THUM AND THUMBS (October 2001)

Brandon was denied a pacifier as an infant ... something about confusing it with the breast.  Eventually he adopted his thumb.  Well, in his case, BOTH thumbs.  He prefers the right, but will switch to the left if his right hand is otherwise occupied.  He isn't overly attentive to thumbsucking, but over a period of months, the right thumb is showing wear and the skin is cracking.  He'll hold it up and say, "Thumb hurts."

Dawn was told that Thum (available in our drug store right next to teething medications) is a deterrent.  So she got a bottle this week.  Contents: a solution containing cayenne pepper.

This morning Brandon again told Dawn his thumb hurts.  So she dabbed a bit of Thum on it, advising him that it was medicine and he should not put it in his mouth.  Without tasting it, Brandon asked to have a bit on his left thumb as well.  Then he put the sore thumb in his mouth, pulled it out, and with a puzzled look on his face followed by a smile, said, "Good!"  And asked for more.  Dawn obliged.  Sampled again, he offered his thumb to Matt and laughing, said, "Here, Daddy, taste!"

As a deterrent, obviously this isn't going to work.  Perhaps Thum should be used as a reward.  Put it on his left thumb.  In no time at all the right thumb will be healed.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

PICKING YOUR BATTLES (September 2001)

Why does a raised voice merely warrant a sideways glance before the imp continues with the taboo act?  Even when his hand is pulled away, which does no more than interrupt his forward motion, even when his hand is then swatted and finally his bottom, what compels that child to insist on doing what has been forbidden?

Brandon's not allowed to climb on the room divider.  Nor is he permitted to purposely drop his fork or spoon on the floor or pitch food off the plate when he's eaten his fill.  The first time he leaped from the sofa to the coffee table was his last.  Or it was supposed to be. Purses weren't exactly off limits, but items in them were.  I thought zippered containers were safe. Not any more.  Since his agenda requires that anything in his hand must pass into his mouth for sampling, Brandon had lipstick in his teeth before he experimented with graphic designs on his shorts.  His reaction when he spied his face in the mirror as I washed the red from in and around his mouth was priceless in its ecstatic reflection.

At twenty months, he's gained mobility, ability and the mental fortitude to satisfy his curiosity.  He's learned that rocks have no taste and that when they've sat in the sun, they may be hot.  He's found that mud puddles are more interesting than bath water and stomping in them is necessary.  If Maw stands too close and gets wet as a result, even better.  On our most recent walk, Brandon decided that we should both run.  He crowed at my effort to keep up with his toddler's stiff-legged run, pausing occasionally so I could rest and then urging, "Maw run; Brandon run."  We both took a nap that day.

He consents to hold my hand when we leave the car and move toward the grocery store.  I've explained that I need help walking in the street and it would be helpful if he'd hold my hand until we get to the curb.  Once there, he lets go of my finger, strolls to the carts and announces he'll "push buggy."  Bending at the waist and putting his hands on the crossbar, with me steering from behind, we amble along.

After we pass through the produce section, we enter the bakery area where free samples are provided.  Brandon releases his hold on the cart, turns and raises his arms, signifying that he's ready to be lifted to the basket's seat to have a snack.  There's nothing so endearing as his grin while he eats the fragment of angel food cake squished between his fingers or daintily nibbles a crumbled sugar cookie, rubbing his tummy, smiling and nodding his pleasure.

Yes, I'll let him splash in the mud puddles and wash the lipstick from his face and shorts.  Because I always win the shopping battle at the bakery.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

CUSS WORDS (September 2001)

Brandon has reached the sponge stage of vocabulary development.  Those of you who've been parents can recall your failure to be judicious in your venting.  It is indeed amazing to observe how quickly, indeed expertly and spontaneously, those who are barely walking can use the cuss words in the proper context with absolutely no coaching.

There are also times when they voice socially undesirable words all on their own.  Brandon's having a little trouble putting different sounds together.  He went through the house helping Dawn pick up the other day and found his dad's socks.  Bringing them to her one by one he announced with each delivery, "Daddy's cock."  I do believe Matt will pick up his own socks for some time to come, but definitely until Brandon is able to say "sock" quite clearly.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

FORETHOUGHT (August 2001)

Preface: Often a particular expression on Brandon's face reminds us of the so-called "chickenshit" grin his grandfather, Roy, often displayed.  Pulling one corner of his mouth tighter than the other, the look is short of all-out smile and includes a hint of bravado.  I recall a particular time when, as he explained how he'd gotten into a predicament, Roy displayed this special look.

**************

I've done it and perhaps you've done it.  Who hasn't?  But once is enough.  More than that, the absent-minded should take preventive measures.  I refer to locking the car, leaving the keys inside.

Being locked out of your car at home is inconvenient.  Being away from home in similar circumstances can really trash the holiday spirit.  With this in mind, Roy and I agreed that we'd take both sets of car keys with us when we traveled.  He'd have one set; I'd have the other.

On one of our trips, with two sets of keys in our possession, we set out for Niagara Falls with Roy's sister Gwen and her husband, Hank, for a weekend visit.  It was our intention to do a lot of sightseeing. Walking long distances is difficult for Hank, so Roy dropped us off at an overlook and continued on to the parking lot.  We sauntered along the footpaths while we waited for Roy to join us.  When he hadn't appeared after several minutes, I suggested Gwen and Hank sit in a shady area while I backtracked to find Roy.

Finally back to the parking lot, I was relieved to see that there were very few cars and easily spotted ours.  Roy was standing beside it.  When I reached him, I asked why he hadn't come to meet us.

"I'm waiting for a tow truck," he replied.

The car was sitting there in the middle of an almost-empty lot.  I saw no indication that he'd hit anything or been hit.  In fact, the motor was running.  I asked why he was waiting for a service vehicle.

His crooked grin began to develop.  "Well-l-l-l, see, this good-looking girl pulled in, and I got out of the car to see her better."

I nodded my head, indicating I was ready for more of the story.

"She had on these short shorts and a tight top and I just forgot, just for a moment, to turn the car off when I got out."

To which I replied, "An-n-n-d????"

"I locked the door just before I slammed it shut."

I reminded Roy that I had the second set of keys in my purse.

"Yes, you do," he agreed, nodding. "And where is it?"

I looked down and then recalled that since I hadn't expected to need my handbag on this short walk, I'd left it, with my keys, locked in the car trunk.

________________  

Owning multiple sets of keys isn't helpful if none is available when needed.  Consequently, following this trip I invested in a plastic coil to which I attached my car keys.  Now if I don't want to carry a handbag and have no pockets, I put the coil around my wrist.  As with most insurance, once this second precaution was taken, the car's never been locked with the keys inside.  But now I'm ready, just in case.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

LIFELINES (August 2001)

Time goes on.  I continue to discover life by observing someone else's exploration.

Grand boy Brandon is nearly nineteen months old.  He walks, he runs.  He skins his knees.  He cries and, repeating words he's often heard, says, "Hold you" when he needs a hug.

He continues to learn sign language, although for some reason he insists on signing "rhinoceros" for "horse."  He saw a real horse for the first time last week.  He was more impressed with the fence that separated them than by the animal on the other side.

There have been times when he's said a word that I couldn't understand, so he signed it.  For example, he said "gaga" and I was without a clue.  So he signed "water."  When we're driving in the car he entertains himself saying words he's learned, copying the inflection of some phrase used previously: "Mommy bye-bye, Daddy bye-bye, Nana bye-bye...." until he puts you, or himself, to sleep with the monotonous repetition.

Others asked, "What will he call you?"  I called both my grandmothers Gramma, even though it appears that's now old fashioned.  Today's monikers have more flair: Brandon's other grandmother is Nana.  And a friend decided to be Mimi to her grandson.  I, on the other hand, elected to allow the child to pick something meaningful to him.

And one day he looked at me, pointed, and said, "Maw."  Not Ma, not Moi, but Maw.

To my ears, the sound of "Maw" was like fingernails on a blackboard.  

Undoubtedly this is shortened version of the word yet too difficult for him to say.  To my ears it lacks charm, wit, sophistication.  But truth be told, so do I!  I am what I am, and this child led me to see that it's okay!

I've adjusted to Maw and now accept it with pride.  I like hearing my new name best after he's awakened from a nap.  I can hear him stir in his bed as he talks to himself or Elmo, his sleep companion.  When he tires of the solitude, I am summoned to his rescue as he loudly calls, "M-A-A-W-W-W!"  As I stop in the doorway, I see this teacher, standing at the rail, grinning his greeting, arms raised to be lifted from the crib.

And our next few hours together begin as he shows me life outside the lines.

 

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

SECOND CHANCE (April 2001)

The little boy is now 15 months old.  He's learned to crawl and walk, and with each physical achievement, there are parallel advances in his mental prowess.

Were my children as clever, perceptive, bold, or curious as this little one is?  Why do I not recall the moments of their childhood accomplishments?

First he crawled and then he walked.  Each milestone predictable.  But I am awed as I have watched Brandon's face when he realizes what he's accomplished.  His eyes grow big and his little mouth forms a tight O.  And then he seems to think and he does it again.  And again.  Over a period of time he perfected crawling forward and suddenly crawled backward, giggling at the experience.  After weeks of struggling to walk forward, he discovered he could walk backward, not yet knowing that he must look over his shoulder to see where he was going.  Once again, big eyes and tight O as he bumped into the wall.  Now he's learning to march, but it's really more of a foot stomp, for he raises only his left knee.

Until this past week our northern winter has kept us isolated indoors.  Recently on a sunny day we went outdoors for a walk.  Almost running as toddlers do, he refused my hand.  I wanted to go this way; he wanted to go that.  And so we did.  Brandon spied his shadow and squatted to touch it, a puzzled expression on his face when he couldn't pick it up.  He found a sloping driveway and insisted on walking up it.  Half way, he turned around and, with his little feet struggling to keep him upright, Brandon discovered the sensation of coming down a hill.  Repeatedly, he went up the pavement, turned round, and came down, chortling each time.  But for my eventual boredom, we could still be there.

There was a breeze that day and we faced into it.  Suddenly Brandon threw back his head, mouth agape.  Pausing a moment, he laughed as he felt the cool breeze rush into his warm little mouth.  We walked a few steps that way, his head tilted back while he sampled the air.

Dawn, his mom, and I had read that the use of sign language helps a child communicate before he's able to do so verbally.  Therefore, when he was about six months old and began eating baby food, we began simultaneously signing and saying "drink," "eat" and "more."  Now he signs if he's thirsty or hungry.  If we think he's eaten enough but he disagrees, he signs "more."  He's even begun signing and speaking simultaneously as we do.

I'm beginning to feel as though we adults are now walking in place and Brandon's running ahead.  A few weeks ago, he was sitting in the child's seat of the shopping cart as Dawn pushed it down the aisle.  When she looked away from the merchandise and down at Brandon, he was rapping his fists together.  Dawn thought this was odd behavior until she realized they were passing the shoe department.  Brandon was signing "shoe."

Brandon signs and says Mommy and Daddy, and he identifies Matt's parents, Pappap and Nana, saying their names and signing (simplified by us to double "p" and double "n") at the same time.

We've taught him to sign and say "Kitty."  However, I think he associates this with the two cats that share this condo with me.  It's likely that when Dawn tells Brandon they're going to Grandma Kitty's, Brandon believes he's coming to see the cats.  He's gleeful when he spies them and he'll point, flick his cheek with the sign for cat and say "key" (his spoken t's are silent!).  I look forward to the time when he understands there are THREE kitties here.  Oh well, at least he smiles when he sees me.

I logged in my children's baby books the first day each sat up, rolled over, stood and walked.  But I don't recall an emotional reaction, merely the mechanical notation.  I find such joy in watching this little one grasp concepts and explore new challenges.  I am amazed and amused whenever we're together.  Thank heaven for a second chance.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park