We are in dire need of Rob's nemesis, The Snail!
As he read a bedtime story to Jay, Rob noticed him rubbing his fingers together, molding a big booger. When Rob wiped it away, Jay threw a major tantrum . Then, suddenly, he stopped screaming and calmly told Rob, "That's ok. I get another one." And he proceeded to do just that.
Showing posts with label bedtime. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bedtime. Show all posts
Friday, December 19, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
A Monumental Night
Jay is sleeping in a toddler bed tonight.
Cole read his bedtime story to me (parts of Hop on Pop), and he's wearing his undies to bed instead of a pull-up.
Wow! What a night!
Cole read his bedtime story to me (parts of Hop on Pop), and he's wearing his undies to bed instead of a pull-up.
Wow! What a night!
Monday, July 21, 2008
The Wisdom of Four Year Olds
At four years old, Cole seems wise beyond his years. He can tell you Saturn is his favorite planet, the birds flying overhead are vultures, and he wants three more crackers so he'll have five. So I'm always surprised by the little things that remind me he is only four.
Last night, for example. As we snuggled in his bed before lights out, he asked how old I was. We talked about the ages of people we know and I told him that sometimes people live to be 100 years old.
He looked at me with wide eyes and asked, "Where do they live?"
I told him that it usually depends on their health and that there are special places they can live where people take care of them.
"Can we meet someone who is 100 years old?" he asked, with true reverence in his voice.
"Sure," I replied. "We can visit a nursing home and bring some of your drawings."
"How big is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"How do they fit in the building?"
Suddenly, I realized he didn't know that people stop growing.
I imagined a group of elderly people as tall as redwoods in rocking chairs on a gigantic front porch. Instead of seeing them as society does, with the useful part of their lives over, I saw them as Cole did--strong and powerful, worthy of our awe.
Sometimes I hate introducing him to reality.
Last night, for example. As we snuggled in his bed before lights out, he asked how old I was. We talked about the ages of people we know and I told him that sometimes people live to be 100 years old.
He looked at me with wide eyes and asked, "Where do they live?"
I told him that it usually depends on their health and that there are special places they can live where people take care of them.
"Can we meet someone who is 100 years old?" he asked, with true reverence in his voice.
"Sure," I replied. "We can visit a nursing home and bring some of your drawings."
"How big is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"How do they fit in the building?"
Suddenly, I realized he didn't know that people stop growing.
I imagined a group of elderly people as tall as redwoods in rocking chairs on a gigantic front porch. Instead of seeing them as society does, with the useful part of their lives over, I saw them as Cole did--strong and powerful, worthy of our awe.
Sometimes I hate introducing him to reality.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Update to Bedtime Drama
The other night picking the bedtime book to read to Cole seemed too easy. “You pick, Mama,” he said graciously, and I was surprised and heartened by his offer. I chose Library Lion. “Noooo. Not that one.”
“OK, how about If You Give a Mouse a Cookie?”
“Noooo.” He sighed like I imagine I sigh at his typical lunchtime choices (a plain bagel, a plain hotdog bun, or plain Cheerios).
“Harold and the Purple Crayon?”
“Nooo. We read that one before.”
“Why don’t you pick then?”
“No, Mama. I said you get to pick tonight.”
And on and on we went until, finally, I picked out the book he wanted to read in the first place.
“OK, how about If You Give a Mouse a Cookie?”
“Noooo.” He sighed like I imagine I sigh at his typical lunchtime choices (a plain bagel, a plain hotdog bun, or plain Cheerios).
“Harold and the Purple Crayon?”
“Nooo. We read that one before.”
“Why don’t you pick then?”
“No, Mama. I said you get to pick tonight.”
And on and on we went until, finally, I picked out the book he wanted to read in the first place.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Bedtime Drama
Bedtime with Cole is a test of patience and control. I am constantly amazed at the ways in which he drags it out. Usually, it starts well enough—the promise of a bedtime story sends him scampering up the stairs. Unfortunately, choosing the story is not so easy.
He stands at the bookcase for what seems like eternity sliding books off and on the shelf. I once moved half the books into the closet in an attempt to make the decision less difficult, but then, after contemplating each book on the shelf, he asked to see the books in the closet, and we went through the same agonizing process but this time with me lifting his 35 pounds up to the closet shelf.
After we read the chosen book, he looks up at me and sweetly says, “Can we wead anoder one, pwease?” And, of course, I say yes because I love reading to him, the warmth of him nestled in my lap, and the smell of his hair as it tickles my nose (can he really be tall enough for his hair to tickle my nose?). Then I realize that I’ve fallen, once again, for his ploy to delay bedtime.
Trying to regain the upper hand I say, “If you brush your teeth quickly, we can read another short book.” He jumps up and does his hilarious cartoon wind-up then yells, “I’m fast as a rocket. Swoosh.” It’s really funny because he runs like Phoebe from Friends with arms and legs flailing in all directions. We get the bathroom business done, then race back and read the second story.
Next, I struggle to put a diaper and pajamas on a squirmy boy while he is laughing outrageously and trying to fall off the desk/changing table on purpose. As his legs swing around wildly, one whacks me in the face, which is even more hilarious to him than the squirming, and results in more kicking, flailing, and laughing. I am not amused. I silently curse Rob who always roughhouses with him, even minutes before bedtime.
Somehow I get him in the PJs and safely in bed. He had been sleeping in a toddler bed with a tent over it; however, one night last week he came out of his room and announced that he has to sleep in our bed because his feet hang off the end of his. We immediately moved him into the double bed that was our guest bed (despite the tempting idea of having him as a roommate). He doesn’t want to use the big blanket or bedspread; instead, he curls up in the middle of the bed with his little, crib-size quilt. He looks so small!
I can’t put the quilt on him until he is ready, which takes much tossing and turning. If I get impatient and toss the quilt on him before he has reached the perfect position, he tells me that I can’t put the “bwankeyette” on before he says so. And he won’t say so until after a few more minutes of squirming. I’ve discovered that it goes much faster if I can wait for him to settle down on his own. I try very hard not to sigh or roll my eyes at his attempts at control.
Once he is in bed and covered, we move on to the light. There is a fine line between too dark and too light, and only Cole knows where it is. He stares intently at the light fixture saying, “Lighter….darker….a little lighter….darker,” and so on and so forth as I spin the dimmer switch. Sometimes he points up for lighter and down for darker. Recently he started saying “warmer” and “colder.” Most nights I swear the light ends up exactly the same as when we started.
Then we both say, “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite” and I try to close the door.
“WAIT! I want the fan on.”
“WAIT! I need something to drink. My body is soooo thirsty.”
“WAIT! The light is shining in Kitty Cat Cat’s eyes.”
“WAIT! Could you rub my back?”
“WAIT! My nose is stuffy. I need the humidifier.”
Finally, I firmly say goodnight and shut the door. If we are lucky, he is down for the night. If not, we hear his little voice come down the stairs. His best reason for getting out of bed came a few night ago:
“Excuse me, Mommy. I have earwax.”
Tonight was a good night, which means I’ll get to post this. I have hope that one day he’ll fall asleep much easier. Of course when that day sneaks up on me, I’ll be upset that he doesn’t need me as much. Another Catch-22 of motherhood.
He stands at the bookcase for what seems like eternity sliding books off and on the shelf. I once moved half the books into the closet in an attempt to make the decision less difficult, but then, after contemplating each book on the shelf, he asked to see the books in the closet, and we went through the same agonizing process but this time with me lifting his 35 pounds up to the closet shelf.
After we read the chosen book, he looks up at me and sweetly says, “Can we wead anoder one, pwease?” And, of course, I say yes because I love reading to him, the warmth of him nestled in my lap, and the smell of his hair as it tickles my nose (can he really be tall enough for his hair to tickle my nose?). Then I realize that I’ve fallen, once again, for his ploy to delay bedtime.
Trying to regain the upper hand I say, “If you brush your teeth quickly, we can read another short book.” He jumps up and does his hilarious cartoon wind-up then yells, “I’m fast as a rocket. Swoosh.” It’s really funny because he runs like Phoebe from Friends with arms and legs flailing in all directions. We get the bathroom business done, then race back and read the second story.
Next, I struggle to put a diaper and pajamas on a squirmy boy while he is laughing outrageously and trying to fall off the desk/changing table on purpose. As his legs swing around wildly, one whacks me in the face, which is even more hilarious to him than the squirming, and results in more kicking, flailing, and laughing. I am not amused. I silently curse Rob who always roughhouses with him, even minutes before bedtime.
Somehow I get him in the PJs and safely in bed. He had been sleeping in a toddler bed with a tent over it; however, one night last week he came out of his room and announced that he has to sleep in our bed because his feet hang off the end of his. We immediately moved him into the double bed that was our guest bed (despite the tempting idea of having him as a roommate). He doesn’t want to use the big blanket or bedspread; instead, he curls up in the middle of the bed with his little, crib-size quilt. He looks so small!
I can’t put the quilt on him until he is ready, which takes much tossing and turning. If I get impatient and toss the quilt on him before he has reached the perfect position, he tells me that I can’t put the “bwankeyette” on before he says so. And he won’t say so until after a few more minutes of squirming. I’ve discovered that it goes much faster if I can wait for him to settle down on his own. I try very hard not to sigh or roll my eyes at his attempts at control.
Once he is in bed and covered, we move on to the light. There is a fine line between too dark and too light, and only Cole knows where it is. He stares intently at the light fixture saying, “Lighter….darker….a little lighter….darker,” and so on and so forth as I spin the dimmer switch. Sometimes he points up for lighter and down for darker. Recently he started saying “warmer” and “colder.” Most nights I swear the light ends up exactly the same as when we started.
Then we both say, “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite” and I try to close the door.
“WAIT! I want the fan on.”
“WAIT! I need something to drink. My body is soooo thirsty.”
“WAIT! The light is shining in Kitty Cat Cat’s eyes.”
“WAIT! Could you rub my back?”
“WAIT! My nose is stuffy. I need the humidifier.”
Finally, I firmly say goodnight and shut the door. If we are lucky, he is down for the night. If not, we hear his little voice come down the stairs. His best reason for getting out of bed came a few night ago:
“Excuse me, Mommy. I have earwax.”
Tonight was a good night, which means I’ll get to post this. I have hope that one day he’ll fall asleep much easier. Of course when that day sneaks up on me, I’ll be upset that he doesn’t need me as much. Another Catch-22 of motherhood.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Another Conversation with Cole: Mom Gets Outsmarted by a Three-Year-Old
Cole was using the potty before bedtime last night and laughing about pee. Then as I was putting on his night-time diaper he exclaimed, "I pee in your mouth!"
Me: Cole that is not a very nice thing to say. You shouldn't talk to people like that.
(slight pause)
Cole: But Mommy, I was talking about the pea you eat!
Me: Cole that is not a very nice thing to say. You shouldn't talk to people like that.
(slight pause)
Cole: But Mommy, I was talking about the pea you eat!
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