The Nutcracker

When I was growing up, one of our Christmastime traditions was to get out the Tchaikovsky record and dance around the house to The Nutcracker Suite. The needle on our record player would skip any time we jumped on the floor, so you can imagine the scratches this record accumulated after repeated exposure to our synchronized "Russian Dance" jumps. PBS used to broadcast the Baryshnikov version on Christmas Eve, and my sisters and I watched it (while dancing) every year. Then one year, my dad took me to see a production of The Nutcracker while we were living in Wisconsin. I don’t know if it was a professional company — it may have been a performance at a community college, for all I know. But we had to drive a long distance in our VW van to get there. I remember sitting close enough to the stage to see the dancers’ shoes and I remember how vivid the costumes were for the Waltz of the Flowers. I thought it was one of the most amazing things I'd ever seen. Needless to say, I have a strong connection to The Nutcracker.

Years later, I learned that my dad had pawned most of his coin collection in order to take me. I was shocked about this revelation and it still induces many emotional responses: We were really that poor? He was willing to pawn something he spent years collecting? For me?

So this year, to jump-start that crazy build up to Christmas, I showed it to Penny. I checked out my old favorite from the library — the Baryshnikov version, which is the One True Version, and brought it home. And she was enthralled. That was the ultimate litmus test; I decided that if she could sit through it at home, then maybe she was ready to see the real thing. The story has everything — action, adventure, whimsy. A mysterious godfather, wind-up life-sized toys! A mouse king! The Nutcracker turns into a prince! And Clara saves him!

Ballet West does an annual production of The Nutcracker and I wanted desperately to go. But the website said that the recommended age was 6 years old and I was worried that taking Penny might be a bad idea. What if she freaked out? What if she wouldn't stay in her seat? What if she shouted through the whole thing: “MAMA! IS THAT CLARA? MAMA! IS THAT THE MOUSE KING?” What if we got kicked out?

But we took a gamble and went for it anyway. I splurged on tickets and bought one for Grandma too. In the days leading up to the show, I reviewed the rules of the theater with Penny: You have to stay in your seat. You can’t talk, you can only whisper. I felt like I was being harsh, but I wanted the rules to be well established. And it worked. Penny was marvelous even though she didn't feel that well the night of the performance.

Capitol Theatre is gorgeous. The seats are covered in dark red velvet. There's an an enormous chandelier and the ceiling is decorated in gold leaf detail. And Ballet West's production was truly amazing. The costumes were brilliant, the music was phenomenal. I was overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it all and had an unexpected emotional experience. My eyes watered multiple times, especially during the Waltz of the Snowflakes. As I sat holding Penny's hand under the gilded ceiling, I thought about my dad, and of the things we did together as a family to expand our minds. He taught us that stuff is just stuff; that doing things together is what's important.

Naturally, this Christmas was rather Nutcracker-themed. We bought Penny her own copy of Baryshnikov's Nutcracker, so I can stop racking up late fees at the library. I found an excellent collection of paper dolls that you can punch out and put on stage to reenact the story. And one of our friends gave Penny a cupcake set with Nutcracker liners and cupcake toppers. We had so much fun this Christmas. I can't wait for next year, so we can go again and establish another tradition.

Halloween 2011: The Owl

I'm not sure what chemicals we were on when we decided to make Penny's Halloween costume this year. Haven't I complained enough about how busy and out of control my life is? In truth, I'm not sure I would have tackled this project if Britt hadn't been so certain we could pull it off. But he said he could make it, and I said, "You can?" Why do I keep forgetting that I married such a multi-faceted man?

Back in the day, my mom made our costumes every year, and we still talk about those costumes with utter reverence. The same goes for the birthday cakes she made. The woman was amazing, but I've never really felt pressure to be like her in that way. I admire people who make their own brilliant and creative costumes, but up until now, that hasn't really been my style. I want to make things, but the lack of time and energy always interferes.

At the beginning of September, Penny declared she wanted to be a witch for Halloween, and I thought, "Yes!" because that's an easy costume to find — there are a plethora of witch costumes out there. But a couple of weeks later, she told me she wanted to be an owl. I'm not sure where that idea came from, but I kept asking her if she wanted to be a witch or an owl, and she was resolute in her owl decision. So I started looking online for costumes and ideas (and friends and family sent me links too), which yielded this and this and this. There were no aesthetically pleasing, ready made in-store owl costumes to be found. The Alphamom version was by far the most appealing to me, hence the decision to tackle it ourselves.

I wanted a mask with real feathers, and I felt that the costume needed some wings. So, I went to Michael's in search of feathers, a mask, and glue, and I went to JoAnn's for some fabric. I went with inexpensive fabric with patterns that I liked, although the old t-shirt idea from Alphamom is a good idea too. Then I found a black turtleneck and leggings in Penny's size (actually, I bought a size up, in case she wants to be an owl for a while).


I'll glue, you sew.

I used the template for the fabric feathers from the Alphamom link, enlarged it a wee bit, and printed it out. I spent a weekend cutting out fabric and gluing feathers onto the mask. One of the cats got the first version of the mask while we were out one day, because I stupidly didn't think to hide it. So, another weekend was spent fixing the cat-mangled mask. Meanwhile, Britt borrowed his mom's 1970s Singer sewing machine, and after swearing a bit, got it fired up and ready to go. He sewed the fabric feathers in rows and came up with the wings for the sleeves. He is THE MAN. I can't believe he remembers what he learned in Home Economics all those years ago. I certainly don't! What I remember is that I hate sewing!


Don't mess with a Teamster who can sew.

The last thing I had to do was make eyes out of crepe paper and tie the mask with elasticized string so it would fit on Penny's head. She wasn't too keen on wearing the mask at first, but caught the vision at her school's Trunk or Treat event.



My greatest fear while we labored on it was that no one would be able to tell what she was. In some ways, the costume looks like a raggedy Carmen Miranda ensemble. The mask has feathers and eyes, but otherwise isn't overly owl-like. But then a friend wisely pointed out that none of that was going to matter to Penny, because SHE would know that she's an owl. Thanks, Anabel. You're so right.


Apparently, people decorate their trunks for Trunk or Treat. Oops. We didn't have any creative energy left.

Of COURSE she's an owl! Penny adores her costume, and we've already gotten some mileage out of it. She wore it to dance class Tuesday, then to Trunk or Treat on Friday, and tomorrow her preschool is having a Halloween party, not to mention the Trick or Treating we'll be doing in our neighborhood. And it's a fitting outfit for her dress-up collection, which will accrue items as we take on projects like this from year to year.

I'm proud of our handiwork. We totally channeled my mom. And it was another reminder that Britt and I make a good team, that we can be crafty and creative together, and that we can divide and conquer. And the best part is, when people ask Penny if her mom made her costume, she says, "My mom AND dad made it." Huzzah!

Happy Halloween!

39 Months Old

Dear Penny,

You're 39 months old? Get out! I think you are also a smarty-pants. That's a good thing. Last summer, we told you that the annoying truck that drives around the neighborhood blasting music at unsafe levels was a "music truck," and whenever you'd hear it, you'd say, "There goes the music truck!" Well, yesterday, you saw it drive by while you were standing at the door and you could see the pictures of ice cream on the side. You exclaimed, "Hey! The 'music truck' is an ice cream truck!" There goes that illusion. I'm sorry we deceived you, but I can't support something that plays music (sometimes Christmas music, in the summer!) that loud through the neighborhood. Also, we have ice cream in the freezer.

You've picked up some of the expressions we say, much to my chagrin. The other day you informed me that you didn't want to wait to have a snack at home because "Our snacks at home are crappy!" When dad was teasing you the other night, you said, "You're killing me!" which is something he says. You say, "All. Right. FINE." And "Don't freak out." You have the attitude of a teenager, but at least you use these expressions in the appropriate context. I can't wait to hear what you pick up at school.

The bedtime ritual has gotten insanely long and drawn out. July was tough because in Utah, there are two holidays that involve excessive amounts of fireworks. The 4th, which the rest of the country celebrates, and the 24th, which signifies when the pioneers first came to the Salt Lake Valley. Anyway, this year, our state legislators (in their infinite wisdom) decided to pass a law allowing fireworks to be available for the whole month of July. So for many nights, the sounds of fireworks in the neighborhood kept you awake until 11:00 at night. So these days the ritual goes something like this: put on pajamas, brush your teeth, read a story, get a drink of water "from the fridgerator," get hugs from mommy, get hugs from daddy, turn out the lights, get another drink of water, ask to go potty, go potty, get back in bed, tell stories with daddy, and then another drink of water, or whatever other stalling tactic you can think of. I get a little exasperated because this all takes a while. But the stories you and Daddy make up are outrageously funny. Yours always start out like this: "Once about a time..." And Dad's stories make you giggle. I think this part of the bedtime ritual can stay.

You use the potty! I can't tell you how delighted we are. I'm sorry I complained about it so much, but I didn't think it would ever happen. You are a little gymnast! You are very skilled at balancing on the different balance beams. You try so hard in class and it makes me very proud. We are still working on not yelling and not having meltdowns about the little things. I'm not going to give up, because I think it might just be part of being three.

You are going to be a big sister! Yep. This has been a major development these past months. You came with me to the doctor and we heard the heartbeat of your little brother or sister. Sometimes you say you want a brother, and sometimes you say you'd like a sister. We won't know either way for a couple of weeks. But I want to tell you what a wonderfully, incredibly important thing it is to be a big sister. It's something your mom and dad decided we want you to experience. Our lives are going to change, again. And this time, you get to help us.

You and Daddy have been spending a lot of time together because I've been so busy and so tired. I went back school in June, so I've had homework and other obligations that interfere with some of our quality time together. I'm sorry about that too. You've handled it pretty well so far, and your dad has been helping a lot. I can't wait to be done, even though I just started. You have been a surprisingly good sport about all of this.

Even though you will be starting school next month, you will always be my baby. Even though you can put on some of your clothes by yourself and use the potty, you will always be my baby. Even though you're going to be a big sister, you will always be my baby. You will always be my baby.

Love,

Mom.

Our Little Gymnast

Since Penny doesn't have dance during the summer, I thought it might be fun to try gymnastics as a summer activity. I promise I'm not going all Tiger Mom on her. One of Penny's friends has been taking gymnastics for a while and she loves it, so I thought, why not find a way to stay active during the summer that doesn't involve fighting for space in the gross public pool?

We quickly discovered that the kids in the 3-5 year old class are expected to participate on their own with no parents present. The parents are banished to the foyer and watch the class through the glass windows. This was going to take some getting used to, because Penny takes a while to warm up to new people and new situations, and I would rather have her participate and have fun than refuse to do anything and waste everyone's time (and our money). Another discovery we made is that the teacher is not particularly warm and fuzzy, which is just her personality, although it doesn't make much sense to me, if your profession is teaching small children complicated skills. So let's just say that the first couple of classes were nothing short of disastrous. Penny refused to do anything unless I was in the room with her, helping her. She freaked out the first time the teacher touched her to assist with a maneuver, and had a complete meltdown when the teacher told her not to go in a certain direction and that she had to stay on the mats.

This is so much fun for everyone! After these classes, I really debated whether or not to keep going. Part of me thought, Hey, this is supposed to be a fun, positive experience, not a negative, stressful one. The teacher is kind of strict — It's not like this is Romania — I don't expect Penny to be a gold medalist or anything. I just want her to gain confidence and coordination. So I decided that quitting would send Penny the wrong message — when things are hard, just quit! When you have personality clashes with teachers, just walk away! No.

So, before the fourth class, we had a little chat. I said, it's the teacher's class, and you have to follow her rules. When she tells you what to do, you're not in trouble, you just have to do what she says. Followed by, "One of the rules is that the parents are supposed to watch from outside the class." To which Penny said, "Ok, Mama." And then she rehearsed this dialogue to herself as we drove to class. When we got there, she wouldn't go in the room without me, so I said, "I will go in with you, but you need to do everything yourself." And she did. And then, for the second part of class, I watched from the outside and she sweetly waved to me from the inside.

And do you know what? She CAN DO IT. She tried all the moves and let the teacher help her do somersaults. She rocks the balance beam! I watched her little face light up each time she did a dismount. And then I felt so ambivalent. I want her to do everything independently. But at the same time, it feels like the beginning of my obsolescence. I know that's really melodramatic. Of course she's always going to need me, but not for everything anymore. And that makes me proud and sad and happy all at the same time. I'm going to lose it when she starts school.

P.S. We are definitely doing gymnastics again next summer. And the teacher is really growing on me. I totally get why parents are supposed to stay out of the way; the kids do better without us.

Vacation, Had to Get Away

I can't believe the month of July almost escaped without a post. I have some pretty good excuses, though. One of them is that we went on vacation for two weeks at the end of June. When we got home, we had the post-vacation insanity of catching up on everything that went to hell while we were gone, like work and school (did I mention I'm back in school?). Oh, and I got horrendously sick during the last leg of the trip and needed a couple of days to recover. But the important thing is, we had an honest-to-god vacation, just the three of us.

Part One of our trip started out with Britt's family at a place called Six Lakes in Eastern Utah. We had never been there before, so we weren't sure what to expect. The high desert of Utah has a certain beauty - the cacti were pink and yellow and in full bloom. The sky was clear and blue. Lizards and rabbits were everywhere. Everything smelled like sage and juniper. We had bunk houses right on our own lake, so Penny got to have her first rowboat experience. Going out on the lake was a nice way to cool off, because it was hot out there. Six Lakes also has the distinction of being where Penny overcame her fear of pooping in the potty. I didn't think she would go for using strange toilets in strange locations, but she didn't have a single accident. Subsequently I showered her with candy.


Our bunkhouse.

Part Two of our trip was an adventure to the Oregon Coast. We went from the dry desert to the damp coast and saw a refreshing drop in temperature. It was wonderful. We rented a little beach house at Seal Rock and spent four days poking around tidepools, exploring different beaches, and checking out the aquarium. I hadn't been to Oregon in about 30 years. Britt visited the coast many times while he was growing up, so it was fun for both of us to relive some childhood memories and remind ourselves that there is still an ocean out there.


The view from the beach house.

Other notable successes during the trip:
1. Penny took off her shoes on the beach. It took a couple of days for her to warm up to the idea, but she finally got brave enough to try. And then she didn't want to put them back on.


Really getting into it.

2. Penny touched starfish. Last time we were in California, she was unwilling to touch the starfish in the exhibit at the Birch Aquarium. But this time, Britt found a little red one that was too cute to resist. After that, she touched as many as she could find.



3. We had a 15 hour drive to Oregon (twice - there and back), and Penny didn't have any accidents. And she was a pretty good sport, considering we were all sick of the car by the time vacation was over. Next time though, we're going to fly. That drive was ridiculous.

(There are more pictures on Flickr).

Things I have learned about my three year old (so far).

(She is almost as tall as our irises.)

1. The two year-old style "fits" have decreased, but the yelling in my face has increased. Now we have a "no yelling in my face" rule, which I never imagined I would have to create.

2. She is still extremely cautious, and embraces self-preservation. After we converted Penny's crib to a toddler bed, it took her a week to figure out that she could get out of it on her own. In the morning, if she wakes up before we do (e.g. weekends), she will call for me, and I will call back (from bed), "Come here." And then I can hear the tiniest creak of the floorboards, followed by the sound of her little feet on the floor, pum, pum, pum, pum, PUM! And then she's at my side of the bed, smiling in my sleepy, disheveled face.

3. She has a bladder of steel. We are deep in the throes of potty training, for real this time. Pull-ups have been banished and are only for sleeping. Underwear is in full effect. Accidents have been minimal, except that she hides in her closet to poop. In her underwear. Sigh. Anyway, the first couple of days she only peed a couple of times, so either she can hold it for a long time, or her bladder is incredibly strong, or using the potty is just that horrible.

4. Someday she will read this and be totally mortified by item #3. But I really couldn't be prouder. She even used the potty at Grandma's house today, which is a giant step. We are finally getting somewhere.

5. She adores her family. When I tell her that her Aunt M and Uncle P are coming over for dinner, she claps her hands and shouts, "They're part of my family!"

6. She is on our schedule; therefore we have created a monster. Britt and I stay up pretty late, (although it seems to be getting harder with age), and now so does Penny. We TRY to start the bedtime ritual by 8:30, but she's the queen of stalling. Even if we get her in bed by 9:00, she talks and sings to herself and carries on for an hour afterwards. Then I have to wake her up on the mornings I go to work, and it's not pleasant.

When Penny was two, I heard over and over that three is worse than two. I think we're doing ok. Some things have certainly improved, and others have sort of evolved, or devolved, for better or for worse. I could do without the yelling, but I appreciate the energetic attempt at communication. The bedtime routine could be faster, but at least she doesn't get out of her bed! So I'll just count my blessings, then.

Love Bites

So....the potty. Let's just say that progress has been slow, which isn't really anyone's fault (other than mine), because we are always going somewhere, every day, and we haven't been able to do anything consistently. Add to that recent trips to Lava Hot Springs and Las Vegas, and you can see why it's been easier for us to just let Penny wallow in pull-ups most days. We keep saying we're going to go cold turkey and buy the underwear and clean up messes for a few days. But I'm still trying not to make this too traumatic.

In my limited experience, children going through potty training fall into two (or three) camps: those who don't mind running around naked, those who also seem to be intrinsically rewarded by going potty on their own, and those who are motivated by tangible reinforcement of one kind or another (M&Ms, etc). My child does not fall into any of these categories. I have not been able to find a good motivator, not to mention the issues I have with food-based token reward reinforcement systems, but what's a parent to do? Some kids really love M&Ms. My kid loves fruit snacks, but not enough to sit on the toilet for one.


"I'm a Viking!"

We've (sort of) been using a sticker chart, and there are loads of stickers on the "I sat on the potty!" and "I washed my hands!" rows, but the lines about actually producing/flushing are completely bare. At first, Penny was really into collecting stickers on the lines, because it meant that when it was full, she could get a new dolly. But somewhere along the way, it lost its appeal.

We've been talking it up a lot, about how big girls use the potty, and we list all the big girls we know, and I'm sure Penny is sick of hearing about it. I'm sick of hearing myself; for all I know, I'm making her feel bad. I hear about kids who magically decide one day they want to use the bathroom and I want to believe that will happen, but it's hard to imagine, really. Do I keep pushing the issue, to let her know I'm serious about this? Do I leave it alone for a while? Why do I feel like I've tried everything AND nothing? ("We've tried nothing, and we're all out of ideas!")

Tonight, on a whim, I asked if she wanted to sit on the potty before she put her pajamas on, and she said she did. I gave her a stack of books, because she does her best reading on the toilet. When she finished the books she had, she asked me for more, and while I was in her room, she exclaimed, "I peed in the potty!" And she was right.

And there was much rejoicing.



After she was ready for bed, I was holding her on the couch, telling her how proud I was. Then, when I gave her an encouraging squeeze, SHE BIT ME. It was the slightest nip on my arm, but still. Before I even said anything, she knew she had made a mistake. But the crazy thing was, instead of making a scene, I went into this Zen mode (which surprised me) and said, calmly, "Biting is not nice. We don't bite anybody." In classic Penny Oh-Crap-I'm-In-Trouble-And-I'm-Embarrassed form, she shut down and started crying, although it didn't last long. She rushed through an (admittedly forced) apology, and then we headed for bed.

And then I remembered something that happened to me when I was little. My sister and I were brushing our teeth one night, and I must have done something incredibly snotty. In any case, my sister bit me right on my back, and I knew, even then, that I deserved it. So I told Penny that story and she was very intrigued. I explained that we were little and I made my sister mad and she didn't know how to tell me, so she bit me. Biting me wasn't right, but it also wasn't right for me to make her mad.

Anyway, after the lights were out and Penny was in her bed, she called me into her room a few minutes later.

Penny: "Mama, I need someping."
Me: "What do you need?"
Penny: "I need a drink of water."
Me: "Ok, but this is the last one."
Penny: "Ok."
(I give her the water, and a hug.)
Me: "I'm proud of you for going on the potty."
Penny: "I sorry I bit you, Mama."
Me: "Oh Honey, it's ok."

And she really meant it. Inside, I was turning cartwheels of joy because she had thought about it, and wanted to tell me.

So the moral is, potty training may result in frustration and biting. Great! I can't wait for tomorrow.

Artist at Work

The creative energy is flowing around here. I hope some of it rubs off on me.



"And sometimes I get hot and need some water and cool off."

The Binky's Demise

Ding, dong, the binky's dead! Which old binky? The bedtime binky! We are 100% binky free!

Wow, if I had known life without the binky would be this easy, I would have banished it ages ago. But I think a month of talking about being a big girl (and reading the book I made for her) really helped Penny to prepare for the inevitable. Nights have been a piece of cake, although the afternoon nap has been more of a battle, which is exactly the opposite of how I thought it would go.

When I told Penny that the binky was gone, she was sad. She was beyond sad, she was visibly aggrieved. And I was sad too, I truly was, because the whole thing had been my fault to begin with. I'm the one who got her hooked on it in the first place, and I'm the one who didn't take it away sooner. I'm the one who had to devise a cunning plan to be rid of it, who compiled advice (solicited and otherwise) and gathered enough ideas to fill a tome, something I'll call "The Big Book of Binky Extraction."

But Penny's binky grief ended when she realized it was nap time, and thus decided to spend her energy negotiating for more play time. Ordinarily, she would have been won over by one satisfying binky, but now that my ace in the hole (pardon the expression) was gone, I was not prepared to deflect the relentless stalling techniques of my toddler. I had no idea she was so crafty! She pulls out all the stops when it's time to lie down, and it almost works, until I remember that I am actually still the boss around here. I hate those little spells of amnesia.

That first day was hard, I won't lie. There was screaming, 40 whole minutes of howling, "5 more minutes! 5 more minutes! Mama! Mama!" during which I went in her room (and stood at her doorway) several times to remind her that it was, in fact, nap time. I know she was mad because she didn't want to nap, but I think there was also some underlying anger about the binky's demise, anger she couldn't put into words ("You're a monster, mother!"). Furthermore, it is my observation that there is a relationship between the actual need for a nap and the resistance a child puts up, which is to say, the more Penny needs a nap, the harder she tries to convince me she doesn't need one.

The next day, there were 10 minutes of furious anger, followed by 1 minute of minor fussing on the third day. Meanwhile, night time has been considerably easier, in fact, I think she sleeps better without the binky at night, because she doesn't wake up and wonder where it's gone off to. And better yet, she doesn't wake me up to help her find it in the dark. The first night, instead of crying out for the binky, she woke to report, lucidly, that the cat was being "really silly," then she rolled over and went back to sleep. And she's slept all night since.



And now, Penny tells me, "Binky all gone. I a big girl now." It's her mantra. And it sort of makes me want to cry. Because if I had my druthers, she could keep the damn binky, if she would stay little forever.

Various things that start with "P."

Here it is, my first obsessive post about potty training. I can't remember how long ago I bought a little potty chair for Penny, but it's been in our bathroom for months, and I guess I was hoping she would just learn how to use it on her own, by simple observation. Here's another thing: I dislike the word "potty." But I don't know what else to call it, and I haven't come up with a better word for it, and now Penny says it, and here we are, beginning our first earnest attempts to potty train, although I also dislike the verb "train" as it pertains to my child, and I fully expect this to be an arduous process.



By the way, Flotsam has a hilarious post about the potty nomenclature, which generated many comments from people who shared their potty training experiences. I haven't read all the comments because I was too overwhelmed.

And here's why it's going to take a long time: Because it has to be Penny's idea. Not just Penny's, any kid's. I have heard horrific tales of kids resisting the well-intentioned pressure of their parents, of early successes totally backfiring later, of kids holding it in because it has to be their idea, not a grown-up's, to go in the socially acceptable receptacle. At Penny's annual check-up, I asked my doctor for some advice, and she reinforced the notion that kids will do it when they're ready. Some are ready at 2 years old, some are 3, but sooner or later, everyone gets it.

Hoo, and there are so many different philosophies and strategies! Some kids just run around naked all the time (which might be easier now that it's summer), and eventually get tired of having pee running down their legs, so that's motivating enough, I suppose. But that involves cleaning up lots of messes, which doesn't thrill me. Some people keep the potty in the play area, or wherever their child spends a lot of time, which I also don't love, because I think the bathroom should stay in the bathroom. Some kids are easy to bribe, and some kids aren't. Some people favor a little seat on the big toilet, so there isn't anything extra to clean, while others prefer the portability of a potty chair. Sheesh, I had no idea this would be so complicated.

But I'm posting about this because today, we had our first potty success, and that made me unbelievably proud. For months, Penny has been sitting, but not doing anything, and not really sitting long enough to do anything, and really just running back and forth, sitting for one second on the potty, then standing, running down the hall, running back, and closing the door, shouting, "I going potty!" x100. (This prompted a doorknob change because we were worried she was going to lock herself in). But today, when she got up from her nap, her diaper was pretty dry, so I figured, let's give this a try, and I gave her some reading material, and she sat long enough for the magic to happen. And we laid the praise on soooo thick, she was very pleased and we were pleased, and we said, let's see if she'll do it again! Two accidents later, and she was a bit unnerved and requested her diaper. "Oh, no!" Penny exclaimed, worried. So. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow.


Reading, the ultimate motivation.

It's going to be hard not to pressure her too much. It's also going to be hard for me to persist, in a consistent fashion, because that takes a certain amount of energy and each day is a little different schedule-wise. But, I figure we'll go slow, provide ample opportunities, celebrate the successes, and follow her lead. Sounds good enough, anyway. "Process" is another word that starts with P. And if none of that works, I guess I can always make another book.

Binkies and Existential Crises.

Putting mommy's drawing skills to the test.

Before he went to work the other morning, Britt came into our room while I was still sleeping and whispered, "I don't mean to alarm you, but our baby is gone. She's been replaced by a toddler who grew 4 inches last night and now she's all legs." And he's right. We don't have a baby anymore, we have a little kid. A kid who likes to water the plants in the garden and who reads books to her dollies, who pretends to cook hot dogs in her little kitchen and says, "Careful mommy, it hot!" A kid who says, "Hey mama!" And when I say, "What?" She says, "I want to hold you."

A kid who no longer has a binky in the car, and we're gunning for the bedtime binky next. Do you hear me binky? You're next.

Here's the scoop on the cunning binky plan. At my place of employment, some of the kids use "social stories," which are a way for children to learn about a particular social situation, or to be more prepared for an upcoming event, or to learn a certain routine. In extreme cases, they are used to change a target behavior. I'm not a psychologist, but I know Penny loves books, and she loves to look at pictures of herself, so I got to thinking: What if I wrote (and illustrated) a book about a girl named Penny who becomes a big girl and doesn't need her binky anymore?

Let's just say I've spent many nights working on this, and it's finally done. But before I finished, I had a small existential crisis. What effect will the book have? Will it prepare Penny for the impending loss of the bedtime binky? Will it be a self-fulfilling prophecy, or will it merely be an amusing cautionary tale with no lasting effect whatsoever on my child?


That bike was really hard to draw.

Then there was the small problem of the plot. I knew the beginning and the end, but I wasn't sure what should happen to the binky, since I hadn't done anything about the binky myself. I was sort of hoping the book would magically solve that problem for me.

And then I didn't have to wait for inspiration. Because last week, the car binky became so disgusting, I had to throw it away. I was driving when I heard a slurping sound, something that sounded like Penny sipping through the straw in her cup. But when I looked in the mirror, she wasn't drinking from her cup. That hideous sound was coming from the binky. She had chewed a tiny hole in it, thereby compromising the plastic, and her spittle had collected in the bottom. That sound was the spittle being sucked in and out. BLECH.

That's it, I thought. That's just too gross. So when she wasn't looking, I pitched it. The next day, when we got in the car, she started looking for it. "You find it!" she said, panicked and angry. She asked if it was in the backpack, and I said no. I said, "The binky was gross and yucky, and it's all gone now." She was a little sad, but recovered once I started playing her current favorite song ("Sevens" by They Might Be Giants).

Then she said, "Car binky gross-y. White binky in house." And I could see her practically sighing with relief, because her beloved bedtime binky was still safe. Curse you, you clever two year old, you've got me there. It sure is, but not for long. Penny's done phenomenally well without car binky. She's talking more while we drive around, she sings more to the music, and life has been great. The white binky might be a little harder to get over, since that (theoretically) helps her sleep, but I am encouraged by our first step toward our binky-free life.



My sister kindly laminated and bound my book for me, and I plan to give it to Penny tomorrow. I suspect she'll want to read it a lot, and I hope it will prepare her for the next step. Stay tuned.

The Duck Party

I'm having one of those evenings where I have so many ideas, but instead of doing anything productive, I just want to lie down instead. I realized I never raved about Penny's awesome 2nd birthday party, which was the origin of the fabulous bike (trike). Also, even before Penny turned two, I came up with a cunning plan to address the binky, but I am sorry to say the plan has yet to be implemented. I'm working on it, really. Tomorrow is her 2 year check-up, so I'm sort of hoping to avoid the binky topic altogether, assuming my doctor doesn't notice my shifty eyes, which may betray me.

Anyway, the party. This year I wanted to keep things simple, so I wouldn't feel like pulling out all of my hair. This is a tricky thing. On one hand, I like parties, and we rarely throw them at our house, because we prefer to go to other people's parties. On the other hand, Penny will likely not remember a birthday party at her age. So what's a parent to do? Go all out and go crazy, or keep it low-key? I tried to shoot for a happy medium, because we still like a good party.

I chose a duck theme, because Penny is rather partial to ducks, and many of the songs she likes involve ducks in some way. I also decided to include an end-time for the party, so people wouldn't feel obligated to stay late, and so we wouldn't feel like we had to put on an epic bash. We invited friends who also had children, as well as Penny's family. I wanted Penny to have ample opportunities to play with other kids, seeing as how it was actually her party. I bought a little bubble machine (which sort of worked), and provided kazoos and other musical instruments for the kids, and we played a few rounds of Ring-Around-The-Rosy, Penny's favorite. We also borrowed the slide from Penny's Grandparents' backyard. Fortunately, the weather was good. No freak snowstorms! We would have been utterly screwed if we'd had to move the party indoors!



The crowning achievement was something I didn't even do. A friend of ours offered to make a cake for Penny. I told her we were going for a duck theme, with rubber duckies and kazoos as party favors. This is what she made:



Holy crap. I never could have made this. Now the bar has been raised! And it was tasty, to boot!



Our friends gave generously to Penny. She still hasn't caught the vision of politely opening everyone's presents and thanking them before playing with her new things. In fact, I ended up opening many gifts for her, because she was busy trying to play with whatever had been opened previously. I felt lame doing that, but I didn't want the present-opening to drag on too long. Hopefully next year, she'll have learned some more gift-opening etiquette.

Then came the fabulous trike. Penny had been admiring (and trying to take turns with) her friends' tricycles for the past couple of months, so her Grandparents bought her one of her own. It's very pink, and Penny loves it. I like it too, because now instead of the stroller, we can take the trike to the park. I can walk and get my exercise, and Penny can ride. I can usually coax her into doing a whole lap by rewarding her with the swings afterwards.



It's still a challenge for me to be a good hostess. I never get to talk to friends as much as I want to. I had hoped to play more games with the kids, but I ended up letting everybody do their own thing, instead of being the task master. In the end, Penny blew out her candles to a chorus of "Happy Birthday" hummed on kazoos, so I'd call that a success.

Meanwhile, the cunning binky plan is related to the trike, so when that transpires, I will divulge more.

A World of No

Lately I feel like a very negative person. I am constantly saying, "No" to my child. No, you can't climb on that. No, you can't have another cookie. No, we aren't going to the park. No, we're not reading that book again, it's time for bed. Sorry, you HAVE to brush your teeth. What a drag mommy is!

I'm trying to maintain my tenuous grasp on authority, which can be hard with a little Napoleon running around, competing for control. I'm the boss, and while we have a lot of fun, there's a limit to the fun, which is kind of depressing. It's a delicate balance. I don't want to fall into that trap of trying to be so cool and fun that all of the rules go out the window, and then suddenly I have a teenager getting into lots of trouble. But I don't want to sweat the small stuff, either.

Determining what is and isn't a big deal can be tricky. Playing with daddy for a few more minutes before bed? Not a big deal. Giving into obvious stalling attempts at bedtime, like extra drinks of water, or reading the same book 5 times? Slightly bigger deal. Demanding cookies before dinner? I don't think so.

Penny also thinks that if she says "please," especially in a cute or sorrowful way, then whatever she wants is a gimme. And she can be very hard to resist.



See?

Strangely, we haven't had any Time Out Situations for a while, and I'm not sure if it's because Penny hasn't felt like testing her limits lately, or if she's been able to communicate better, or what. She has thrown a couple of fits, but they don't last long. She pitched a fit today while we were at a friend's house, because she wanted to play with a jumper that was in pieces. I wasn't going to put it together (and she's probably too big for it anyway). She was very angry at me and there were tears, and then she was laughing and smiling again. But I can't shake the ominous feeling that the tantrums will only increase...

Penny is surprisingly obedient, for the most part. She doesn't stray away from me when we are out. She stays in the bathroom with me while I take a shower. My mom used to say that she never had to worry about me getting into too much trouble as a baby. She would say, metaphorically of course, that if I were put in a room with broken glass, that I wouldn't touch it. Penny is the same way - she's not very impulsive and her sense of self-preservation outweighs her curiosity. But she never wants to put her coat on. If I want her to run in the opposite direction, all I have to do is say, "It's time to put on your coat!"

Meanwhile, here are some other observations from the week:
1. Washable markers are a marvelous invention. Penny loves to color, preferably with markers, and as a result, she now knows 8 colors. She needs help getting the lids on and off, but she will ask me for the color she wants, so I can help her with the lid. She's pretty good about staying on the paper, but when she's not, that's where the washable part comes in. Brilliant.

2. Mr. Potato Head rules.

3. Every girl needs a couple of little cars. Penny has a friend who has lots of cars and trucks, and now Penny is interested in cars. I think that's a good thing, so I let her pick out a couple of Hot Wheels, and I even got one for myself.

4. Songs by They Might Be Giants are still entertaining. I have been stuck on this one for days:



Penny likes it too.

Feelings

"Ing. Whee!"

A few months ago, I read an article about Emotional Quotient (EQ), which is like IQ, but pertains to the emotional side of intelligence and cognition. In other words, Emotional Intelligence is one's ability to assess and manage one's emotions, and some argue it might be more important than IQ. I am certainly not an expert in this area, and it is a facet of psychology that is not free from criticism. However, it seems rather important (to me) for a child to be sensitive about others' feelings and to be able to express how they are feeling themselves.

Penny has been thinking a lot about feelings lately. She used to laugh if she saw another kid crying or yelling or expressing an emotion, because it was unexpected, and (probably) genuinely funny. But now, if she overhears a baby crying, she says, with wide eyes, "Baby crying? Sad?" We were walking through a parking lot and overheard a woman yelling angrily into her cell phone. Penny looked at me for an explanation, and I told her the woman was mad. She thought about that for a little while, furrowed her brow, and said, "Mad." She saw a kid run into his sister with a shopping cart at the store, and overheard him apologize, saying it was an accident. So Penny has reviewed that incident several times at home, saying, "Elbow, cart. I sorry, ah-ee-dent."

She's also been giving human characteristics to inanimate objects. She grouped her blueberries together while she was eating them, saying the big blueberry was the daddy, and they were "walking" to the corners of her tray, because they were going "home." Later, she had two spoons, which were "dancing" and then "sleeping."

Anthropomorphism is not unfamiliar territory for me. As a child, I used to feel sorry for garbage in the trash, wondering if the discarded things were lonely in the bin. At restaurants, I used to pretend the salt and pepper shakers were getting married (the bride being the salt, obviously). This trait runs strongly in my family, so I suspect Penny has inherited the propensity for it. Or maybe she has a really good imagination? Maybe it is the same thing.

This may be related to the inordinate amount of time she has devoted to playing with her "House," which is the Fisher Price house my sisters and I had when we were little. I love that house. The garage door raises up and the doorbell is a little bell that really dings. Penny's little family of cats has moved in, so they have crazy adventures every day (which mostly involve sleeping and waking up), and I have to pry Penny from it to get her ready for bed.


Best toy ever, brought to you by the 1980s.

Other amusing things overheard this week:

"Oh, maaan!" (Heard at least 100 times).
"I hiding!"
"Ah want more cereal. Put milk in it."
"Uv you, mama."

It's getting really fun around here, and it almost makes me want to have another kid. Almost.

Discovery

This week we had an adventure at the Children's Museum with Penny's cousin. Minus 100 points for me for forgetting to bring my camera. But, it was really fun. My hat's off to Penny, I think her attention span is longer than mine. She spent ages in one place and didn't want to move onto the next exhibit, even though I was ready to. I just wanted her to have the chance to see everything! Ooh, Penny! Look over here! Penny, look at this! Earth to Mom: Follow Penny's lead.

When you first walk in, there's an exhibit called "The Garden" where kids can put balls in tubes, some of which are pneumatic, so you can watch the balls get sucked into the air. Penny LOVED it. But suddenly, we were surrounded by hordes of noisy children carrying balls and clamoring for the tubes and I started to get claustrophobic. One child fell over and knocked Penny down, who knocked another kid down, and it almost resulted in a baby domino catastrophe. I hastily plucked her out of the pile of children and we moved on to the next part, before she could protest too much.

The next part was amazing. The "Kid's Eye View" has a construction site, a house, a grocery store, and a farm, where kids can play to their hearts' content. Penny found a baby doll in the house and she pushed it around in a little stroller for the duration of our visit. I tried to direct her attention to the other parts of the museum, but she wouldn't have it.

Me: "Penny, do you want to go to the store?"
Penny: (pushing the stroller) "No."
Me: "Ooh, we can put things in the cart!"
Penny: (walking away) "No."
Me: "Penny, do you want to see the farm?"
Penny: (pushing faster) "No."
Me: "We can walk dollies at home!"

At one point, I wasn't sure she would leave the baby doll behind, and I wasn't looking forward to the impending discussion about how that baby wasn't ours and that it had to stay at the museum. Fortunately, she left it behind long enough to climb on something, and when we turned around, another child had absconded with the stroller. Whew, dodged that bullet.

My favorite part was the little mouse hole inside the play house, where you can peek inside and see a tiny mouse hideout with tiny mouse loot. Penny and her cousin also liked the little bird house, which had two toddler-sized couches and a play kitchen. They might have moved in permanently, if given the chance.

Little did we know, we chose an insanely busy day to go. We thought schools were still in session, but some kids were on break and others were there for a field trip. The noise was tremendous and we didn't even make it to the second level before both girls were overstimulated and cranky. So, we had some lunch and went home for a nap. Discovery is exhausting! Let's go again!

Off to a Good Start

2010 is already off to a great start. We've painted, we made up a new joke, and we've had our first Time Out.

Penny likes crayons and will use pencils and pens to draw (in the absence of crayons), but we branched out this weekend and tried the paints we got from our friends for Xmas.

The artist at work:


I think she's a natural.


Penny will now repeat anything we say, including "Dude," "Oh, Good God," and "Whoa, Mama!" In our efforts to curb the amount of swearing around here, I said something nonsensical, which she thought was hilarious, so I continued:

Me: "Oh, Griddlecakes!"
Penny: (Laughing hysterically). "More?"
Me: "Oh, Hammerpants!"
Penny: (Laughing). "More?"
Me: "Oh, Poodlefluff!"
Penny: (Giggling). "More?"

And we went on like that. But later, she thought it was funny to hit Daddy, and when I was getting her ready for bed, she kicked me in the solar plexus, and kicked me AGAIN, even after I told her not to. After the third strike, Time Out ensued.

It shouldn't surprise you to know that I had been reading up on this so I would be fully prepared for a Time Out Situation (TOS). Britt and I discussed it ahead of time and we decided we didn't want the time out location to be in her room, or in her bed. We decided the best place would be to have her sit against the wall in the living room, away from anything that might be tempting to play with. I said, "You're going to time out because you kicked Mommy," had her sit in the designated spot, and watched the clock for 1 minute. We gave her our most serious and stern faces to show we weren't kidding. She was quite entertained by the notion of sitting against the wall and saw fit to giggle through the whole minute. When time out was over, we continued getting ready for bed, and guess what happened? She KICKED ME and she LAUGHED.

So. Time Out #2 ensued, with a stern lecture about how it wasn't funny, not funny AT ALL. We don't kick, because that hurts and it isn't nice. Oh, but Penny thought it was highly amusing. Time Out #2 ended (we went for 2 minutes this time, because she is almost 2 years old), I proceeded to put on Penny's pajamas, when she KICKED ME AGAIN.

Time Out #3 was swiftly executed, with Britt and I busying ourselves in the room, ignoring the giggling toddler who was really enjoying this new spot on the floor. Fortunately, she did not kick me again. But when I was getting her tooth brush ready, I noticed she left her room and was sitting in the Time Out Spot of her own volition, merrily kicking her feet and talking to herself. It's her new favorite spot. Oh, we are so screwed.

I have to admit, I almost laughed during Time Out #1, because she was so entertained by our feeble attempt at punishment, and our little troublemaker looked so cute sitting there. See? That's how they get you. Britt and I looked at each other and read each other's minds. We couldn't laugh or show any signs of weakness. We were SERIOUS, dammit. But the second and third times, it wasn't funny, and it made me realize this discipline thing isn't going to be easy.

It's going to be a long year. When does old fashioned guilt start working?

'Tis the Season

Best. Christmas. Ever.

This year, I truly felt like Santa, and that was an incredible feeling. I wonder if this is how my parents felt when we were kids? Because this is pretty damn fun. When I was little, I remember lying in my bed, too excited to sleep, watching the numbers on the clock. In the morning, I would run past the living room, covering my eyes, trying my best not to peek at the presents Santa left out so I could see if my sisters were awake, so we could all be surprised together.

This Christmas Eve, I went to bed feeling tired but excited, much like I felt as a child, lying there, too wound up to sleep. When Penny woke up in the morning, she was surprised (and a little baffled) by what was waiting for her:


(Note: The toy box is a present from Santa to ME.)

Penny's too young to understand that Santa brings presents - right now, she knows he has a beard and looks a little like Opa, but he's otherwise a scary stranger. But next year, she might be ready for the whole Santa thing. And as fun as that is, I hope she won't be too disappointed later, once she is old enough to know the whole story. As an 8 year old, I remember feeling disillusioned when I discovered the truth. And disillusionment is a strong emotion.

Now that I'm a parent, I can understand why traditions are passed on. I want Penny to feel the same level of excitement I felt when I was little, waiting for morning to come, running to wake my sisters, so we could empty our stockings and read our notes from Santa, who always wrote something sweet, who seemed to know us so well. And I want the same for Penny, not just so I can relive those feelings from my childhood (which is nice and all), but so the creation of those magical moments can continue, for a little while.

All of the Santa stuff aside, this is the time of year when we can eat, drink, and be merry. Our family was all together, and Penny made out like a bandit. We were also able to catch up with some friends we haven't seen for a while, which is always a good thing.

I always feel sad when Christmas ends. It's a lot more fun to decorate the tree than it is to take it down. The Christmas hype begins in October, but ends promptly once the last present is unwrapped. Compared to the frivolity of December, January seems like "the New Cruelty," as a friend of ours just said today. But we'll leave the tree up a while longer, because that's another family tradition.

Must Be Santa

Ok, so I'm officially in a Christmas-y state of mind. Last week, Britt phoned from the local Union office to say there were still kids in need of presents on the Angel Tree. One of them was a 2 year old boy who needed diapers and a ball. That alone almost made me cry. But there was also a 5 year old girl who wanted a baby doll. How could we not help her?

We've donated to charities in the past, but this year, I felt an urgency to help that I haven't felt before. Maybe it's because I thought about a little boy about Penny's age who didn't have a ball to play with. So Penny and I went to the toy store, and Britt contacted his co-workers to see if anyone could donate to the cause. He had pledges of $60 by the end of the day, and with money from us and Penny's grandma (who also felt compelled to help), we were able to get several things.

I'm not writing this to brag or increase my sense of self-importance. I'm writing because it felt good and important to help, and we didn't do it alone. In a way, I felt guilty for not doing something like this sooner, back when Britt and I were both working full time and theoretically had more money.

Meanwhile, in my quest to find dolls, I was overwhelmed by the girls' section at the toy store. It's a plethora of neon pink and purple and glitter and it's frightening. Penny's eyes widened as we walked down the aisles, because a new world was opened to her - a world of Barbies and Ponies and Princesses. I walked quickly and tried not to linger too long over anything, and then I felt like a hypocrite, trying to protect Penny from this world. Because I had Barbies and Ponies growing up and half of my life was spent dreaming of being a princess. It's inevitable. And then I rebelled against the princess mentality, so hopefully that's inevitable too.

Can I tell you a secret? Shh, don't tell Penny, but I can't wait for her to open her present from Santa:

(Image from HearthSong).

Wow, speaking of pink...
I ordered this from Hearth Song. Penny loooves babies. She still lugs my old Cabbage Patch doll around, like a cavewoman dragging her prey back to her lair, and still whacks herself in the face with its large plastic head, so this one will be more proportional. And she can put little Penelope Peapod in her basket/bed, which cinches up to allow for easy carrying.

I can't wait!

But that's another interesting thing. Why does Penny love babies so much? She gravitates to her dolls a lot more than any of her other toys. I'm not ready to propose that gender roles are totally innate, but it will be intriguing to see how her interests evolve. How much will she be effected by me, in an effort to share with her all of the toys I loved as a child (Barbies and Ponies and Legos included)? What limits will I impose? That she can have a Barbie, but it has to be the one most sensibly dressed?

Let's just take it one Xmas at a time.