Don't Be a Hater

 

Having conversations with a three-year-old is the perfect lesson in mastering the non-sequitur.  Addie is incredibly verbal most of the time, and is learning phrases and terms at an alarming rate (she's currently mastering the word "copycat" and gets it right about 90% of the time, for example.  The other 10% are exemplars of hilarity.  Glad the malaprops gene got passed down).

For example, we had this incredibly deep, and incredibly confusing conversation in the car today: 

"Mom, what does 'hate' mean?"

"The word 'hate,' you mean?"

"Yeah, 'hate!'"

"Well, you've used that word before, right?  It means you really, really don't like something.  But I guess I don't think it's a good word to use very much."

"Why not?"

"Because if you use it to talk about somebody else, it can really hurt their feelings.  I don't know.  I guess I just think there are better words to use."

"Like, 'please?'  And 'thank you'?  Those are good words, right?"

"Uh, yeah.  Those are great words."

"And 'HEY!'  I really like that word.  It's a good word.  'HEY!'" 

"Yep.  'Hey' is a good word, too."

I mean, there are so many levels of brilliance and utter confusion here.  Addie has used the word hate before ("I HATE ranch dressing!").  So I like that she was thinking more about the word today, and about what it means, and that we got a chance to talk about it.

But as my reply suggested, I was confused about how to respond.  I use the word hate now and then, probably--though not usually about ranch dressing--and she's probably heard it at school, too.  Used to discuss, say, fungal foot infections or centipedes, it's probably a decent verb to employ.  But three-year-olds experiment so much, and I guess I don't want Addie to go around talking about how much she hates so-and-so, and I definitely don't want her to say she hates me, her sister, or her dad.  I want to communicate in some way the idea that "hate" as a concept, as a motivator of violent action or hurtful language, is not okay.  I want her to be able to feel angry and express that anger, but hate is such a loaded term.  You see how I overanalyze these things, and then provide long, convoluted answers to my toddler.  No wonder she's confused.

Then, though, all this became moot as the conversation took the turn into good words, which for Addie means manners.  We're talking a lot about saying please and thank-you at the moment, mostly because her demands have, like, tripled in the last few weeks, and we're tired of being ordered around.  Apparently we want to be ordered around politely.

All of this could have led into an interesting discussion about what we mean by "good" words, or about manners.  But no.  We veered into the land of words that Addie likes, and apparently "hey" is at the top of that list.  I could also add "last day" (which precedes every sentence and is meant as a substitute for "yesterday."  Addie has no sense of time yet, but an incredible memory nonetheless) and "just kidding!" which Addie is saying now every time she says or does something she knows she's going to get in trouble for.  "Addie, did you knock over your glass of juice on purpose?" I'll say, threateningly.  "Just kidding, mom!"  And she'll scamper off into the other room, laughing maniacally.

And just this week, Nolie started saying "no" (in baby, this is "nuh").  And we're off.  Adventures in Language Acquisition Land ride now boarding.  Tickets please.  Fasten your seatbelts, gentlemen.  It's going to be a bumpy ride.

Word Games

 

Addie walked into the kitchen while I was making breakfast this morning, adorned in her Piglet outfit, which now serves as very cozy jammies, and asked, "Is it hot in here, or is it just me?"

It's pretty weird hearing all of these grown-up phrases coming out of my toddler's mouth.  I mean, she's a little young for hot flashes, right?  I know she probably doesn't know what these things mean, that she's just parroting what she hears at school or from us or from her dress-me-up Elmo doll (a Christmas present from her Nana Debbie and Grandpa Bill).  But it's still a little jarring.

We were in the car on the way to preschool yesterday, and Addie was asking me what rhymes with tall (this is in line with her new fascination with rhyming everything).  We went through a list of words--ball, call, small--her nodding after each one.  I finally came to the word "pall." 

"Mommy!" she said, in that exasperated voice that I thought I wouldn't hear until she was a teenager, "Paul is a Beatle.  And so is John.  John works with Daddy." 

As do Ringo and George, apparently.

Anyway, Addie is up in her room now for quiet time, singing softly to herself, and every now and then punctuating one of her songs with a very loud, very expressive "ROCK ON!  ROCK ON!" 

Someone has been spending a lot of time with her daddy lately. 

A Foul Wind

 

Occasionally I take a bath with Addie at night.  Not too often, because I typically like my baths scalding hot, and boiling your toddler is not recommended.  But every once in a while, I brave the tepid water and jump in with the kid, which she loves.

But let me backtrack.  Have I mentioned that Addie can fart like a sailor?  I used to work at a truck stop, and this kid could put those guys to shame, both in terms of volume and odor.  She is definitely our kid.

Basically, our approach to bodily functions is to laugh at them, because we are a family that has a lot of bodily functions.  So, when someone toots, we typically make a big production out of it.  As in, "Holy cow!  Did a truckload of skunks just get slaughtered?  Or did Daddy toot?  Peeeee-uuuuu!  Way to go, Sir Toots-A-Lot!"  And so on.  You get the picture.  We're pretty much constantly joking about toots around here, and Addie gets her fair share as the heir apparent to the Kingdom of Tootsville.

Addie is particularly skilled at tooting in the bath tub, which is occasion for much drama, because we all know what happens to a toot in the tub--loud and stinky, right?

Do you know where I'm going with this?

All this is by way of saying that we aren't shy about tooting around here, and that we talk about tooting a lot, and we toot a lot, and it makes us all laugh like idiots.  So, tonight, in the tub, (oh god, I can't believe I'm writing about this), I let a big toot fly.  Or gurgle, rather.

But instead of laughing and saying something like, "Mommy, you tooted!  You're so funny!"  Addie looks at me, completely straight-faced, waits the most perfect comic beat, and then says, "Mommy?  That's why we don't toot in the tub."

I stand corrected.  Apparently, we are no longer a family that toots in the tub.  Good to know.

Lumps and Bumps

We've moved Addie into the queen-sized bed in the guest room in preparation for trying to sell the house (and thus cutting down on visible kid stuff, like her little toddler bed).  She was growing out of the toddler bed, anyway, so it made sense to move her into the bigger bed and the bigger room, where there is also more space to play.

Major business seems to be conducted in Addie's room, particularly during those naptimes or evenings where she's not particularly tired.  She doesn't have much but her books and stuffed animals in there, but she manages to make it sound as if she's heaving sacks of dead warthogs against the walls.  There is much great thumping and bumping.

There is also a lot of rattling of the doorknob, and cries of "Mommydaddymommydaddymommydaddy I did a big yucky poop!"  Which we are more than happy to respond to:  I'll sprint to her room to prevent more poop fingerpainting.

But lately, she's been summoning us for less urgent matters.  For example, last night, she was rattling the door and calling for mommydaddy; when Eric opened the door, she looked at him and said, "Daddy?  Walk and talk rhyme." 

Newsflash, friends.  Walk and talk rhyme.  Our two-and-a-half-year old (whom we smugly call "baby genius," when we're not calling her "annoying") is kept awake at night thinking of words that rhyme.  Future poet?  Lyricist?  Insomniac?  Only time will tell.

Addie has also been very interested in being helpful lately--she wants to help make dinner, clean the kitchen floor, fetch Nolie toys, and so on.  Addie especially likes handing me my towels as I'm getting out of the bath.  The minute she hears me pull the plug, she's standing there (she appears like--who was it, on The Addams Family, Uncle Fester?--out of thin air, scaring the crap out of me sometimes) with a towel in hand.  It's like having my very own pint-sized butler.

Anyway, I was toweling off today and Addie pointed at my crotch and asked, "What's that?"  "Uh, hair," I told her.  She moved around to the back and gave my butt a few good whacks.  "Mommy?  This is all bumpy and lumpy!" 

I had to laugh because, well, she's right.  My butt is bumpy and lumpy.  And she said it without any judgment, just as an observation, so I appreciated that.  It's a reminder to just observe myself without judment now and then, too.

Milestones, Maybe

 

Big day for the Schneider kids.

Hallelujah, raise your hands, the roof is on fire, because we seem to be back on the slow train to toiletland.  Addie has been showing some disdain for wet pull-ups the last few days, and on the way home from school yesterday, she initiated a conversation about how big girls go potty in the toilet.

Not wanting to get my hopes up, I debated with myself over what such signs might mean.  Is now the time to push forward?  Or will she just push back again, leaving us firmly stalled at the pull-up depot?  Could this be the window of opportunity we were hoping for?  Our second chance at winning the toilet trophy?

Well, it seems it might be.  It's only been a few days, but here's the data:  I've been wanting to set her up for success, so I've only been asking her to use the potty at times I know she'll need to pee (a few minutes after eating, before nap, before bath).  She's resisted a few times, but I've given her the choice of going potty on the big-person potty or on her little potty--the old change-the-choice trick.  Going potty is the given, which potty she uses is up to her.  Anyway, she's been going a few times a day.  Then, today, she was dry almost the whole day, with one small exception, which she told me about right away. 

I view this as progress.  I'm not going to over-push or put her in her cloth underwear just yet, but I am giving lots of even praise and trying to give her lots of ways to succeed.  Geesh, I hope this works.

And Nolie?  Nolie must have had a big night last night, because she woke up this morning almost able to sit up on her own and wanting to play with Addie.  By play, I mean kick and grab at Addie's legos, which is sweet justice after Addie has destroyed every cool lego structure her dad and I have ever built.  Now she'll have her own Godzilla to contend with.  Nolie's interest in toys seems to have multiplied over night, and she is grabbing at and mouthing everything she can convince her fingers to clutch.

I'm understating the HUGENESS of this.  Just yesterday, Nolie was only content in a tight, could-barely-breathe swaddle.  She would occasionally hit herself in the eye with an errant fist, and wasn't babbling too much.  Now, she's in the ring, for real--talking, grabbing, squealing.  I anticipate walking tomorrow; by the weekend?  Everest.  Anyway, it's an inkling that someday these children might play together, might amuse one another (and yes, I know, scream at and fight with one another).  But this inkling is exciting, and I think it makes Nolie just a little more real to Addie.  And to me.

And, I swear to God, it sounded like Nolie said "mama" today.  Oh, I know she doesn't know what the sounds mean yet.  But it's pretty cool to hear some consonants, and those just happen to be my favorites.

Also, in case you were wondering, yesterday was Puesday, and yes, Nolie did poop.  While sitting on my lap, the minute I finished typing this blog.  It's uncanny.