned front-loader (which can also achieve a water temperature of 205 degrees Fahrenheit), they almost always come clean.

Been busy lately, trying to get birth announcements out, plus Christmas cards, and then party invitations; Christmas shopping; another house project (I know, I said I was done!); getting back to teaching choir at Number One's school; and just plain old taking care of the kids. The house project is related to this summer's slew of projects, so not really something new. Just a couple of smaller things to help make all the $$ we spent this summer last longer.

As for the kids, well! I'm tempted to start calling the bebe Genius Baby, because Saturday night she slept for over eight hours straight. Even better, they were almost exactly coincidental with the hours that I wanted to sleep! Sunday was a good day. That was the first time she'd slept that long (she's only seven weeks old, after all), but she does regularly go five or even six hours at a stretch. Good girl.

We've never yet had to make a trip to the emergency room for one of the kids, but I feel quite certain that we will have to eventually. Yesterday, Number Two was running around in circles in the living room and kind of sort of falling down on purpose. Of course, on about the second time he landed right on his face and gave himself The Fattest Lip Ever.



I'm also really loving his language these days. He's stringing together longer sentences, but still in a rather staccato fashion, and with adorable Toddler Approximate Pronunciation. Some words are beautifully clear, and others can only be understood in context. Ls are pronounced either as Ws (weft instead of left--he knows his lefts and rights, btw) or Ys (yehyoh for yellow), depending. Combined consonants including S drop one letter (suck instead of stuck, for example), but not always the second one. "Small" is pronounced with a nasal exhalation before the M. Longer words are particularly susceptible to elisions, additions and transpositions--"diffeff" for "different," etc. Fortunately, he's pretty good about repeating himself when asked, so we can usually communicate pretty well.

I have realized that I don't write much about Number One compared to the younger two. Partly I think this is because he spends most of his days at school, and when he's home he's frequently entertaining himself. He also is turning into a teenager before his time, so not only are the things he does less cute and endearing, he'd probably be mortified if he knew that and what I was writing about him. I will say one thing: he's decided to be Draco Malfoy next Halloween. Won't that be perfect?

Edited to add that I think it might actually be "yeft" instead of "weft," and I forgot the cutest one of all: "movie" is pronounced "moozhee."

En garde!

The boys tonight argued over who got to eat the last piece of broccoli.

Which tells me that the bebe is going to be the one with the uncanny ability to ferret out every last piece of chocolate I squirrel away (is that a mixed metaphor?). Kind of like me as a kid. Joy.

Scarred for Life?

Maybe I should stop calling him Number Two.

The wee feller had been getting pretty good about pooping in the potty (well, toilet, really--I don't believe in those little stand-alone potties), occasionally initiating a session, but more often just being amenable to the suggestion, after meals or upon waking. Then, last week he started being less willing, giving ambiguous answers when asked if he needed to go, etc. One day (Wednesday? Thursday?) he told me "no" when I asked, but then a few minutes later I heard him grunt a little. I ran out of the study and rushed him downstairs to the changing table; the contents of his diaper seemed a little scant, so I sat him on the pot to finish the job, put some books within reach and then went to do some laundry. He was quiet, but then called out a few minutes later.

Experienced mothers can surely guess what I saw when I ventured back into the bathroom. His older brother had occasionally gotten some poop on his fingers when playing with himself on the potty, but this kid had done his brother, shall we say, two better. He had apparently reached down and caught his, um, product, and was covered up to his elbows and all over his belly and thighs, with the unused material sitting in a lump on the potty seat between his legs. Naturally I started shrieking in horror, then ran for some baby wipes to start cleaning him up. The noise frightened him enough that he started to cry, then reached for me for comfort. "Don't touch me!!!!" That had to make him feel good.

Anyway, I got the worst bits off, then ran a tub and plopped him in it to get the rest off. Then we had a serious talk about how you should never, ever, touch your poop. He seemed contrite, and comprehending, but then he didn't poop on the potty for a couple of days. Of course then I started wondering if I'd permanently damaged his psyche and given him poop hangups for life. But then he got back on the horse, so to speak, and we seem to be back to the status quo ante.

But what if I had scarred him for life? All those do-you-or-don't-you parenting choices (epidural, breastfeed, co-sleep, immunize, etc.) get so much press, but the things that will really affect the kind of person your child becomes just don't. The way you interact with your child, how you react to the things he or she does, the examples you set of how you use your time and interact with others, those are the things that really matter.

So when I said, in a comment on a post of Adriana's, that we are much stricter about behavioral rules than some other crunchy-ish parents of our acquaintance, I was only partially talking about basic rules like saying please and thank you and not hitting (are there really any parents who don't at least think they're strict about these?). I was also talking about the other things we're really strict about, like getting meals and sleep on a regular schedule. Sure, our kids could probably be more flexible about these things than we typically are, BUT . . . well, here's how I figure:

In my experience, otherwise happy and well-adjusted kids don't much misbehave (whine, purposely do things they know will annoy you, etc.) unless they're either tired or hungry. When they act up/out, you correct/punish them, right? And thus they learn how they should behave.

But if you make sure they get the right amount of sleep and the right amount of food on a regular schedule, they are less likely to misbehave, and you are less likely to have to correct them. And thus you can spend a larger proportion of your interaction time enjoying each other's company, instead of every other thing you say to your kid being some variation of "no." I think the cumulative effect of this practice is hard to overstate. There will always be a need for a bad guy, the mean mom, the stern parent, but by planning ahead and being proactive you can make that person's role as small as possible.

But even this choice, about which I feel quite strongly, can be characterized as a parenting style. Where, though, does parenting style turn into plain old bad parenting? Surely somewhere this side of one instance I recently heard about, in which the hands-off, let-kids-be-kids parents of a little sociopath in training reacted to him stealing from the wallet of a friend's mom during a playdate by giving him his own wallet (I swear I'm not making this up).

I know from plenty of experience, first-hand and otherwise, that much of what kids are is born, not made. Certainly my own two sons have quite different personalities, and my brother's two sons are the proverbial chalk and cheese. But as parents we can and should do what we can to make sure each kid ends up being the best chalk, or the best cheese, he or she can be. Gosh, our job would sure be easier if all kids came out as unformed clay, or blank paper, and all we had to do was follow the simple instructions like in the "draw me" section of the Sunday comics. But the vagaries of genetic recombination being what they are, our approach has to change for each kid. We have to pay attention to their strengths, their faults and weaknesses, and try to bring out the good and minimize the bad all the while without infringing on their free will. It's a tricky process.

So there aren't any one-size-fits-all approaches to parenting, unfortunately. I did read a book several years ago that I found quite helpful, though. In fact, it's time to read it again, and add it to my permanent collection: Building Healthy Minds by Dr. Stanley Greenspan. The subtitle is "The Six Experiences That Create Intelligence and Emotional Growth in Babies and Young Children," so it really focuses on helping you raise smart, stable kids. I highly recommend it.

Waayyyyyyy Loosening the Apron Strings

So this morning we sent Number One off for two weeks with his grandparents in Maryland. It's safe to say that we had much more anxiety about the whole affair than he did. He just called me from his grandfathers' car, and when I asked him how his flight was, said, "It was kind of normal." Since he doesn't see himself as being anything other than perfectly competent, it's hard to faze him. The thing he was most excited about was that there were four other unaccompanied minors on his flight (he was, of course, the youngest one).

Do You Speak Rrrrredish?

I've finally figured out the best way to describe the way Number Two talks: he sounds like the love child of Scooby-Doo and the Swedish Chef. Any translators out there?

Bane or Boon?

So Number One and I had a big argument the other day, when we got home after I picked him up from his after-school indoor soccer class. The issue was that he wanted to play basketball, and I wanted to use the brief window of available time before I had to make dinner to help him with his homework (yes, he has homework; yes, he needs help with some of it; yes, it needs to be worked on every day so he doesn't fall behind). So he was doing the things that usually make me feel like I want to, you know, strangle him or sell him on eBay (ignoring me, turning his back on me, refusing to answer my questions, no matter how simple, continuing to shoot his basketball), and at one point he said, "You don't do anything for me." You can imagine my reaction. Hello, HE'S SIX! Sure, he can get himself an after-school snack, can work some of the controls on the DVR, and can (finally!) tie his own shoes, but seriously? I think he realized the sheer ridiculosity of his statement as soon as it had exited his mouth. At least I hope so. He ended up losing one day of TV (for wasting my time) and getting sent to his room, and we did manage to get some homework done right after dinner, and I somehow managed to avoid inflicting any permanent damage on his person or on the little green ball he uses when shooting hoop indoors.

Number Two, on the other hand, is delightful 99% of the time. He rarely gets upset, and when he does he'll throw a ten-second tantrum and be done. This morning as naptime was upon us, he came over to where I was sitting on the couch, looked like he wanted to be picked up, and when I did so just laid his head down on my shoulder. Sweet, sweet boy.

I think a huge part of the differences in my relationships with my two boys is the difference in their ages. I'm pretty sure when Number One was 18 months old, he was delightful at least 95% of the time (if not 99%). And when Number Two gets to be six, I'm also pretty sure that he'll give me grief as he tries to establish his individuality. But I think there's also a big difference in their innate personalities, which resemble their parents' as much as their looks do--only reversed. Number One looks much more like me, but has a personality much more like Mavis's. And Number Two looks amazingly like his father, but has a personality much more like mine. I don't get where Number One is coming from a lot of time, and this leads to situations that threaten to drive me batty. I am only very slightly comforted by my inlaws' repeated assertions that my husband was much, much worse (they are much nicer people than I am--if Number One were as bad as his father reportedly was, well, I shudder to think). Number Two reacts to situations in ways that I find much easier to understand.

So, I'll continue to muddle on through. Parenting can sure be a bitch sometimes.