GOOD THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES (December 2004)

Brett moved to San Diego in August and he's loving California living.  The challenges of his new job with the landscape design firm have enabled him to travel to many places, the most exotic being Hong Kong.

In the last few years, probably since Brandon was born in 2000, Brett has flown home to be with Dawn's family and me for either Thanksgiving or Christmas.  Brett said he wanted to come back this year, too, but being the person with the least seniority, he expected that he'd need to be available if any problems arose.  A week or so ago, he confirmed that he wouldn't be coming.  And frankly, I didn't expect him because any seats on holiday flights would have already been taken days/weeks earlier.

We talk frequently and this past Tuesday he asked if I'd be home Wednesday, December 22, because he wanted to have a three-way conversation on the phone.  When I asked who the third party was, he said it was a secret.  He said to expect the call around 11:00 PM.  But at 9:30 Wednesday evening he called to say it wasn't going to work and perhaps they'd try again today, the 23rd.

At 6:00 this morning the phone rang and I answered from the extension in my bedroom.  It was Brett, and it was 3:00 AM California time.  He didn't sound like he'd been partying.  Brett asked why I was still in bed.  Didn't I have to go to work?

Yes, I told him, I do have to work, but not until 1:00.  "So, why are you calling me this early?"

"Here," he said, "talk to this person."  I listened, but there was no voice.  In the background, I could hear a doorbell.  A few seconds, and I heard it again.  And then again.

"Brett, are you ringing my doorbell?!!"

Snicker......  Soft laugh......  The doorbell again.

I uttered some four-letter expletive, hung up the phone and scurried to the door.  There he was, damp with melting snow, grinning at me.

His plan had been to fly into Canton, but weather grounded planes in Detroit.  After standing in line to book a later flight (which wouldn't have gotten him here until Christmas Eve day, maybe), he and three other stranded passengers rented a car and drove to town.  The three-hour drive took six hours, but he's here now, sound asleep in my bed.  And Dawn didn't know he was coming, so later today we'll spring the surprise on her and Matt, and the party will begin!

Sometimes the best gift comes in no package at all.

Copyright ©2004  Kitty Park

HER NAME IS BABY (March 2004)

She’s putting two words together now.

At seventeen months old, Sophia’s vocabulary is rapidly expanding.  I’m convinced learning to sign (capturing the concept visually first) is the reason.  As with Brandon, we started with "eat" and "more."  "Done" is Mommy's creation.  To eliminate the ear-splitting screech Sophia voiced to escape mealtime confinement, Dawn taught Sophia to slam her hands down onto the highchair tray when she's finished a meal.

She signs "eat" a lot.  And "more" as well.  She eats a variety of things but prefers fruits and vegetables.  And cookies.  Although she recognizes the sign for cookie, she never signed it.  She went right to the word.  And she says it perfectly.

She has a book with a soft ball on it.  Ball was one of her next words.  Now anything circular in shape is a ball -- the smoke protector, O’s, light bulbs.

She has spent some weekends with her paternal grandparents.  Their household consists of Nana, Pappap and Hunter, the dog.  We were looking at pictures the other day and she pointed at Hunter and said "Pap."  Seeing Nana, she voiced something sounding like "unner."  She knows they belong together, but she doesn’t yet know who’s who.

Sophia says juice, signs water and knows the difference.  She identifies her ear, hair, nose, mouth and eyes.  It’s difficult to rock her to sleep (which I occasionally like to do), because she lies in my arms, one thumb in her mouth and the finger of her other hand tapping the lens of my glasses, saying "eye."  Then she moves to my ear, pulls on the earring, says "ear," and then touches her own.

The inflection in her voice often gives a clue to what she’s trying to say.  Most recently there are three syllables strung out in a sing-song voice as she tries to say, "Where are you?"

Two-syllable words often repeat the consonant: Elmo is Memo, Gramma is Maama, Bunny (her blanket with long-eared rabbit head at the center) is Bucky.

Foot is toof. Sock is cox.

Two words together? "More cookie."

And just yesterday, "Where are you, Bucky?"

Copyright ©2004  Kitty Park

LEARNING MACHINE (January 2004)

As a baby, in the days her routine consisted of sleeping, eating and pooping, Sophia mirrored Brandon’s behavior.  However, she’s now a year old and developing a personality and intelligence of her own.

In “Second Chance” I wrote about our use of signing and speaking when communicating with Brandon (and now Sophia).  Brandon seemed to grasp the concept and use it much earlier than Sophia has.  But now Sophia’s on board.  And she’s even developing her own signs.

She recognizes the sign for “drink” but doesn’t use it.  Instead she says “juice” (soos) or “milk” (mik) and, once she catches the eye of an adult, moves toward the kitchen to get a cup of her beverage of choice.  She does sign “eat” (tapping the fingers of one hand against her lips).  The sign for “more” is tapping the fingertips of both hands together.  Because she’s evidently going through a growth spurt, she frequently wants to eat -- and her sign combines eat and more: the fingertips of one hand against the palm of the other.

I have two cats and her family has a dog, so she’s learned the sign for cat (flick of fingers against cheek indicating whiskers) and dog (snapping of finger/thumb as if calling a dog to heel).  She is a book lover and will turns pages in one book signing “eat” to identify pages of food items.  There are pages of animals -- a cow, horse, pig, elephant, giraffe – and we’re working with her on these.  Brandon hasn’t forgotten the signs, so he, too, tries to teach her.  In fact, even though he knows their proper name is “giraffe,” he continues to refer to them as “long necks,” the sign for giraffe.

Daddy was her first intelligible word.  “Daddy” to come get her first thing in the morning.  “Daddy” to come get her after a nap.  Then she learned “Mommy.”  If Daddy doesn’t come get her quickly enough when summoned, she moves on to Mommy, calling louder and more often until she’s finally rescued from the confinement of her crib.

Sophia is easily frustrated and issues a deep-throated “arrrrghh!” when she can’t accomplish some task she’s undertaken.  She’s also been known to bonk herself on the head with her palm, as if asking, “What am I going to do?!”

All little people must like music.  She’ll stop whatever she’s doing when she hears a catchy tune.  Her response to the music will be to stamp her foot or turn in circles or hunch her shoulders and flex her knees in her interpretation of the beat.  And she grins as she moves.

Sophia’s now cutting back from two naps a day to one.  Once she picks up a fuzzy stuffed animal and puts her thumb in her mouth, it’s a subtle indication she’s ready for sleep.  We ask, “Are you ready for night-night?” and she races us to the bedroom.  Yes, sometimes it’s a false positive, and it appears she merely wanted to run, not go to bed.  Other times we get lucky.  Toy cuddled in her arm and held close to her cheek, thumb in her mouth, she’s quiet for a short time.  A respite for the latest high-intensity learning machine.

Copyright ©2004  Kitty Park

THE NEGOTIATOR (May 2003)

A friend mentioned last week her sadness about disciplining her two-year-old granddaughter Jessica.  Been there myself.   You're beating yourself up for disciplining the tot and s/he's off in a corner figuring out another way to get to what s/he's been told numerous times in just as many ways s/he's not to touch.

Brandon's a button pusher.  He learned the phrasing and practice at home.  Dawn's said it many times, initially of Matt who knows what will irritate her and persists until she loses patience.   Now Matt and Brandon push one another's buttons, and Brandon's learned the lesson well.

Brandon may begin by asking.  Refused, he moves to pleading, inserting several 'pleases' with his request.  He even negotiates when he suspects a remaining chink in the adult's naysaying.  Somewhere along the line, when he realizes he's getting to my last nerve, Brandon grins (damn him!) and affirms, "I'm just pushing your buttons, Grandma."

If he's really serious about having/getting/doing something he's been denied, he will be dogged, going so far as to challenge authority.  Last week I stooped to corporal punishment.  He persisted in jumping with his feet and landing on his bottom in my easy chair even after repeated requests that he sit and not use it as a trampoline.  I convinced him of my resolution when I fulfilled the threat to smack his bare bottom (once I caught him).

When released and out of arm's reach, he turned and said, "That didn't hurt," to which I replied, "But it could have."   Either the logic of what I said made sense or, more likely, he lost interest in the challenge.  I don't care why, at least he didn't jump on the furniture again.

I'm sure the veterans of the Grandparents' Club are smirking at the problems yet to be faced.  I know: The problems won't end, they'll just change.

I'm going to go take a nap.  Just thinking of what's ahead has worn me out.

Copyright ©2003  Kitty Park

BLACK-EYED PEAS (January 2003)

Northern and southern New Year's Day traditions were blended when Roy and I were married over 35 years ago.  We ate my sauerkraut and pork with his black-eyed peas.  (The greens, to be eaten for monetary success, morphed into a lime Jell-O and pear concoction.)

Matt, Dawn's husband, is a man with distinct tastes.  He refuses to sample the sauerkraut (or pork since it cooks with the 'kraut) or black-eyed peas.  On New Year's Day he eats something else.

Unlike his dad, Brandon, now nearly three years old, wants to try everything.  Yesterday, while eating a bowl of black-eyed peas, Brandon said to me, "Grandma, you make good food."  I smiled at his praise.  That was right before he put a forkful of sauerkraut into his mouth.  And immediately spit it out on the tablecloth.

Copyright ©2003  Kitty Park

ON BEING TWO (April 2002)

Brandon's now two.  Not the terrible twos.  Rather, the curious twos.

He will still take an afternoon nap, but unless he's rocked to sleep, he'll entertain himself on the bed, fighting to stay awake.  One day he took his diaper off.  Last Monday he stood on the cabinet at the head of my bed, unscrewed a bulb in the light bridge and used it to smash the other.  I was close enough to hear the pop and him say, "Oh oh. Grandma!" as I rushed in.  He innocently looked at me and said, "I broked it."  After putting him in the rocker ("I rock myself, Grandma") while I vacuumed the shards, I reminded myself he can't be trusted to be out of sight.

Yesterday when I put him down and his thumb went into his mouth, I breathed a sigh since I knew he'd be asleep in moments.  Minutes later I heard him carrying on a whispering conversation with himself, and peeked into the room to see what he was doing.  Brandon was sitting in the bed, lotion everywhere.  The travel size container had been emptied onto his legs, hands and diaper.  The overflow was on the sheets and blanket.  When he saw me, he casually asked for a towel.  He was unashamed and eagerly set about cleaning up the mess.  When finished, Brandon announced "All done!" and held up his arms, indicating he was ready to be carried to the rocker where we went back and forth until he fell asleep.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

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