Today was swim class day, and we jumped into the pool, got wet-suited, and then our fabulous instructor Jessie came in, staring at the pool floor.
"What's up?" I said.
"I think that's poop," she said, and yes, right between us, it certainly looked like poop. Oh my stars and garters.
So we wandered off and sat on the stairs until the confirmation came that it was poop and we all got out (ew ew ew). We get a make-up session and so on. A screamed his little head off since he'd just gotten into the pool and Jessie was there and he didn't understand why we couldn't just swim in the pool if we weren't going to have class.
By the way, if someone poops in the pool and you have a toddler, just get a big sign saying, "It wasn't him!" for over his head, because you are the prime suspects, even if your kid was in a wetsuit for the entire time he was in the pool and there is no physical way poop could pass from him to the bottom of the pool. The little old ladies clucked at us until the staff pointed out that the poop was in the pool before the baby class, when the little old ladies were the only ones in the pool. Hmm.
When we finally reached the locker room, the minute we walked in, the lights went out. Power was out all over Mission Beach, apparently, and there's no windows in the locker room, so it was pitch dark in there. At least we were right on the threshold and not in the shower.
The club dispatched a staffer to stand in the locker room with a flashlight pointed at the ceiling to reflect light into the room. I waited until my eyes had adjusted, then took a shower with A (we did just get out of the poop pool) and got dressed. Actually, as always, I got A dressed and then got dressed myself, which in this case coincided with the staffer announcing, "We have to evacuate the locker room since it's not safe for you to be in here, so I need everyone out now."
"Um, can I put my clothes on before I go into the lobby?"
"Oh, yeah, sure." I'm normally not fond of locker rooms, but getting dressed under flashlight in a blacked-out locker room is a bizarro porn-meets-Blair-Witch dimension I was uncomfortable inhabiting.
So we went to Sea World instead, watched the dolphin show, saw the penguins and the seals, chased pigeons, then watched them bathe a Clydesdale. I think Shower #2 is not too long in my future.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
A literalist
It's common in the morning for C and I to ask each other, "How did you sleep?" This is after years of insomnia (mine--C could sleep through a rock concert, I think) followed by years of babydom.
Anyway, so out of habit, I asked A, "How did you sleep?"
He looked at me, laid down on the floor and curled up and said, "Like this."
Anyway, so out of habit, I asked A, "How did you sleep?"
He looked at me, laid down on the floor and curled up and said, "Like this."
Friday, March 20, 2009
Bye, Pooh! Bye, Tigger! Bye, Piglet! Bye, Rabbit...
When we leave the house, we have to say goodbye not only to the cats, but to Pooh and Tigger and the whole Hundred Acre Wood gang because there's a Pooh movie in the house. It makes leaving a long long process.
I'm making a half-assed attempt to clean my own bedroom that has just been derailed by the discovery of my best bra, which I had thought lost forever. Does the fact that I have discovered something that was missing because this room is so terribly cluttered and filthy inspire me towards even greater cleaning? No. It makes me want to have lunch and quit, since now I have accomplished something.
In any case, A is walking around with an apple (and has proudly discovered one of his toys which I have unearthed in the great bedroom cleaning). He just finished speech therapy for the week. His teacher says he's becoming too sophisticated for her toys. He'll play with her toys--in conjunction with his own toys. For example, she had some blocks. He used his dustpan to lift the blocks from the floor into the bed of his dump truck until he decided that was taking too long. Then he dumped the blocks from her box into his truck. He's a smart cookie. His language is getting much, much better.
I got him another haircut, this one more severe. His hair was just too long to keep brushing to the side. He looks a lot older now. I wasn't impressed with this salon either. I think he'll go to Supercuts or something like that or his dad's barber shop, because it's silly to spend so much on a quick trim. I'l ask my stylist how much her kid cuts are, but I can't imagine they are even in a spectrum I'd like to pay.
Not much else to report. I bought plane tickets for our vacation getaway to Oregon for Memorial Day, so now that trip's all set as far as I am concerned. This is the last unplanned weekend we have before two weekends chock-full of activities, so I'm hoping to just relax and mostly enjoy it. And I desperately want my son to have a nap today, because he didn't get one yesterday, and only the fact that he went to preschool so I could have some run-around-and-do-errand time in the morning saved us from complete insanity.
I'm making a half-assed attempt to clean my own bedroom that has just been derailed by the discovery of my best bra, which I had thought lost forever. Does the fact that I have discovered something that was missing because this room is so terribly cluttered and filthy inspire me towards even greater cleaning? No. It makes me want to have lunch and quit, since now I have accomplished something.
In any case, A is walking around with an apple (and has proudly discovered one of his toys which I have unearthed in the great bedroom cleaning). He just finished speech therapy for the week. His teacher says he's becoming too sophisticated for her toys. He'll play with her toys--in conjunction with his own toys. For example, she had some blocks. He used his dustpan to lift the blocks from the floor into the bed of his dump truck until he decided that was taking too long. Then he dumped the blocks from her box into his truck. He's a smart cookie. His language is getting much, much better.
I got him another haircut, this one more severe. His hair was just too long to keep brushing to the side. He looks a lot older now. I wasn't impressed with this salon either. I think he'll go to Supercuts or something like that or his dad's barber shop, because it's silly to spend so much on a quick trim. I'l ask my stylist how much her kid cuts are, but I can't imagine they are even in a spectrum I'd like to pay.
Not much else to report. I bought plane tickets for our vacation getaway to Oregon for Memorial Day, so now that trip's all set as far as I am concerned. This is the last unplanned weekend we have before two weekends chock-full of activities, so I'm hoping to just relax and mostly enjoy it. And I desperately want my son to have a nap today, because he didn't get one yesterday, and only the fact that he went to preschool so I could have some run-around-and-do-errand time in the morning saved us from complete insanity.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Two kitties, three books, one apple.
He's been chanting the numbers one through ten for some time now, but we thought it was a sing-songy chant without any true understanding of the concept of numbers. (It's amazing all the things you figured out in your life, right?)
But in the last few days, he's been counting. Four slices of bread. Six blocks. Three trucks. Two kitties. Two mommies, two daddies (the word parent isn't in his vocabulary yet, so C and I are two mommies or two daddies, depending on who he starts counting with). It's a little disconcerting because he says, "One two three four five six," first, as if he needs a counting warm-up or intro like the Sesame Street Pinball song, and then he'll come up with the right number, "three bread."
If the blog is slow, I am sorry. I am now on two Boards (who knew?) and have events in back-to-back weekends to help with. So every spare minute of my life feels like it's consumed. Friday night I fell asleep on the couch while C put A to sleep. I need more sleep.
But in the last few days, he's been counting. Four slices of bread. Six blocks. Three trucks. Two kitties. Two mommies, two daddies (the word parent isn't in his vocabulary yet, so C and I are two mommies or two daddies, depending on who he starts counting with). It's a little disconcerting because he says, "One two three four five six," first, as if he needs a counting warm-up or intro like the Sesame Street Pinball song, and then he'll come up with the right number, "three bread."
If the blog is slow, I am sorry. I am now on two Boards (who knew?) and have events in back-to-back weekends to help with. So every spare minute of my life feels like it's consumed. Friday night I fell asleep on the couch while C put A to sleep. I need more sleep.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
"I did it!"
This is A's new phrase, which is fabulous, three words, two pronouns. His speech teacher's thrilled because he's now initiating three word sentences, some with subject-verb-object ("Daddy push truck") construction, instead of three words as verb-noun with modifier ("Push big truck" or "Push truck fast"). This is a Very Big Deal around here. We're pushing him for more around here, but he's doing really well.
He does have an ear infection, which we're in the process of trying to clear up, and then it's back to the doctor to see if he has any fluid in his ears, which would mean a referral to the ears-nose-throat doctor.
A is very sweet and lovey these days, lots of kisses and hugs and cuddles. So adorable, really.
This week he announced to me that he wanted to make cookies and took a cookie cookbook off the shelf. So I showed him the pictures in the Betty Crocker Cooky Book, he picked a cookie out from the pictures, and we made cookies. I'm the mommy and we make cookies, even when the mommy's trying the 30-day Shred and is hopped up on arnica and Advil.
He does have an ear infection, which we're in the process of trying to clear up, and then it's back to the doctor to see if he has any fluid in his ears, which would mean a referral to the ears-nose-throat doctor.
A is very sweet and lovey these days, lots of kisses and hugs and cuddles. So adorable, really.
This week he announced to me that he wanted to make cookies and took a cookie cookbook off the shelf. So I showed him the pictures in the Betty Crocker Cooky Book, he picked a cookie out from the pictures, and we made cookies. I'm the mommy and we make cookies, even when the mommy's trying the 30-day Shred and is hopped up on arnica and Advil.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Audiology
So the second band of merry wanderers have been through and back again, and they were a pleasure to have around, as always. Now they're gone and it's all drudgery here. Sigh. But this post is about A's hearing.
As part of any normal speech assessment, they want to do a hearing test (because if you can't hear or hear clearly, you may not talk). Way back in August when all of this assessment stuff started, the First Five people told me that it would take forever to get the state to do a hearing test and that it would be more expedient to pursue a hearing test through our private insurance. At A's two-year checkup the first week of August, his doctor wrote him a prescription for an audiology referral.
That test was originally scheduled for December, the day he had his massive asthma attack and was almost hospitalized. I called in the day before (when he was just coughing and not yet limp) and left a message canceling it. There's no way to talk to a human; they promise to return your call in one business day.
They rescheduled him for today. Three months later! Unbelievable. I know it's unbelievable, because the next time he was sick for an assessment appointment, I marched him down there, let him cough all over their office, and then asked them to reschedule. That time I got an appointment two weeks later and the supervisor's personal line to call with any problems. I should have asked for the audiology to be rescheduled then, but I didn't. So we're having the test seven months after I requested it. Argh.
An audiology test for a toddler works like this: they put tiny tubes in his ears to transmit the tones. Then he sits on my lap in a controlled room where there are shadowboxes containing animatronic animals which light up at various times. Through the tubes, the tester asks him to point to where he hears the tone. I assume the animals light to make sure he's responding to the tone and not just stimuli in the room. Also, they keep it interesting. He was pretty bored by the end of this.
Then they did two separate tests to show how his eardrum and inner ears are responding to sound. His right eardrum was not as responsive as it should have been. The tester looked in his ears and said the right one looked red.
So the audiology tests were inconclusive. The tests could show some minor to moderate hearing loss, but his eardrum looked bad and he's had a cold. The audiologist refused to make a diagnosis based on these tests. She said we should get him to the doctor, get his ear issues cleared up, and then do the audiology exam again in four to six weeks.
I'm not sure what to think. He doesn't seem to have any hearing loss to me, but I'm not an audiologist. There are members of our family who have hearing loss (and not just the ones who were on carriers) so it's a real possibility. I liked the audiologist; she seemed to know what she was doing and half-way through our assessment, another audiologist pulled her in for a consult, so they think she knows what she's doing too. Happily, there's nothing I can do either way but take him to the doctor tomorrow and have his ears checked.
The worst part is that he had a fever on Tuesday and couldn't go to preschool. No preschool at all this week for him--poor boy, poor mommy.
As part of any normal speech assessment, they want to do a hearing test (because if you can't hear or hear clearly, you may not talk). Way back in August when all of this assessment stuff started, the First Five people told me that it would take forever to get the state to do a hearing test and that it would be more expedient to pursue a hearing test through our private insurance. At A's two-year checkup the first week of August, his doctor wrote him a prescription for an audiology referral.
That test was originally scheduled for December, the day he had his massive asthma attack and was almost hospitalized. I called in the day before (when he was just coughing and not yet limp) and left a message canceling it. There's no way to talk to a human; they promise to return your call in one business day.
They rescheduled him for today. Three months later! Unbelievable. I know it's unbelievable, because the next time he was sick for an assessment appointment, I marched him down there, let him cough all over their office, and then asked them to reschedule. That time I got an appointment two weeks later and the supervisor's personal line to call with any problems. I should have asked for the audiology to be rescheduled then, but I didn't. So we're having the test seven months after I requested it. Argh.
An audiology test for a toddler works like this: they put tiny tubes in his ears to transmit the tones. Then he sits on my lap in a controlled room where there are shadowboxes containing animatronic animals which light up at various times. Through the tubes, the tester asks him to point to where he hears the tone. I assume the animals light to make sure he's responding to the tone and not just stimuli in the room. Also, they keep it interesting. He was pretty bored by the end of this.
Then they did two separate tests to show how his eardrum and inner ears are responding to sound. His right eardrum was not as responsive as it should have been. The tester looked in his ears and said the right one looked red.
So the audiology tests were inconclusive. The tests could show some minor to moderate hearing loss, but his eardrum looked bad and he's had a cold. The audiologist refused to make a diagnosis based on these tests. She said we should get him to the doctor, get his ear issues cleared up, and then do the audiology exam again in four to six weeks.
I'm not sure what to think. He doesn't seem to have any hearing loss to me, but I'm not an audiologist. There are members of our family who have hearing loss (and not just the ones who were on carriers) so it's a real possibility. I liked the audiologist; she seemed to know what she was doing and half-way through our assessment, another audiologist pulled her in for a consult, so they think she knows what she's doing too. Happily, there's nothing I can do either way but take him to the doctor tomorrow and have his ears checked.
The worst part is that he had a fever on Tuesday and couldn't go to preschool. No preschool at all this week for him--poor boy, poor mommy.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Wet socks!
I don't know if I've mentioned it, but A hates getting splashed with cold water (except for when he's in the pool). He hates it. It's one of the few things I know he hates. If he dribbles water on his shirt when he's taking a drink, he'll fuss until his shirt is a little dried off.
Anyway, yesterday he decided to take some initiative and get the Brita pitcher out of the fridge himself. The Brita is heavy and spilled all over the fridge and the kitchen floor.
A lets out a scream, and I come to see what's happened. He's holding an empty pitcher and yelling, "Wet! Wet! Wet socks!"
"Calm down," I say, and talk some Mommy-talk about how maybe if he asked for help Mommy would get him water. "Take your socks off."
He paced around straight-legged and agitated.
"Sit! Sit down and take your socks off." He sits and discovers that wet socks are hard to take off. When he finally got them off, I made him help me wipe up the gallon of water off the floor.
And he still wanted a drink after all of that.
Anyway, yesterday he decided to take some initiative and get the Brita pitcher out of the fridge himself. The Brita is heavy and spilled all over the fridge and the kitchen floor.
A lets out a scream, and I come to see what's happened. He's holding an empty pitcher and yelling, "Wet! Wet! Wet socks!"
"Calm down," I say, and talk some Mommy-talk about how maybe if he asked for help Mommy would get him water. "Take your socks off."
He paced around straight-legged and agitated.
"Sit! Sit down and take your socks off." He sits and discovers that wet socks are hard to take off. When he finally got them off, I made him help me wipe up the gallon of water off the floor.
And he still wanted a drink after all of that.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Baby love
The horde from Portland has left for home (or should have soon), and we had such a good time with them. C and I finally met baby L, who is a smiley little guy. The most amazing thing were how well A and M played together. Oh my gosh, they are so very very cute. E is going to be as tall as C next time.
A and I met up with the fam in Disneyland yesterday, and in due course of taking turns riding the mountains that the little ones can't ride, I found myself with L in a sling, and A and M tasked to hold hands and stick together so we could ride Pooh. I got numerous compliments on my beautiful baby boy (L) and cute and cheerful twins (A and M)--God bless you mothers of twins out there. M herded A like a Border collie; it was funny to watch.
When we got off of Pooh, both M and A saw Tigger and decided we had to meet him. But Tigger was at the end of his visit time. ("Tigger's going to lunch," I told them.) But as we came around the corner, Pooh was there. So they both waited patiently (very patiently, I must say, for two two-and-a-half year olds) and then ran up to Pooh and gave him a big hug. So cute!
The PhotoPass person was prompting, "A, can you take your fingers out of your mouth?" to get a super picture. M looked at A, grabbed his hand, and pulled his fingers out of his mouth. Priceless.
A didn't want to ride the Haunted Mansion, which was a little strange but we didn't push him to go on it. But of course he loved Pooh, Buzz Lightyear, and it's a small world, as always. And I got to ride Splash and Space Mountain, so life's pretty good.
So I'm glad they came, and I miss them terribly, and I'm taking a quick breath before the next horde descends.
A and I met up with the fam in Disneyland yesterday, and in due course of taking turns riding the mountains that the little ones can't ride, I found myself with L in a sling, and A and M tasked to hold hands and stick together so we could ride Pooh. I got numerous compliments on my beautiful baby boy (L) and cute and cheerful twins (A and M)--God bless you mothers of twins out there. M herded A like a Border collie; it was funny to watch.
When we got off of Pooh, both M and A saw Tigger and decided we had to meet him. But Tigger was at the end of his visit time. ("Tigger's going to lunch," I told them.) But as we came around the corner, Pooh was there. So they both waited patiently (very patiently, I must say, for two two-and-a-half year olds) and then ran up to Pooh and gave him a big hug. So cute!
The PhotoPass person was prompting, "A, can you take your fingers out of your mouth?" to get a super picture. M looked at A, grabbed his hand, and pulled his fingers out of his mouth. Priceless.
A didn't want to ride the Haunted Mansion, which was a little strange but we didn't push him to go on it. But of course he loved Pooh, Buzz Lightyear, and it's a small world, as always. And I got to ride Splash and Space Mountain, so life's pretty good.
So I'm glad they came, and I miss them terribly, and I'm taking a quick breath before the next horde descends.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
And I'm not shilling myself...
But if you'd like to hear a funny, sweet story about someone else's potty training issues, please go to the Dime Stories site, go to the Dime Stories: SD link on the left, and in the February 2009 page, listen to Henry Pruette's story, "Black Friday." I'd give you a direct link but they don't let me do that, apparently.
Emil Wilson's story is great, but only if you have an extremely twisted sense of humor.
Emil Wilson's story is great, but only if you have an extremely twisted sense of humor.
Peel me off the ceiling
Today, A took no nap except for the time spent driving from preschool to home. This matches my mood because I didn't sleep very well last night.
I got him home, thought I could do a swift diaper change while he was sleeping, and put him to bed, but no dice. He stayed woozy but awake for a long time regardless of how much Beatrix Potter I read him.
Argh.
So we ate lunch, played for a bit, went to the library and the store since we were in desperate dire need of milk. He almost fell asleep on the way home, but again, no luck. This is all complicated by the fact that the new car was in the shop (broken strut, under warranty, thank you very much) and so I was in the lovely old Volvo parking on the side of the garage I never park on. Parking in our garage is already graduate level parking, I think, but the whole different car/different side put me in a foul mood.
Which I was already in.
Because the boy had not napped.
C came home and I said, "Hi, here is your son, he's having cereal for dinner, and I am going to go away now." A little Jon Stewart, a little cat vibes, a little embarrassingly obsolete Civ, and I'm almost back to normal.
For general relaxation, I can't say enough about the wonders of a huge hot pad on your back with a couple cats for weight. I'm falling asleep just thinking about it.
I got him home, thought I could do a swift diaper change while he was sleeping, and put him to bed, but no dice. He stayed woozy but awake for a long time regardless of how much Beatrix Potter I read him.
Argh.
So we ate lunch, played for a bit, went to the library and the store since we were in desperate dire need of milk. He almost fell asleep on the way home, but again, no luck. This is all complicated by the fact that the new car was in the shop (broken strut, under warranty, thank you very much) and so I was in the lovely old Volvo parking on the side of the garage I never park on. Parking in our garage is already graduate level parking, I think, but the whole different car/different side put me in a foul mood.
Which I was already in.
Because the boy had not napped.
C came home and I said, "Hi, here is your son, he's having cereal for dinner, and I am going to go away now." A little Jon Stewart, a little cat vibes, a little embarrassingly obsolete Civ, and I'm almost back to normal.
For general relaxation, I can't say enough about the wonders of a huge hot pad on your back with a couple cats for weight. I'm falling asleep just thinking about it.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Baby junk
Not that kind of junk.
We're trying to convince A that he really wants to be potty-trained. He's not keen on it, but we've got Lightening McQueen pull-ups to try and convince him that the toilet is super cool groovy. He has explained to me that the potty is for mommy and daddy but not him.
Anyway, we finally convinced him to sit on this potty without a diaper. We've had this potty since his birthday. This is the second potty we have, since after I foolishly followed the "let your child pick out a potty to make him feel invested in the process" advice, A picked out an Elmo toilet that talked to him in English and Spanish every time he pushed a button ("Muy bien! High five! Great job!"). After an hour, the bilingual Elmo potty disappeared back to the baby hellhole. I replaced it with a mute potty. The design of the potty included a "splashguard for your little boy," which ostensibly is supposed to route urine into the toilet without the child having to aim.
The stupid mute potty is too small. His baby parts did not natually fall underneath him into the bowl. Cramming his baby junk into the splashguard positioned his penis in a way that would ensure he would piss into his own eyes should the momentous day arrive when he urinated on the potty.
So potty #2 is a bust, headed for AmVets. Maybe someone with a skinny little girl child can use it.
This weekend, we went to IKEA and bought potty #3 for four bucks and everything seems to fit. God bless the Swedes.
I'm still not ready for potty training.
We're trying to convince A that he really wants to be potty-trained. He's not keen on it, but we've got Lightening McQueen pull-ups to try and convince him that the toilet is super cool groovy. He has explained to me that the potty is for mommy and daddy but not him.
Anyway, we finally convinced him to sit on this potty without a diaper. We've had this potty since his birthday. This is the second potty we have, since after I foolishly followed the "let your child pick out a potty to make him feel invested in the process" advice, A picked out an Elmo toilet that talked to him in English and Spanish every time he pushed a button ("Muy bien! High five! Great job!"). After an hour, the bilingual Elmo potty disappeared back to the baby hellhole. I replaced it with a mute potty. The design of the potty included a "splashguard for your little boy," which ostensibly is supposed to route urine into the toilet without the child having to aim.
The stupid mute potty is too small. His baby parts did not natually fall underneath him into the bowl. Cramming his baby junk into the splashguard positioned his penis in a way that would ensure he would piss into his own eyes should the momentous day arrive when he urinated on the potty.
So potty #2 is a bust, headed for AmVets. Maybe someone with a skinny little girl child can use it.
This weekend, we went to IKEA and bought potty #3 for four bucks and everything seems to fit. God bless the Swedes.
I'm still not ready for potty training.
Progress reports
Yes, we get them. It's been about twelve weeks now since A started the extravaganza of classes and speech therapy, so we've got progress reports.
Preschool says he's doing super. He participates in circle time, initiates two-word phrases, and they're pressing him to say, "May I have such-and-such, please?" which means the "More such-and-such, please," requests we've been hyping at home are no longer going to cut it.
His speech therapist is thrilled with him. She's caught him saying three-word sentences, and saying everything from descriptions to commands/requests to narratives, which is fabulous. He has mad play skillz, yo. He's demonstrating new uses for objects and toys every time he sees them, which shows his creativity, problem solving acumen, and general astonishing brilliance. And the speech therapist says his family is super too.
His speech is getting more coherent, but I'm not sure how many other people would be able to tell. The swarms of friends are descending from Portland and Denver in quick succession, so hopefully we'll be able to tell then.
Cross your fingers that when they start turning out lights and closing offices all over California tomorrow due to budget morasses, A's speech therapist and preschools still get paid.
Preschool says he's doing super. He participates in circle time, initiates two-word phrases, and they're pressing him to say, "May I have such-and-such, please?" which means the "More such-and-such, please," requests we've been hyping at home are no longer going to cut it.
His speech therapist is thrilled with him. She's caught him saying three-word sentences, and saying everything from descriptions to commands/requests to narratives, which is fabulous. He has mad play skillz, yo. He's demonstrating new uses for objects and toys every time he sees them, which shows his creativity, problem solving acumen, and general astonishing brilliance. And the speech therapist says his family is super too.
His speech is getting more coherent, but I'm not sure how many other people would be able to tell. The swarms of friends are descending from Portland and Denver in quick succession, so hopefully we'll be able to tell then.
Cross your fingers that when they start turning out lights and closing offices all over California tomorrow due to budget morasses, A's speech therapist and preschools still get paid.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Digging out
We went to Disneyland again. It was my birthday; they offer free admission on your birthday, and if you have a pass, they'll give you something else, like a gift card worth the price of one day's admission. Sweet!
A got to preschool, I got to a bookstore, C played hooky, and we all had a fabulous time together. So I'm digging out now and today, but boy, did I have a great day.
A got to preschool, I got to a bookstore, C played hooky, and we all had a fabulous time together. So I'm digging out now and today, but boy, did I have a great day.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Completely irrelevant
We don't have TV. We don't watch American Idol.
If you do, then you should be voting for Adam Lambert, because he's the son of one of my writer friends and he's supposed to be great.
And tell me if he's any good.
If you do, then you should be voting for Adam Lambert, because he's the son of one of my writer friends and he's supposed to be great.
And tell me if he's any good.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Friday, February 06, 2009
First floss
I'm at home trying to write (re-write, but there's a lot of new stuff) and keep A on the floor of our bedroom which means that our bedroom is now a de-facto mess. Every other sentence I stop to ask A to put things back into the bedside tables (we really need those stops installed).
One of the things he's taken out is floss, which A thinks is super: a tiny roll of waxed string that feeds out really, really fast.
Anyway, I am explaining to him what floss is and I hand him a length to play with. He tries to twist it around his fingers and then runs it through his teeth.
"Would you like me to floss you?"
Uh-huh, affirmative.
So I sit him on my lap and make an attempt at flossing a two-and-half-year-old, which I know my dental hygienist is not doing to her own two-and-half-year-old yet. A sits through it very happily, takes the string from me and attempts it again himself when I'm done, and then throws the used string in the trashcan just like Mommy does.
As a child, I had not the best dental care. We didn't floss--it was a stretch to brush twice a day. I had teeth pulled with just laughing gas, which is not enough for me. My subsequent groovy dentists both comment, "Wow, you certainly need a lot of novocaine." My childhood dentist shot himself in his ex-wife's basement before setting the house on fire--true story--and that was the end of regular dentist visits until I was a Grown-Up.
So now I verge on the crazy OCD path of dental hygiene. I brush my teeth after every meal when I'm at home. I try to floss every day and probably manage to do so most of the time. If I skip, it bugs me. If I can't remember flossing on a given day, I'll floss again to make sure that I flossed. (And I've been wearing my retainer pretty regularly.)
Well, apparently, I've set my son on a road to dental OCD. Oh well. There are worse things to pass along, I guess.
One of the things he's taken out is floss, which A thinks is super: a tiny roll of waxed string that feeds out really, really fast.
Anyway, I am explaining to him what floss is and I hand him a length to play with. He tries to twist it around his fingers and then runs it through his teeth.
"Would you like me to floss you?"
Uh-huh, affirmative.
So I sit him on my lap and make an attempt at flossing a two-and-half-year-old, which I know my dental hygienist is not doing to her own two-and-half-year-old yet. A sits through it very happily, takes the string from me and attempts it again himself when I'm done, and then throws the used string in the trashcan just like Mommy does.
As a child, I had not the best dental care. We didn't floss--it was a stretch to brush twice a day. I had teeth pulled with just laughing gas, which is not enough for me. My subsequent groovy dentists both comment, "Wow, you certainly need a lot of novocaine." My childhood dentist shot himself in his ex-wife's basement before setting the house on fire--true story--and that was the end of regular dentist visits until I was a Grown-Up.
So now I verge on the crazy OCD path of dental hygiene. I brush my teeth after every meal when I'm at home. I try to floss every day and probably manage to do so most of the time. If I skip, it bugs me. If I can't remember flossing on a given day, I'll floss again to make sure that I flossed. (And I've been wearing my retainer pretty regularly.)
Well, apparently, I've set my son on a road to dental OCD. Oh well. There are worse things to pass along, I guess.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Two! Two two two!
We have numbers. We have one and we have two. The number two is our favorite number.
We point out all the twos. So, two panda toys, two tiger toys, two hands, two ears (which makes him laugh although I don't know why), two spoons, two books, two, two, two, two.
We went to the zoo yesterday and (finally) got to see the new tiger cubs (who look more like small cats, but that's okay). There are three cubs and a mom that are put on exhibit at the zoo in rotation with another female and a male. So we go to one of the viewing windows, and there are four tigers right on the other side of the glass--how fabulous. And A is excited and pointing and roaring, and I'm watching him try to explain to everyone else that those are tigers and they roar, when he starts saying to me, "Two, two, two."
"No, honey," I say, "four," and I turn back to count for him and I count, "One, two." Because of course the other tigers have disappeared from the window and we can now only see two.
The preschool reported today that A can count to ten, but I cannot confirm this with home testing.
We point out all the twos. So, two panda toys, two tiger toys, two hands, two ears (which makes him laugh although I don't know why), two spoons, two books, two, two, two, two.
We went to the zoo yesterday and (finally) got to see the new tiger cubs (who look more like small cats, but that's okay). There are three cubs and a mom that are put on exhibit at the zoo in rotation with another female and a male. So we go to one of the viewing windows, and there are four tigers right on the other side of the glass--how fabulous. And A is excited and pointing and roaring, and I'm watching him try to explain to everyone else that those are tigers and they roar, when he starts saying to me, "Two, two, two."
"No, honey," I say, "four," and I turn back to count for him and I count, "One, two." Because of course the other tigers have disappeared from the window and we can now only see two.
The preschool reported today that A can count to ten, but I cannot confirm this with home testing.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Friday, I'm in love
I am. So there.
The boy just went down for a nap, but he is adorable and sweet. I've been reading the complete Beatrix Potter to him and it's more charming than I remembered and it puts him to sleep.
We had a trip to Disneyland yesterday to celebrate Miss Julie's birthday, and that was fun. A loves the Winnie the Pooh ride and the Buzz Lightyear one. Good grief, that kid can run, especially when he decides he wants to ride, now! I love it when Julie has friends along who are happy to be on babysitting duty for the day, especially those who A takes a serious shine to.
His speech is coming along. He said his name for the first time this week, which is a big thing. Not terribly coherent, but still, having the concept of his name is a big deal.
His speech therapist tells me he's amazingly smart. He plays with his toys in ways that other kids don't think to. He's brilliant. We know. He's singing: the Wheels on the Bus, the Itsy-Bitsy Spider, the alphabet song, Where is Thumbkin, all the classics. It's starting to be berry season here: strawberries and blackberries. A loves blackberries.
He's moving right along. I sat next to him today and I couldn't stop looking at his legs (it's freakishly beautiful here today even by SoCal standards), since he's got little boy legs now and not little fat baby legs. Sigh.
The boy just went down for a nap, but he is adorable and sweet. I've been reading the complete Beatrix Potter to him and it's more charming than I remembered and it puts him to sleep.
We had a trip to Disneyland yesterday to celebrate Miss Julie's birthday, and that was fun. A loves the Winnie the Pooh ride and the Buzz Lightyear one. Good grief, that kid can run, especially when he decides he wants to ride, now! I love it when Julie has friends along who are happy to be on babysitting duty for the day, especially those who A takes a serious shine to.
His speech is coming along. He said his name for the first time this week, which is a big thing. Not terribly coherent, but still, having the concept of his name is a big deal.
His speech therapist tells me he's amazingly smart. He plays with his toys in ways that other kids don't think to. He's brilliant. We know. He's singing: the Wheels on the Bus, the Itsy-Bitsy Spider, the alphabet song, Where is Thumbkin, all the classics. It's starting to be berry season here: strawberries and blackberries. A loves blackberries.
He's moving right along. I sat next to him today and I couldn't stop looking at his legs (it's freakishly beautiful here today even by SoCal standards), since he's got little boy legs now and not little fat baby legs. Sigh.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Sick and story
Sick first: A celebrated MLKJ day by puking, rather spectacularly, as we were getting into "time to go to swim class" mode. Of course, being such a momentous week, he celebrated again on Tuesday and Wednesday by throwing up right after breakfast.
Being with a sick toddler who can talk a little is no fun, because he spent most of his days saying, "Hungry! Cookie! Cookie! Fruit [leather]! Cookie! Drink!" when he was supposed to be getting two tablespoons of Pedialyte or water every ten to fifteen minutes. This was pretty unbearable for a mommy. At least I wasn't sick with the stomach flu this time too, although I've got a riotous head cold going and I felt like I was under house arrest from not leaving the house for three days.
But this morning he was fine, breakfast stayed down, and he went to preschool. He's in a much better mood; the drywallers came to put the downstairs bathroom ceiling back together and it looks much better, plus these guys didn't seem to be on meth, always a plus.
Story: This is from last week. One of the words A has picked up is IKEA. I kid you not. We drive on 805, and there is IKEA in all its shiny yellow and blue Swedishness across the way in Mission Valley, and A yells and points, "KEA, KEA, KEA." When we go to Costco, he asks to go to IKEA, and sometimes I indulge him. I don't know why he wants to go. I really don't. I am told that these are my genes.
So here's the story. Last week, before he was sick, A and I headed to IKEA for the semi-annual sale. At some point, we went to the restroom for a diaper change. After we get done, we both wash our hands, and I hand A a length of paper towel. I tell him, "There's a trash can right by the door, just throw your paper towel out and wait for me," since I'm coming up behind him with the stroller.
A ignores me, takes the paper towel, wraps it around the door handle, and opens the door. Yes, he's opening the door with a paper towel, just like Mommy and Daddy do, especially when they see the lady who left the bathroom before us without washing her hands.
Being with a sick toddler who can talk a little is no fun, because he spent most of his days saying, "Hungry! Cookie! Cookie! Fruit [leather]! Cookie! Drink!" when he was supposed to be getting two tablespoons of Pedialyte or water every ten to fifteen minutes. This was pretty unbearable for a mommy. At least I wasn't sick with the stomach flu this time too, although I've got a riotous head cold going and I felt like I was under house arrest from not leaving the house for three days.
But this morning he was fine, breakfast stayed down, and he went to preschool. He's in a much better mood; the drywallers came to put the downstairs bathroom ceiling back together and it looks much better, plus these guys didn't seem to be on meth, always a plus.
Story: This is from last week. One of the words A has picked up is IKEA. I kid you not. We drive on 805, and there is IKEA in all its shiny yellow and blue Swedishness across the way in Mission Valley, and A yells and points, "KEA, KEA, KEA." When we go to Costco, he asks to go to IKEA, and sometimes I indulge him. I don't know why he wants to go. I really don't. I am told that these are my genes.
So here's the story. Last week, before he was sick, A and I headed to IKEA for the semi-annual sale. At some point, we went to the restroom for a diaper change. After we get done, we both wash our hands, and I hand A a length of paper towel. I tell him, "There's a trash can right by the door, just throw your paper towel out and wait for me," since I'm coming up behind him with the stroller.
A ignores me, takes the paper towel, wraps it around the door handle, and opens the door. Yes, he's opening the door with a paper towel, just like Mommy and Daddy do, especially when they see the lady who left the bathroom before us without washing her hands.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Christmas Wrap-up
Christmas was great. Mistah A ran downstairs Christmas morning and found a beautiful blue tricycle under our tree. He loves it and is getting pretty good at the whole pedaling thing. We ate scones and tea and cheese fondue with fantastic bread and it was a wonderful Christmas even if it did rain for most of the day. It was good cheese fondue weather. It was low-key and quiet and lovely.
Post-Christmas, we managed to get up to the last year of the Wild Animal Park's Festival of Lights and see, among other things, a black light puppet show, which had one of the best anti-photo deterrent routines I've ever seen. A behaved himself so beautifully; there were many brats in the crowd and I was happy to be with my kid.
Then it was off to Colorado for New Year's, with the grandparents bestowing much spoilage and love upon yonder boy. I got a new sewing machine from C and my in-laws, and we saw many people that we did not have enough time with. I don't think there's a good way to have enough time with everyone. We ate at the Canton Palace many, many, many times and are almost done with the General Tao's we brought back. It's so good to visit with people we don't get to see nearly often enough.
A traveled well, although leaving Colorado turned into a panoply (not comedy) of errors. On the way to the airport, the "Low Tire Pressure" light came on. C stopped and got out (on one of the worst, most dangerous sections of I-25) and checked the tires. Nothing appeared to be protruding from the tires, no flats, so we stopped at the next exit with a gas station and filled the tires. Some time between the gas station and the airport, A started really complaining and fussing, pretty unusual for him in the car. We kept driving because, well, we were already late from the tire incident. When we got to the rental car drop-off, I carried A out and--oh. That's why he was fussy. Let's just say that we've traveled with all levels of sick, but toddler with diarrhea is probably my second-least favorite. Small mercies: while we had a fearsome number bunch of changes in the airport, with proper tag-team diapering to keep it fair, A was done and fell asleep on the plane while people were still boarding.
The last week's been spent digging out, resuming routines, returning A to the level of attention he normally receives and not the adoration of the masses. He's happy to be back at preschool; he was thrilled to see his speech therapist. In swimming last Monday, the heater for the air in the pool room was broken, so while the pool was warm and wonderful, getting out was terrible. The steam rose off the water of the pool. Plus they had two cherry pickers in there to fix it, which was astonishing. I hope it's fixed. My toes are curling just thinking about it.
And now I have a new sewing machine. Once A falls asleep, C plays new video games and I sew and we're ridiculously pleased with ourselves. Last night we fixed a seam of C's at midnight. That's how ridiculously thrilled we both are. And tonight will be tea and cookies (thanks, Bump Bump Bumps) and early bed. Unless the lure of sewing and video games proves too much...
Post-Christmas, we managed to get up to the last year of the Wild Animal Park's Festival of Lights and see, among other things, a black light puppet show, which had one of the best anti-photo deterrent routines I've ever seen. A behaved himself so beautifully; there were many brats in the crowd and I was happy to be with my kid.
Then it was off to Colorado for New Year's, with the grandparents bestowing much spoilage and love upon yonder boy. I got a new sewing machine from C and my in-laws, and we saw many people that we did not have enough time with. I don't think there's a good way to have enough time with everyone. We ate at the Canton Palace many, many, many times and are almost done with the General Tao's we brought back. It's so good to visit with people we don't get to see nearly often enough.
A traveled well, although leaving Colorado turned into a panoply (not comedy) of errors. On the way to the airport, the "Low Tire Pressure" light came on. C stopped and got out (on one of the worst, most dangerous sections of I-25) and checked the tires. Nothing appeared to be protruding from the tires, no flats, so we stopped at the next exit with a gas station and filled the tires. Some time between the gas station and the airport, A started really complaining and fussing, pretty unusual for him in the car. We kept driving because, well, we were already late from the tire incident. When we got to the rental car drop-off, I carried A out and--oh. That's why he was fussy. Let's just say that we've traveled with all levels of sick, but toddler with diarrhea is probably my second-least favorite. Small mercies: while we had a fearsome number bunch of changes in the airport, with proper tag-team diapering to keep it fair, A was done and fell asleep on the plane while people were still boarding.
The last week's been spent digging out, resuming routines, returning A to the level of attention he normally receives and not the adoration of the masses. He's happy to be back at preschool; he was thrilled to see his speech therapist. In swimming last Monday, the heater for the air in the pool room was broken, so while the pool was warm and wonderful, getting out was terrible. The steam rose off the water of the pool. Plus they had two cherry pickers in there to fix it, which was astonishing. I hope it's fixed. My toes are curling just thinking about it.
And now I have a new sewing machine. Once A falls asleep, C plays new video games and I sew and we're ridiculously pleased with ourselves. Last night we fixed a seam of C's at midnight. That's how ridiculously thrilled we both are. And tonight will be tea and cookies (thanks, Bump Bump Bumps) and early bed. Unless the lure of sewing and video games proves too much...
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