Posts tagged as:

three-year-old

How Does He Come Up with this Stuff?

October 5, 2008 · 4 comments

David’s been up to some interesting stuff lately.

He rigged up this pulley system on his bed with some rope and a laundry basket.

I found him trying to do it with sewing thread first. Of course that just kept breaking. So I gave him some rope. But I didn’t help him. He figured out how to do it all on his own. Where he got the idea in the first place, I don’t know.

Don’t worry. We took the rope away when he went to bed.

Is it normal for a three-year-old to have these kind of engineering skills?

Then we got a magazine in the mail with a cover that fascinated David. He liked it so much he tore the cover off and hung it on the fridge. I went to get some milk and found this:

We had a long conversation about that cover the night before he gave it place of honor on the fridge. David immediately recognized both of them.

“Is that Barack Obama?”

“Yes.”

“Is that John McCain?”

“Yes.”

“Why do they look mad?”

“They’re not really mad. It’s just a joke. It’s supposed to be funny.”

“Why’s it funny?”

“Because they’re competing against each other to be president. But the picture is making it look like they’re going to box each other. What makes it funny is that would never really happen.”

“Oh.”

Then David just sat and studied the picture for a long time.

I was surprised he recognized the caricatures.

Maybe we watch too much cable news.

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Conversations with a Three-year-old: Everyone’s a Critic

September 19, 2008 · 2 comments

On the couch one morning eating breakfast in our PJs…

“Mommie?”

“Yes?”

“You need to go put some make-up on so you look pretty again.”

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Conversations with a Three-year-old: Sarah McLachlan made my Kid Cry

September 4, 2008 · 2 comments

Have you seen the heart-wrenching Human Society commercial with Sarah McLachlan? You can watch it here. Get some Kleenex and hide your wallet first.

With her hit In the Arms of an Angel playing in the background, and sad pictures of adorable puppies and kittens flashing across the screen, McLachlan pleads with you to send money to help the poor, homeless animals that live in Humane Society shelters.

I love animals. We have two dogs and two cats that are spoiled rotten. But after years of seeing these kinds of tear-jerker commercials, I’m pretty much immune to them.

David on the other had — not so much. After he saw the commercial for the first time he came to me with tears welling up in his eyes, “Mommie, why are those doggies so sad?”

“Because they don’t have a nice home to live in like our pets do.”

“Why?”

“Well, some animals just don’t.”

“Doesn’t anybody love them?”

“Well, sometimes people have pets, and for some reason they can’t take of them anymore. So they take them to the Humane Society. Then the Humane Society takes care of them.”

With the tears trickling down his cheeks,”They’re sad because they don’t have a home, and no one loves them.”

“Sweetie, don’t worry about those dogs and cats. The Humane Society takes good care of them, and they try to find them new homes with people who love them.”

“Mommie, you have to send those dogs money.”

“Well, we’ll see. Why don’t you go tell our dogs how much you love them, so they won’t be sad like the animals on TV.”

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What About my Nap Time?

August 28, 2008 · 5 comments

My life was irrevocably changed today.

I knew this day was coming. It was inevitable. People told me it might happen after a year. More likely after two years. Certainly by three.

But I managed to beat the odds. It lasted almost four years.

Then this afternoon it happened.

David gave up his daily nap.

I tried a few test runs in the past to see if David was ready give up his post-lunch siesta. They always ended with him getting extremely cranky around 4 or 5 p.m., and then checking out for the night on the couch by 6. We’d carry him to bed eventually. But then he would wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 4 a.m.

Today was different. I tried to lay David down around 2 o’ clock. After he got out of bed a few times, I gave up.

And David didn’t get cranky. He didn’t fall asleep in the living room. He was going strong until his bedtime at 8:30.

For — well — David’s entire life he took that 2 hour nap. No matter how the day was going I could always count on a break in the afternoon. Sometimes I took a nap myself. Sometimes I did housework. Most of the time I blogged. But whatever I was doing, I had two hours of quiet and solitude. Many days I needed that time to myself to re-gain my sanity.

Now what?

I may have to lock myself in the bathroom.

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Living Room Olympics and Some Conversations with a Three-Year-Old

August 21, 2008 · 2 comments

I haven’t posted much for over a week. I’ve been working on some other projects, and I guess blogging fell to the bottom of the list.

I just haven’t been feelin’ it either. Maybe it’s the realization that summer’s almost over. We’ve lost over an hour of daylight in the last month. I love those long summer evenings when the sun is out until 10 o’clock. Now that that they’re so quickly fading away, I feel like I have to squeeze every last drop out of what’s left of the sunshine and warm days. Remember the summers of your childhood that seemed to go on and on? If only time moved as slowly at 33 as it did at 13.

Or maybe it’s too many late nights watching the Olympics. I could not go to bed last night until I was sure Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh won the gold. And am I the only one who couldn’t hold back the tears a few nights ago when they cut away to Shawn Johnson’s mother sobbing in the stands after her little girl finally won a gold medal? I actually had to get up and get a Kleenex.

David’s been watching the Olympics with us. This is the first that’s he’s been old enough to really watch. He’s been especially fascinated with swimming and gymnastics.

“Who is that?”

“Michael Phelps.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Swimming in a race.”

“He goes fast.”

“He goes very fast. He’s won a lot of gold medals, because he’s the best swimmer in the world.”

“When I grow up I want to swim fast, and win a gold medal. But I have to bring my floatie.”

Watching women’s swimming David noticed that some of the swimmers we’re, well, a little more athletically built than others.

“Mommie are they all girls?”

“Yes, it’s women’s swimming.”

“Is that a girl?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s a girl?”

“Yes.”

“No. That’s a man.”

“No honey, they’re all girls.”

“She doesn’t look like a girl.”

“Well, it’s hard to tell when their hair is under those caps.”

“No. She just doesn’t look like a girl.”

Later during the same event:

“Mommie do you want to go there?”

“Yes, I think it would be fun to go to China.”

“No there. Do you want to go there.”

“Do you mean swim in that big pool?”

“Yeah.”

“That would be fun wouldn’t it?”

“You could swim with those other girls, and Daddy and I could watch you.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d break a world record. Slowest ever Olympic time in the women’s 200 meters.”

Then after watching the gymnastics vaulting competition David announced, “I have to learn how to do five somersaults and land on my feet!”

The next day he carried his old crib mattress out to the living room and placed it in front of the ottoman. He started doing flips off the ottoman on to the mattress.

“What on earth are you doing? You’re going to break your neck!”

“No I won’t. I have a mattress.”

“You could still get hurt.”

“But I have to practice landing on my feet.”

Well, next week launches us full swing into election season with the Democratic Convention starting on Monday, followed up by the Republican convention the week after. David should give me plenty to blog about after he watches some of that.

Remember this conversation about Barack Obama? David still doesn’t believe me.

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It’s Gonna Take More than Calgon

August 5, 2008 · 7 comments

For the last two days, David has been pushing all of my buttons.

Every. Single. One.

Sometimes two or three at a time!

Whoever said two was terrible must not have been through three yet.

He is driving me crazy.

Seriously.

There were times today when I felt like the sheer madness of it all was going to make my mind explode. If insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting a different result, then David is certifiable.

We were in my bedroom this morning while I was folding and putting away laundry.

“Stop jumping on the bed.”

He jumps.

“I said stop jumping on the bed!”

He jumps again.

“I told you to stop jumping on the bed! Do it again and you’re going to get spanked.”

He keeps jumping.

“Alright! That’s it! I told you to stop. You are intentionally disobeying me.”

I spank him. Five minutes later what’s he doing again? JUMPING ON THE BED!

Just before lunch.

“I want a cookie.”

“It’s almost time for lunch. You can have a cookie after you eat.”

“But I want a cookie.”

“I said not until after lunch.”

“But I don’t want lunch. I want a cookie.”

“If you don’t eat lunch, you don’t get a cookie.”

“But I want a cookie.”

You can’t win an argument like this with David. He has to get the last word in. I had to find some way to stop the endless loop of yes and no. “I’m getting your lunch now. This conversation is over. I don’t want to hear another word about cookies. If you keep talking about it, I’m going to ignore you.”

Now the real whining starts. “Bu-bu-bu-but I waaaaaant a coooooookie. Pleeeeeease. Can I have a coooookie. Pleeeeeease. Pleeeeeease. Ah, Mommie! Look at me! Talk to me! I. WANT. A. COOKIE. NOW. GO. GET. ME. A. COOKIE!”

This is one of those mind-numbing moments I’m talking about. The whining, nagging and yelling builds and builds until I can’t think anymore. I swear everything goes white and the room spins a little. For a split second I feel like I’ve lost all control of the situation, and I’ll never get it back.

“Now you’re talking back to me. You don’t tell Mommie what to do. 10 minutes in time out. Let’s go!”

At bedtime.

“Go in the bathroom. You need to try and go potty, and brush your teeth.”

“I don’t need to go potty.”

“You have to try.”

“But I went already.”

“Two hours ago doesn’t count.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Didn’t we talk about obeying a whole bunch of times today?”

“Uh-uh.”

“What happened when you didn’t obey?”

“I got in trouble.”

“Do you want to get in trouble again?”

“No.”

“Then try to go potty.”

“I don’t want to.”

Are you sighing, throwing your hands up in the air, shaking your head and looking up at the ceiling with me yet?

I look at the ceiling a lot during the day.

It’s less painful than beating your head against a brick wall.

“I’m going to give you one last chance, because I don’t want to spank you just before bedtime. I suggest you take this one last chance. Go. In. The. Bath. Room. Now. And try to go potty. OR ELSE!”

Finally he runs to the bathroom, and guess what?

He did have to pee after all.

Good grief!

Yeah, yeah, I know. He’s just testing me. How many times does he have to perform the same test until he accepts proof of the theory? If he were a scientist, he would have run out of grant money months ago.

I’m drained and exhausted after two days of this. I hate scolding and punishing all day long. I know I have to discipline him, but I still feel miserable about it. Right now, I’m dreading tomorrow.

I really don’t want another day of it.

I don’t think I can take another day of it.

I need to get something stronger than Calgon.

How about a whole week at a spa?

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Conversations with a Three-Year-Old: If the Slipper Fits

July 14, 2008 · 7 comments

“Mommie, when you were Cinderella, Daddy carried you.”

“When I was Cinderella?”

“Uh-huh. You had on that dress that was like this.” With his hands David draws an invisible rectangle from his waist to the floor.

“When was I wearing a dress like that?”

“In that picture. And Daddy’s carrying you. Like a baby.”

Finally the light comes on. “Oh, you’re talking about the pictures from our wedding that we were looking at yesterday. From the day Daddy and Mommie got married. Yes, there’s a picture of Daddy picking me up and carrying me. It’s just something silly people do when they get married.”

“Yeah, and you were Cinderella.”

“Oh, well, I’m just wearing my fancy wedding dress, I wasn’t — You know what? I was Cinderella. Yes, yes I was.”

At least someone in this house recognizes my royal status!

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