4/26/07

Too Many Questions...Not Enough Energy

E asks so many freaking questions. Like, seriously. I can't even brush his teeth for 2 minutes without him interrupting every 10 seconds. Let me give you a typical exchange:

Brush-brush-brush
[E jerks head away] "Mom, why do you have to brush my teeth?"
(Now, note that I've been brushing his teeth for almost 4 years, and I've explained the whole concept of cavities and leftover food like 10,000 times. Keep that in mind when you're shaking your head at my impatience and complete lack of parental understanding.)
[Me resuming brushing] "Because you can't do it yourself."
[Talking through the brush] "But I already brushed there...and there...and there."
[Me rolling my eyes] "Well, I still have to check, just in case. You don't want your teeth to turn green, do you?"
(That particular reference usually shuts him up...)
[Silence for about 20 seconds as he contemplates this horror.] "Mom? Why will my teeth turn green?"
[Sighing exasperatedly] "Because you didn't brush them right."
(Note my use of the circular attack. It works well because it makes me seem like I know what I'm talking about, while limiting his flow of new questions.)
[Chewing on toothbrush in frustrated anger]

And that's how we go through toothbrushes so quickly. They're worn out by endless cycles of Q & A.

In other news, we had a mega blow-out dinner with my family tonight. My little sister's 21st birthday was today, and E's real birthday is tomorrow, so we all went to dinner with many presents and much wrapping paper. It was fun. I managed to last almost all the way through dinner as far as not letting E unwrap presents. But about 5 minutes before the food came (when we'd already been there for an hour or so, and the poor kid had been waiting patiently), I finally caved. And that was fine. But then after dinner, the real feeding frenzy began.

And this is why I don't do the birthday present thing at his birthday parties (which I will post about later, at more leisure and better mood). Because after every shredding of carefully-wrapped gift, it was "What's next?" He barely paused to look at what he was given, and he didn't even notice when he got 2 of the same thing (it was a freakin' cool Spiderman car, too, little booger). There was no appreciation of the gift for quality, just appreciation for the sheer quantity. Frankly, it was depressing, because I love picking out presents and I agonize over them, so it's a bit disconcerting to see things tossed aside so casually. And yes, I'm complaining. Because I try to avoid materialism and birthdays always seem to shove it so mercilessly in my face.

Anyway, I know he'll love them all appropriately later. It just hurts a teensy bit. Sniff, sniff.

There was a group of adults sitting adjacent to our table (of 7 adults and one child) at the restaurant, and they made snotty remarks pretty much all through the meal. About the "sort of people who celebrate birthdays at restaurants", etc. It was awesome. They were old, frumpy, and grumpy. And we weren't being noisy, messy, or disruptive. Plus, we were at a family restaurant. I'm like, "Seriously, if you want to have a completely quiet meal with no children in sight, go to a freaking grown-up restaurant, morons." I hate people who act like you've done something societally destructive by bringing your children out in public.

End rant. I'm out.

4/19/07

It's His Party, I'll Cry If I Want To

My angst regarding my tiny devil's birthday party has been partially resolved. The venue has been set, the treats have been bought, and the weather has been checked.

The weathermen better be freakin' right, or I'll sue someone. Little kids' birthday parties are not things that should be messed with. Or rather, moms giving little kids' birthday parties are not things that should be messed with. Because they're tense.

I didn't buy candy. Because I don't ever buy candy. Because when I buy candy for children, somehow it ends up going straight to my hips. And thighs. And abdomen. Self control is not an issue, I swear. E doesn't eat candy anyway, so he won't miss it.

Instead, I bought toys. Those little 88 cent toys they sell at Wally World that are freaking amazing for like one hour. And then they break. But for that one hour, they seem better than all of those expensive toys your kid just had to have for Christmas last year, lest he/she be ostracized from Gymboree. Because you know that those toys only get really appreciated for approximately the same amount of time, and then they end up on the shelf with Ticklish Elmo and the Birthday edition of Barb-idiot. You know it.

Toys don't cause cavities. Keep that in mind.

I ordered a freakin' birthday cake with pirates on it. It was amazing. The things I do for that kid: "Whipped or butter cream?" (I don't freaking know! Which one tastes better?) "What size?" (Why don't you tell me, you're the one who sells these things to desperate moms all day!) "What flavor?" (Um, what flavor do you think I should get?) "What time do you want to pick it up?" (Good Lord, there are too many choices, just give me the mother-lovin' cake, already!) Plus, the poor girl got caught right as she was finishing up her shift (or so I tell myself, because otherwise she was just being rude, and I'd rather not think the worst of people who work in bakeries, because they work with my food). Wow, there are a lot of parentheses in that paragraph. Time for a new one.

Now I'm just afraid that I'll forget something vital tomorrow. Like an ice cream scoop or one of the bajillion swords hanging out at my apartment/my parents' house. You know, those things that are just essential for uber-little kid fun.

4/18/07

Reflections on Mortality

Last night, as E was getting ready for bed, he struck up a conversation with me regarding death, of all things:

"Mom, sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes they happen to little kids. Sometimes little kids die."

"That's true, sometimes children die. But everyone dies, you know."

"Well, I haven't died yet."

"I know, and I'm glad you're still alive."

"I'm glad I'm still not died [sic] too. I hope I don't die for a long, long, long time."

"I hope that too, baby."

"Mom, I hope you don't die for a long, long, long time either."

Pause while Mommy tries not to cry.

"Ok, let's brush my teeth."

The workings of kids' minds are amazing to me. I don't understand how someone who has lived for not quite 4 years can mentally wrestle with the concept of his mother's death, not to mention his own. We discuss it, but in relation to things like bugs and pet fish. I did take him to my best friend's grandpa's funeral about a month ago, and that sparked some interesting discussions about missing people that we love and heaven, etc. I suppose his mind was just working away at the idea all of this time and eventually he worked it around to apply it to himself. The sheer delight of watching how kids grow and develop is reason enough to be a parent, in my opinion.

The human brain is amazing. Too bad I'm terrible at neurosciences, or I might actually find it interesting...

4/16/07

Bedtime Prayers

If you're a parent, you've inevitably come up against the bedtime blues. Unless your kid is better about sleeping than mine is. In which case, I hate you, and you are ordered to leave this blog now.

This didn't used to be a problem for me. My mother cursed my name when E started sleeping through the night at 4 months (right about the time I went back to school, thank goodness). All up through the age of 2, bedtime was pretty much a breeze. Put baby in crib, turn off light, baby falls asleep, sleeps like a rock, and doesn't wake up till morning. Perfect! I was filled with sympathy for (ok, more like lording it over) those poor parents with croupy babies or light sleepers or any of the myriad of sleepytime woes that parents come up against.

Well, God saw fit to pay me back. In full. More like ten times over.

E is terrible about bedtime. Absolutely terrible. And for a kid who is generally easy-going, adjustable, flexible and surprisingly obedient (including a good eater, ridiculously clean and a great sharer, excuse me while I boast), I suppose it is fit punishment that bedtime is so difficult with him. He screams, cajoles, gets up, kicks, throws, scratches, and generally makes a nuisance of himself for at least an hour after bedtime.

Things started getting bad my senior year of college, when E was about 2 and a 1/2. All of a sudden, I noticed that my study time was dwindling fast and the culprit was clearly the screaming demon down the hall. And it made me feel so guilty, too, because I lived in on-campus apartments, where the walls were thin, so I'm sure that my neighbor (sorry, Henry) spent many a sleepless/studyless night while E resided on the other side of his bedroom wall. I did everything I could to fix things: kept E to a strict schedule with daytime nap included, worked out a long bedtime routine that never changed, made sure he didn't have caffeine or sugar in the evenings, insisted he stay in his own bed, and did everything that should have worked. And it sort of did, but bedtime was definitely not a party at my house.

But then I moved back home with my parents the summer after I graduated, and things quickly deteriorated even further. My mother is of the "if you lay down with him, he will sleep" mindset, so I let her try it. It got to where she would be laying down with him for over an hour before one of them (inevitably my mother) would finally succumb to sleep.

And then medical school started. I blithely put E back on his steady schedule, determined to be firm/strict/hard-nosed about bedtime, and refusing to let a puny 3 year old stand between me and my textbooks.

Apparently, I'm not too good at this parenting thing.

Bedtime is now a constant battle. And I'm not sure where I've gone wrong. I keep having to come up with different tactics to ensure he goes to sleep before midnight, and before you doubt, I promise that I have tried each of these for at least a month, if not two. But the little devil keeps working around them, so then I have to alter things! It's not my fault, I swear!

First, there was the "set the timer and check on him every 10 minutes". Well, that worked for a little while, but then when I would check on him, he would ask me to stay until the timer went off. And the time he wanted me to stay became longer and longer, while I kept trying to make it shorter and shorter. And then he became terrified of the timer's ring. So end of that story.

Then came the "I'll lay down with you until you fall asleep" tactic. I figured, my mother's a pediatrician, she knows what she's talking about, right? Well, apparently, my son knows more than she does, because I would either fall asleep and waste my entire evening or when I would leave, E would wake up. Not good options.

Somewhere in the semester came the "Let him cry it out" strategy. That worked for about one night, and then it turned into "Bring him back to his room when he gets up" strategy. E's not one to take things lying down. He's more the type who will vociferously voice his opinion in your face, rather than down the hall. And I was leading (note: not carrying, because you're supposed to minimize the reward of attention, blah blah blah) him back to bed more frequently than every 5 minutes. I'm sad to say that most often, a light smack on the butt and a stern word did more than all my silence and patience put together. What can I say, he's a stubborn kid.

More recently came the "Mommy will study in the hallway where you can see her" phase. That worked ok, despite E's tendency for striking up conversations with me while I was trying to focus on neuroscience, but then the hall light burned out and Mommy didn't have the time to buy a replacement or the height to utilize a replacement. Too bad, kiddo.

So now we're back to the timer phase. And oh, Lord, please help me keep one step ahead of this kid. Because he's swiftly defeating me.

4/9/07

Amazed by Children

As E and I were driving home from my parents' house this evening, E piped up from the back seat: "When I get home, I'm going to put my milk [a plastic carton of milk from a restaurant] in the 'frigerator without its lid on."

Immediately thinking the worst (I prefer for my car to remain un-milkified), I gasped "Did you lose the lid?"

"No," he replied "I just want to leave the lid off so my milk will freeze and get cold enough for me to drink."

I explained to him that the milk would still get cold with the lid on the container, and that lid-on was a better policy as far as mommy's kitchen floors went.

"But I don't want the outside to get cold. I want the inside of the milk to get cold." He exclaimed.

Kids are neat.

4/2/07

Medieval Times

So, we went to a medieval fair in a nearby town last Saturday. I kind of just went because I thought E might like it. There were Renaissance fairs every year in a town 30 minutes from where I grew up, but I never attended one, for some reason. I have been to similar events (the British variety, actually, so slightly more authentic as far as actual location goes...), but I didn't really know what to expect.

I definitely did not expect to have a BLAST!

E and I went with my little brother, David. We got there at about noon, and settled down to having some fair food. E had a pepperoni pizza pastry, and I had a broccoli and cheese puff (being on my Lenten vegetarian kick), and it was shockingly delicious! Broccoli, cheese and the "puff" factor does not sound a) delicious, b) sweetly flaky or c) extremely filling, but it was definitely d) all of the above! I can't really vouch for the pizza pastry, but seeing as how E devoured the thing in about 10 minutes (which is eating very quickly, for him...), I assume it was divine.

They had tons of stuff to do at the fair. Aside from the countless medieval clothing booths and toy sword booths, they had a real forge with men making real weapons, a knife/axe/"Oriental star"-throwing section, fortune-telling, "beer" stands (the fair took place on a dry campus, so it wasn't really beer...), acrobats, pirates, mermaids, elephant/camel/llama/horse/cow/donkey rides, a hammock swing tree, jewelry counters, witches, 2 play areas, fairy stores, a medieval crime & punishment corner, King Arthur's court, belly dancing shows, jousting, medieval singing, bagpipe concerts, and pretty much everything under the sun. Lots for kids to touch and play with, lots for adults to look at and pay too much money for. I was impressed by the level of involvement of the fair attendees. There were entire families rigged up in their best costumes, which ranged from pirate to Tudor to Renaissance to true medieval and everything in between. Everything was clean (as in, nothing that I had to cover E's eyes for) and nothing was too expensive. The only thing I couldn't find was cotton candy, and I was pretty disappointed about that, but I figured that it was a divine sign that I didn't really need cotton candy...

Some of the coolest attractions were the people in really awesome costumes just wandering around the fairgrounds providing camera-happy people (ahem...) with photo-ops. Like the man all in black on stilts, with a black mask, long black claws and long black spider legs (or something) coming out of his back. He was awesome and scary, and we got some cool pictures. Or the girl dressed as a real-live satyr (except she had clothes on, unlike some of the pictures you will find if you choose to Google the word). She was also on some sort of stilt-like contraption (I assume) that enabled her legs to have that awesome backward look that animal hind legs have. She was cool.

E finally met the 3-yr-old son of a classmate of mine, and they really hit it off, as I knew they would. They're both only children, both 3, both boys, both spoiled rotten, so why wouldn't they get along, right? They were comparing weapons (they both got toy swords, naturally), and even taught each other some choice phrases. At one point, E broke into the adult conversation with "I doubt it", and N quickly picked that up, and then N said "holy moly!" when the jousting tournament was beginning, and E was immediately trying it out. Little boys are hilarious.

Let me put it this way, when N's mom, Becky, said "Now, N, E may not want to sword fight with you," I knew it was a match made in heaven...

The long and short of it is, that the fair was awesome, and I'd highly recommend it as a family affair. Or as just a sightseeing expedition. Let me tell you, some of the things I saw were not excusable just because the wearers were in pretend-mode. But that's another, more grown-up story...
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