We've been overrun with spiders lately, and I happen to have a touch of arachnophobia. So naturally, I screamed when I went to pull something out of the hamper and a sizable spider scrambled up and tried to crawl on my hand. Theo leapt into superhero mode and donned a pair of my large tennis shoes. "I know how to get the spider, Mommy!" he announced. Seeing his large footwear, I assumed he was going to step on it. "Oh, you do?" I replied. "Yes! We'll put a booger on it!"
Okay, that's a tactic I hadn't considered....
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Monday, July 8, 2013
How to Care for a Baby
Evidently, Theo is the authority on baby care, as demonstrated in this conversation from this morning:
Theo: Mom, I know how to take care of Sammy.
Me: You do, huh?
Theo: Yes. I do, but you and Daddy don't.
Me: Really? I think Daddy and I are pretty good at it.
Theo: I hug and kiss Sammy and talk to him. I know how to take care of him.
Me: Ah, those are all good things--but you do realize that Daddy and I do those things for Sammy too, right?
I'm not sure what Theo thinks we do for Sam, but evidently it doesn't involve nearly enough kissing, hugging, or talking to him!
Theo: Mom, I know how to take care of Sammy.
Me: You do, huh?
Theo: Yes. I do, but you and Daddy don't.
Me: Really? I think Daddy and I are pretty good at it.
Theo: I hug and kiss Sammy and talk to him. I know how to take care of him.
Me: Ah, those are all good things--but you do realize that Daddy and I do those things for Sammy too, right?
I'm not sure what Theo thinks we do for Sam, but evidently it doesn't involve nearly enough kissing, hugging, or talking to him!
Why Theo Must Live
Conversation with Theo this morning:
Theo (pointing to a bottle): What's that?
Me: Pine-sol. It's poison, so leave it alone.
Theo: Don't ever, ever drink that, or you'll die!
Me: That's entirely possible, so good plan--don't ever drink it.
Theo (matter-of-factly): Yeah, I don't want to die. People love me. They love my curly hair. I can't die.
He has a healthy self-image. Though I corrected him and told him that people love him because he's such a nice little boy, and the curls are simply an added bonus....
Theo (pointing to a bottle): What's that?
Me: Pine-sol. It's poison, so leave it alone.
Theo: Don't ever, ever drink that, or you'll die!
Me: That's entirely possible, so good plan--don't ever drink it.
Theo (matter-of-factly): Yeah, I don't want to die. People love me. They love my curly hair. I can't die.
He has a healthy self-image. Though I corrected him and told him that people love him because he's such a nice little boy, and the curls are simply an added bonus....
Special Occasions Deserve Poison
Theo: Mom, what are you doing?
Me: Cleaning the bathroom.
Theo: Can I help??
Me: Sure--you can wash the mirror. Here's the Windex and a paper towel.
Theo: Is Windex poison??
Me: Yes, so be careful where you spray it.
Theo: Oh boy, Mom! It's a very, very special occasion today! I get to use poison!!
The things that thrill five-year-olds. He was so excited to "use poison" that he completely forgot I had promised him some iPad time. :-)
Me: Cleaning the bathroom.
Theo: Can I help??
Me: Sure--you can wash the mirror. Here's the Windex and a paper towel.
Theo: Is Windex poison??
Me: Yes, so be careful where you spray it.
Theo: Oh boy, Mom! It's a very, very special occasion today! I get to use poison!!
The things that thrill five-year-olds. He was so excited to "use poison" that he completely forgot I had promised him some iPad time. :-)
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Well, They ARE Called Potato Bugs...
Today, we encountered a roly-poly on our walk.
Me: Theo, look! A roly-poly! Have you seen one of these before?
Theo: No. What is it?
Me: It's a little bug that rolls itself into a ball when it gets scared. It's also called a potato bug.
Theo: Well, can we eat it?
Hmmm, perhaps in some cultures...
Me: Theo, look! A roly-poly! Have you seen one of these before?
Theo: No. What is it?
Me: It's a little bug that rolls itself into a ball when it gets scared. It's also called a potato bug.
Theo: Well, can we eat it?
Hmmm, perhaps in some cultures...
He's So Good for My Self-Image
Theo's been afraid of a lot of things lately. I'm not sure whether it's a five-year-old stage or what, but various things have been freaking him out. Including, apparently, me. While I was getting the boys in the car today, we had this conversation:
Theo: Mom! Mom, I was so scared!
Me: What? When?
Theo: When you walked around the car, Mom. I was so scared because you looked like a witch!
Hmmm, time for a new hairstyle, maybe? Witch chic is not exactly the look I was going for....
Theo: Mom! Mom, I was so scared!
Me: What? When?
Theo: When you walked around the car, Mom. I was so scared because you looked like a witch!
Hmmm, time for a new hairstyle, maybe? Witch chic is not exactly the look I was going for....
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Matters of Interpretation
Last night, we got a firsthand look at how differently a five-year-old boy and a 37-year-old man interpret the same situation.
Theo used to go to bed with no fuss—it was lovely. But lately, he has been coming out of his room a zillion times after he goes to bed. It's always something—a bathroom trip, a drink of water, a question he needs to ask us, etc. To combat this, we first tried the good old-fashioned punishment method: If you come out of your room again, we add five minutes to the time you can get up tomorrow. (He's normally allowed to come out of his room at 7 a.m.) That didn't work--the following morning ended up having at least half an hour of screaming and protesting.
Okay, maybe we should've expected that: Consequences are supposed to be immediate. So we tried to take things away if he came out of his room after bedtime: Okay, if you come out of your room again, we take away your stars (which project on his ceiling for 30 minutes). That didn't work either—tantrums, screaming, frustration for both Theo and us. No good.
Plan C: Positive reinforcement. Always the best plan, according to "the experts," but it tends to backfire with Theo. Nevertheless, we tried it: If you stay in bed calmly for 15 minutes, we'll come in and read you a chapter from your book. Usually if he could make it 15 minutes, he'd stay in bed after that. Only problem is, sometimes he'd fall asleep before the 15 minutes had passed, and then he'd wake up furious at 2 a.m. and demand that we read a chapter from the book to him. (Naturally, we didn't—but it did result in a lot of fussing at 2 a.m. Trying the "we'll read it to you in the morning" trick didn't work.)
So we shortened the 15 minutes: If you stay in bed calmly for 10 minutes, we'll come in and read a story to you. Only problem is, last night I had to participate in an online chat with my students from 7 to 8. So Chris was in charge of bedtime for both boys. And Sam needed to go to bed right after he put Theo to bed—he was sick and fussy. So we told Theo that Chris might take a little extra time getting to his story, because Sammy was sick and needed to go to bed, and it might take a few extra minutes. And Mommy was working and couldn't be bothered.
You can guess where this is going: Within a few minutes of Chris closing Theo's door and going in to put Sam to bed (which takes about 20 minutes sometimes), Theo was out in the hallway asking for his story. He started very politely, and I poked my head out of the office and said, "You're going to have to wait longer tonight, buddy. Daddy's putting Sam to bed and I'm working. Go back in your room, and I'll send Daddy in when he's finished putting Sam to bed. But you need to stay in your room—I can't help you right now."
That didn't work. He continued to stand out in the hall and demand his story. I decided to ignore him. My students were firing questions at me, and I couldn't be interrupted. Besides, ignoring negative behavior is a valid strategy, right? Most often, they're trying to get attention.
He got louder and louder and more demanding. Chris came out and told him, calmly, to go to bed. Theo demanded his story. Chris calmly told him that he could try again tomorrow night for a story, but tonight he wouldn't get one because he hadn't stayed in his room, which he knew he had to do.
World War III erupted. Screaming. Crying. Demanding his story. Chris held firm and kept repeating that it was bedtime, and there was no story tonight. We've been accused of explaining too much to Theo, so these days we just repeat a simple answer over and over. And so, no matter what Theo tried (and he tried many angles), Chris kept repeating, "It's bedtime. We're not doing a story tonight. You can try again tomorrow."
Finally, Theo angrily said, "I keep saying different things, and you keep saying the same thing!"
Chris replied, "Yes--and what does that tell you?" He was assuming, of course, that the answer would be, "That I can't have a story."
Nope. Theo promptly answered, "That you're not listening to me!"
I see the parenting approach of "keep your answers simple and consistent" means different things to parent and child, in this case!
Theo used to go to bed with no fuss—it was lovely. But lately, he has been coming out of his room a zillion times after he goes to bed. It's always something—a bathroom trip, a drink of water, a question he needs to ask us, etc. To combat this, we first tried the good old-fashioned punishment method: If you come out of your room again, we add five minutes to the time you can get up tomorrow. (He's normally allowed to come out of his room at 7 a.m.) That didn't work--the following morning ended up having at least half an hour of screaming and protesting.
Okay, maybe we should've expected that: Consequences are supposed to be immediate. So we tried to take things away if he came out of his room after bedtime: Okay, if you come out of your room again, we take away your stars (which project on his ceiling for 30 minutes). That didn't work either—tantrums, screaming, frustration for both Theo and us. No good.
Plan C: Positive reinforcement. Always the best plan, according to "the experts," but it tends to backfire with Theo. Nevertheless, we tried it: If you stay in bed calmly for 15 minutes, we'll come in and read you a chapter from your book. Usually if he could make it 15 minutes, he'd stay in bed after that. Only problem is, sometimes he'd fall asleep before the 15 minutes had passed, and then he'd wake up furious at 2 a.m. and demand that we read a chapter from the book to him. (Naturally, we didn't—but it did result in a lot of fussing at 2 a.m. Trying the "we'll read it to you in the morning" trick didn't work.)
So we shortened the 15 minutes: If you stay in bed calmly for 10 minutes, we'll come in and read a story to you. Only problem is, last night I had to participate in an online chat with my students from 7 to 8. So Chris was in charge of bedtime for both boys. And Sam needed to go to bed right after he put Theo to bed—he was sick and fussy. So we told Theo that Chris might take a little extra time getting to his story, because Sammy was sick and needed to go to bed, and it might take a few extra minutes. And Mommy was working and couldn't be bothered.
You can guess where this is going: Within a few minutes of Chris closing Theo's door and going in to put Sam to bed (which takes about 20 minutes sometimes), Theo was out in the hallway asking for his story. He started very politely, and I poked my head out of the office and said, "You're going to have to wait longer tonight, buddy. Daddy's putting Sam to bed and I'm working. Go back in your room, and I'll send Daddy in when he's finished putting Sam to bed. But you need to stay in your room—I can't help you right now."
That didn't work. He continued to stand out in the hall and demand his story. I decided to ignore him. My students were firing questions at me, and I couldn't be interrupted. Besides, ignoring negative behavior is a valid strategy, right? Most often, they're trying to get attention.
He got louder and louder and more demanding. Chris came out and told him, calmly, to go to bed. Theo demanded his story. Chris calmly told him that he could try again tomorrow night for a story, but tonight he wouldn't get one because he hadn't stayed in his room, which he knew he had to do.
World War III erupted. Screaming. Crying. Demanding his story. Chris held firm and kept repeating that it was bedtime, and there was no story tonight. We've been accused of explaining too much to Theo, so these days we just repeat a simple answer over and over. And so, no matter what Theo tried (and he tried many angles), Chris kept repeating, "It's bedtime. We're not doing a story tonight. You can try again tomorrow."
Finally, Theo angrily said, "I keep saying different things, and you keep saying the same thing!"
Chris replied, "Yes--and what does that tell you?" He was assuming, of course, that the answer would be, "That I can't have a story."
Nope. Theo promptly answered, "That you're not listening to me!"
I see the parenting approach of "keep your answers simple and consistent" means different things to parent and child, in this case!
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