Mumma, Mummy and Emma being silly and giggling.
Mumma: "Emmy, you are a little goof!"
Emma: I want to goof again!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Random thoughts (Anna)
Emma was trying to put her monkey hat on. It took her quite a few attempts, experimenting with different angles and then trying to figure out how to do up the velcro under her chin. She kept trying over and over with furious intensity. Every time she looked like she was going to give up in frustration, she tried again. Eventually, the hat was on and the velcro was done up. She looked up with a huge grin, put her hands above her head and yelled, "I did it!!"
Her favourite phrase at the moment is "What's 'at?" It can be repeated at least 50 times. It's a great way for her to make sure a single book can last an hour - you'd be amazed at just how many different objects appear on a single page of a kid's book. (We see it as a predecessor to the "why"?)
Emma thinks that "bum" is a shortened form of "bumblebee". We finally figured it out after she kept touching her backside every time we read about them. Makes sense to me.
Her favourite phrase at the moment is "What's 'at?" It can be repeated at least 50 times. It's a great way for her to make sure a single book can last an hour - you'd be amazed at just how many different objects appear on a single page of a kid's book. (We see it as a predecessor to the "why"?)
Emma thinks that "bum" is a shortened form of "bumblebee". We finally figured it out after she kept touching her backside every time we read about them. Makes sense to me.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Bedtime (Anna)
*sigh* bedtime used to be simple. There was one baby. She might have been crying but it was just one of her.
Now, there's a whole cast of creatures that need putting to bed. They all need kisses, cups of milk, dummies, and lullabies. And they are all apparently extremely particular about how the sheet or blanket is tucked over them.
I know, I know. By tucking the bunny twins in for the 57th time, we're not really attending to the emotional needs of a piece of fabric. We're really attending to the needs of our beautiful, lovely, darling daugher and her burgeoning need to express her nurturing side (to say nothing of her neeed to see just how far she can twist her parents around her little finger). And yes, it is extremely adorable when she says "nigh-nigh" to her animals and sings them a lullaby.
Having said that, I cannot express how exasperating it is to go trudging up the stairs after bedtime when we think we are off duty to attend to a crying kid, then trudge to the bathroom to fill up a cup of water she has requested (in the interests of getting her back to sleep as quickly as possible) and then have to wait while said cup of water gets "fed" to a stuffed giraffe.
Equally exasperating is realising that the reason our child is screaming bloody murder is not because, as one might think, the roof of the house has just fallen into her bed, but rather because some unkind, insensitive Mum has given Tiny Teddy only 10 goodnight kisses, even though it is clearly apparent to anyone paying attention that he needs 11.
And then we find ourselves saying ridiculous things like, "Ok. Monkey is sleeping now. We need to be quiet so we don't wake him up. Why don't you put YOUR head down and sleep next to him?" Yeah, like that's going to help!
Toddlers!!
Now, there's a whole cast of creatures that need putting to bed. They all need kisses, cups of milk, dummies, and lullabies. And they are all apparently extremely particular about how the sheet or blanket is tucked over them.
I know, I know. By tucking the bunny twins in for the 57th time, we're not really attending to the emotional needs of a piece of fabric. We're really attending to the needs of our beautiful, lovely, darling daugher and her burgeoning need to express her nurturing side (to say nothing of her neeed to see just how far she can twist her parents around her little finger). And yes, it is extremely adorable when she says "nigh-nigh" to her animals and sings them a lullaby.
Having said that, I cannot express how exasperating it is to go trudging up the stairs after bedtime when we think we are off duty to attend to a crying kid, then trudge to the bathroom to fill up a cup of water she has requested (in the interests of getting her back to sleep as quickly as possible) and then have to wait while said cup of water gets "fed" to a stuffed giraffe.
Equally exasperating is realising that the reason our child is screaming bloody murder is not because, as one might think, the roof of the house has just fallen into her bed, but rather because some unkind, insensitive Mum has given Tiny Teddy only 10 goodnight kisses, even though it is clearly apparent to anyone paying attention that he needs 11.
And then we find ourselves saying ridiculous things like, "Ok. Monkey is sleeping now. We need to be quiet so we don't wake him up. Why don't you put YOUR head down and sleep next to him?" Yeah, like that's going to help!
Toddlers!!
Scary old men with white beards (Anna)
Apparently, Emma is scared of Santa. Or at the very least has considerable disdain for him.
We first got a hint of it this year when we were reading "Merry Christmas Blue Kangaroo" for the first time. The Blue Kangaroo series is one of Emma's favourites and we have read all the others ad nauseum. But with this book, every time we got to the page where Father Christmas makes an appearance, she would close the book and say, "No." Sometimes she would refuse to read the book at all, and other times she would happily read up to that page, and then refuse to go any further. We have actually never made it to the end of that book with her.
And then today, she and I were going Christmas shopping at the mall. I said to her, "So, Emmy, we're going shopping today."
She nodded and said, "For Chri'mas". And I said, "Yes, that's right! We're going Christmas shopping." And I started to tell her some of the fun things we might see at the mall.
"Maybe we'll hear some carollers singing Christmas carols," I said.
And she said," Yeah!"
"And there'll be light and decorations."
"Yeah!"
"And maybe some Christmas trees."
"Yeah!"
"And there'll be lots of people buying each other presents. And you never know, we might even buy some pressies ourselves."
"Yeah!"
"And, maybe Father Christmas will be there."
No response.
"Do you want to see Santa Claus, Emmy?" I prompted.
She shook her head adamantly. "No," she said.
"You don't want to see Father Christmas?"
"No."
"But you want to see lights and decorations and things?"
"Yeah."
"But not Santa Claus?"
"No."
"Are you scared of Santa Claus."
"Yeah?" she said.
Of course, it might have something to do with last year's encounter with the old man.
So, there will be no cute photos of Emma sitting on Santa's knee this year (unless of course she sees all the other kids doing it and decides it's in her best interests to rethink).
We first got a hint of it this year when we were reading "Merry Christmas Blue Kangaroo" for the first time. The Blue Kangaroo series is one of Emma's favourites and we have read all the others ad nauseum. But with this book, every time we got to the page where Father Christmas makes an appearance, she would close the book and say, "No." Sometimes she would refuse to read the book at all, and other times she would happily read up to that page, and then refuse to go any further. We have actually never made it to the end of that book with her.
And then today, she and I were going Christmas shopping at the mall. I said to her, "So, Emmy, we're going shopping today."
She nodded and said, "For Chri'mas". And I said, "Yes, that's right! We're going Christmas shopping." And I started to tell her some of the fun things we might see at the mall.
"Maybe we'll hear some carollers singing Christmas carols," I said.
And she said," Yeah!"
"And there'll be light and decorations."
"Yeah!"
"And maybe some Christmas trees."
"Yeah!"
"And there'll be lots of people buying each other presents. And you never know, we might even buy some pressies ourselves."
"Yeah!"
"And, maybe Father Christmas will be there."
No response.
"Do you want to see Santa Claus, Emmy?" I prompted.
She shook her head adamantly. "No," she said.
"You don't want to see Father Christmas?"
"No."
"But you want to see lights and decorations and things?"
"Yeah."
"But not Santa Claus?"
"No."
"Are you scared of Santa Claus."
"Yeah?" she said.
Of course, it might have something to do with last year's encounter with the old man.
So, there will be no cute photos of Emma sitting on Santa's knee this year (unless of course she sees all the other kids doing it and decides it's in her best interests to rethink).
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Sick of...well, just sick (Anna)
As we get to the end of a terrible weekend, we have four deeply profound questions about the nature of the universe:
1) Isn't enough enough?
2) How on earth do people do this?
3) Does it ever end?
4) How is it fair that toddlers still need parenting when their parents are sick too?
1) Isn't enough enough?
2) How on earth do people do this?
3) Does it ever end?
4) How is it fair that toddlers still need parenting when their parents are sick too?
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Sick kid
Up to our elbows in toddler vomit tonight.
If that's too much information, sorry - it is for us too.
If that's too much information, sorry - it is for us too.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
I love you, pea soup (Anna)
Emma had pea soup tonight for dinner.
A few hours later, Caroline was saying good night to her, and said "I love you, little Monkey".
Emma reciprocated by giving her a big sloppy kiss and saying "I yove 'ou pea soup."
Caroline grinned and said, "Hmm. I've never been called pea soup before, but I'll take it!"
A few hours later, Caroline was saying good night to her, and said "I love you, little Monkey".
Emma reciprocated by giving her a big sloppy kiss and saying "I yove 'ou pea soup."
Caroline grinned and said, "Hmm. I've never been called pea soup before, but I'll take it!"
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Magical moments
Anna: We were at the first day of the first ever German Christmas market in Vancouver tonight, a big deal for our Canadian/German (and English/Australian) family.
There was live music playing, and everyone was standing around drinking gluhwein. It was cold and Emma was dressed up in her new snow suit (which she calls her snow soup). She started playing with the decorations around the end of the stage - Christmas lights and baubles.
She asked, "What dat?" and I said "It's a Christmas bauble." She stared at it. I leaned in to give her a cuddle and look over her shoulder. I could see her reflection in the bauble.
I hope I will never forget the look on her face. One day, when she's older, she will probably scoot by the Christmas decorations without a second thought. But there is something magical about a toddler experiencing beauty. She had this amazingly profound expression on her face - of absolute awe and wonder - and after a long pause where she was completely still, she whispered "Emma's bauble" like she was in a trance. If you had to find a single image of the wonder that you get when you combine kids with Christmas, it would have been the look on her sweet little face looking back at me from that bauble.
So of course I did the only thing that any reasonable parent would do when they have their arms around their child, smelling her soft hair and watching her mouth form a little "O" of wonder - I started crying. Just to myself. Silent tears rolling down my cheek while I kissed her hair and sung a Christmas carol in her ear. And then she moved on to the next thing.
Caroline: I was standing in line at one of the stalls. Anna had gone speeding off after Emma, who was cheerfully zooming through the crowds. A guy in the line said, "Wow. That is the cutest kid I have ever seen." And I looked up to see where he was pointing so I could see the cute kid too. And he was pointing to Emma, who was staring at a Christmas bauble as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world. She was the cutest kid I've ever seen too! Anna was leaning behind her, looking as well. And I thought, "My family!" And then I thought "Hah! My girl, my baby, and a German Christmas market! Not a bad life at all."
There was live music playing, and everyone was standing around drinking gluhwein. It was cold and Emma was dressed up in her new snow suit (which she calls her snow soup). She started playing with the decorations around the end of the stage - Christmas lights and baubles.
She asked, "What dat?" and I said "It's a Christmas bauble." She stared at it. I leaned in to give her a cuddle and look over her shoulder. I could see her reflection in the bauble.
I hope I will never forget the look on her face. One day, when she's older, she will probably scoot by the Christmas decorations without a second thought. But there is something magical about a toddler experiencing beauty. She had this amazingly profound expression on her face - of absolute awe and wonder - and after a long pause where she was completely still, she whispered "Emma's bauble" like she was in a trance. If you had to find a single image of the wonder that you get when you combine kids with Christmas, it would have been the look on her sweet little face looking back at me from that bauble.
So of course I did the only thing that any reasonable parent would do when they have their arms around their child, smelling her soft hair and watching her mouth form a little "O" of wonder - I started crying. Just to myself. Silent tears rolling down my cheek while I kissed her hair and sung a Christmas carol in her ear. And then she moved on to the next thing.
Caroline: I was standing in line at one of the stalls. Anna had gone speeding off after Emma, who was cheerfully zooming through the crowds. A guy in the line said, "Wow. That is the cutest kid I have ever seen." And I looked up to see where he was pointing so I could see the cute kid too. And he was pointing to Emma, who was staring at a Christmas bauble as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world. She was the cutest kid I've ever seen too! Anna was leaning behind her, looking as well. And I thought, "My family!" And then I thought "Hah! My girl, my baby, and a German Christmas market! Not a bad life at all."
Friday, November 26, 2010
Important milestones (Anna)
1) Possession is extremely important to Emma at the moment. Everything is "Emma's". She will entertain the possibility that some things belong to other people e.g. "Mumma's shoes" or "Mummy's jacket" but belonging to her is definitely the default, and if nobody lays claim to something first, it's declared to be hers.
This morning, looking at the construction site opposite her day care, she pointed up high in the sky and said, "Emma's crane!"
We're so proud of her. She's not even two and she already owns a crane. *sniff* That's our girl.
2) She's getting interested in counting. At bedtime, counting ducks in one of her books, she said: "Two, nine, 'even (seven), fee (three), one, ten, yellow."
3) It's funny how her idea of what's real and imaginery is completely different from ours. I was playing with her tonight on the floor. We started rocking back and forth together, which could have ended up with Rock-a-bye-baby, or "My Grandfather's Clock" or waltzing, or gymnastics, or penguins or any number of other things, depending on what came out of my mouth. Tonight, it became us in a boat together, with a storm coming. We rocked back and forth, and battened down the hatches and secured the sail, and pulled on some ropes. And we made loud thunder noises, and the noise of the waves crashing against the boat, and lightening noises (yes - lightening makes a noice. It sounds kind of like "Kachoom") and kept rocking back and forth. The rain (our fingers) beat down on our heads. She thought it was great.
The storm got bigger and bigger and we got scared that maybe we were going to capsize and end up in the water. We clung to each other and tried to keep our balance but the waves were getting bigger and the boat was tipping from side to side. We kept making the thunder and wave noises and the rain kept beating down on our head. We made "whoa" sounds and shrieked. And then, sure enough, the boat did capsize and Emma and Mumma fell overboard into the water. Splash! We gasped because the water was cold. The waves were crashing on our heads now. "The boat's going under! Aaaaagh!!"
Once we got our bearings, we started swimming. Arms windmilling over our heads, we swam as hard as we could, getting faster and faster and more and more puffed as we exerted ourselves. The thunder kept growling (yes, thunder growls. It sounds like a sleepy lion). All good.
And then I said something like, "Let's head for land. Look there's an island." And I pointed behind Emma's head. And sudddenly it wasn't a game any more. She looked behind her, saw the rocking chair and got a terrified look on her face. "Island!" she screamed and started crying. She ran over to Caroline, yelling, "Mummy, Mummy." She hid in her legs, giving furtive glances back at the rocking chair as if it was a fire-breathing dragon.
That was the end of the game. I don't know what she thinks an island is, but I'm fascinated that being on a tipping boat in the middle of a thunderstorm, being washed overboard and having to swim for your life are just lots of fun and cause for giggles, while an island is cause for terror. And why was the island suddenly real for her when all the rest of it was just being silly with Mumma?
This morning, looking at the construction site opposite her day care, she pointed up high in the sky and said, "Emma's crane!"
We're so proud of her. She's not even two and she already owns a crane. *sniff* That's our girl.
2) She's getting interested in counting. At bedtime, counting ducks in one of her books, she said: "Two, nine, 'even (seven), fee (three), one, ten, yellow."
3) It's funny how her idea of what's real and imaginery is completely different from ours. I was playing with her tonight on the floor. We started rocking back and forth together, which could have ended up with Rock-a-bye-baby, or "My Grandfather's Clock" or waltzing, or gymnastics, or penguins or any number of other things, depending on what came out of my mouth. Tonight, it became us in a boat together, with a storm coming. We rocked back and forth, and battened down the hatches and secured the sail, and pulled on some ropes. And we made loud thunder noises, and the noise of the waves crashing against the boat, and lightening noises (yes - lightening makes a noice. It sounds kind of like "Kachoom") and kept rocking back and forth. The rain (our fingers) beat down on our heads. She thought it was great.
The storm got bigger and bigger and we got scared that maybe we were going to capsize and end up in the water. We clung to each other and tried to keep our balance but the waves were getting bigger and the boat was tipping from side to side. We kept making the thunder and wave noises and the rain kept beating down on our head. We made "whoa" sounds and shrieked. And then, sure enough, the boat did capsize and Emma and Mumma fell overboard into the water. Splash! We gasped because the water was cold. The waves were crashing on our heads now. "The boat's going under! Aaaaagh!!"
Once we got our bearings, we started swimming. Arms windmilling over our heads, we swam as hard as we could, getting faster and faster and more and more puffed as we exerted ourselves. The thunder kept growling (yes, thunder growls. It sounds like a sleepy lion). All good.
And then I said something like, "Let's head for land. Look there's an island." And I pointed behind Emma's head. And sudddenly it wasn't a game any more. She looked behind her, saw the rocking chair and got a terrified look on her face. "Island!" she screamed and started crying. She ran over to Caroline, yelling, "Mummy, Mummy." She hid in her legs, giving furtive glances back at the rocking chair as if it was a fire-breathing dragon.
That was the end of the game. I don't know what she thinks an island is, but I'm fascinated that being on a tipping boat in the middle of a thunderstorm, being washed overboard and having to swim for your life are just lots of fun and cause for giggles, while an island is cause for terror. And why was the island suddenly real for her when all the rest of it was just being silly with Mumma?
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Yeah!! (Anna)
Yesterday, Emma celebrated one of her friend's birthdays.
Then last night at bedtime, after a long period of being completely silent and listening to lullabies, she suddenly said "Birthday!"
And she went on: "Emma's birthday."She thought for a moment and then said, "Emma's cake..." Apparently, she liked this idea because she broke out in a huge grin, and then exclainmed, "Yeah!"And she chortled to herself.
Clearly the cogs are turning in there, and birthday cake helps them to turn.
Then last night at bedtime, after a long period of being completely silent and listening to lullabies, she suddenly said "Birthday!"
And she went on: "Emma's birthday."She thought for a moment and then said, "Emma's cake..." Apparently, she liked this idea because she broke out in a huge grin, and then exclainmed, "Yeah!"And she chortled to herself.
Clearly the cogs are turning in there, and birthday cake helps them to turn.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Dramatis Personae (Anna)
For a long time, Emma didn't particularly care about her stuffed animals and things either way. But in the last few weeks, they have become very important to her. Each night, there's a new animal that simply must be tucked into bed with her, and in the morning she gathers up at least three of them in her arms and looks at us as if to say, "Ok, NOW, I'm ready." And she definitely notices when they're missing.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Random bits and pieces (Anna)
1) Emma has developed the cutest little grumpy face and pout. It's so absolutely adorable it's a little hard to take her grumps seriously.
2) She's mastered the phrase, "I want to play!!" She says it very loudly and grumpily - employing the full newfound pout - any time we interrupt said play.
3) I had a very annoying interaction with another parent the other day. Emma decided to go into full melt-down mode when I picked her up from day care - a combination of being taken away from the red car she was playing with, and end-of-the-week I'm-tired-and-just-need-to-stop blues. Most of the time, we can find a way to deflate her melt downs, but sometimes only a change of scenario is going to help, so I was getting her out of there as soon as I could. Several parents made eye contact with me over the top of Emma's head with that understanding "Toddlers, huh" look or the "We've all gone through it. Hang in there" look, or rolled their eyes sympathetically. And then one parent, whose daughter was calmly sitting in his arms while he put her jacket on (which, honestly, is how Emma is most of the time, too!), said narkily, "Huh. She's totally the opposite to my daughter. SHE can't wait to come home with us. She misses us." The implication being, of course, that Emma hates us, hates her home life, much prefers day care and doesn't miss us at all. Just the kind of support you need when you have a toddler screaming in your ear. (Emma, by the way, kept up her tantrum all the way to the gate, long enough for every single caregiver and parent in the place to decide that I must be a terrible parent, before magically switching it off and nuzzling me and giggling affectionately as soon as we got to the elevator. Toddlers, huh!)
2) She's mastered the phrase, "I want to play!!" She says it very loudly and grumpily - employing the full newfound pout - any time we interrupt said play.
3) I had a very annoying interaction with another parent the other day. Emma decided to go into full melt-down mode when I picked her up from day care - a combination of being taken away from the red car she was playing with, and end-of-the-week I'm-tired-and-just-need-to-stop blues. Most of the time, we can find a way to deflate her melt downs, but sometimes only a change of scenario is going to help, so I was getting her out of there as soon as I could. Several parents made eye contact with me over the top of Emma's head with that understanding "Toddlers, huh" look or the "We've all gone through it. Hang in there" look, or rolled their eyes sympathetically. And then one parent, whose daughter was calmly sitting in his arms while he put her jacket on (which, honestly, is how Emma is most of the time, too!), said narkily, "Huh. She's totally the opposite to my daughter. SHE can't wait to come home with us. She misses us." The implication being, of course, that Emma hates us, hates her home life, much prefers day care and doesn't miss us at all. Just the kind of support you need when you have a toddler screaming in your ear. (Emma, by the way, kept up her tantrum all the way to the gate, long enough for every single caregiver and parent in the place to decide that I must be a terrible parent, before magically switching it off and nuzzling me and giggling affectionately as soon as we got to the elevator. Toddlers, huh!)
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Swapseys (Anna)
We were having dinner tonight and Emma was drinking milk from her sippy cup. Caroline was drinking milk too, but from a glass. Emma was very upset that she got stuck with some baby cup while Mummy got to be a big girl.
So they swapped, and for the rest of the meal, Caroline drank out of the sippy cup and Emma drank out of the glass.
We're thinking this swapping thing could work for us. Tonight, we're going to let Emma stay up, tidy up the house and do the dishes while we go to bed at 7.30 and get sung to sleep.
So they swapped, and for the rest of the meal, Caroline drank out of the sippy cup and Emma drank out of the glass.
We're thinking this swapping thing could work for us. Tonight, we're going to let Emma stay up, tidy up the house and do the dishes while we go to bed at 7.30 and get sung to sleep.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
She sings! (Anna)
If I had to identify a day when Emma started actually singing songs, it might be today.
Instead of dancing, joining in on the occasional word, babbling indiscriminately or prompting us with the first few words of a song and then leaving it up to us, today she attempted full songs, with distinctive words, rhythms and pitches. We had a good ol' singalong at bedtime.
Instead of dancing, joining in on the occasional word, babbling indiscriminately or prompting us with the first few words of a song and then leaving it up to us, today she attempted full songs, with distinctive words, rhythms and pitches. We had a good ol' singalong at bedtime.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Focusing on the positive (Anna)
We've had a terrible few days. No major lifechanging catastrophes, but the kind of weekend where most things that could have gone wrong, have, and we've hit Sunday evening feeling wrung out and needing a weekend to recover. Actually, it would be hard to imagine having a worst few days in so many different ways.
So, in an attempt to focus on the positive:
Emma has learnt to string together sentences beginning with "I want to". But she's missing a few verbs. So, for example, she wanted to look at a baby photo of herself that was hanging on the wall, and asked "I want to picture off wall". She wanted to go for a walk, so she asked, "I want to shoes on, pliz."
Our car almost got towed from right in front of our house. (When Caroline went racing out as the truck was backing towards our car, the tow truck guy literally ran back to his truck so he could speed up the process of connecting the lever-thing to our car, so he could then charge us the towing and release fee. Grrr.). That's not the positive. This is: Emma stood at the window crying, "Emma's car! Emma's car!" It was incredibly sweet. (I almost wanted to take her outside so the tow truck guy would have to wrestle with his conscience over being such a bully that he made a toddler cry :)) I guess from her point-of-view, Caroline was out there in the role of protective Mummy, making sure that Emma's car was safe.
Emma was having a hard time going to bed tonight. Usually, after bath time, story time, teeth time, etc, we cuddle her on our lap, sing to her and rock her, then put her into bed and stroke her head for a moment or two before she goes to sleep. Tonight, she didn't want to lie down and was crying, so I told her that I would keep singing to her if she lay down and let me tuck her in. As soon as I said that, she happily lay down. I knelt beside her bed for quite a while singing Mumma songs (a.k.a. completely made up on the spot, never-to-be-repeated chants). I thought she was asleep, so after a while I stopped singing and got up to go to the door. She looked up bleerily and said, in a very sleepy voice, "More, Mumma?" and so I sang a little longer. It was a beautiful moment. I can't imagine an audience I would rather sing to; I love that I can help my baby feel peaceful and loved when she goes to sleep.
A few months ago, Emma was having a really hard time with doctors' appointments, getting inconsolably upset when a doctor tried to examine her (to the point where doctors couldn't hear her heart beat because she was crying too hard). So we brought her a play doctor's kit and have been "practising" at home a lot, letting her check our chest, look in our ears, take our blood pressure etc, and then "examining" her. And it seems to have paid off - she has had several doctor's appointments in the last week, and has been calm in every one of them, even when they have been looking in her ears (something that used to make her scream). It helps that she also now has the comprehension skills that we can tell her that it's just like her medical kit at home and that seems to resonate. We're really proud of her!!
So, in an attempt to focus on the positive:
Emma has learnt to string together sentences beginning with "I want to". But she's missing a few verbs. So, for example, she wanted to look at a baby photo of herself that was hanging on the wall, and asked "I want to picture off wall". She wanted to go for a walk, so she asked, "I want to shoes on, pliz."
Our car almost got towed from right in front of our house. (When Caroline went racing out as the truck was backing towards our car, the tow truck guy literally ran back to his truck so he could speed up the process of connecting the lever-thing to our car, so he could then charge us the towing and release fee. Grrr.). That's not the positive. This is: Emma stood at the window crying, "Emma's car! Emma's car!" It was incredibly sweet. (I almost wanted to take her outside so the tow truck guy would have to wrestle with his conscience over being such a bully that he made a toddler cry :)) I guess from her point-of-view, Caroline was out there in the role of protective Mummy, making sure that Emma's car was safe.
Emma was having a hard time going to bed tonight. Usually, after bath time, story time, teeth time, etc, we cuddle her on our lap, sing to her and rock her, then put her into bed and stroke her head for a moment or two before she goes to sleep. Tonight, she didn't want to lie down and was crying, so I told her that I would keep singing to her if she lay down and let me tuck her in. As soon as I said that, she happily lay down. I knelt beside her bed for quite a while singing Mumma songs (a.k.a. completely made up on the spot, never-to-be-repeated chants). I thought she was asleep, so after a while I stopped singing and got up to go to the door. She looked up bleerily and said, in a very sleepy voice, "More, Mumma?" and so I sang a little longer. It was a beautiful moment. I can't imagine an audience I would rather sing to; I love that I can help my baby feel peaceful and loved when she goes to sleep.
A few months ago, Emma was having a really hard time with doctors' appointments, getting inconsolably upset when a doctor tried to examine her (to the point where doctors couldn't hear her heart beat because she was crying too hard). So we brought her a play doctor's kit and have been "practising" at home a lot, letting her check our chest, look in our ears, take our blood pressure etc, and then "examining" her. And it seems to have paid off - she has had several doctor's appointments in the last week, and has been calm in every one of them, even when they have been looking in her ears (something that used to make her scream). It helps that she also now has the comprehension skills that we can tell her that it's just like her medical kit at home and that seems to resonate. We're really proud of her!!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Monkey see... (Anna)
Emma eats very little chocolate or candy, so going trick and treating for Halloween and being given a few pieces of chocolate was a huge treat for her.
Tonight, Caroline and I were making dinner and Emma discovered a mini Snickers bar left over from Halloween. She brought it up to us and said "Open, pliz."
We said something like, you know "Nice try, small fry, but you're not having chocolate and even if you were, it wouldn't be just before dinner." And we took it off her. She whined for a moment, reaching up to try to retrieve it from where we had put it.
Then she had a brilliant idea. She declared, "Monkey!" and went and got her monkey Halloween costume. She brought the headpiece to us (yes, the same headpiece she had refused to wear the whole weekend) and asked us to put it on her. Then, she said, "Chocolate??" with a huge hopeful grin.
So we've taught our kid that if she wants chocolate, she has to dress up as a monkey. A rather bizarre lesson to learn, I must say.
Tonight, Caroline and I were making dinner and Emma discovered a mini Snickers bar left over from Halloween. She brought it up to us and said "Open, pliz."
We said something like, you know "Nice try, small fry, but you're not having chocolate and even if you were, it wouldn't be just before dinner." And we took it off her. She whined for a moment, reaching up to try to retrieve it from where we had put it.
Then she had a brilliant idea. She declared, "Monkey!" and went and got her monkey Halloween costume. She brought the headpiece to us (yes, the same headpiece she had refused to wear the whole weekend) and asked us to put it on her. Then, she said, "Chocolate??" with a huge hopeful grin.
So we've taught our kid that if she wants chocolate, she has to dress up as a monkey. A rather bizarre lesson to learn, I must say.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Update (Anna)
I posted a while ago about Emma learning colours, and how her default for a while was red, and then it changed to yellow. Well, it changed to green after that.
Now, whenever we ask E what colour something is, more often than not, she'll say something like, "red yellow blue green black purple".
Well, I guess if you come up with enough options, you're more likely to get it right! (I wonder if that tactic will serve her well when she has to write exams)
Being somewhat - shall we say - facetious, I sometimes have to prevent myself from proclaiming "You're right! Such a clever girl!! It IS red yellow blue green black purple!"
Now, whenever we ask E what colour something is, more often than not, she'll say something like, "red yellow blue green black purple".
Well, I guess if you come up with enough options, you're more likely to get it right! (I wonder if that tactic will serve her well when she has to write exams)
Being somewhat - shall we say - facetious, I sometimes have to prevent myself from proclaiming "You're right! Such a clever girl!! It IS red yellow blue green black purple!"
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Today's updates (Anna)
1) I was eating a quejos today and Emma wanted some. But instead of grabbing it, or pointing or crying, or saying "Emma?" or "Pliz?" as she normally does, she said:
"Mumma, share pliz."
I thought I was imagining it, but then she repeated it. How could I resist that? So I gave her a bite, and she said "tank-you." So something's sinking in.
2) E went trick and treating for the first time tonight, in a huge pack of kids from the neighbourhood. She was dressed as a monkey. It was lots of fun. By the time we had gone to three or four houses, she started whispering, "Trick or treat" as if she needed to practice it. She refused to actually say it to anybody at the doors, but would whisper it on the way back down the stairs again: "Trick or treat." She also wouldn't say thank you at the doors, but waited until she was safely back on the pavement before whispering "thank you".
3) The high chair is officially a thing of the past. Ever since B was here on Friday night, Emma has refused to go back into it. So no more safely contained baby for us.
4) E has been doing a lot of language processing today, talking almost constantly when she's been at home, and going through what sounds like lists of words. Earlier, it was an inventory of nouns as if she was looking for the right word. It went something like this:
Fish. Nooo. Mummy. Nooo. Water. Nooo. Bed. Nooo. Teddy. Nooo. Cup. Noooo. Diaper. Noooo. Mumma. Nooo. Elbow. Nooo. Book. Nooo. Car. Nooo. Monkey. Nooo. Moosik. Noooo. Pasta. Nooo....
This went on for several minutes.
And then tonight it was phrases with "more" in them, as in "More crackers. More milk. More cuddles. More water. More play. More..." well you get the picture. She wasn't asking for anything, just cycling through her words.
And at bath time, she went into a long animated monologue with the bath taps, telling them a very excited story that included characters with the names "Mumma," "Mummy," and "Monkey", interspersed with "yeah" and "no" at frequent intervals.
There's obviously a lot going on in there, and it's fascinating to hear it start to come out in ways we can begin to understand.
"Mumma, share pliz."
I thought I was imagining it, but then she repeated it. How could I resist that? So I gave her a bite, and she said "tank-you." So something's sinking in.
2) E went trick and treating for the first time tonight, in a huge pack of kids from the neighbourhood. She was dressed as a monkey. It was lots of fun. By the time we had gone to three or four houses, she started whispering, "Trick or treat" as if she needed to practice it. She refused to actually say it to anybody at the doors, but would whisper it on the way back down the stairs again: "Trick or treat." She also wouldn't say thank you at the doors, but waited until she was safely back on the pavement before whispering "thank you".
3) The high chair is officially a thing of the past. Ever since B was here on Friday night, Emma has refused to go back into it. So no more safely contained baby for us.
4) E has been doing a lot of language processing today, talking almost constantly when she's been at home, and going through what sounds like lists of words. Earlier, it was an inventory of nouns as if she was looking for the right word. It went something like this:
Fish. Nooo. Mummy. Nooo. Water. Nooo. Bed. Nooo. Teddy. Nooo. Cup. Noooo. Diaper. Noooo. Mumma. Nooo. Elbow. Nooo. Book. Nooo. Car. Nooo. Monkey. Nooo. Moosik. Noooo. Pasta. Nooo....
This went on for several minutes.
And then tonight it was phrases with "more" in them, as in "More crackers. More milk. More cuddles. More water. More play. More..." well you get the picture. She wasn't asking for anything, just cycling through her words.
And at bath time, she went into a long animated monologue with the bath taps, telling them a very excited story that included characters with the names "Mumma," "Mummy," and "Monkey", interspersed with "yeah" and "no" at frequent intervals.
There's obviously a lot going on in there, and it's fascinating to hear it start to come out in ways we can begin to understand.
Toddlers - sophisticated social creatures (Anna)
Putting toddlers in a room together can be lots of fun, but is also a fascinating experiment in human interactions. As parents, we are duty-bound to teach our kids certain rules of social conduct. Nobody wants their kid to be the bully, we don't want our kids to bite each other, pull each other's hair or scratch. We believe that toddlers are highly territorial and have difficulty sharing; we want them to learn to share with each other, treat each other with respect, say "please" and thank you" etc. As they get older, we will probably teach them that lying is wrong, that it's not ok to be mean to each other, and a host of other values.
The thing is, parents haven't mastered any of these skills themselves. Many adults - under the guise of "avoiding conflict" and not hurting people's feelings - routinely lie, and what "respect" means is a highly fluid concept that nobody really agrees on. With all the furor recently about bullying in schools, nobody talks much about the fact that bullying in daily life is rampant. Most adults haven't learned to share - they have merely devised more complex rules for not having to. Adults regularly get confused about what is "mine" and what is "yours" - only it's usually not over dolls and crayons, but more abstract things like who owns what emotional baggage, or believing that the things they value (belief systems/friends/possessions, etc) must be the same things that other people value.
And, although we tend not to pull each other's hair literally, a lot of adult friendships are really no more sophisticated than those of a gaggle of fourteen year old girls, with all the accompanying gossip and pretence.
In some ways, I prefer toddler interactions. They're kind of more genuine, and less full of the artifice that we pretend is good manners. When you're a toddler and you get punched, you at least know what's going on. You turn around and screech, maybe fling a punch yourself, and then get back to playing nicely. And nobody expects a toddler to smile and be polite and pretend that they don't know what's going on when someone's stealing their cracker.
Adults, truth be told, really don't know much about playing nicely. Sometimes I wonder about trying to teach our kids to behave in certain ways that we, as individuals and as a society, can't manage ourselves.
The thing is, parents haven't mastered any of these skills themselves. Many adults - under the guise of "avoiding conflict" and not hurting people's feelings - routinely lie, and what "respect" means is a highly fluid concept that nobody really agrees on. With all the furor recently about bullying in schools, nobody talks much about the fact that bullying in daily life is rampant. Most adults haven't learned to share - they have merely devised more complex rules for not having to. Adults regularly get confused about what is "mine" and what is "yours" - only it's usually not over dolls and crayons, but more abstract things like who owns what emotional baggage, or believing that the things they value (belief systems/friends/possessions, etc) must be the same things that other people value.
And, although we tend not to pull each other's hair literally, a lot of adult friendships are really no more sophisticated than those of a gaggle of fourteen year old girls, with all the accompanying gossip and pretence.
In some ways, I prefer toddler interactions. They're kind of more genuine, and less full of the artifice that we pretend is good manners. When you're a toddler and you get punched, you at least know what's going on. You turn around and screech, maybe fling a punch yourself, and then get back to playing nicely. And nobody expects a toddler to smile and be polite and pretend that they don't know what's going on when someone's stealing their cracker.
Adults, truth be told, really don't know much about playing nicely. Sometimes I wonder about trying to teach our kids to behave in certain ways that we, as individuals and as a society, can't manage ourselves.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Stories of our favourite three year old (Anna)
We've been spending a bit of time with our 3 year-old neighbour, who I will call B - a terrific kid. She and Emma get on well - one of the them is completely in awe of the other one and likes to imitate her; the other one likes to play doll and practice her baby-care skills. I'll let you guess which is which.
Two nice stories from this evening:
1) B hit her noggin when she was playing and needed a cuddle and some sympathy. After I had done the physical check and held her for a while, I said, "Do you need a teddy to cuddle? I'll tell you what. I'm going to get a teddy bear for you and if your head hurts you can cuddle him and he'll help to make you feel better." And then we got distracted by something and the next thing we knew, Emma had gone into the living room, found one of her teddy bears and brought it back. She held it out to B, with a gentle hug and kiss. B took it, gave a tiny smile and cuddled the bear close. It was all we could do not to say "Awwwww" out loud.
2) We have discovered that Emma is susceptible to peer pressure. Last time B had dinner with us, she insisted on having a "big girl's cup" (i.e. not a plastic cup with a lid). And so Emma did, too. All week, she would happily use a sippy cup when it was just us, but if anyone came over for dinner, it had to be a lidless cup.
Tonight, B sat on a chair and started to eat. We suggested to Emma that she get into her high chair, which she usually does quite happily when she's hungry. She started crying, saying "No, no, no." We told her it was homemade pizza for dinner - which she loves (Caroline makes fantastic pizza) - and she wailed "No pizza!!" And then we figured out what the problem was. So we sat Emma up in an adult chair - no high chair, no tray, not even a booster seat. She could barely see over the table top but she was perfectly content and happily ate her pizza. (Or at least, she was content until B had finished and went to play, at which time Emma promptly declared she was also finished and wanted to play as well.)
There's this beautiful intimacy in the looks we give each other over the tops of the kids' heads when they do something cute or annoying. I remember catching my parents doing it when I was a kid and not understanding why they were laughing at me. Well, I guess now I understand. Sometimes you just have to exchange a silent chuckle.
Two nice stories from this evening:
1) B hit her noggin when she was playing and needed a cuddle and some sympathy. After I had done the physical check and held her for a while, I said, "Do you need a teddy to cuddle? I'll tell you what. I'm going to get a teddy bear for you and if your head hurts you can cuddle him and he'll help to make you feel better." And then we got distracted by something and the next thing we knew, Emma had gone into the living room, found one of her teddy bears and brought it back. She held it out to B, with a gentle hug and kiss. B took it, gave a tiny smile and cuddled the bear close. It was all we could do not to say "Awwwww" out loud.
2) We have discovered that Emma is susceptible to peer pressure. Last time B had dinner with us, she insisted on having a "big girl's cup" (i.e. not a plastic cup with a lid). And so Emma did, too. All week, she would happily use a sippy cup when it was just us, but if anyone came over for dinner, it had to be a lidless cup.
Tonight, B sat on a chair and started to eat. We suggested to Emma that she get into her high chair, which she usually does quite happily when she's hungry. She started crying, saying "No, no, no." We told her it was homemade pizza for dinner - which she loves (Caroline makes fantastic pizza) - and she wailed "No pizza!!" And then we figured out what the problem was. So we sat Emma up in an adult chair - no high chair, no tray, not even a booster seat. She could barely see over the table top but she was perfectly content and happily ate her pizza. (Or at least, she was content until B had finished and went to play, at which time Emma promptly declared she was also finished and wanted to play as well.)
There's this beautiful intimacy in the looks we give each other over the tops of the kids' heads when they do something cute or annoying. I remember catching my parents doing it when I was a kid and not understanding why they were laughing at me. Well, I guess now I understand. Sometimes you just have to exchange a silent chuckle.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
parenting *sigh* (Anna)
I committed that cardinal sin of parenting a toddler today.
That's right: I turned a direction into a question. Savvy parents, of course, know that questions like "Do you want to stop playing now?" "Do you want to put your cracker down?" or 'Do you want to go to bed?" are, well, asking for trouble. But it's so tempting to water down commands by making it sound like there's an option.
We got home from work/day care after a long day. We were tired and hungry - we just wanted to get in the door and throw our bags down and change out of our work clothes. And I desperately needed to pee. Caroline went ahead to unlock the door and I crawled into the back of the car to haul Emma out of the car seat, really really grateful that the work day was almost over.
And I said, "Hiya you. Do you want to get out of the car now?" Not, "let's get you out of the car" or "Time to go in now" or anything sensible like that. But "do you want to get out of the car now?"
And Emma's response was, predictably, "no".
So there I was stuck, somewhere between my high-falutin' parenting philosophies, the practicalities of the situation and my own stupidity.
The mental narrative went something like this:
She's a toddler. She's learning what 'no' means and she's learning to assert what she wants/needs. She is developing opinions, which is an important part of developing identity. We are trying to teach her that her needs/wants/preferences will be respected, when they are communicated in an appropriate way. (Our answer might be no, but the question will be treated with respect). This is especially true if her wants/needs/preferences have been solicited. In fact, we go out of our way to offer her choices and decisions so that we can respect her answer. What does she learn if she answers a question, only to find her answer completely ignored?
She did not create this situation. She has no way of knowing that my question was a command, thinly disguised as a question. This is not a case of her saying no to something we have asked her to do, or an example of a toddler tantrum. She is not protesting. We are not in a power battle at the moment; this is not a fight I need to win as a parent. I asked her a neutral question; she simply answered. The only reason I am now in an awkward position is because I should never have asked the question. She has done nothing wrong; why should I now tell her that her "no" isn't worth the breath it took her to say it?
I need to pee. There is no way I am sitting with her in the car until she is ready to get out (on another day, maybe, not today). There is no way I am leaving her in the car by herself (not today; not for many years to come).
So, I found myself breaking parenting rule 57 b, clause 3: "talk to toddlers in short, easy sentences that they can understand" and said something like, "I'm sorry. I made that sound like a question, didn't I. But it actually wasn't a question. It was a statement. We are getting out of the car now. We are going inside. We are undoing your belt. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that you had a choice. You actually don't."
And Emma didn't break any rules. She followed the toddler's cardinal rule to the letter: "When your parents make you do something you don't want to do (especially if they're babbling incomprehensible dribble drabble at you), have a meltdown." So I had to carry a screaming, frustrated toddler out of the car and up the steps.
I think I said something like, "Yup. That's fair. You have every right to be angry at me. Let's go inside."
My saving grace? I didn't add, "shall we?" on the end.
That's right: I turned a direction into a question. Savvy parents, of course, know that questions like "Do you want to stop playing now?" "Do you want to put your cracker down?" or 'Do you want to go to bed?" are, well, asking for trouble. But it's so tempting to water down commands by making it sound like there's an option.
We got home from work/day care after a long day. We were tired and hungry - we just wanted to get in the door and throw our bags down and change out of our work clothes. And I desperately needed to pee. Caroline went ahead to unlock the door and I crawled into the back of the car to haul Emma out of the car seat, really really grateful that the work day was almost over.
And I said, "Hiya you. Do you want to get out of the car now?" Not, "let's get you out of the car" or "Time to go in now" or anything sensible like that. But "do you want to get out of the car now?"
And Emma's response was, predictably, "no".
So there I was stuck, somewhere between my high-falutin' parenting philosophies, the practicalities of the situation and my own stupidity.
The mental narrative went something like this:
She's a toddler. She's learning what 'no' means and she's learning to assert what she wants/needs. She is developing opinions, which is an important part of developing identity. We are trying to teach her that her needs/wants/preferences will be respected, when they are communicated in an appropriate way. (Our answer might be no, but the question will be treated with respect). This is especially true if her wants/needs/preferences have been solicited. In fact, we go out of our way to offer her choices and decisions so that we can respect her answer. What does she learn if she answers a question, only to find her answer completely ignored?
She did not create this situation. She has no way of knowing that my question was a command, thinly disguised as a question. This is not a case of her saying no to something we have asked her to do, or an example of a toddler tantrum. She is not protesting. We are not in a power battle at the moment; this is not a fight I need to win as a parent. I asked her a neutral question; she simply answered. The only reason I am now in an awkward position is because I should never have asked the question. She has done nothing wrong; why should I now tell her that her "no" isn't worth the breath it took her to say it?
I need to pee. There is no way I am sitting with her in the car until she is ready to get out (on another day, maybe, not today). There is no way I am leaving her in the car by herself (not today; not for many years to come).
So, I found myself breaking parenting rule 57 b, clause 3: "talk to toddlers in short, easy sentences that they can understand" and said something like, "I'm sorry. I made that sound like a question, didn't I. But it actually wasn't a question. It was a statement. We are getting out of the car now. We are going inside. We are undoing your belt. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that you had a choice. You actually don't."
And Emma didn't break any rules. She followed the toddler's cardinal rule to the letter: "When your parents make you do something you don't want to do (especially if they're babbling incomprehensible dribble drabble at you), have a meltdown." So I had to carry a screaming, frustrated toddler out of the car and up the steps.
I think I said something like, "Yup. That's fair. You have every right to be angry at me. Let's go inside."
My saving grace? I didn't add, "shall we?" on the end.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Raspberries and more (Anna)
Emma has taken to blowing raspberries on our bellies, and then dissolving in fits of giggles :)
She is learning to jump. She can't quite get both feet off the ground at once, so does a kind of galloping action.
She has a vocab of at least 50 million words...some of which are even English.
With books she knows very well, she can fill in the end of most of the rhymes.
She goes up to the concrete lions outside some of the houses in our neighbourhood, and says "Rarrrrr" at them.
She did her first poo on the potty today.
She loves to be cuddled like a baby and sung "Rock a Bye Baby" (which she calls "Rocka-baby")
She likes to stand on her head (with her feet still on the ground)
She can play "Mum's turn/Emma's turn" for hours.
She is perfecting her toddler behaviour - learning how to make her armpits disappear and dig in her heels (literally) so that it's impossible to pick her up. She can screech very loudly when she wants to. Yesterday, the trigger was her rain boots.
She is affectionate and fun and silly and learning about the world very, very quickly.
She is learning to jump. She can't quite get both feet off the ground at once, so does a kind of galloping action.
She has a vocab of at least 50 million words...some of which are even English.
With books she knows very well, she can fill in the end of most of the rhymes.
She goes up to the concrete lions outside some of the houses in our neighbourhood, and says "Rarrrrr" at them.
She did her first poo on the potty today.
She loves to be cuddled like a baby and sung "Rock a Bye Baby" (which she calls "Rocka-baby")
She likes to stand on her head (with her feet still on the ground)
She can play "Mum's turn/Emma's turn" for hours.
She is perfecting her toddler behaviour - learning how to make her armpits disappear and dig in her heels (literally) so that it's impossible to pick her up. She can screech very loudly when she wants to. Yesterday, the trigger was her rain boots.
She is affectionate and fun and silly and learning about the world very, very quickly.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Colours (Anna)
Emma is learning colours. For a while, the default was red, so anytime we asked her "What colour is that?" she would say red. Now it's yellow (pronounced yeyyow). A typical conversation goes like this:
The Mums: You've got a block. What colour is it?
Emma: Yellow!!
The Mums: Actually, it's green.
Emma: Green.
The Mums: This one is yellow.
Emma: Yellow.
The Mums: That's right. What else is yellow?
Emma: Blue!
The Mums: Ok. And what colour is this?
Emma: Emma!
The Mums: You've got a block. What colour is it?
Emma: Yellow!!
The Mums: Actually, it's green.
Emma: Green.
The Mums: This one is yellow.
Emma: Yellow.
The Mums: That's right. What else is yellow?
Emma: Blue!
The Mums: Ok. And what colour is this?
Emma: Emma!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Out of her mouth (Anna)
- getting ready to go to a friend's place
Mum: "Do you want to go and play with [names of the kids]?"
E: "Yeah. I come." (as if we were giving her the option of staying at home)
- trying to get her down for a nap
Mum: It's time to go to sleep.
I want you to put your head down. No more standing up. No more crying.
E: [nodding] "No more crying." (she puts her head down on the pillow and closes her eyes.)
E: "I sleep." (Three seconds later, her head bounces up, she stands up and starts to cry)
- begging for her current favourite books - The Blue Kangaroo series
"Karroo. Pliz. Mumma. Pliz. Karroooo. Karoooo. Pliz. Pliz. Mumma. Pliz. Karrooo." (You'd think she gets read them every three weeks instead of every three minutes.)
Mum: "Do you want to go and play with [names of the kids]?"
E: "Yeah. I come." (as if we were giving her the option of staying at home)
- trying to get her down for a nap
Mum: It's time to go to sleep.
I want you to put your head down. No more standing up. No more crying.
E: [nodding] "No more crying." (she puts her head down on the pillow and closes her eyes.)
E: "I sleep." (Three seconds later, her head bounces up, she stands up and starts to cry)
- begging for her current favourite books - The Blue Kangaroo series
"Karroo. Pliz. Mumma. Pliz. Karroooo. Karoooo. Pliz. Pliz. Mumma. Pliz. Karrooo." (You'd think she gets read them every three weeks instead of every three minutes.)
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Random stories
This morning, I hung out with Emma for a while before I had my shower and we read some stories and played. I didn't have my glasses on, which is not unusual when I first get out of bed. Emma wasn't at all disturbed by the absence.
But then I had a shower and got dressed and emerged, still without my glasses on. That's unusual - I usually put them on when I get dressed.
Emma took one look at me and said "Glasses. Glasses Mumma" and went into the bedroom to look for them for me. She checked my beside table, the dresser and the edge of the sink, all the usual places they might be. Nothing would distract her from her quest. She said, louder, "Glasses" and I told her they were in the downstairs bathroom. She headed off down the stairs, found my glasses and presented them to me. She was quite relieved when I put them back on. "Glasses!" she said, and all was right with the world once again.
While I'm been writing this post, Caroline and Emmy have been hanging out next to me. Emma decided that she needed to feed crackers to the camera. We're so glad - we've been worried that the cameria doesn't eat enough...
But then I had a shower and got dressed and emerged, still without my glasses on. That's unusual - I usually put them on when I get dressed.
Emma took one look at me and said "Glasses. Glasses Mumma" and went into the bedroom to look for them for me. She checked my beside table, the dresser and the edge of the sink, all the usual places they might be. Nothing would distract her from her quest. She said, louder, "Glasses" and I told her they were in the downstairs bathroom. She headed off down the stairs, found my glasses and presented them to me. She was quite relieved when I put them back on. "Glasses!" she said, and all was right with the world once again.
While I'm been writing this post, Caroline and Emmy have been hanging out next to me. Emma decided that she needed to feed crackers to the camera. We're so glad - we've been worried that the cameria doesn't eat enough...
Friday, October 8, 2010
It wouldn't have happened a decade ago...(Anna)
Emma playing peekaboo with her grandparents...via Skype...
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Congratulations Jillie and Adrian!
My aunt, Jillie, got married this week. This is our video tribute to the happy couple. They do say never to work with children or animals...do robotic dogs count?
Jillie and Adrian - congratulations! So happy for you.
Emma sounding off!
These were from a few months ago...now she tries to play two recorders at once...:)
Saturday, September 25, 2010
The kind of parents we are (Caroline)
Emma and I went to the baby shop today to buy her her first potty.
When we got there, there was a pair of parents there, with their daughter. They had every single potty lined up on the floor and they were deep in discussion about which one to buy. They were reviewing their priorities. It was important, they decided that it had a soft cushion. They wanted something that looked realistic, as much like a real toilet as possible. Apparently oblivious to the contradiction, they also wanted a potty that made sounds to reward their child for successful attempts.
Meanwhile, their daughter had chosen the simplest and cheapest one and was gleefully pushing it around in circles.
Now, me, I don't feel the strong need that Emma's potty has music. When my kid poos, there's no need for trumpets to sound. I don't need the potty to transform into something else - like a car. I don't need it to turn into a stool when she's older (we have stools for that). And I don't care if it resembles a throne. I just want a potty.
So I grabbed the two simplest/cheapest ones (although they're still more elaborate than they used to be), put them in front of Emma and asked her to choose - green or red. She chose the green one that vaguely looks like a frog (told you they're more elaborate), and we went and paid for it, leaving the poor bewildered couple discussing whether it would be better for their kid's development to have Beethoven or Mozart singing the praises of their child's wee-wee.
When we got there, there was a pair of parents there, with their daughter. They had every single potty lined up on the floor and they were deep in discussion about which one to buy. They were reviewing their priorities. It was important, they decided that it had a soft cushion. They wanted something that looked realistic, as much like a real toilet as possible. Apparently oblivious to the contradiction, they also wanted a potty that made sounds to reward their child for successful attempts.
Meanwhile, their daughter had chosen the simplest and cheapest one and was gleefully pushing it around in circles.
Now, me, I don't feel the strong need that Emma's potty has music. When my kid poos, there's no need for trumpets to sound. I don't need the potty to transform into something else - like a car. I don't need it to turn into a stool when she's older (we have stools for that). And I don't care if it resembles a throne. I just want a potty.
So I grabbed the two simplest/cheapest ones (although they're still more elaborate than they used to be), put them in front of Emma and asked her to choose - green or red. She chose the green one that vaguely looks like a frog (told you they're more elaborate), and we went and paid for it, leaving the poor bewildered couple discussing whether it would be better for their kid's development to have Beethoven or Mozart singing the praises of their child's wee-wee.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Emma's most repeated word today: Yuk, yuk, yucky...
Note to self
Never leave a curious toddler alone with a pooey nappy while you go into the bathroom to get a wipe cloth.
Enough said.
Never leave a curious toddler alone with a pooey nappy while you go into the bathroom to get a wipe cloth.
Enough said.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Musings on blogging (Anna)
The thing you need to understand about us is that we're both introverts. So we both have a lot going on in our heads, only some of which is manifested in the outside world.
What that means for our blog is that there are many more posts that we have written in our heads than actually appear here. We think about blogging, but don't actually do it (and occasionally forget that there's a difference).
In the blog within our minds, we tell you all sorts of things. For example, we told you all about our two weekends away recently - a night at Whistler, and two nights at Harrison Hot Springs - and what a good mood Emma was in. We told you about going out to dinner as a family...and then dessert because she was so well-behaved, and about giggles and splashes in the pool, and about long walks by the water. And how, when Caroline was sprawled out on the bed reading the paper, I said to Emma, "Emma, can you go and convince Mummy that it's time for us to stop reading the paper and go out for a walk," and she went over to Caroline and started pulling on her feet saying, "Pliz, Mummy, come." And our blog posts in our mind perfectly capture the tenderness and love of that moment.
And in this fictional blog, there are lovely photos of Emma dressed for all kinds of weather, playing all kinds of games. There are videos of her dancing, and singing, and playing with her musical caterpillar, and talking to us, and racing up and down hotel corridors and going up and down stairs. And there are photos of her cuddling us and nuzzling us and family photos of all three of us and even some photos of Emma's friends and our friends, and some photos of special occasions, and...well, you get the picture, so to speak. Our inner worlds are full of colour and life.
So it's sometimes with a bit of shock that we realise how little we post, and how long we can go without posting crucial things like photos and videos. This post being yet another case in point.
Having said that, some photos and videos do actually exist. Possibly we will organize them before Emma is old enough to hold a grudge, or possibly we will simply hand her the 21st century equivalent of a shoe box full of photos - a memory stick - and say, "Voila. Your childhood."
Emma, I very rarely write to you directly on this blog because I can't quite get my head around writing for an audience that not only does not, strictly speaking, exist yet, but that will also be heavily shaped by what I do between now and then - and it's only in some weird space-time continuum warp that you are old enough to be an audience for this. But if you're ever reading this at some point in the future, I want you to know that our hopelessness in keeping up with the blog, and our occasional hoeplessness at taking photos of you doing fun things, is not a reflection on how much we love you or how wonderful you are, or how in love we are with your wonderfully cute antics, or how crazy we are about photos and video of you. And it's not a reflection on how much we care about our extended community or whether we think that they should have regular photo updates (which we actually think does matter, even though our actions don''t support this belief).
You need to know that you are no less loved than those fabulously organized parents who maintain yearly photograph albums - neatly labelled and in perfect chronological order (done at the time, no less, and not just on the eve of an 18th birthday party!)
It's partly because we're a little bit hopeless and disorganized. And it's a lot to do with the fact that we're tired and trying to do a million things at once. And it's mostly to do with the fact that we make choices to do other things. Sometimes, when we could be uploading photos, we are curled up with you reading a book. Sometimes when we could be blogging, we are curled up together protecting the relationship between your parents. Sometimes, when we could be recounting the beautiful things you do, we are working on our own projects and dreams, and sowing seeds for the future, while simultaneously keeping ourselves sane enough to be able to continue to juggle a million things. And sometimes, we are having too much fun in the moment - chasing you across the grass, or turning you upside down and tickling you, telling you stories about the world, or putting on silly voices - to remember to bring out the camera and capture the fun. (Oh, and, ahem, sometimes our camera is out of batteries because your Mumma, once again, got distracted by the moth-like flitter of a passing idea and left the camera on all night. Possibly something that will drive you crazy when you are older. Or maybe you will just take it as an endearing habit of your dear ol' Mumma).
And for those of you - surprisingly many - who still loyally turn up to the read our blog despite the lack of visual aids or commitment to post regularly, bear with us. We'd like to be different people. But we're not. Just imagine the lively, humorous, insightful and fully-illustrated blog posts in our heads, and you'll be fully up-to-the-minute with our daily lives.
What that means for our blog is that there are many more posts that we have written in our heads than actually appear here. We think about blogging, but don't actually do it (and occasionally forget that there's a difference).
In the blog within our minds, we tell you all sorts of things. For example, we told you all about our two weekends away recently - a night at Whistler, and two nights at Harrison Hot Springs - and what a good mood Emma was in. We told you about going out to dinner as a family...and then dessert because she was so well-behaved, and about giggles and splashes in the pool, and about long walks by the water. And how, when Caroline was sprawled out on the bed reading the paper, I said to Emma, "Emma, can you go and convince Mummy that it's time for us to stop reading the paper and go out for a walk," and she went over to Caroline and started pulling on her feet saying, "Pliz, Mummy, come." And our blog posts in our mind perfectly capture the tenderness and love of that moment.
And in this fictional blog, there are lovely photos of Emma dressed for all kinds of weather, playing all kinds of games. There are videos of her dancing, and singing, and playing with her musical caterpillar, and talking to us, and racing up and down hotel corridors and going up and down stairs. And there are photos of her cuddling us and nuzzling us and family photos of all three of us and even some photos of Emma's friends and our friends, and some photos of special occasions, and...well, you get the picture, so to speak. Our inner worlds are full of colour and life.
So it's sometimes with a bit of shock that we realise how little we post, and how long we can go without posting crucial things like photos and videos. This post being yet another case in point.
Having said that, some photos and videos do actually exist. Possibly we will organize them before Emma is old enough to hold a grudge, or possibly we will simply hand her the 21st century equivalent of a shoe box full of photos - a memory stick - and say, "Voila. Your childhood."
Emma, I very rarely write to you directly on this blog because I can't quite get my head around writing for an audience that not only does not, strictly speaking, exist yet, but that will also be heavily shaped by what I do between now and then - and it's only in some weird space-time continuum warp that you are old enough to be an audience for this. But if you're ever reading this at some point in the future, I want you to know that our hopelessness in keeping up with the blog, and our occasional hoeplessness at taking photos of you doing fun things, is not a reflection on how much we love you or how wonderful you are, or how in love we are with your wonderfully cute antics, or how crazy we are about photos and video of you. And it's not a reflection on how much we care about our extended community or whether we think that they should have regular photo updates (which we actually think does matter, even though our actions don''t support this belief).
You need to know that you are no less loved than those fabulously organized parents who maintain yearly photograph albums - neatly labelled and in perfect chronological order (done at the time, no less, and not just on the eve of an 18th birthday party!)
It's partly because we're a little bit hopeless and disorganized. And it's a lot to do with the fact that we're tired and trying to do a million things at once. And it's mostly to do with the fact that we make choices to do other things. Sometimes, when we could be uploading photos, we are curled up with you reading a book. Sometimes when we could be blogging, we are curled up together protecting the relationship between your parents. Sometimes, when we could be recounting the beautiful things you do, we are working on our own projects and dreams, and sowing seeds for the future, while simultaneously keeping ourselves sane enough to be able to continue to juggle a million things. And sometimes, we are having too much fun in the moment - chasing you across the grass, or turning you upside down and tickling you, telling you stories about the world, or putting on silly voices - to remember to bring out the camera and capture the fun. (Oh, and, ahem, sometimes our camera is out of batteries because your Mumma, once again, got distracted by the moth-like flitter of a passing idea and left the camera on all night. Possibly something that will drive you crazy when you are older. Or maybe you will just take it as an endearing habit of your dear ol' Mumma).
And for those of you - surprisingly many - who still loyally turn up to the read our blog despite the lack of visual aids or commitment to post regularly, bear with us. We'd like to be different people. But we're not. Just imagine the lively, humorous, insightful and fully-illustrated blog posts in our heads, and you'll be fully up-to-the-minute with our daily lives.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
I know, I know (Anna)
I realise we are the worst bloggers in the world. We promised photos and video and neither have been forthcoming. Ho hum!
Three cute stories in the meantime:
Emma has been the lucky recipient of a white t-shirt with a red fire engine on the front. It's her new favourite t-shirt. When she's wearing it, she refuses to wear a jacket because it covers up the picture. And she gets very grumpy about her car seat, because the buckle covers up the picture.
She's taken to lying on one of our wooden stairs (going down into the living room) and putting a blanket over her. It's her favourite place. Looks pretty uncomfortable to us,a nd when she moves, she falls off. But who are we to say what's comfy and what's not?
She's starting to take care of her stuffed animals, feeding them milk and tucking them into bed under a blanket. It's very sweet.
A
Three cute stories in the meantime:
Emma has been the lucky recipient of a white t-shirt with a red fire engine on the front. It's her new favourite t-shirt. When she's wearing it, she refuses to wear a jacket because it covers up the picture. And she gets very grumpy about her car seat, because the buckle covers up the picture.
She's taken to lying on one of our wooden stairs (going down into the living room) and putting a blanket over her. It's her favourite place. Looks pretty uncomfortable to us,a nd when she moves, she falls off. But who are we to say what's comfy and what's not?
She's starting to take care of her stuffed animals, feeding them milk and tucking them into bed under a blanket. It's very sweet.
A
Monday, September 13, 2010
18 months old (The Mums)
Emmy is 18 months old today. A year and a half. This is the first installment of a few days' worth of celebrations that might even include photos and video. .
50 things we love about you, little 18 month old:
you have the most wonderful giggle in the world, totally infectious
the way you pull us both in simultaneously for a kiss, guiding our cheeks in so we both kiss you on the cheek at the same time
the way you need your blanket, your bunny AND your teddy tucked in with you at night...the cast seems to be growing weekly
the fact that you are the worst co-sleeper in the world - would it kill you to sleep vertically instead of horizontally across our pillows?
the way you push the stool up to the counter so you can get to anything you want to
The way we say "Emma, are you wreaking havoc?" and you say, with a small grin, "yeah!"
the way you fill in the "beeps" and the "hoorays" in Little Blue Truck Leads the Way
the way you proudly present your shoes when we go out
the way you label all the parts of the body
your nuzzles and schnuggles
the way you ask for "cheeries" (cheerios)
your beautiufl soft kisses
your focus and concentration when you're playing and determined to do something
the way you pour water on your belly in the bath and take a deep breathe in when it's cold
the way you hold your arms up and say "up!"
the way you fold yourself into our arms for a close cuddle
the way you studiously try to ignore us when we pick you up at day care (but then can't help checking to make sure we're watching as you show off your new tricks)
the fact that you have mastered the difference between 'mumma' and 'mummy' in time for your 18 month celebrations
the way you have "hungry days" when every meal is six courses long. Your favourite foods are edamame, avocado and yoghurt (your obsession with green foods continues, although brocolli has fallen out of favour)
the pasion and devotion with which you eat your blueberries
Emma walks. We love being lead.
the way you scavenge on the floor for bits of cereal or fallen blueberries, and how happy you are when you find something (a single semi-sweet chocolate chip that has fallen off the bench is your idea of the perfect hunt)
the way you insist on carrying your lunch box out of day care - it drags on he ground because it's a little too heavy for you but you don't give up
you constaantly amaze us with what you can do and the words you know
the way you open the bedroom door and head off on an adventure, before returning to the bed for a cuddle
the way you sit on the bench when we're cooking and watch what's going on
the way you wriggle backwards onto our laps for a cuddle and a book
your delight when you see a bus. or an aeroplane. or a puppy.
your delight when you see us. When we come in the front door, you race over to us to greet us and yell "Mumma/Mummy!"
the way you take yourself off with a favourite toy and sit in your cardboard box/car/boat/aeroplane for some peace and quiet
the way you giggle at the playground. You love climbing, swining and sliding. You're not a huge fan of sand.
the way you plant yourself between us when we're hugging
the conversations you have with us with a combination of our language and yours
the way you walk down the stairs, step by step. You are far too old to shuffle on your bum
your ability to find a dummy anywhere, even when we can't find one
your affectionate nature
your sense of humour. You love to initiate a game or a joke and you love it when we giggle along with you
the way you shriek with glee
the way you play your musical caterpillar (pressing blue for "Happy Birthday" while saying "birfday"
your fascination with balls continues
the way you touch the guitar and like to pluck the strings
the way you run now, faster and faster every day
the way you stomp your feet up and down and wiggle
your curiosity
the way you love being swung upside down and round and round
the way you know what you want and won't put up with second best
the way you try to make other kids laugh
the way you'll play by yourself, pottering around the room
the way you sit on our belly and demand "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" (you add the scream in the crocodile verse)
the way you like to push things in front of you and crash them into the wall
the pride with which you place your water cup in your stroller holder
the love you have for your stroller and how you need to show it off to your friends
the way you figure things out really quickly
the way you bounce up and down and dance
the way you tap us on the shoulder when you're happy
your toothy grin
your goofiness
your stubborness
the way you always rise to the occasion. You're very sociable but also seem to need time to yourself.
Your cuddles, your kisses, your affection, your love.
Your "you"-iness.
Well, that's way more than 50, and we could go on and on.
Emmy, we love you so much. Happy 1 1/2 birthday , little one.
Love,
The Mums
50 things we love about you, little 18 month old:
you have the most wonderful giggle in the world, totally infectious
the way you pull us both in simultaneously for a kiss, guiding our cheeks in so we both kiss you on the cheek at the same time
the way you need your blanket, your bunny AND your teddy tucked in with you at night...the cast seems to be growing weekly
the fact that you are the worst co-sleeper in the world - would it kill you to sleep vertically instead of horizontally across our pillows?
the way you push the stool up to the counter so you can get to anything you want to
The way we say "Emma, are you wreaking havoc?" and you say, with a small grin, "yeah!"
the way you fill in the "beeps" and the "hoorays" in Little Blue Truck Leads the Way
the way you proudly present your shoes when we go out
the way you label all the parts of the body
your nuzzles and schnuggles
the way you ask for "cheeries" (cheerios)
your beautiufl soft kisses
your focus and concentration when you're playing and determined to do something
the way you pour water on your belly in the bath and take a deep breathe in when it's cold
the way you hold your arms up and say "up!"
the way you fold yourself into our arms for a close cuddle
the way you studiously try to ignore us when we pick you up at day care (but then can't help checking to make sure we're watching as you show off your new tricks)
the fact that you have mastered the difference between 'mumma' and 'mummy' in time for your 18 month celebrations
the way you have "hungry days" when every meal is six courses long. Your favourite foods are edamame, avocado and yoghurt (your obsession with green foods continues, although brocolli has fallen out of favour)
the pasion and devotion with which you eat your blueberries
Emma walks. We love being lead.
the way you scavenge on the floor for bits of cereal or fallen blueberries, and how happy you are when you find something (a single semi-sweet chocolate chip that has fallen off the bench is your idea of the perfect hunt)
the way you insist on carrying your lunch box out of day care - it drags on he ground because it's a little too heavy for you but you don't give up
you constaantly amaze us with what you can do and the words you know
the way you open the bedroom door and head off on an adventure, before returning to the bed for a cuddle
the way you sit on the bench when we're cooking and watch what's going on
the way you wriggle backwards onto our laps for a cuddle and a book
your delight when you see a bus. or an aeroplane. or a puppy.
your delight when you see us. When we come in the front door, you race over to us to greet us and yell "Mumma/Mummy!"
the way you take yourself off with a favourite toy and sit in your cardboard box/car/boat/aeroplane for some peace and quiet
the way you giggle at the playground. You love climbing, swining and sliding. You're not a huge fan of sand.
the way you plant yourself between us when we're hugging
the conversations you have with us with a combination of our language and yours
the way you walk down the stairs, step by step. You are far too old to shuffle on your bum
your ability to find a dummy anywhere, even when we can't find one
your affectionate nature
your sense of humour. You love to initiate a game or a joke and you love it when we giggle along with you
the way you shriek with glee
the way you play your musical caterpillar (pressing blue for "Happy Birthday" while saying "birfday"
your fascination with balls continues
the way you touch the guitar and like to pluck the strings
the way you run now, faster and faster every day
the way you stomp your feet up and down and wiggle
your curiosity
the way you love being swung upside down and round and round
the way you know what you want and won't put up with second best
the way you try to make other kids laugh
the way you'll play by yourself, pottering around the room
the way you sit on our belly and demand "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" (you add the scream in the crocodile verse)
the way you like to push things in front of you and crash them into the wall
the pride with which you place your water cup in your stroller holder
the love you have for your stroller and how you need to show it off to your friends
the way you figure things out really quickly
the way you bounce up and down and dance
the way you tap us on the shoulder when you're happy
your toothy grin
your goofiness
your stubborness
the way you always rise to the occasion. You're very sociable but also seem to need time to yourself.
Your cuddles, your kisses, your affection, your love.
Your "you"-iness.
Well, that's way more than 50, and we could go on and on.
Emmy, we love you so much. Happy 1 1/2 birthday , little one.
Love,
The Mums
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Glasses (Anna)
Emma sat on my glasses tonight, and now they're all wonky on my nose. Rrrr. What makes it worse is that it was entirely my own fault.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Domesticity
Yesterday evening, Caroline was curled up on one end of the couch reading, keeping an eye on the meal cooking in the kitchen. I was curled up on the the other end, working on a creative project. Something classical was playing in the background. Emma was pottering around playing, coming in periodically for a snuggle or a book. It was really nice.
Then, like a puppy, Emma suddenly went and found her sandals and delivered them to me. I said, "We're not going out, but you can wear them if you want to" and put them on for her. Then she went and got her hat (she's been well-trained - it was actually overcast outside), and then her jacket. It was all very matter-of-fact, with no whining or crying or even "pliz". So, genius that I am, I intuited that she was asking to go out, so I agreed we'd go for a walk, leaving Caroline to finish dinner. I had to find my own jacket and shoes, during which Emma was almost literally scratching at the front door. I said, "I know you're impatient. You just want to go outside and here I am, messing around looking for my fleece." And she said, "Yeah!"
So eventually we left and the minute we were outside, Emma gave me a huge grin and put her hand in mine.
We went for an "Emma walk" - a popular choice when we're not actually needing to get anywhere in particular. On an Emma walk, we go whereever Emma wants to go. She chooses the direction, when to turn a corner, when to cross a road and what she looks at on the way. If she wants to walk all around the neighbourhood, that's fine. If she wants to stop and play with a single leaf for 15 minutes, that's fine, too. As long as she holds our hand crossing roads, she's in control. She's usually very calm after an Emma walk.
So yesterday, even though we live within a few blocks of four parks, we walked just down the road and spent a long time picking up rocks and moving them to the other side of the footpath. And then we watched in fascination as some teenagers played on their skateboards. Perhaps we made them self-conscious, staring at them for so long - at least, I think that might be why they kept falling off :)
It started to get cold and windy - it was one of those blustery, brooding fall evenings (that I, personally, love as long as I'm tucked inside a good fleece). We headed home, Emma happily trotting along the street. When we walked through the door, we were greeted with warmth and the amazing smell of a roast chicken and veggies. Caroline came to greet us and gave us both a big hug. Not a bad way to come home at all.
And we sat down to an amazing meal while the wind picked up outside. We turned off the lights and ate by candle light. Emma was mesmerized by the flickering flame and kept proclaiming "Pretty!!" - another word we didn't know she knew.
It was a very domestic, cosy kind of evening, and we put Emma to bed very content.
Then, like a puppy, Emma suddenly went and found her sandals and delivered them to me. I said, "We're not going out, but you can wear them if you want to" and put them on for her. Then she went and got her hat (she's been well-trained - it was actually overcast outside), and then her jacket. It was all very matter-of-fact, with no whining or crying or even "pliz". So, genius that I am, I intuited that she was asking to go out, so I agreed we'd go for a walk, leaving Caroline to finish dinner. I had to find my own jacket and shoes, during which Emma was almost literally scratching at the front door. I said, "I know you're impatient. You just want to go outside and here I am, messing around looking for my fleece." And she said, "Yeah!"
So eventually we left and the minute we were outside, Emma gave me a huge grin and put her hand in mine.
We went for an "Emma walk" - a popular choice when we're not actually needing to get anywhere in particular. On an Emma walk, we go whereever Emma wants to go. She chooses the direction, when to turn a corner, when to cross a road and what she looks at on the way. If she wants to walk all around the neighbourhood, that's fine. If she wants to stop and play with a single leaf for 15 minutes, that's fine, too. As long as she holds our hand crossing roads, she's in control. She's usually very calm after an Emma walk.
So yesterday, even though we live within a few blocks of four parks, we walked just down the road and spent a long time picking up rocks and moving them to the other side of the footpath. And then we watched in fascination as some teenagers played on their skateboards. Perhaps we made them self-conscious, staring at them for so long - at least, I think that might be why they kept falling off :)
It started to get cold and windy - it was one of those blustery, brooding fall evenings (that I, personally, love as long as I'm tucked inside a good fleece). We headed home, Emma happily trotting along the street. When we walked through the door, we were greeted with warmth and the amazing smell of a roast chicken and veggies. Caroline came to greet us and gave us both a big hug. Not a bad way to come home at all.
And we sat down to an amazing meal while the wind picked up outside. We turned off the lights and ate by candle light. Emma was mesmerized by the flickering flame and kept proclaiming "Pretty!!" - another word we didn't know she knew.
It was a very domestic, cosy kind of evening, and we put Emma to bed very content.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Ahhhh! (Anna)
We just had a date. Yes. As in two adults; no kid. We went out to dinner and talked. And then went out for dessert and talked some more. Neither of us required a bib or a high chair. We are feeling much more human as a result.
And Emma had a fabulous evening, with two terrific kids who live on our street (both of whom we're very fond of). They're a little older than her - old enough to feel protective of the "baby" in the group and treat her like some kind of foreign curiosity, (e.g. "Mummy! Emma just said a word! Ooooh!"), and old enough to provide hours of wide-eyed awe for Emma, who can't quite manage a lot of the things they can do. The three-year-old host did a terrific job of looking after her guests. And her parents chipped in a little, too :)
From what we can gather, the three little ones spent a lot of the evening jumping on a mattress and rolling around on the floor tickling each other. Apparently, there was much giggling. When we did a phone check-in, we were told that all three of them were snuggled up in bed watching Tinkerbell and eating bunny crackers. Awww!
Life is good.
And Emma had a fabulous evening, with two terrific kids who live on our street (both of whom we're very fond of). They're a little older than her - old enough to feel protective of the "baby" in the group and treat her like some kind of foreign curiosity, (e.g. "Mummy! Emma just said a word! Ooooh!"), and old enough to provide hours of wide-eyed awe for Emma, who can't quite manage a lot of the things they can do. The three-year-old host did a terrific job of looking after her guests. And her parents chipped in a little, too :)
From what we can gather, the three little ones spent a lot of the evening jumping on a mattress and rolling around on the floor tickling each other. Apparently, there was much giggling. When we did a phone check-in, we were told that all three of them were snuggled up in bed watching Tinkerbell and eating bunny crackers. Awww!
Life is good.
Emma's subconscious (Anna)
Emma has learnt to say "no" recently. She doesn't use it randomly or just to be contrary, but, when she needs to she will shake her head and say "nooooo", or "no, no, no, no".
Last night, she started sleep-talking. As she tossed and turned, she moaned "Nooo, noo, nooo, nooo, nooo."
I'd love to know what sparked it. Did some mean parent take her pink shoes off?
Last night, she started sleep-talking. As she tossed and turned, she moaned "Nooo, noo, nooo, nooo, nooo."
I'd love to know what sparked it. Did some mean parent take her pink shoes off?
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
More toddler fury (Anna)
Emma is beautiful when she's furious, even if her fury is also exasperating and exhausting. Which probably sounds very patronizing about her very considerable anger, but there you go.
This morning, we heard the rubbish truck outside so I picked Emma up to look out of the back window. We watched it (the truck, not the window)pick up 3 or 4 bins and turn them upside down , and we listened to its chomping sounds, and we talked about what it was doing.
And then it drove out of sight.
"More!" Emma demanded.
"But it's gone," I told her, and then corrected that to, "It's out of sight. Look. It's around the corner. We can't see it any more."
"More!" she said. "More! More!"
But her terrible, horrible, nasty cruel mother wouldn't make the rubbish truck come back into view, and so there was no more to be had.
She was furious with me, sobbing and crying and screaming, "More!" at me and sinking to the ground in torment. Nothing I could do or say appeased her or distracted her. If she had the language, she would have said, "How can you expect me to be distracted with a cuddle, a book or a saucepan when the rubbish truck has gone!!"
This lasted for a good five minutes, which is a considerable time to be listening to that awful toddler shriek. By the end of it, I was quite inclined to show her the INSIDE of the rubbish truck.
And eventually, I did something that wasn't quite as mean, or she got bored, or something, and peace reigned again.
Sorry, Emmy. I didn't mean to ruin your day.
This morning, we heard the rubbish truck outside so I picked Emma up to look out of the back window. We watched it (the truck, not the window)pick up 3 or 4 bins and turn them upside down , and we listened to its chomping sounds, and we talked about what it was doing.
And then it drove out of sight.
"More!" Emma demanded.
"But it's gone," I told her, and then corrected that to, "It's out of sight. Look. It's around the corner. We can't see it any more."
"More!" she said. "More! More!"
But her terrible, horrible, nasty cruel mother wouldn't make the rubbish truck come back into view, and so there was no more to be had.
She was furious with me, sobbing and crying and screaming, "More!" at me and sinking to the ground in torment. Nothing I could do or say appeased her or distracted her. If she had the language, she would have said, "How can you expect me to be distracted with a cuddle, a book or a saucepan when the rubbish truck has gone!!"
This lasted for a good five minutes, which is a considerable time to be listening to that awful toddler shriek. By the end of it, I was quite inclined to show her the INSIDE of the rubbish truck.
And eventually, I did something that wasn't quite as mean, or she got bored, or something, and peace reigned again.
Sorry, Emmy. I didn't mean to ruin your day.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
More moos'k (Anna)
Music is a pretty constant thing in our house, whether it's kids songs, classical, pop, alternative, instrumental or whatever else we feel like. It's often on in the background when we eat, sometimes we sing to it and sometimes we dance to it.
I was having dinner with Emma tonight and we had Tracy Chapman playing in the background. The CD came to an end, but I didn't really notice.
Then Emma started saying "more?"
I said, "more what? What do you want more of? Tofu? Carrot? Rice? Water?"
And she pointed at the IPod and said "more? More...moos'k."
So I started the CD again, and we continued dinner. I started to sing along to Tracy and Emma quietly ate her dinner (apparently, she's a big fan of miso tofu). And then I stopped singing for some reason and Emma looked at me and said "more!" So I started singing again and every time I stopped, Emma clapped her hands and said "more!"
Ladies and gentlemen, who am I to argue? More music it is.
I was having dinner with Emma tonight and we had Tracy Chapman playing in the background. The CD came to an end, but I didn't really notice.
Then Emma started saying "more?"
I said, "more what? What do you want more of? Tofu? Carrot? Rice? Water?"
And she pointed at the IPod and said "more? More...moos'k."
So I started the CD again, and we continued dinner. I started to sing along to Tracy and Emma quietly ate her dinner (apparently, she's a big fan of miso tofu). And then I stopped singing for some reason and Emma looked at me and said "more!" So I started singing again and every time I stopped, Emma clapped her hands and said "more!"
Ladies and gentlemen, who am I to argue? More music it is.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Vashti (Anna)
One of Emma's caregivers at day care is moving on to a new position, so we had to say goodbye this morning.
Vashti - we'll miss you!
Vashti - we'll miss you!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Getting better and updates (Anna)
Emma's on the mend, after a brutal four days of fever, crying and misery. The only part I didn't join in on was the fever. And Caroline's program has launched, which is quite the relief.
Heroes of the week:
- Our next-door neighbours, for bringing us a meal (a healthy meal!) one night when cooking felt impossible. There was even enough for lunch the next day. You have earned yourself loyalty for life.
- Our neighbour a few doors down, for making it possible for me to attend Caroline's opening ceremony, and taking Emma for a while when she started climbing up the seats, so that I could see the performance of my script. Thank you!
- The little blue truck, whose beeping through the city has got us through many long hours over the past few days. I love you dearly, little blue truck, and if there has to be a favourite book that gets read over and over...and over and over...I'm glad it's you. But, really, I would be happy never to see you ever again. I predict that you will get lost under the bed in the very near future.
A few updates:
Emma is now tall enough to reach for a bowl of cereal on the kitchen bench and upend it all over her head. Our knowledge of this new trick is, unfortunately, more than just theoretical.
Yesterday, one of her sandals was wet (why was her sandal wet? Oh right. Somebody in our house likes to throw things into the bath...I've tried to tell Caroline to stop it...) She put her foot in it, and then said "No. Wet. No". When did our daughter start to have a problem with wearing wet sandals? And when did she learn the word "wet"?
When she wakes up from a nap on our bed, instead of bawling and waiting for us to go and get her, she happily wriggles off the bed, toddles to the top of the stairs and calls "Mumma?"
She loves to identify everyone. She points to me. "Mumma". She points to Caroline. "Mumma" (we say, "Mummy!" and she repeats Mummy, but then reverts back to Mumma.) And then she points to herself and says "Em-ma."
Alas, gone are the days when any book would do as long as she was cuddled up on our laps and could turn the pages. Now she has - horror! - preferences and will say no ten times if she needs to before we offer her the book she wants.
She is crazy about cars, buses, trucks and aeroplanes.
Heroes of the week:
- Our next-door neighbours, for bringing us a meal (a healthy meal!) one night when cooking felt impossible. There was even enough for lunch the next day. You have earned yourself loyalty for life.
- Our neighbour a few doors down, for making it possible for me to attend Caroline's opening ceremony, and taking Emma for a while when she started climbing up the seats, so that I could see the performance of my script. Thank you!
- The little blue truck, whose beeping through the city has got us through many long hours over the past few days. I love you dearly, little blue truck, and if there has to be a favourite book that gets read over and over...and over and over...I'm glad it's you. But, really, I would be happy never to see you ever again. I predict that you will get lost under the bed in the very near future.
A few updates:
Emma is now tall enough to reach for a bowl of cereal on the kitchen bench and upend it all over her head. Our knowledge of this new trick is, unfortunately, more than just theoretical.
Yesterday, one of her sandals was wet (why was her sandal wet? Oh right. Somebody in our house likes to throw things into the bath...I've tried to tell Caroline to stop it...) She put her foot in it, and then said "No. Wet. No". When did our daughter start to have a problem with wearing wet sandals? And when did she learn the word "wet"?
When she wakes up from a nap on our bed, instead of bawling and waiting for us to go and get her, she happily wriggles off the bed, toddles to the top of the stairs and calls "Mumma?"
She loves to identify everyone. She points to me. "Mumma". She points to Caroline. "Mumma" (we say, "Mummy!" and she repeats Mummy, but then reverts back to Mumma.) And then she points to herself and says "Em-ma."
Alas, gone are the days when any book would do as long as she was cuddled up on our laps and could turn the pages. Now she has - horror! - preferences and will say no ten times if she needs to before we offer her the book she wants.
She is crazy about cars, buses, trucks and aeroplanes.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Poor thing (Anna)
Emma's sick, poor thing, with some kind of virus (fever and rash included at no extra price). The timing couldn't be worse - Caroline is about to go into the busiest two weeks of her year. So Emma and I are bunked down at home, while she cries and looks at me like I'm letting her down cos I can't take it all away. I'm hoping that the next 24 hour cycle includes more than the four hours of sleep (yes, that's total) she and I both got in the last 24 hours.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
R.I.P little toothbrush (Anna)
R.I.P Emma's toothbrush.
Emma's toothbrush, a regular guest in our home, died an untimely death this morning in the toilet bowl of the upstairs bathroom, at the hands of a curious toddler.
Although having a reputation by some for having a rather bristly character, Toothbrush was known by close family for her soft side, and will be remembered fondly for her love of being held close and the obvious joy she experienced while dancing in circles. She had a calm, even temperement that held her in good stead during the bitings and meltdowns that were a frequent part of her chosen line of work.
Experts speculate that the last sounds Toothbrush would have heard were "splash" and a babe's delighted chuckle.
Although revival is sometimes possible in cases of toothbrush drowning, it is exceptionally rare when the body of water involved is a toilet.
Emma's toothbrush, a regular guest in our home, died an untimely death this morning in the toilet bowl of the upstairs bathroom, at the hands of a curious toddler.
Although having a reputation by some for having a rather bristly character, Toothbrush was known by close family for her soft side, and will be remembered fondly for her love of being held close and the obvious joy she experienced while dancing in circles. She had a calm, even temperement that held her in good stead during the bitings and meltdowns that were a frequent part of her chosen line of work.
Experts speculate that the last sounds Toothbrush would have heard were "splash" and a babe's delighted chuckle.
Although revival is sometimes possible in cases of toothbrush drowning, it is exceptionally rare when the body of water involved is a toilet.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
A contrary little creature (Anna)
Emma has adopted an adorable habit of saying "Noooooo" and shaking her head...at everything.
At the end of a meal, "Do you want to go down, Emma?"
"Noooo" (shakes her head)
"So you want to stay in your high chair?"
"Noooo" (shakes her head)
At bed-time, "Are you ready for bed, Emmy?"
"Noooo" (shakes her head)
"So you want to stay up a bit longer?
"Noooo" (shakes her head)
Outside, "Do you want to go in?"
"Nooooo" (shakes her head)
"So you want to stay outside?"
"Noooo" (shakes her head)
Often, luckily, the noooo has nothing to do with a corresponding action.
In the bath, "Sit down, little one. Sit on your bum."
"Nooooo' (shakes her head fervently - while sitting down and doing exactly what she's been asked to do.)
But, if we say "Do you want a kiss?" she still says "Mmmmwhaaaa." So all is good in the world.
She also can't get enough of her books at the moment. Sometimes, we're not sure what she needs or is asking for, so a conversation might look like this:
"Are you tired?" (+ sign for sleep)
"noooo" (shakes her head)
"Are you thirsty?" (+ sign for drink)
"noooo" (shakes her head)
"Do you have a poo?" (+ sign for dirty nappy)
"noooo" (shakes her head)
"Are you hungry?"(+ sign for food)
"noooo" (shakes her head)
"Do you want to go outside?"
"noooo" (shakes her head)
Do you need a cuddle?"
"noooo" (shakes her head - usually holding out her arms to be picked up)
Do you want to play?
"noooo" (shakes her head)
"Would you like a book?"
"Buk?" Her eyes light up and suddenly she's interested. She nods frantically before dashing off to collect a pile. She comes back to us, presents us with a suitable selection, and shows us which one she wants first. Then she turns around, backs into our lap and plops down, expectantly. And the noooos stop for another few minutes, while she happily goes through her new words, all of which include exclamation marks as part of their spelling: "train!" "air-pla-!" "orange!" "star!" "'pider!" "purple!""blo-!" "bucket!" "blanket!"etc etc, occasionally intercepted by the urgent need to point to us and say "Mumma" or "Mummy" (still a little indiscrimately - most days,we're both just Mumma) or lable our nose (another "no-"), eyes and ears. Every day, there are new words we didn't know she knew.
She also points to the pictures on the wall and declares "Em-ma!"
At the end of a meal, "Do you want to go down, Emma?"
"Noooo" (shakes her head)
"So you want to stay in your high chair?"
"Noooo" (shakes her head)
At bed-time, "Are you ready for bed, Emmy?"
"Noooo" (shakes her head)
"So you want to stay up a bit longer?
"Noooo" (shakes her head)
Outside, "Do you want to go in?"
"Nooooo" (shakes her head)
"So you want to stay outside?"
"Noooo" (shakes her head)
Often, luckily, the noooo has nothing to do with a corresponding action.
In the bath, "Sit down, little one. Sit on your bum."
"Nooooo' (shakes her head fervently - while sitting down and doing exactly what she's been asked to do.)
But, if we say "Do you want a kiss?" she still says "Mmmmwhaaaa." So all is good in the world.
She also can't get enough of her books at the moment. Sometimes, we're not sure what she needs or is asking for, so a conversation might look like this:
"Are you tired?" (+ sign for sleep)
"noooo" (shakes her head)
"Are you thirsty?" (+ sign for drink)
"noooo" (shakes her head)
"Do you have a poo?" (+ sign for dirty nappy)
"noooo" (shakes her head)
"Are you hungry?"(+ sign for food)
"noooo" (shakes her head)
"Do you want to go outside?"
"noooo" (shakes her head)
Do you need a cuddle?"
"noooo" (shakes her head - usually holding out her arms to be picked up)
Do you want to play?
"noooo" (shakes her head)
"Would you like a book?"
"Buk?" Her eyes light up and suddenly she's interested. She nods frantically before dashing off to collect a pile. She comes back to us, presents us with a suitable selection, and shows us which one she wants first. Then she turns around, backs into our lap and plops down, expectantly. And the noooos stop for another few minutes, while she happily goes through her new words, all of which include exclamation marks as part of their spelling: "train!" "air-pla-!" "orange!" "star!" "'pider!" "purple!""blo-!" "bucket!" "blanket!"etc etc, occasionally intercepted by the urgent need to point to us and say "Mumma" or "Mummy" (still a little indiscrimately - most days,we're both just Mumma) or lable our nose (another "no-"), eyes and ears. Every day, there are new words we didn't know she knew.
She also points to the pictures on the wall and declares "Em-ma!"
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Off topic ruminations (Anna)
There's a bible shop near us. At the moment, there's a sign outside that reads:
Sale
Fiction 4.99
Non-fiction 5.99
So my question is, how much would I pay for a bible?
Sale
Fiction 4.99
Non-fiction 5.99
So my question is, how much would I pay for a bible?
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Emma-envy (Anna)
Emma hasn't been sleeping well recently, which means she has two Mums who are exhausted.
I wish a kind, caring person would come up to my desk at work and say, "Hiya, little one. I noticed that you're getting a bit cranky. I think someone needs a nap. Let's go and get some sleep, hey?" And they would take whatever writing I was working on and lay it down gently, reach under my arms and pick me up. My colleagues would blow kisses at me and say "bye-bye" or "nigh-nigh" as I went past.
My protector would carry me to a comfy bed, stroking my head as it lolls on their shoulder. Then they would lie me down gently, tuck a bunny under my arm and a blanket over my bum. They would say, softly "Sleepy-sleep, my little one." And then, while I started to drift off into a deep slumber, they would sing made-up lullabies to me in a soft voice, and gently kiss my cheeks. If I woke up and cried, they would tuck me back in and say, "Back to sleep. It's ok" in that funny sing-song voice reserved for babies and pat my back rhythmically, and I would go back to sleep for as long as I needed to.
This was my fantasy today. I think my workplace should seriously consider adding this service to our extended benefits plan.
I wish a kind, caring person would come up to my desk at work and say, "Hiya, little one. I noticed that you're getting a bit cranky. I think someone needs a nap. Let's go and get some sleep, hey?" And they would take whatever writing I was working on and lay it down gently, reach under my arms and pick me up. My colleagues would blow kisses at me and say "bye-bye" or "nigh-nigh" as I went past.
My protector would carry me to a comfy bed, stroking my head as it lolls on their shoulder. Then they would lie me down gently, tuck a bunny under my arm and a blanket over my bum. They would say, softly "Sleepy-sleep, my little one." And then, while I started to drift off into a deep slumber, they would sing made-up lullabies to me in a soft voice, and gently kiss my cheeks. If I woke up and cried, they would tuck me back in and say, "Back to sleep. It's ok" in that funny sing-song voice reserved for babies and pat my back rhythmically, and I would go back to sleep for as long as I needed to.
This was my fantasy today. I think my workplace should seriously consider adding this service to our extended benefits plan.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
First fury (Anna)
Emma is going through lots of major cognitive shifts at the moment, including creating short sentences. "Bye bye Mummy" rather than just "Bye bye" or "Hello cat" rather than just "Hello".
And last night, we saw the full force of her toddler fury when things don't go her way. She was so angry at being told to go to sleep, she grabbed her blanket and threw it across the room at us. When that didn't seem to change anything, she threw her treasured bunny at us. Neither of us have ever seen her deliberately throw things in rage before. We've seen her throw whatever happens to be in her hand in frustration, but never deliberately grabbing something with the expressed intention of sending it hurling in our direction furiously.
I suspect there'll be more to come. Seems that our little one has some opinions of her own. We will, of course, discourage them - after all, neither of her parents is stubborn and has opinions ;)
And last night, we saw the full force of her toddler fury when things don't go her way. She was so angry at being told to go to sleep, she grabbed her blanket and threw it across the room at us. When that didn't seem to change anything, she threw her treasured bunny at us. Neither of us have ever seen her deliberately throw things in rage before. We've seen her throw whatever happens to be in her hand in frustration, but never deliberately grabbing something with the expressed intention of sending it hurling in our direction furiously.
I suspect there'll be more to come. Seems that our little one has some opinions of her own. We will, of course, discourage them - after all, neither of her parents is stubborn and has opinions ;)
Friday, July 23, 2010
Bye-bye (Anna)
It's getting harder and harder to get Emma out of the door. She insists on saying bye bye to as many inanimate objects as possible as we walk out, and has to make eye contact with each of them. So the walk down the hallway can take five minutes while she says bye-bye to the chair,a pair of socks, the mirror, our sneakers, the wall, the door, the floorboards, any clothes that are hanging around, the letter box, the wall...you get the picture. It's a bit like "Goodnight Moon".
If there's anything with a face on it, it's even harder. She says bye bye, but then has to run through her "face vocab" - nose, eyes, ears, teeth, tongue, cheek, etc, sometimes several times. ("Yes, little one. It's STILL a nose. Just like it was the last 20 times you asked...")
And she has developed more emotional needs as well. At bed time a week ago, she suddenly decided it was extremely important to cuddle her bunny and pull her blanket up (both of which she had previously ignored). Then, last night, she wouldn't sleep until I had kissed the bunny goodnight on its nose as well as hers. She did make it easy for me to figure out, holding the bunny up to my face and saying "Mmmmwhhma pliz" until I kissed it.
Her vocab is exploding - new words every day, and she has the most wonderful giggle in the world. Neither talking nor giggling are things she'll do with a camera in her face, so we'll just have to enjoy the moment and not worry too much about capturing it for prosterity.
We are torn between wanting her to keep getting older so we can see what else she has in store for us, and wanting her to stay this age forever.
If there's anything with a face on it, it's even harder. She says bye bye, but then has to run through her "face vocab" - nose, eyes, ears, teeth, tongue, cheek, etc, sometimes several times. ("Yes, little one. It's STILL a nose. Just like it was the last 20 times you asked...")
And she has developed more emotional needs as well. At bed time a week ago, she suddenly decided it was extremely important to cuddle her bunny and pull her blanket up (both of which she had previously ignored). Then, last night, she wouldn't sleep until I had kissed the bunny goodnight on its nose as well as hers. She did make it easy for me to figure out, holding the bunny up to my face and saying "Mmmmwhhma pliz" until I kissed it.
Her vocab is exploding - new words every day, and she has the most wonderful giggle in the world. Neither talking nor giggling are things she'll do with a camera in her face, so we'll just have to enjoy the moment and not worry too much about capturing it for prosterity.
We are torn between wanting her to keep getting older so we can see what else she has in store for us, and wanting her to stay this age forever.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Puh-lease, Mum Part 2 (Anna)
There's a sock - adult size - on the bedroom floor, so she brings it up to me.
"Pliz", she says, frantically tapping her chest with the sign for please. She hands me the sock.
I take it.
"Hi," I say. "You've got a sock."
She looks at me expectantly, and says "pliz" a little louder.
"Shall I put it on?" I ask. "Shall I put the sock on my foot?" and I start to put the sock on my foot.
She grabs it off me and hands it to me again.
I take it.
"Pliz," she insists.
"Would you like me to put it on YOUR foot?" I ask and bend down to put the sock on HER foot.
She growls, like a little lion, and looks at me impatiently. She pulls the sock away from her foot and puts it in my hand.
"Pliz," she says, scowling.
I play peek-a-boo with it. I tickle her nose with it. I fly it around the room like a sick pigeon. I throw it on the floor. I throw it in the air. I throw it in the bath. All of this is wrong, and she is getting angrier and angrier at me. She has stopped asking nicely, resorting to a fingernail-on-chalkboard screech every time I get it wrong.
She grabs the sock and walks away. I didn't know that toddlers could huff. She turns her back on me in disgust.
Luckily, our daughter is patient and kind with slow learners, so she comes back a few moments later and generously gives me another chance.
"Pliz," she says, with a huge toothy grin, as if I have been deliberately holding out on her and she has to up the ante, laying on the cute factor. She is extremely cute and I'm not trying to teach her important world lessons abot the fact that she can't always get what she wants. I am genuinely baffled.
I tickle her belly with it, knowing that's not what she wants, but hoping beyond hope that it might work. I put the sock on my head and make a silly face. She laughs, but then gets back to business.
"Pliz," she says.
I put it on HER head.
And...she melts down. She cries. And cries. I am a terrible mother and have let her down in the worst possible way. She will never forgive me. She concedes to being cuddled, but cries all the way out the bedroom. All the way down the stairs. All the way along the hall. Her face is red, her eyes scrunched up. I can see her tonsils. It is the end of the world.
Eventually, she gets distracted by a little metal tin that she absolutely must explore. She wriggles out of my arms to go and play, and peace reigns again.
Later, I tell Caroline about my colossal failure as a parent. She smiles and tells me in less than two seconds what Emma was asking for.
"Hand puppets!"
Duh. Of course.
"Pliz", she says, frantically tapping her chest with the sign for please. She hands me the sock.
I take it.
"Hi," I say. "You've got a sock."
She looks at me expectantly, and says "pliz" a little louder.
"Shall I put it on?" I ask. "Shall I put the sock on my foot?" and I start to put the sock on my foot.
She grabs it off me and hands it to me again.
I take it.
"Pliz," she insists.
"Would you like me to put it on YOUR foot?" I ask and bend down to put the sock on HER foot.
She growls, like a little lion, and looks at me impatiently. She pulls the sock away from her foot and puts it in my hand.
"Pliz," she says, scowling.
I play peek-a-boo with it. I tickle her nose with it. I fly it around the room like a sick pigeon. I throw it on the floor. I throw it in the air. I throw it in the bath. All of this is wrong, and she is getting angrier and angrier at me. She has stopped asking nicely, resorting to a fingernail-on-chalkboard screech every time I get it wrong.
She grabs the sock and walks away. I didn't know that toddlers could huff. She turns her back on me in disgust.
Luckily, our daughter is patient and kind with slow learners, so she comes back a few moments later and generously gives me another chance.
"Pliz," she says, with a huge toothy grin, as if I have been deliberately holding out on her and she has to up the ante, laying on the cute factor. She is extremely cute and I'm not trying to teach her important world lessons abot the fact that she can't always get what she wants. I am genuinely baffled.
I tickle her belly with it, knowing that's not what she wants, but hoping beyond hope that it might work. I put the sock on my head and make a silly face. She laughs, but then gets back to business.
"Pliz," she says.
I put it on HER head.
And...she melts down. She cries. And cries. I am a terrible mother and have let her down in the worst possible way. She will never forgive me. She concedes to being cuddled, but cries all the way out the bedroom. All the way down the stairs. All the way along the hall. Her face is red, her eyes scrunched up. I can see her tonsils. It is the end of the world.
Eventually, she gets distracted by a little metal tin that she absolutely must explore. She wriggles out of my arms to go and play, and peace reigns again.
Later, I tell Caroline about my colossal failure as a parent. She smiles and tells me in less than two seconds what Emma was asking for.
"Hand puppets!"
Duh. Of course.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Puh-lease, Mum? (Anna)
Emma has well and truly mastered the art of saying please when she wants something. She does the sign for please on her chest and says earnestly "Pliz?"
Unfortunately, she doesn't yet have the language to tell us what it she wants. So while she is to be commended on her beautiful manners, half the time we have absolutely no idea what she's asking for. At first, it was obvious - she wanted what we had, or would point to something and ask us to pass it to us. But now, she's getting more subtle. And she seems to be going through a phase where she thinks that please replaces the need for all other words, so even when she has the word or the sign for what she wants, "pliz" is all we get.
From the other side of the park, she might very well repeat please over and over, getting increasingly frustrated with all the things we pass her ("Your bucket? A drink?") or offer her
("A cuddle? Thrown in the air? A cracker?") until we finally figure out that she wants to go on the swing that we didn't even know she had seen.
No wonder toddlers are known for having tantrums. They must think we adults are a little slow when we don't understand what it so obvious to them.
Unfortunately, she doesn't yet have the language to tell us what it she wants. So while she is to be commended on her beautiful manners, half the time we have absolutely no idea what she's asking for. At first, it was obvious - she wanted what we had, or would point to something and ask us to pass it to us. But now, she's getting more subtle. And she seems to be going through a phase where she thinks that please replaces the need for all other words, so even when she has the word or the sign for what she wants, "pliz" is all we get.
From the other side of the park, she might very well repeat please over and over, getting increasingly frustrated with all the things we pass her ("Your bucket? A drink?") or offer her
("A cuddle? Thrown in the air? A cracker?") until we finally figure out that she wants to go on the swing that we didn't even know she had seen.
No wonder toddlers are known for having tantrums. They must think we adults are a little slow when we don't understand what it so obvious to them.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Wading pool (Anna)
I know, I know. We've been extremely absent. Not in our lives - just in our blog posts. We've been back from France for weeks; had a great trip, but haven't found the time to post. Emma is terrific and we've been enjoying her. We've even taken a photo here and there. But no blogging. Oh well, sometimes life wins. Especially during the long evenings of summer. We've had some lovely moments, regardless of whether they were captured and recorded for prosperity.
Today, we set up our paddling pool in our front garden. (The same pool that Emma might have been born in, had our hopes of a home water birth come to fruition.) It took us a while to set it up - we had to retrieve our pump from our friend, borrow a hose, blow the pool up and then fill it. And of course, our main motivation for all this - a hot and sweaty baby and our fantasy about her splashing around in the pool on a very hot Saturday afternoon.
When we first airlifted her into the pool, she cried. Of course, we pulled her out, and decided that she was just responding to the fact that the water was too cold. So we shuttled warm water back and forth from the kitchen in tupperware containers until it was warm enough.
Emma, of course, being an independent sentient human being who doesn't do what we want just because we're (scoff) her parents, still had no interest in getting in.
So, to encourage her, and because we were hot, WE got into the pool.
And that's where our neighbours found us - two adults playing in a paddling pool with a bucket, two spades and a rubber duck while Emma pottered around us industriously making sure we didn't get up to any mischief.
(actually, this is a slight lie - by the time our neighbours found us, Emma has been in the pool with us for a good half hour before deciding to get out again, but that doesn't make such a good story.)
Today, we set up our paddling pool in our front garden. (The same pool that Emma might have been born in, had our hopes of a home water birth come to fruition.) It took us a while to set it up - we had to retrieve our pump from our friend, borrow a hose, blow the pool up and then fill it. And of course, our main motivation for all this - a hot and sweaty baby and our fantasy about her splashing around in the pool on a very hot Saturday afternoon.
When we first airlifted her into the pool, she cried. Of course, we pulled her out, and decided that she was just responding to the fact that the water was too cold. So we shuttled warm water back and forth from the kitchen in tupperware containers until it was warm enough.
Emma, of course, being an independent sentient human being who doesn't do what we want just because we're (scoff) her parents, still had no interest in getting in.
So, to encourage her, and because we were hot, WE got into the pool.
And that's where our neighbours found us - two adults playing in a paddling pool with a bucket, two spades and a rubber duck while Emma pottered around us industriously making sure we didn't get up to any mischief.
(actually, this is a slight lie - by the time our neighbours found us, Emma has been in the pool with us for a good half hour before deciding to get out again, but that doesn't make such a good story.)
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Paris
Nous sommes a Paris. L'enfant - en Bretagne, avec grand-parents.
Even our typing has a terrible French accent.
We are in Paris, on our two day holiday from our bigger holiday in Brittany. For the first time, we have spent the night away from our beautiful little baby, who is currently being spoilt rotten by her Granny Heath and Grandad.
We have all been staying in a wonderful restored farm house in Brittany that is owned by some very generous family friends. We flew in from Canada, obviously - Heather and John from Australia. A lovely way to have a holiday. No internet, there, so we've been blissfully disconnected from the rest of the world.
You'll be pleased to know that, while we've been in Paris, we have resisted the desire to check in on them 50 times a day, but must confess to bringing out the camera every few hours to look at photos of our little one and coo over how lovely she is and how much we miss her. We talk about how much we love the way she spins around in circles before falling to the ground in giggles, the way she runs away from us and stops at the last minute to make sure we catch her, the long and involved stories she tells us in her bilingual part-English, part-baby language, and how wonderful she smells. And then we talk about something else for a while.
Having a few days away from her is really nice, too. We've been staying up late, having French meals that start at 9pm in restaurants that have no high chairs. And our conversation hasn't revolved around scheduling in the next nap (except our own). It's like we're actually humans (grown-ups) in our own right!
Photos to come when we're back home.
Even our typing has a terrible French accent.
We are in Paris, on our two day holiday from our bigger holiday in Brittany. For the first time, we have spent the night away from our beautiful little baby, who is currently being spoilt rotten by her Granny Heath and Grandad.
We have all been staying in a wonderful restored farm house in Brittany that is owned by some very generous family friends. We flew in from Canada, obviously - Heather and John from Australia. A lovely way to have a holiday. No internet, there, so we've been blissfully disconnected from the rest of the world.
You'll be pleased to know that, while we've been in Paris, we have resisted the desire to check in on them 50 times a day, but must confess to bringing out the camera every few hours to look at photos of our little one and coo over how lovely she is and how much we miss her. We talk about how much we love the way she spins around in circles before falling to the ground in giggles, the way she runs away from us and stops at the last minute to make sure we catch her, the long and involved stories she tells us in her bilingual part-English, part-baby language, and how wonderful she smells. And then we talk about something else for a while.
Having a few days away from her is really nice, too. We've been staying up late, having French meals that start at 9pm in restaurants that have no high chairs. And our conversation hasn't revolved around scheduling in the next nap (except our own). It's like we're actually humans (grown-ups) in our own right!
Photos to come when we're back home.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Touched (Anna)
I love, love, love Emmy's childcare centre. This is nothing new, but today confirmed it once again.
Sunday is Mother's Day and also my birthday. I turned up to pick up Emma from childcare this afternoon and I found that we had all been given a beautiful laminated photo of our baby, with their hand print on the back, a beautiful poem talking about the passing of time and how we're going to want to remember what our babies looked like when they were little, with "Happy Mother's Day" written on it. That's enough to make me tear up right there. And they had made two of them for us. No awkwardness, no humming and hahhing about which of us to give it to. They even used different photos so they're not identical.
As if that wasn't enough, across the doorway was a long, six-foot poster that said "Happy Birthday Anna", with the footprints of all the babies in Emma's group, and some beautiful photos of Emma in action at childcare. I was incredibly moved. Some of the kids still had paint on their feet from the project.
It made me happy. In a really uncomplicated, pure kind of way. Happy that people had taken the time to do something so kind for me. Happy to have photos of my beautiful daughter smiling at me. Happy to have a piece of artwork with babies' feet all over it. Happy that Emmy is in such a wonderful place where she learns how to get covered in paint at the same time as she learns how to do nice things for people.
And very, very happy to have the kind of sappy partner who thinks to suggest it in the first place.
I expect I will keep it forever.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
More cute things (Anna)
- pulling a pan out of the cupboard, toddling over to another cupboard, putting the pan on a shelf, patting it reassuringly, waving, saying "bye bye" and closing the door.
- I was talking to her about her Grandad and joking that she needs to learn to say "Hi Grandad. Can I make you a cup of coffee?" before we go to Europe in four weeks time. I asked her if she could say "coffee" and she started doing her silly fake cough. For the rest of the evening, every time I mentioned Grandad, she coughed.
Lots more cute stuff, too, but no time.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Back in the swing of things (Anna)
The longer we don't post, the harder it is, because there's so much to catch up on. Granny Heath's visit. Emma's several weeks of being sick. Caroline back at work, etc,etc. And I don't know if we still have any readers left anyway.
So, in the interests of getting our momentum back, here's a quick post.
10 adorable things that Emma is doing at the moment.
- putting her lips on our cheeks and saying "Ma"; also blowing good night kisses
- pointing at cars and proclaiming gleefully "bus!"
- putting the TV remote to her ear and saying " 'ello"
- sitting on our laps with a plastic spoon and feeding us
- sharing her pacifier with us when she thinks we need comforting
- pretending to be asleep on our bed and then wriggling off and running away
- insisting on walking to the park rather than being carried
- passing us her favourite books to read...for the 20th time in 5 minutes
- doing the sign for help when she needs something (a relief from the grunting noise she was making before)
- bouncing up and down and dancing when she hears music
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Countdown (Anna)
One more sleep until Granny Heath arrives from Australia for lots of cuddles, stories and play-time. (Oh, Mum, we forgot to tell you, Caroline and I are going on holiday and leaving you on Emma duty for the next three weeks...;))
Four more sleeps until Emma becomes the daughter of parents who have a one-year-old. Rough translation: Emma turns one on Saturday!!
Measuring things in sleeps is a little tricky, of course. Emma will have approximately 12 sleeps (if we're lucky) before her birthday, while we might might considerably fewer than 4 if we are kept awake by some random munchkin who decides that the witching hour (known in our house as the "bitching hour") is the best time to practice her singing. But, it's ok. We're confident that once she turns one, she'll never wake us up in the middle of the night. Ever again. Right? Right?
Four more sleeps until Emma becomes the daughter of parents who have a one-year-old. Rough translation: Emma turns one on Saturday!!
Measuring things in sleeps is a little tricky, of course. Emma will have approximately 12 sleeps (if we're lucky) before her birthday, while we might might considerably fewer than 4 if we are kept awake by some random munchkin who decides that the witching hour (known in our house as the "bitching hour") is the best time to practice her singing. But, it's ok. We're confident that once she turns one, she'll never wake us up in the middle of the night. Ever again. Right? Right?
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