sumodancer

Late

Bug: Mommy! Do NOT bite my butt or my foot.
Momma: [nodding]
Bug: If you are hungry, you need to eat some beans.

Slumpy

Little Miss Drama Queen can go from Happy to Slumpy in less than a second. It's all in the shoulders.

November 27, 2005

Logic Doesn't Work on Toddlers

Proof that the Naughty Zone really works.

The other night, when I was still feeling pretty crappy, Bug was being particularly clingy. She's been playing this a lot lately, constantly asking, "Wanna hold me?"

::tangent::
"Wanna hold me?" really means "Hold me!" K and I have made the mistake of using this phraseology whenever we want her to do something (e.g., "Hey Bug! Wanna get the syrup for your waffles?" "Wanna put your milk in the fridge or take it upstairs?" We're backtracking and trying to correct this now.
::end tangent::

Worst of all, she usually is only happy with Mommy holding her -- "No Daddy! Mommy can do it!" -- and damitol, Mommy's usually grumpy and achey and tired, so the idea of hauling around a 27 pound sack of potatoes is not her idea of a good time.

We had just gotten home from daycare. Bug wanted me to carry her into the house from the garage. I wouldn't. She protested, but climbed the stairs by herself. While she took off her shoes, I told her I was going to get her dinner started. That's when the wailing started...

::tangent::
Bug's wailing of late has consisted entirely of one phrase, repeated incessantly: "Maaaaahmeeee Ahhhhhh!" At the same time, she'll put the index and middle fingers of both hands in her mouth at her bottom canines. The wailing, accompanied with the fingers, results in quite a bit of saliva production. If she is picked up at this point, the picker upper will be slimed for sure.

Mom Mom and Pops found this quite amusing during their visit last week. I, however, am not amused. Put on this broken record and it will drive you crazy in a short time, too.
::end tangent::

...and didn't stop for 35 minutes. I played it like it was her choice to stay in the hallway and not eat. Not only did I get her dinner ready and getting cold on the table, but I put away dishes, got the dishwasher loaded and finished most of the dirty dishes. As I worked, we had the following conversation.

Bug: Maaaaahmeeee Ahhhhhh!
Mommy: Bug, your dinner's getting cold.
Bug: Maaaaahmeeee Ahhhhhh!
Mommy: Why don't you come in and eat?
Bug: Maaaaahmeeee Ahhhhhh! Wanna hold me!?
Mommy: I'm not coming to get you, honey. If you're hungry, come out and eat.
Bug: Maaaaahmeeee Ahhhhhh! I want you to come get me.
Mommy: I'm not coming to get you. You're a big girl and can come her all by yourself. It's your choice.
Bug: Maaaaahmeeee Ahhhhhh! I need medicine!
Mommy: Then come out here and get it.
Bug: ::sniffling, appears in kitchen::

::tangent::
Yes, I gave her some medicine. Just in case she was still feeling crappy, it made me feel so guilty that I had let her sit and cry for so long. Feeling crappy gives her cause, even if she should have told me much sooner.
::end tangent::

After reheating her dinner, she still refused to eat it, focusing instead on some milk and water. I asked her several times if she was finished with her dinner, if she was sure she didn't want it. Still, she screamed like a banshee when I took and dumped it. Go figure.

Last night was quite different. K was home; we had ridden down together to pick Bug up from school. In the house, she again played the "Mommy wanna hold me?" crap, to which I said "No." K and I started getting her dinner ready, and he asked Bug to get out a plate. He asked again, over her wails of "Maaaaahmeeee Ahhhhhh!" and made mention of the Naughty Zone if she didn't do what she was asked. He asked her again to get her plate. She didn't, so she got plopped into the Naughty Zone for a couple minutes. When she then refused to apologize, the clock started again.

It was then that I heard something that I absolutely coveted: "Daaaaahdeeee Ahhhhhh!" It was music to my ears, although heartbreaking at the same time.

After four minutes in the Naughty Zone, the clouds cleared and our lovely, sweet daughter returned. She immediately apologized to K, gave him and me big hugs and kisses, and got right to work -- happily at that -- getting her table set for her dinner. She ate every bite, yummed up some chocolate pudding afterwards, and was a very happy camper after.

The Grape Grabber

The following poem is inspired by a moment at the dinner table tonight, after Bug had said she was finished eating, when Momma ate one of the two grapes left in her bowl. It was one of those moments that a parent immediately wishes she could take back, a moment of truth for the child: parents are not infallible; parents will disappoint; parents are not perfect. Yes, this truth I saw in the sad eyes, slunk shoulders, and "Mommy, why did you do that? Why you grab my grape? That was MY grape."

Mommy, don't you grab my grape
It makes me so upset.
I'll get real sad, my shoulders I'll sag,
And I will really fret.

Mommy, don't you grab my grape
Even if I'm "finished."
If you take what's mine, you will find
My faith in you diminished.

Mommy, don't you grab my grape
Then laugh until you cry
When you see my antipathy,
And when I ask you why.

Super Grump

Bug is loving school. However, there are a couple problems. One is that it's a little overstimulating for her, and she only gets about an hour nap (instead of the two she normally gets at home). The other is that she's not always happy to try new things to eat. By the time I pick her up in the afternoon, she can be a bit grumpy from the combination of fatigue and hunger. Today she started asking for milk, so we ran through Burger King's drive thru to get her some. Then she got pissed that I wasn't sharing my slurpee with her; she wanted some ice-seem. She finally stopped screaming about that when I informed her logically that I wasn't eating ice cream. Ice cream is eaten with a spoon. DUH! Then she yelled at me for singing. Dinah Washington! Agony! That's like having my mouth taped shut while watching The Holy Grail. Soon after she demanded "No misik," so the CD got turned off anyway.

Then she got extremely confused. As we drove home, she suddenly stopped wailing and cheerfully blurted out, "Pie day?" "No, honey. Pie day is Friday. That's tomorrow." (We go to town to get pie once a week. I am on a mission to eat every kind of pie they offer.) She didn't want to hear that, and proceeded to WAIL for the rest of the trip home. Nothing I could say could calm her.

Because I couldn't sing -- wouldn't want to further antagonize her at that point -- my mind started formulating the words to a familiar tune. Enjoy. Every word is true. (Yes, the shoulder hurt. And left a mark.)

Super Grump

She's a very grumpy girl
The kind you take right home for dinner
She will never stop her screaming fit
Till she gets her "Hotdog now!"

She wants some cheese on the side
But the ketchup is her favorite
When I make my move to put her in her booster
She's a very happy girl

That girl is pretty grumpy
The girl just wants to eat
The kind of girl who'll scream loud
In the back seat
That girl is pretty hungry
The girl just wants to eat
I really have to feed her
Give the girl some meat!
She's all right, she's all right
That girl's all right with meat, yeah
Hey hey hey HEY!

She's a super grump, super grump
She's super grumpy
ohhhh

Now she's a very tired girl
From her head down to her toenails
Down to her feet, yeah
And she'll bite me on the shoulder just so I know
She's ready for a NAP
Ouch!

When I ask her if she's tired
She cries, "No nap! I not!"
But when I put her down with Nene and Barney
She's out soon like a light

That girl is pretty grumpy
The girl just wants to sleep
The kind of girl who'll bite you
She's quite the little fiend
That girl is pretty sleepy
The girl is really beat
She really needs to nap now
Get her to her suite!
She's all right, she's all right
That girl's all right with sleep, yeah
Hey hey hey HEY!

First Blood

Today Bug and I drove out to visit an old friend of mine from high school. She, her husband and their three gorgeous little boys live in a quiet and lovely neighborhood in a beautiful house with a great yard. Despite the loveliness of it all, it was a Bug safe house. As my friend, S said, "Anything that could be broken has already been broken by the boys. Don't worry about Bug."

Inside the house, this was completely the case. Bug had a great time playing with the boys and all their fun stuff. Having free access to the backyard made her extremely happy. (The boys had destroyed the mesh on the patio door, which S referred to as the "boy door" vice a doggie door. They could simply raise the flap and play on the deck and in the yard.) So comfortable was Bug in this environment that she actually ate her hot dog and tater tots at a kid table on the deck with the boys. She visited us inside very little, to request more hot dog and a refill on her water.

After lunch, Bug had her first experience on a trampoline. Loved it! She still can't quite jump, but she ran and fell and rolled around and got stuck laying down and laughed and laughed the entire time as the boys jumped around her "making popcorn."

Later Mr. S took the two older boys out to ride their bikes in the front while S put the baby down for a nap. Bug ventured out as well and chose to push around a stroller. As S, Mr. S and I chatted with some neighbors who were also outside with their kids (that kind of neighborhood - I'm so jealous), Bug noticed that their oldest son had abandoned his bicycle, a two-wheeler with training wheels. As she neared it, I called out that it was too big for her. She still attempted to mount it, and the whole thing fell over to the side, taking her with it.

Oh the screaming! She buried her nugget head in my shoulder and screamed. I had looked all over when I first got to her, but didn't see the blood till the dark spot appeared on my shirt at the shoulder. She must have banged her mouth on the bike when she fell, and her gum was bleeding. It wasn't a gaping wound; there wasn't a whole lot of blood, but this is the first time she's hurt herself like this and bled.*

A cold, wet paper towel calmed her and stopped the bleeding. She wasn't to be coddled too long, though. Within ten minutes she was demanding to go back outside to think about drawing on the driveway with chalk, instead approaching a scooter and asking for help to ride it.

Such an attitude doesn't bode well for the future. Even though K doesn't appreciate the humor of Monty Python as I do, I'll still say that this reminds me way too much of the Black Knight, who wouldn't surrender his post even after his arms and legs were cut off. "'Tis only a flesh wound." Egads!

*Honors of first blood drawn go to me, when I clipped her finger while cutting her fingernails the day before my parents came into town for Thanksgiving when Bug was about 5 1/2 weeks old.

Gimme the J, Biznitch!

This morning when I went into her room to rescue her from her crib, my sweet, smart and beautiful daughter looked up and me, twisted her finger into her cheek and said, "Ju?" No greeting smile, no arms extended for a good morning hug, but an immediate demand for juice. My daughter has turned into a juice junkie.

The finger twist is Bug's take on the sign for apple. She uses it liberally for juice, apple and pineapple, but mostly just for juice. She actually has a mark on her cheek from the digging her fingernail does when she becomes insistent about getting juice.

I've read in several places that kids shouldn't have more than six ounces of juice each day, and I've stuck to this, unless there's a poop issue (and given that her second favorite food is anything dairy, poop issues occur fairly often). Bug is fighting me on this every day. She gets a cup in the morning, usually at Marycare, and another in the afternoon. Every evening, she will look at me with those pleading eyes and that twisting finger. "Ju? Ju?" She doesn't understand that my intent is not to punish her by withholding more juice. She wants what she wants when she wants it. She'll grab my finger and drag me into the kitchen to look in the fridge or point at the cabinet where the juice boxes are kept. If I don't immediately comply with her request to join her in the kitchen, she will whine and grab at me. "Ju? Ju?"

When the demand for more than her daily juice allowance is denied, Bug will make the face. I've mentioned this already; it's the face that precedes the scream, where the bottom lip goes out and curls under with the mouth open wide. It stays like this for several seconds, as if frozen while figuring out where she wants to go with it.

Over the last few days, Bug has begun experimenting with a new scream to directly follow this face. While still quite primordial, it begins as a low, gutteral rumble and then builds rapidly into a volcanic, enraged, protesting crescendo. Tears complete the effect. After the explosion, she will repeat the cry as necessary to an unmoved audience. How dare we ignore her? Sometimes she'll forego the rumble and start mid-rage. It's so unconvincing and fake sounding that it's almost laughable. I say "almost" because laughing at this time IS NOT a good idea. It's also not a good idea to offer milk or water; this will only take the protest to a higher level of outrage.

Fortunately, she is easily distracted from her fury with the offer of bubbles, cheese, coloring or Teddy Grahams. I'm still working on this list.

I'm sure that this is only a taste of what we can look forward to as Bug gets older and better able to exert her influence in this house. As she perfects her manipulative abilities, she is also working on her defiance. "No" has become her favorite word. It's hard to take her too seriously with that, though, since she says it so nasally, like she's French.

We're still working on the finger wag. If only we could get her to do the finger wag while doing the Albanian "Jo! Jo! Jo! Jo! Jo!" (translation: no). That would be too cool.

Making Intentions Clear

::crying, signs eat::
Do you want chicken? ::shakes head::
Do you want macaroni and cheese? ::shakes head::
Do you want a fig newton? ::shakes head::
Do you want some bread? ::shakes head::
Do you know what you want? ::shakes head::
Do you even understand what I'm asking? ::shakes head::
Do you want to drive Momma crazy? ::nods head::

For the Love of an Orange

When K got up this morning, he asks me why Bug was yelling this morning. Following is my response.

First she was yelling because she wanted an orange (she learned the sign for orange immediately, and uses it often, usually while solemnly nodding her head as if to say that she really means that she wants an orange now.) This request came two minutes before we were going to leave to go to Marycare.

Then she was yelling because I wasn't peeling the orange fast enough for her.

Then she was yelling because I wasn't popping the pieces in her mouth fast enough. When Bug is eating orange, she must have orange in her mouth AT ALL TIMES.

Then she was yelling because I was packing the rest of the orange into a sandwich bag to take to Marycare with us instead of feeding her orange.

Then she was yelling because I was getting my keys and heading for the garage, again neglecting to feed her orange.

Then she was yelling because I left her alone in the house while I put the bags in the truck, alone in the house with a mouth devoid of orange.

Then she whimpered while I carried her to the car and got her buckled in, but as soon as she got her Doodle Pro, she forgot about the orange.

Once we got to Marycare, she didn't care about giving Mary a good morning hug or any unnecessary conversation. She promptly pointed to the sandwich bag.

Once Mary got Bug into her booster seat and got the orange laid out before her, Bug picked up a slice of orange in each hand, taking a bite from each and looking mighty pleased.

The Pick-up Artist

Bug has always been very good about helping to keep her toys in order. When we play with blocks, she'll help us pick them up and put them back in the bucket. She'll put her books back in the drawer. When we ask her to put something away, she'll happily run off and come back beaming with pride at her accomplishment. She regularly takes shoes she finds in the living room and dumps them over a baby gate into the hall near the garage door or into the office. I won't complain about this, although I am slightly alarmed by signs of obsessive-compulsive behavior.

Lately Bug has indicated that she is very uncomfortable with the movement of her toys. This has been compounded by my practice of regularly changing up which toys are readily accessible to her. I don't do this to disturb her, but to keep her interested in the toys she has. Several attempts are usually required to relocate a toy, and sometimes Bug wins the battle. (She gave up on dragging out the tub o' toys only after I trapped it inside her playard, -- although it took about a week for her to stop emptying the tub and bringing out the toys individually -- but the rocking horse will probably forever be by the back door after being dragged repeatedly out from her room.)

Last night I had some friends over, one of whom brought her two-year-old son, J. J enjoyed playing with Bug's toys, and brought many toys from her bedroom out into the living room.

Bug was panicked. At one point, she was following J around, whimpering and reaching out for the toys he had, three balls from her Learning House. J's mother encouraged J to share, and J obliged, handing Bug one of the balls. Bug immediately ran into her room and put the ball back where it goes. She didn't want the ball because it was hers; she wanted it put away. She repeated this behavior until Jordan began playing with other toys, abandoning the remaining balls, giving her the opportunity to put them away, too.

Is this normal?