Mommy Wanderings (or: Holy Crap! This Kid's Almost Two!)

I’m trying to figure out just where in the world the last year went. Last April when TLB had his first birthday, we had a small, understated celebration -- TLB, my husband and I went to dinner with my parents, TLB’s Godparents, and Uncle Roland. He was still a baby then. He barely walked, talked even less, and didn’t like the icing on his cake. It was a fun celebration, but it was hardly momentous.

Now, inexplicably, TLB is about to turn TWO. All of a sudden, it seems, I have a little boy living in my house. Not only does he walk and talk and eat cake, he jumps, dances, sings, plays drums, slides down slides and rides horses. He names colors and shapes, and counts to ten in English, Spanish and Korean (French is a work in progress). He eats with utensils, colors with crayons, throws and kicks balls, says “please” and “thank you,” and insists on doing so many things himself. Where did this kid come from?

He had his two year check-up the other day, and the nurse bombarded me with questions about his development. Can he climb stairs? Can he jump? Can he stack blocks? Can he speak fifty words? My first thought was, “Should I be counting words?” My second was, “Well, I imagine so. Thirty of them are numbers.” Then, “The kid says ‘trombone,’ ‘dinosaur,’ ‘tortoise’ and ‘avocado.’ I really think he’s doing okay, vocabulary-wise.” What I SAID was, “Yes.” I saved my bragging for this blog.

Of course, TLB’s rapidly approaching two-ness isn’t ALL manners and singing and dancing. He can go from “Wow, if I’d known it would be this awesome I would have had kids years ago” to “Oh, so this is why people shake babies” in a matter of seconds. Don’t want to wear those pants (“WANNA PANTS!”). Those raisins don’t have yogurt on them (“NO! WHITE RAISINS!”). I want to put my pajamas on myself (“MY DO IT!”). Any of those scenarios can melt down into an episode of body-flinging, arm-swinging, incoherent screaming. I do my best to keep my cool and get through it in a gentle, reasonable manner. I don’t always succeed, but I feel like I deserve an A for effort. Or maybe an A minus. A solid B plus at the least.

Still, those episodes are few and far between. They happen, sure, but I understand why they happen. Really, the “Terrible Twos” aren’t so terrible. They’re just occasionally frustrating.

Sometimes, I feel worse about my behavior than his – those times when I start talking through clenched teeth and muttering words that aren’t in my everyday Teacher Vocabulary. I get angry, when I know it’s not really his fault. After all, he’s not old enough to know better, but I am.

There are moments, and lots of them, when I wonder if I’m doing things right. After all, I’ve never really been around toddlers. I have no frame of reference. I don’t know what’s normal and what’s bratty. I’m just kind of fumbling through motherhood and hoping for the best. Parenting is hard!

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. This kid – this dancing, singing, dinosaur-loving little boy – really, really is a gift. I’m not sure what I did to deserve such an awesome gift, but I thank God every day for him.

A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words

TLB wanted something. He pointed to the kitchen counter from his highchair. "Nana," he said.

He wants a banana, Daddy assumed, and gave him one. Evidently it was adequate, because TLB ate it happily.

TLB pointed to the counter again. "Deh," he said. (Mommy knows that "Deh," and not "Nana," is the word for "Banana." At the time, Daddy did not.)

Daddy picked up a plastic tub of orange slices, and was met with a disgruntled whine. Wrong. He picked up a sippy cup. Wrong again. "Deh!" TLB insisted, still pointing.

It was time for a different approach. "Book," TLB said. There was, in fact, a book on the counter. Daddy handed it to him, and TLB seemed satisfied.

Daddy is a little slow this morning. Maybe an illustration would help.

TLB flipped through the book, found a picture of a banana, and pointed to it. "Deh," he said firmly.




BANANA.

Adventures

I'd forgotten how much I love being outdoors. I'd let myself get out of shape, and out of the habit. "It's too hot. I'll get a headache. Best wait until the weather is cooler."

But you know what? It's really not that hot. In fact, today was a gorgeous day for adventure in Palatka, Florida, of all places.

The Ravine Gardens State Park is a gem hidden in Palatka. Until a couple weeks ago, I'd had no idea it was there. I just happened to stumble upon it while searching for something online. Today, it became the first of hopefully many new adventures for my family and me.

Building Character (Theirs and Mine)

Today, the Amazon Kindle store recommended to me a book called The Leader in Me: How Schools and Parents Around the World Are Inspiring Greatness, One Child at a Time by by Steven R. Covey. Always game to read something that will help me become a better teacher and a better parent, I bought it.

I have complained for so long that the problem with our educational system is not educational at all, but societal, that it has become habit. I still believe it, of course -- too many of America's children are raised with no boundaries and no responsibilities, so that this generation of school children has more than its fair share of coddled, enabled brats. But I've come to rely on this mantra a bit too heavily. I spout it without even thinking whenever someone mentions longer school days (or school years) or performance-based salaries for teachers.

Reading even just the first few pages of this book has made me remember something very important: Why I became a teacher. Being an athlete had made me a role model for others whether I wanted to be or not. As it turned out, I liked it, and I decided that I really wanted a career that served others. I wanted to be a hero, in my own way. I was in the process of sorting out how to become a firefighter when a teaching position fell into my lap. I loved it from the start.

I realize that I may be the only positive influence in a child's life. There have been times when this has made me feel a little bitter. Why should I have to be the one who teaches this kid right from wrong? Who encourages the kid to do his work and give his best effort? How can I be expected to do that without any support from his home?

What I need to remember is that, while this is a responsibility, to be certain, it is also an opportunity. Every child is capable of good character. Every child is capable of his best effort. Every child is capable of leadership in some way. And it is my privilege to help them realize that.

It's easy to blinded by behavior issues, unsupportive parents, and academic apathy, but I see the start of this school year as a gift. It's my chance to be a hero.

Social Ineptitude

My 20-year high school reunion is tonight. I'm not going.

I have this strange sort of ambivalence toward the reunion. It would be cool to see everybody, sure, but not $98 worth of cool. I went to my 10-year reunion, and left early feeling sort of awkward. It was like high school all over again -- all that stuff I didn't like about high school.

A few days ago, a high school friend with whom I've recently reunited sent me a message on Facebook to tell me that there would be a pre-reunion get-together at Whitey's Fish Camp on Friday night and that I should meet her there. Sounded fairly painless, so I went.

Whitey's is a pretty popular place by Clay County standards, and on Friday nights it's especially hoppin'. After being herded to a tiny parking space by a reflective-vest-clad attendant, I went into the packed restaurant in the hopes of recognizing people I haven't seen in 10 or 20 years. I spotted a couple possibilities (including someone who claimed he wasn't who I thought he was -- thanks, Robert, that made things SO much less awkward!), but no Christy, so I went back outside on the bench to wait.

Desperate phone call placed, Christy assured me she was on her way, and that I should go back inside and find a few other people who I'd apparently missed at the bar. I went back inside for a drink with a couple people I'd known reasonably well in high school, and let my social brilliance shine through: "Oh, hi, Mary! I almost failed Zoology because I didn't have the cojones to argue with the teacher that the reason I was looking toward your paper was not that I was copying your answers but because you were left-handed and we kept bumping elbows as we wrote. Good to see you!" Not something smoother like, "Mary! You know, I was thinking about you the other day while I was running down River Road and trying to remember which dock we fished from that time to collect specimens for the zoology class fishtank. Remember that? Oh, zany high school fun that I was actually a part of..."

Drinks in the air-conditioned bar moved to drinks on the sweltering outdoor patio, where it was virtually impossible to walk or even turn around without tackling someone into a table. I packed myself into a corner with a couple of other people I knew, clinging to them like a lifeline. A few more old friends came and went, people I'd been genuinely excited to see.




An inebriated classmate who had been in a much higher popularity echelon than I had been swore I looked familiar to her, and chatted with me for a while about how precious children are. Somehow I ended up at an outside table with a couple people, but when they decided to leave for a bit, I went back in and found myself lost, unable to locate any of the people I felt most comfortable with.

I'm a pretty shy person. I'm not the kind of person who throws parties or invites people to the house or out to dinner. I try not to impose myself needlessly on anyone else. I remember every stupid thing I've ever done or said, and I always assume everyone else does, too. I tend to take things personally. The smallest, unintentional slight can scare me away. I'm not good at showing people or telling people how I feel about them. (I can remember my husband saying once about a student of mine, "I don't think that boy will ever know how much you love him." He was probably right.) I downright suck at mingling.

So I left. I'm not too bummed about it. Big reunions just aren't who I am, and I'm cool with that. I'm going to set a goal, though, of getting together with one old friend a month -- or at least asking. Small groups. Baby steps.

Big Kid

TLB returned to day care today after being out for six weeks or so. He cried when I dropped him off and the staff of the day care hastened to shoo me away like one of those coddling helicopter moms, which I most assuredly am not. I get that he'll be fine once I'm gone, day care, but could I please have a goodbye kiss before I go? NO, GIMME YOUR KID, BYE NOW.

Anyway, things went fine, of course. I was informed as soon as I walked in the door that Alex had been very excited to see his old infant room teacher, Ms. Novie, who now works in the 1-year-old room in the afternoon.

My son is in the 1-year-old room. He plays with other toddlers, learns letters and colors, eats at the table, and sleeps on a nap mat on the floor. MY BABY.

All at once I'm both like, "No! He's still a baby!" and "Hellz yeah! Potty training next, please, and how about eating with utensils and some organized sports."

He's growing up, and really, I'm totally cool with that because the older he gets, the more fun he gets. He runs and climbs and talks and explores and absorbs things like a jumbo sponge. He's just so much awesome.

It's just that it reminds me that he's over a year old, which means I'm more than a year older than I was when he was born, which means I am quite solidly on my way to that point when I'll be 55 and he'll be graduating high school and people will think I'm his grandmother.

But for now I just have to worry about buying a blanket for his nap mat.

Prince of Naps

A year ago, I was fretting and reading and trying everything to get TLB to nap during the day. He's been a good nighttime sleeper from Day One, but until late July last year his napping left something to be desired.

Just when I'd gotten him on a decent nap schedule (after some sleep training for him and behavior modification for me), he started day care, which threw everything all out of whack again -- a different environment with different distractions. TLB adjusted, though. He's a trooper.

Toward the end of the school year, TLB was only taking one nap at day care. I was afraid this would stick, even though I was pretty sure he could use a morning and afternoon nap. Around the start of summer vacation he was teething like crazy, too, which didn't help at all. It disrupted his naps and night-time sleep as well. I thought I was in trouble.

I was wrong.

My son has become a napping machine. No matter what I have planned during the day, he'll be ready for naps at 9:30 am and 2 pm. No fighting, no fuss, no preparations necessary. He'll climb into my arms, put his head on my shoulder and stick his thumb in his mouth. "Put me in my bed and take a break, Mommy," he says -- or he would, anyway, if his vocabulary consisted of anything more than "Mama," "Dada," and "ball." He sleeps 1.5 to 2 hours per nap, which gives me plenty of time to pick up around the house (yeah, right!), check Facebook and watch World Cup Soccer. God bless my son for letting me watch the World Cup.