About a half-hour ago, Caleb started bugging me for juice. "Juice, Mommy, I want juice. May I have juice, pleeeease?" (with hands folded and pleading eyes). I rarely give Caleb juice because I feel water is a better option. But he is so darn cute and it's Friday and I'm so darn tired. So yeah, juice sounded like a fine beverage choice.
I was unsure if we even had any but then remembered that there was a little bit of OJ on the bottom shelf of the fridge. I told Caleb he could have his juice and I headed toward the kitchen only to discover that we were, in fact, out of juice. Bummer. Being a 2-year-old and all, Caleb doesn't deal so well with being told "yes" and then suddenly being told "no," regardless of circumstances. So, I spot the margarita mix on the top shelf of the fridge and decide quickly that it's a fair substitute, kinda like lemonade or well, limeade I guess. Because again, it's Friday and I'm tired and I want to avoid the meltdown that would occur if I were to tell him there's no juice remaining.
So I pour some margarita mix into his cup and fill the remaining half of his cup with water. Yes, even though he's almost 3, I typically dilute his juice on the rare occasion that he has any. Again, because I believe water to be the healthiest option. I'm conscientious like that. Anyway, I hand him his cup and start to screw the cap back on the margarita mix. As I'm doing so, I think that it smells a little "off." I look at the label. OH MY GOD!!!! I realize at this moment that it is not margarita mix but rather pre-mixed margarita, as in tequila-already-included. Um...what?!?? I snatched the cup so quickly from Caleb that I'm positive he didn't even manage to take a single sip.
This explains two things:
1. The importance of reading product labels carefully, prior to consuming said product.
-AND-
2. The reason the couple margaritas I had over the past several months (I drink alcohol even less frequently than I allow Caleb to have juice, both for the same reason) seemed so strong when Matt mixed them in the traditional fashion using the mix plus tequila.
Well, crisis averted but now I have a toddler standing wide-eyed, in shock because he's suddenly and abruptly juice-less. So, I squeeze Caleb an orange, add some water, and offer that to him. This satisfies him. Imminent meltdown? Averted! And then what do I do? Well, I drink the watered-down margarita straight out of his sippy-cup of course. Because again, it's Friday and I'm tired and I almost just got my 2-year-old drunk. So much for conscientious, huh?
Cheers!
Friday, March 30, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I Stand Corrected
Caleb has never struggled with "finding his voice" as some would call it. He has been loud and proud to say what's on his mind since he began talking. Recently, he has taken to making known when someone is error. Typically, that person is me by default because I'm the fluently-speaking person he is around most often (Gideon is starting to tally up a little vocabulary though). You'd like some examples? I thought you'd never ask.
-After listing a wide range of baby animals and telling me what action he was imagining they were performing, Caleb seemed at a loss for ideas. I offered, "How 'bout a baby penguin?" He liked that, so I continued. "A baby penguin walking." Caleb looked at me with disapproval, slapped his hands straight down to his sides, wiggled his body side to side, then corrected me, "They waddle Mommy, penguins waddle, like this, not walk."
-After I told Gideon that the large, plastic insect he was carrying around is a "bug," (a word Gideon can manage to repeat after me) Caleb says matter-of-factly, "That's a dragonfly." *sigh
-Right after bonking his brother on the head with a play-kitchen utensil, Caleb was placed in timeout. I explained to him his offense, "Caleb, you are in timeout because you hit your brother in the head with a spoon and that is not okay." Caleb, with head hung in feigned guilt, peered at me from under his eyebrows and chirped, "It's a ladle." Touche.
He also corrects others. During a play-date with some friends at the park, Caleb picked up a large, flat rock, held it to his ear, and spoke into it, presumably to an imaginary friend on the other end. My friend asked him, "Is that a phone, Caleb?" to which Caleb replied, "No, it's just a rock."
And it doesn't stop there. He corrects our behavior as well. "Mommy, don't toss that, no throwing in the house!" or "You need to share" as Matt and I sit on the couch, playfully yanking the shared blanket back and forth.
This kid is a trip! And I can't help but love him for it!
-After listing a wide range of baby animals and telling me what action he was imagining they were performing, Caleb seemed at a loss for ideas. I offered, "How 'bout a baby penguin?" He liked that, so I continued. "A baby penguin walking." Caleb looked at me with disapproval, slapped his hands straight down to his sides, wiggled his body side to side, then corrected me, "They waddle Mommy, penguins waddle, like this, not walk."
-After I told Gideon that the large, plastic insect he was carrying around is a "bug," (a word Gideon can manage to repeat after me) Caleb says matter-of-factly, "That's a dragonfly." *sigh
-Right after bonking his brother on the head with a play-kitchen utensil, Caleb was placed in timeout. I explained to him his offense, "Caleb, you are in timeout because you hit your brother in the head with a spoon and that is not okay." Caleb, with head hung in feigned guilt, peered at me from under his eyebrows and chirped, "It's a ladle." Touche.
He also corrects others. During a play-date with some friends at the park, Caleb picked up a large, flat rock, held it to his ear, and spoke into it, presumably to an imaginary friend on the other end. My friend asked him, "Is that a phone, Caleb?" to which Caleb replied, "No, it's just a rock."
And it doesn't stop there. He corrects our behavior as well. "Mommy, don't toss that, no throwing in the house!" or "You need to share" as Matt and I sit on the couch, playfully yanking the shared blanket back and forth.
This kid is a trip! And I can't help but love him for it!
 |
| Yes, those are his underwear on his head. This is the most recent, decent, uploaded photo I have at the moment. |
Friday, March 9, 2012
Attachment Issues
It's not news that Caleb becomes strongly attached to some weird things. He's a passionate kid, but this time he went overboard. Several months ago on a Daddy/son car ride to the grocery store, Matt introduced Caleb to a particular song by asking, "Do you wanna rock?". The song title eludes me at the moment but that is unimportant. Anyway, because Matt is so fun and spunky, he played said song for Caleb while banging the air-drums and energetically slamming the air-cymbals on cue (all while driving, the man must be a superhero). Caleb ate that up! Now, Caleb imitates this each time he hears the song. Cute, right?
Well, it was cute right up until the point where my two-year old became a musical backseat tyrant. Since then, each time we're in the car and the car starts rolling Caleb says, "I wanna rock!" to which I generally oblige because I believe in choosing my battles. But sometimes I'm just plain sick of the song and on a 30 minute drive, listening to the same song more than 4 times makes me consider veering off the road into a tree.
So, I attempt a multitude of tactics. I stealthily stop the CD and flip on the radio while in mid-conversation with Caleb hoping that he won't catch onto my switcheroo. No luck! "I wanna rock, I don't like this rock, I want different rock!" comes blaring in my ears from behind. I try to find a station playing music in the same genre as the song Caleb would like to hear, nope. Same response except louder. Then I try to make it fun, "Listen Caleb, it's party-dance music" as I whip my head back and forth and try to look like I'm at the hottest rave in town. Sometimes this will distract him for a little while but then Caleb remembers that he has an opinion and he wants it to be heard. So King Caleb begins screaming at the top of his lungs from his five-point harnessed, cow-print throne.
At this point, the whole thing has become a parenting issue, right? I can't possibly give in now even if I'd really like to because, well that would only teach him that yelling and being rude gets him exactly what he wants. Blast! I hate those parenting moments where I can hear my conscience advising me to do the "responsible" thing when all I want to do is make. the. noise. stop! So, like the award-winning mom I aim to be, I choose to make my child suffer through the remainder of the car ride with no music at all. Not that I didn't try. I did the whole, "It's Mommy's turn to choose a song, I'll listen to this then we'll listen to your music." And the "Caleb, your choices are to listen to Mommy's music or listen to nothing at all." Caleb then gives me the run-around, "okay, no music," I turn the music off, "NO, NO, NO, ROCK, I WANNA ROCK! I DON'T WANT THIS SONG!", I turn my music back on, "NO. OTHER. ROCK. MOMMY!" Then through gritted teeth, "Caleb, if you do not stop screaming, I will turn the music off altogether and we will have no music for the rest of the car ride."
Oh, I should let you know that through all of this, Gideon is sleeping. I want to keep him sleeping. I'm becoming angrier thinking that Caleb's antics might awaken him. But finally I turn the music off, forced to follow through on my threats. You know, for the sake of consistency and what not. I've read that's the key to discipline. I'd like to throw that key onto the railroad tracks and watch it get crushed by a fast moving train at this point but I journey forth in my consistent-motherly way. This means I sat through a full fifteen minutes of my son screaming, like horror movie screaming, at me for the remainder of our drive home. It was tortuous for both of us. Someone please give me a sticker on my star chart for being sticking to my guns, anyone? Please. At least then it would feel somewhat worth it.
After that horrific incident, I now just let the kid be my maestro. I don't really fight it. I can't. I surrender. It's fine. I'll listen to the same song repeatedly for the rest of my earthly life as long as I don't have to endure the screaming again. Recently, on a lengthy drive home from a play date, Caleb of course wanted "to rock!" but then he fell asleep. After about five minutes, I stopped the CD and turned on the radio. Caleb roused from his sleep to demand his song in a rather groggy mumble. I promptly turned his song back on, he promptly dozed back to sleep, and then I enjoyed the remainder of the drive in peace. Can you blame me?
Well, it was cute right up until the point where my two-year old became a musical backseat tyrant. Since then, each time we're in the car and the car starts rolling Caleb says, "I wanna rock!" to which I generally oblige because I believe in choosing my battles. But sometimes I'm just plain sick of the song and on a 30 minute drive, listening to the same song more than 4 times makes me consider veering off the road into a tree.
So, I attempt a multitude of tactics. I stealthily stop the CD and flip on the radio while in mid-conversation with Caleb hoping that he won't catch onto my switcheroo. No luck! "I wanna rock, I don't like this rock, I want different rock!" comes blaring in my ears from behind. I try to find a station playing music in the same genre as the song Caleb would like to hear, nope. Same response except louder. Then I try to make it fun, "Listen Caleb, it's party-dance music" as I whip my head back and forth and try to look like I'm at the hottest rave in town. Sometimes this will distract him for a little while but then Caleb remembers that he has an opinion and he wants it to be heard. So King Caleb begins screaming at the top of his lungs from his five-point harnessed, cow-print throne.
At this point, the whole thing has become a parenting issue, right? I can't possibly give in now even if I'd really like to because, well that would only teach him that yelling and being rude gets him exactly what he wants. Blast! I hate those parenting moments where I can hear my conscience advising me to do the "responsible" thing when all I want to do is make. the. noise. stop! So, like the award-winning mom I aim to be, I choose to make my child suffer through the remainder of the car ride with no music at all. Not that I didn't try. I did the whole, "It's Mommy's turn to choose a song, I'll listen to this then we'll listen to your music." And the "Caleb, your choices are to listen to Mommy's music or listen to nothing at all." Caleb then gives me the run-around, "okay, no music," I turn the music off, "NO, NO, NO, ROCK, I WANNA ROCK! I DON'T WANT THIS SONG!", I turn my music back on, "NO. OTHER. ROCK. MOMMY!" Then through gritted teeth, "Caleb, if you do not stop screaming, I will turn the music off altogether and we will have no music for the rest of the car ride."
Oh, I should let you know that through all of this, Gideon is sleeping. I want to keep him sleeping. I'm becoming angrier thinking that Caleb's antics might awaken him. But finally I turn the music off, forced to follow through on my threats. You know, for the sake of consistency and what not. I've read that's the key to discipline. I'd like to throw that key onto the railroad tracks and watch it get crushed by a fast moving train at this point but I journey forth in my consistent-motherly way. This means I sat through a full fifteen minutes of my son screaming, like horror movie screaming, at me for the remainder of our drive home. It was tortuous for both of us. Someone please give me a sticker on my star chart for being sticking to my guns, anyone? Please. At least then it would feel somewhat worth it.
After that horrific incident, I now just let the kid be my maestro. I don't really fight it. I can't. I surrender. It's fine. I'll listen to the same song repeatedly for the rest of my earthly life as long as I don't have to endure the screaming again. Recently, on a lengthy drive home from a play date, Caleb of course wanted "to rock!" but then he fell asleep. After about five minutes, I stopped the CD and turned on the radio. Caleb roused from his sleep to demand his song in a rather groggy mumble. I promptly turned his song back on, he promptly dozed back to sleep, and then I enjoyed the remainder of the drive in peace. Can you blame me?
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