Move!!

The pipsqueak's newest word is MOVE.

He's still a little fuzzy on proper usage, though. He was in the bathtub two nights ago, and while mama has rules about how many bath toys get dumped into the tub (because there does need to be room for two dirty little boys), papa has no such rules. So with papa in charge of the bath, the boys dumped all the toys in, and the tub was very crowded.

The pipsqueak was trying to scoot from one end of the tub to the other, but found his effort hindered by tons of floating toys. In utter frustration, he cried out -- presumably to the toys -- "Move! Move!"

I think they didn't, but it was a good thought.

Happy Happy Joy Joy

I was reading Slate this morning when I stumbled on this blog, The Happiness Project. With the short entries and bulleted list style, I thought it would be full of pithy, irritating advice, like so many articles about this kind of subject are. But while there is a little bit of the militantly perky, list-making advisor in Gretchen Rubin's posts, I found myself thinking, "Yes, yes, that's a great idea...I should do that." And I liked the sense that we exercise a lot of control over our happiness or unhappiness, because that means we can do something about the latter. Ms. Rubin quotes author Julie Morgenstern on this very point:

The primary difference between happy and unhappy people is the sense of personal control or victimization. As a consultant and speaker, most of the people I encounter feel like they are masters of their own lives and are a joy to work with. Together, we work out a plan to overcome any obstacles they have to achieving their goals. But periodically, I encounter people who feel like victims, and those people are never happy. No one is happy when they feel trapped, but I don’t believe any of us is ever trapped. Other than in the case of illness, we have the power to create and change our circumstances and continuously grow, learn, and improve our lives. And even in the most adverse situations, people who choose happiness find nuggets of joy and something to gain from each experience.

Earlier this week, I read an article that profiled a study on predicting marriage success. It linked how smiley someone was in pictures with the success of their marriage.

In one test, the researchers looked at people's college yearbook photos, and rated their smile intensity from 1 to 10. None of the people who fell within the top 10 percent of smile strength had divorced, while within the bottom 10 percent of smilers, almost one in four had had a marriage that ended, the researchers say. (Scoring was based on the stretch in two muscles: one that pulls up on the mouth, and one that creates wrinkles around the eyes.) . . . Overall, the results indicate that people who frown in photos are five times more likely to get a divorce than people who smile.

Intriguing results, I think.

And consistent with today's happiness theme, I am happy to report that yesterday was much better -- and happier -- than Tuesday. When I got home from work, the squeaker was his usual sweet and charming self. We had hot tea together ("Isn't it lovely to have hot tea together on a rainy day, mama? Isn't it glorious? Let's just sit and talk together while we drink our tea.") I guess our terrible Tuesday didn't leave him forever scarred.

Tuesday Turmoil

Yesterday was a bad day.

The squeaker and the pipsqueak visited the pediatrician on Monday for their regular check-up. All was well with both. In recent weeks, the squeaker’s grandma has raised a concern about his hearing. Personally, I am skeptical. I think he sometimes has a listening problem, but I think his hearing is just fine. I don’t know why I am so resistant to the idea that he might have a hearing problem. Maybe it is just really hard to acknowledge that something might be *gasp* WRONG with your kid.

Anyway, the pediatrician checked his hearing, and he was unable to get a “reassuring” result in one ear. (I guess the pediatrician only screens for reassuring vs. non-reassuring...I don’t think they have the equipment or the expertise for a more nuanced evaluation.) So we’ll be making a trip to an audiologist. I am still skeptical (the squeaker was fidgety and unfocused during the test), but I guess I do need to consider the possibility that he has a hearing problem. If he does, hopefully it will be something easily resolved.

Between Easter dinner on Sunday and yesterday’s appointments, the pipsqueak went two consecutive days with no nap. So yesterday, he was tired and fussy shortly after he woke up in the morning. The squeaker was cranky, too. He woke up tearful and whiny. He cried the whole time I dressed and changed the pipsqueak, though he seemed a little better after breakfast.

After lunch, I told the squeaker I needed to put the pipsqueak to bed. Since we co-sleep, the pipsqueak doesn’t sleep in a crib even at nap time. I usually get him to sleep in the bed, and then I can leave him there, though I have to keep an eye on him. He’s unlikely to fall out now because he stirs little in his sleep and he knows how to turn around and slide down feet first, but I still watch him closely just in case. It takes about 20 minutes for him to drift off to sleep while he nurses. During this time, the squeaker needs to be relatively quiet and still. Usually, he does pretty well.

So yesterday, after the pipsqueak drifted off to sleep, I got up and went to check my e-mail. The squeaker had been quietly playing with his Lord of the Rings figures in the playroom, but when he heard me get up, he scampered in and asked me to read him a book. At first I said no, because I had some things I wanted to get done, but he pleaded a little, and I relented. So while I’m checking my e-mail, he goes upstairs and gets a book. A Christmas Book.

That made me grouchy to begin with. I know, it’s stupid. So he wanted a Christmas book. But I SO did not want to read a Christmas book in April. It interferes with my sense of order. But who cares? I should have just read it to him. But I groused a little bit instead, and then I read it to him. The book is actually pretty funny and cute, and Christmas isn’t much of a theme in it anyway, so by the time we finished it, I felt thoroughly guilty about my initial grousing. So I hugged him and apologized, and told him it was pretty silly to have been grouchy about it. Sensing my accommodating mood, he asked for a few more books, and, eager to make up for my grouchiness, I agreed. So he heads upstairs to get a few more books.

Some children are quiet little things. Mine are not. The squeaker bounded up the stairs – thump thump thump – and then galloped into his room – bang bang bang – and then spent 5 minutes or so looking through books, and setting those he pulled off the shelf but didn’t want to read on the floor – whack whack whack. His bedroom, where we keep the books, is right above the room where the pipsqueak naps. So naturally, after a few minutes of book selection, I hear the pipsqueak stir....He calls out “mama??” I zip in there to nurse him back to sleep, because he’s only been asleep for 45 minutes, which is half a nap, and usually he’s so groggy halfway through his nap that I can easily get him back to sleep.

But then the squeaker comes down the steps and discovers that I am no longer waiting on the couch. He starts to sob. I can hear him from the other room, where I am trying to get the pipsqueak back to sleep. I can feel my frustration and fury rising, because if he would just SHUT UP for 5 minutes, the pipsqueak would drift back to sleep and we could read. After a few minutes, the sobbing dies down and he starts paging through his books. Loudly. You would not think turning the pages of a book would be a loud activity. But with every page turn, the pipsqueak’s eyelids flutter a bit. I even had music playing softly to drown out the squeaker’s noises, and the page-turning was so loud that it as easily heard over the music. By now, I am practically beside myself with irritation, and I am muttering not-very-nice things, which isn’t helping the pipsqueak’s sleepiness.

But the kicker was that when the squeaker finished his rapid page-flipping, he found a stool and began dragging down the hall towards the pipsqueak’s room. I could hear the stool bouncing and banging the whole way, and so could the pipsqueak. The squeaker set the stool in front of the door, which I had just closed, and then began kicking the door. And I am embarrassed to admit that this was the proverbial straw and I was the unfortunate camel. I yanked open the door and flew out of the room in a rage. The squeaker was so frightened and horrified that he fell off the stool backwards (luckily, it was a very low stool, but he still ended up with a nasty knot on his head). I scooped him up and yelled in his face, and I carried him into the living room and tossed him, not very gently, on the couch, yelling and stomping around. I said many not-very-nice things. He was hysterical and the pipsqueak was watching the whole thing from the bed, his eyes wide and mouth open in horror.

Then I sent the squeaker to bed, and I lay down on the living room floor and cried because I was the WORST MOTHER EVER, losing it at my little kid because he wanted me to read him books. Even in my rage, a little voice in my head was saying, “the nap is not THIS important. Let it go.” But I didn’t listen because he was banging the door and the pipsqueak was trying to sleep, and I hadn't wanted to read the DAMN CHRISTMAS BOOK ANYWAY.

After I finished berating myself, I went upstairs and found him in his bed, under the covers and clutching his baby dragon toy. He was sobbing and miserable, and I thought my heart would break. He looked so little and vulnerable, and I had been so mean and ruthless. I hugged him and told him I was sorry, and that I had overreacted because I had been trying to get the pipsqueak to sleep. We talked about trying to learn to be quiet as a mouse when we creep upstairs to get books. He was so sad. I felt awful.

And I felt even more awful a short time later, when I checked his temperature. After he came back downstairs and we finished reading the books he had gotten, he was sitting on the floor, kind of grunting and looking miserable, and I wondered if he was having a reaction to yesterday’s immunizations. So I checked his temperature and found it was almost 102. So I was mean to my little, vulnerable SICK kid. I don’t know if he has a virus – we’ve been exposed to several lately – or if he had a fever from the shots (seems unlikely since I don’t think either of the ones he got are associated with a fever). But I haven’t been able to shake these feelings of guilt. I feel like such a terrible mother. Why couldn’t I have been patient and kind? Why wasn’t I more gentle? Why did I make such a big deal of a stupid nap? The squeaker will remember his mother’s overreaction long after the pipsqueak has caught up on his sleep.

I remind myself that I am only human, and that I make mistakes. Sometimes, they are big painful mistakes. And the squeaker was KICKING THE DOOR. Certainly he knew better. But he is only five, and I can understand that he was disappointed when he came downstairs with his books. I do not know how to make it up to him, and I feel sad and ashamed. I hope he learned a lesson from the whole event, but I hope I will remember the even bigger lesson, which is perspective perspective perspective. Sigh.

Squeaking Along

This morning I had to clear SNOW off of my car before making the drive to work. SNOW. In APRIL. I think I need to submit a complaint somewhere, but Mother Nature probably isn’t listening. Plus, I think some Italians are in the complaint line ahead of me. Sigh.

Anyway, today the pipsqueak is 18 months old. The comment that he looks like a muppet is duly noted, Drew. Ha. I think it’s his round little head and the great big eyes. And the goofy grin. His newest word: NO. He uses it loudly and often. He uses it when it is time for me to wash his hair or brush his teeth. He uses it when I try to tempt him with a spoonful of cereal. He uses it when his brother tries to take a toy from him. He looks thrilled by his own power as he uses the word. Unfortunately for him, he still ends up getting bathed and having his teeth brushed. He has, however, been able to avoid eating foods he doesn’t like and having big brother wrestle a toy from him.

In recent days, he has started spinning when he gets super-excited. It’s as if he doesn’t know how to express the excitement, and he cannot contain it, so he starts spinning and laughing. The dizziness only heightens the laughter – until he falls down. Then he looks startled, though he doesn't usually cry.

Yesterday, the squeaker had an evaluation by the school district based on his preschool teacher’s recommendation. He met with a physical therapist and an occupational therapist while his papa and I talked with a social worker. We explained that his teacher had some concerns about his fine motor skills and about his lack of focus when given multi-step directions. The social worker asked a lot of questions, and we both felt a bit awkward about trying to explain this quirky little person we’re raising. It was difficult to convey, for instance, that not only are his language skills exceptional, but he also loves language in a way that seems very unusual to us. He plays with words, manipulating them for new purposes or for humor (“Mama is a chocolate-avore!” instead of omnivore). He talks all the time, and he can use language to express complex ideas and abstractions that seem way beyond the typical 5-year old. But he’s also a little eccentric, in a good way. Talking about him to someone else was a surprisingly surreal experience, like throwing open your private treasure box to a complete stranger, and wondering if that person could appreciate the unique gems inside of the box.

Anyway, he seemed to enjoy the evaluation. He built a block tower and wrote his name for the occupational therapist. He skipped and jumped and tossed a ball with the physical therapist. When the physical therapist wanted him to dribble the ball, he told her flatly that he couldn’t do that. She encouraged him to try, and so he gave it a shot though he wasn’t very successful.

In the end, they seemed a little surprised that we had brought him in at all. They told us that it is likely that his extraordinary language and cognitive skills make his average motor skills look more limited than they really are. In reality, they assured us that his motor skills are in the average range. They are at the low end of that range, but still within the average range. They specifically said that he should not have any problems in kindergarten. So we are very pleased, and I feel vindicated. Still, I am glad we had the assessment done, and I think it was good that his preschool teacher flagged his motor skills as a possible concern. But I am also relieved that kindergarten seems like a good choice for him in the fall.

Today he has an Easter party at school. I am jealous.

My boys

Adventures at the Big School

Earlier this week, while we were having breakfast, I wasn’t feeling very well. (I think it’s my fifth illness of this winter/spring, which is very rough for someone who rarely gets sick.) Anyway, I rested my head on the table briefly, and the squeaker, full of concern, says, “Mama, are you feeling forlorn?”

I love that kid.

Yesterday was kindergarten registration day! My husband and I both accompanied him, which prompted him to say that he was getting special mama AND papa time, without the pipsqueak. He was pretty happy about that.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that we’ve been a bit worried about kindergarten registration day. The concerns expressed by his preschool teacher, who has said quite firmly and repeatedly that she believes he should NOT attend kindergarten in the fall because he is not ready, have been troubling. We really don’t want to get him in over his head, but it is just kindergarten, you know? I know kindergarten is the new first grade, and that playing has been replaced with decoding and writing and so on (very sad, but I digress), but still, it IS just kindergarten – and half day kindergarten at that. Plus, the squeaker’s cognitive and language skills really are extraordinary, and while I obviously am biased because I am his mother, I’m also not the type to brag about my kid (except here, LOL). He really is in a class by himself, and thus as I’ve written here before, holding him back a year seems like a really bad idea to me.

So kindergarten day included a little assessment of the child by the kindergarten teachers, and I have to admit that we were a little anxious about it. We didn’t want yet another educator telling us to hold off for a year. Before the Big Day, we practiced his name, address, and phone number (he never did quite get the phone number down), and he wrote his name, practiced drawing people, reviewed his letters, and so on. This sounds more heavy-handed than it really was; we generally do these things anyway in small amounts, but we’ve been particularly conscious of it over the last week or two.

Sometimes it surprises us that this kid who is so very smart, interesting, and focused on the things he loves can seem so spaced out and disengaged when adults speak to him. He is so passionate about his interests, and he immerses himself in them fully. His attention and focus can be extraordinary...or not. Sometimes he roams around, tongue poking out of his mouth, seemingly detached and disinterested in the world, and when an adult says something to him (“So, is that a dinosaur on your shirt?”) the squeaker either ignores the person or grunts some incoherent response. It drives me crazy because I know that he could explain that yes, it’s a triceratops that is a herbivore but that sometimes could end up as prey for certain fierce carnivores, but instead, he’s acting like he didn’t understand the question and has no interest in responding. He might not even look up from what he is doing.

And this is painful to me not because I want to show him or his knowledge off to other people but because I hate to see him so misunderstood. How can he connect with people if the interesting little person that he is doesn’t emerge? And why is it that he has so little interest in interacting with people? I am not a people person, so I can sympathize in a way, but I also know that it can be painful and lonely at times to be remote from others.

So I had this fear that kindergarten assessment was going to be a disaster, and that he’d be disengaged and distant, that he’d talk very little and have trouble focusing on whatever they asked him to do. When the teacher led him away into another room, it seemed like we waited a very long time for him to come back, though it was only half an hour.

And then I heard his little voice before I could see him. I heard him from down the hall asking, “So what toys do you have?” Then the teacher brought him to us, and the first thing she said was, “He’s really articulate, isn’t he? He kept using words like ‘actually’ and ‘basically,’ and some words I didn’t know.” Apparently, he’d been telling her about hydras and the other monsters that he loves. And she seemed charmed by him. She told us that when they sat down together, he commented that the chair was too small for him, but that hers looked like a good fit, so they switched. He wrote his name for her and had no problem with colors, numbers, and most letters (he confuses “d’ and “b” still). They did some rhyming words as well. Because we were so anxious about hearing a determination that he was simply not ready for kindergarten, my husband asked the teacher that, point blank. And she seemed a little surprised and said, “Oh, yes, he’s ready.”

She did say that he had some trouble staying still, and that he seems to be in constant motion. And she said that many children at this age have trouble staying focused on multi-step directions, so she suggested some practice with that. But she did not highlight any serious issues, and she didn’t even seem to be considering the idea that he wasn’t ready. We were very relieved.

If kindergarten assessment causes this much angst, I can only imagine what the college admissions process will be like!!