This morning Monkey continued on her quest to master the English language, and demonstrated her prowess with two new words:
1) YES! Clearly enunciated, and used correctly. She said yes!! (in the land of no, this is a fantastic development! She might *actually* not be contrary ALL of the time!)
2) MINE! When I attempted to retrieve my bracelet from Monkey she yanked it away and clearly said "mine." Crap. And here I was, convincing myself that Monkey was not going to be an insane toddler all of the time.
I'm thinking that she is learning both good and bad things at montessori. Because I am pretty sure that neither her dad nor I have ever yanked something back from her and hollered "mine"....so this one can't be blamed on us (unlike "butt" heh heh heh. Hey, at least she uses it correctly, both grammatically and anatomically speaking!).
Oh, and yes, for those that are interested? She threw YET ANOTHER tantrum because she wanted her d&mn paci. grrr............
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Dirty little secret
The worst part about this morning? And Monkey's trantrum over the pacifier???
I gave in.
Yup, I gave in and gave her the damn paci.
I know, I know, I rewarded the very behavior I want to suppress/prevent. I know this. And yet, in a supreme moment of cognitive dissonance, and well, because my ears were bleeding and I was panicking as Monkey was shrieking and crawling around on the floor like she was dying....I gave it to her anyway.
I want to share a dirty little secret with you: sometimes a tantrum, like terrorism, works. Sometimes they garner whatever it is the tantrum-thrower wants.....just to stop the wailing, the gnashing of teeth, and the rending of garments. Anything to stop the noise and pain.
And to think that Monkey is only 17 months old. I better man up before she becomes a teenager, or I'm screwed.
I gave in.
Yup, I gave in and gave her the damn paci.
I know, I know, I rewarded the very behavior I want to suppress/prevent. I know this. And yet, in a supreme moment of cognitive dissonance, and well, because my ears were bleeding and I was panicking as Monkey was shrieking and crawling around on the floor like she was dying....I gave it to her anyway.
I want to share a dirty little secret with you: sometimes a tantrum, like terrorism, works. Sometimes they garner whatever it is the tantrum-thrower wants.....just to stop the wailing, the gnashing of teeth, and the rending of garments. Anything to stop the noise and pain.
And to think that Monkey is only 17 months old. I better man up before she becomes a teenager, or I'm screwed.
All aboard!!!!!!!!!!
Woo wooo............hop on the tantrum express!!!!!!!!! All abooooooard.
Three freaking tantrums this morning. Over the pacifier. Oh. good. lord. help. us. now..............
All before 8am.
Three freaking tantrums this morning. Over the pacifier. Oh. good. lord. help. us. now..............
All before 8am.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Lost hat
So yesterday, as the mercury rose and outside got more and more balmy, Monkey and I went for a walk.
We checked out the local stich-n-bitch shop (translation, yarn/knitting shop). We went to no less than three grocery stores in an attempt to buy pickled jalapenas for chilli. (come ON folks, you've got pickled french cornichons, pickled organic beets, and pickled white asparagus but - what - japlapenas are too common for you to stock? sheesh!). And we generally enjoyed walking around and waving at every single dog and kid that went by.
Then, just as the elevator door opened onto our floor, as Monkey ripped open the bag of Gerber's dehydrated fruit and an explosion of freeze-dried strawberries flew into the air and threatened to choke our lungs, and as I backed out of the elevator and fell smack on my arse (*g*ddam*&it that hurt), I realized that Monkey had lost her beloved hat. Not any old hat, not a screaming oh-hell-no-you-can't-make-me-wear-it-hat, but a hat that Monkey LIKED to wear. In the land of no, this is a precious commodity.
Crap.
Back out I went. Meanwhile dad hosed Monkey off in the tub, since the fr&kg* strawberries stain everything, like our carpet. Sigh.
While I was out, I did not find Monkey's hat.
However, I DID find:
1) one mitten, red
2) one mitten, blue
3) one scarf, handknitted fuschia
4) one stuffed animal
5) one shoe
6) and a partridge in a pear tree.
As I went back to the apartment and ordered another (ok, two - you know, just in case) hat for Monkey, I chuckled. I was comforted by the thought of the city being awash in discarded toddler gear.
Sometimes it's nice to be reminded that your toddler isn't the only insane one in town.
We checked out the local stich-n-bitch shop (translation, yarn/knitting shop). We went to no less than three grocery stores in an attempt to buy pickled jalapenas for chilli. (come ON folks, you've got pickled french cornichons, pickled organic beets, and pickled white asparagus but - what - japlapenas are too common for you to stock? sheesh!). And we generally enjoyed walking around and waving at every single dog and kid that went by.
Then, just as the elevator door opened onto our floor, as Monkey ripped open the bag of Gerber's dehydrated fruit and an explosion of freeze-dried strawberries flew into the air and threatened to choke our lungs, and as I backed out of the elevator and fell smack on my arse (*g*ddam*&it that hurt), I realized that Monkey had lost her beloved hat. Not any old hat, not a screaming oh-hell-no-you-can't-make-me-wear-it-hat, but a hat that Monkey LIKED to wear. In the land of no, this is a precious commodity.
Crap.
Back out I went. Meanwhile dad hosed Monkey off in the tub, since the fr&kg* strawberries stain everything, like our carpet. Sigh.
While I was out, I did not find Monkey's hat.
However, I DID find:
1) one mitten, red
2) one mitten, blue
3) one scarf, handknitted fuschia
4) one stuffed animal
5) one shoe
6) and a partridge in a pear tree.
As I went back to the apartment and ordered another (ok, two - you know, just in case) hat for Monkey, I chuckled. I was comforted by the thought of the city being awash in discarded toddler gear.
Sometimes it's nice to be reminded that your toddler isn't the only insane one in town.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Anything for you
I got to attend a swanky event at the Waldorf Astoria the other night, an alumni reception for my fellow UW Law School graduates. It was fabulous.
One of my classmates, M, shared the wonderful news that she is 4 months pregnant.
We got to talking, and she shared something a friend (and new mom) had said to her, about how the sleepless nights in the beginning are the hardest thing she's ever done in her life. I think M was telling me this story so I could laugh and assure her that this friend was exaggerating.
But she isn't. I told her that her friend was right, and that, sometimes during those early sleepless nights, you start to feel sorry for yourself.
Why? Well:
* You haven't slept more than 3 hours in a row for several months
* Your body isn't back to what it was before, and probably never will be, and
* Your child's hunger is insatiable; you never quite 'catch your breath' - just as soon as you've finished one feeding, the child starts to get hungry for the next one.
As you struggle out of bed, stub your toe, try not to curse and generally stumble around in a haze of exhaustion, you feel frustrated and just worn down. During the short span of time it takes to get to your child, a million questions run through your head: Didn't you just eat? Can't you just give me a break? Why won't you stop crying? How am I going to do this?
You think that you're out of energy, out of milk, unable to do this even one more time......
And then, the miracle occurs. You look down at your child, and all you can think is "anything for you."
Anything. I would do anything for you. The veil of self-pity and frustration falls away, instantly replaced by a sense of purpose, a notion of destiny, and love.
Anything for you.
I told M that Monkey still inspires that feeling, that I still look at her (especially when she is sleeping and looks so fragile and delicate, ethereal in her slumbering bliss) and - unbidden - rising up out of my chest comes this wave of emotion so strong it washes away all other thoughts.
Anything. For. You......
One of my classmates, M, shared the wonderful news that she is 4 months pregnant.
We got to talking, and she shared something a friend (and new mom) had said to her, about how the sleepless nights in the beginning are the hardest thing she's ever done in her life. I think M was telling me this story so I could laugh and assure her that this friend was exaggerating.
But she isn't. I told her that her friend was right, and that, sometimes during those early sleepless nights, you start to feel sorry for yourself.
Why? Well:
* You haven't slept more than 3 hours in a row for several months
* Your body isn't back to what it was before, and probably never will be, and
* Your child's hunger is insatiable; you never quite 'catch your breath' - just as soon as you've finished one feeding, the child starts to get hungry for the next one.
As you struggle out of bed, stub your toe, try not to curse and generally stumble around in a haze of exhaustion, you feel frustrated and just worn down. During the short span of time it takes to get to your child, a million questions run through your head: Didn't you just eat? Can't you just give me a break? Why won't you stop crying? How am I going to do this?
You think that you're out of energy, out of milk, unable to do this even one more time......
And then, the miracle occurs. You look down at your child, and all you can think is "anything for you."
Anything. I would do anything for you. The veil of self-pity and frustration falls away, instantly replaced by a sense of purpose, a notion of destiny, and love.
Anything for you.
I told M that Monkey still inspires that feeling, that I still look at her (especially when she is sleeping and looks so fragile and delicate, ethereal in her slumbering bliss) and - unbidden - rising up out of my chest comes this wave of emotion so strong it washes away all other thoughts.
Anything. For. You......
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