Battery-Powered?

Squeaker: I don't nurse with Granny Kate.

Me: That's true.

Squeaker: Why don't I nurse with Granny Kate?

Me: Well...her nee nees don't work.

Squeaker: But I nurse with mama.

Me: Yes. My nee nees do work.

Squeaker: They have good batteries?

Neverland Squeaker

Squeaker: Are you still a girl?

Me: Yes. I'll always be a girl.

Squeaker: Do you want to be a boy when you grow up?

Me: No. But I couldn't even if I wanted to. I'm a girl.

Squeaker: I'm a boy.

Me: Yes. Do you want to be a boy when you grow up?

Squeaker: No. I don't want to grow up. I want to stay little so I can be with Mama.

Pillow Globe

We have this round pillow with a map of the world printed on it. It's basically a globe in pillow form.

So Pop Pop was showing the squeaker where our nice state of PA is on the globe. "And you live right here," he explained, pointing to the little red blob.

The squeaker looked at him with some astonishment, and then said, "Pop Pop!! We don't live on a pillow!! Ha ha!" I think he believed that he got the joke.

Some Self Reflection

Based on the premise that the best mediators know themselves well and can steer around the pitfalls their own personalities create, we've been studying the enneagram in our mediation training class. This is supposedly an ancient tool for understanding and categorizing the 9 personality types.

I am a natural skeptic, so touchy-feely, let's-explore-ourselves stuff sometimes leaves me bored and uncomfortable. But I have to admit that I was surprised at how well the personality type I fell into fit me. It was me exactly. In fact, you're supposed to choose three of the descriptions initially and then rank them for how well they fit you before settling on one of them, but the one that was me just jumped out at me.

The basic idea is that all of us had some childhood experience that made us lose sight of one of life's essential principles, and we formed a coping mechanism that forms the bedrock of our personality. (I think that's the hokey part.) In any case, I'm the classic Observer (type 5) -- deeply private, happy with my own company, an analytical thinker, and a collector of knowledge and information. Observers aren't people people, and others sometimes think they are distant and aloof. And the observers' love of information and knowledge can come across as arrogant and overanalytical. Fundamentally, observers believe that people don't need much to be happy, in terms of both relationships and material possessions.

Generally, the other personality types are:

1) The perfectionist (correctness and accuracy determine worth -- these people are conscientious, responsible, improvement oriented, and self-controlled, but can also be critical, resentful, and self-judging);

2) The giver (giving to others will mean that the giver is loved - caring, helpful, supportive, but also can be overintrusive and demanding);

3) The performer (accomplishments are what make others love you, so they are industrious, fast-paced, goal oriented and efficient, but can also be inattentive to feelings, impatient, and image driven);

4) the romantic (obtaining the longed for relationship or situation leads to being loved - they are idealistic, sensitive, empathetic, and deeply feeling, but also dramatic, moody, and self-absorbed);

5) the observer (self-sufficient, non-demanding, analytical, unobtrusive, but also withholding, detached, and overly private);

6) the loyal skeptic (the world is a dangerous place, and you need to protect yourself and others - they are trustworthy, inquisitive, good friends, and questioning, but can be overly doubtful, accusatory, and fearful);

7) the epicure (fear of uncertainties lead them to pursue the good life, which is highly active and changing - they are upbeat and adventurous, but also uncommitted and self-serving);

8) the protector (need to be strong and powerful in a tough world - they are direct, strong, and action oriented, but also overly impactful, excessive, and impulsive);

9) the mediator (need to blend in to get along - seek harmony, and are self-forgetting, confortable, and steady, but also avoid conflicts and act stubborn).

Hopelessly hokey, or useful and on-the-mark? Science or pseudoscience? I don't know. What do you think? (You can read more here, though this site isn't the best one. However, the good ones don't offer the information for free.)

Another Post that References Rhinos

So I’ve been in mediation training this week, which means I’m not at my desk and not able to blog. But when I am able to post again, you may see a whole new me – a more cooperative me who listens carefully and guides you meaningfully towards clarity and self-discovery. Or maybe not. I’m sure I’ll quickly relapse into my old self. This training is a style of mediation that is very counterintuitive to lawyers – lots of holding back and letting the parties make their own decisions, not offering legal advice, not even striving to get the parties to agree. So now I’ll probably develop some kind of freaky split personality, with my people-are-selfish, lawyer-advocate self trying to undermine my non-judgmental, people-are-inherently-good-and-can-resolve-their-own-disputes self. Ack.

On the squeaker front, he’s coined his own version of “hold your horses” – he says, “hold your rhinos!”, and then giggles as if it’s the funniest thing ever. He also says that he loves me because I am such an interesting girl.

They are so flakey, but lovable at this age.

Random Cow

The squeaker WOULD NOT go to bed Friday night. Finally, in frustration, we pulled out his old playpen (which he mishears as and calls his "epipen," a bit of allergy humor probably most appreciated by parents who struggle with similar allergies) and set it up in his room. We put him in it and left him there, where he wailed "I wanna sleep in mama's bed!!!!!!!!!" for a while before we rescued him. While he did not enjoy the experience, it did provide the means for his acquisition of the Random Cow.

This is a small, slightly tattered stuffed cow that fell out of the playpen when we opened it. I guess it's been stuck there for many months. I saw it on the floor, and said, "Where did that random cow come from?" before I realized it fell out of the playpen. So now he runs around and says, "I want to play with my Random Cow. Have you seen my Random Cow?" I'm not even sure how to explain what "random" means, so I haven't tried. Now we're all calling it the Random Cow.

Peppermint Bats

Last night the squeaker’s papa treated him to a post-Halloween peppermint patty shaped as a bat. On the way to the car, the squeaker explained to his papa that he wanted the whole thing. This was because the last time the squeaker had one of these peppermint patties, mama bought it and told him how cool it was that it was shaped like a bat – and then broke it in half and handed it to him. (I know, I know, I’m an idiot.) He kept making sad little comments from the back seat, like “Is this where its wing was? Did it really have a wing?”

So this time, the squeaker was quick to take preventive action to protect the integrity of his peppermint bat. Once in the car, his papa handed him the whole thing.

The ride home was quiet for a while as he munched happily, breaking the silence now and then to say lovingly, “And it has two wings, right, papa?” or “And here are both of its nice ears.” All was well.

Then there was a long silence, broken by a little voice of distress: “The peppermint patty won’t go away.”

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“I can’t get it to go away,” he said plaintively. “The peppermint patty is stuck in my teeth.” We spent the rest of the ride promising a prompt cup of water once we arrived home. I guess the squeaker got even more peppermint patty than he could handle.

Happiness is...

...a week away from work!!

Actually, I shouldn't say that, because I work only part time, and my job isn't very taxing. But still, a week of sleeping in and relaxing at home with the squeaker (and yes, the squeaker sleeps late -- usually until 9 or 9:30!!) sounds pretty good right now.

The squeaker asked me yesterday if my job is boring. I told him that sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't. He looked thoughtful and concluded that "sometimes, there must be toys." After all, what else could explain the non-boring periods?

So with loads of toys at home, I'm looking forward to a week away from the boring stuff. And now that we have satellite at home, my blogging efforts need not suffer just because I'm at home. And that's all I have to say. It's Friday, and it's time to go home.

Peace.

British Dinos

The squeaker thinks Aunt Julie is in England hunting iguanodons. This is because there has been much talk about Aunt Julie’s trip to England, where she plans to stay for at least 6 months. None of this talk has been directed at the squeaker, but he Knows things.

He combined that bit of knowledge with the statement in one of his dinosaur books that the first iguanodon fossil was found in England in the 1820s. When I read that sentence, his face reflected an epiphany. Suddenly, it all made sense – clearly, Aunt Julie had gone to England in search of iguanodons.

I told him that wasn’t so, because dinos are extinct, even in England, but I could tell that he didn’t believe me.