She Says… Picture Day

I know I just posted a bunch of vacation photos and I’m sure most (all?) of you are tired of looking at pictures of my kid. But we just got Owen’s school picture back today and I have to share it.

WHEN DID MY BABY GET SO DARN OLD?!

Also, really REALLY wish we had gotten his hair cut prior to the picture being taken. But, you know, life happens. And my little boy was rockin’ a surfer dude style for picture day.

Oh how he’s grown since last year’s pic:

He looks so much more… serious. And thoughtful. And mature. And while I definitely see that same devilish look from 2012 these days, there IS something more grown up about him.

We’ll be fighting about laser backgrounds for these pictures in no time.

She Says… Damaged Goods

We made a potentially very bad parenting decision last night. And it nearly broke our hearts.

As I’ve mentioned before, Owen LOVES his lovey. Lovey stays in bed (my hard and fast rule to avoid dragging him around everywhere we go) and is only available at nap and bedtimes, but oh how he is loved. We have three identical Loveys that are rotated between laundry, home and school so that in the almost 3 years of his life, Owen has never had to sleep without one since they were introduced.

As I also may have mentioned, Owen has taken to sucking on Lovey’s foot (arm?) while putting himself to sleep. It’s kind of gross, as that particular foot (on all three Loveys) is brownish, despite a billion washings, and starts to stink a little after a few sleeps. Then it’s time for a bath. But hey, probably no worse than a pacifier or a thumb, and at least this one goes in the closet as soon as he wakes up. The sucking has been happening for a long time, but a more recent habit is hanging Lovey on his bottom teeth, dangling out of Owen’s mouth from his looped tag. I think this started when Owen’s little fingers got too big to fit inside the looped tag.

I HATE this habit. Even more than the sucking.

He tugs on Lovey while attached to his tooth just hard enough that I worry about his teeth growing in the wrong direction. Or one pulling all the way out. It’s probably unfounded, but for some reason this tag hanging thing just irks me. And frankly I just don’t like the way Lovey looks dangling out of Owen’s mouth.  I’ve asked him not to do it, but of course there’s no way to regulate since he does it in the privacy of his own room when he’s sleeping. So Benjamin and I had the brilliant horribly awful idea to snip the tag open so that he couldn’t hang it on his tooth anymore.

Last night we made the snip on the 1st Lovey. It took Owen about 1 second to find the atrocious offense before the tears began. I don’t WANT this Lovey. He’s broken! What happened to his tag? I can’t scratch it! I want to be able to scratch it. It doesn’t feel right. I want a different one. Granted, last night was a particularly tearful and easily-frustrated night for Owen, so maybe not the best timing. But is there really a right time to mutilate one’s best friend?

Benjamin and I tried to keep blank faces but we were both crying on the inside. What had we done? I very nearly jumped in to say that I would buy him new ones… but I restrained myself because I wanted to see how this played out.

We all read a book together and by the end Owen was sucking happily on his favorite Lovey foot, flicking the tag mindlessly just like he used to. Before I tucked him in I asked, “Are you ok?” “Yeah.” “Is Lovey ok?” “Yeah. I can just touch the tag like this. It’s good.”.

Phew. I think we’re all going to survive.

The moral of the story? I SO wish we had prepared him for the snip. Every time I try to “trick” Owen I end up feeling like it was the wrong decision. Maybe snipping it at all was the wrong decision, but it’s too late now. We’ve decided we’re going to snip the other 2 as they are introduced over the next few days (one is currently at school in his nap bag and I don’t want to “trick” him again and have him freak out at school), because I don’t think we can have one damaged and 2 intact. And I still don’t want him looping that tag around his tooth. And given that he got over the damaged goods pretty quickly, I think we’ll all move right past it.

Lovey seems to be my Achilles heel with Owen. I just can’t stand coming between them.

I’ll let him go to college with the darn thing if he wants. As long as he’s not pulling out his teeth with it.

She Says… I Have One More Question for You

Owen’s favorite phrase du jour is “I have one more question for you”. It definitely sounds like something I’d say, so I’m not surprised he picked it up, but I am surprised that he seems to use it appropriately (when he really does have only one more question). It sounds so adult coming out of his tiny little mouth.

We had our first “getting out of bed” experience the other night, 3 weeks after introducing the big boy bed (which also means that we won a bet with our friends, who said they’d take us all out for ice cream if Owen lasted 3 weeks without leaving his room — score!). I was wondering when that was going to happen! This was pretty much the best case scenario and I’m thrilled that Owen seems to have adjusted with very little changing in terms of our sleeping routine. So far, at least.

This was the conversation we had when he woke up yesterday morning.

Owen: Mommy, am I allowed to get out of bed?
Me: No, you should stay in bed until I come get you in the morning.
Owen: Is Lovey allowed to jump out of bed?
Me: Well, it’s better if he stays in bed, but… Why? did he fall out of bed last night?
Owen: Yes.
Me: That’s ok! What did you do?
Owen: Silence. I think he thought he was supposed to say he DIDN’T get out of bed, but doesn’t yet know how to lie.
Me: That’s ok if you got out just to get Lovey. Because I didn’t hear you cry for me. Did you cry for me?
Owen: No. I got out of bed (sheepish grin).
[Side note: Oh how I adore the "telling on myself constantly" phase!]
Me: That’s ok. As long as it was just to get Lovey. Did you get right back in bed?
Owen: I DID!
Me: That’s awesome, buddy. I’m so proud of you for getting Lovey yourself.
Owen: Mommy, I have one more question for you.
Me: Yes?
Owen: Am I allowed to fix my blankets myself?
Me: Yes. Definitely. Did you fix your blankets yourself when you got back in bed?
Owen: I DID!

So proud. As I’ve said before, we’ll see how long it lasts, but so far so good on the big boy bed front!

She Says… Skydiving By 5

Owen has always been a wild child when it comes to climbing and rough-and-tumbling and fearlessness. The past week or so, this has culminated in a new obsession with jumping off of tall things.

Like, things that are nearly as tall as I am.

It started with jumping off of the couch. Then he graduated to jumping off of a stair or two. And recently, with the addition of his big boy bed, jumping off of his bed to see how far he can get (dangerously close to a little bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, we have found). These days, no matter who is nearby or where we are, I hear his little voice shouting, “Hey! Watch this, guys!” and turn around to see him teetering on the edge of some precipice about to jump off.

Yesterday at the playground it was the top of this little climber. One second he was on the ground next to me, and the next second he was literally on top of it, ready to stand without any hands there to steady him. At least he called my name because he wanted an audience!

Benjamin nearly killed me when I allowed him to jump.

But here’s what I’ve realized. He’s going to do it anyway. As with most things that us parents attempt to control, I guess. But especially on the playground. If I want him to “go play”, I can’t stand hovering and telling him what he can and can’t do. And, frankly, I’m a huge proponent of letting him get a few skinned knees (hopefully not very many broken bones) to let him learn his own lessons about what he’s capable of. I am constantly surprised by what he really CAN do if I let him try. So my answer when he looks at me with that expectant, “you’re so not going to let me do this” look is almost always, “Ok, show me!”.

Granted, the first time he tries a new stunt I’m usually there with a hand out or spotting him so he doesn’t go kersplat on the ground right in front of my face. But especially recognizing that come July I may not always be there to catch him when he falls, he’d better learn what he can do safely on his own and what is actually too high.

I’ll probably eat these words when I’m rushing him to the ER someday in the not-too-distant-future.

But for now, we’ve been working on some sweet new tricks on our swingset at home (monkey bar trapeze! Transferring from ramp to slide mid-climb! Sliding down the slide head first!). Benjamin does not approve. Which is ironic, really, because I can guarantee you (and I’m sure his parents can attest) that Owen got this “watch this!” gene from his father. He definitely didn’t get it from me.

If he continues at this rate, the kid will be skydiving by the time he’s 5.

Or maybe not. Is there an age where all of a sudden better judgement kicks in and the fearless kid gets not-so-fearless? Did/do you have a wild child when it comes to stunts/climbing/jumping? Do you try to stop them from doing the really dangerous stuff? How?

She Says… Sexism Starts Young

The scene: Owen and I were at his favorite playground on Monday. He was playing more on his own than ever before — racing back and forth on the climber, down the slides, up the climbing wall. I was standing off to the side, watching, smiling at the way his little body climbs so effortlessly and appreciating the joy he exudes just running around. (In short, it was one of those perfect playground days that my hilarious blog-friend Meg wrote about NOT having on the very same day).

He ran down the hill to another play area where two girls (maybe 5 years old?) were running around together. He started running right alongside them, without saying a word, just beaming at them and including himself in their game. It was sweet. I chatted with their parents and we laughed at how social he was. He kept asking me to come play and I encouraged him to play with the other kids while I stayed on the sidelines.

Owen: Mommy! Come run with me!
Me: You go ahead and run with those girls. They are having so much fun.

Little girl (to her friend): Hey! Let’s play hide and seek!
Owen (his face lighting up at the mention of his favorite game): Yeah! Let’s play hide and seek!
The little girls ignore him.
Little girl (to her friend): Ok, I’ll count and you hide over there behind that tree. (Side note: Don’t you love how little kids play hide and seek? Telling you where to hide?)

The girls run away and Owen runs behind them, trying to hide with the one who was hiding. They stop the game and stare at him.

Owen (to me): I want to play!
Me: You can, buddy! Just say, “Can I play with you?”.
Owen (to the girls): Can I play with you? (In the sweetest little singsong voice).
Little girl: No. It’s a girl’s game ONLY.
Owen (still smiling, completely unaware of the message): It’s a what game?
Little girl: GIRL’S GAME. Like, you can’t play. Because you’re a boy.

I watched a confused look come over Owen’s face while the girls ran away, giggling. My heart broke for him. Thankfully he didn’t seem to care all that much, and I quickly took his hand and offered to run with him or push him on the swings. We chatted quickly about how it’s not nice to exclude others in your game, and the girls should have let him play.

Kids are kids. Kids are mean sometimes (intentionally or not). It’s the first of many, many instances of feeling left out, I’m sure. But I just thought we had a few more years of innocent, happy playground time.

Apparently not.

He asked me several more times that night why the girls didn’t let him play. I know he was trying to process what happened and I didn’t have a great answer for him except that sometimes friends just want to play with certain people. Thankfully he bounced back quickly and soon attached himself to an 8 year old boy who was doing all sorts of dangerous jumps off of the climber (so, clearly Owen-the-daredevil’s new personal hero). He jumped right in with “What’s your name” and clapped and laughed at every stunt. On our way out of the playground the 8 year old high-fived Owen and said, “You’re pretty cool. I never would have guessed you’re only 2.”.

So, all in all, those girls didn’t ruin Owen’s day. But they kind of ruined mine.

She Says… Babies

Thank you all for the happy thoughts you sent my way after last week’s whiny post. A weekend of sunshine did me good and I’m feeling like myself again.

On top of that, Owen’s little fever turned out to be nothing and he seems to have emerged from whatever it was that was causing him to act like a little monster last week. I don’t know if it was a bug he was fighting or lack of sleep due to being excited about his bed or what, but I’m just thankful it is over now. And, in its wake, it seems to have left an exceptionally sweet child whose capacity for playing by himself has doubled and whose behavior could not be better. Phew. I guess those kinds of developmental jumps are worth the painful week? I guess? I’m still not sure why they seem to be so pronounced with Owen, and only in retrospect do I see what caused all of that ridiculous fussing and terrible behavior.

Owen is super excited to be a big brother. He’ll often bring up things like, “I’m going to teach my baby brother to eat” or “I want to touch my baby brother’s toes” or “I’m going to bring him toys to hold” out of the blue. Recently this excitement has manifested itself as an obsession with babies.

He LOVES babies.

At school a few weeks ago, when the kids were still in their snowsuits, there was a little girl standing, stuck, crying on the playground. Owen’s teachers tell me they turned around and he was over next to her, patting her on the back and saying, “It’s ok. It’s ok.”. Sob.

And he’s always had a thing for hugging our friends’ babies (whether they liked it or not!).

When I arrived at school to pick Owen up on Friday, the mom of one of his friends was there with her newborn. The baby was crying in his stroller and as soon as he heard that little cry, Owen dropped his toy and came running from across the playground. He climbed up onto the stroller and started patting his foot, crooning, “S’ok. Why are you crying?” in this little sing-songy voice. He patted the baby’s head SO GENTLY (like, for real gently… which both amazed me and terrified me, because one can never tell when that gentle touch is going to turn not-so-gentle…) and dug the baby’s pacifier out of his blankets. Owen stuffed the paci in his mouth (backwards, but it didn’t seem to matter) while asking, “You want this?” over and over again.

I nearly cried. It was just about the sweetest thing. Thankfully the mother didn’t mind Owen’s little hands all over her baby (I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did!) and she praised him for being so gentle. I could barely tear Owen away to go home. He was in love.

Then, over the weekend we hung out with our friends who have a little guy who is about 15 months old. He toddled towards the parking lot (nowhere near the cars, but in that general direction) and Owen ran up to him and shouted, “Don’t walk! Cars won’t see you!” in an effort to keep him safe. Owen walked next to his little friend and put his arm around his shoulders. Buddies. Oh so sweet, until that arm-around-the-shoulders move made them both fall down, and Owen tried to pick him up by his head/neck. Clearly it came from a place of love and trying to help the kid up, but we have some lessons to learn about how to handle other kids. Gulp.

I’m beginning to see what kind of big brother Owen may be. Head over heels in love. Overly affectionate. Super gentle until he’s super NOT gentle. Protective.

We’ll have to watch him like a hawk.

Still, it makes my heart swell to watch him love on babies. I’ll have to remember this the next time I have to sign an incident report for him beating up a friend at school.

She Says… A Trip to the Hospital I Can Get Behind

Last weekend, before the horrific Boston Marathon bombings, our family spent some time at Boston Children’s Hospital. But, thankfully, it wasn’t due to illness or asthma or injury. It was to do our part to advance scientific research. Those of you who have been reading since Owen was a baby may remember we did this once before (how cute and chubby is he in those pictures?!).

We were contacted by Children’s a few weeks ago because Owen is in the prime age group for a study they are doing on how spatial memory development is related to brain development during infancy/toddlerhood. I’ve declined to participate in a few studies over the last two years because of scheduling or the hassle of driving to the hospital, but Benjamin has been traveling so much this month that this time I was thankful for the morning activity for us.

Also, as a bonus, Owen is now old enough to understand things like “scientists” and “experiments” and he thought it was SO COOL that he got to be a part of this. And, as a former psychology student and someone who is incredibly interested in human development, I think it’s SO COOL to be a part of it too.

The study involved 2 sessions (one Saturday morning, one Sunday morning) where Owen participated in 2 learning/memory tasks assessing his ability to remember the location of different objects he had seen earlier. Just like when he was a baby, he had to wear an electrode cap, made up of tiny little sensors surrounded by tiny little sponges, that would pick up his brain signals during the task.

I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about wearing the cap this time around (he couldn’t have cared less when he was a baby). He wasn’t really into it when we first put it on…

but once it was on for a minute and he was distracted by toys, he was totally cool.

He had fun with the memory task and quickly became best friends with the researcher. It helped that she rewarded him with gummy candy that I rarely let him have!

The setup at the lab is really interesting. They track his brain waves and where his eyes are looking via cameras in an adjoining room.

Once again, I am so thankful to have these amazing research hospitals so close to home, and happy to be part of the work that they do. Now Owen can’t stop talking about being a scientist and doing experiments too.

Little Dr. Owen in the making, perhaps?

Last time I posted about this I got a lot of emails and comments about how others in the area could participate. Here is the link to sign up to be a part of the participant registry at the Laboratories of Cognitive Neuroscience at Boston Children’s Hospital.

She Says… It All Adds Up

Project: Big Boy Bed could have been as simple as mattress on the floor. But no, things are never that simple around here. Somehow my brain turned that simple change into a catalyst for making all kinds of bigger changes.

Here’s what I intended to buy:

• Twin bed (Our crib converts to a toddler bed, but since we are planning to use that crib in July for the new baby, I didn’t think it made much sense to transition multiple times. Straight to the twin!)

Here’s what I kind of forgot we had to buy in addition to the things above:

• Mattress
• Box spring
• Duvet cover
• Duvet/comforter
• Twin sheets (x2)
• Waterproof mattress protector (x2)

And then those things made me think of something else…

• Video monitor (We never got one when Owen was a baby, and I’m glad we didn’t because I would have obsessed over it… but now I want to see what he’s up to when that door is shut and he has no crib to confine him! We’ll likely get 2 cameras so we can watch both kiddos on the same screen.)
• Dresser? (Currently Owen’s clothes are all in his changing table. He is very much potty trained at home, but still wears diapers for sleeping, so we also kind of need a place to change him. Unfortunately he loves to climb his current changing table like a little monkey, and even though it’s securely bolted to the wall, I think it will be better if we take it out of his room once he is let loose. Also, we’ll need it for the baby about a million times more often, so it makes sense to put in the nursery. Which means that… now we need a dresser too? Maybe with a changing pad on top?).

And then somehow my brain made the jump that since we’ll be moving the crib and changing table OUT of Owen’s room and INTO the new nursery, we’re eliminating what we have been using as a guest room. Of course we knew that was going to happen, but the actual date (next Thursday) of the bed coming really catapults these changes into reality.

So, naturally, I started meeting with contractors to possibly put a bathroom in our basement to create a guest suite away from children… before the baby comes. Ummm, yeah. Maybe not the best timing, but it certainly would be useful!

I’m trying to convince myself that most of the new things we’re buying for Owen’s room are balanced out by what we DON’T have to buy for the baby’s nursery. And they will also be used for years and years to come (my good, sturdy twin bed lasted me until college!), so we’re investing in solid pieces, rather than something flimsy as a placeholder for the “real deal” when he gets older. Still, this feels like a much bigger chunk of change (in all senses of the word) than I bargained for.

She Says… Poopy Mouth

Poop.

Why is poop so darn funny?

Given that I will eventually have two (or more?) sons, I guess I’d better get on board. Poop is, apparently, hilarious.

At the ripe old age of 2 3/4, Owen caught on to the fact that talking about poop elicits giggles and smirks, no matter who he’s talking to, adult or child. I do my best to keep a straight face (nearly impossible sometimes), and even attempted a valiant effort of firmly responding, “We don’t talk about poop unless we’re ACTUALLY talking about going poop” every time it came out of his mouth for a while. I know another mom who says you can only say the word poop if you are IN the bathroom.

To no avail. The poop talk is here to stay.

I thought I had more time before this lovely milestone hit, because I know from experience it doesn’t go away until, like… 12 years old? 21 years old? Ummm, never, for some dudes?

As I said, originally I actually thought I could control/contain/discourage this behavior by not laughing and setting boundaries around when we actually CAN talk about poop. WRONG! Everything is poop. Poopy face. Poopy girl. Poop. Poop brown. Poop, poop, poop. Peepee once in a while, though that is far less funny. If he doesn’t know the answer to a question? It’s poop. What do you want for dinner tonight? Poop. Did you have a nice sleep last night? Poop. And then cue the giggles.

Benjamin recently pointed out that my tactic of discouraging this kind of talk was likely making it worse (“Oh, this BOTHERS you, Mom? I will do it some more! POOP POOP POOP!”). So I tried a new tactic. Just let it be. Give the word poop no more power than any other word. Deal with it, but don’t encourage it. I thought maybe Benjamin was right.

Alas, that doesn’t seem to have helped either. Or the damage is already done.

We had a playdate over the weekend and that little boy tempted fate by saying “butt” and looking at his mom like, “Is she going to punish me?”. Clearly these little guys are just testing limits. And I don’t think this is a battle I’m going to fight very hard. There are bigger fish to fry. But someone please tell me this poop talk thing is a stage?

Does your kid talk about poop (or some other inappropriate but totally normal topic that makes non-parents in the grocery store roll their eyes at you)? What do you do about it, if anything?

She Says… The Hollow Leg

We’re in the middle of one of those crazy voracious toddler eating phases. The last few days, it feels like Owen is eating us out of house and home. What am I going to do when he’s a teenager? Or with TWO teenage boys in the house?! Sigh.

Each breakfast lasted nearly an hour this past weekend, because Owen just kept saying, “I’m still hungry!”. On Sunday he started with his usual:

• Milk (plus an extra half cup upon his request)
• Protein (a hard-boiled egg)
• Carb/starch (a pancake with ground flax)
• Fruit (a clementine)

Still hungry.

• Cheese stick
• Fruit/veggie/almond milk smoothie that Benjamin and I were having
• Dry cereal

Still hungry.

• Handful of pistachios

And then I cut him off. I thought maybe he was just front-loading his food, like I often do (I eat a huge breakfast, smaller lunch, and eventually need a smaller dinner… so I don’t sweat it or starve myself if I’m super hungry in the morning, since it usually evens out). But then at lunch the same thing happened (despite doing my best to fill his belly with black beans, a hummus wrap, pear slices and green and red peppers). And I’m pretty sure he had his usual two snacks a day, also.

By dinner I thought he would have had enough, but no.

• Salmon
• Rice made with coconut milk
• Broccoli
• Milk

Then he was ready for his “treat”, since he gobbled his dinner.

• Easter marshmallow

Still hungry.

• Applesauce
• Dry cereal

Still hungry.

• Almonds

The kid is a vacuum. Thankfully he pretty much says “Ummmm… yes!” to whatever I offer when he grins and says, “I’m still hungry”, so at least he’s eating whatever I put in front of him.

Growth spurt, much?!