I know you've all been waiting with bated breath to hear how the Big Boy Bed is working out for us, haven't you?
To our shock, it is working out beautifully. No, really. It is.
The first night, granted, was rough. Drunk with freedom, William was in and out of bed until nearly midnight. Even after David and I turned off our bedroom lights, William tiptoed into our room and crawled tentatively up onto our bed a few times. We ignored him, while stifling giggles, the first few times.
Then finally, I got up out of my nice cozy bed and walked him back to his room. It was around 11:50, so I said, "William, it's nearly midnight, and it's time for you to settle down."
And William replied, "Midnight? Like in Cinderella?"
And in one of my finer moments in parenting, I said, "Yes, and you might turn into a pumpkin if you don't to go sleep now." And I turned the lights off and made my escape...er, my exit.
Hey, it worked. He stayed in his bed after that. He can take it up with his therapist in a few years.
Friday was a long day, and we were all pretty wiped out. The silver lining, however, was that William went to bed without a fuss at 8 p.m. on Friday night, and the next time either of us saw or heard him was at 7:30 on Saturday morning. He had stayed in his bed all night. All night. (Or as far as we know, which is the same thing in my book.)
Amazing. Simply amazing. Grand Canyon-Statue of Liberty-Mount Rushmore amazing.
The best part is that William did it again on Saturday night and again on Sunday night. AND he's mostly managed to restrain himself from the lure of unfettered freedom during naptime, too. Okay, yes, today was a little trickier and involved a mid-nap trip to the potty and a few M&Ms. But he still managed to stay in his bed for almost two more hours, which is remarkable, really. He's still not entirely convinced that he needs a bedspread on his bed, but we'll work on that.
And I had one hilarious moment this morning that is a direct result of the Big Boy Bed. William woke up and scampered out of his bed this morning, only to come into my room and find me still sleeping. I hazily remember him gently crawling up onto the bed next to me and scrambling aroud for a few seconds before climbing back down. I dozed back off for a little while. When I woke up, I turned over and there, lying in the bed next to me, was my old baby doll, Amy, who often stayed in William's crib with him. He had brought her to snuggle in the bed with me so I wouldn't be lonely.
Is this just a wonderful reward for surviving the Terrible Almost-Threes?
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
At long last...the Big Boy Bed is here
So this is what William's room looked like as of about 4 p.m. this afternoon:
And this is what it looked like at 6 p.m.:
That's right. We put up the Big Boy Bed at last.
Right now, it has the Wall-E sheets that David picked up at Target, although we do plan to get some nicer sheets for it soon, too. (William has specifically requested Star Wars sheets, and David enthusiastically agreed that his son needs Star Wars sheets. Needs them.) I still need to buy a quilt or comforter and shams for it, but at least it has some sheets and a pillow.
William was so pleased with the new bed, he could barely stand it. As soon as we got it all put together, he threw himself on his new bed with a great sigh of delight. Then he sat up and declared, in what was just short of a royal proclamation, "Take the crib away. I'm too big for it now."
I suggested that maybe he just sleep in his crib again tonight, and he looked at me like I had grown a second head. He rejected that idea. The crib is still up, but no one is sleeping in it, except for poor lonely Pooh Bear and Knuffle Bunny.
William is here:
As for first experiences, I am also expecting a first experience tonight. I am expecting my very first experience with a toddler creeping into bed with me in the middle of the night.
*******************
Gratuitous picture of William from Cheekwood last week:
And this is what it looked like at 6 p.m.:
That's right. We put up the Big Boy Bed at last.
Right now, it has the Wall-E sheets that David picked up at Target, although we do plan to get some nicer sheets for it soon, too. (William has specifically requested Star Wars sheets, and David enthusiastically agreed that his son needs Star Wars sheets. Needs them.) I still need to buy a quilt or comforter and shams for it, but at least it has some sheets and a pillow.
William was so pleased with the new bed, he could barely stand it. As soon as we got it all put together, he threw himself on his new bed with a great sigh of delight. Then he sat up and declared, in what was just short of a royal proclamation, "Take the crib away. I'm too big for it now."
I suggested that maybe he just sleep in his crib again tonight, and he looked at me like I had grown a second head. He rejected that idea. The crib is still up, but no one is sleeping in it, except for poor lonely Pooh Bear and Knuffle Bunny.
William is here:
As for first experiences, I am also expecting a first experience tonight. I am expecting my very first experience with a toddler creeping into bed with me in the middle of the night.
*******************
Gratuitous picture of William from Cheekwood last week:
Tomorrow is another day
It's early, but so far, today is better than yesterday. Aaron is here, distracting William while I try to get some work done. We created a Good Behavior chart, and so far, William seems eager to live up to it. So cross your fingers.
And I feel it's only fair to report that we did have one small victory yesterday. Frustrated with being alone in the house with William, I ordered him into the car to run some errands with me after an early dinner. It was only when we were about to leave that I remembered he was wearing underpants. But we went out anyway, and guess what? He stayed dry the whole time. We did make a short pitstop in the bathroom of Bed, Bath & Beyond, and William willingly went potty. And we made it home with no incidents (of the potty variety).
One day at a time, one day at a time, da da da da, one day at a time.
And I feel it's only fair to report that we did have one small victory yesterday. Frustrated with being alone in the house with William, I ordered him into the car to run some errands with me after an early dinner. It was only when we were about to leave that I remembered he was wearing underpants. But we went out anyway, and guess what? He stayed dry the whole time. We did make a short pitstop in the bathroom of Bed, Bath & Beyond, and William willingly went potty. And we made it home with no incidents (of the potty variety).
One day at a time, one day at a time, da da da da, one day at a time.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Exhausted
I've heard about how some kids are worse at three years of age than they were at two. And I'm starting to really believe it.
William, at almost three, is far more of a handful now than he was even six months ago. In fact, I'd say that his current stage is the hardest I've ever dealt with, aside from the early months when all he did was nurse and not let me sleep.
I am so exhausted. I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. I am exhausted from trying to curb the bad behaviors--the hitting and the throwing things and the pushing. I am exhausted from trying to institute time outs. I am exhausted from trying to encourage good behavior. I am exhausted from dealing with his constant defiance.
And I am exhausted from failing.
I just lost it this afternoon. I tossed William into his crib, since it's the one place he can't escape. And I shut the door to his room and called my parents and cried.
I just can't do this. I know that children at this age are a bundle of impulses, and I know that they are just asserting their independence and pushing every button that they can. But I feel like my child is doing it far beyond anything I've ever seen from anyone else's kids that we know. Nothing seems to be making a difference.
And I really don't know where to go from here. I just feel...defeated.
William, at almost three, is far more of a handful now than he was even six months ago. In fact, I'd say that his current stage is the hardest I've ever dealt with, aside from the early months when all he did was nurse and not let me sleep.
I am so exhausted. I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. I am exhausted from trying to curb the bad behaviors--the hitting and the throwing things and the pushing. I am exhausted from trying to institute time outs. I am exhausted from trying to encourage good behavior. I am exhausted from dealing with his constant defiance.
And I am exhausted from failing.
I just lost it this afternoon. I tossed William into his crib, since it's the one place he can't escape. And I shut the door to his room and called my parents and cried.
I just can't do this. I know that children at this age are a bundle of impulses, and I know that they are just asserting their independence and pushing every button that they can. But I feel like my child is doing it far beyond anything I've ever seen from anyone else's kids that we know. Nothing seems to be making a difference.
And I really don't know where to go from here. I just feel...defeated.
Monday, March 23, 2009
The list
Took William to Target today. (I wore my red shoes, so I could click my heels together and chant, 'There's no place like Target, there's no place like Target, there's no place like Target.' Because you know, there really is no place quite like Target. If you just tried to say Wal-Mart or KMart, well, all I have to say is 'you poor poor deluded thing you.')
I had jotted down a short shopping list the night before. After I plunked him into the cart, I dutifully turned over the list to him so he could be the Listmaster. The list was very exciting. It had the following items on it: kitchen soap, bath soap, brown socks for David, waterproof mattress pad, napkins and Goldfish crackers. This should give you a sense of the thrill-a-minute life I lead, no? At any rate, that was my list. We bought the stuff on the list, plus oh, $20 or $30 worth of other random stuff*, and we headed home. (*Target has a $50 minimum, you know. And by minimum, I mean, absolute bare minimum. It really should be $100. Just hand over $100 when you cross the threshold. Don't expect any change.)
Tonight, at bedtime, William was "reading" a favorite Frog and Toad story called "The List" to David and me. I asked William if he remembered what was on our shopping list this morning.
He thoughtfully considered the question before confidently replying, "Books....toys...and candy."
And you know what? For a few seconds, I sincerely wished my list really HAD had "books, toys and candy" printed on it. The small pleasures that make us happy, you know?
I had jotted down a short shopping list the night before. After I plunked him into the cart, I dutifully turned over the list to him so he could be the Listmaster. The list was very exciting. It had the following items on it: kitchen soap, bath soap, brown socks for David, waterproof mattress pad, napkins and Goldfish crackers. This should give you a sense of the thrill-a-minute life I lead, no? At any rate, that was my list. We bought the stuff on the list, plus oh, $20 or $30 worth of other random stuff*, and we headed home. (*Target has a $50 minimum, you know. And by minimum, I mean, absolute bare minimum. It really should be $100. Just hand over $100 when you cross the threshold. Don't expect any change.)
Tonight, at bedtime, William was "reading" a favorite Frog and Toad story called "The List" to David and me. I asked William if he remembered what was on our shopping list this morning.
He thoughtfully considered the question before confidently replying, "Books....toys...and candy."
And you know what? For a few seconds, I sincerely wished my list really HAD had "books, toys and candy" printed on it. The small pleasures that make us happy, you know?
Friday, March 20, 2009
Quickie read
Nice post today on CoolMomsCare.org about how competitive mothers can be: Mommy Wars. And no, even though I contribute a weekly post to the CoolMomsCare blog, I didn't write it. But I'm glad I read it.
I can pedal!
As it turns out, William can actually pedal his tricycle by himself. We've been encouraging him to do it for awhile, but usually he'll pedal a few times and then whine for us to push him again. See below:
But after getting a report from Miss Aubrey that William is a fast-and-furious pedaler at school, we've decided to encourage him to power his own self a little more often.
But of course, sometimes he still wants Daddy to push him.
But after getting a report from Miss Aubrey that William is a fast-and-furious pedaler at school, we've decided to encourage him to power his own self a little more often.
But of course, sometimes he still wants Daddy to push him.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Sneaking a treat
So this morning, I was working upstairs on the computer when I heard a rustling noise coming from downstairs. I immediately suspected my lovely son of getting into something yummy and off-limits from the pantry, so I went to investigate.
"William, are you eating something?" I called as I walked down the stairs.
A second later, he popped into view. He was holding a crumpled handful of pink plastic. He unfolded his palm to show me the empty wrapper of Hello Kitty fruit treats, which had been in a goody bag he received recently.
"Yes," he said. "I ate the catfood, Mommy."
"William, are you eating something?" I called as I walked down the stairs.
A second later, he popped into view. He was holding a crumpled handful of pink plastic. He unfolded his palm to show me the empty wrapper of Hello Kitty fruit treats, which had been in a goody bag he received recently.
"Yes," he said. "I ate the catfood, Mommy."
Friday, March 13, 2009
The CD player
I didn't mean to let a whole week without a post go by. Gah! A week in the online world is like a month in the real world. Sorry, y'all. I'll do better. I've been snowed under with some freelance projects, but I'm slowly digging myself out.
In the meantime, the most interesting news about Prince William is his newfound addiction to the CD player in his bedroom. I'm about to just suck it up and spend some money to get him a kiddie CD player so he won't destroy the clock-CD player that's in his room right now.
It sort of amuses me and makes me feel old at the same time to think that whatever CD player I buy will be the equivalent of the little red and white record player (yes, I am that old) that I had as a small child. But instead of listening to Disney books on records with the little chime that tells you to turn the page, he's all into hip-kid music like They Might Be Giants. Well, and since he's still his father's son, the Star Wars soundtrack. I wonde whatever happened to that old record player I had. I remember listening to "Sleeping Beauty" (yes, really) and "101 Dalmatians" and a whole bunch of others on it. Later, Mom and Daddy upgraded and bought me a bright red Panasonic tape player that ground out a lifetime's worth of Cyndi Lauper and Michael Jackson songs. Ah, the '80s.
So if anyone's bought a super-indestructible CD player recently, please let me know the details. We need one ASAP.
In the meantime, the most interesting news about Prince William is his newfound addiction to the CD player in his bedroom. I'm about to just suck it up and spend some money to get him a kiddie CD player so he won't destroy the clock-CD player that's in his room right now.
It sort of amuses me and makes me feel old at the same time to think that whatever CD player I buy will be the equivalent of the little red and white record player (yes, I am that old) that I had as a small child. But instead of listening to Disney books on records with the little chime that tells you to turn the page, he's all into hip-kid music like They Might Be Giants. Well, and since he's still his father's son, the Star Wars soundtrack. I wonde whatever happened to that old record player I had. I remember listening to "Sleeping Beauty" (yes, really) and "101 Dalmatians" and a whole bunch of others on it. Later, Mom and Daddy upgraded and bought me a bright red Panasonic tape player that ground out a lifetime's worth of Cyndi Lauper and Michael Jackson songs. Ah, the '80s.
So if anyone's bought a super-indestructible CD player recently, please let me know the details. We need one ASAP.
Friday, March 06, 2009
What's he up to now?
Random photos from the small snowfall we received on Sunday:
Let's see. Since the Great M&M Caper, we've had a couple more interesting episodes happen here.
About an hour or two after the GM&MC, I had to do another phone interview for a freelance story I'm working on. As I was winding up the phone call, I started hearing the toilet flush, over and over. Like when your child is too quiet, a constantly-flushing toilet is also a bad sign. Not just a bad sign. A Bad Sign. Still on the phone, I walked out of my office and down the hall to William's bathroom.
There he stood, bare-bottomed with a very poopy diaper down between his ankles. He was wiping his bottom with a wipe, then flushing the wipe, then wiping with a new wipe, then flushing it. And had been doing so for awhile, apparently. Judging by the meager amount of wipes left in the box, I estimated that he had to have used up at least a dozen. Maybe more. I gasped something about a poop-tastrophe to the woman on the other end of the phone and hung up to help him out. He's never tried to do that before, but you just had to know he'd try when I was attempting to get something else done. But you know, I have to give him props for trying to clean himself up. That's the sort of thing we do want him to be able to do. Er, but without so much flushing.
Last night, I was again working on some freelance stuff while attemping to cook dinner. I was dashing back and forth between the computer and the kitchen. William was off allegedly entertaining himself, although he occasionally intercepted me to, I don't know, tell me about Darth Vader or the castle people or something. On my last dash upstairs, I noticed a package of hot dogs on the dining room floor, so I stopped and grabbed it and threw it back in the fridge. Five minutes later or so, I returned to the stove and started cooking some vegetables.
A minute or so later, William toddles back into the kitchen and hands me the now-empty package of hot dog, save for an inch-long piece still left at the bottom. "I ate the hot dogs," he reported.
He had eaten THREE uncooked hot dogs directly out of the fridge. Three cold slimy turkey hot dogs. I sputtered all over the place, sort of grossed out but mostly trying not to laugh, but not doing a very good job of doing so. "Wha, wha, wha...but WHY?" I finally managed to spit out.
Apparently, he was hungry and he wanted hot dogs. He had just eaten a (cooked) hot dog for lunch a few hours earlier, but I guess he just wanted more. And I guess the whole uncooked-ness didn't bother him because he ate THREE of them like that. THREE. (I'm a little hung up on anyone eating an uncooked hot dog at all, much less multiple uncooked hot dogs). You'd think I didn't feed the kid. But as I remarked to a friend on Facebook, hello, does he look like he's starving to you?
Every time I think, hey, I think I have a handle on what to expect out of my son, I get a surprise. Not that I have a good handle on how to get him to stop kicking and hitting sometimes, but I at least knew that it happens and I have to deal with it. But I never saw the Three Hot Dog Incident coming. Who expects that? I mean, it never ever would have occurred to me to say, "Hey, William, please don't go into the fridge and eat the raw hot dogs in there, okay?" And I couldn't really get mad at him because I hadn't ever told him he couldn't eat three uncooked hot dogs.
But we did have a nice little chat about asking Mommy for food when we're hungry. But given that this is the same kid who found a way to get M&Ms, I don't know how effective the chat is going to be. I guess we'll see.
Let's see. Since the Great M&M Caper, we've had a couple more interesting episodes happen here.
About an hour or two after the GM&MC, I had to do another phone interview for a freelance story I'm working on. As I was winding up the phone call, I started hearing the toilet flush, over and over. Like when your child is too quiet, a constantly-flushing toilet is also a bad sign. Not just a bad sign. A Bad Sign. Still on the phone, I walked out of my office and down the hall to William's bathroom.
There he stood, bare-bottomed with a very poopy diaper down between his ankles. He was wiping his bottom with a wipe, then flushing the wipe, then wiping with a new wipe, then flushing it. And had been doing so for awhile, apparently. Judging by the meager amount of wipes left in the box, I estimated that he had to have used up at least a dozen. Maybe more. I gasped something about a poop-tastrophe to the woman on the other end of the phone and hung up to help him out. He's never tried to do that before, but you just had to know he'd try when I was attempting to get something else done. But you know, I have to give him props for trying to clean himself up. That's the sort of thing we do want him to be able to do. Er, but without so much flushing.
Last night, I was again working on some freelance stuff while attemping to cook dinner. I was dashing back and forth between the computer and the kitchen. William was off allegedly entertaining himself, although he occasionally intercepted me to, I don't know, tell me about Darth Vader or the castle people or something. On my last dash upstairs, I noticed a package of hot dogs on the dining room floor, so I stopped and grabbed it and threw it back in the fridge. Five minutes later or so, I returned to the stove and started cooking some vegetables.
A minute or so later, William toddles back into the kitchen and hands me the now-empty package of hot dog, save for an inch-long piece still left at the bottom. "I ate the hot dogs," he reported.
He had eaten THREE uncooked hot dogs directly out of the fridge. Three cold slimy turkey hot dogs. I sputtered all over the place, sort of grossed out but mostly trying not to laugh, but not doing a very good job of doing so. "Wha, wha, wha...but WHY?" I finally managed to spit out.
Apparently, he was hungry and he wanted hot dogs. He had just eaten a (cooked) hot dog for lunch a few hours earlier, but I guess he just wanted more. And I guess the whole uncooked-ness didn't bother him because he ate THREE of them like that. THREE. (I'm a little hung up on anyone eating an uncooked hot dog at all, much less multiple uncooked hot dogs). You'd think I didn't feed the kid. But as I remarked to a friend on Facebook, hello, does he look like he's starving to you?
Every time I think, hey, I think I have a handle on what to expect out of my son, I get a surprise. Not that I have a good handle on how to get him to stop kicking and hitting sometimes, but I at least knew that it happens and I have to deal with it. But I never saw the Three Hot Dog Incident coming. Who expects that? I mean, it never ever would have occurred to me to say, "Hey, William, please don't go into the fridge and eat the raw hot dogs in there, okay?" And I couldn't really get mad at him because I hadn't ever told him he couldn't eat three uncooked hot dogs.
But we did have a nice little chat about asking Mommy for food when we're hungry. But given that this is the same kid who found a way to get M&Ms, I don't know how effective the chat is going to be. I guess we'll see.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Melts in your hand
So, I was checking my email a little while ago, and I kept hearing this weird rattling sound. I stuck my head out of the office and peered around. The door to Wiliam's room was shut, and I could hear him puttering around in there. His CD player was playing, so I could hear music, too. I went back to the computer.
A few minutes later, I finished up my email and went to see what William was up to. He opened the door right as I got there and said, "Mommy, can you put this jar of Em-Ems back up?"
Remember that big glass jar of M&Ms that I put in the bathroom to entice William to go potty? William had taken it down from the bathroom counter, somehow figured out how to unscrew the huge lid that I never thought he could get into. Behind the closed bedroom door, he then feasted on the candy 'til his little heart's content.
Astonished, I looked at his face, smeared with chocolate. His hands were smeary, too (don't listen to the Mars folks: M&Ms certainly do melt in your hands). As he smiled and offered up the jar, I sputtered with laughter (really, you would have laughed, too). And then I tried to regain my composure and be stern.
"William! How many of these did you eat?" I asked, surveying the amount of candy left in the jar. I estimated that at least a quarter of the candy was missing, maybe more.
"I ate a lot of them," he reported.
Good grief.
The jar is now on top of the armoire in my bedroom in the place more commonly known as Toy Time Out. Who knew I'd need M&M Time Out, too?
A few minutes later, I finished up my email and went to see what William was up to. He opened the door right as I got there and said, "Mommy, can you put this jar of Em-Ems back up?"
Remember that big glass jar of M&Ms that I put in the bathroom to entice William to go potty? William had taken it down from the bathroom counter, somehow figured out how to unscrew the huge lid that I never thought he could get into. Behind the closed bedroom door, he then feasted on the candy 'til his little heart's content.
Astonished, I looked at his face, smeared with chocolate. His hands were smeary, too (don't listen to the Mars folks: M&Ms certainly do melt in your hands). As he smiled and offered up the jar, I sputtered with laughter (really, you would have laughed, too). And then I tried to regain my composure and be stern.
"William! How many of these did you eat?" I asked, surveying the amount of candy left in the jar. I estimated that at least a quarter of the candy was missing, maybe more.
"I ate a lot of them," he reported.
Good grief.
The jar is now on top of the armoire in my bedroom in the place more commonly known as Toy Time Out. Who knew I'd need M&M Time Out, too?
Monday, March 02, 2009
DST starts this weekend
Public service announcement time.
Hey, y'all, did you realize that Daylight Savings Time starts this coming Sunday? That is, March 8. Yes, it does seem early. That's because it is earlier than we're used to it starting. It used to start in April. But now that it lasts later into the fall, it starts earlier in the spring, too.
I'm actually looking forward to it. First of all, I'm pro-anything that allows there to be more daylight later in the day. Nothing is more depressing than darkness at 5 p.m. on a cold, grim day. This is particularly true when it would be nice to take my child outside and let him run around but can't because it's dark outside. I'm looking forward to pre- and post-dinner walks around the neighborhood again when it warms up a little more, too.
Secondly, William's sleep schedule has been a little wonky lately, and I'm guardedly hopeful that DST will perhaps result in him sleeping a little later in the morning. Please, God. It worked last year, and it would be very, very helpful if it worked this year, too.
So fall back, spring forward. Bring it on.
Hey, y'all, did you realize that Daylight Savings Time starts this coming Sunday? That is, March 8. Yes, it does seem early. That's because it is earlier than we're used to it starting. It used to start in April. But now that it lasts later into the fall, it starts earlier in the spring, too.
I'm actually looking forward to it. First of all, I'm pro-anything that allows there to be more daylight later in the day. Nothing is more depressing than darkness at 5 p.m. on a cold, grim day. This is particularly true when it would be nice to take my child outside and let him run around but can't because it's dark outside. I'm looking forward to pre- and post-dinner walks around the neighborhood again when it warms up a little more, too.
Secondly, William's sleep schedule has been a little wonky lately, and I'm guardedly hopeful that DST will perhaps result in him sleeping a little later in the morning. Please, God. It worked last year, and it would be very, very helpful if it worked this year, too.
So fall back, spring forward. Bring it on.
Friday, February 27, 2009
The good stuff
So I've written a lot recently about the trials and tribulations of having a strong-willed little boy.
I started feeling a little bad about complaining so much because he really can be such a great kid a lot of the time. I don't want him to grow up thinking that I only noticed the not-so-great things about him. And I don't want y'all to think that he doesn't have any good qualities either.
So I'm going to list a few of the GOOD things about my dear son William. I figure, we can all use a little extra praise, don't you think? So, without further ado...
William Wyckoff:
*Is a great eater. He rarely complains about any food, and he almost always finishes whatever I put in front of him. He loves to tell me that "I ate all my lunch!" when I pick him up from school, even though he always eats all his lunch.
*Loves vegetables. Seriously. He'll even ask for more broccoli. About the only vegetable that he's ever tried and didn't like was lettuce. And honestly, I can't blame him. Lettuce doesn't have much flavor, and if you don't like the texture, why bother? Except for romaine, it doesn't even have that much nutritional value.
*Is not now and has never really been a biter. I can count on one hand the number of times he's ever bitten me, and that includes breastfeeding.
*Is a happy kid. I'd say his default mood really is happy. He doesn't stay grumpy for long, and you can usually joke him out of a fleeting bad mood pretty quickly. When he was a baby, I started calling him my little smiley guy, and that's still a pretty good way to describe him.
*Loves to make up stories to tell me. This morning's story started out like this: "Once upon a time, there was a little boy named William, and he wanted to go to the zoo. But the castle people weren't ready yet..."
*Loves to read books. I'm a reader, so this makes me very happy. If I had a child who didn't love books, I'm not sure I'd know what to do with him. To my delight, Wiliam even loves many of the same books I loved as a child, too.
*Is friendly. I have a picture of William waving to all and sundry while his daddy carried him into church last Easter. That's William. He's the mayor. He waves and greets everyone in the grocery store. He chats with the people in line behind us. He saw other small children at the beach last summer and tugged at our hands so we'd take him over so he could "meet those friends over there." The corollary to this, of course, is he's not shy.
*Apologizes when he does something wrong and he knows he upset us. This might not sound like a big deal, but it is. I'm hopeful this means that he understands when he's messed up and that it's important to say he's sorry and make amends. This is an important social skill to have throughout life.
*Loves to hug and kiss us and tell us how much he loves us. There is really nothing better than when William clamors up onto a chair or the couch and reaches up to hold my face before he bestows damp kisses on my cheeks and my nose.
*Didn't really require that much child-proofing. This is selfish on my part, but I am so glad that William wasn't too interested in getting into certain things that I've heard other kids do. We never needed an oven lock or a fridge lock or anything like that. He never was a big climber, so I never had to worry that much about that either. Pretty much, we needed--and used--baby gates and outlet covers and drawer and cabinet locks, and that was about it. I'm sure that if we ever have another child, we won't be so lucky.
*Loves to sing. Yeah, I'm sure most small children love to sing, but I get a kick out of hearing William warble "Once Upon a Dream" or "The Rainbow Connection" or "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" no matter how many times I've heard him sing them before. He's improving, too.
*Is pretty well-behaved when you take him shopping. Now, I will qualify this by saying that he does still have a tendency to run off if he's not contained in a shopping cart, but if you put him in a cart at Kroger, he usually does really well. He never complains or cries, and he usually enjoys looking at everything. He occasionally gets upset if you don't take him to look at something he wants to see (i.e. the decorated birthday cakes in the Publix bakery or the Star Wars toys at Target), but he almost never throws a fit.
So, that is a partial list of the good things about my son. See, I realize that he's a great kid and not just a crazy toddler. I need to make sure to tell him, too.
I started feeling a little bad about complaining so much because he really can be such a great kid a lot of the time. I don't want him to grow up thinking that I only noticed the not-so-great things about him. And I don't want y'all to think that he doesn't have any good qualities either.
So I'm going to list a few of the GOOD things about my dear son William. I figure, we can all use a little extra praise, don't you think? So, without further ado...
William Wyckoff:
*Is a great eater. He rarely complains about any food, and he almost always finishes whatever I put in front of him. He loves to tell me that "I ate all my lunch!" when I pick him up from school, even though he always eats all his lunch.
*Loves vegetables. Seriously. He'll even ask for more broccoli. About the only vegetable that he's ever tried and didn't like was lettuce. And honestly, I can't blame him. Lettuce doesn't have much flavor, and if you don't like the texture, why bother? Except for romaine, it doesn't even have that much nutritional value.
*Is not now and has never really been a biter. I can count on one hand the number of times he's ever bitten me, and that includes breastfeeding.
*Is a happy kid. I'd say his default mood really is happy. He doesn't stay grumpy for long, and you can usually joke him out of a fleeting bad mood pretty quickly. When he was a baby, I started calling him my little smiley guy, and that's still a pretty good way to describe him.
*Loves to make up stories to tell me. This morning's story started out like this: "Once upon a time, there was a little boy named William, and he wanted to go to the zoo. But the castle people weren't ready yet..."
*Loves to read books. I'm a reader, so this makes me very happy. If I had a child who didn't love books, I'm not sure I'd know what to do with him. To my delight, Wiliam even loves many of the same books I loved as a child, too.
*Is friendly. I have a picture of William waving to all and sundry while his daddy carried him into church last Easter. That's William. He's the mayor. He waves and greets everyone in the grocery store. He chats with the people in line behind us. He saw other small children at the beach last summer and tugged at our hands so we'd take him over so he could "meet those friends over there." The corollary to this, of course, is he's not shy.
*Apologizes when he does something wrong and he knows he upset us. This might not sound like a big deal, but it is. I'm hopeful this means that he understands when he's messed up and that it's important to say he's sorry and make amends. This is an important social skill to have throughout life.
*Loves to hug and kiss us and tell us how much he loves us. There is really nothing better than when William clamors up onto a chair or the couch and reaches up to hold my face before he bestows damp kisses on my cheeks and my nose.
*Didn't really require that much child-proofing. This is selfish on my part, but I am so glad that William wasn't too interested in getting into certain things that I've heard other kids do. We never needed an oven lock or a fridge lock or anything like that. He never was a big climber, so I never had to worry that much about that either. Pretty much, we needed--and used--baby gates and outlet covers and drawer and cabinet locks, and that was about it. I'm sure that if we ever have another child, we won't be so lucky.
*Loves to sing. Yeah, I'm sure most small children love to sing, but I get a kick out of hearing William warble "Once Upon a Dream" or "The Rainbow Connection" or "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" no matter how many times I've heard him sing them before. He's improving, too.
*Is pretty well-behaved when you take him shopping. Now, I will qualify this by saying that he does still have a tendency to run off if he's not contained in a shopping cart, but if you put him in a cart at Kroger, he usually does really well. He never complains or cries, and he usually enjoys looking at everything. He occasionally gets upset if you don't take him to look at something he wants to see (i.e. the decorated birthday cakes in the Publix bakery or the Star Wars toys at Target), but he almost never throws a fit.
So, that is a partial list of the good things about my son. See, I realize that he's a great kid and not just a crazy toddler. I need to make sure to tell him, too.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
New Facebook group
In the spirit of solidarity with my fellow parents of toddlers, I have created a new Facebook group called The Terrible Twos...and Threes. If you're on Facebook, please stop by and share some stories and advice with us.
Let us know that we're all in this together. I figure, if it takes a village to raise a child, well, then I need some village people. Er. You know what I mean.
Anyway, come on over. Tell me your best story about a Toddler Run Amok. Tell me your double-secret strategy for getting your preschooler do what what he's supposed to be doing, from going potty to staying in his bed at night. Reassure me that you occasionally resort to the bribe, too.
Let us know that we're all in this together. I figure, if it takes a village to raise a child, well, then I need some village people. Er. You know what I mean.
Anyway, come on over. Tell me your best story about a Toddler Run Amok. Tell me your double-secret strategy for getting your preschooler do what what he's supposed to be doing, from going potty to staying in his bed at night. Reassure me that you occasionally resort to the bribe, too.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
A little progress
Fans of William will be happy to know that he was able to retrieve both his Cinderella book AND his Snow White book from Toy Time Out this afternoon. He was wild at school, but he managed to restrain himself pretty well at home. And I really needed to find a reason to reward the mostly-good behavior and encourage him to keep it up.
Tomorrow morning, I have a Young Leaders Council meeting. So William will have his regular Thursday morning Daddy time. I promised him that if he was good through tomorrow morning, he could watch "Sleeping Beauty" with his father. That seems to be working as a motivational tool...except that he couldn't fall asleep tonight. He was too excited about the prospect of watching his favorite movie again. Oh well.
Tomorrow morning, I have a Young Leaders Council meeting. So William will have his regular Thursday morning Daddy time. I promised him that if he was good through tomorrow morning, he could watch "Sleeping Beauty" with his father. That seems to be working as a motivational tool...except that he couldn't fall asleep tonight. He was too excited about the prospect of watching his favorite movie again. Oh well.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
It's a phase. It has to be a phase.
The Terrible Twos are in vogue here at our house. Actually, the Terrible Twos-Going-on-Threes might be a better description.
The willful defiance. The hitting. The spitting. (Seriously, where did the spitting come from?) The struggling. Even the occasional refusal of favorite foods (yes, you read that right).
It's a phase. It has to be a phase. It's got to be a phase.
It's a phase, right?
This morning, I was wondering to myself how long a "phase" lasts. What exactly constitutes a "phase"? How long does something have to go on to meet the minimum "phase" time-length requirement? How long can it last before it becomes a permanent condition? Is my child going to find himself so enamored with, say, spitting that he's going to be trundling off to middle school, still spitting at me when I tell him to put his coat back on because it's freezing outside? Is he going to be friendless because I don't know how to transition him from "it's a phase" to more appropriate behavior and he gets a reputation as the kid who spits and hits? Who wants to be friends with the kid who spits and hits?
Surely it's a phase.
The other day, I took away William's beloved Sleeping Beauty book (yes, gasp!) because he was hitting me--and because the time outs didn't seem to be working as a deterrent. Then David took away his Cinderella book last night. I took away the new They Might Be Giants CD this afternoon. And then the wizard hat. I've threatened to take away the Luke Skywalker spaceship next. I've got a whole stack of his favorite stuff piled on top of the armoire in my bedroom, and it doesn't even seem to be making a dent in his attitude. Meanwhile, my room is starting to look like a garage sale.
This has got to just be a phase.
I love my child. I do. He can be the most delightful, amazingly wonderful person on earth. This morning, for a few ours, that William resurfaced. We snuggled up in my bed and read "Snow White" together. He asked me to help him learn the names of all the seven dwarfs, and I did. It was lovely. We went to Cheekwood, and we did an art project, then wandered around the art museum and grounds for awhile. William climbed in and out of his carseat when he was asked. He held my hand in the parking lot. He enjoyed gluing feathers to his art project and helped me wash his hands afterward. He came with me when it was time to go home for lunch. Then we got home. And it was all over. He put his feet on the kitchen table...repeatedly. He pushed away his bowl of mac and cheese and turkey hot dog. He spit some more. He flailed his arms at me a few times. And the glow was gone. That's when I wanted to go online and find out if any sleepaway camps will accept toddlers for a week or so.
Must be a phase.
The willful defiance. The hitting. The spitting. (Seriously, where did the spitting come from?) The struggling. Even the occasional refusal of favorite foods (yes, you read that right).
It's a phase. It has to be a phase. It's got to be a phase.
It's a phase, right?
This morning, I was wondering to myself how long a "phase" lasts. What exactly constitutes a "phase"? How long does something have to go on to meet the minimum "phase" time-length requirement? How long can it last before it becomes a permanent condition? Is my child going to find himself so enamored with, say, spitting that he's going to be trundling off to middle school, still spitting at me when I tell him to put his coat back on because it's freezing outside? Is he going to be friendless because I don't know how to transition him from "it's a phase" to more appropriate behavior and he gets a reputation as the kid who spits and hits? Who wants to be friends with the kid who spits and hits?
Surely it's a phase.
The other day, I took away William's beloved Sleeping Beauty book (yes, gasp!) because he was hitting me--and because the time outs didn't seem to be working as a deterrent. Then David took away his Cinderella book last night. I took away the new They Might Be Giants CD this afternoon. And then the wizard hat. I've threatened to take away the Luke Skywalker spaceship next. I've got a whole stack of his favorite stuff piled on top of the armoire in my bedroom, and it doesn't even seem to be making a dent in his attitude. Meanwhile, my room is starting to look like a garage sale.
This has got to just be a phase.
I love my child. I do. He can be the most delightful, amazingly wonderful person on earth. This morning, for a few ours, that William resurfaced. We snuggled up in my bed and read "Snow White" together. He asked me to help him learn the names of all the seven dwarfs, and I did. It was lovely. We went to Cheekwood, and we did an art project, then wandered around the art museum and grounds for awhile. William climbed in and out of his carseat when he was asked. He held my hand in the parking lot. He enjoyed gluing feathers to his art project and helped me wash his hands afterward. He came with me when it was time to go home for lunch. Then we got home. And it was all over. He put his feet on the kitchen table...repeatedly. He pushed away his bowl of mac and cheese and turkey hot dog. He spit some more. He flailed his arms at me a few times. And the glow was gone. That's when I wanted to go online and find out if any sleepaway camps will accept toddlers for a week or so.
Must be a phase.
Monday, February 23, 2009
One step forward, ten steps back
Anyone who has talked to me recently probably knows that we've been experiencing some ups and downs on the potty training front.
That is, William will have a very rare success, and there will be lots of wahooing and dancing-of-celebratory-jigs....followed by days and days and days of backsliding. The sticker chart was successful at first. Now, not so much. The Thomas the Tank Engine and Spider-Man underpants? He liked them, liked the cartoon pictures, but not enough to replace his diapers and Pull-Ups with them. Even the big jar of M&Ms only worked for a few days. Can you believe that? We were willing to give our child pure unmitigated sugar as a reward for going potty, and it didn't even work! What child turns down M&Ms for something as simple as going potty? My son, that's who.
So we upped the ante. David bought a Darth Vader TIE fighter toy and ceremoniously displayed it in front of our wide-eyed son.
"If you can start going poopy in the potty, then you can wear big-boy underpants all the time. And THEN then you can have this," he told William, who eagerly reached out to touch the package.
Now, given how much William adores his little Star Wars figures, we thought surely that little bribe would work. Well. The TIE fighter has been sitting on the dresser in the guest room for at least three weeks now. William goes in there to visit it, but he seems content enough to just know it's there. For someday. He totally understands what it's for. He knows that he can win the toy by just going potty; he even told his teachers at school that he could get Star Wars toys for going potty. But he just doesn't want to. So he doesn't.
Upon hearing about all this, experienced parents tend to smile and shake their heads and say either, "Boys are just so much harder than girls to potty train" (gee, thanks for the newsflash) or "He'll catch on one day, but he has to decide on his own" (I want to believe you but why should I?).
I know that all the books just advise parents like me to chill out a little, to do the best we can to encourage our child to use the potty, and eventually William will come around. He has to come around. He's just about outgrown all but the very largest sizes of diapers and Pull-Ups!
That is, William will have a very rare success, and there will be lots of wahooing and dancing-of-celebratory-jigs....followed by days and days and days of backsliding. The sticker chart was successful at first. Now, not so much. The Thomas the Tank Engine and Spider-Man underpants? He liked them, liked the cartoon pictures, but not enough to replace his diapers and Pull-Ups with them. Even the big jar of M&Ms only worked for a few days. Can you believe that? We were willing to give our child pure unmitigated sugar as a reward for going potty, and it didn't even work! What child turns down M&Ms for something as simple as going potty? My son, that's who.
So we upped the ante. David bought a Darth Vader TIE fighter toy and ceremoniously displayed it in front of our wide-eyed son.
"If you can start going poopy in the potty, then you can wear big-boy underpants all the time. And THEN then you can have this," he told William, who eagerly reached out to touch the package.
Now, given how much William adores his little Star Wars figures, we thought surely that little bribe would work. Well. The TIE fighter has been sitting on the dresser in the guest room for at least three weeks now. William goes in there to visit it, but he seems content enough to just know it's there. For someday. He totally understands what it's for. He knows that he can win the toy by just going potty; he even told his teachers at school that he could get Star Wars toys for going potty. But he just doesn't want to. So he doesn't.
Upon hearing about all this, experienced parents tend to smile and shake their heads and say either, "Boys are just so much harder than girls to potty train" (gee, thanks for the newsflash) or "He'll catch on one day, but he has to decide on his own" (I want to believe you but why should I?).
I know that all the books just advise parents like me to chill out a little, to do the best we can to encourage our child to use the potty, and eventually William will come around. He has to come around. He's just about outgrown all but the very largest sizes of diapers and Pull-Ups!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Puzzlemania
When I was a little girl, my mom used to buy a gigantic 500 or 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle for our family as a joint Christmas gift. The more complicated, the better. One year, it was the puzzle that looked like a huge spill of jellybeans. Another year, it was a bunch of different types of candy bars. (For some reason, food was a big puzzle theme in the '80s.)
After all the presents were opened, and the Christmas dinner had been devoured, we'd clear off the dining room table and dump all the puzzle pieces onto it. There, the puzzle would remain until we ceremoniously slotted in the last piece. Then we'd pat ourselves on the back and then put the whole thing back in the box...and we'd dig out a couple of puzzles from previous Christmases because we'd be in the puzzle zone.
I even had my own personal stash of puzzles that I could work on my own. The one I remember the most clearly was a huge Incredible Hulk floor puzzle. I have no idea why someone thought it would be a good idea to give a five-year-old little girl a puzzle of a big scary green monster man with bulging muscles, but there you go. And I guess to be fair, I loved that puzzle. And yeah, you see that that's the one I remember.
To our great delight, William must have gotten the puzzle gene, too. He always liked the little baby puzzles with the seven or eight wooden pieces, but now he's heavily into actual puzzle puzzles.
David started the craze when he...er, Santa Claus...purchased a big two-foot-by-three-foot Melissa & Doug puzzle for one of William's Christmas gifts. I took one look at the box, which proclaimed the puzzle, which featured a montage of dinosaurs, had 48 pieces and declared, "Oh, that's way too advanced for him."
Wrong. I was so wrong. (And yes, David has crowed smugly about this many times. What? I can admit when I'm wrong. I'm just not...wrong very often. Ahem.) William needed some help from his grandmother or his daddy the first couple of times that he worked on the puzzle, but after that, he had no trouble working the entire puzzle by himself. All 48 pieces.
Diane brought over a couple of smaller puzzles, and I added a second Melissa & Doug puzzle (a picture of a fairy tale castle) and a cheap Cinderella puzzle from Target to the stash. William immediately adored them all. And after a couple of trial runs, he was able to work them all by himself. He especially likes telling anyone who will listen about how he worked the puzzle "all by myself and I am so proud of me!"
The only trouble I have with William's puzzlemania is that he often doesn't want to clean up the puzzles once he's finished with them. He wants to leave them on the floor so you and everyone who might drop by can admire them. It'll be nice when we can finally put him up at the dining room table and let him work his puzzles there. That way, he can keep his work intact and we'll still be able to walk through the family room. And maybe in a few years, we'll restart the old Larson Family Christmas Puzzle tradition here. Wonder if Mom and Daddy kept any of those old puzzles?
William with his masterpieces:
After all the presents were opened, and the Christmas dinner had been devoured, we'd clear off the dining room table and dump all the puzzle pieces onto it. There, the puzzle would remain until we ceremoniously slotted in the last piece. Then we'd pat ourselves on the back and then put the whole thing back in the box...and we'd dig out a couple of puzzles from previous Christmases because we'd be in the puzzle zone.
I even had my own personal stash of puzzles that I could work on my own. The one I remember the most clearly was a huge Incredible Hulk floor puzzle. I have no idea why someone thought it would be a good idea to give a five-year-old little girl a puzzle of a big scary green monster man with bulging muscles, but there you go. And I guess to be fair, I loved that puzzle. And yeah, you see that that's the one I remember.
To our great delight, William must have gotten the puzzle gene, too. He always liked the little baby puzzles with the seven or eight wooden pieces, but now he's heavily into actual puzzle puzzles.
David started the craze when he...er, Santa Claus...purchased a big two-foot-by-three-foot Melissa & Doug puzzle for one of William's Christmas gifts. I took one look at the box, which proclaimed the puzzle, which featured a montage of dinosaurs, had 48 pieces and declared, "Oh, that's way too advanced for him."
Wrong. I was so wrong. (And yes, David has crowed smugly about this many times. What? I can admit when I'm wrong. I'm just not...wrong very often. Ahem.) William needed some help from his grandmother or his daddy the first couple of times that he worked on the puzzle, but after that, he had no trouble working the entire puzzle by himself. All 48 pieces.
Diane brought over a couple of smaller puzzles, and I added a second Melissa & Doug puzzle (a picture of a fairy tale castle) and a cheap Cinderella puzzle from Target to the stash. William immediately adored them all. And after a couple of trial runs, he was able to work them all by himself. He especially likes telling anyone who will listen about how he worked the puzzle "all by myself and I am so proud of me!"
The only trouble I have with William's puzzlemania is that he often doesn't want to clean up the puzzles once he's finished with them. He wants to leave them on the floor so you and everyone who might drop by can admire them. It'll be nice when we can finally put him up at the dining room table and let him work his puzzles there. That way, he can keep his work intact and we'll still be able to walk through the family room. And maybe in a few years, we'll restart the old Larson Family Christmas Puzzle tradition here. Wonder if Mom and Daddy kept any of those old puzzles?
William with his masterpieces:
Monday, February 16, 2009
Just a snapshot
Mid-bounce at a birthday party at Bounce U on Saturday:
Side note: do you know how hard it is to get a non-blurry picture of a bunch of two- and three-year-olds bouncing in a bouncy house?
Side note: do you know how hard it is to get a non-blurry picture of a bunch of two- and three-year-olds bouncing in a bouncy house?
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Wild Thing
God help me, I put my son to bed a half-hour early tonight because he was driving me nuts. Mostly because we only had a short window for a nap this afternoon, and yup, you guessed it, he stood in his crib and sang. And jumped. And shook the crib. And sang some more.
Argh.
He behaved nicely enough at the late-afternoon playdate that we attended, but then we came home. And Mr. Hyde showed up to relieve Dr. Jekyll.
Wildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildman.
How can I love him so much, yet get so frustrated by him? How can I marvel at how smart he is (like when he effortlessly puts a 48-piece puzzle together all by himself) and then feel like beating my head up against the wall when he refuses to put it away? Is this still the Terrible Twos, or is this a preview of the Terrible Threes?
Argh!
Luckily, he is still very cute. And he still loves to hug and kiss me. Hugs and kisses go a long way. Yes, I'm a sucker.
William and his daddy, all dressed up for church on Sunday:
William and his mama, after school today, in a rare uncrazy moment:
Argh.
He behaved nicely enough at the late-afternoon playdate that we attended, but then we came home. And Mr. Hyde showed up to relieve Dr. Jekyll.
Wildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildmanwildman.
How can I love him so much, yet get so frustrated by him? How can I marvel at how smart he is (like when he effortlessly puts a 48-piece puzzle together all by himself) and then feel like beating my head up against the wall when he refuses to put it away? Is this still the Terrible Twos, or is this a preview of the Terrible Threes?
Argh!
Luckily, he is still very cute. And he still loves to hug and kiss me. Hugs and kisses go a long way. Yes, I'm a sucker.
William and his daddy, all dressed up for church on Sunday:
William and his mama, after school today, in a rare uncrazy moment:
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