Sunday, August 29, 2010
Meeting Miss Abby
A week ago, we spent an overnight with the Fitzes in Eagleville. Great catch-up for the big kids, and a first-time introduction for the littles. Miss Abby is about 8.5 months old.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Holy balls
So here we are, just nine days ago, still a little wobbly with the hippo walker.
(Ooh, disclaimer: PopPop is not a fan of Spike, who is a perfectly nice and loving pet. Well, at least to those who know when and when not to taunt him, pet him or look in his general direction. Please ignore all the heartless side commentary.)
Fast forward. Through an incredibly challenging series of days at work. Did I mention that in the span of a month and a half I went from being the middle person in an office of three to being the "acting" boss of an office of five, where two vacancies in my old work environment leave me pretty much solo for 95 percent of what I've got to get done in a day? OK, reading that back, it sounds confusing. Oh, it is. But enough about me.
Guess who took his first steps for Grand-dude today, at one year, four weeks old.
This guy, who is also learning how to feed himself. And who now uses all eight of his teeth to chow down on peaches.
The dishwasher is apparently an attractive target for this kiddo. Then Chicken came home and demonstrated his wobbly -- yet completely solo -- three steps in a row (gimme three steps, gimme three steps mister, gimme three steps to'ad the do) toward the diswasher for Mama.
Who is completely punch drunk, and perhaps a little bit real drunk, celebrating the near-end of a PR nightmare. Dammit -- again, back to the point at hand -- Cayden is becoming MOBILE. Exciting, yet terrifying at the same time.
And I can't wait to see and hear the reactions from the other grands and great-grands. Because I know that secretly, deep-down (in places you don't talk about at parties), there's this competitive grandparent-caregiver thing going on, and they're all trying to one-up each other with the tricks they teach and milestones they enable.
Or maybe that's all in my punch-drunk head. Yeah, right. It's there, at least a little bit, and I love it.
Holy balls, he took his first steps today.
(Ooh, disclaimer: PopPop is not a fan of Spike, who is a perfectly nice and loving pet. Well, at least to those who know when and when not to taunt him, pet him or look in his general direction. Please ignore all the heartless side commentary.)
Fast forward. Through an incredibly challenging series of days at work. Did I mention that in the span of a month and a half I went from being the middle person in an office of three to being the "acting" boss of an office of five, where two vacancies in my old work environment leave me pretty much solo for 95 percent of what I've got to get done in a day? OK, reading that back, it sounds confusing. Oh, it is. But enough about me.
Guess who took his first steps for Grand-dude today, at one year, four weeks old.
The dishwasher is apparently an attractive target for this kiddo. Then Chicken came home and demonstrated his wobbly -- yet completely solo -- three steps in a row (gimme three steps, gimme three steps mister, gimme three steps to'ad the do) toward the diswasher for Mama.
Who is completely punch drunk, and perhaps a little bit real drunk, celebrating the near-end of a PR nightmare. Dammit -- again, back to the point at hand -- Cayden is becoming MOBILE. Exciting, yet terrifying at the same time.
And I can't wait to see and hear the reactions from the other grands and great-grands. Because I know that secretly, deep-down (in places you don't talk about at parties), there's this competitive grandparent-caregiver thing going on, and they're all trying to one-up each other with the tricks they teach and milestones they enable.
Or maybe that's all in my punch-drunk head. Yeah, right. It's there, at least a little bit, and I love it.
Holy balls, he took his first steps today.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Dear Mary
Our last group meeting -- a World Breastfeeding Week celebration, where I gave Mary my letter of thanks for all her support through the first year of Cayden's life -- was nearly a month ago, but I was waiting for the photo of the group to post it. So here it is...
July 29, 2010
Dear Mary,
I want to express to you my heartfelt thanks for all you do for the women and babies who come through Hershey’s breastfeeding and new moms groups. Perhaps you already know the uplifting strength you have brought to dozens – probably hundreds – of anxious first-time mothers over the years, but I want to personally thank you for helping me become a better mother to my first-born, Cayden.
A few weeks ago you asked me what advice I had for new moms “in the trenches” of the first weeks of motherhood and breastfeeding. I could not have been more honest in my reply when I said, “Go to the Tuesday breastfeeding group.” Your Tuesday group set the stage not only for our breastfeeding success (we made our goal of one year – not a drop of formula for this baby – and we’ll keep going as long as my boy is willing), but also for an open dialogue with been-there-done-that moms that granted me the hope I needed in the early, trying weeks.
Even nearly a year after my first Tuesday group, I vividly remember looking around the room, settling sight on a Mama and baby pair, and thinking to myself, “OK, that’s what four weeks looks like; I can make it to four weeks.” And later, “So that’s four months; I know we can get to four months.”
The shared experiences of other moms and the conversations in those Tuesday, then Thursday, groups granted me the regular escapes from the house and invaluable understanding and validation I didn’t even know I needed so desperately in the early months.
And the groups could not be the welcoming, supportive collections of women they are without your compassionate leadership. I can see the joy it brings you to help new generations of mothers share their experiences, learn from each other and become better, more informed and more considerate caretakers. And I am so grateful for the blessing of having met you and having benefited from your wisdom and support.
Your empathy is refreshing, your faith inspiring, your tenderness touching. Your clinical expertise combined with your own mothering and grand-mothering insight allow you to expertly nurture and encourage doubtful and discouraged new mothers, while your graceful disposition inspires hope and strength simply by radiating peace and serenity.
Thank you for helping me learn the difficult, yet infinitely rewarding lessons of patience and tenderness, maternal love and dedication. Thank you for listening, observing, validating, commiserating, motivating, uplifting.
Thank you for providing the forum that demonstrates twice a week the amazing influence one caring leader can have on the lives of countless moms and their littles, new pairs desperate for just such kindness, understanding and support.
Thank you for celebrating new mothers and new babies. Thank you for celebrating my son and I for the past year.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
July 29, 2010
Dear Mary,
I want to express to you my heartfelt thanks for all you do for the women and babies who come through Hershey’s breastfeeding and new moms groups. Perhaps you already know the uplifting strength you have brought to dozens – probably hundreds – of anxious first-time mothers over the years, but I want to personally thank you for helping me become a better mother to my first-born, Cayden.
A few weeks ago you asked me what advice I had for new moms “in the trenches” of the first weeks of motherhood and breastfeeding. I could not have been more honest in my reply when I said, “Go to the Tuesday breastfeeding group.” Your Tuesday group set the stage not only for our breastfeeding success (we made our goal of one year – not a drop of formula for this baby – and we’ll keep going as long as my boy is willing), but also for an open dialogue with been-there-done-that moms that granted me the hope I needed in the early, trying weeks.
Even nearly a year after my first Tuesday group, I vividly remember looking around the room, settling sight on a Mama and baby pair, and thinking to myself, “OK, that’s what four weeks looks like; I can make it to four weeks.” And later, “So that’s four months; I know we can get to four months.”
The shared experiences of other moms and the conversations in those Tuesday, then Thursday, groups granted me the regular escapes from the house and invaluable understanding and validation I didn’t even know I needed so desperately in the early months.
And the groups could not be the welcoming, supportive collections of women they are without your compassionate leadership. I can see the joy it brings you to help new generations of mothers share their experiences, learn from each other and become better, more informed and more considerate caretakers. And I am so grateful for the blessing of having met you and having benefited from your wisdom and support.
Your empathy is refreshing, your faith inspiring, your tenderness touching. Your clinical expertise combined with your own mothering and grand-mothering insight allow you to expertly nurture and encourage doubtful and discouraged new mothers, while your graceful disposition inspires hope and strength simply by radiating peace and serenity.
Thank you for helping me learn the difficult, yet infinitely rewarding lessons of patience and tenderness, maternal love and dedication. Thank you for listening, observing, validating, commiserating, motivating, uplifting.
Thank you for providing the forum that demonstrates twice a week the amazing influence one caring leader can have on the lives of countless moms and their littles, new pairs desperate for just such kindness, understanding and support.
Thank you for celebrating new mothers and new babies. Thank you for celebrating my son and I for the past year.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The Little Biting Harlot: 3; Cayden: 0
First a back bite, then an arm bite, and now the most insulting bite of all.
After a conversation first with Cayden's morning teacher, then with the Director who stayed late at work to talk to me after Cayden sustained his third bite in five days, we know the following:
(1) The problem biter is a girl
(2) Cayden is doing nothing to instigate the bites or retaliate after them.
(3) While Cayden has been bitten more often than other bitees, he is the most popular target, of late.
(4) The parents of the biter are very upset and are trying their best to correct the problem.
(5) Cayden's teachers are monitoring the pattern biter, but she is a quick little devil who occasionally beats them to the prey.
(6) Cayden's afternoon teacher is quite upset at the situation and feels responsible for the less-than-ideal introduction to daycare Cayden has experienced. She wrote us a personal apology this afternoon.
Brian says one more bite and he'll go in to make heads roll. Grand-dude says maybe the teachers should start smacking the little girl around or give her a bite to never forget.
But the reality is, this is completely normal behavior. It just sucks that my mellow little guy -- who apparently has no sense of personal space, because he allows the biter right into his immediacy and never reacts or makes a peep until the deed has been done -- is such a sweet, naive target.
So I still don't know what to do with all this, even after talking to the staff.
31? Uh-huh
Welcome to the mish-mash of jumbled up stuff that’s been rattling around my head for a week. I’ve been meaning to organize and expound upon a lot of this, but I simply haven’t had the time.
So pardon the lack of transitions and cohesion.
31. Yeah, so I turned 31 on Monday. No biggie. Hubby made for a great weekend though: I came home Friday to a clean house, and he arranged an afternoon massage for me on Saturday. Then we celebrated with friends by competing in an elaborately designed, 21-game Beer Olympics. Which was more fun than I ever imagined it could be. Medals were won in games ranging from quarters to hula-hooping and puzzle assembly to jump roping. I took home gold in flip cup and a spoon-and-marble type game that instead involved ladeling beer out of a big tub, then walking briskly with that spoon-full-o-beer a distance to carefully transfer the beer from the spoon into a cup. Aaaaand, repeat. For as many times as possible in two minutes. Really, tons and tons of fun. That is, until Gregger broke his leg. Literally. In retrospect, making a long jump competition the 18th event of the night probably wasn’t a good idea. Neither was the actual act of long jumping, at 1 a.m., in the dark, from a flat surface to a sloped hill. So Beer Olympics came to a screeching halt as Colleen’s tires screeched out of the driveway to the ER. Greg is recovering fine, and the take-away from Beer Olympics is this: Damn, was that fun, but holy shit was it stupid. I will certainly advise my own son against Beer Olympics in the future. Or at least I’ll make sure his long-jump competition is at the beginning of the night and on a flat surface.
Uh-huh. That’s Cayden a lot lately. But he’s got the inflection kind of wrong. He says uh-huh, rather than uh-huh. As in, “you want some goldfish?” “uh-huh, go-go-go-go.” And he’s sooo vocal lately. Babbling and shouting and growling (like a lion) at everything. And all while pointing. I anticipate his verbal breakthrough will come more as a flood than as a trickling stream. He’s almost there – trying his darndest to tell us what he thinks, wants, sees – but he just can’t get the words out. Except for a random word every now and then that tends not to be repeated beyond a day. Daisy (the cat), banana, circle – they’ve all been uttered, but only sporadically repeated with meaning.
Daddy. Wanna know reason number umpteen-and-seventy-bajillion why he’s so awesome? Because he makes the breakfast oatmeal with hand-mashed fresh blueberries. And a sprinkle of cinnamon. And a squeeze of honey. Gourmet stuff, because he doesn’t want to feed the chicken anything he wouldn’t enjoy.
Radio. Guess who learned how to turn on the clock radio in his room? The boy. And now every morning must include a little classic rock or late ‘90s hip hop, so Cayden can get his dance on. He stands in front of the radio, holding on to the table by the rocker with one hand, bouncing his little buns away while grinning the biggest grin you ever saw. We’ll just assume Mama and Daddy are far too mature to break out college dance moves, air-guitars and faux gang symbols while little boy dances. Riiight.
Speaking of Buns. Ooooh, a real and actual transition! Anyway, at what point do baby buns turn from cottage cheese to smooth cheeks? 'Cause this chubber still has a serious case of cottage cheese ass. In fact, Brian won’t let me post the picture I took of his naked butt last weekend. The one Brian says makes it look like the boy has elephantiasis.
Perfecting the pincer grasp. So now that his pointer-finger/thumb dexterity is on-point, why is he intent to pick up every spec of lint, cat claw, pine needle and three-day-old scrambled-egg booger he finds on the floor? Not that there are a lot of scrambled egg boogers and cat claws on our floor, but dude I can’t vacuum and swiff every day. So there are a few, and he finds them all, then promptly tries to consume them.
Hmm, that information dump felt good. Now to try to figure a way to work more of them in my starting-to-catch-up-with-me, full-time work schedule.
Cayden is a year and three weeks old.
So pardon the lack of transitions and cohesion.
31. Yeah, so I turned 31 on Monday. No biggie. Hubby made for a great weekend though: I came home Friday to a clean house, and he arranged an afternoon massage for me on Saturday. Then we celebrated with friends by competing in an elaborately designed, 21-game Beer Olympics. Which was more fun than I ever imagined it could be. Medals were won in games ranging from quarters to hula-hooping and puzzle assembly to jump roping. I took home gold in flip cup and a spoon-and-marble type game that instead involved ladeling beer out of a big tub, then walking briskly with that spoon-full-o-beer a distance to carefully transfer the beer from the spoon into a cup. Aaaaand, repeat. For as many times as possible in two minutes. Really, tons and tons of fun. That is, until Gregger broke his leg. Literally. In retrospect, making a long jump competition the 18th event of the night probably wasn’t a good idea. Neither was the actual act of long jumping, at 1 a.m., in the dark, from a flat surface to a sloped hill. So Beer Olympics came to a screeching halt as Colleen’s tires screeched out of the driveway to the ER. Greg is recovering fine, and the take-away from Beer Olympics is this: Damn, was that fun, but holy shit was it stupid. I will certainly advise my own son against Beer Olympics in the future. Or at least I’ll make sure his long-jump competition is at the beginning of the night and on a flat surface.
Uh-huh. That’s Cayden a lot lately. But he’s got the inflection kind of wrong. He says uh-huh, rather than uh-huh. As in, “you want some goldfish?” “uh-huh, go-go-go-go.” And he’s sooo vocal lately. Babbling and shouting and growling (like a lion) at everything. And all while pointing. I anticipate his verbal breakthrough will come more as a flood than as a trickling stream. He’s almost there – trying his darndest to tell us what he thinks, wants, sees – but he just can’t get the words out. Except for a random word every now and then that tends not to be repeated beyond a day. Daisy (the cat), banana, circle – they’ve all been uttered, but only sporadically repeated with meaning.
Daddy. Wanna know reason number umpteen-and-seventy-bajillion why he’s so awesome? Because he makes the breakfast oatmeal with hand-mashed fresh blueberries. And a sprinkle of cinnamon. And a squeeze of honey. Gourmet stuff, because he doesn’t want to feed the chicken anything he wouldn’t enjoy.
Radio. Guess who learned how to turn on the clock radio in his room? The boy. And now every morning must include a little classic rock or late ‘90s hip hop, so Cayden can get his dance on. He stands in front of the radio, holding on to the table by the rocker with one hand, bouncing his little buns away while grinning the biggest grin you ever saw. We’ll just assume Mama and Daddy are far too mature to break out college dance moves, air-guitars and faux gang symbols while little boy dances. Riiight.
Speaking of Buns. Ooooh, a real and actual transition! Anyway, at what point do baby buns turn from cottage cheese to smooth cheeks? 'Cause this chubber still has a serious case of cottage cheese ass. In fact, Brian won’t let me post the picture I took of his naked butt last weekend. The one Brian says makes it look like the boy has elephantiasis.
Perfecting the pincer grasp. So now that his pointer-finger/thumb dexterity is on-point, why is he intent to pick up every spec of lint, cat claw, pine needle and three-day-old scrambled-egg booger he finds on the floor? Not that there are a lot of scrambled egg boogers and cat claws on our floor, but dude I can’t vacuum and swiff every day. So there are a few, and he finds them all, then promptly tries to consume them.
Hmm, that information dump felt good. Now to try to figure a way to work more of them in my starting-to-catch-up-with-me, full-time work schedule.
Cayden is a year and three weeks old.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Vampire Fridays
The good news is that on the fourth day of daycare, Cayden felt comfortable enough to poop at school.
The bad news is that the fourth day of daycare became the second day Cayden came home with a red ring of teeth imprinted on his body. Today, a friend bit him on the right forearm.
I'm trying to maintain perspective: one of the reasons we picked this school is because they work with biters instead of expelling them. But working with the biters doesn't make it any easier for the bite-ees (or their potentially overprotective daddies), and this Daddy ain't happy about spending $55 a day for our kid to come home with bite marks half the days he's there.
So, is this normal toddler adjustment, or a pattern with which to be concerned?
The bad news is that the fourth day of daycare became the second day Cayden came home with a red ring of teeth imprinted on his body. Today, a friend bit him on the right forearm.
I'm trying to maintain perspective: one of the reasons we picked this school is because they work with biters instead of expelling them. But working with the biters doesn't make it any easier for the bite-ees (or their potentially overprotective daddies), and this Daddy ain't happy about spending $55 a day for our kid to come home with bite marks half the days he's there.
So, is this normal toddler adjustment, or a pattern with which to be concerned?
Thursday, August 12, 2010
I was wrong: full-time work B.L.O.W.S.
Because if I wasn't back to work full-time, I wouldn't have been stuck in the cluster-fumble that was traffic after work today. If I wasn't working full-time, it wouldn't have taken me 1 hour and 35 minutes to travel 7.5 miles. Quite literally, I could have walked home faster.
And if I wasn't back to work full-time and stuck in traffic on the way home, my dear husband wouldn't have had to rush out at the last minute to pick the kid up from daycare. And if that didn't happen, there's no way Brian could have forgotten to check the kid out, left all the dirty diapers in Cayden's cubby and left the diaper bag hanging on Cayden's hook. Heck, at least he remembered the kid and blue blankie.
And if I wasn't back to work full-time, my nervous-boweled boy wouldn't have resisted pooping in front of strangers again all day today, so that when I finally got home at seven-friggin-o'clock to spend one-half hour with the Chicken before bed, he wouldn't have released all his anxiety by SHITTING IN THE BATHTUB.
If I wasn't back to work full-time, I wouldn't have had to de-shat the tub. Oh, wait, Brian had to do that, what when I curled my lip and dampened my eyes at first sight of the loaf in the water.
And if I wasn't back to work full-time I don't think I'd require the Canadian rye I'm preparing to slug, to soften the edges on the past two and a half hours.
And if I wasn't back to work full-time and stuck in traffic on the way home, my dear husband wouldn't have had to rush out at the last minute to pick the kid up from daycare. And if that didn't happen, there's no way Brian could have forgotten to check the kid out, left all the dirty diapers in Cayden's cubby and left the diaper bag hanging on Cayden's hook. Heck, at least he remembered the kid and blue blankie.
And if I wasn't back to work full-time, my nervous-boweled boy wouldn't have resisted pooping in front of strangers again all day today, so that when I finally got home at seven-friggin-o'clock to spend one-half hour with the Chicken before bed, he wouldn't have released all his anxiety by SHITTING IN THE BATHTUB.
If I wasn't back to work full-time, I wouldn't have had to de-shat the tub. Oh, wait, Brian had to do that, what when I curled my lip and dampened my eyes at first sight of the loaf in the water.
And if I wasn't back to work full-time I don't think I'd require the Canadian rye I'm preparing to slug, to soften the edges on the past two and a half hours.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Working full-time
As I knew would be the case, it's not that bad.
At least not yet. I'm sure all the little nit-picky stuff that gets put off because time is tighter will accumulate in the back corner of my mind over the coming weeks. And they'll eventually build up to a crescendo of holy-shit-the-half-done-undone-needing-to-be-done-crap-is-sending-me-to-Crazytown, unfairly bestowing upon my husband a franticly irrational, albeit passionately defended, meltdown to assuage.
But for now, we're all good.
So good that I didn't mind leaving the kitchen half-a-mess Sunday night after hosting a really nice family dinner. Ok, I minded, but Brian convinced me to let it go and sit on the couch for a bit with one more glass of wine. That's progress.
So good that we have somehow become adept at a weekday morning routine that readies me and the baby, often 10 or 15 minutes earlier than expected. Occasionally there are early morning tears because little boy would rather be held than play with toys on the floor watching Mama, or tantrums because breakfast isn't coming fast enough, but generally, our mornings offer some great smiles and a good mix of one-on-one time balanced with the requisite hair-doing and makeup-applying.
So good that I relished in the surprise excitement I felt yesterday afternoon -- little-kid excited, all heart-a-flutter and quick-breathing -- when I realized that in just a few hours I'd be home, catching up with my little boy on all the new lessons and excitement his Monday brought him. That's an unexpected treat, I tell ya. No, I don't have as many long weekends to look forward to lounging and erranding with my boy as I used to, but that electric excitement, the joy of anticipation, is pretty darn exhiliarating. I'll take it.
So good, in fact, that I'm looking ahead with hope rather than anxiety or fear to other changes that are-a-coming, changes which may challenge or complicate the life balance and perspective I try to maintain. Hopeful, because I'm confident I can excel in different aspects of my life simultaneously. I can grow on different levels and in different ways than other people choose to grow. And no one way is right or wrong, better or worse. The simple truth -- and one it's taken me a year or two to really, fully appreciate -- is that a person is responsible for defining her own roles in her life: mother, wife, employee, boss, volunteer, friend, house-keeper, preserver of life's love and inspiration. No need to compare my recipe for a full life, which portions all those roles and priorities appropriately in a balance that makes me happy, to that of anyone else.
We're all good.
At least not yet. I'm sure all the little nit-picky stuff that gets put off because time is tighter will accumulate in the back corner of my mind over the coming weeks. And they'll eventually build up to a crescendo of holy-shit-the-half-done-undone-needing-to-be-done-crap-is-sending-me-to-Crazytown, unfairly bestowing upon my husband a franticly irrational, albeit passionately defended, meltdown to assuage.
But for now, we're all good.
So good that I didn't mind leaving the kitchen half-a-mess Sunday night after hosting a really nice family dinner. Ok, I minded, but Brian convinced me to let it go and sit on the couch for a bit with one more glass of wine. That's progress.
So good that we have somehow become adept at a weekday morning routine that readies me and the baby, often 10 or 15 minutes earlier than expected. Occasionally there are early morning tears because little boy would rather be held than play with toys on the floor watching Mama, or tantrums because breakfast isn't coming fast enough, but generally, our mornings offer some great smiles and a good mix of one-on-one time balanced with the requisite hair-doing and makeup-applying.
So good that I relished in the surprise excitement I felt yesterday afternoon -- little-kid excited, all heart-a-flutter and quick-breathing -- when I realized that in just a few hours I'd be home, catching up with my little boy on all the new lessons and excitement his Monday brought him. That's an unexpected treat, I tell ya. No, I don't have as many long weekends to look forward to lounging and erranding with my boy as I used to, but that electric excitement, the joy of anticipation, is pretty darn exhiliarating. I'll take it.
So good, in fact, that I'm looking ahead with hope rather than anxiety or fear to other changes that are-a-coming, changes which may challenge or complicate the life balance and perspective I try to maintain. Hopeful, because I'm confident I can excel in different aspects of my life simultaneously. I can grow on different levels and in different ways than other people choose to grow. And no one way is right or wrong, better or worse. The simple truth -- and one it's taken me a year or two to really, fully appreciate -- is that a person is responsible for defining her own roles in her life: mother, wife, employee, boss, volunteer, friend, house-keeper, preserver of life's love and inspiration. No need to compare my recipe for a full life, which portions all those roles and priorities appropriately in a balance that makes me happy, to that of anyone else.
We're all good.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Incident Report
Oh, I knew every day wouldn't be as good as the first, but I certainly wasn't expecting the second day of daycare to be so, so much worse.
Drop off went fine, and yesterday's report card indicates Cayden had fun and was "cheerful" most of the day, but then there are a few pieces of the puzzle that certainly don't add up to an entirely "cheerful" experience...
First, upon pick-up I could hear my boy crying from all the way down the hall. I opened the door to the bears room to find him and two little girls sitting in their lunch/arts-and-crafts seats at the table, with a teacher I haven't met yet, Kristy. There he is, big fat tears running down his puffy face, and hard-crying snot all over the place. As soon as he saw me, he reached for me.
Miss Kristy asked if he had stranger anxiety, and I told her no, he's never had a problem with new interactions. I did confirm for her it was the second day of his first-ever daycare experience, and she concluded his anxiety must just be normal adjustment to a new routine.
So then I gathered the poor little puddle of tears out of his chair, wiped his nose, grabbed his bags and noticed two pieces of paper in his cubby.
The report card clued me in to his 5:30 meltdown: he had only napped for an hour and 10 minutes yesterday. My boy is a pretty steady three-hour-a-day napper. So I realized Cayden's problem wasn't stranger anxiety and it likely wasn't adjustment stress. Rather, it was I-don't-want-to-stack-and-knock-over-blocks-because-I'm-exhausted-and-please-oh-please-just-give-me-my-blue-blankie-so-I-can-go-to-sleep anxiety.
And he had a second day in a row of all wet diapers, but no soiled ones. Since Cayden typically has one or two daytime poops, I've drawn the conclusion that my boy is a nervous pooper. He's not totally comfortable in the new setting, yet, so he's not relaxed enough to poop. He saves his poops for those he knows and loves.
So after drawing all these conclusions about a less-than great second day at school, then I read the second piece of paper. The Incident Report.
Day number two of daycare, and we have our first Incident Report.
"Cayden was playing when a friend bit him on the back. Treated with washing, ice and TLC."
So rather than go to Toys'R'Us after daycare to spend a birthday gift card on a new toy, as we had planned to do, I called Daddy, gave him the short-and-sweet, and told him we were heading home.
Cayden's shirt came off the minute we were inside the house, and damned if he doesn't have a red, slightly swollen toddler BITE MARK on his right shoulder blade. Somebody bit him hard enough -- through his clothes, no less -- to leave a lasting mark. Still there this morning.
I imagine some rabid little kid pinning my boy down while gnawing maliciously on his back. Brian immediately wanted to find out which "friend" this was, to contemplate retaliation. Because boy retaliation would be totally different than girl retaliation. But either way, Brian's pretty sure there are toddler kung-fu classes around here. And Grandma delicately inquired if we should call the doctor and get any shots because of the bite.
Then we all calmed down and realized this is the first of what will likely be many incident reports at school. We're just hoping Cayden doesn't internalize the incident and return to school next Thursday with a vendetta. It's not out of the question though: after being bitten at daycare when Brian was little, a day or two later he received his own incident report, because he had bitten his biter back in retaliation.
Anyway, it was a tough second day of school. And a poor day of napping means a poor night of sleeping, so my poor boy was up at 2:30 a.m., 4:30 a.m. and 5:30 a.m.
Here's hoping for a better couple of school days next week...
Drop off went fine, and yesterday's report card indicates Cayden had fun and was "cheerful" most of the day, but then there are a few pieces of the puzzle that certainly don't add up to an entirely "cheerful" experience...
First, upon pick-up I could hear my boy crying from all the way down the hall. I opened the door to the bears room to find him and two little girls sitting in their lunch/arts-and-crafts seats at the table, with a teacher I haven't met yet, Kristy. There he is, big fat tears running down his puffy face, and hard-crying snot all over the place. As soon as he saw me, he reached for me.
Miss Kristy asked if he had stranger anxiety, and I told her no, he's never had a problem with new interactions. I did confirm for her it was the second day of his first-ever daycare experience, and she concluded his anxiety must just be normal adjustment to a new routine.
So then I gathered the poor little puddle of tears out of his chair, wiped his nose, grabbed his bags and noticed two pieces of paper in his cubby.
The report card clued me in to his 5:30 meltdown: he had only napped for an hour and 10 minutes yesterday. My boy is a pretty steady three-hour-a-day napper. So I realized Cayden's problem wasn't stranger anxiety and it likely wasn't adjustment stress. Rather, it was I-don't-want-to-stack-and-knock-over-blocks-because-I'm-exhausted-and-please-oh-please-just-give-me-my-blue-blankie-so-I-can-go-to-sleep anxiety.
And he had a second day in a row of all wet diapers, but no soiled ones. Since Cayden typically has one or two daytime poops, I've drawn the conclusion that my boy is a nervous pooper. He's not totally comfortable in the new setting, yet, so he's not relaxed enough to poop. He saves his poops for those he knows and loves.
So after drawing all these conclusions about a less-than great second day at school, then I read the second piece of paper. The Incident Report.
Day number two of daycare, and we have our first Incident Report.
"Cayden was playing when a friend bit him on the back. Treated with washing, ice and TLC."
So rather than go to Toys'R'Us after daycare to spend a birthday gift card on a new toy, as we had planned to do, I called Daddy, gave him the short-and-sweet, and told him we were heading home.
Cayden's shirt came off the minute we were inside the house, and damned if he doesn't have a red, slightly swollen toddler BITE MARK on his right shoulder blade. Somebody bit him hard enough -- through his clothes, no less -- to leave a lasting mark. Still there this morning.
I imagine some rabid little kid pinning my boy down while gnawing maliciously on his back. Brian immediately wanted to find out which "friend" this was, to contemplate retaliation. Because boy retaliation would be totally different than girl retaliation. But either way, Brian's pretty sure there are toddler kung-fu classes around here. And Grandma delicately inquired if we should call the doctor and get any shots because of the bite.
Then we all calmed down and realized this is the first of what will likely be many incident reports at school. We're just hoping Cayden doesn't internalize the incident and return to school next Thursday with a vendetta. It's not out of the question though: after being bitten at daycare when Brian was little, a day or two later he received his own incident report, because he had bitten his biter back in retaliation.
Anyway, it was a tough second day of school. And a poor day of napping means a poor night of sleeping, so my poor boy was up at 2:30 a.m., 4:30 a.m. and 5:30 a.m.
Here's hoping for a better couple of school days next week...
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Joining the Bears
Today was Cayden's first day of school. Daycare, that is, where he joined the Bears (12 - 24 month olds) at U-Gro.
All in all, it was a great day for Cayden and a better experience than Mama or Daddy expected. Our access code worked without a hitch, Cayden's cubbies and nametags were all prepared for his arrival and Miss Rose was impressed with and excited to participate in our cloth diapering regimen.
I struggled to get a "first day of school" photo of the Chicken Wing, because as soon as we set him down, he took off for the toy shelves he became familiar with over the course of his three pre-enrollment visits. Left us in the dust. Which is great for him, I suppose. So I had to snap this from outside the room, in the hallway. There he is, sitting in the center of the room, watching Miss Rose love on one of his new girlfriends.
Although our first drop-off exceeded all my expectations (I don't know what I would have done, had he clung to us or begged for us to return, from the other side of the glass), I couldn't help but shed two "oh, how he's growing up" tears as we walked out the door, to our cars. But two tears, one down each cheek, ain't bad.
Daddy surprised me a bit, though. First for his insistence to attend each pre-enrollment visit, then to drive separately to see Shorty off on his first morning of school. As he wiped the two tears off my cheeks, he admitted to me that this was harder than he expected it to be, and he made me promise to call and check on Shorty mid-day, then report how the little guy was doing to Daddy.
We are so grateful for that loving, concerned Daddy of ours that is so eager to actively participate in every aspect of this parenting gig. Did I mention Daddy about sprinted out to the driveway when I pulled in this evening, dying to hear how pick-up went?
Pick up was fine. He was so content at school, in fact, it took me three "Excuse me"'s before Cayden finally turned away from playtime to recognize me at 5:30. Seems he had a great, fun- and friend-filled day.
And his first report card shows it. My favorite part? Well, there are two: First that he tried to eat the paint (again), and secondly, check out how his snacks and lunch went. Shouldn't have expected anything less than all "everything" checkmarks. My only remaining question or concern about daycare is this: How on earth do they feed 8 to 10 kids tomato soup at the same time??
All in all, it was a great day for Cayden and a better experience than Mama or Daddy expected. Our access code worked without a hitch, Cayden's cubbies and nametags were all prepared for his arrival and Miss Rose was impressed with and excited to participate in our cloth diapering regimen.
Although our first drop-off exceeded all my expectations (I don't know what I would have done, had he clung to us or begged for us to return, from the other side of the glass), I couldn't help but shed two "oh, how he's growing up" tears as we walked out the door, to our cars. But two tears, one down each cheek, ain't bad.
Daddy surprised me a bit, though. First for his insistence to attend each pre-enrollment visit, then to drive separately to see Shorty off on his first morning of school. As he wiped the two tears off my cheeks, he admitted to me that this was harder than he expected it to be, and he made me promise to call and check on Shorty mid-day, then report how the little guy was doing to Daddy.
We are so grateful for that loving, concerned Daddy of ours that is so eager to actively participate in every aspect of this parenting gig. Did I mention Daddy about sprinted out to the driveway when I pulled in this evening, dying to hear how pick-up went?
Pick up was fine. He was so content at school, in fact, it took me three "Excuse me"'s before Cayden finally turned away from playtime to recognize me at 5:30. Seems he had a great, fun- and friend-filled day.
And his first report card shows it. My favorite part? Well, there are two: First that he tried to eat the paint (again), and secondly, check out how his snacks and lunch went. Shouldn't have expected anything less than all "everything" checkmarks. My only remaining question or concern about daycare is this: How on earth do they feed 8 to 10 kids tomato soup at the same time??
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Kicking off the second year album
Toddling to Two has officially been started. First page down: first haircut. And the empty circle under the headline? That's where Shorty's first professionally sheared lock will be taped, once the album is done and printed, oh, about 11.5 months from now.
Other news of note? Mimi taught Cayden how to wink yesterday, and yesterday evening he hosed the kitchen floor with a surprising volume and impressively forceful stream of pee. And once he was done peeing, he giggled right at Dad. No, we're not potty training, I just made the mistake of parading him around naked between bathtime and jammies last night.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Ugh, I forgot how much teething sucks
Seventh tooth and a stuffy nose, all in one night. This may prove to be a long one...
The Party
What a great afternoon. Loved ones, good food, a great photographer: we couldn't have asked for anything more.Look who is "so big!"
Showing off a little "mad scientist."
Wait, Mama, didn't we just do this a few days ago?
A little post-cake bath on the deck.
And on to opening presents, with a little help from Max.
Drum sticks?
Yes, please!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)