musings of Mother Hood

New(est) Obsession

So we have these neighbors.

They're such nice neighbors. They probably aren't aware that since the weather has been nice recently and we can play outside some when we get home from school, I have been hefting my kid up on my shoulders and allowing him to peek over their fence and into their yard.

But they're such nice neighbors that they probably wouldn't mind.

They probably also aren't aware that their backyard happens to contain the single most fantabulous thing EVER - in this toddler's humble little opinion.

Puppy dogs! Puppy dogs! Puppy dogs! Desperate pointing. Near hyperventilation. Puppy dogs! Puppy dogs! Puppy dogs! Mama do you SEE the puppy dogs!?! More desperate pointing. 

But they're such nice neighbors so they probably wouldn't mind. Right?

WARNING: Toddler in Swing Looks Older Than Hardly Seems Possible

That there is my not-even-two year old. Yeah that one. The one swinging on the big kid swings all by himself even after his Mama tried to convince his Paw he was "definitely too little to be swinging on the big kid swings all by himself". The one that laughs in the face of danger. And is WAY too cool for the more age appropriate jungle gyms on the other side of the park.

 

The one that is convinced he has the ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound. The same one that believes any slide worth sliding is worth sliding head first. The one who, incidentally, received a face full of dirt and mulch about a half second after this photo was taken:

But brushed himself off, got an encouraging fist bump from his Paw, and was ready to get back on the horse.

The same one that still cannot be bothered with boring tasks like sitting still long enough for his Mama to get a decent picture of the front of his jug.

  

 

 

 

Yep, that's my munchkin. The one that has already learned to bribe his Mama with kisses.

 

Cute AND smart.

 

 

20/20 Vision

Kiddo,

You are 20 months old, if you can believe that. This is unfolding as such a fun time and all three of us seem to be soaking it up as much as possible. We laugh more. We hang out more. Such a little guy. Here you go - 20 things at 20 months:  

1. You LOVE to be tickled. Your meaty, yummy little thighs seem to be a hot spot. Also, your laugh is one of my favorite things in the world. A must see.
2. We're not 100% over the biting thing. I keep thinking we are, but we regress.
3. You've started to prefer some foods over others whereas until recently you were up for just about anything. If you don't care for something on your tray, your first reaction is to politely hand it back to me. You stick out your little fist, filled with Cheerios or turkey or whatever food you don't care for at the moment and wait till I take it. If I don't comply, you resort to scooting things off your tray onto the floor.
4. You look a little like me when you smile.
5. When it's time to put your coat on to leave for school in the morning, you think it's HILARIOUS to dive at me hands first, putting your coat on Snuggie-style. Then you laugh at your joke, turn around and put your arms in correctly. I'm certain you think you are getting one over on us every morning.
6. You have always been a good sleeper (which you clearly get from me) but you're an early riser (which you clearly get from your Paw). So you boys have breakfast together each morning while I either sleep another few minutes or grab my shower before the rest of the morning begins.
7. Lately, you've been very content to sit between your Paw and me on the couch during our favorite shows. You plop yourself either on the middle cushion or directly on top of me, milk cup under your arm like a football, and pretend to watch the show with us. You even burst out laughing when we do. Or when a dog or cat walks into the scene.
8. Oh no! You've officially said your first word. "Oh no!" Not Mama. Not Dada. Not bottle or milk or night-night. "Oh no!" And we giggle every time. If you drop something - oh no! If I forget to close the pantry door behind me - you run over and shut the door - oh no! Soooo cute.
9. You are a slave to the rhythm. You will dance to anything from the Sprout intro song to the NBC Nightly News theme. You hear a single note and you look up at us, put both hands above your head and shake your booty to the music. It is cute every. Single. Time.
10. You have two favorite sleeping positions: 1. on your tummy, bottom in the air, arms either tucked under you or straight out to the side, and 2. on your back, limbs sprawled. I check on you every night before I go to bed and I usually stand there for a second, listening to your little snoring. Sleeping babies are honestly the most peaceful thing I've ever seen.
11. Speaking of bedtime, you love it! You get jammied and we brush your teeth, then most times you literally run in the direction of your room as we say night-night to Paw. When we get to your room, you extend your little arms, asking me to pick you up, then nuzzle your face into my neck for a few minutes and twirl my hair around your fingers until you're ready to go to bed. I drop you in your crib and you're usually zonked in no time. (I am fully aware that it will likely not always be this easy. I try not to think about it.)
12. You are loving using a fork, but it's usually WAY too slow and you cheat with your fingers when you think I'm not looking.
13. There are a handful of cats that live in our neighborhood and you are constantly monitoring them out the window. They walk along our backyard fence and you don't let them get out of line. If you're really lucky you catch a glimpse of one of the bunnies that loiter out there, too.
14. We tried to read books at bedtime. You LOVE books. But it quickly became clear that you weren't as interested in the "reading" of the books as you were in the physical turning of the pages. And we weren't even reading the books anymore, just rapidly turning pages and then moving on to the next one. And my original plan of 'three books each night' went out the window as we were "reading" every book on the shelf every night. So. We nixed book-reading from the bedtime routine. I am certain it will be back someday. I hope it's someday soon.
15. Your love for the ladies is going strong. I lost sight of you for a minute after church last week and I looked up to see you on the hip of a cute little 8 year old girl, smiling and flirting and totally at home. *sigh*
16.  You've never been that interested in waving bye-bye, but your teachers at daycare taught you to blow kisses for bye-bye. So now when we leave school every afternoon, we blow kisses at everyone we see between your classroom and the car. It's pretty darn adorable. You also blow me kisses when you leave for school with your Paw in the mornings. And anytime one of us puts our shoes on.
17. I saw you hug a little girl in your class last week and I about melted right on the spot. You were sharing a toy xylophone and I was holding my breath, a little worried as there was a mallet involved and that could go bad pretty quickly. But you took turns playing with it and when it was her turn to bang on the xylophone keys, you reached over and gave her the sweetest little hug. Even now, it gets me.
18. You think peaches and apples equal candy. And I'm ok with that.
19. I can still count on you to help me in the kitchen and on laundry day. You have gotten quite good at "helping" me put away groceries and dragging your laundry basket from your bedroom to the washer. I encourage this as much as possible - of course!
20. You think belly buttons are hilarious. And it's your favorite thing to point to during our 'Where's your nose/ears/hair/feet? game'.

Happy 20 months, Buddy. Love you. A lot.

 

Colt vs. The Elements

Oh, this kid. Empty boxes, muddy sticks, puppy dogs, and... running water.

I believe the object of the game was to trap the water. I forgot to keep score.

I will tell you what the object of the game wasn't. Let's just say no soap was harmed during the course of this "bath".

If you look closely, you will see that he's up to his armpits in water. I would let it run, and he would battle with the faucet, then I would drain the tub a little so as not to flood the bathroom. When it was necessary to turn off the water - even momentarily - I would get this look:

Pure, unadulterated desperation. So I'd run the water some more. Several rounds of this and the water was starting to run a little cool. So it was time to call the game.  

 

Stay tuned for a rematch.

Persistence

I have a little Rubbermaid stool that I use to reach things on the top shelf of the pantry. Lately, when I'm standing at the sink, Colt likes to drag the stool out of the laundry room, place it as physically close to me as possible, and "help" me do dishes.   

Like everything else, it was impossibly cute the first couple times. But his tendency to obsess eventually won out and he started to insist on standing on (and often falling off of) the stool. In the door, home from school? Stool. Time for bed? Stool. Ready to get in your chair and eat supper? MUST. STAND. ON. STOOL.   

So we wrote another chapter of the Brilliant Parenting Book. And we hid the stool. Problem solved, right?

Wrong.

This kid is resourceful.

He had Plan B. In the shape of an upside down laundry basket. Hmm. An upside down laundry basket is roughly the same shape and height as the stool. Success! And he resumed his spot at the sink, hands in dishwater.

So - the laundry basket had to go, too. And for the last few days, I was able to wash dishes all by myself. Though he usually still managed to wedge his little body between my legs and the cabinets, then stick his face out between my knees and laugh maniacally. Sometimes I wonder what is going on in his little brain.

But today. Today, I witnessed Plan C.

 

Some of you might recognize that as the contents of someone's favorite cabinet. For context, those bowls and colanders are usually strewn willy nilly across the kitchen floor. But not today. Today, they were arranged with purpose.

Self-Portrait and Swamp Thing

I remember getting this little outfit as a gift at a baby shower and thinking - that thing is HUGE, he'll NEVER be that big! I found it in his closet last night and guess what?

 

 

 

Hibernation Desperation

I've never minded the winter as much as I do this year. In fact, I typically prefer cold weather to warm because it means things like layered clothing and snuggling and Christmas and snow (usually conveniently enjoyed through a nice warm window). But this year, it's wearing on me.

I almost wish our calendar year could go from March to March. That way the year could end with all the ice and snow and being cooped up inside - and start anew with warm weather, playing outside, Spring cleaning, and green grass. That would feel a lot more like a New Year to me. As it is, I'm finding it hard to summon the motivation for anything new. Or different. Or, how do you say, productive?

Blah! Is it so wrong to just be DONE with the cold? We've had something like 8 snow days since school started in January. And while that may mean one thing to those who have to consider things like lesson plans and standardized tests, I'm here to tell you that in this house it translates into a lot of NOT getting to play outside and one restless kiddo.

I'm ready. I'm ready to throw open the windows and let Colt run wild in the backyard and have a good reason for a pedicure and walk to the park without bundling up A Christmas Story-style. *sigh* I've been sustaining myself by looking through photos of last summer and making mental notes of things I want to do this summer.

 

 

 

Ahhh. Yeah, I needed that. Though I may have to go get a pedicure anyway. You can never be too prepared.

Things That Make Me Smile

I hereby declare that pint-sized Chuck Taylors are the 'little boy' cuteness counterpart of little girls' bloomers with ruffles on the butt.

If Clothes Make The Man

Stoplights are standardized. To my knowledge, anywhere you go in this world - green means go and red means stop. You don't even have to be able to READ and you know that. So uncomplicated and efficient. But children's clothing? That's a free-for-all.

I realize that not all babies are shaped the same and, much like women's clothing, every brand thinks they do it The Right Way, but could we all just make our clothes the same freaking size? Or just get close? And can we agree on definitions for words like "newborn" and "infant" and "baby"?

I've had a bit of a love-hate relationship with children's clothing from day one, really. It took me a good six months to figure out that clothes labeled "6" or "9" are actually intended to fit up until "6" or "9" months. That was a bummer. And several things went into the Outgrown Bucket without ever being worn. But by this time last year I really had a handle on it. I organized Colt's closet into sizes and seasons and made it a point to periodically go in and be sure he was wearing all the stuff that fit. After finally accepting that there's no discernible difference between "Newborn" and "0-3", I navigated through 3-6, 6-12, even a few 6-9 and 9-12, though if I had my way those last two would go the way of the 2 dollar bill.

But I've come to another crossroads. I spent some time this weekend going through everything as (some of) his 12-18 month shirts are getting snug. Truthfully, I get pretty excited when it's time to shift up to the next size because I get to dig back into the closet and find things I completely forgot I bought on sale this time last year. There's 12-18, some of which still fit. Especially pants. But then there are some sweaters that I bought him for this fall - clearly labeled 12-18 months - that I PROMISE you he'll still be able to wear a year from now.

And the question that currently haunts me: What in the WORLD is the difference between "18-24 months" and "2T"? Is 2T another trick - like the 6 and 9 clothes? Or does it mean that he can wear those clothes when he is actually two?

Honestly, why does it have to be in secret code? We count in months until 24, then it switches to Ts. Ok. But about this age is when we start walking the fine line between "baby" and "kid". Some places even consider him a "newborn" until 24 months! Wha?

My strategy so far has been to call in reinforcements and ask my friend Nancy, who rarely lets me down when it comes to these things. Maybe next week I'll try to figure out why Gymboree sells swimwear in January.

All Gone

A few days ago we had an intervention. Or, depending on how you look at it, an exorcism. Either way, the coffeemaker had to go.

It was impossibly cute the first 10 times Colt dragged one of us by the hand into the kitchen to demonstratively point at the coffeemaker. It was bearable the first 100 times. But after that, we had to take action. So we did what any reasonable, judicious parents of a toddler might do if faced with such a dilemma.

We hid his toys.

Not his toys, obviously. But the one thing he just can't seem to get enough of since Grandpa left town. That damn coffeemaker.

Out of respect for future, mature adult Colt I did not capture on video the, ahem, range of emotions he experienced when denied the opportunity (every 2 minutes) to "make" coffee. It wasn't pretty. And all it took was a 5 second exchange of his furious pointing and my no-nonsense face making. Recipe for disaster. 

I guess I should be grateful for all his "helping" around the house. I mean, he's practically running the place.  He helps me do laundry on Sundays by dragging his hamper from his room all the way across the house to the laundry room, handing me its contents piece by piece, then dragging the empty hamper back to its spot beside the changing table in his room. Trust me when I tell you it's every bit as adorable as it sounds.

And helping make coffee topped the list of favorite household chores. So now that the coffeemaker has found a new home at the back of the bottom shelf of the pantry, Colt is lost. He's old enough and aware enough to remember what used to be on the counter (and how much FREAKING fun it was to play with). So he still makes regular trips to the kitchen, but he has some new material. Now, when he rounds the corner and sees the empty countertop, he loosens his grip on my index finger, stops in his tracks, and points anyway - while giving me a really confused look. Then I give him the brilliant explanation I worked long and hard on last week while counting to ten during one of his "displays of emotion".

"It's all gone," I say.

Confused look continues.

"Yep. All Gone."

Then he looks up at me through his bangs and juts both arms out to his sides, palms up. You know, like this:

 

"That's right. The coffeemaker is all gone."

I have no idea who taught him this universal sign for all things pitiful. But I think it's awesome and I really have to concentrate on making the no-nonsense face when he does this. And it's WAY cuter than the crumpled puddle of howling toddler that used to happen every time I cruelly refused to pick him up and let him make a cup of coffee no one had any intention of drinking.

Incidentally, the "all gone" pictured above is in reference to the water that finished draining out of the tub only moments before. His little feet were beyond pruney and he showed no interest in getting out of the tub to finish getting ready for night-night. So I combined every scrap of parenting wisdom I have and deployed my new go-to plan. I let the water out of the tub, then looked at him like I was just as shocked as he was. Scoff! What happened to the water?

You guessed it.