Sleepy Nap

Jul. 31st, 2011 09:54 pm
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
Morning:

Charlie: (loud screechy noises, just because)
Me: Oh, quiet sweetie, Daddy is sleeping.
Charlie: Daddy take sleepy nap?
Me: that's right, he's having a sleepy nap. Let's leave him alone so he can sleep.
Charlie: Okay Mommy! (studiously avoids the hall by our bedroom, lets Mike sleep).

Afternoon:

Charlie: Where Mommy?
Mike: Mommy's taking a nap, Charlie. Let's be quiet so she can sleep.
Charlie: Mommy sleeping? Mommy take nap?
Mike: That's right.
Charlie: MOMMY! MOMMY! (runs into bedroom, leaps into bed next to me)
Charlie: Mommy take nap? I want blanket! I lie down! What doing, Mommy?
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
Dear little boy,

1. I dislike it extremely when someone pries my mouth open, be it you, the dentist, or shadowy figures in dreams. Knock it off.

2. Apropos of which, that Tums I just stuck in my mouth is MINE and you can't have it, no matter how much you think Tums are yummy or how hard you try to retrieve it. You are on Prevacid now, and I am not. MY TUMS CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
Sometimes - most of the time - it's lovely that my son sees me as the prime mover of his universe.  Other times - today particularly - it's not so lovely. 

I really am not the reason your stomach has an owie, sweetie, and I actually do have to pee occasionally, and it is genuinely not my fault that there was no choo-choo on the way to school today.  And smacking me upside the head or clinging to my legs while emitting piercing sounds of woe won't change any of those things.
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
...when we take Charlie for an assessment in May

1. Can you really say that a child has poor fine-motor skills if he's able to take his mother's earbuds and plug them into a wall socket without electrocuting himself?

2. When he has a tantrum at day care in which he pulls off his diaper and pees on his pants, is this his way of signalling readiness to potty-train?

3. Since the "drowsy" class of anti-allergy drugs make him psycho, how will he be affected by the "psycho" class of anti-allergy drugs (particularly singulair)?  Will they cause him to enter a state of zenlike calm, or will he be exponentially psycho? 

4. How do you give a time-out to a kid who weighs 39 pounds and doesn't effing want to sit on your stupid effing stool, mommy raaargh raaargh raaargh 

5. Why does he screech and complain when I put a wee bit of vaseline on his rashy face, but if left alone with the container will proceed to coat his entire person in squishy petrolium by-product, particularly HIS HAIR OH COME ON WHY ALWAYS THE HAIR? 

6. Why are binkies so much more awesome than chewy tubes? Because chewy tubes are apparently utter ass, and will be thrown across the room at every opportunity.

7. When he is strung out on allergy medicines, he tries to angrily bite me during tantrums. When he is medicine-free and therefore mild-mannered and mostly tantrumless, he playfully tries to bite me in a friendly way.  What is up with that? Does he think he's a puppy?

8. When I remove myself from the hitting zone during a tantrum, I go behind a door and hold it mostly-closed with my foot while he reaches his hand through the opening, claws at the air, tries to push the door open, and makes ragey noises of biting while he tries to bite the door. Considering his speech delay, how difficult would it be to teach him to say "brrraaaainnns!" during these tantrums?
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
Even though Charlie is not unwell today, he has designated today as an official Mommy mommy mommy mommy oh god don't leave me mommy mommy day.

Apparently he didn't get the memo that this was already designated as a Mommy gets to take a break day.

On the other hand, he is fine with me doing my own thing as long as I stay near him, so I've been able to read a lot of Among Others while he plays choo-choos and whatnot. And we have hopes that he will be able to let me out of his sight later when Mike's brother will be coming over to help entertain him.

What's funny is that part of me craves exactly this--the whole obliteration of my own identity into mommyhood--at the same time as knowing it's unhealthy and that the lack of me-time is making me cranky and depressed. I don't know if this is because of infertility and all that time spent yearning for a child, or if its that I'm ambivalent about the rest of my identity (writer-artist-survivor of various things) and would rather shelve it in favor of mommyhood, which I have fairly simple feelings about.
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
I just finished ordering new shoes, shirts, and pants for Charlie, because he is outgrowing all the stuff he has now, including his current shoes which I just bought in September. All the clothes I just ordered are a size 4-fucking-T, y'all. WTF!! He is 2 and a half!

Not to mention I also just bought him a new snow suit set and new boots, despite having already bought him a perfectly nice set of all that LAST winter. JEEZ
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
Today when Charlie woke up from his nap, I went in to check on him as usual. He was playing with trains on his bed (as usual). I had been doing dishes, so I was wearing a frilly apron over my jeans and tee shirt, as one does. As soon as I sat down in the chair in his room he got up and started yanking on my apron.

Me: uppy? You want to get on my lap?
Charlie: no! [yank yank]
Me: you want me to take this off?
Charlie: yah. [waits patiently]
Me: okay, here you go. [takes off apron, hands it to Charlie]
Charlie: [flings apron onto floor, goes back to playing with trains]

Santa

Dec. 3rd, 2010 01:23 pm
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)

So, I was raised without Santa, because my parents didn't want to tell us a lie and also wanted us to be properly grateful to the people who actually gave us gifts, rather than to an imaginary dude.  I was fine with this; I've never felt wistful or anything about how other people grew up with Santa and I didn't. 

Now that I have my own child, I have to get on board with this Santa concept, since it's sentimentally important to my husband and all the other kids are doing it, etc.  We're only going to give Charlie one Santa-sourced present a year, at least for now--small stuff will come from us, stuff from friends & family will come from friends & family, and the Big Toy of the year will come from Santa.  That's the plan, anyway.

I'm still working out how we're going to play this, though.  Right now Charlie is a fairly new talker, and isn't going to understand what the hell we're on about anyway, so this year is not a big deal.  Maybe we'll watch that Rudolph movie with the misfit toys? Except IIRC Santa is kind of a dick in that one.  Anyway, my concern is that I try to never lie to Charlie--misdirect a bit, sure, but I try to be a truthful person and I really want to be honest with him.  (To the point that I kind of pissed off a nurse at the doctor's office one time when we were about to do a procedure he really hates and I said "okay, you're not going to like this...")  At the same time, I think fantasy is fine, and I do encourage fantasy--for example, I tell him that his plush dinosaur is his friend and that it will watch over him while he's sleeping.  So I have to figure out how to present Santa as a pleasant fantasy and not as a Truth, without at the same time giving so much of a wink that I make it obviously a Lie.

My brother has an interesting way of dealing with this with his kids--when they ask him for specifics about Santa, he asks them "well, what do you think? (what do you think his house is like, how do the reindeer know where to go, etc)" and they always have an answer, because they've been thinking about it.

The other thing that puzzles me is how to ultimately tell your kid that you've been lying about Santa being real, but still convince them that you've been telling the truth (the truth of your heart, anyway) about God being real.  I guess it boils down to the difference between lies and shared fantasies. If Charlie ends up deciding that faith is fantasy, I'll be okay with that, whereas if he feels that it's all a lie, I'd feel that I had failed to convey something crucial.

Last nerve

Sep. 18th, 2010 04:14 pm
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
Somebody is getting called "Charles" a lot today.

"Charles Nelson Jialin" has not been busted out yet, but I suspect that it will be before bedtime.
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (charlie-laugh2)
Here's a video demonstrating the creepiness of the Leapfrog laptop.

Charlie loves it even more now that I've set it up to say his name, of course. 


Link here for those who prefer non-embedded vids.
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (charlie-washcloth)
I have a big red scratch right in the middle of my upper chest, that shows I have been a BAD MOMMY.  

What did I do wrong?  Well, I failed to prevent Charlie from 1. cutting molars 2. having a sore throat 3. being constipated 4. having a fever. Clearly these things are MY FAULT so I must be not only punished but BRANDED.  At least, I assume that is why he spent 10 minutes alternately hugging me and scratching the shit out of me.  

Poor little lamb is sleeping now, thank goodness. *goes to pet sleeping Charlie*
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
We watch Little Bear around here with distressing regularity. Normally it's non-offensive and fairly entertaining--Little Bear spends most of his time in a haze of imaginary nonsensical adventures, and then at the end there is cake or pie. I ignore the little things that nag at me, like, what was Mother Bear's name before she became a mother? Was it just "Bear?" And why is there only one set of grandparents, who look like an exact older version of the parents? Are they Mother Bear's parents or Father Bear's? Or both? And why does a bear who makes his living as a fisherman wear a 3-piece suit in his spare time? Why is Little Bear's uncle named "Rusty" when everyone else has a name like "Duck" or "Owl?"

Anyway, generally we enjoy the show and it's free from the annoying lesson-slinging of Chuggington (one repeated lesson from Chuggington: when you ignore your orders and fuck up, get your friends to help fix it, and then the authority types won't have to find out. W. TF.) and don't even get me started about Ni-Hao Kai Lan; they seriously added extra chairs to MUSICAL FUCKING CHAIRS y'all, so nobody would be left out. No I am not kidding.

Ok so today we're watching Little Bear fly a kite. And he imagines the kite going all over the world. So then we see what he imagines (it's like Scrubs, only with bears and ducks etc.). Kite goes to France-looking place, and children look up at it and wave. Kite goes to Africa-looking place and...animals look up at it. OH COME ON NOW! Finally it goes to China (Great Wall, check) and encounters a fancy Chinese kite, without seeing anyone flying it. End of fantasy.

So: France, people; Africa, animals; China, uh...manufactured paper arts?
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (charlie-laugh)
Apparently there is no such thing as a small birthday party for a little boy around here.  We like throwing parties and inviting basically whoever feels like coming, but we're seriously exhausted so we decided to keep it small and kid-focused for this occasion. Just family and Charlie's nearby friends.  Somehow "small" is turning out to be Mike's mom and brother, 6 other adults, and kids ages 6, 4, 3, 3, 2, and <1

Fortunately we have a place nearby that delivers big trays of chicken & mosticcolli, and Mike took yesterday off of work to set up a canopy/gazebo thing on the patio so we can turn the kids loose to play in the yard and all hide from the sun and drink under the canopy.   Hopefully Charlie will have a good time even though he can't eat cake (I'll make him a pudding/whipped cream parfait thing and get cupcakes for everyone else)and won't really understand the birthday thing--he loves other kids, and there are only two in this bunch that he hasn't played with before, so I think it will be fun for him.  (Definitely more fun than last year, when he was sick and we had to cancel).  I am already picturing myself running around like a crazed chicken, but with luck we'll get everything done in time (party is Saturday afternoon) and I can sneak in a little sit-down before things get started.

(And in the midst of all this, I MUST remember that Sunday is Father's day! MUST MUST)
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (charlie-washcloth)
Charlie has hand, foot & mouth disease, or one of its near relatives*, and is also cutting a molar, so we have a house full o' woe, poor eating, fever, and crankiness.  And BOREDOM.  We can't take him to the usual places that distract him when he is woeful, because he might be contagious, so no grocery store, Grandma's house, or local kiddie museum; also it has rained an unreasonable amount, so even walks are Right Out.

Also, when he doesn't feel good, Mommy is his favorite blankie, so saying something like "play with Daddy while Mommy goes downstairs and takes a shower" produces wailing and gnashing of teeth.  And while he requires an unreasonable amount of coaxing to ingest anything, probably because of mouth pain, he is also hungry.  Offering him something to eat or drink has a 50-50 chance of producing a smile coupled with an attempt to eat/drink, or a scowl coupled with a beatdown of whoever dares to offer the food. 

So we've been cooped up here since THURSDAY, OMG, and I'm taking a new BP medicine that's making me sleepy so even during his naps I  have no initiative to do anything except cruise the internet.  We have watched SO much TV--Little Bear and a lot of House Hunters International, and also this annoying thing called Chuggington which Charlie just loooooves.  ("Choo choo! Choo choo!") Why are trains on kids shows always such fucking conformists? 

Anyway. He's napping now, and so is Mike, who had trouble sleeping after Charlie's 2AM festival of woe and slapping (I went right back to sleep after; fuck it).  Soon Charlie will get up and I will attempt to give him lunch and he will attempt to punish me for same....or will give me hugs and pat my hair.

I am SO looking forward to going to the grocery store this afternoon while Mike wrangles him (Mike was working Thurs and Fri while I wrangled)! Freedom, sweet freedom!

*8 kids in his room had to go home with fever; 9 counting him. One of them tested positive for HFM, and another tested positive for another virus in the same family. So, seems likely that he's in the same boat. Day care, our own little CDC, except without the "control" part.
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (charlie-laugh)
Dear Charlie,

I am a bad, bad mommy for letting you play with my pill bottles.  I know you are miles away from figuring out how to open them, and they make nice rattling noises, but they are dangerous nonetheless and I am a bad bad mommy for letting you get your hand on them.

And YOU are a bad, BAD baby for throwing them in the trash! Bad! Bad baby!

*dig dig dig*
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (binky)

Cut for crass discussion of spending plans )

...Happily, we are in total agreement that there should be a car bed, regardless of how everything else shakes out.


marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (binky)
1. I am amazed that a room that was ideally set up for a baby, with the right furniture and storage and shelving, is completely awful for a toddler, despite nothing having changed other than the baby becoming a toddler.  I used to be able to sort and stow his laundry in a couple of minutes, and right away find whichever book, toy, or care thingy* I needed.  Now, every piece of clothing, toy, and book that he can get his hand on goes on the floor the second he notices it.  I pick up--because he's visibly more content and happier when his room is orderly--and he follows me around creating a swath of destruction.  Occasionally he will throw a tissue or something in the wastebasket, along with anything else that seems to belong in there--hand cream, pacifiers, toys, socks.  So he's, you know, helping.

2. I am amazed at how much real furniture costs.  If I buy furniture it's generally from Target or Ikea**, and that works fine for incidental stuff like a reading chair or a dresser for myself.  However, for the kiddo we want things that are sturdier, maybe even made of actual wood.  We can swing it, since it's going to last for quite a while, but added up, one room of furniture seems insanely expensive. This is possibly because my brain is still accustomed to thinking of furniture as something you get for free from a family member or a dumpster.  Or it's because it's *insanely expensive.*

* nail clippers, "boogie wipes," mabels labels, ye gods there are so many thingies...which could be neatly stored in baskets, if baskets weren't so much fun to tip out.

** his nice, formerly functional baby furniture came from Babies R Us, and was inexpensive, because I happen to like a inexpensive, classic style of baby furniture.  Whereas the style of big-boy furniture I like is more extravagant.  

Socks

Feb. 28th, 2010 11:11 pm
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (binky)
So the weekend has ended up about as crappy as it started, with no artistic or writing activity occurring anywhere within it*.  However, I have managed to avoid getting vomited on**, which is an unexpected triumph, considering the inclinations of my clingy sick toddler, and I have purchased three pairs of deliciously exuberant socks, as a sort of countermeasure against the crappyness.


*although I seem to have memorized a baby einstein tub book about water, because of having read it so many times.  It features an octopus.  Water, water, everywhere! Water near and far! Let's use our hands and feet to count how many kinds there are!  Great vast oceans, tiny tears, soft clouds wet with rain, bubbles blowing, bursting, *pop!* [YAY! clap clap], a wondrous wet refrain! Waterfalls with misty breath twinkle as they flow, something something something something, and flakes form out of snow***. Something meadows sparkle bright with early morning dew; there's even water in your bath, splashing over you! [YAY! clap clap, wave book at mommy and say "nnn!" until she reads it again].

**I am inviting trouble by saying this before midnight, I know...

***snow is in fact made of flakes, not the other way around. I keep muttering this at the book, but it keeps being wrong.
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
Even after being off the adoption train for nearly 2 years, my hindbrain continues to run in family-building mode. Plus I believe in the English language, generally, and tend to interpret it literally.   Which means that every time I get an email from the Carter's store announcing a "baby sale" I think "ooo, babies for sale, awesome!" before realizing that it's just clothes and I am a bad, bad person.*

Right now it's a "50% off baby sale" which would be just right for my current budget.

*in case you aren't a regular reader: I am committed to ethical adoption and deeply against child trafficking.  My hindbrain doesn't give a fuck about ethics, however, which is why she has to stay in the back.

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