She Says… A Dog is a Boy’s Best Friend

A dog may be a boy’s best friend, but OUR dog may not be Owen’s best friend for very much longer if he keeps treating him the way he has for the last few days.

Talk about playing rough. He’s practically mauling the poor dog.

We’ve been working really hard on gentle hands with Owen ever since his teacher told me he “loves his friends a little too hard” at school. (Read: he tends to hug other kids to the ground). Owen is one of the toughest little cookies I’ve ever seen. He is like a rubber ball and bounces right back when he falls down or hurts himself. This comes in very handy since he is also incredibly rambunctious and fearless and is constantly cracking his head on coffee tables (he currently has a black eye from doing this over the weekend) and walking into walls and tumbling off of things he’s climbed on. It’s less helpful when he’s being handsy with his friends on the playground and doesn’t realize he’s hurting them.

It’s not that he’s a mean kid or a bully. No, I’ve only very rarely seen Owen push or be forceful in a mean or aggressive way. He just loves so darn much that it knocks people over. Mr. Social wants to be all up in his friends’ business. All the time. He likes to sit on laps and hug and lean and cuddle and climb all over people. Over the last few days this rough play has come to a climax at home with Schnitzel.

I thought by now we had mastered the art of gently patting the dog (Owen will touch him so gently and say, “Niiiiiiice”). But lately those sweet, gentle pats have turned into smacks and then Owen will grab a handful of fur and climb right up on the dog like a mountain. I’ve even seen him try to stand on his back.

He giggles so uncontrollably and contagiously that it is nearly IMPOSSIBLE to scold him.

And, usually the dog doesn’t even put up a fight (though he’s starting to get up and walk away, which is great, except then Owen rides him halfway across the room and then falls off, which is pretty dangerous since Schnitzel is the size of a small horse).

Oh, and the other thing? The other thing they’ve been doing together is making out. Owen will open his mouth and stick out his tongue and THE DOG LICKS IT. I remember my parents saying we did the same thing with our dog, and we turned out ok, but eww. Yuck. Trying my best to nip that one in the bud right away (but how many times a day can you say, “No tongue, Owen! Do not let the doggie lick your tongue! Hands ONLY.”).

Soon Owen will be mounting and licking his friends at daycare now too. Oy.

Any suggestions for how to curb this behavior? Or at least encourage being gentle? Of course I want him to have fun with the dog and I know he’s just exploring what his body can do, but someone is going to get hurt (him… or the dog… or the unsuspecting daycare friend who Owen decides to ride and lick…). Yesterday I started a sort of “time out” where he is separated from the dog when he starts playing rough, but so far he thinks that is the beginning to a hilarious game of hide-and-seek/tag as soon as the (very short and unsuccessful) time out ends. Not so effective.

*SIDE NOTE: Please excuse Owen’s strange outfit in these pictures. He came home from school and peed through his pants, so we opted for pajama pants instead of another pair of jeans. Someday he’ll kill me for posting these… and the naked bath pics…

She Says… Passing the Test

When we saw the pediatric pulmonologist a few weeks ago about Owen’s breathing issues and recurrent pneumonia, she was amazingly thorough and careful and talked with us about all kinds of things that were not directly related to his asthma. One of those things was Owen’s food allergies/sensitivities. Those who have been reading for awhile know that he had a multitude of issues when we were breastfeeding (some food-related and some not), which eventually gave way to troublesome eczema, which we eventually, after months and months of trial and error, figured out was due to a mild oat allergy and a sensitivity to wheat.

Since last March or so, we cut oats and wheat out of his diet and his eczema and eating issues totally disappeared. For a long time, whenever he would find an errant Cheerio at daycare or stuff a bread crumb in his mouth, we could tell. The red, bumpy rash reappeared in patches and stayed around for a few days. Usually after that the inflammation would migrate to his ears and then he’d get an ear infection. Even though the doctor kept telling me that his IgE number was so close to normal that he wouldn’t even consider it a real problem (“just don’t give him a bowl full of oats”, was his advice), the cycles of rash and ear infection were enough for me to cut these two things out of Owen’s diet entirely. It wasn’t really hard once I knew what to be on the lookout for. Sure, he couldn’t eat most cereals or breads that his buddies are eating, but there are gluten free versions of just about everything. And, frankly, I liked having the excuse “Oh, he has food allergies” when people tried to offer him all kinds of unhealthy snacks. The only time he probably ever notices it is at snacktime at daycare. We send in a snack each day since they are often providing things like cereals and crackers that Owen can’t eat. Side note: It is AMAZING to me how many people hand food to little children without even thinking. Cookies at the library, animal crackers while waiting in line at the grocery store, donuts while getting coffee at Dunkin Donuts, etc. Don’t they realize that they should ASK the parents first?!

Now back to the pulmonologist appointment. She reiterated what I had already read online, which is that many kids who have mild food sensitivities and allergies when they are babies grow out of them, most by age 2. Our original plan had been to keep Owen off of oats and wheat entirely until he turned 2 (and to wait to introduce peanuts and shellfish, given his history), give his gut a good year to seal up and strengthen, and then start to reintroduce them and see what happened. But she encouraged us to try wheat little by little before then.

I know the jury is still out on allergies and how to “cure” them. Some say a little consistent exposure is the key to eliminating them, while others argue that every little exposure makes a possible reaction worse. Given that his sensitivities are skin-related, though, and not anaphylactic, we were game to try.

• So a few weeks ago Benjamin was eating pretzels and Owen asked for one. We gave it to him. A few days passed and nothing happened.

• Then we were at a friend’s house and she had made banana bread and Owen wanted to try. We let him have a little piece. Again, a few days went by and his face didn’t erupt in red splotches like in the past.

• The other day I gave him an entire piece of homemade pumpkin bread, made with whole wheat flour. A few tiny bumps appeared on his jawline, but they weren’t red or itchy or scaly or dry. Owen was not bothered. In fact, he was in love. He begged and begged for more “beh” (bread).

We haven’t tried oats yet, since that actually showed up as an “allergy” (though slight) in his bloodwork last year. I’m slightly afraid to jinx us, but… yay! I think the wheat sensitivity may be a thing of the past! We have Owen’s 18 month well visit on Monday and we’re going to discuss it with his doctor, but I’m optimistic.

Buh bye, gluten free everything. Maybe Owen will finally like pasta now (strangely it’s one of the only foods he absolutely will not eat… but perhaps it’s the gluten free pasta he hates).

She Says… 18 Months

Owen,

Since you were born, time seems to work in mysterious ways. It feels like just yesterday I was breathing slowly and clutching my belly as the contractions washed over me and your little body told mine that it was time for you to come out. But, at the same time, I feel like I have lived a hundred lifetimes since then, as sometimes moments with you, staring into your beautiful blue eyes or dancing around the kitchen together, can feel like they stretch on for days and days. It was only 18 months ago, but so. much. has. happened. since. then.

You went from smooshy, floppy newborn to stable sitter to adventurous crawler to full-speed-ahead walker to wild runner to fearless climber. And I do mean fearless! You are confident and silly and will do anything for a laugh. You thrive on being the center of attention and have already mastered the art of deliciously reeling your audience in. Daddy and I already know how hilarious you are, but it has been so fun watching other people get hooked on you as well. You are a charmer, buddy. Use that power wisely as you grow.

You went from scratchy newborn cries to making tentative sounds to gibberish to words. Real! Words! Now those words are a constant string of the thoughts flying through your brain. This morning, from the second you woke up it was, “Doggie! Hi, doggie. Car? BUS! Open. Moon. Hi, moon. Morning, Mommy. Diaper. Roll it! Milk. MILK!” and on and on. Every day your vocabulary expands and you surprise me with some connection that your mind has made. You amaze me.

You, my little chatterbox, are an incredible communicator. You use words and sign language and gestures and pure, unadulterated emotion to get your point across. Oh, you are a master of emotion. You do not hold back when it comes to smiles and laughs. You throw your head back and laugh so hard that sometimes I worry you might just stop breathing. Confession: You make me feel like the funniest person in the world. I’m not. But I am to you. It goes the other way too — when something happens that makes you sad, your whole face opens up in the most beautiful pout. Hot tears spill over your cheeks and you are consumed by that one emotion. Luckily a quick cuddle from me can usually dry those tears in an instant. I hope that is always the case, though I know it will not always be that easy. Still, when your heart is broken, I’ll be here to try to dry those tears too.

You mirror emotions in others too. As a baby, you were always a “social crier”. When other babies at daycare cried, you would cry too. Now when you hear a baby crying, you freeze and get a very worried look on your face and say, “Baby!” anxiously. When I read sad parts of books (like when Corduroy gets left at the laundromat), your eyebrows knit together thoughtfully and sometimes you whimper or whine. A page later you are raising your arms and shouting “Hooray!” when he is found. I hope you are always so honest and free with your emotions as you are right now. Wearing your heart on your sleeve is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a beautiful thing.

Always keep that remarkable ability to feel other peoples’ emotions. Care. It’s hard to see things from someone else’s perspective sometimes, but it helps. I promise.

My wonderful boy, I can’t even explain how much fun we have when we’re together. When you are older, I hope you look back and feel the same way. And, someday, I hope you feel the same happiness in your life as I do right now.

I love you. Always.
Mommy

She Says… Dinner

I’m sure you’ve read the studies that say things like

the more often families eat together, the less likely kids are to smoke, drink, do drugs, get depressed, develop eating disorders and consider suicide, and the more likely they are to do well in school, delay having sex, eat their vegetables, learn big words and know which fork to use. – Time Magazine

Eating dinner around the table as a family is important. It’s extremely important to me, mostly because the majority of my fondest memories occurred around the dinner table. And not just on Thanksgiving or Easter. I mean the regular, old, gather-up-all-the-kids, put-away-the-homework, turn-off-the-tv, sit-around-the-table, everyday, weeknight dinner. Eat together. Laugh together. Share your day together.

But here’s the thing. As much as Benjamin and I enjoy cooking and preparing lovely meals, we usually eat them in front of the tv. We’re together, and we’re doing something we both enjoy, and after a long day of working and taking care of Owen, it’s how we decompress. Not going to apologize for it or  say “Wah, I wish we didn’t do this”. It’s nice. We enjoy it. And I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing. But we always said, as soon as we had kids, we would do family dinners right.

Even though we had a kid 18 months ago, family dinner is only now beginning to become a reality. Since Owen was 4 months old he’s been going to bed between 6pm and 7pm, so “dinner together” with enough time for Owen to digest before bed would have meant an afternoon snack for us, really. Benjamin and I much preferred to put Owen to bed early and then have a little time to ourselves, cooking, eating, watching tv. It was our time. And “dinner” with Owen, for many months, involved a parent sitting and feeding and watching and playing defense when the food was thrown on the floor, etc. It wasn’t exactly that calm, winding-down, enjoying-our-food kind of experience we wanted for our dinnertime.

But in the last few weeks there has been a transformation. It has been slow and almost imperceptible, but something is afoot. I can feel it.

1. Owen wants to chat with us. He wants to engage with us. Sitting eye to eye. He wants to use words.
2. The food throwing days are (maybe?) behind us. At least for the time being. Sometimes food still ends up on the floor, and once in awhile it is not quite an accident, but gone are the days (KNOCK ON WOOD) of mindlessly throwing entire bowls of food on the floor.
3. Utensils are Owen’s best friend. He still prefers his fingers most of the time, and still needs a little help stabbing things with a fork (especially the dull, toddler forks), but he will sit pretty quietly and eat an entire plate of food without needing us to feed him anymore.
4. He is a SPONGE. He copies everything from me choosing my clothes in the morning (now he’ll stand in front of my closet and point to different dresses and skirts and say, “Dis?”) to how I dry my hands to how I stand in front of the refrigerator. The kid misses nothing. And he is an astonishingly excellent copycat. If he’s soaking up our habits around food, I don’t want them to be that we grab a granola bar and run out the door all of the time. Sure, that’s inevitable sometimes, but I want him to soak up dinnertime. Sitting. With the family. Talking. Laughing. And enjoying that time.

So we’ve been trying to do dinner as a family.

At least on weekends.

So far, it’s going great (when I have a simple and quick dinner planned). Owen loves to help me prepare it (thanks to our learning tower) and then we all sit down around 5:30pm and eat. In the dining room. For half an hour. We ask Owen about his day and talk about the things we did. We sing, sometimes, since that seems to help him eat his food. We talk about the food we’re eating, and we all eat the same things. Sometimes I let him use an adult fork. He goes crazy for an adult fork.

When it works, it is the happiest time of my day. And the best part? While I finish Owen’s bedtime routine around 7:00pm, Benjamin has done the dishes. Which means that at 7:00pm Benjamin and I can sit in front of the television and put our feet up. Dinner’s done. Kitchen’s clean. Owen’s asleep. BLISS.

We usually have to follow up with a small snack of cereal or something right before bed, because hey, we ate dinner like we live in an old folks’ home. But that’s totally worth it.

Do you do family dinners? What age did you start? What’s your favorite meal to make that the whole family can eat?

She Says… Splurge

Do you hear that?

It’s the sound of angels singing.

It’s the sound of me being able to cook something without Owen wrapping his arms around my leg and trying to climb up my side, shouting “Up! Up! Mommy! Up!”.

It’s the sound of dinner simmering and homemade bread baking and music playing and having a little dance party in the kitchen, all the while knowing that Owen is contained, safe, happy, and still able to see what’s going on at counter height.

This just may be one of my favorite things we’ve ever bought for Owen. And no, no one is paying me to say this. We didn’t even get it for free. Far from it, in fact. This Learning Tower is not cheap. But do you know what it is? WORTH. EVERY. PENNY. And we’ve only had it a week.

Almost every morning, we make Owen an egg for breakfast. Since he got his play kitchen for Christmas he has shown a keen interest in helping (Hep! Help. Cock! Cook. Eh! Eggs.). In the beginning, “helping” meant me holding him while I cooked eggs. Which was a little tricky, what with the hot pan and squirmy toddler. Since we got the learning tower, it’s climbing into his learning tower on his own, choosing which egg from the carton he wants to eat, helping me put the coconut oil (“oyyo”) or butter (“buddah”) in the pan and telling me when it’s sizzling, watching the egg turn white and holding the spatula after I flip it, and finally climbing down from the learning tower on his own and walking over to his high chair to eat it.

Not only is it an awesome bonding time for the two of us, it’s also a great learning experience for Owen and a perfect way to keep him entertained and get something done.

Have I mentioned that I love my learning tower?

I know it may seem like a step stool or chair would do the same job. Well, it didn’t for us. Owen would stand still on our kitchen bar stool for about one millisecond. After that he was twisting and turning and climbing up the back and trying to climb down on his own (which he couldn’t do safely) and even trying to jump off. My little daredevil. A chair wasn’t going to cut it for us, as it still required one parent to stand behind Owen and make sure he wasn’t going to crack his head open.

The tower has kind of transformed the way we spend time in the kitchen. And we spend A LOT of time in the kitchen. The other night we had a dance party — Owen in the tower, Benjamin and I dancing around him, while we cooked. Owen climbs and hangs on the tower and I don’t worry about him falling off. I can put the tower strategically just far enough away from the counter or the stove so he can’t reach the dangerous stuff, but close enough that he feels like he is involved in the cooking process. I’ve heard of other people using it to let their kids play in the sink with soapy water, do craft/art projects on a table or counter, and even turning it into a puppet theater when they get a bit older. Now that’s versatile.

Now my little spider monkey can climb all he wants. And get “Up! Up! Up!” and “Dow! Dow! Dow!” all he wants. And I don’t have to do a thing except make sure nothing breakable is within his reach.

What have you bought or made for your child that had a huge impact on your life? Do you let your toddler stand on chairs or stools, or do you have a learning tower or other contraption?

 

She Says… A is for Apple

I have a problem.

A somewhat strange problem.

It doesn’t impact my life most of the time. But it’s beginning to be more of an issue as we move into the stage of Owen’s life where he learns his letters.

About a week ago I got Owen a set of foam letters and numbers to play with in the bath. He has shown such an interest in learning “names” of things/people/shapes/objects/places that I thought he might be excited to start to identify letters. So far he has learned several shapes (oval, circle, moon and star) and points them out everywhere. We will be driving along and all of a sudden I hear a frantic “OOOOOOOOOOOval” and he’s desperately trying to show me which oval he saw. Anyway, turns out I was right about the new bath toy. The letters are a HUGE hit. Now the issue is getting him OUT of the tub. He loves picking them up and asking “Dat!” about each one. Then he sticks it to the wall. He picked up “O is for Owen” really fast and can now find the letter “O” floating around with all of the other letters.

Anyway. Back to my little problem.

So there we are, playing in the tub, and Owen holds up the letter N. “N!” I shout. “N for … “. My mind is blank. Well, almost. Blank except for words that are not exactly toddler-friendly. Nipple? Nymphomaniac? And often words I don’t even feel comfortable writing on the internet.

B? Boobs. Bastard. Bitch.
P? Poop. Porn. Pervert.
O? Ovulate.

You get the idea.

It happens to me at other times too. I’ll be on the phone with a credit card company or something and they’ll be asking me how to spell my address or my name and I’m all, “S as in …Sex”. And I can not. For the life of me. Think. Of. An. Appropriate. Word.

What is wrong with me?!

I’m not even someone who uses those words regularly. I don’t really curse. Maybe it’s because I DON’T use them? Who knows. But in any case, it sounds like someone needs to learn the NATO Phonetic Alphabet.

What’s the first word you think of that starts with the letter N? Anyone else have this strange affliction?

She Says… Bundled

Last night we FINALLY got some snow around here. (Umm, yeah, not counting that strange pre-Halloween snow that we got in October). I didn’t even know it was supposed to snow, and (rather embarrassingly) went to bed before it started last night, so I was shocked to see the ground covered in white when I woke up this morning! It was a decent “first snow”, too. Usually the first snow gets me all excited and then ends up being a lame dusting that turns to ice. But this was a few good inches of nice, fluffy stuff. The perfect amount — all of the ground was covered but the shoveling was easy, and there was no ice.

I opened the door to let the dog out this morning and squealed to Owen, “Snowwwwwww!”. He promptly said, “BUH bye” and tried to close the door. Ha! But once we got him bundled and ready to go to school he was shouting “Noooooo” right along with me.

Prior to the snow, though, this weekend was BITTER. That kind of biting, harsh cold where the wind seems to cut through all of your clothes and pierce your skin. When just being outside stings and any exposed skin is swollen and cracked.

We’re struggling with bundling up. Well, let me rephrase that. OWEN is struggling with bundling up.

He still adores going outside. He will stand at the back door to our deck, face plastered on the window, and whine, “Ayyoh! Ayyoh!” (Note: I have no idea why he still says some words totally incorrectly, even though he says nearly 200 words relatively clearly. Outside is one of them.). We need to walk Schnitzel anyway, so we’re outside at least once a day for a good stretch.

But then he refuses to wear his “Nyeh nyeh” (mittens).

Which is fine for a little while. But then when his skin gets all red and puffy, he holds his hands up and cries. And won’t put on mittens and won’t tuck his sad hands under the blanket and won’t let me hold them or blow on them to warm them up. Then our walk is over. And if we’re not home yet? He whines and sniffles and whimpers the rest of the way. So I end up stressed, power walking and dragging the dog the rest of the way.

You’d think he’d learn just to keep his darn mittens on!

We’ve been doing his regular clothes + fleece onesie (see above) + winter coat + boots + mittens + hat + blanket over him in the stroller. I have a set of bib overalls for when we play in the snow, but usually that seems like overkill. I use the cover on the stroller when we go for walks when the air is painfully cold (like this past weekend). I call it “the bubble” and made him think it’s a super fun treat to get to “ride in the bubble”, so he’s cool with being zipped in. For now. We’ll see how long THAT lasts.

The mittens thing is beginning to make me a little crazy. We’ve been using just cotton mittens, but unfortunately he can easily bite those off (even with mitten clips). I’m thinking I need some heavy duty ski mittens that go halfway up his arms so he can’t take them off. Anyone ever seen anything like that?

Do your kids wear tolerate mittens? Even a hat is a struggle with Owen, so I’m still squeezing his growing head into a small, 9-month old hat we have with a velcro chin strap. What can I say? The kid has a small head. So far he hasn’t figured out how to tear that off. At least not when he’s wearing his mittens.

She Says… Mommy Phase

First of all, I have to say I am loving the discussion in the comments of my post on what kids should call adults in various situations. So interesting! A little update from our end: yesterday Owen’s daycare teacher showed me that he has learned all of his teachers’ names. He came up with a solution I hadn’t even considered — he calls them only by their last names. I assume this is because they are saying “Ms. Last Name” to him, and he is just skipping the “Ms.” part, but I think it’s a wonderful way to combine familiarity with the beginnings of formality. Cute boy.

Now that Owen has so many words, it’s pretty easy for him to express what he wants (and, perhaps more passionately, what he doesn’t want). We’re constantly working on “using our words” instead of grunts and whining, and to be honest, I think it’s going really well. He’s a natural communicator. But one thing he’s been communicating recently isn’t so nice.

When we came home from daycare last night and had a little time to play before dinner, Owen grabbed my hand and led me over to his play kitchen and said, “Gub!”. (Come). “See-DOW”. (Sit down). “Peh”. (Play). I sat on the floor and we pretended to cook together. Benjamin sat down with us too and almost immediately Owen was pushing him away and shouting, “Nooooo! No! No!”. No Dada.

Unfortunately for Benjamin, this is kind of the norm. When Benjamin kisses me; Owen whines. When Owen brings over a book that he wants to read, he demands, “Moooooommy”, even when I say, “Can Dada read you that book?”. At meals he only wants me to sit next to him and cut his food and give him his cup of milk. I get cuddles and hugs and kisses and pats; Dada gets none. Even when he asks nicely. Thankfully I think this dissipates when I am not around, but when there is a choice, the answer is always Mommy.

Someone is going through a bit of a Mommy phase.

Which shouldn’t be a big deal. Right? I mean, it’s totally normal for kids to choose one parent over the other at different times in their lives. I’m sure there will be days (months? years?) that he chooses Benjamin over me, especially given that he is a boy and there will be guy things that he just won’t want Mom to be a part of.

And, to be honest, Benjamin takes this behavior WAY better than I would. Oh sure, I would play it cool and say, “Ok, go play with Dada” and try to enjoy having the opportunity to do something else, but I’m pretty sure it would sting. Like, a lot. But the truth is, that hasn’t happened yet. It feel like Owen has been going through a Mommy phase since he was born.

On one hand, I love being the chosen parent. It’s undeniable that Owen and I have a special bond. Hopefully we always will. But on the other hand, it’s kind of exhausting. Even when the whole family is together; I’m the one who takes the lion’s share of Owen duties because he wants me to. Usually I want to too, which is good all around, but once in awhile I’d like to be the one checking my email while Owen and Benjamin play blocks together. And, frankly, it makes me feel bad for Benjamin when I see Owen quite literally pushing him away.

We’ve been trying to push back on this behavior a little bit. I’ll say, “Dada can sit with us. Pushing is not ok” and we’ll go from there. Or “Dada can read with us too”. Usually there’s not a big temper tantrum about it, so I’m using it as an opportunity to practice compromise. I don’t want to ignore Owen’s wishes entirely, though, because it’s important to me that he feels heard and understood. I think that is essential to why he is such a great communicator. We listen. Err, we do our best to.

I know some people will probably say that we’re letting Owen “boss us around” or run the show. But I think that letting him make some decisions for himself is a very powerful thing. It shows him that when he expresses himself (with words, appropriately, without temper tantrums), things happen. It’s the same philosophy behind giving him a few choices of what he wants to eat (when it’s practical). Practice making decisions and communicating them. I love the opportunity to let him decide how things will go, whenever possible, because so much of his life is out of his control. It must be tough being bossed around and moved around and talked over all the time by everyone else, so I try to empower him when he expresses his feelings.

Unfortunately in this case they are at the expense of someone else’s. Poor Dada.

I’m sure almost all parents experience this at some point. Right? RIGHT?! Please tell me I’m not alone. How do you react when your kid chooses one parent over another? Does it hurt when you are not “the chosen one” or do you appreciate the time off?

She Says… Ooops

Oh, I wish I had a picture to show you the scene at our house from Saturday night. But I don’t. So I’ll have to do my best to paint a picture of my embarrassment with just words.

To set the scene: It was Saturday night and Benjamin and I were planning to head out to a friend’s birthday party. Our babysitter (a young girl whose parents live directly across the street from us) had just arrived. Since we had such a crazy week with me working late hours and staying in a hotel a few nights, etc., I wanted to put Owen to bed and sneak out after that so he wouldn’t even know we were gone. Bedtime went smoothly and I tiptoed out of his room, slipped on my heels and Benjamin and I headed for the door.

JUST as we were pulling on our coats and closing the door behind us, we heard a beeping. A loud, incessant beeping that we had never heard before. A constant, loud, incessant beeping. We followed the beeping sound to the carbon monoxide detector in the hallway outside of Owen’s room. Instinctively Benjamin tore the beeping thing off the wall and ran down the stairs in an effort to keep Owen asleep. But taking it off the wall only made the beeping worse.

It seemed highly unlikely that all of a sudden our house was filled with carbon monoxide for no good reason, but the carbon monoxide detector has a warning that says in big, bold capital letters: YOU CANNOT SEE, SMELL OR TASTE CARBON MONOXIDE. IF THIS ALARM GOES OFF, CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT OR EMERGENCY SERVICES AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

There were two lights on the front of the detector. Power and Alarm. Alarm was the one that was blinking and beeping.

Shit.

Despite my normal inclination to say, “I’m sure it’s just a mistake. It’s fine. It’s not REALLY an emergency”, I couldn’t ignore the warning or the beeping. And, frankly, we couldn’t get it to stop. I couldn’t bring myself to call 911, since this situation felt far from an emergency, so I looked up the number for our local fire department. The fire chief answered the phone.

“Ok. Does your detector have a battery?”
“Hmmm. I don’t think so. It was plugged into the wall.”
“And is the alarm going off every few minutes, or pretty constantly?”
“Constantly. And the light that says Alarm is blinking.”
“We’ll be right over.”

I hung up the phone and Benjamin and I examined the (constant! loud! incessantly beeping!) detector. Guess what we found? A BATTERY. There is, apparently, a battery backup just in case the power goes out. Benjamin and I couldn’t help but laugh at our own stupidity while we changed the battery and plugged it back in.

Silence. (And, surprisingly, silence from Owen’s room too, even with all of the beeping and scrambling and yelling over the beeping).

I called the fire chief back to tell him we didn’t need anyone to come over. That we were idiots who didn’t know there was a battery in there even though it was plugged into the wall. “They are already on their way”, he said.

Double shit.

I opened my front door to see a gigantic fire truck with lights blazing, and 2 big firefighters jumping out of the doors and putting on their fire gear. (Yes, for real.). I ran up to the truck and explained what happened. We are idiots who didn’t know there was a battery in there even though it was plugged into the wall. The stupid thing must light up the alarm button when your battery dies. I’m sorry! They decided to come in and check it out just to be safe. So the big, burly firefighters in their heavy firefighting gear stomped through my house holding a meter in the air and looking for deadly gas. Surprise! They didn’t find any.

During this time our babysitter was just hanging out in the kitchen watching this unfold. And her PARENTS (who, remember, live right across the street) saw the fire truck pull up at our house and thought there was some emergency. So THEY come running over, barefoot, to see what happened. They were thankful that we were still there, and, to be honest, I was thankful that they ran right over. If there really had been an emergency I would have appreciated their concern. In this case, though, it just made us feel like even bigger idiots

After a few minutes of the firefighters checking the air in various parts of the house and me pleading with them that they should get back to the station in case of a real emergency, they left. I cursed myself for not waking Owen up to see them. He would have freaked out. A REAL, LIVE FIRETRUCK AT OUR HOUSE?!

Just as they left I heard him crying from his room. Apparently that was enough ruckus to wake him. I waited at the bottom of the stairs to see if I needed to go in, but he stopped after a minute or so and went back to sleep.

Ok. Babysitter was still there, alarm was off, baby was asleep. So we went out.

Just a normal Saturday night.

She Says… Mrs. So-and-So

Owen has been completely obsessed with names recently. When we received Christmas cards over the holidays we put them all up on the wall and his favorite thing was to point to each one and ask (read: demand), “Dat?”. After I said each name he would repeat it (to the best of his ability). And then giggle. And then ask me again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Often I would turn the question back on him and ask him who the people were, and he almost always said the right name! Go figure, Mr. Social is totally enamored with learning names.

He also knows the names of people on food packages when he plays in the pantry cabinet. Oh yes, he and Bob (of Bob’s Red Mill) and Uncle Ben (of Uncle Ben’s Rice) are on a first name basis. And if there are any people on cereal boxes, Owen calls them all “guy”. The kid sees a face and wants a name!

In public, he will point to people and say, “Dat!” as if I know everyone’s name. It’s getting a little awkward to have to say (out loud, usually within earshot), “Ummm, I don’t know that person’s name, buddy…”. And even more awkward to say, “That’s a man/woman/girl/boy/kid” and realize that I’ve guessed wrong. Ooops. The other day Owen learned the word people (pee-boh), so at least I’ve got that one as an easy out.

He talks about our friends constantly, even when they are not there. He constantly “finds” his cousins and aunts and uncle and grandparents (most of whom he hasn’t seen in months) in books and on the street. When we sing songs he will shout out their names and I will work them into the song. He comes home from school with new words every day and finally I’ve come to realize that many of them are names of his new little buddies. Have I told you he’s obsessed? Obsessed.

At school he is supposed to call his teachers Mrs. and Ms. So-and-So. This strikes me as kind of funny, since he is only a toddler, but I guess it is good practice in formality for later in life. In any case, it feels a little strange to refer to his teachers as Ms. So-and-So when most of them are clearly my age or younger. But what is even weirder is thinking of having Owen call my friends Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So. I can remember several of my parents’ friends who I called Mr. or Mrs., and definitely when I met my friend’s parents, they were Mr. and Mrs..

Does that mean that Owen should be calling my college friends by their formal title when he learns their names? REALLY?! Not going to happen, folks. But then will it be weird when he is 10 and going over to friend’s houses and calling their mothers by their first names?

Maybe it’s generational. Maybe Owen’s generation WILL call their friend’s moms by their first names. And maybe it won’t seem weird then.

What do your kids call your friends? Their teachers? Do you feel weird introducing people as Mr. or Mrs.?