Thursday Morning, 7 AM

The pipsqueak is still an enthusiastic nursling though he is past his second birthday. As I've written here before, people who think nursing a two-year old must be a huge burden know little about the reality of it. He very, very rarely asks to nurse during the day. Sometimes he asks when I get home from work, and that's about it. He does nurse at bedtime, and he may stir once or twice in the night, looking for the "nee nee."

Every night, we climb into bed together and snuggle in under the blankets. We read a few books and then he says, "I want to nurse." Recently, he's added this, in a very solemn voice: "And I won't bite. I won't bite the nee nee."

Um, OK. Please don't! I'm not sure how this idea even got into his head, but I have to say that it makes me a little nervous. I've warned him that any biting means NO MORE NEE NEES, and this seems to have made an impression. I don't know if the nursing will last 3 years, as it did for the squeaker. I suppose there is more incentive to end it since then I'll have my body (and my bed) back for good. But it's so cozy and snuggly that I am not eager to end it; I'd like the end to come on our mutual terms, and not because I decide that it's time.

I was looking at some of the pipsqueak's newborn pix yesterday and was struck by how much the squeaker has changed in the last two years. Holding his new baby brother, he still has a bit of a rounded baby face; that roundedness has since vanished. He's still a tiny little thing, but the shape of his body has changed so much as he leaves toddlerhood further and further behind. Sometimes I just want him and the pipsqueak to hurry up and get bigger so that we can do all kinds of fun things together. Other times, I feel the fleetingness of their childhood so acutely that it's like being punched in the stomach; it nearly takes my breath away, and all I can think about is how in just a few short years, I won't even remember the moments that make up my days now. I won't remember how the pipsqueak sings Jimmy Buffet's Jolly Mon song, or that the squeaker set his giant T-rex up at the end of the train track so that it could consume little brother's carefully placed train in one quick gulp (while little brother shrieked in dismay), or how the pipsqueak whispered, "Pat me, mama, pat my knee," each night as we fall asleep. These moments are so vivid at the time that it seems unfathomable that I would forget them, but even now, I sometimes realize that I can't remember exactly what the squeaker was like when he was the pipsqueak's age. Or I read about the squeaker on my early blog postings and think, "Really? I don't remember that."

I think about how my mom had these kinds of moments with each of her seven children, and now we are all grown up. It must be kind of surreal.

I saw this quote on someone's Facebook page, and it has haunted me since:

"The years go by as quickly as you wink, enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think." - The Specials

Later than I think. It is, isn't it?

Yellow Squeaker

The squeaker has had TWO “yellows” this week. (Each child in his class has a “stoplight” with red, yellow, and green. Kids are “on green” unless they break a rule, in which case they have to move their name to “yellow.” Breaking another rule moves them to “red.” Each day, he brings home a sheet that indicates what color his name ended up on at the end of the school day.) We are not exactly sure how to handle this.

He is generally a pretty well-behaved kid, but like many five-year old boys, he is very impulsive and sometimes a little wild. When I first saw the list of classroom rules, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Being quiet and orderly, no running, following directions...of course I knew these things would be expected in the classroom, but I also knew he would struggle at times to follow the rules. I was unsure how much to make of the “yellows” and “reds” at home. I want him to do his best, but I also don’t want to be unrealistic about what he can achieve, or to act like breaking a rule now and then is some huge transgression.

The first time he got a “yellow” he was mortified. He cried at school and looked very small and defeated when he got off the school bus that afternoon. We were stern with him about it because we had some notion about this being an important moment – weren’t we establishing a precedent for long-term respect for school rules? – and he was cowed.

Very cowed, in fact. Each day before school, he was a mess. “What if I get a yellow today?” he fretted anxiously. Some days he would cry while waiting for the school bus, and I wasn’t sure if it was just his general anxiety about school emerging, or if getting a “yellow” really was such an awful experience for him. Once it was clear to me that he was very traumatized by “yellows” and that they were making him worry about school, we backed off about it, first a little and then a lot. I assured him that while we wanted him to do his best, a yellow now and then was not a big deal. When his anxiety persisted, I told him that his favorite characters, from Frodo to Taran to Jared, would probably have gotten a yellow now and then. Eventually, I was almost entirely nonchalant about it. I did not ask about his behavior, though I did quietly check the sheet in his folder. If he was “green,” I might say, “I’m glad to see that you stayed green today” or something like that, but I did not reward greens, and yellows only resulted in a gentle reminder that he needed to do his best to follow the rules, and that while a yellow now and then did not concern me, I didn’t want to see them frequently.

He still cries miserably in the classroom when he gets one (which worries me a little – I’d hate for my kid to be picked on for being a “crier,” and I can still remember which kids tended to cry when I was a very young student). His little shoulders are slumped and his expression very sad on afternoons when he has gotten a yellow. And yet this week, he’s had two – one for talking too loudly and one for not following directions. He also had one last week, also for not following directions (he did not relinquish the water fountain to the next child immediately when told to do so). As I’ve said, I am really not worried about the squeaker breaking the rules now and then. But I also don’t want his teacher to perceive him as a troublemaker – or for him to feel that way about himself. Complicating my response is that he is already not thrilled about school in general. He goes off on the bus without tears most days now, and he seems to really enjoy some aspects of school. But he often says that he does not feel that he belongs there, and that he is lonely and has no friends. (And yet when his dad picks the squeaker up on Fridays, he often sees other kids being friendly to him, and the squeaker responding with his typical oblivion, so we are not sure why he professes to be so lonely.)

So we are struggling with how to treat the “yellows.” Ignoring them seems like a bad idea, because I do want him to know that it’s important to respect the rules at school for lots of reasons. But I also think it is inevitable that he will get yellows now and then, even when he does his best to behave, because he is not capable of checking his impulsiveness entirely, and I don’t want to be so heavy-handed that he becomes very upset when he gets a yellow. I’m thinking that being fairly nonchalant about infrequent yellows is probably best, and that a simple reminder that he needs to respect the rules is adequate. But what about weeks like this one, where he seemed to have a real problem following the rules? Would disciplining him just be piling on more feelings of defeat and misery? Is failing to discipline him encouraging him to treat the rules cavalierly? I just don’t know.

Halloween and More

These are not their Halloween costumes; the boys just like to dress up ALL THE TIME.

The pipsqueak, upon trying some potatoes for dinner that were baked in butter, milk, salt, and pepper: "Not bad. Not bad, mama. Yummy!" I think he ate about half of the potatoes in the casserole dish!


The pipsqueak has decided that he will no longer be called by his baby nickname. If you call him that, he shakes his head vigorously and says, "I'm not. No." Then he states his own name, using his given name (but never his middle name -- try to add that and you'll get, "No, no. I'm not.") I am surprised he is rejecting his baby nickname. I don't know why it would even occur to him to say that's not his name.

But his doing so is consistent with his sense of independence and individuality. Unlike big brother, little brother is fiercely independent. He will not let you remove his shoes or his coat; he says, "I do it myself." He'll stagger out the front door and down the cement steps on his own, resisting my efforts to hold his hand: "Myself. Myself." It makes me cringe to watch him try to regain his balance on the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps. He actually has very good balance, but he insists on handling the steps by alternating feet, rather than climbing down each step completely before tackling the next one. It's terrifying to watch. Of course, only big brother has met disaster on the porch -- he managed to get smacked by the door, which knocked him head first off the porch and into the shrubberies. When we looked for him, we saw only his little kicking feet in the bushes. The poor squeaker. The pipsqueak looks precarious, but he doesn't actually fall very often.

Yesterday, he fussed when his papa left for work: "With you! With you!" When his papa asked in a stern voice, "Are you fussing at me??" the pipsqueak hastily replied, "I'm not angry. I'm irritated. Just irritated!" I am not sure what he thinks the distinction is.

Both boys had an excellent Halloween. The squeaker was a mummy, with an elaborate costume created by his papa.























The pipsqueak was a giraffe, and he seemed pretty pleased about it.























I love the sweet innocence of his face in the one picture, with the skeleton emerging from the grave in the background!

Since our own neighborhood is too rural for trick-or-treating, we went to a party at the house of some long-time friends with a daughter who is the pipsqueak's age. Attendance at the party was pretty light, perhaps because many other invited guests opted instead to trick-or-treat in their own areas. But our party hosts arranged a little hayride -- an ATV with a small cart attached, lined with bales of hay -- that about 10 or 12 people could ride in together. A week before the party, our friends had warned neighbors that they might actually have some trick-or-treaters, so they were mostly prepared when the little cart pulled up.

We were a little late to the party, so we missed the first hayride. But we went on the second, and my boys each collected some candy at the 5 or so houses the group visited. When my sister came to the party with her kids later in the evening, the kids went one more time, this time in the darkness. Riding through the dark, misty fields had my sister pretty anxious, but her kids had a great time. I was amused at my sister's trepidation (the fields didn't scare me, but the rural road we drove on briefly during the second hayride did!), and at the pipsqueak's helpful observations throughout: "There are monsters hiding in the trees, mama" and "Look at the spooky stuff!"

After the fun Halloween events of the weekend, the squeaker is back to school this week. He seems to have a little group of friends on the bus, which is good. But he also has this little girl that he talks about at school.

"Do you play with her?" I asked.

"No, not really. We don't really talk or play. We just love each other."

"You do? What do you mean? How do you love each other if you don't talk or play?"

"Well," he said slowly, "she smiles at me every day when I get to school. It makes me feel welcome. It warms my heart." The squeaker always finds some little girl to warm up to. I like that he feels so much love despite being so little.

Naughty, Naughty Pipsqueak

The pipsqueak told his grandma that having his diaper changed was "fucking annoying."

I suppose he is right; it probably is.

On the plus side, I hope this means that it will be easy to transition him to using the toilet. Sigh.

Shark!!

I had already told the squeaker to settle down three times this morning when he screamed "Shark!!" in his bedroom.

"Didn't I ask you to settle down??" I shouted, very irritated.

"Yes, mama," he replied. "But I had to say it like that! I was reading the title of this shark book, and it has an examation point. See? I had to say it in an excited way." He was very earnest. And he was right, too.

Don't Let the Bugs Bite!

Most nights, I say to the pipsqueak, "Good night," to which he replies, "Sleep tight."

Then I say, "Don't let the bugs bite!"

But this causes him to squirm around in the bed looking for the bugs: "Where?? Where is 'em?" I can't tell if his reaction is excitement or concern about the possibility of bugs in the bed, but I thought it might be best to drop the last bit just in case.

So for the last two nights, when he says "sleep tight," I have not said anything at all. However, after he's waited a minute for me to say my line, he's filled in for me: "Don't let the bugs eat me!"

I think perhaps he was concerned after all!

Boys in October

The weather has been so cold and rainy. I know it is fall, but I like October for its golden afternoons of sunshine and its cool edge, not its temperatures of 40 degrees and endless rain. We even had some SNOW on the ground last week, though it must have melted before we got up in the morning. Still, I HEARD about it, and that’s bad enough!

Today it will be warmer – low 70s. We have a Halloween party to attend on the 31st, so I am hoping that the cool weather will stay away. I am sure it will be an outdoor party. I was a little hesitant to give up trick-or-treating for a party, but trick-or-treating isn’t easy for us anyway since we do not live in a neighborhood. Last year, the squeaker and the pipsqueak trick-or-treated in my sister’s neighborhood with their cousins, and a lovely time was had by all. I hate to give that up this year, but I think I’d feel more attached to the tradition if it was our own neighborhood. Plus, our friends seemed very eager for us to come to their party, and they have been guests at several at our recent parties. So we shall see how it works out.

The squeaker’s papa has made him a very elaborate mummy costume, complete with an Egyptian headdress. The squeaker had said he wanted to be a mummy, and his papa thought it was a great idea. With lots of glue and gemstones (on the headdress), I’m thinking that weight of the costume might mean that the squeaker won’t be able to move as speedily as usual, which would be nice for a change. We have not done much for the pipsqueak because he doesn’t get the whole Halloween thing yet. We have plenty of ready-made costumes – giraffe, pirate, frog. However, when I asked if he’d rather be a giraffe or a pirate, he said, “Hippo.” We will see about that. He does like hippos quite a lot.

The squeaker has been going off to school each day without a problem, though sometimes he still gets anxious at the last minute. He’s bringing home a lot of little projects, and I am a little concerned that he isn’t taking them very seriously. His drawing skills are definitely not his strong point, and that’s OK with me, but he seems to be doing a lot of scribbling, and that seems a bit worrisome. I’m not actually worried about him, but rather about how he might be perceived at school. The truth is that he’s much more verbal than visual, and he doesn’t really care about this little drawing projects (drawing his family, for example – I think he drew one big orange circle with two orange circles inside it). I don’t think this matters a whit with regard to his long-term success, or anything else that really matters. However, I think it does make him look as though he might have cognitive developmental delays (which he doesn’t -- he can draw reasonably well at home), and I don’t want this to affect his relationships and success in school. My instinct is to encourage him to do better but not to take it very seriously at this point, but I am a little concerned about how disengaged he is from these assignments.

I think that there is a type of student – earnest, engaged, eager -- who does well in school because teachers respond well to that personality type. But the squeaker is none of these things. He is usually caught up in his own world, and he is not very eager to do work that doesn’t particularly appeal to him. Any earnest effort is disrupted by a lack of focus. To me, this all seems very normal in a kid his age, but the demands of kindergarten are more intense than that.

The pipsqueak has been saying many hilarious things. Though he has near-perfect grammar, his cutest sentences are the ones he doesn’t get quite right. He’ll run around the house looking for someone and saying, “Where is ‘em?” Cracks me up every time. There really isn’t anything he can’t say now; he’s become very conversational. The other day he paused in his nursing to say to me, “My baby. Pat.” It took me a minute to realize that I was being instructed to pat him and say “my baby” in a loving tone. He definitely knows what he wants in life, that kiddo.