What? More snow??

This weather is just so weird! We had snow again!















Before I opened the blinds in his room this morning, I asked William what he thought he'd see outside. His face brightened and he crowed, "'NO?"

"That's RIGHT!" I said and threw open the blinds with a flourish. He was very pleased. So much so that getting him dressed before he could go check out the snow felt like the qualifying round for a complicated Olympic sport. You know, one of those multi-tasking ones, like the one that requires you to cross country ski while shooting a rifle at moving targets, or maybe Greco-Roman wrestling but with more clothes, not less.


























It's been back and forth all day, though. It will snow like crazy for fifteen minutes, then taper off, and then the sun comes out. Then it stays clear and sunny for a half hour, and then the sky darkens, and the snow flurries start up again. Right now, the snow is really coming down out there. But twenty minutes ago, it was sunny and patches of blue sky were peeking out. Weird. W-E-I-R-D.




















Weird or not, snow is a Good Thing when you're 22 months old. Who cares if you fall down and get the knees of your pants wet and muddy? Who cares if you drop a mitten and your hand gets all wet and cold? It's SNOWING!





































Oh yes, and here's an off-centered cameo of me, to prove that I, too, was out there in the snow. It was snowing so hard for awhile that I even dug out my snow hat from my days at the University of Maryland to wear.




















The only bad thing about the snow today is that I have to drive back in to church tonight to help serve dinner for the weekly homeless shelter meal. William and I made a grocery run earlier today, so I've got the stuff. I just hope the roads don't freeze over between now and then. It may seem like it snows a lot here in Nashville but that sure doesn't mean that all of us know how to drive in it. And believe me, I certainly fall into that category!

"See you in the morning!"

Okay, I just put William down for his nap, and as I covered him up with the blanket, I said a fairly generic, "Okay, night, night. I love you. Night night." You know, all the sweet little things we always say to him when we put him in his bed, either for a nap or for bedtime.

And I swear, I swear, he said, "See you in the morning!"

I almost fell over. Where does he get these things? I mean, I know where he gets them. But how did he suddenly start knowing how and when to say them?

Like the other night when he said, "Bye bye, pizza man!" completely on his own volition. Or when we asked him what he wanted to be when he grows up, and he said, "A doctor." Or when I asked him if he wanted to have McDonald's for lunch, and he said, "Yes," and then asked for a "cheebur." Or when I ran back into the house this morning to grab a smaller purse because we were headed to the downtown library for storytime and I didn't want to lug along my big heavy purse, William took note of the different purse and said, "Little purse!"


Isn't that crazy? I almost wrote, "What's it going to be like when he really starts talking?" but then I realized, he really is talking these days. And every day, I think I understand more of what he says. Of course, the flip side of that is that he understands just about everything that we say to him. David and I are going to have start spelling even more words out loud than we already are!

Vote early and often

A couple of weeks ago, David took Willliam with him to the local community center for early voting, while I ran errands on my own. The next Tuesday, I packed William into the car and took him with me to a nearby Methodist church, and he sat by my side in his stroller and ate sweet potato puffs while I voted in the fellowship hall. To his delight, William received a patriotic "I voted!" sticker both times and was clearly delighted by his reward for doing his civic duty.

We have talked both before and since about voting, and why we vote, and how everyone has a right to make a decision for the candidate they like best, etc. etc. And while I usually don't get into politics on this blog, I will say that I had decided that I wanted to vote for Barack Obama in the Democratic primary. William was charmed by the candidate's name, and he began saying, "Bock mama! Obama!" over and over again.

Well apparently, voting made a pretty big impression on my not-quite-two-year-old son. We drove by that Methodist church a few days ago, and William pointed to it and said, "Bock mama!" He did the same thing when we parked by the community center next to the library, where early voting was held. And then tonight, he walked over to his high chair, studied it, then walked behind it and began pushing his fingers at the back of the elevated seat. From behind the little plastic-zoo-animal-printed seat, we heard his little voice say, "Obama! Obama!" I leaned over from my chair to see waht he was doing, and it looked like he was pretending to vote. It appeared that he was pretending the high chair was a voting booth and he was pressing buttons, like he saw he pressing choices on the electronic screen in the voting booth at the church, and he was announcing who he had decided to vote for.

So rather than pretending to be a cowboy or a fireman*, my child is pretending to vote. I've always been a bit of an election junkie because of my background in the newspaper world, but who knew that the tendency would manifest itself in my own son at such a tender age?

Just so you know, though, William has also started pretending to be Spider-Man. David has taught him how to shoot webs from his wrists. Er, how to pretend to shoot webs from this wrists. So he's not just Wacky Voting Kid. He's also Spidey. Not sure if Wacky Voting Kid can shoot anything from his wrists.

Take me out to the...library

We have achieved yet another milestone here at Chez Larson-Wyckoff. Yesterday William checked out his first library book. I'm so proud! Yes, the way you know someone is a big old book geek is when they get a little misty-eyed at the sight of their child clutching a library book of their very own.

The book in question, which is Dooby Dooby Moo, came highly recommended by William's pal Leland. She typically has good taste, so we decided to give this one a whirl. Let's see, the book has been in our possession for about 30 hours now, and I've read it....three times, and David's read it at least twice, and Diane got sucked into reading it last night...and the night's not over yet.

In fact, this is what's going on downstairs at this very minute:



















At this very minute, William is singing, "Moo moo moo," and his dad is singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." But I won't tell you why. I don't want to give away the plot.

I'm not going to think about what could happen when William discovers that we have to take the book back to the library. I've got two weeks to figure that one out.

X-treme Weather

My Uncle Don once remarked how my grandmother had this weird ability to bring extreme weather with her, no matter where she went. When he was relating the story to me, I was visiting him in Seattle during the Great Heat Wave of July 2004. People were melting in the streets of their un-air-conditioned houses in a town where the summer temperatures usually hovered closer to 72 degrees, not 92. My uncle pondered if I, as Mama Lou's granddaughter, might have inherited that freak tendency.

Well, folks, it looks like I did. Whatever gene is encoded with Freak Weather, I apparently have it. In the last 12 days alone, we Nashvillians have experienced snow, sleet, cold cold cold, almost-heat, tornadoes, massive amounts of rain, and severe wind. What else is there? I mean, no, we haven't had a cyclone, but that's about all I can say. It has to be me.

Anyway, you'd think David and I would be used to loud, howling wind ricocheting against our house, given that we spent four years living in the wind tunnel of the high desert. But apparently not. We both tossed and turned last night, as the wind beat the trees against our house and called us names. David even got up once to log onto the Internet, just to make sure there weren't any tornado warnings. We never heard the sirens last week, so we didn't want to miss out on a warning again. But it was just heavy winds. And then the rain came.

But alas! We got a delightful break around noon. After church, we piled William into his red wagon, and we took him for a ride around our whole neighborhood. It was almost 70 degrees and breezy. How fun it was to take a little jaunt out in the sunshine! It made me really cheerful. I was so exhausted from a mostly sleepless night, and yet a half hour in the sun was like having a cup of coffee.

Here's a paparazzi shot of the boys. They were just leaving a bar...okay, not really. They were walking past the playground and pool, where the lounge chairs have been all stacked away in the poolhouse for the winter.





















The winds came back, just so you know. And the temperature is slated to drop again tonight. So once again tomorrow, I'll put on a warm sweater and I'll make William wear a warm hat. But at least for an hour or so, it was nice to have a foretaste of springtime. Before the X-treme Weather returns again.

Temper, temper

I was just thinking about how when my son was a baby, he cried a lot. But usually it was for a reason. He was hungry, and he couldn't speak to tell me. Or he was tired. Or hungry. Or poopy. Or lonely. Or hungry. Usually hungry. The boy could eat. (Still can.)

Now, at almost 22 months of age, William typically cries for one of two reasons: 1) he is exhausted, or 2) he isn't getting his way. Or sometimes, we hit the trifecta: a combination of numbers one and two.

William threw the mother of all temper tantrums tonight. And yes, I think it was a Category 3 storm.

Hurricane William started before bathtime, gathered steam during the bath and worked into a full throttle on the changing table. I still don't really know what caused it. I think he was mad that I cut short his usual Nude Olympics around the second floor, when he joyfully runs laps around the bedrooms and hallway before we finally plunk him into the tub. And I think he was also mad that his daddy was having to take Mommy pager calls in our bedroom, thus not giving William his undivided attention, which William is accustomed to at bathtime. And finally, William had a long day today. He was up early, he went to school, and then he ran errands with Mommy. He even gasp tried on clothes at Old Navy, which actually didn't go nearly as badly as you may have thought. So I'd say it was a safe bet that he was pretty darn tired.

He finally calmed down when David came back into his bedroom. I was trying to wrestle him, kicking and screaming, into his monkey jammies, without much success. He even rolled off the changing table at one point because he was so mad with anger. He didn't hurt himself; he mostly just turned over and then slithered his way down, the same way he gets down off the sofa. But he was apoplectic while he did it. And I can't be sure, but I think the ceiling fan may have been shaking. But as soon as William saw David, the wind died down. And while the tears still ran down his red cheeks, William stopped howling and thrashing. The boys settled into the rocker and read books, while I collapsed on the floor. Why is it that temper tantrums wear the moms out as much as they exhaust the person who actually throws them? And why was the sight of David enough to calm him down when none of my attempts at calming him down worked at all?

I still haven't figured out the perfect strategy for dealing with temper tantrums. Yelling doesn't work. Making threats ("I won't read you Mother Goose before bed tonight!") really doesn't work, either. Even offering a bribe, not that I really advocate that but sometimes you just get desperate, doesn't make much of an impact. Time Outs do help, because they get him to sit down and cool off. And I'm starting to think that being completely quiet and not engaging him at all helps, too. It's like he has to work his way through the tantrums, and it's better if I just ignore it and turn away. That is, when we're at home. But so far, knock on wood, William doesn't really seem inclined to throw tantrums in public. The few times that he's threatened to, I've just picked him up and left the store or public place.

Luckily for me, my son is starting to understand how to make amends after a full-scale blowout. He says contritely, "I sorry." And sometimes he hugs and kisses, too. Awwww. I guess it's just hard to be a toddler.

Be William's Valentine

Happy Valentine's Day to all my family and friends...and anyone else out there who may be reading.

My brother-in-law refers to Valentine's Day as something like "Day of Wretched Corporate-Mandated Excess." Heh. I'm not quite that cynical, but I get his drift. We're not really that into Valentine's Day here. We always exchange cards and little gifts, but it never even occurred to David and me to think about going out to a big dinner or anything. (It's a school night!) And I think neither of us want to spend big money this soon after Christmas on stuff we really don't need, either. (And some of you may know my stance on all the heart-shaped jewelry that all those excessive corporations like to excessively hawk for Valentine's Day.)

That said, we did enjoy our small little tribute to the day. I actually had fun preparing for it this year because I found the perfect Sesame Street Valentine's card for William. However, David had his heart set on a Spider-Man card. So we each got him a card. William, naturally, loved them both equally. I also bought him a copy of If You Give a Moose a Muffin. He is addicted to the other two books that he owns in that series: If You Give a Mouse a Cookie and If You Give a Pig a Party. I told him that he could pick out whatever book he wanted for his Valentine gift when we visited Davis Kidd bookstore yesterday, and he gravitated right toward the moose book. It was a touchy few minutes, though, while he wavered over If You Give a Pig a Pancake. Back and forth, back and forth, what to choose? Moose or pig? Pig or moose? In the end, it was Moose 1, Pig 0. For the record, all of the books in that series are terrific. If you have small children and haven't discovered them yet, hie thyself to your nearest bookstore and look for Laura Numeroff.

For me, David ordered a beautiful vase of flowers, containing roses, irises and star-gazer lilies. Back when we got married, I was all crushed when I couldn't have star-gazer lilies in my wedding bouquet or arrangements, but my father, who performed part of our wedding service, is Very Allergic to them. I mean, horribly, evilly, head-swellingly allergic. (Easter is tough on him.) We didn't think it would look so good for the preacher to be weeping and sneezing into his bible when he was supposed to be marrying us. (Especially since he was more than happy to give the bride away, right, Daddy?) So David tries to always give me arrangements with star-gazer lilies because I love the way they smell. But I digress.(Don't I always?) (And could have I used any more parentheses in this post? Geez.) I got flowers, so I was happy. I bought a little box of Godiva chocolates for David, so he was happy, too.

Then Diane, Aaron and Mark all came over to have dinner with us tonight, and William received a stuffed dog that talks and wiggles from his grandparents. While his parents grinned the grins that only grandparents who can go home and escape the noisy toys can grin, David grumbled, "That might have to disappear when Dee Dee and Grandaddy go home." I think it's a darling little dog, myself, and I can think of far, far noisier toys. David just hasn't spent much time in a nursery or toy store recently. I mean, can he really have forgotten all the incarnations of Tickle Me Elmo? Let's see...a little dog that just asks you to hug him or a bright red monster laughing maniacally at a sinus-puncturing pitch? You decide.

William, for his part, just hugged on the doggie...and then put him in Time Out.




















That's his little time out chair. He spent a fair amount of time in that chair earlier today. It may have been Valentine's Day, and it's supposed to be a day All About the Love, but toddlers never forget their primary mission: to get what they want. And so William had a screaming, thrashing temper tantrum at lunchtime that landed him in the time out chair. Luckily for all of us, it calmed him right down. Maybe, hmmmm, maybe that's why he put the eager little dog, with its madly flapping ears in the time out chair. Maybe in William's toddler mind, the dog needed a time out to settle down, too?

Here's William with his beloved Dee Dee and his new little doggie friend:















Anyway, not a bad day at all for corporate-mandated sentimentality or whatever. We had a nice family dinner, and I'm here at home, warm and safe with my boys, and I'm happy.

A snowy day

Look what we woke up to this morning!
















That was taken about 15 minutes ago. William and I came back in to warm up briefly, and we're about to head back out in the snow! But, brrrr, it is cold. You can see how William's little nose is all red. Mine probably is, too. We probably look like a pair of clowns out there!

By the way...somehow I think William knew we were going to get snow. A few days ago, he suddenly began asking us to read the book "A Snowy Day" by Jack Ezra Keats. He wanted us to read it to him before naptime and before bedtime, almost as if he was trying to memorize it so he'd know what to do when it finally snowed here. Well, let's go put his memory to the test, shall we?

Later....

We went back outside to frolic in the snow some more. (It's a good thing, too: it's nearly all gone now.)





















































Then I guess William finally had enough of the cold. He said, hopefully, "Back inside?" I laughed, thinking, "Like I'm going to force him into staying outside where it's freezing cold!" And so we made our way back into the nice warm house. And had scrambled eggs for breakfast.

















I'm just thrilled that I finally, finally got some pictures of William in the snow. This is not his first or even his second big snowfall, but it's the first one that happened both during the day and when he was old enough to walk in it. And um, it's also the first one in which the camera's battery was working. But I think it was worth the wait.

In fact, I think I had as much fun taking pictures of him as he did playing in the snow. It's one of those things that makes parenting so wonderful: you get to re-experience everything for the first time with your child. Sure not everything is going to be so wonderful to almost experience again (see: junior high). But snow? Snow has to be one of the top five.

Hard to choose

I've been wrestling in my head with a very first-world problem for the last couple of days. Where do we send William to school next year, and for how many days each week? Yes, he's not even two years old, and I'm already all angst-ridden over his education. Didn't I just pay off my own college student loans a couple of years ago?

Of course, this all assumes that I will not be working next fall. I had assumed that I'd probably have another job by now, but I don't. I kind of still think I'd like to have a job by this summer, but I have no way of knowing that will happen. So for now, I have to operate as if the current situation will be the status quo, come Labor Day. Which it well may be.

So anyway. Here are my two big issues. First, should I enroll William in our own church's playschool program, or should I keep him in the church program that he currently attends? Secondly, should I enroll him for two days a week or just one, which is what he does now?

The second question seems easier to answer. The little prince currently attends school on Fridays. He loves it. Loves it. Would probably love two days a week now. As he gets older, I think he will only continue to thrive, so it makes sense to send him two days each week. Especially since, as David pointed out, he will be going on three years old this time next year. I can't imagine not having him in school two days a week at three year of age.

I guess I initially hesitated because it will cost more to send William to school two days a week. But it's not that much more expensive than, say, attending one day of school each week and going to Gymboree one day each week. And I think he would enjoy it. Admittedly, David and I are kinda biased (okay, very biased), but we think he's showing signs of being reasonably bright. He has a huge vocabulary now, and he's putting together phrases and short sentences. He already knows some shapes and colors, and he is incurably curious about everything--and he usually remembers things that he's learned. It could only help him to be in school an extra day each week, I think. Investing in that sort of thing could only be a good investment.

So, where to send him? One factor looming large in my mind: our church program does cost more. I'm not sure, though, how much more; it may turn out to only be like ten or twenty dollars per month more. It is further away from home than his current program. And he has absolutely loved his current program this year. We really have adored his teachers, and it seems to be a very low-key environment. But he will not keep the same teachers even if he stayed there. Several of the teachers at our church program already know (and adore) him from the church nursery, so it's not like he'll be in either an unfamiliar setting or with completely unfamiliar faces if he goes there. Also, our church program is nationally accredited, and they have teachers who do music and gardening as sort of "enrichment" for the kids. David said he thinks that would be great for William.

I serve on a church committee with the director of our church's program, plus one of the moms on the board is in my Sunday School class. I know both of them, have regular contact with them and like them, so that's reassuring. William has had some interaction with our church's program already because he stays in the nursery on Monday mornings while I attend my disciple class. He's done just fine. We don't know a soul at our current program, but William has done really well there already, so I feel sure he'd be happy as a clam there in the fall, too.

Sometimes I get a snobby vibe from some of the parents who bring their children to our church program, but given that I have never spoken to them, I have no idea if that's fair or not. also, I admit I chafe at the fact that some people actually join our church just to be able to send their kids to the playschool and kindergarten programs there...because they are the so-called "right" programs. I tend to have a fit of reverse-snobbery at that whole notion. Besides, there are several Hummer-drivers who bring their children to William's school now, too. It's not like it's immune from that sort of thing, even if it doesn't have the "right" designation. Gah. Now I sort of understand why David doesn't always want to admit he went to Princeton. You don't want people to think you chose a school, or whatever, just because it is the "right" (read: socially acceptable) choice. Or at least I don't. Or am I just being perverse?

See? See how hard this is? I want someone to just TELL me what to do. David and discussed this the other day, and I'm sure we'll talk about it some more tonight, too. I guess we'll come to a decision. It's hard to know what's right to do. I mean, there's not really a downside. Either way, at either school, I'm sure William will be fine. He's curious and social, and he'll fit in wherever we take him. It's just hard to choose.

Valentine Man

Check out the beeeeyooootiful artwork that I had commissioned recently:



















William's teachers proudly informed me that William not only placed all the pieces of his Valentine in the appropriate spots but he did so all by himself without any help or prompting from anyone. The teachers said he did the best Valentine in the class. I'm sure they don't just tell that to any ol' parent who walks in the door to pick up their energetic little tyke at the end of a busy day. No sirree. William is special. I mean, really. Can we just go ahead and call him a genius or what? Is Harvard still accepting applications for the fall?

And David noticed that William even placed the right hands on the right side of his little Valentine person. Genius! Genius, I tell you! I wonder if any galleries are currently looking for new artists to exhibit.

Okay, in all seriousness, I am actually proud. William really did do a nice job, and it was cool to hear that he arranged the body parts correctly without any help. All the teachers did was glue them on after he picked out where he wanted them to go. He really seems to be making more sense of the universe and how things work every day. That really is quite amazing. I'm constantly amazed by the fact that he says new words every single day, and that he can answer questions and even put together some sentences. He really seems to have been paying attention all these months, collecting all this information in his brain like a woman rolling soft yarn into a ball, and now it's just spinning out of him.

I really do love my little Valentine man made by my little Valentine boy. I'll be keeping this Valentine for a long, long time.

The storm

This time last night, David and I were anxiously watching the weather. We had planned to watch Super Tuesday coverage on CNN. We ended up watching terrible storms whip their way across the western part of our state. Every few minutes, the windows of the family room would shudder and creak, and one of us would worriedly glance up from the television.

Storms were headed toward us. Not just storms, but tornadoes. My father-in-law, Aaron, had called us just as we were putting William to bed. "Turn on the weather on television," he implored me. That's why we were perched on the sofa in front of the television.

For about 45 minutes or so, we watched the weather map on the screen light up with violent red and purple swatches of storms. The meteorologists tracking the storm started warning people in various areas to take shelter. We started to tense up. As lightning lit up the foyer, and thunder rumbled almost continuously, David suggested we started clearing out the hall closet, just in case we needed to hide out. We pulled out vacuum cleaners, William's toy fire engine, a basket of picture frames, two huge bags of Halloween candy (so that's where they ended up!), two suitcases, and God knows what else. David piled sofa cushions and the weather radio in the nearly empty closet, while I ran around collecting framed photos, our wedding albums, the folder with our birth certificates and marriage license, other photo albums, and my jewelry box. I added a canteen of water, a bag of Craisins, jackets, and a flashlight. And my purse. The TV droned in the background, the counterpoint to the soundtrack of thunder and violent wind.

Then the meteorologist on television started describing our neighborhood. Off 100, near the Kroger, just over the county line...all I could hear was him saying that the tornadoes were coming for us, for our house. I've never felt that scared of a storm before. I began to breathe harder.

David said, "I'll go get William."

"Don't forget to get Natty and his monkey. And his blankey," I said, shakily, looking frantically around the house. What else would I try to save? What else could we not do without? What was priceless, what could not be replaced? What else did we have room for, in our little foxhole?

David returned with William, who was wrapped in his blanket and looking around wide-eyed, clad in his Christmas pajamas and a mismatched pair of socks. David settled himself and the baby at the back of the closet against one of the sofa pillows. I anxiously paced around the family room, almost manically, trying to figure out what I'd forgotten. I grabbed David's iPod and his black Princeton ball cap. I made sure we both had shoes on, in case we had to walk over...well, I tried not to think about that. Did we have jackets? A blanket for us? Why do we not have a safe-deposit box?

"Jennifer, come in here," David finally ordered. I went into the closet and huddled next to my son and husband on the floor. We kept the door open so we could listen to the television. We could hear the television, but I was distracted by the rumbling of the wind, the thunder....I imagined it was the roar of a tornado rotating grimly, inexorably toward our house, the house we dreamed of buying, the house that we celebrated moving into. Toward our family.

William thought it was all a game. He snuggled up with his daddy but reached out and held my hand. "Hi!" he said. "Hi!" David was calm, too. I felt like I couldn't quite get enough air. I tried not to show William that I was afraid, but it was hard, so hard. I know now that I need to be especially conscious of that in the future. I am the parent, and I need to remember that even in scary times. Especially then.

The minutes ticked by. Finally, the storm seemed to subside. The noise lessened, and we could hear the television warning people near Hendersonville about the storm's progress. It seemed we had made it through unscathed. I couldn't quite believe it. I left all our precious belongings in the closet last night after we went to bed, just in case we had to flee back into our little hole in the wall for safety.

As I put William back into his crib, he smiled at me, and I exhaled. Here was all that really mattered. Not all those things that I piled along the walls of the hall closet. What had I really been so worried about?

The reality is this: if I had mere seconds to grab something and seek shelter from a terrible storm, none of those picture albums or folders or frames would be on my mind at all. I would grab William, and that would be the end of it. There would be no thoughts of anything else. None. If something terrible happened, would I miss my mother's pearls or moan over having to replace our birth certificates and car titles? Absolutely. Would I mourn the loss of my wedding photographs or William's baby photos? Probably, yes. Would it even occur to me to not just go straight for my son and make sure he was protected? No, no, no.

That is all that matters. As long as I have David and William, that is all that is really important. And the storm just reminded me.

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Just a housekeeping note: I've added a widget to the blog that allows you to subscribe to this blog. That way, all you have to do is sign up and then you get notified by email whenever I post a scintillating new update on Three Peas in a Pod. You'll never miss a new post or picture ever again! How can you turn that down?

Also, you can now email individual posts. Click on the little envelope icon beneath a post and it'll show you what to do. Isn't technology great?

You don't want to miss pictures like this, do you?




















I mean, don't you want to know why he's wearing only a diaper, but he's also wearing sneakers and Mardi Gras beads? Aren't you dying to find out whether I staged this photo or not? (Hint: I didn't!) Wouldn't you be said if you missed out on seeing this photo?

Yes. No! Yes. NO!

Just when you think you know your child. Just when you think you know your child and the surefire way to his heart...through his stomach.

So here's what's happening with our toddler right now: the Great Food Rejection Struggle.

Here's how it works.

William loudly clamors for an item of food. Let's say he wants toast. "Toast! Toast!" he bellows from his throne...I mean, high chair. "TOAST!"

"Do you want some toast?" I inquire meekly. "What do you say when you want something, William?"

"Toast! Peeze?" William says with a huge smile."Peeze, toast?"

"That's right, good job!" I say and scurry about, finding a piece of whole wheat bread to stick into the toaster oven.

When the bell chimes, William beams some more and sings, "Toast! Toast! Toast!" I curtsy before the high chair and proffer the beautifully browned piece of warm toast, fresh from the oven.

William takes the warm toast from me and then screws up his face in a scowl that only a toddler can achieve. "No! NO!" he howls, and pushes the toast back at me, flinging his arms in abject despair. "NoNONoNO!"

I quickly pull the toast back. Which results in my lovely son immediately screaming, "Toast! Toast!" and waving his hands frantically at the toast in the international symbol for "gimme toast, gimme toast now!"

So I offer it to him again. And once again, he reacts as if I am handing him raw liver. "NO! NO! NO!" he wails and begins crying pitifully and angrily. "No!" And he pushes the toast off the highchair tray, where it breaks into many hundreds of crumbs all over my newly-swept kitchen floor.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

"What? What do you want?" I holler, forgetting that I'm supposed to be the adult here. "You asked for toast. I gave you toast! What more do you want from me? I made you toast!!"

I mean, why would he ask for something that he loves, only to act like I'm betraying him when I actually give it to him? Do you ever ask for a beloved food and then say, "Oh my GOD, what are you thinking, giving me (say) a delicious Oreo cookie milkshake like that? Do you hate me or something?"

This is a particularly frustrating little game when it involves a food that is either expensive or time-consuming to make. I can practically hear my bank account sobbing when William throws his formerly favorite out-of-season fruit on the floor. OR maybe it was just me sobbing. And gah, the frustration when I spend time, mixing up a bowl of piping hot Cream of Wheat (William's favorite breakfast, by the way...some days...), only to have it coldly rejected. And desired. And rejected. And desired again. And rejected again.

It also drives me nuts when I've just stocked up on a food item that I know he loves and then he suddenly and unpredictably declares it verboten. I have a brand new box of animal crackers sitting in the pantry that were suddenly, with absolutely no warning, Untouchable. I have no idea why. Just last week, they were the Big Thing.

It's got to be just a Phase. Right? Everything else with toddlers seems to be just a phase, so I'm banking on that. I'm assuming that he's trying to assert his independence and impose his own will on the universe after months of being sort of at the mercy at whoever could pick him up. But man. I hope he figures out that yes, he can be independent now without having to resort to this crazy food struggle.

Otherwise, what the heck am I going to do with all those animal crackers?

Science center field trip

I don't know what took us so long, but we finally went to the Adventure Science Center on Saturday morning. William adored it, so we bought a yearly membership. He's a little young for most of it, but there's lot of noise! and lights! and people! So of course, he loves it. And there are dinosaurs and trains, which just compounds the love.

It was a little nerve-wracking when hordes of enormous pre-teens barrelled around a corner and practically knocked him down, but it didn't seem to bother him. David and I, however, sucked in a deep breath each time a seven-foot-tall twelve-year-old rushed by, but for William? No problemo.

And he got to meet his dad's old med school roommate and his wife and daughter. Here we are with Chip, Cindy, and Ella in front of the dinosaur exhibit.

Another haircut...and new accessories

The only person whose hair gets shaggy faster than mine is my son's. This is what he looked like a mere four weeks after his last haircut:



















Notice the bangs in his eyes. It's a miracle he could see. I guess if his hair wasn't blonde, he wouldn't have been able to!

So I took a deep breath and braced myself and took him to the Great Clips just up the road. It was the last day of their big haircut sale, and man, I couldn't resist the lure of a cheap haircut for my son who seems to need one all the time. It was worth the expected ear-splitting tantrum. Okay, maybe not to the other customers or the stylists but it was to me!

Luckily, his little personalized Sesame Street book (a first birthday gift from his buddy Mason) served as the perfect distraction device. I read to him while he sat on my lap and looked at the pictures, and the stylist swooped and dived in and managed to cut his hair. She got a little over confident there at the end, though, and she produced a set of electric clippers. That didn't go over so well. William might have let her approach his head with a relatively quiet pair of scissors but a set of buzzing clippers vibrating on his ears? Nope. Not even Elmo could save that. But other than that touchy little moment, we were relatively drama free. Yeeha!

I even let him have a sucker afterward because I was so relieved that 1) we got his hair cut at all, and 2) he actually behaved pretty well once we got settled. Of course, William wouldn't let either one of us be covered by a plastic cape, so instead our clothes were completely coated in a fine layer of thick blonde hair. Small price to pay. So I felt a little bit like a piece of about-to-be-fried chicken? So what? My son can see again. It's a miracle! Praise the Lord!

So here's William, posing with his Mardi Gras beads:




















He really really loves the beads. I told him he was lucky he didn't even have to work for them, standing out on a beer-soaked street, trying to avoid being trampled by marching bands and mobs of bead-crazy kids on an early spring break. I'm sure his aunts Nancy and Loretta would love to tell him about the time his mom nearly got run over by a float, trying to get some beads, too.




















Doesn't he look dapper with his new haircut and his new accessories?

Stuff to stash

I have finally figured out that there are just certain things you need to stash more or less all over your house. You know, at least on each floor, or at least in each bathroom. And now that I've purchased yet another flashlight for the junk drawer in the kitchen, I think we're finally good to go. Of course, keeping William away from said certain things? Not so easy. He can find a way to get to almost anything he really really wants. However, like a good Boy Scout, I believe in Being Prepared.

For the record, those items are:

1. Flashlights. The power blinked a few times last night, and David made me go fetch the flashlight out of his nightstand drawer so we wouldn't be stuck downstairs in the total dark. The flashlight that used to be my flashlight that stayed in my nighstand drawer, that is, until he walked off with it, thereby necessitating a trip to Target to buy another one for me. Just so you know, that's happened more than once. More than twice. There are MIA flashlights all over the house; they're just invisible. But at least we have them in the most important places in the house now: the kitchen and our bedroom. And I have one stashed in the guest room, too. (Don't tell David.)

2. Band-Aids. William has discovered Band-Aids. Last weekend, he begged for an Elmo bandage, even though he didn't have a cut or scrape that needed one. So I stuck one on his belly. But I forgot to tell Aaron and Diane, who were babysitting him that evening, that he wasn't really injured and not to panic. Aaron said they eventually figured it out. We have about forty boxes of Band-Aids in our house now, including three boxes of Elmo Band-Aids. Unfortunately, William knows where they all are.

3. Phillips head screwdriver. I don't even know why I ever bothered putting them back in the toolbox in the utility room. I finally just left one in William's room (safely out of his reach, of course). I mean, that %&@* crib aquarium needs a new set of batteries every other week, it seems, and I was forever having to search for the elusive PhD screwdriver. Screw this, I said, (har har), I'm just going to put one in William's top dresser drawer.

4. Scissors. We now have three pairs of scissors in the office because I kept losing them and buying new ones. But hey, now we'll never lack for scissors. I think there are also three sets in the kitchen junk drawer. I once got up in the middle of the night and moved all the scissors in the office to a top shelf because I dreamed about William getting to them. David woke up and asked me where I had gone, and it just seemed too silly to tell him the truth.

5. Tape. Let me ask you. When was the last time you taped pieces of a paper piano back into a book? If you don't remember or your answer was "never," you have never been the parent of a toddler. William loves lift-the-flap books with a zeal usually only seen in new missionaries, but he sometimes loves them a little too much. I have a whole set of Spot books sitting on my dresser, all of which need a little TLC: tape and loving care. Is it bad if I've ever seriously considered throwing a book away because I'm so darned tired of taping it back together?

6. Tylenol and/or ibuprofen. David once had a patient whose parents didn't have any children's medicines in their house. Man, I can't even imagine. I think I have children's Tylenol stashed in every single bag that William owns, not to mention his bathroom and his diaper changing station. And the kitchen medicine cabinet. And at Diane and Aaron's house. It kills me to have to take it out whenever I send him and his choo-choo-train bag to school every Friday. What if I forget to put it back in and we need it??? Oh, yeah, right: buy some more. I sometimes forget we're not in the desert with our one lone grocery store anymore. Which reminds me. I bet some of that children's Tylenol is about to expire...must add to shopping list...

7. Raisins. Okay, I only actually keep raisins in the kitchen pantry. But I thought they were worth adding to my list because I also stash them in my purse, the diaper bag, other bags, the car and so on. I'm feeling a little antsy because I don't think David has any raisins in his car right now. Hopefully he at least has a flashlight...and some ibuprofen.

Just one calorie

William was holding two sippy cups tonight, doing the double-fisting drinking thing. A guzzle of milk, a swig of water, a chug of milk, a swallow of water. It was like he couldn't make up his mind what he wanted to drink, so he just alternated drinking out of both cups.

He put the sippies down and plopped himself down on the floor next to David, who was sitting by the fireplace. Then he realized, hey, I'm still thirsty, and he poked his daddy and said, "Milk?"

As his daddy handed over the sippy cup of milk, I said, "What's Daddy going to drink, William?"

And as David picked up the sippy cup with water, William smiled and said, "Wah!"

I said, "What's Mommy going to drink, then?"

And my dear son said brightly, "Diet Coke!"

Does my kid know me or what?

William plays the blues

We had our second Kindermusik class of the new year this afternoon.

I don't know if the others in the class love to have us there--it's a rowdy class, but take a wild guess who's the rowdiest member--but William and I really do enjoy it. The class took a month hiatus, probably so the teacher could recover from the exceedingly high activity and noise levels that are the hallmark of our class. And we discovered that we missed our weekly class. So we both looked forward to the new semester, which started up again last week.

Last term, I felt guilty that my son, who is the youngest member of the class, tended to run around the class in circles for a good bit of the time. But as the weeks slid by, he started paying more attention. He has always loved the rudimentary instruments that we use: the sand blocks, the rhythm sticks, and so on. But he actually managed to play the triangle and a cymbal one week. And he discovered the great joy that is "We all fall down!" in "Ring A Round the Rosy."

Last fall, one of the other parents saw that I looked frustrated after a class. William had run around like a wild man, wiggling to get out of my lap almost every time I tried to get him to sit down and listen to the songs. He reassured me that his son, who is a year older than William, spent most of the first year in music class running around, too. "But they pick up on things," he told me. "You'll see." And slowly, I am seeing. William does still run around a lot, but tonight, he managed to play his rhythm sticks pretty well, sit down on the story blanket for most of the "Shiny Dinah" book and actually listen to the story, and dance with me for an entire instrumental number. I'd say he's made definite progress. I still feel like I'm part of a wrestling match a fair amount of the time, but I don't think you can expect a 21-month-old boy to sit still and be quiet and follow all instructions for almost an hour. I mean, maybe you can, but I sure can't. I'm just pleased that he's able to do what he's doing now. And I'm happy that he's really having fun. Anything else at this point would be lagniappe.

Another good thing about this semester. This time, in all our lessons and songs, we're concentrating on trains, buses, and other things that go. Needless to say, William is thrilled. Sing and and dance and read about and make noises like trains for an hour? Sign him up.

To our mutual delight, our new "at home" kit not only came packaged in a box shaped like a choo choo train, but it also contained two harmonicas.


































I think William has some real natural aptitude for the harmonica. (Monnn-kahh is his name for it.) He hasn't quite figured out that he can slide the harmonica back and forth to hit all the notes in an octave, but he does understand that if you breathe in, it makes one noise, and if you blow into it, it makes another.

I like to call that two-note song "The Toddler Blues." Think of all the things William has in his life that could inspire him to play the blues. Diaper rash. Time Out. Vegetables. Naptime. The baby gate at the foot of the stairs. It's enough to make me want to pull out my own harmonica.

Speaking of which...I am delighted to report that I can actually fake knowing something about music when I "play" my harmonica. Maybe it's not too late to teach this old dog some new tricks after all. Why is it that playing--or even just pretending to play--the harmonica is so much fun?

It STUN me!

I so love it when William does something new that totally surprises and delights me.

A few months ago, I started singing the "Bumblebee" song to him. You know. "I'm taking home a baby bumblebee/Won't my mommy be so proud of me?/I'm taking home a baby bumblebee.../Ouch! It stung me!" You're supposed to cup your hands together as if you're really holding a bee, and he loved that. He laughed and laughed and "held" his baby bumblebee in his little chubby hands.

Well, I had forgotten about that song in the wake of Christmas, when we were working our way through all the Christmas songs that I only know about a third of the lyrics to. But last week, I thought of the "Bumblebee" song again and started singing it to him.

But before I could sing the last line, William jumped in and shouted, with a huge grin on his face, "Ow! It STUN me!"

He actually remembered the last line of the song AND got it right. Months after the fact. I squealed so loudly it's amazing I didn't set off the smoke detectors. I love this kid.

Gah, not again

I was just about to pat myself on the back for managing to keep my child hale and hearty for a pretty long stretch of time now.

Until.

Until 6:11 a.m. That's when I sprang awake from some bizarro dream to hear William coughing. In my post-dream addled state, I thought he might have been throwing up at first, but it was just a cough.

But it became a barky cough. And we all know what that means. The Croup. Dum dum dum.

Luckily, it seems to be a fairly mild version. David immediately began the now-standard regimen of albuterol, in addition to the regular doses of Flovent. And when he listened to William's lungs, they didn't sound wheezy at all. So whew and Thank God for that.

The runny nose has arrived again, too. However, now when we wipe his nose, William also wants you to wipe the nose of whatever stuffed animal he happens to be holding. So after his (long) afternoon nap, I dutifully wiped Mimi Bear's nose, then wiped William's nose. And he was happy. And so David and I were happy, too-- if a bit snotty. We both discovered remnants of William's faucet of a nose on our sweaters this afternoon. But hey, at least it wasn't vomit. All I could think of this morning when I was worried that William might be throwing up was that he ate almost a quart of strawberries last night, and can you imagine the stains on his bedding? Yikes. I would always rather deal with a cough and a runny nose than vomit. Isn't that optimistic of me? Hee hee.

In the meantime, we'll continue giving him albuterol several times a day, until the cough goes away. I'm grateful that at least he readily accepts taking medicine through his air chamber since he already receives two doses of Flovent every morning and evening. He always looks a little startled that he's getting extra doses--like he's thinking, 'Wait a minute, I don't usually get this much, and I can count'--but it's usually not a problem. We just have to sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" a couple of extra times. No problemo. He needs to learn all the words by Opening Day in a couple of months anyway. (We're root, root, rooting for the Braves and the Red Sox, of course.)

David's birthday

We celebrated David's 25th birthday last night for the tenth time. (You figure it out.) We had a family dinner here at the Larson-Wyckoff manse, complete with barbecue and fried okra from the Loveless Cafe and a dark chocolate fudge cake that I managed to make and decorate while William was at school.

It was so nice to have a happy little birthday party for David. Mark and Diane and Aaron and I all got to sing happy birthday to him on his actual birthday, and no one was sick. That might not sound like a big deal, but Diane said she can't even remember the last time she actually saw David on his real birthday.The last God-knows-how-many years, he's had to work or be on call or was sick. Or there was the year we had just gotten back from a weekend in Las Vegas, only to come down with the flu. David mostly remembers taking exams at Princeton on his birthday or being on call for 48 hours during residency. And none of us will ever forget how sick everyone was last Christmas and for Aaron's birthday. So I really wanted to do something nice for him this year. He works hard, and he deserved a nice birthday for once.

So here's the birthday boy and his baby!





















I don't know about the adults, but the cake was a bit hit with William. He even asked for ice cream when he saw that we hadn't put any on his plate.




















Since I can't quite let go of the belief that birthdays should be Festive, even if it's just a little bit, I trotted on down to the Publix yesterday and bought a helium Spider-Man balloon for David. Yes, I bought a Spider-Man birthday balloon for my 34-year-old husband. Not for my toddler, who also loves Spider-Man. David's just lucky that I managed to resist the siren call of the party aisle at Target yesterday, too. We could have gotten all decked out with pointy birthday hats and all sorts of paraphernalia. But good sense and my checkbook managed to prevail. Barely.

It was a very Festive Day for William all around, even if he wasn't totally sure why. He did say "birfday?" a few times, but I'm not sure how much meaning "birfday" has to a 20-month-old. I mean, he can say "touchdown" too, but I wouldn't expect him to give a lecture on how to score six points. A little girl in his class at school was celebrating her second birthday, so her mom brought a huge bunch of yellow and orange ballons, cupcakes and goody bags to William's class yesterday. So William got his own balloon and treat early in the day. He must have been about out of his mind, what with having cake and balloons twice in one day. And since he has an affinity for Spider-Man, too, he didn't quite understand that the Spider-Man helium balloon was for his daddy and not for him. But that's okay. He got to enjoy the Spider-Man balloon in the end. He's been walking around the house today, tugging the balloon behind him.

Anyway, here are the three of us, post-cake. David and I managed to eat our cake and ice cream without smearing any into our hair. However, the same cannot be said for our son:

Film at 11

I've been experimenting with my camera. Turns out, hey, I can take short movies, too. Of course, now that I want to film William doing something hilarious, he doesn't want to actually DO anything hilarious.

Doesn't that really just sum up life with a toddler? When you don't want him to do something, that's all he wants to do. But when you want him to do something, well, not even all the Craisins in the world could make him do it.

However, last night, I did capture him giving a maestro performance of a wild animal at the zoo:

News from the William Front

Two items of notable news from the William front today.

First, William and I fell down the stairs this morning.

Oh, we're okay now. We just fell down the short little jaunt of stairs that leads to the landing, and it's all carpeted. But my left leg hurts, and my neck and shoulders are sore. William has a dandy little bit of carpet burn next to his right eye from (yikes) sliding a little bit on his head.




















It was pretty traumatic, even though it became apparent pretty quickly that we were both okay. He cried and clung to me for a few minutes, while I hyperventilated--where are all the paper bags when you really need them?--and checked him out all over to make sure nothing was broken. Needless to say, when all was said and done, he wanted to walk down the rest of the stairs. He didn't want to have anything to do with me carrying him! Can't say I blame him, myself.

Since he's watching me while I type this, I just asked him how he was feeling. He said "Semma?" which is an all-purpose word that means...something or other, we're not really sure. Then I said, "What happened to your face, William?" And William pointed to his eye and said, very solemnly, "Bruise. Bruise." I'm so sorry, kiddo. At least it's only a bruise.

The second notable news item is that William asked for a diaper change today. I was talking on the phone with my friend Jennifer, and he toddled into his room, chose a diaper from the pack on the floor next to the changing table, then walked back into the office and laid the clean diaper on my lap and gave me a big smile. It doesn't get much more direct than that, does it?

So I am very very proud of the fact that my son is starting to understand that maybe it's not so good to have a poopy diaper because maybe one day we will actually be able to potty train him. And I am still hyperventilating a little over the whole fall. I may have nightmares about it for a long time.

Late breaking news: It is SNOWING here. It's been snowing for about three hours, in fact. William was nearly beside himself with wonder. We bundled him up and took him outside to walk in the snow. And he got to take off his mittens and touch the snow on the bushes. He even got to "throw" a snowball, and we went to visit the small snowman that some neighborhood children built (by scooping up all the snow in their backyard in a big bucket). I don't think it will last until the morning, but at least William got to step out in the snow, real snow, tonight!

Choose your own parenting philosophy

The other night, I turned toward David, whose eyes were glazed over in front of some television show about the universe, and I asked him, "Do we have a parenting philosophy? I don't think we do. What do you think your parenting philosophy is?"

Without moving his head or his eyes or (barely) his lips, David muttered, "Spare the rod, spoil the child." And reflected in his staring eyes, the image of Carl Sagan flickered, droning on and on about the development of the cosmos.

Thanks, baby.

Apparently I have managed to make it almost two years into the life of my first child without developing an official parenting philosophy. And apparently my husband has, too. (For those whose sense of humor is not as finely calibrated along the sarcasm scale, David was kidding.) Yes, yes, we probably should have thought of this two years ago. But we didn't. See, this is yet another example of how people like me, once we decided to have a baby, got inundated with Pregnancy Info and Buy This For Your Baby Info but not nearly enough of You Have a Kid, Now What? Info or How to Successfully Raise Your Child Info.

And, apparently, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" is not an officially sanctioned or copyrighted parenting philosophy. Who knew, right? So I turned to our trusty friend Dr. Google. And even though I rarely ran across How to Successfully Raise Your Child Info when I was pregnant, that didn't mean that there was a dearth of people vehemently giving advice on that very topic. Au contraire. There are parent-centered philosophies (see: Babywise or Ezzo) and there are child-centered philosophies (for example, Attachment Parenting). Who knew there were so many kinds? I mean, I managed to become a parent without even thinking about it, but others are so passionate about how their methods are the One True Way that they've written hundreds of thousands of words about them. I'm a little skeptical about most of this, though: anytime anyone claims to know the Right Way to Do Something, my little Skeptic-meter pops up. (You can't see it with the naked eye, but it's finely honed, trust me. Besides. I'm the only one who knows the Right Way to Do Everything.)

So I did something extremely useful (see, I can be sarcastic, too!). I found a "parenting style" quiz on About.com. Incidentally, not that I really thought that it would be a useful exercise, but I hate those "yes or no" style quizzes. What ever happened to "sometimes" or "occasionally" or "it depends"? Are all parenting matters really so black and white? But I figured, what the heck. William's finally napping. Let's see what the quiz has to say before I go snarking on it.

I apparently scored a 70 percent, which means my parenting style most closely aligns to a style of parenting know as Attachment Parenting, or AP. Attachment Parenting, for the record, is one of the only so-called parenting philosophies that I could even remember. I was kind of horrified, though. From what I knew of AP, AP adherents tend to breastfeed their toddlers at night, sleep with their kids in their bed, and continue to strap their kids onto their bodies in slings even if the toddlers weigh 40 pounds and are crippling them.

Man, I had William in the bassinette the first night he was home from the hospital. Then we moved him to his his crib a couple of months later. I tried doing the sling thing with him when he was about two months old, but I soon concluded that 1) I was a weakling with a weakling's back and shoulders, 2) my child had a lot of mass and took up space, and 3) the stroller would be better for everyone's physical well-being. I mean, I think I may have lost an inch of height just from the month or so that I grimly attempted wearing William in a sling. And needless to say, I was not going to get on board with any program that expected me to nurse a toddler in the middle of the night when we should both be sleeping. Get up in the night to feed a kid who eats half his weight each day in Craisins, cheddar cheese, yogurt, and rice cakes? Ha! Ha ha ha ha! As I've said before, there's a reason that people use sleep deprivation as a torture technique. Imagine me, crazed and sleep-deprived, with my big bushy sleep-deprived Southern hair, trying to be a good, calm, patient mother in the bright daylight to a child who wants to read "Spot's First Walk" for the fiftieth time in a row or who insists on flinging green beans or macaroni off his high chair tray onto my recently clean floor as if he was a benevolent aristocrat tossing money to the poor. Without eight hours of sleep for me, I can only imagine the chaos, the screaming, the insanity that would ensue. I'm shuddering, just thinking about it.

But I went and read up on AP, and I will grudgingly admit that David and I don't believe in spanking as a form of discipline and we do believe in nurturing strong emotional bonds with our child and following his cues when it's reasonable. So I guess some parts of the whole AP ideal might dovetail with some of the stuff that we do.

At the other extreme, you've got the whole Babywise philosophy. Yeah, no thanks. I do believe that it's important to help create an age-appropriate schedule for your child in order to encourage consistency because babies crave consistency. It helps them know what to expect. But like anything good, it can be done wrong. If it's designed to really help the child, say, learn to go sleep at night, that's good. But if it's done so that the parent doesn't have to interrupt his or her schedule to feed a genuinely hungry baby, well, that's not so good. To me, that whole rigid schedule/parent-centered philosophy smacks of ignoring your child's needs in favor of your own desires. I wasn't willing to supress every single one of my own needs to meet my child's needs, but I sure wasn't willing to go the other direction and serve my needs at the expense of his. After all, when he first got here, he couldn't do anything for himself. And even though he's 20 months old, hello, he still needs help with most things. And he's my son! I love him. I want to help him out and meet his needs and help him thrive and be happy. (And eventually learn to use the potty, but that's a topic for another day.) He is...okay, was...a baby, not a Webkinz.(Apparently, there was some trouble for the Babywise folks awhile back after some failure-to-thrive cases developed in families that used that method. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for the philosophy, I'd think.)

So I guess my parenting philosophy boils down to the gray area in the middle of the extremes. Where are the middle of the road parents, the people who believe that extremes are just that: extreme? Has anyone founded the Academy of Middle of the Road Parents yet? (Google says no.) I can envision it now. Our colors would be dark gray and light gray. Our motto (which would be scripted on our seal, which I haven't designed yet) would be something like: "It works for us." But in Latin. Everything sounds more important in Latin. No one would be lambasted for putting their child to sleep in a crib, nor would they be criticized if they really dig the Outward Boundness of wearing their kid around. We would advocate for regular bedtimes and mealtimes, but we'd leave it up to each family to figure out what works best for them and their situations. We'd wear mid-rise jeans; no low-rise or high-rise allowed. We'd organize group outings; we'd go to football games and sit only on the 50-yard-line. Okay, maybe those last two items are taking things a little too far. But I think I'm onto something here...

Sleep? Maybe?

Sleeping issues are cropping up again here at our house. Gah. And I once naively thought it would all be solved once he started sleeping through the night.

We've had a span of several weeks now in which William's wakeup times have been all over the map. Some mornings, he's up around 8. Other mornings, he bonks on the button of his crib aquarium before 7. Some days, he wakes up early, but is content to talk to his stuffed animals for a little while. And then on other days, his eyes pop open only nanoseconds before his mouth, in a huge yell, does. Yesterday, he slept 'til...ahh!...about 8:15. But today, he was screaming to be liberated from the mean confines of his crib at 7:15. I don't even know what to expect anymore. I feel like the opposite of Pavlov's dog.

Don't even let me get started on bedtime. My child has readily accepted bedtime for months and months. And then, one night last week, we put him in the crib, and he started standing up and sitting down and turning around in a very agitated way. "No, no, no!" he said, over and over, sounding very upset. Nothing we said or did calmed him down. Finally, we just handed him his blanket, turned off the light, and shut the door. He cried for about ten minutes, until in the middle of one loud cry, he stopped suddenly. He had cried himself to sleep. He almost never needs to do that. It was very weird, especially the agitation. He was fine the next night, then agitated again the next night. Fine the next night, agitated the next. He was minorly agitated last night, but he didn't really cry. He just had trouble getting all settled in his crib. I don't know what to think. Was he overtired? Was something wrong? I still have no idea.

And naptimes have been wonky, too. Some days, two hours. Those are decent days. Some days, one hour and maybe 15 minutes. Those are bad days. Especially when he wakes up in a bad mood. As a general rule, William is a pretty happy kid, but NOT when he first wakes up, especially if he's still tired.

So I don't know what's going on. I really don't. I realize that his sleep needs are going to change as he grows up. But he used to be pretty consistent, if nothing else, and I have no clue what is setting off this wild pattern of wakeups.

New words

I love the fact that William is becoming more and more verbal every single day. Not that we don't still get the huge Donald Duck hissy-fit tantrums that result from a Misunderstanding, but it's getting easier for us to figure out what he wants. He can imitate more words now, too, even if he doesn't really understand what they mean.

New or recent words from the little prince's mouth:

Touchdown (accompanied by appropriate hand motions)

Football

Reindeer (he was seriously, seriously bummed when our neighbors finally took down their Christmas decorations)

Fireworks (boom!)

Ball game (We always sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" to him when we give him his asthma medication each night, and he always crows "ball game" through the air chamber at the very end. And he likes to say "snacks" a lot, too, because we replaced "peanuts and crackerjacks" with "peanuts and William snacks." We're very William-centric here, can you tell?)

Shampoo (and he even knows what you use it for. It is a Bad Idea to ask him about shampoo when he is eating with his hands, just so you know.)

Banana (all three syllables! w00t!)

Fireplace

Cream of wheat (sounds like "creeem whit")

Shower (sounds sort of like "shaw")

Roll (he likes bread products)

Mailman (Actually he's had this one for awhile, but he's really started saying it a lot lately. Maybe we've seen a lot more mailmen lately. I don't know.)

Chicken Little (Sounds like "chik lil")

Diet Coke. (Be quiet, Mom.)

I've been working hard to convince him to try to say William Wyckoff, but he's not too interested in that yet. Once or twice, he's managed to say something that sounded a little like Wyckoff, but I could have been mistaken. So I won't list it yet, but I'm working on it.

I think my favorite new word is the full-length "banana." He says it with such pride. Such joie de vivre. Did I spell that right?

Incidentally, William managed to keep all of his New Year's resolutions from 2007. I went back and reread my blog post from New Year's Day of last year and discovered that David had suggested that William 1) learn to walk, 2) cut back on his binky addiction, 3) eat big people food, and 4) learn to talk. Check, check, check, check. We're four for four here. Not bad, eh? I don't have the energy to make New Year's resolutions for myself this year, let alone my newly verbal son this year, though. In order to keep batting 1.000 (I mean, we set the bar kinda high, didn't we?), I'd have to go find my toddler books and look up what he's likely to do this year, and I just don't wanna. If anyone else here would like to suggest good resolutions for William, though, please feel free!

The things I say the most

I realized a few months ago that there are two things that I say now more than anything else to my son. That is, other than "No!" or "No, sir!" or "William, NO!"

"You're all right" or its alternate, "It's all right." See also: "You're okay."

and

"Good job!"

Seriously. I don't think I ever uttered the phrase "good job" before in my entire life, before I had a baby. And then I had a little guy, starting to do things, and all of a sudden, I started saying it all the time. I didn't even think about it. And the funny thing is, other parents say it all the time, too! What, is it some latent parental thing that's encoded in our DNA but only manifests itself when your child hits, oh, say, six or seven months of age and starts trying to Do Stuff? Maybe.

The "you're all right" is a staple of the toddler's parent because the typical toddler is always doing things like bonking his head or stumbling, thus necessitating the all-clear from Mom or Dad. For example, William was running through the family room and slipped on the three thousand annoying flash cards that were fanned across the carpet. He skidded and fell down, landing on his diaper-padded bottom, which really just surprised him more than it hurt him. I automatically said, "You're all right." Because he was. He just needed to hear me confirm it. If I say he's okay, well, then he usually is okay. It's sort of the Mom version of the old Jedi mind trick.

There are plenty of other things that we find ourselves saying that we never really imagined ourselves saying. For example, take this sentence that I spoke tonight: "William, please do not poop in the bathtub." And another gem: "William, we do not put our toothbrush in our ear." Ooh, or the other day when William was carefully using his plastic spoon to "feed" part of his lunch to one of his little toys: "William, eat your yogurt. Don't just feed it to the sheep." As my child gets older and even more inquisitive, I expect that I'll be adding some new ones to my personal list. I could probably collect such gems from all my parent friends and make a book out of them.

Hey, maybe I will...

New year, new look for William

And you thought William's new look for 2008 was just a haircut. Well, I say....nothing heralds a happy new year and a new look like a busted lip.

That's...em....three busted lips my dear son has racked up over the last six months. The first was the faceplant at MBA homecoming. The second was at the balloon festival in Natchez. And the latest was courtesy of the slippery wood floors in our hallway. I walked in the garage door and was greeted by a sweet pink face and a pair of lips the size of Angelina Jolie's.
















Can you see the swollen top lip? It already looked better by the time I took this picture:















Poor baby. Actually, I should probably amend that to "poor David." I was away at a meeting when William skidded off through the house in his sock feet. David heard the thunk from the living room. He tried to put a cold rag on William's mouth, but William wasn't having too much of that. He didn't like the cold bag of ice cubes, either. David was all upset, but William recovered his good cheer pretty quickly.

Don't worry. William is just fine. Just fine, David, really!

So why do I chronicle these things in such exhaustive detail? Ah, I just think it's a good thing to balance out all the times I crow about all the new terrific things that William does. You know, show the other side of our parenting efforts. Yeah, we let our kid run around in sock feet sometimes and he falls down. I let him have fruit for dinner instead of vegetables because I just didn't feel like convincing him to eat the vegetables. David forgot to pull the crib rail up tonight when we put the little guy to bed. We mess up a lot. And sometimes we don't mess up, but William, well, William did seem to inherit the Larson Klutz Gene, and not even perfect parenting efforts can quite override genetics that strong all the time.

Happy New Year!

Happy 2008!

A belated Happy New Year from our household. I hope that 2008 brings as many good things as 2007 did!

Mom and my brother John were visiting for the week, and the Wyckoffs came over for New Year's Day. We all celebrated the big day with the traditional pot of black eyed peas. Even William ate a few for good luck. He's getting to be much pickier about what he eats, but we eventually convince him to open up for a few peas.

I can't believe it's 2008 already. I remember New Year's Eve 1999. My roommates, Charlene and Loretta, and I threw a big party at our house in Memphis in honor of the upcoming milennium (yes, yes, we knew the new milennium didn't officially start until 2001, but that's beside the point). David was there, of course, and a bunch of our friends. It was quite the party--we all were up 'til well after 3 a.m., such a contrast to this year when David and I blearily watched the ball drop in Times Square from our warm bed before turning out the lamps. 2008 seemed like a lifetime away. And I guess it was! Since that night, I have moved away from Tennessee, finished graduate school in Maryland, moved to California, gotten married, moved to the desert, had a baby, and moved back to the South.

Whew. I'm sort of out of breath, just listing it all. We've even been here in Nashville for almost six months. That amazes me, too. And needless to say, I am constantly amazed by how much William has grown and changed since that mild April day in 2006 when he appeared in our lives. Mom, David and I were looking at a photo book that I made of pictures from 2006, and we all were just marveling at how small he used to be! It's amazing to look at the photos now, and then look down at the active little guy in corduroy overalls who is asking me for "more race, please?" (That's Williamease for "more raisins, please?") How is it even possible? It really is a miracle. I still get excited every time William does something new. I get excited about every new word and every time he does something we ask him to do. I know the excitement will eventually wear off, but I think I will always marvel over the fact that my big active child used to be a tiny little lump of baby.

Here's William reading his night-night story...er, catalogue...with his grandma the other night. And yes, he chose the One Step Ahead catalogue on his own free will. Remember this is the same child who likes to eat lemons.


















And here's William, playing on the floor with John. William had a haircut by the time we took this picture, but I don't know if you can really tell since it's kind of tousled. Thank God Mom and John were here to distract him while the lady was cutting his hair.















Anyway, I hope everyone is all ready for the new year. I think I am. Maybe I'll even eventually take down all the Christmas decorations!