Freeing the Hostages

We sent Nate to bed last night essentially without dinner.
If that doesn't shock you, you haven't been paying attention.  The earnest care and angst with which we coax every possible calorie into our son is exhausting.  Moreover, I think he understands on some level that we'll do just about anything to get him to eat - bribery, silly dances, games, reverse psychology.  Now, he's in the heart of the twos, looking for a way to assert himself and be independent, and the struggles about food have been escalating.  We coax, he refuses, then sweetly acquiesces, then refuses, then agrees to some new point of negotiation.
Last night he was overtired, Dave was sick, I was recovering from the fever-virus-from-hades, and the second time he pushed his nearly untouched dinner plate away and said he didn't want it, I did not push it back.  I took it into the kitchen and took him out of his seat and declared dinner over.
It's fair to say he never did really calm down again.  He cried and wailed about wanting his food, wanting to be held, wanting to eat dinner.  Most of it was incoherent but we did manage to determine that if the price of eating was sitting in his chair like a big boy, he was not interested.
We bathed and pajama-ed a weeping boy and put him to bed almost an hour early.  He was out like a light and was more pleasant though still "two" this morning.

Dave and I have agreed to let him go without eating if necessary.  He's on the growth chart, respectably chubby, and except for the "ice cream incident" at the fair, he hasn't thrown up in months.  It seems that at this point not eating is more likely to be a behavioral symptom than a medical one.
Sometimes toddlers eat and sometimes they don't.  They all seem to get by without their own personal short order cook. Nate is loosing his.

Mind-works

Due to an unscheduled monsoon, we did not see any fireworks on Fourth of July.  Dave's parents had staked out a great spot down at the point and were protecting it from the expressed eminent domain of several large Pittsburghers.  We had planned to me them after spending some time at the New Fellow Welcome picnic.  It was literally as we were getting ready to walk out the door that the skies opened up and the water level in the pool started to rise.

No fireworks for us.

It was a bummer too because I had spent most of the day preparing Nate for the spectacle of loud explosions in the sky right above him.  We watched some videos on YouTube.  Talked about how Fireworks are pretty but loud and discussed strategies, such as giving big hugs and covering his ears, to deal with the noise if it got to be too much.

I also told him that the last time I saw Fireworks he lived in my belly and that he got so excited he was moving and kicking inside.  Initially, this did not get much of a response.  A while later, however, as we were on our way to the picnic, he piped up from the back seat, clearly at the end of a long period of thoughtfulness.

"Those fireworks be little loud. Scare Nate. Nate go back in your tummy and be safe."

*****

We had a hasty bath because it got late while we were planting our apple tree (more on that later).  Nathan was sitting in barely an inch of water, waiting for the tub to fill when he started loudly requesting "cold, cold water" which he gets, after the bath is filled, when I turn the tap down to a slow trickle for him to fill his various bottles and cups.  I told him no, not yet, when the water got up to his nipples, then he could have cold water.

He sort of listlessly stirred the water with his hands and then perked up.  he filled up his little bottle, poured it on his chest and announced "Yay! That water on my nipples.  Now I have cold, cold water. That's right!"

And, of course, because he is adorable and smart, we relented.

June: A summary

1. Gardening - After lovingly and laboriously planting, watering, and watching over our garden, it was discovered by the bunnies and completely deforested.  Well, except the cilantro and the basil.  But tomatoes, peppers, broccoli, carrots, dill - all gone.  We were left with two small patches of herbs, two watermelon plants, and some straggly green onions.

We, however, refused to be as decimated as our garden.  We persevered with the help of Lowe's and the farmer's market.  We bought some small plants and built a fence.  The tomatoes are flowering and we seem to be back in business.

2. Health - I have been sick for what is starting to feel like years.  A progression of stubborn colds and a general malaise, and a lymph node in my neck that just wouldn't go away.  Finally, the oncologist within me on red alert, I had a biopsy of the offending node.  The diagnosis is Kikuchi disease, a self-limited autoimmune condition that should resolve within 6 months at the most.  As the name might imply, this is found most commonly among the Japanese.  Since I am decidedly caucasian, this diagnosis confirms my general classification as unusual.  I feel pretty confident that my PCP and I know exactly the same amount about this disease because we read the same E-medicine article.  In any case, I am slowly getting better.  I have had laryngitis for almost two weeks, but even that is getting better and I am loosing my husky, sexy baritone.

3. Running - Because of the above mentioned malaise, I have not been as consistent in my gym attendance as previously, but I am still eking along, genuinely loosing weight and  . . . drumroll please . . . I jogged for a full 20 minutes for the first time since I was in med school.  I went back this morning and it wasn't exactly a skip through the tulips.  More like roses.  Really thorny roses.  But I made it.  And really my biggest problem was this cough so I am confident I'll be back to three times a week this week.

4. Work - Dave started a new job - he is now a trainee in the financial planning program for Morgan Stanley Smith Barney.  Starting in November he will be available for all your financial planning needs.  This is a big exciting change for him and one that he has needed to make for a while.  But it is also throwing our household into chaos.  He actually has a schedule and work hours and an immense lack of flexibility.  We're getting up earlier which makes EVERYONE, even the little one, cranky.  But it's good and he's studying like he's back in school.  This will be his "first year of fellowship".

5. Research - July first starts what was going to be my last year at Pitt but that may be changing slightly.  I just found out I won a grant from the St. Baldrick's Foundation - remember the folks Dave shaved his head for? - and it is a two year grant.  So, between Dave's training program and the awe-inspiring fact that someone wants to pay me real money to do what I am loving doing, we may be here a titch longer than originally planned.  Things are going along swimmingly and I even presented my data at a local research symposium.  Seeing that this was my first real research presentation ever and that most of the other presenters had PhD's and had clearly done this before, I was shocked to win an "Outstanding Presentation" Award. (And thrilled by the cash.)

6. School - Nate graduated to the "Toddler" program at school.  Complete with certificate and room change.  He LOVES his new teachers and talks nonstop about all the fun he had at school when he comes home.  I think he had really outgrown the stimulation available in the Tot room which pretty much consisted of looking at picture books and listening to the same CD.  Now there is s train table and a "kitchen" and shopping carts and "babies" to feed.  Plus dress up clothes and playing in the little pool two times a week.  Plus, wait for it, a pretend vacuum cleaner.  He is playing with this almost every time I pick him up.  This morning, clutching a kiss a la "The Kissing Hand" he sat down to eat his breakfast "like a big boy" and did not cry when I dropped him off.  I have all fingers and toes crossed and a braid in my hair in hopes that this will continue.

7. Growth - Nate is firmly over 25 pounds and tall enough to climb whatever he wants and to harvest any item of his choice from all but the very center of the dining table.  I am proud of him, so happy that he feels well, and unabashedly acknowledge that there were advantages to a pee wee boy.

Overall June has been a good month for our family.  I am sorry I was away so long.  I can't promise that it will never happen again, but I have a lot swirling around in my mind to write about so it may be more consistent for a while.

The Perils of Summer

Nate is asleep in his bed.
This may seem like an obvious statement but this morning it seemed like an unlikely outcome for tonight.
It starts last night when we ran around outside planting flowers and watering our garden.  Nate ran around like a wild man, and proving that he is my child, he refused to wear shoes for about half the time.
There were no accidents, no drama, and a fine time was had by all.
This morning, when I pulled him out of bed, I noticed an angry red spot on the bottom of his foot with a large splinter in the middle of it.
When he took is first steps of the morning he put his foot down, picked it back up and looked at me, his mouth formed into a little "O" of confusion.  "What happened, Mommy?" he asked.
I tried to explain about splinters but finally settled for explaining that when he was walking around with no shoes on he got a boo-boo on his foot.
Needless to say, this was an inauspicious beginning to his day.  While newly-bactrim-allergic-benadryl-snowed-Dave held him, I tried to get it out.  There was a big piece sticking out so I grabbed, and pulled, and  . . . half of it stayed firmly anchored in his skin.
After some time futilely trying to hold him still enough to fish it out, we gave up, covered it in Neosporin and a Band-Aid ("to keep it safe" says Nate) and sent him to school.
On the way to school, Nate piped up "That Nate bed get boo-boo on Nate foot.  Nate not sleep in that bed anymore"
I thought I'd done a good job with the explanation about the bare feet, but he had been fixated on the boo-boo so I tried again.
He listened, but then just shook his head.  "No, Mommy Dactyl.  That Nate bed put boo-boo on Nate foot. That's right! Nate not sleep in that bed anymore."
At this point I actually did get a little anxious because he can be a little strong willed (understatement of the year) and we really have just gotten him to sleep well again.

This evening, however, we tried again to remove the aforementioned festering piece of wood, and after that spot of misery, he wanted to retreat to the safety of his bed.
After he laid down, he was awake for a while, chatting with his stuffed dog.  "Nate keep that Band-Aid on.  That Band-Aid keep Nate boo-boo safe.  Feel Nate's foot all better."

From his mouth . . .

A new list of things I find charming about my boy.

1)  I have no idea where he learned this, but he acknowledges compliments with "Thank you".  "That's a nice shirt,"  "You look cute today,"  "I like those shoes," - all things I have heard said or said to him over the last couple weeks.  And he always smiles and says "Thank you".
And just to be clear, I don't mean to imply that Dave and I acknowledge compliments with a head toss and an "of course", it's just that until very recently he's always said nothing or "uh huh" and I've not made a conscious effort to change that.  It's intimidating to realize what he can learn by watching.

2) His "reading".
A few weeks ago, over a Saturday morning breakfast:
Dave: "What do you want to do today?"
Nathan: "Um, read some books."
Mommy: "We have succeeded."
The thing is, there are not enough hours in the day for us to read all the books he wants to read.  This is a problem I have struggled with my entire life, so I sympathize, and I love that his solution, when we don't have time to read to him, is for him to "read" to us.  He knows many of his favorite books verbatim, a fact he will prove by reciting pages of them to us over dinner or during a long car ride.  (Just ask him Big B, Little B, what begins with B?)  When he climbs into our bed in the morning with a stack of books and proceeds to narrate the story, carefully turning the book around to show the pictures, providing different voices and expressions of wonder or dismay as indicated, I just melt.  His dramatic interpretation of "Are You My Mother" is the finest thing I have ever seen.

3) The way he anthropomorphizes just about everything.
The trash can says "I like trash", his stuffed animals thank him for every morsel of food and care that they get, and last night, as I was cooking dinner, the pan full of hot oil suddenly exclaimed "I like chicken!" only the pan proved to be a skilled ventriloquist who could make its voice sound like it was coming out of the two year old hovering behind me.

4) His passion for water play
This is him "helping" with the garden last weekend.  Basically he managed to flood the backyard and keep everyone's feet cool.








And if you aren't thinking "Holy Moley! What a big boy!" you aren't looking.

About A Boy

This morning we were on our way to "school".  He loves to look for trash trucks, school buses, fire trucks, anything big, preferably with flashing lights.  He always tells me he has his "eyes open" for a train and a peacock.  Along the route we travel the odds of either are about the same, zero, but he looks every day.  Today we were talking about what school buses do and how someday, when he is big, he might ride a school bus to school.  "Uh huh" he agreed from the back seat "And, Nate get so big, Nate use that lawnmow just like DaddyDactyl."
It brought a little tear to my eye, that enthusiastic endorsement of his dad and the cool things he gets to do.  It seems that you don't have to be a baseball star, (or even a trash man, Dave) to earn the earnest admiration of your son.

*****

He has another obsession besides heavy machinery.  Poop.

Mommy: "What do you want for dinner?"

Nate: "How 'bout some poop?"

Mommy: "What book should we read for bedtime?"

Nate: "A poop book."

Mommy: What song should Mommy sing while I brush your teeth?"

Nate: "Um . . . a poop song!"

You get the idea.  I am choosing to view it as a logical move in the direction of potty training, but I am just plain tired of talking about the potential production of any one's butt.  It seems like every few seconds, but is probably not nearly that frequent, that he announces that he is about to poop.  And then, cheerfully, "No, just some gas."

Does he want to sit on the potty?  Um, no.  Or in his words, "not yet."

****

He spends so much time in his imagination right now that I think it was foolish to provide him with actual toys.  A few nights ago he played, for easily 20 minutes, with a small blue Care Bear (a gift from my other boy, Noah, on the occasion of my wedding) and all he did during that time was multiple repetitions of a pretend diaper change.  He would pick the bear up, squeeze his tummy, and make a little grunting noise.  "I smell somepin" he would singsong.  He checked for poo between the bear's legs and then ran around the living room gathering imaginary wipes and "a new Elmo" as we call the character emblazoned diapers in our household.  Then began the ritual of cleaning and applying cream.  ("That cream is nice and warm.  No little cold cream.  Yucky, yucky" - To which I reply - "sorry kid, you live in Pittsburgh in an 80 year old house.  Cold butt cream is the least of our problems.")  Eventually, with butt thoroughly cleaned, the bear moved on the a raucous game of "Rock-a-Bye-Baby" in which the baby bear repeatedly fell with a gleeful "Plop!"

But he doesn't use his creativity only for matters of the lower intestinal tract.  He vividly imagines food and drink as well.

And ceremony.  On Friday afternoon I picked him up early and we had Shabbat about a million times.  Solemnly wearing a fabric Frisbee as a kippa he took us through an entire Shabbat service.  Candles were lit, prayers were sung, wine poured and imbibed, Challah covered, lifted, unveiled, and greedily consumed.  All there on our couch with only some coasters and a paper towel.  I was impressed, proud, touched, and a little guilty.  After all, he didn't learn this nuance and detail from our spotty home Shabbat celebrations.  This is the product of school and Michal and the blessing that is the education and stimulation he gets when he is away from us.  (And yes, this is true, no matter how much I blather on in my coming post about my frustration with the above "school".)

All in all he is a joy.  Sometimes he is stubborn, difficult, demanding, and unreasonable.  But he's two and those two sides of the coin are what being a two year old is all about.

Like Mommy

Taking Nathan to the market has never been the easiest thing. He hates to sit in the cart, prefers to be carried, and when he consents to walk he seems to have a knack for finding the largest heaviest and most delicate things to pull off the shelf and wave around. So there we were, on a weekend afternoon, and I needed just a few things for dinner and Nathan wanted to "come too".
He had been playing with one of my evening bags, (seen here it all its satiny beaded glory) and about 15 cents he had scrounged up from around the floor and end tables.
Unzip the bag. Change goes in. Laboriously zip the bag. Unzip the bag. Change tinkles out. Bag closed again. All with extreme concentration and amusing exclamations of difficulty and success.
Because he is an excellent negotiator and I am quite frankly a sucker for his tactics he wheedled into not only going to the market but also taking his "purse".
(Daddy's disapproving look is cropped out of these photos.)
I made a token effort at leaving it in the car and when that predictably failed, I just knotted the string so it wouldn't drag on the ground and put in on his shoulder.
And wasn't he an eye catcher in the store. He paraded about, walking next to me, not grabbing anything or asking to be carried. He occasionally stopped, unzipped his bag and volubly counted the coins inside. Sometimes he removed one to show off but usually after he took inventory he simply zipped it back up and kept on walking.
He drew a lot of commentary, most of it charmed, some of it vaguely disparaging. This is, after all, Western Pennsylvania.
He had a ball. I had an easy outing. And the bag? Well, it did loose a few beads but I've had it since high school and they sure weren't Swarovski.