Sometimes we role play. Evelyn would be the little mermaid, and I would be Flounder/King Triton/Ursula/Prince Eric - depending on which part of the story we are reenacting.
Today, she wanted to be me, and told me to be her. Sure thing. I was so ready to throw a tantrum at her to let her have a taste of her medicine. But her performances halted me in my track:
"[mumble mumble] only mama can [mumble mumble] give you a time out!"
With a finger pointed at me and her eyes opened wide to portray a stern look "[mumble mumble] I will take it away!"
"Don't touch [mumble mumble] or I will give you a time out!"
Yeah, so for the next ten minutes or so, I sat there listening to her telling me to behave, threatening to give me time outs or taking my things away.
Dear me, is that all I am to her?
What about the times I spent playing two-people duck, duck goose with her, while holding baby Lauren in my arms?
Or the times when I sat on the little stool across from you in our tiny half bath per your request to keep you company while you go potty?
I know being a parent does not equate to being a good play mate, and often times not a good friend. There is necessarily rule settings and lots of no's. I just hope that the fun times leave as strong impressions as the not so fun times.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Oh little girl...
It will be hell for me if we ever have to use the cry it out method with Lauren.
The father of the children once said to me "and you thought Evelyn was clingy..."
This little girl recognizes her mother, and would continue to cry and cry and cry when her father holds her at night.
On the nights when it's my turn to put her sister to bed and her father's turn to take care of her, she would cry persistently in his arms, no matter what he does. He'd walk her, rock her, sing to her, talk to her, all to no avail. She would cry out tears (not an easy feat for a two months old), cry herself hoarse, cry until she coughs, and finally tire herself out and cry herself to sleep. That could easily take an hour.
Upstairs, I'd be struggling to read stories with the usual embellishments and high spirits for the older one while feeling dragged down by the cries of the little one. It tears at me even though I know she's in good hands. The cries pull at me, and I have to force myself to focus only on the older one who also needs my full attention and love.
Stubborn, determined, and only two months old. Wonder what the future holds.
The father of the children once said to me "and you thought Evelyn was clingy..."
This little girl recognizes her mother, and would continue to cry and cry and cry when her father holds her at night.
On the nights when it's my turn to put her sister to bed and her father's turn to take care of her, she would cry persistently in his arms, no matter what he does. He'd walk her, rock her, sing to her, talk to her, all to no avail. She would cry out tears (not an easy feat for a two months old), cry herself hoarse, cry until she coughs, and finally tire herself out and cry herself to sleep. That could easily take an hour.
Upstairs, I'd be struggling to read stories with the usual embellishments and high spirits for the older one while feeling dragged down by the cries of the little one. It tears at me even though I know she's in good hands. The cries pull at me, and I have to force myself to focus only on the older one who also needs my full attention and love.
Stubborn, determined, and only two months old. Wonder what the future holds.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Toddlers and tantrums
Evelyn seldom screams. Bad tantrums that brings up headaches occurs rarely. Last week, she gave me one that is quite unforgettable.
It happened because of something really trivial. All memorable tantrums start that way, it seems. Then the situation got more and more heated as she ups her volume and refuses to listen. Oh, she told me she wants to listen many, many times. But after I repeated my instruction, she would continue to insist on going against it. So, more time outs. Except the execution of the time outs became more and more difficult. She began to scream "don't leave me alone, mommy", and cling to me like an octopus. I need to peel her of off me before I can run out of her room to leave her in it. The screams drive me nuts but the "don't leave me alone" and the desperation with which she grab on to me break my heart. I cannot stand my children feeling that they were abandoned by me. Yes, I may be too dramatic here, but it is one of my worst fears. But I digress. I was amazed by her screams, by how she does it with her whole being. As if it's from the very root of her soul. As if her life depended on it. There was no holding back. It was pure emotion, pure desire. We all want our children to behave, be reasonable and civil, and be calm when facing distressing situations. But that afternoon, standing in her room, hauling her back to her room for the nth time out by her arms, feeling exhausted by this fight, I found myself also mourning the time when she would loose this freedom to let it all out as she grow up, when the restraints will be put in place. It's a price we all pay in order to mature and make the world a livable place, I suppose.
It happened because of something really trivial. All memorable tantrums start that way, it seems. Then the situation got more and more heated as she ups her volume and refuses to listen. Oh, she told me she wants to listen many, many times. But after I repeated my instruction, she would continue to insist on going against it. So, more time outs. Except the execution of the time outs became more and more difficult. She began to scream "don't leave me alone, mommy", and cling to me like an octopus. I need to peel her of off me before I can run out of her room to leave her in it. The screams drive me nuts but the "don't leave me alone" and the desperation with which she grab on to me break my heart. I cannot stand my children feeling that they were abandoned by me. Yes, I may be too dramatic here, but it is one of my worst fears. But I digress. I was amazed by her screams, by how she does it with her whole being. As if it's from the very root of her soul. As if her life depended on it. There was no holding back. It was pure emotion, pure desire. We all want our children to behave, be reasonable and civil, and be calm when facing distressing situations. But that afternoon, standing in her room, hauling her back to her room for the nth time out by her arms, feeling exhausted by this fight, I found myself also mourning the time when she would loose this freedom to let it all out as she grow up, when the restraints will be put in place. It's a price we all pay in order to mature and make the world a livable place, I suppose.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
How do you get an almost three year old to understand that...
A secret is something that you don't want to tell the person that you are keeping the secret from. If you seek out and run up to tell the person what surprise you just prepared them, it is a surprise no more. ("We got a cake!" she told her surprise-birthday-party-girl-auntie.)
There is no eating the gingerbread house before it is even assembled. And no, there is no negotiating. ("Four bites?" she pleaded with a hopeful expression.)
It is not polite to ask "what's that?" after the noises from next stall in a public restroom. Even more so, it is extremely inappropriate to bend over to check on the person in the next stall through the crack between the wall and the door.
Repeating a request over and over and over and over again would not let it happen faster, if it happens at all.
It is great to explore things and I encourage that, but it doesn't mean I won't get grossed out by certain explorating actions. (Evelyn explored her poop the other day while I was away nursing the tiny one.)
There is no eating the gingerbread house before it is even assembled. And no, there is no negotiating. ("Four bites?" she pleaded with a hopeful expression.)
It is not polite to ask "what's that?" after the noises from next stall in a public restroom. Even more so, it is extremely inappropriate to bend over to check on the person in the next stall through the crack between the wall and the door.
Repeating a request over and over and over and over again would not let it happen faster, if it happens at all.
It is great to explore things and I encourage that, but it doesn't mean I won't get grossed out by certain explorating actions. (Evelyn explored her poop the other day while I was away nursing the tiny one.)
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
"Because I love you"
One night at bed time, Evelyn started to cry for no reason. Her father asked her why she was sad, she replied "because I love you!" It's very sweet, but after a half an hour of such crying, I realized that she's forcing the cries just so she can stay sad. I can't help but wonder: seriously, child, must you be so dramatic.
Last night, she asked me to read Snow White to her. The story, like many princess stories, began with Snow White's biological mom dying to make way for the evil step mom. And of course Evelyn has to ask "why?" I told her sometimes mommies die because they get sick or get in an accident.
"So you'll die?" she asked.
"Not for a very, very, very long time, I hope," I told her.
She was quiet for a few seconds. Then, just when I continued with the story again, she began to cry.
"Don't die! I love you! Don't die!" This time, she cried real tears, and it broke my heart.
Oh child, my biggest fear is to not be able to be there when you need me. I will try my best to stay with you forever and ever.
Last night, she asked me to read Snow White to her. The story, like many princess stories, began with Snow White's biological mom dying to make way for the evil step mom. And of course Evelyn has to ask "why?" I told her sometimes mommies die because they get sick or get in an accident.
"So you'll die?" she asked.
"Not for a very, very, very long time, I hope," I told her.
She was quiet for a few seconds. Then, just when I continued with the story again, she began to cry.
"Don't die! I love you! Don't die!" This time, she cried real tears, and it broke my heart.
Oh child, my biggest fear is to not be able to be there when you need me. I will try my best to stay with you forever and ever.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Memory
How much could a child remember?
Two Christmases ago, when Evelyn was nearly one, I accidentally knocked down a green candle holder when dusting and broke it. I cleaned it up, and as it was not valuable or important, it was never brought up again. A few weeks ago, for some reason, Evelyn noticed the green candle holder's red companion, and mentioned how I had knocked down the green one and shattered it. I was very surprised. She was not yet one at that time, could she really remembered it? Perhaps because it was the first time she saw glass break? I wonder what else can she recall...
Two Christmases ago, when Evelyn was nearly one, I accidentally knocked down a green candle holder when dusting and broke it. I cleaned it up, and as it was not valuable or important, it was never brought up again. A few weeks ago, for some reason, Evelyn noticed the green candle holder's red companion, and mentioned how I had knocked down the green one and shattered it. I was very surprised. She was not yet one at that time, could she really remembered it? Perhaps because it was the first time she saw glass break? I wonder what else can she recall...
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