Adoption and Bonding

Just a cool little personal essay from a woman who gave birth to two sons, and recently adopted an older girl from China: click here.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

What a fun, fun Christmas! Little P is big enough to get the festivities this year, and he has brought additional joy to our usual family traditions. He was blessed with all kinds of thoughtful gifts that will give him much to do throughout the next year - riding a real bike, "working" at his tool bench in the garage with Papa, making art and learning preschool skills with the easel/chalkboard/whiteboard, sitting at his new kid-sized table and chairs, and playing with an assortment of interesting books, trains, cars, and dinosaurs. Oh, yeah. He's also taking up golf, Little Tykes style.

Mama will write more in a week or so. The P-Pod is packing (as we speak!) for a few days of camping in the desert. We're stealing away with Auntie Bek and Uncle Mike and a few pals to spend some nights in a tent out under the bright stars, sipping hot chocolate by the campfire, and taking nature walks with Little P's "bug barn" (a little mesh contraption in which one may place butterflies or stink bugs or caterpillars in order to observe them until they likely die of starvation or loneliness or fear).

On a nother note, while at Grandma's house for Christmas, Papa and Little P witnessed a giant coyote trotting down the road (they come up from the canyon to feast on the rabbits in Grandma's yard). When Little P saw said creature, he shouted excitedly, "Kangaroo! That's kangaroo!" Ah, well. The exotic creatures are a bit harder to identify on account of their lesser visibility.

Transitioning to a Big Boy Bed

In response to a question from VCW and at the risk of offending all the people who disapprove of spanking as an approach to discipline, I hereby tentatively share my concrete approach (and all its mishaps) to helping Little P learn how to transition to a "big boy" bed.

We had little trouble getting Benjamin to stay in his new bed at night. I don't even remember what the first night was like, if he got out of bed or anything. He is so tired in the evenings that he dives into bed and happily closes his eyes (after pitching everything over the side...he doesn't like animals or pillows, and he begrudgingly tolerates a blanket).

Naps, on the other hand, are a totally different story.

Benjamin is currently on a one (majorly needed) nap a day for close to three hours. He truly needs a minimum of two hours - anything shorter and we are mi-ser-a-ble an hour later. He was going down around 11:00, though on many days lately he's not quite ready until 12:00.

So. The techniques.

When Benjamin is all riled up and ornery, going down for a nap is cause for much drama. His first attempts at napping in a bed that did not contain him were like eating from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. He thought he had freedom to do as he pleased simply because the physical barrier had been removed. Goodness gracious.

I started by approaching getting out of bed as defiance. (Defiance is the only reason for which I spank him.) For example, I put him to bed with the usual routine and then left the room. When I walked past the door and saw the light switching on and off rapidly, I went in, reexplained the expectation, and put him to bed.

Upon the second offense, he got one swift, hard smack on the bum (setting off the tears) and put him into bed with a kiss, an "I love you", and an admonition to stay in bed.

The first one or two times this worked. But then the swagger of the freedom to get out of bed built up. One afternoon I spanked him in six consecutive occasions over the course of an hour. He was not relenting, and he was not falling asleep, and we were not getting anywhere. I was frustrated and tired. So was he. In fact, he was by that time overtired, and that is a realm that no parent wants to enter.

I can't recall if it was that same day or the next, but at some point early on I recalled a technique I had seen on the Supernanny show. She coached parents to do this when they started enforcing a bedtime for the first time (I am always amazed by parents who do not think bedtime is important) and the children would keep coming out of their rooms or crawling into their parents beds. The trick is this: do the bedtime routine with the child. Spend the time to lovingly, calmly get them into bed. Remind them to stay there if need be. Then turn off the lights and sit somewhere in the room with your back to them until they fall asleep.

Sounds easy, no? The truth is, for a kid who is determined to do his own thing, that poor parent has to follow Supernanny's other instructions...every time the child gets out of bed, the parent says nothing, but physically places the child back into bed. On the show, sometimes parents do this 115 times over a two-and-a-half-hour period. The kid screams, rants, kicks, and throws himself around. Mom silently reinforces the expectation with no show of emotion and no verbal engagement in haggling, explaining, promising, bribing, or begging.

I do remember it was a Sunday after church. I was tired. I really wanted to go take a nap myself. The Papa was lying in bed reading a magazine, and Little P was wildly not succumbing to sleep. The spankings were not working. I needed a new approach. I knew it was time to buckle down for however long was required to do the technique right. I launched into it.

Little P fought with the force of a strong-willed toddler. He got out of bed. I put him back silently. He kicked and screamed. He got out of bed. I put him back. This occurred about three dozen times. In between getting out of bed, he kicked his legs on his bed (thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump!), bit the railings, threw himself against the railings, threw his blanket out of the bed, and wailed. He also tried other methods:

"Mama? I love you. Mama? I love you. I love you, Mama."

"Whatchoo doin'? Mama, whatchoo doin'?"

"Are you happy, Mama? I happy."

"I gonna play cars, Mama. OK? I gonna play cars." [He got out of bed and tried to walk to the car bin.]

"Peekaboo, Mama." I looked back because it sounded like he sat up and found him peering through the bars on the guard rail. "Peekaboo, Mama. I see you. Mama? Look at me."

He put his feet on the railing and moved them along the slats. "I climbing the ladder. I climbing the ladder. Mama? I climbing the ladder."

I did not respond to any conversation starters. I also ignored all noise and behavior EXCEPT the two things I cared about - sitting up in bed and getting out of bed. He could rage, sing or talk as long as he was horizontal. Then came this...

"OK. I goin' sit up now. OK, Mama? I goin' sit up....[rustling around is heard]. I sitting up, Mama."

Oh, he is too, too funny, this child.

This first attempt took an hour and twenty minutes, but he finally fell asleep.

I closed the door and walked out a new Mama. I had won that battle, and it was a foundational one. I had stuck it out to the bitter end. My will outlasted his. I was fair, not cruel. I was the authority. He would gain a new respect for nap time.

Sort of.

It actually took a few more of such standoffs to make the point, but none lasted as long as that first one. I occasionally still have to sit there for a half hour, but now he just yammers and kicks his legs. He will not get out of bed or even sit up if I am there.

And even the spanking, when needed, is more effective. Here's my one other method:

Yesterday I was going to go visit a friend. The Papa was sick in bed, and Little P was not performing on schedule. I sat in his room for fifteen minutes and was worried about being late to meet my friend. He was lying there talking to himself, and his punchy mood told me he posed a flight risk. I couldn't have him messing around with no one to follow up on him, and I didn't want The Papa inconvenienced (given his physical state), so I left the room and stood right outside the door. Almost immediately I heard little feet running around and something clunked off the shelf.

I swung open the door, swooped him up over my knee, gave a single, hard spank, and put him into bed. (My spanking method is to only give one swat, but it is hard enough to hurt. It is my opinion that this is more powerful than 4-5 wimpy hits. Also, a child who is spanked should experience consistency. He should know how many hits he's going to get so that there's no fear of if it's going to be two or ten. The number of hits should never depend on the parent's mood or level of frustration. This is confusing and harmful to the child and/or the relationship. Likewise, if the spank is going to matter to the child, it needs to smart.)

I did the usual kiss and "I love you," and goodnight, and left the room. I waited until he quit crying and talking to himself and then reentered the room. He was still in bed. I praised him for it explicitly. "Wow! You're doing such a good job staying in bed! What a big boy! I'm proud of you!" I got ready to go and just before leaving I popped my head in again. He was still awake, but his eyes were drooping. He was still lying in bed, so I said all the praise again.

(It's important to be explicit when praising children. They are not just being a "good boy or girl", they are doing a good job on _______. Or they are being obedient/kind/helpful/safe by following Mama's instructions/sharing the truck/cleaning off the table/holding Mama's hand while walking through the parking lot. This is how they learn exactly what is pleasing and exactly what is not appropriate.)

I left to visit my friend, confident that he was really going to stay in bed until he fell asleep.

So, those are the two ways I handle the getting-out-of-bed problem. I think that which one is effective depends on where your child is in the process. Supernanny's approach is really good for establishing the expectation and helping the kid understand you are serious and committed to the routine. The spanking works better after the expectation is clear and the child needs a little dose of external motivation in order to pull off the self-control part.

Does anyone else have suggestions?

A Snapshot of The Pod

As I write, Little P and his little cousin, Amal, are laughing, shrieking, running and crawling in and through the fort we built in the dining room with two tables, four blankets and a tunnel. Diana is preparing to take them out in the front yard to blow off more steam, as baby Koa is napping and the boys are growing louder and louder with each passing minute.

This morning was our second day of home preschool. I am exhausted...in a good way. Diana and I decided to get a curriculum and start teaching the boys. Let's just say that two-year-old boys are like border collies: loyal and smart and energetic and cool...and destructive and surly if they do not have a puzzle or a job every day. I guess when your mind and body are growing at a faster rate then will ever occur in the rest of your life, you need to exercise them. Use them. Master them. Or they will master your Mama, and that is just not right.

For now, our Horizons preschool curriculum is in route to us, so I found some materials on the Internet that can be printed off. We are working on the letter T - it's one of the easier ones to write, and it is the first letter of so many of Little P's favorite things - trains, turtles, and triangles. The boys colored train pieces that covered four lengths of paper yesterday. We taped them together, hung them on the wall, and proudly showed them off when the papas got home from work. Today they practiced writing T and t, and we made a turtle out of construction paper shapes and some glue. They are hanging on the wall now, too, along with the big T's they colored, er, scribbled on.

Of course, "writing" happens when a mama holds a crayon in a little boy's hand and moves it to trace the dots. Little boys aren't doing this yet on their own.

If you ask Benjamin to talk about colors, he always brings up green. As for shapes, it's the triangle. His favorite letter so far is "B", and the numbers he likes best are 3, 4, 5. When he says them, they sound like one word.

We also make shapes in Play-doh and then squish them (after shouting out the correct name). We draw shapes on the sidewalk with chalk and then jump on them in the order that their names are called out. We name the colors of the cars and trucks we pass as we go for our morning walk. (We have been walking The Papa to work four times a week).

Benjamin just counted to 10 on his own two days ago, perfectly in order. It was, thus far, his first and only time doing so.

And, though I have NOT been taking potty training very seriously and he is still in diapers the majority of the time (and I am SO ready to dump the diapers), Benjamin actually peed on the toilet today! This is the first time that his asking to sit on the toilet coincided with pee actually coming out while on the toilet. The poor guy usually freezes up.

In other news, I still have not had time to get proficient with my new computer, AND we've been under the weather around here. I would like to be officially well once again. Alas, we are three weeks into a cold that laid me out on my back for six days of total uselessness and, while I feel definitively better, I am still suffering from congestion, a cough, and fatigue. I had my first cup of coffee in a month yesterday and it didn't even taste good. It's all about medicinal strength teas right now. Don't cry for me, P-Podders. It gets worse.

Benjamin has also been sick at this time. In fact, during a church group meeting at our house one night, he puked all over his bed. I threw him in the tub, changed the sheets on his bed, got him all clean and ready for bed again, and as I was singing his bedtime song, he puked on me and the carpet. It went all down my front, and, pardon me fellows, into my bra. Brent took over and I ran off to shower. When I took off my bra, the cups were filled with vomit. Can this just be my one yucky puke story for him? Could I perchance get off the hook until he's 18 and moving into a dorm?

Benjamin has taken to jumping on his bed. He grabs the rail and jumps. Last night I put him to bed. He acted so tired - yawning and lying down immediately. I walked out, closed the door, and seriously...24 seconds after leaving his room, I heard jumping on the bed. I decided that, this time, I would wait a minute and see if it died out on its own. Besides, I had to go to the bathroom and my feet were cold so I wanted to find my slippers. I was washing my hands when I heard a thump and loud crying. Clearly he had whacked his chin on the railing while jumping. I went in.

He was wailing away. "Do you want a kiss on your cheek or your hand?" My standard response to all injurious events. "Kiss a owchie, Mama. Kiss a owchie," his voiced cracked and he pointed to his chin.

"Did you hurt yourself jumping?" I asked. Suddenly all the crying stopped and he looked at my with wide eyes.

Caught.

"How sad. When little boys jump on the bed they can hurt themselves." I thought that was enough of a lecture for an almost two-year-old, so I gave him a few more kisses and laid him back down. This time when I left the room there was complete silence.

I'm learning to allow consequences to speak for themselves, a la Love and Logic parenting techniques. And, boy, can this work.

Benjamin liked to climb up in the big rocking chair on the hardwood floor and rock away. Hard. Fast. He would get the chair balanced on that pointy part of the back rail and it would hang there a second before coming back down. Diana is a slightly more concerned mama than me. When she saw this she would dive toward the chair, a split second before it quit hovering and started the downward roll. I just sat there watching. I had admonished him and showed him how to rock appropriately, and it was at the point where either I gave him a spanking for being defiant or I let nature take its toll.

Ahem.

So it finally happened. He rocked himself right over backwards and he came down with a thunderous whump! Oh, he scared himself silly! He was not much hurt (the bars on the seat back are wide and flat and he was already leaning on them in order to rock, and, really, he wasn't that far from the ground), though I'm sure it didn't feel good. He cried and got lots of empathy and kisses from Mama.

And then, he did not climb up into that chair for a week. Today was his first attempt, and all he did was crawl up and then get back down. I think the mad rocking days are through.

I need to post pictures of a few recent events, but I'll let you know in words so you can hold me accountable:

1. Cousins Seth and Diana and Amal and Koa moved in with us in October.

2. Benjamin got a new bedroom with fresh paint and kid-like decorations. He FINALLY has a super-cute kid room!

3. Our fearless toddler scaled his crib two months ago making The Papa really nervous. Not 12 hours later, Benjamin's crib was turned into a toddler bed and Mama got dragged into the pit of despair...it is hard to no longer have a safe place to contain an outrageously behaving toddler. As it is now December, Mama has forthwith survived the transition, and Little P has learned that there are consequences for getting out of bed at inappropriate moments.

4. Benjamin is helping Papa around the house. The two of them repaired a step and clean bike parts in the garage. In fact, when I come upon Benjamin doing something with his toys and I ask him, "What are you doing?" He frequently replies, "I working."

I can't promise when the pictures will come, but they will. We hope you are well on your way to a Merry Christmas!

Learning Curve

Well, the Mama wishes to apologize for the lack of posting. For about two months, the downtime was due to business within The P-Pod. We had some lovely people move in with us, some major time commitments through our church, and The Papa was in the "busy season" at work.

But we have settled down a bit, and now the problem is related to Mama's new iMac. As a former PC person, Mama has been confounded by the photo editing and storage system - the edits are only visible through the program, but are not able to be saved separately. Thus, Mama cannot figure out how to load edited photos onto the blog. Also, Mama does not yet have Photoshop for the Mac, and cannot figure out how to make a picture smaller for quick web loading.

Mama did buy a one-year coaching plan through Apple for just this sort of thing, but hasn't had the time to write down all her questions and go into a tutorial session.

Alas, dear readers, you will have to wait a bit longer for photos. Soon. I hope.

Ride the Carousel

BenTV 008: A Case of the Giggles

So, Mama got an iMac last week and decided to try out the video camera on Little P. Watch him get all self conscious and hammy. Silly boy!

Holy Pronouns, Batman!

Little P is onto pronouns, among other things. I do not try to teach this kid these things, though as a grammar fanatic, I am well pleased by his natural inclinations! So here are a few of his latest pronunciations.

As we pulled up in the driveway and saw the kids next door shooting hoops: "They playing basketball." (He's obsessed with watching them practice.)

As we watched his cousin playing: "He riding the bike."

_____

LP: "Thank you, Mama."

Mama: "You're welcome."

LP: "I welcome."
_____

As he attempts to skip down the hall: "I skipping!"

As a plane flies overhead: "I hear a airplane."

As we walk past a picket fence: "I touch the fence?"

R-Town: The "V Family" Visit

After spending some time with Emma's side of the family, we got to hang with Kevin's family. Grandma made us blueberry muffins and helped Benjamin ride all over on the bike...much to his delight.

Grandpa had to get in on the action as well.

Benjamin with Kevin and Emma. Do not take his expression as evidence of his mood - this photo was taken at the end of a long, exciting, fun, jet-lagged day and this is what he looks like at the end of such a day. Evidence of such fun lies ahead.

Ah, here we are. Mama must apologize. There are few to no photos of the adults present this day because the house was filled with COUSINS! And as handsome or beautiful as the adults may be, they pale in comparison to the fun had in photographing cousins. I mean, really. Looking at this photo of Abi, Benjamin's older cousin by about six months, could you blame a Mama?

Goodness, gracious. One of Mama's favoritist photos.

Oh! Being pulled around by Abi's big brother, Alex.

I did have to hold my breath a few times when Joey careened over the lawn with Little P in tow. He's a fast one.

Secrets, secrets. It's already begun.

And now for The Comic Adventures of the New Rascals. Or something like that. These are all the cousins in one place. And this was our attempt at getting a photo of them all.

And this...

and this...

and this. Whew! We had a wonderful time with the V Family and friends. Aunt Lori so graciously opened her home to a crowd, and Grandpa grilled some delicious food. We felt welcomed and loved!

R-Town: The "I Family" Visit

While I am embarassed to admit this, it has been two months, almost exactly, since Little P and I flew east to hang with his dearest birthfamilies. One auntie, who shall remain unnamed, has been breathlessly awaiting the photographic evidence of this trip. And finally, it is here. Hooray. I'm sorry, auntie, for the delay.

Twas a lovely visit. We stayed with Emma's folks and got lots of family time.

Little P with his sweet Grandma. Can you perchance catch the family resemblance?

On Sunday afternoon, people dear to Emma came over to visit with our young celeb. The gentleman to the right of Grandpa is a pastor who was present during the entrustment ceremony where Emma and Kevin officially handed Benjamin over to The Papa and me. (I just realized I have still not posted the story of that special event, nor the Bonnie and Clyde getaway across the Interstate. Oh, ya'll are missing out! *adding to to-do list*)

Back to the pastor at hand. Eric was a great comfort to us as well as to Emma and Kevin at the time, and it felt like I was seeing an old friend.

Oh, Kristin is a funny story. She and her husband are friends of Emma. When Emma was considering choosing us to adopt Benjamin, Kristin wondered if her friends in our town (4 hours away) might know us. She asked. Turns out we went to the same church. I got an email one day from Tara (our mutual friend) saying how all these people were praying about this adoption, and then, lo and behold, we had friends in common who could vouch that we were "cool", as in, not scary weirdos who would R-U-N-N-O-F-T with their baby. OK, we ran off to the other coast, but we didn't run off. I mean, not technically. I don't think.

Auntie Liz was a big hit. She's the music teacher in the family who is passing on info so that we can appropriately encourage Benjamin's interest in music. Everyone should have such an auntie in the family.

Dear, sweet Liam. He and Benjamin played with various forms of vehicles the entire afternoon. Mister Liam is a few months older than our Little P and every bit as smart and charming.

And finally, Tony. He and his wife were also part of the journey with Emma as she considered adoption. They brought Benjamin a book - The Bellybutton Book - which is now solely responsible for his calling his bellybutton "Bee-bo!"

There were a few others who came to visit and we enjoyed them all! Due to camera setting, movement, blinks, weird movements or poses, and so on, not all the pics turned out. But they are all fondly remembered. Thanks so much for visiting and being so supportive of this open adoption we have!

I Found a Yight!

That exact sentence really did come out of Little P's mouth last week...article and all.

While helping Papa take out the recycling, our garbage assistant ran across a bicycle light and managed to turn it on so that it blinked. Highly entertaining. Like, a half hour's worth of entertainment.

And, just so's ya'll know, this kid can tell you where to find the spoke, hub, chain, seat, rim, tire, and cables on a bike. That's what happens when a boy spends time with his papa in the garage.

Speaking in Sentences

Benjamin likes to talk. Here are a few of his simple sentences:

Benjamin is playing cars.
I'm hungry.
That's a butterfly/guitar/big truck/pick up/bicycle/insert item here.
Mama is sleeping (pronounced seeping).
Benjamin is a good boy.
I love you, Papa.
Obey Mama! (betraying a command commonly flung his direction...)
Papa's home.


Common phrases that are almost there:
Need help.
Benjamin need hold it.
Buckley eating.
Benjamin eat oatmeal?

This summer at Pioneer Park

Precious Moments

Mama will eventually get around to telling you what she did and who she met while in Rochester. But more important matters await. Like sharing which are her favorite photos from the weekend.

Topping the list are these shots of Emma (Benjamin's birthmother, if you are just tuning in) reading a bedtime story to our own little character.

They were oh-so-cozy and sweet.


Mama is so pleased to have such a cool birthmama to share her boy with. How could he go wrong with so much love?


More lovin' on the way...

Red-eye To Rochester, via New Jersey

It is true; Mama is finally getting to the Rochester visit. And there is also a Dem Clevelanders visit on which to report.

One bite at a time.

Here we go.

The flights to Rochester went pretty smoothly. We were happily surprised when Papa came to drop us off and the ticketing attendant wrote a pass to allow him past security.

Papa could spend another hour with his boy before we took off. It was fun to be sitting around an airport in the evening. So quiet and peaceful.

The flights themselves were fairly peaceful, although Benjamin only got about 4 hours of sleep total. We were able to nap, though, soon after arriving at the I-Family's house.

Benjamin was intrigued with the airplanes, of course.



Here is the only photo a Mama could manage to obtain of Benjamin actually on the plane. This was our New Jersey to Rochester leg - the one where we were sitting next to an empty seat but the flight attendants would not allow us to use the seat because Benjamin was officially a "lap child." Yes, even though if I were traveling alone and decided to lay across the two seats for a snooze, that would be permitted.

The bureaucracy, I tell you. Legalism at its finest.

More Rochester to come...

The Weeks That Got Away

Oh, dear. How long has it been since I last posted? Don't tell me.

Yes, yes, we got some great pics of our Rochester visit. Mostly because Emma ran around with my camera.

So why aren't they posted, you ask?

Well...my cousin and his family are moving in with us next week. Brent's mom and her two sisters are coming to town for a week long visit tomorrow. Brent and I are doing a triathlon on Sunday. In order to prepare for all this, I have been rearranging the house.

Benjamin got a newly painted and decorated room out of it all. In order to give the connecting rooms with the Jack 'n Jilll bathroom to Seth and Diana, we had to move Benjamin into what was our office. The real living room needed furniture (we bought a set of couches), the family room needed to become the work/craft/ casual eating room (still looking for a little wood table and 2 chairs for that room, and a couple of counter stools). Major rearranging. Major time suck.

Tonight Benjamin is sleeping in his new room, and it is a fine sight to behold! He finally has a decorated little boy's room. Pics will be available this week when Grandma Doro and the Great Aunts play with Benjamin giving me time to download photos.

This is a choppy entry, but I will do better next time. I need to go make dinner...it's 8:34 pm and we haven't eaten yet!

Art is Life

Prelude:
One of the first things I taught Benjamin was that paintings and batiks hanging on our walls are "art." When he started drawing and painting, er, scribbling and squishing, I told him he made art. We hung his pieces on a few walls and he would always walk by, point, and declare, "Art!"

Story 1:
Some weeks ago, Benjamin climbed up on the couch and drew some orange marks on the wall. I have not cleaned them off yet.

My friend was in town last weekend. She and I sat on the couch and talked for an hour, never acknowledging the stray crayon marks. Benjamin, tired of his drawing being thus disregarded, climbed up on the couch, looked Aimee straight in the eye, pointed to his orange marks, and announced, "Art! Benjamin art!"


Story 2:

After finishing his breakfast one morning, Benjamin told me, "Make art."

"You want to color?"

"Make art," he replied.

So I cleaned off his high chair tray and gave him some paper and crayons and he proceeded to make some art.

Potty Training: Day 1

We have officially (sort of) started potty training here at The P-Pod. You might remember that some months ago Mama brought home a kid-sized toilet. Though Little P did sit on it once a day and occasionally pee in it due to sheer luck, Mama did not take the training seriously. Until yesterday (sort of).

For all of his waking hours, Little P was naked as a jaybird. (It helped that the weather was a balmy 102 degrees and The P-Pod is not using air conditioning because we are choosing to live below our means in order to save aggressively for a while...that's another entry.) What Mama means is that it was a yucky, sweaty day (week! in fact) and Little P was probably very happy to have nothing but his own heiny between him and the paltry breeze.

I digress. He was naked. The little toilet was positioned in the kitchen for easy access. Mama read the Potty Time book with him and there was much playing with the toilet in anticipation of using it. Inn fact, the cool thing about this book is that it has photographs of human children doing potty activities. Sooooo much better than cartoons and drawings found in other books. Little P actually looked at the little boy on the potty and then got on his toilet and sat the same way.

This book also contains a magnetic chart with colorful, fun magnets that can be stuck on the day of the week whenever a child successfully does business in the toilet. Little P's eyes lit up over this. Though Mama knows she could do the same thing herself with stickers, for $12.95 and no further effort, this sounded like a good value. Let us emphasize no further effort. Mama needs these kinds of options lately.

DAY 1 STATS

# of hits: 1

# of misses on wood floor: 4

# of misses on carpet: 1

These statistics may look daunting, but Mama found that cleaning up a few ounces of pee off the floor in order to not have a piles of diapers to wash at the end of the day was so much easier! The misses also teach Mama about when Little P tends to need to go. Mama cannot for the life of her figure out what cues he gives prior to needing a toilet. Mama also learned that if Little P comes into the room saying "diaper" that's a sign that the need for a toilet already passed, and Mama needs to go look for a small puddle and possibly some track marks somewhere. Also, periodically sitting him on the toilet and reading a book has not yet produced any results.

So we're off and running. Mama will refrain from giving you daily updates and further gruesome details, mostly because she doesn't have time, and partially because it might be TMI. But you may hear if any significant challenges or progress are encountered.

Question: How have you all potty trained your children? Do tell!

And, just to make you cringe and laugh at the same time, here is an atrocious potty training video. Just don't show it to your kids. They might not ever be the same.

Today's Resourcefulness

Mama was a little distracted today. The P-Pod is hosting one of Escondido's finest brunches tomorrow, and Mama had a lot of work to get done: sweeping the patio, washing diapers, setting out all the dishes, and actually finding homes for all the items in those ubiquitous piles that insist on settling into every room.

So what did Little P do?

When Mama was outside sweeping, repotting some tired plants, and unsuccessfully trying to hide the fact that the backyard is a huge boring slab of concrete with an eroding hillside of dirt behind it, Benjamin climbed into the blow-up kiddie pool. It was full of water. He was shirtless, but still had on pants and a cloth diaper.

This was tremendous fun for a whole hour.

Later, after Mama brought the Igloo ice chest inside, she came around the corner to find Little P sitting within with his knees up to his chest, as if he were about to set sail on the high seas of the maple wood laminate floor. Mama continued her chores and further discovered that Little P had somhow moved the Igloo chest through two rooms and was placing his toys, very carefully, inside.

But this is not the end of Little P's ability to make fun out of anything. No. He had the recycling bin up his sleeve. Plastic bottles that once held fizzy water, leftover packaging from Trader Joe's frozen bon bons, and, until they were taken away, a couple of beer bottles (and oh, taking those away was a struggle) provided entertainment.

Then there was the endeavor to take all of Mama's cookbooks off the shelves, the journey into the upper drawer and the discovery of the box of birthday candles, the rearranging of the melamine kid plates that were set on the buffet.

He did help Mama wash the dog and water the flowers when he was not exploring on his own.

We won't even mention the dress-up box and the toy swords.

For those whose children are bored all the time, Mama is offering coaching sessions with Little P. For a limited time only. Call now.

Whiskers

A dog is an amazing creature, really. Fur, tail, wet nose, long tongue, undying loyalty and trust...and whiskers.

Little P's most recent fascination is with The Good Reverend Buckley's whiskers (pronounced wee-kers). For a dog with his general appearance, he seems to have a lot of them. But that's all right with Little P.

Little P's Cousins - the Newest Additions

What do the following children have in common?

A. Their fathers are brothers.
B. They were born in 2009.
C. They have an older brother around Benjamin's age.
D. All of the above.


The correct answer is D.

Meet Eli. He is the youngest of the bunch. He looks like his mama, but he has his daddy's dimples.
This is Ryah. She landed the mystery red hair, of which all the cousins are jealous. She's the middle child of this batch of cousins.

And here's Koa. She's a smiley kid. You might notice a resemblance between her hair and that of her older brother Amal - the boy whose awesome nappy head appears here.

If only Benjamin had a younger sibling to welcome to the world this year. We wouldn't have been able to plan the extended family better. But...he doesn't. For now he will just have to co-op these precious cherubs.

Tutu Envy

'Tis true. Every time we walk past the gymnastics area at the gym on the way to drop Little P off at childcare while Mama works out, we spy a lovely piece that looks something like this.

Little P simply cannot help himself. He detaches his hand from Mama's, strides over to the racks displaying sparkly leotards and tutus of all shapes and sizes, points to the lavender and silver tutu and declares, "Pretty."

Mama is OK with this. It is pretty. Many a young man would admire a lithe woman wearing one of these items. And Mama won't be one ounce concerned if Little P puts one on one day to ride around on his truck. He will give it up soon enough, no?

Midnight Toker

Or rather, Afternoon Nebulizer.

Two weeks ago, Little P developed a wheeze and a cough. He was fully into the swing of swim lessons, so I thought it had something to do with his time in the water. Thought it best to take him to the doctor to find out whether or not we should continue.

Oh dear.

First off, the doctor wanted me to believe that Little P most likely had asthma, even though it couldn't be diagnosed as such until he was three years old. For now, the technical term is bronchialitis, which can be a symptom of asthma, but can also be an allergic reaction or caused by a virus. I am positive it is the latter.

I pretty much protested the asthma thing (Not MY kid!) and convinced her, I'm sure, that I am an obnoxious parent in denial. But the thing is, he does not have a pattern yet of this type of thing. He was also showing signs of having caught a bug (runny nose, change in sleeping habits, general crankiness). Besides, there are so many environmental factors that have contributed to the rise in asthma that we just don't have here. But I digress.

What happened next was very much a blur. The blunt, fast-talking doctor left the room, and the frowning nurse reentered, carrying with her a box and some papers and a clear breathing mask with a fish face on it.

"So this will either be $17 or $88 depending on your insurance. You need to call them and find out," she announced, setting it down and launching into how I would use this thing called a "nebulizer". The box opened, she whizzed through a verbal pronouncement of the instructions with nary a pause to breathe, and my head spun wildly.

"Wait," I actually had to interrupt her. "You mean, I have to take home this machine?"

"This is your son's treatment."

Good lord. What if I didn't have $88 this month for a machine? I mean, I did, sort of, but I was in shock about how they had no regard for my absorption of this news.

"But this is something for kids with asthma."

"This is for all people living with asthma," she huffed.

"But he doesn't have asthma. The doctor said this should go away in 14 days or less."

"The nebulizer has kept thousands of people from having to be hospitalized."

"So I have to buy it?" I was confounded by how quickly a visit for a wheezy cough had turned into me buying a medical machine. "I mean, do you have any idea if I can buy one used?"

She looked at me as if I had 27 heads.

But here's the thing. I care about waste. I care about not buying things that are supposed to last and then throwing them out. I looked at this compressor and thought, there must be a way to get this thing used. And I was wondering: how many people ended up in an office like this and were whisked out the door with this piece of machinery, which, after two weeks was to become an addition to, no doubt, profound amounts of medical waste?

"I mean, isn't it kind of a waste?"

The frowning nurse blinked. I could see the look in her eyes. Who is this weirdo? Why won't she just do what she's told? Why can't I just get out of here in 4.2 minutes like I usually do?

"I suppose you could always keep it. You might need it again some day. Or you could give it to someone else who needs one."

Well, duh.

I just let her finish after that. It was clear that she did not understand me at all, and that I was only going too irritate her. And if I became too irritating, I could risk having someone note something in Little P's file which would only hurt our future relationship with any doctors in this office. So I smiled and said thanks and allowed myself to be scurried out the door with papers, and a mask, and an opened nebulizer compressor box sliding out of one arm, while holding onto Little P's hand with the other.

I am not a fan of Kaiser's pediatricians. This is the second one I've seen, and I feel like I am not respected as a parent with a brain of my own.

Let us leave that story now and progress to the curiosities at hand.

We hooked the machine up and Little P had to breathe the vapor out of the plastic pipe - the nebulizer. It took about ten minutes to get through a dose of medicine.

How does one keep a toddler still for 15 minutes?

Baby Einstein videos.

This is the compressor I did not want to buy. Of course I will keep it on hand for future wheezy coughs should they arise...

Oh, my. Here's where the photos get good. He looks like a little, dare I say, pothead.

He's chillin'. Chillin' with his pipe.

Seriously. I knew guys who looked like this a lot in college. And they weren't inhaling no bronchialitis prescription. No, no.

This image is almost disturbing. Almost. I'll just leave you with it.

P.S. Little P only needed about 8 doses before he was on the mend. To date, the nebulizer is waiting to be repacked and put in the closet.

Free Range Parenting...all the way

OK, I am going to have a hard time not doing this every time I read something cool on this site, but I just feel that this is a good entry to share on how being a Free Range Parent is not just about the big moments, but in the details of every day life. Enjoy.

Morning Angst

Oh, dear. Little P is having one of those mornings. One of those toddler mornings. One of those mornings that makes a mama go, "What the heck am I supposed to DO with this?" One of those mornings that makes a mama want to run for the hills, leaving the child screeching by himself in his crib.

New Moms WARNING: If anyone tells you that the "terrible twos" starts around two years old, they are lying. For all intents and purposes, the terrible twos start at about 18 months. I'm so sorry.

Believe me.

I am so very, very sorry.

Puppy dog tails and penises

Forgive me, but I am the mother of a boy and life is only going to get more graphic as time goes on.

So, we finally had to let Little P in on the truth. He does not have a tail. What he thinks is a tail is actually known by another name, and it serves a far different purpose. What forced this sweet innocence into the distant past?

This morning, Little P and The Papa and Buckley and I were lying around on the rug. Buckley stood up and Little P could see his peter. He grabbed it and said, "Tail." Then he grabbed Buckley's true tail and said, "Tail." The Papa saw that, though this was both hilarious and cute, it was time we straightened this misnomer out.

The Papa does not do anything with slight of hand or tact.

"No, Benjamin. That's a penis."
"Penis," said Little P.
"And that's a tail."
"Tail," said Little P.
"And that's a penis," said The Papa, pointing at Little P's diaper region.
"Penis," said Little P.

So this will be fun when Little P starts applying his new knowledge in a variety of situations as he usually does. I can just see it now...some male friend comes over for dinner; Little P points to the place between the man's legs and says...

18-Month Stats

31" tall
26 pounds heavy
wearing size 6 shoes (loosely)
still squeezing into 2T clothes
except pajamas, in which he's a 3T
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

During his check-up, the doctor asked me how many words Little P could say. I answered, "Four or five..." and he immediately started typing that into the notes before the final word came out of my mouth. "...dozen."

He stopped typing and looked at me. Was I for real, he was thinking, I'm sure of it. So I began naming the things he could say: "clock, watch, shoes, chin, eyes, ears, toes, high five, bottom, mask, pretty, sit, stand up, stars, butterfly, blue, sun, moon, water, toilet, airplane, helicopter, motorcycle, blueberries, pizza, monkey, wheel, chair, thirsty, hungry, pretty, sleepy, fan, brown, towel, climbing, rocking, painting and paintbrush, good morning, night, shirt, fingers, thank you, you're welcome, please, frog, swing, swim, slide, run, cup, spoon, cut, eating, trash, dirty, horse, gym, camera, museum, park, art, flowers, tree, fish, ocean, get down, nice, come out, diaper, draw, color, crayons, hair, tail, funny, happy..." and so on. That is truly just the beginning.

In reality, Little P probably says more like 120 words (he knows at least a dozen names alone), but I didn't think the doctor would believe me. He already doesn't like that I refused to get Little P immunized for chicken pox and rotavirus, or that I believe the hives I described to him are a food allergy related to strawberries. (He told me they were something waterbourne. So that day I went home and fed Little P strawberries. The following morning he had those hives again. Excuse me, doc??) So I appear to be a hippy mom, a nutter, and I hid the glory of Little P's verbosity under a tarp. For a pediatrician.

Back to words. Now Little P also says "see car" when he sees a car. Or "climb up" when he wants to climb. He heard a dinging sound at the doctor's office and called it "sic" (he still hasn't got the first syllable of music down). He is starting to count and recognize a few letters. We can count to 10 together. It goes something like this:

Mama: 1
LP: 2
Mama: 3
LP: 6
Mama: 4
LP: 5
Mama: 6
LP: 8
Mama: 7
LP: 10
Mama: 8
LP: 9
Mama: 10!
LP: 10!!!!!

So, we're getting there.

I'm Mama P and I'm a Free Range Parent.

"...basing our parenting decisions on worst-case scenarios does not make us better parents. It makes us the parents of kids who don’t get to do much." Lenore Skenazy, mother who let her nine-year-old son take the subway home in NYC which raised enormous controversy. She's rad. You can read her blog here: Free Range Kids.

On the Tracks

This past week The P-Pod's dear friend Tyler came to visit. As it were, he arrived and left via the train, giving Little P the grand opportunity to experience this fine hunk of steel up close and personally. And, no, we're not talking about Tyler. (Sorry man, you're no match for a train.)

Little people look so cute standing between the legs of big people and their luggage, don't they?

Little P plans his great escape as the men attempt to have one last conversation. He was on a dead run soon after this picture was taken.

Captured! In time to say goodbye to Tyler for an indefinite period of time. Sniff.

There he goes...

The train is picking up speed, clicking and clacking at a righteous pace. For a little boy with an engine obsession, this is a glorious moment.

Goodbye, Tyler! Goodbye, train!