For fourteen months (seriously!), I’ve offered my child banana to eat. Kids are supposed to *like* banana, right? Each and every time, she’s acted as if I were giving her poison.
Today, as I made my breakfast smoothie, she asked for some banana. And ate it. And said “mmmmm!” And asked for more…and more…until she’d eaten an entire banana by herself.
Who knows the mysterious ways of the toddler?
My 20-month-old girl has a geocache named in her honor.
Around the time of Maya’s birth, Scott created a water-tight tube out of plumbing supplies from good ol’ Home Depot with the idea that he’d help me create a time capsule for Maya. A year and a half later, the time capsule had never come to pass, and when Scott left to move to Arizona, he grabbed the tube and took it with him.
The result is a geocache offering a spectacular view (or so the reviews say) of Bisbee, Arizona. I think it’s wonderful. Of course, now I’ll have to plan a trip to Bisbee at some point so we can hike up to the cache ourselves — maybe next Fall. Before then, Scott and his girlfriend will visit us in Colorado, so we can enjoy Maya’s first camping trip.
Oops…speaking of Maya…I hear fussing. It’s only 11:20, for crying out loud! (Oh, bad pun, that.)
* Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, when Scott and I were a “thing,” he used to joke that if we had a child, it would be a girl, and we’d name her Tallulah. Even while I was expecting Maya, he sent her a postcard (in utero, no less) addressed to “Tally.”
CRASH!
(pause)
(pause)
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
For the past couple couple weeks, I’ve removed Maya’s rocking chair when she’s stood on it. Today, she discovered why. Loudly. With her head.
Ouch. Tylenol and nap time.
(no, nothing — child, fireplace, or tile surround — was broken)
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Uh huh. Go ahead and throw a tantrum. You still don’t get the bright pink highlighter back.
Did you know that highlighter washes right off of cabinets as long as you catch it quickly? Shirts? Not so much.
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Do you have any idea how much I do not care that you don’t want your diaper changed?
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No, we’re not going out to swing. We’re going out to Babies ‘r’ Us to spend an exhorbitant amount of money on gates so mama can block off her office from 1-year-olds who steal markers.
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Someone has learned to climb every. thing. in. the. house. That would include the office chair (onto the desk)…and the kitchen chairs (if not pushed in) onto the table…and the piano bench onto the piano keys.
Let toddlerhood officially begin. At least she hasn’t developed a propensity for the word “no.” Yet.
Better run — it’s quiet in here. Too quiet.
Yesterday and today, the dog crates have been Maya’s playtoy. She tosses toys (or her milk sippy) in, and practices opening and closing the door.
Just now, Maya requested that I come over and help her close the crate door (from inside the crate). “Dak-U! Bye! (waving)”
Well, okay then. Guess that takes care of my babysitting needs for the forseeable future.
Courtesy of MIM, a good post on discipline for very young children, mostly written by a gal who does daycare for five pre-school and toddler kids. Of course, by “good,” I mean “agrees with my philosophy.” Her methods line up really well with a book I’ve found invaluable, Setting Limits.
Enjoy!
Maya loves to write.
Of course, I have no idea what she’s scribbling, but her expression is so serious, it may well be the answer to peace on Earth.
Then again, maybe not.
You know you’re a parent when…
You leave the door from the house to the garage open, as you get ready to leave. You look for the missing dog, and find her in your vehicle (in the cabin, rather than in the back with the handy dog-barrier. She’s eating all of the toddler remnants scattered around.
Instead of getting grossed out, you think (almost happily) about how much time cleaning the car she’s saving you. The only downside is wondering if any of it will make said dog puke later.
Tooth #7 has arrived: the left upper molar. Maya’s upstairs right now, crying, well…like a baby.
Poor kid. She’s so miserable, and yet, there’s been plenty of time for the Tylenol to kick in. Guess I’m going to go get her out of her room and give up the idea of “me” time. Again.
SIGH.
Maya: Peees? Peees?
She drags me by the hand into the living room, then runs and points at the pantry door.
Me: Hey, look — here’s the rest of your apple slice, and half a glass left of milk!
Maya: Peees?
She’s rubbing her chest (signing “please”) furiously at this point.
Me: Honey, if you’re really that hungry, there’s some perfectly good food sitting right here. Eat that, then if you’re still hungry, we’ll get you something else.
Maya: AAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhhMaaaaaameeeeeeeeeeee!!!
Maya throws herself on the floor. I calmly walk back to my office.
A few minutes later…
Maya: (holding the DVD case for Toy Story 2) Peees? Peees?
Me: You’ve had enough TV this morning, Little Pea. Maybe this afternoon you can see that again.
Maya points at the DVD case. I ignore her. She bangs the case on the keyboard tray of my desk, making it nearly impossible to ignore her.
Me: No. Sorry, honey.
I’m beginning to think that parenting is really just about developing a tolerance for screams and a hardened heart toward begging.
