Kid Amnesiac

I haven’t done one of these things in about a year, so I thought it might be time. The current list of favorites includes:

“Simon do it! Bean”: The staircase leading down to our basement is open on one side, and we worry Simon will fall over the edge and hurt himself. So Matt bought a long two-by-four not too long ago. But we haven’t installed it yet; it’s currently lying on the floor as a make-shift balance beam. When we first went to play on it, Simon would let me hold his hands while he walked along the beam. Then he decided he did not want my help and announced “Simon do it!” Except he can’t. But he doesn’t seem to realize that. No, Simon rather endearingly calls out “Simon do it! Bean!” puts one foot on the beam and one foot on the carpet next to it, “walks” down the beam in this manner, and then cheers for himself at the end. “Yay, Simon!”

Wrastling: Not a typo; this is how Matt says wrestling. As Simon has become more physical, he’s enjoying this kind of play more than ever. He loves to charge into me or Matt (but especially Matt) for some wrestling action. We do all the usual silly parental moves; we pick him up, hold him upside down, blow raspberries on his belly, swing him around, etc. And Simon giggles and squeals and shrieks in delight. And then, every time without fail, he gets the hiccups.

“Wosie”: That would be Ring-around-the-Rosie, and Simon asks for it by name nearly every day. He doesn’t exactly fall down, though. He’s more of a sit down carefully sort of guy. We recently played it with his friend Sophie, and as they held hands and then began their controlled falls, he looked up at me with a face that radiated pure joy.

Books: This is a constant, but there is a new twist. If Simon is too tired to read a story at night or before his nap, he’s rarely content to just skip this part of the ritual altogether. Instead, he prefers to take a book to bed with him. I have seen him, no joke, lie on his back in his crib and hold a book over his head as if to read. More often, I’ve seen him toss the book into his crib, declare “book sleepy”, and snuggle up with it the same way he would with a stuffed animal.

Dirty Dogs: Dirty Dog has been a part of our life for a long time now. When I first brought home Dirty Monkey, I thought Dirty Dog had been supplanted. Now it seems that Dirty Monkey, while liked, is not loved the way Dirty Dog is. If we don’t have Dirty Dog in the crib, Simon will not, nay cannot, go to sleep. The only thing better than Dirty Dog? “Two Da-Das” (two Dirty Dogs).

Wall-E Pooh Monkey: When Simon got sick in October, Matt went out to Target one night and brought home some videos. Among them were Wall-E, the original Disney Winnie the Pooh featurettes, and Curious George. We watched Pooh every day for a pretty long time. We’ve even watched Vinni Puh on YouTube (this is a late-sixties/early seventies Soviet version and is a must-see.). We still watch Curious George every day, and at times Simon even sounds like him. He has a hard time saying “George” though, so mostly calls the show “Monkey”. As for Wall-E, well, he not only asks to watch it most days, but also re-enacts the movie’s early scenes. At least once a day I watch Simon select a variety of house-hold goods, carry them from one place to another, sort them, and arrange them in their new location until he decides to relocate them all over again. Simon himself has expressed no real preference between the three videos, often asking for “Wall-EPoohMonkey” when we tell him it’s bedtime.

Down the Hill! When we took Simon sledding, we yelled out “down the hill” each trip down our curb or down the street. Simon had a ball, and he’s taken the concept indoors. For two weeks now I’ve watched him regularly roll balls, cars, and himself down any incline in the house—and in a nearly 100-year-old house, there are plenty—all the while calling out “down the hee-ill!” with glee.

Rescue Fantasies: I don’t know what the heck is up with this one. Obviously, at some point, Simon got “stuck” in an odd position and I helped negotiate him out of it. Now, one of his favorite basement games is “Simon stuck.” He will flop down, roll over unto his back, stick out his arms and legs at odd angles, and feign discomfort and helplessness while calling out “Simon stuck, Simon stuck”. The minute I take his hands into mine, though, he’s all smiles and squeals. How weird is that?

Being Tall: About a year after other kids his age, Simon has begun to climb on top of everything he can. When he succeeds, his primary goal is to stand up on the bed/couch/train table/storage ottoman/what-have-you and loudly proclaim “Simon tall! Simon tall!” He’s still pretty uncoordinated, so I know in my heart of hearts that this will end in tragedy.

Tunnels: Tunnels on play equipment have been a favorite since the summer. But now Simon has discovered actual tunnels, specifically the underside of a bridge in Tyler Park. Twice in as many days we have taken him to the park to enjoy the warm weather, and twice he has spent the entire time running laps in the tunnel. “One, two, three, Go Simon Go!” Over, and over, and over, and over….

Circles: Yup, circles. Be it an insert from his foam alphabet rug, a penny (“monies”), a sticker, a round building block, or a stacking disc, if it’s a circle, Simon will isolate it as a favorite. And so, for example, the number 8 in our foam mat downstairs has been missing its two circles because Simon takes them out, throws them across the basement, rolls them down the “hill” in our basement (see entry for “Down the Hill”), and moves them from place to place (see entry for Wall-E). He even loves his tub of fizzy bath color tablets—shaped like circles, wouldn’t you know—so much that if it’s not bath night, he tries to take them to bed with him.

Little People Racin’ Ramps Garage: Thank you Dave, Lisa, and Sophie. This was their birthday present to Simon, and it is a permanent feature in our living room. A partial list of items Simon has sent down the ramp will give you some idea of its popularity:

1. the cars it came with
2. other Little People cars
3. cars that came with other toys
4. Thomas the Tank Engine trains
5. a car-shaped vitamin
6. golf balls
7. “monies”

The funny thing about this list, as I read it over myself, is how much it demonstrates universal toddler truths. For all the fancy equipment and toys littering our house, only 1/3 of the items on this list—his favorites mind you—cost a dime. I’m clearly going to have to rethink my shopping habits…

Sometimes, Simon gets something right, and Matt and I feel terrible about it.

Take the whole “papa” thing. Matt decided he wanted to be called “papa” before Simon was ever born. But from the moment he began speaking, Simon called Matt “daddy.” This papa/daddy squabble went on for months, with both sides entrenched in their positions. Then one day this fall, sometime around the blur that it is the holidays, Simon called Matt “papa” for a full day… consistently.

And Matt felt… awful. As did I! The minute Simon uttered “papa,” the word suddenly felt tainted by the campaign required to produce it. We felt we had manhandled Simon, even though neither of us had laid a hand on him. It’s hard to explain, to be honest, except to say that once we heard him use a word not of his habit or choosing, we both felt some guilt over our heavy handed approach.

We never corrected him again. And the next day, when Simon called Matt “daddy,” we repeated the word as though it had always been the one in use. I guess we decided that the word Simon chose for Matt was more special than the one Matt chose for himself.

Now we’re in a similar situation, only there will be no reversing course. Yesterday, Simon used the word “red.” And today, when he asked for water, he asked for it in the “red” cup clear as day. I think, rather sadly, I may not hear “dee-dee” for red much longer. As it’s been such a constant feature of his toddlerhood, I will miss it very much.

It’s not just that “dee-dee” sounds cute, though of course that’s a part of it. It’s that the story behind it is rather endearing. Simon’s first month at KIP, the theme color was red. He came home one day with a flier of theme-related song lyrics, and the only song I could quickly figure out was the red song. It was sung to the tune of Frere Jacques, and it went like this:

R-E-D red, R-E-D red

I can spell red. I can spell red.

Fire trucks are red. Stop signs are red, too.

R-E-D. R-E-D.

I began to sing it from the passenger seat, and Matt could see Simon’s face light up in the rear-view mirror. He was astonished and delighted that we knew something from school. And at the very end of the song, he joyously repeated the last part of the song back to us, “dee.” And then again, “dee.” And from that day on, “red” has been “dee-dee” in our house.

It’s a silly little thing. But so, I’m finding, are many of the most endearing parts of parenthood, and I’m going to miss it terribly.

It’s finally warming up here in Louisville, and Matt and I are both anxious to get out and enjoy the non-arctic air. Yesterday I could tell that Simon got out at school, because when he came home I spotted mud on the soles of his shoes. This little bit of dirt made me envious; I wanted to get out, too! So after Simon had his afternoon snack yesterday Matt and I decided to go out for “a mini walk”. I assumed this meant we’d put Simon in the Bob and walk for 20 minutes or so. Matt assumed this meant that we’d choose a destination and all walk together.

The short version of this story: Simon’s not ready for that kind of walk. There were brief moments of happiness when he’d take off down a sidewalk and run his little wobbly run with arms up and dimples blazing. But it turns out that these happy moments punctuated much longer stretches of frustration, defiance, and misery.

Had we been in a park or at the zoo, things would have been fine. But Simon wanted to go into the street, and he couldn’t; and he wanted to scurry over parts of the sidewalk that were still frozen, but we dared not let him; and he wanted to run up people’s driveways, which we allowed a little; and he wanted to run up muddy lawns, which we disallowed; and he wanted to jump in puddles, and we thwarted him at that end, too. Each disappointment on his part was manifest in the classic two-year-old presentation of whining, crying, trying to pull away from us, and, eventually, staging a sit-in.

Twenty or thirty minutes into our “mini-walk” we hit a mega wall. Simon wanted to do everything he couldn’t, the sidewalk reached a treacherous part where it was icy and broken up from old tree roots, and Matt’s attempt to carry him resulted in full-scale revolt. Simon screamed and writhed in his arms, and it became clear to us all that it was going to be a long, hard slog home.

The only course of action that suggested itself was to go get the car and drive the single block down the street to get them. I volunteered for the march of defeat, greeting a neighbor along the way who asked me “is that your son crying down the street.” Yes, yes it was. By the time I reached Matt and Simon, they were walking two-by-two down the sidewalk and it looked like all was well. Upon closer inspection, I could see that Simon was navigating through tears, and Matt informed me that he had been crying out “come back, Mommy” in varying levels of desperation ever since I left. It was the fear that got him walking.

So lesson learned. Until the world no longer looks like an obstacle course to Simon and/or unless it’s safe and acceptable for him to go most places he wants to, we’ll stick with the stroller. And maybe in a week or so, when the ice is all gone and I’ve gotten him some decent boots, we can try a neighborhood stroll again.

Simon says something every day that leaves Matt or me—or both of us—in stitches. Sometimes it’s what he says, sometimes it’s the way he says it, and sometimes the humor is purely contextual and I feel guilty for laughing in front of him.

What he says: Here are a few recent examples of imitable Simon speak:

When the family gets ready to sit down for dinner at Jim and Evie’s: “Eat Party!” The party thing began New Year’s Eve, when I lamely offered up that we were having a “sleep party” to encourage to Simon to go to bed when Dave, Lisa, and Sophie were still here. Since then, if it’s social in any way, it’s a party. A couple of weeks ago, upon leaving a restaurant with friends, Simon waved to the building from the car and called out, “Bye bye eat party!”

The way he says it: Simon just learned “okay” and “I guess,” which come out as “uh-kay” and “ah Guess”. The part that cracks me up is that, to him, “uh-kay” and “ah guess” are completely synonymous with “yes.” With “okay,” there’s rarely a hitch. But with “I guess,” results may vary. As in, when after a long period of begging and crabbing on Simon’s part I relent and say, “Simon, would you like a fruit bar?” and he responds, “Yeah, I guess!” Or “Simon, is there poop in your diaper?” and he replies “I guess.”

Context: It’s inauguration day, and I have, for the first time since September 11, 2001, left the TV on for the entire day. Sometime after Simon came home from preschool and before he went down for his nap, George W. Bush took off in his helicopter as a private citizen bound for his new home in Texas. The crowd on the mall could be heard chanting, “Hey, hey, hey, good-bye,” and for many of the 1.8 million in DC that cold morning, W’s leaving was a highlight.* Now Simon was oblivious to all of this; he’s only 2. But he loves helicopters, so when the cameras showed Bush 43 taking off, Simon bounced on his heels, squealed, waved at the TV, and called out “Bye-bye hankah! Bye-bye hankah!” To which I silently replied, “If you only knew, honey. If you only knew…”

*Just for the record, while I was delighted to see Bush 43’s term come to an end, I was NOT delighted by the booing and chanting. I know many think you reap what you sow on that score, but an inauguration is a serious event even when joyous, and I think the calling out and booing is poor form.

When we first put up the baby gates, Simon was around 8 or 9 months old and I was expecting him to crawl any day. I made a hash of it, and within a month or so had tripped over and knocked down both gates and not done myself any great favors, either. Then Simon finally started to move, and we finally got the original gates up plus two shiny additional ones.

As Matt would say, the house was cordoned off like Sadr City. We blocked the bottom of the steps originating in the living room, the bottom of the steps originating in the kitchen (these combine to form a drum-bridge staircase), the end of the upstairs hall, and the top of the back staircase. The goal was to prevent Simon from going and down without supervision and to prevent him using the steep back staircase, which everyone I know has fallen down at least once, altogether.

As the months went by, we used the gates less and less, and Simon began to play with them more and more. When the mattress delivery guys needed to remove two of the four this fall, we never put them back up. The gate at the bottom of the kitchen stairs, always precarious, became a toy for Simon this fall, and he knocked it over a few days ago. And the gate at the end of the hall upstairs, the one that keeps him on the second floor and the holy grail of gates, is pulling out of the plaster after being toddler-handled one too many times.

Simon, ever cautious, has only fallen down the stairs once-and that time I was watching him. Which is to say, he can go up and down stairs just fine, and the only way to prevent an accident would be to hover over him continuously. That doesn’t seem healthy to me.

So Matt and I have decided that the gates are going, freeing our home from obstacles we have tripped over and smashed toes into countless times. The key word here is “decided.” Neither of us has actually removed the last gate, the one pulling out of the plaster in our upstairs hall, and I think both of us are slightly wary to do so.

All of which is emblematic of an unexpected gray area in parenting books. The guides are great at telling you when you need to start doing something, but they rarely follow through with information about when you can stop. When do the gates come down? When do you stop using a swing? Or a crib? When can I stop cutting grapes in half?

I can see how this gets even harder as time goes on. When can Simon walk to his classroom alone? Or cross a street or bike to a friend’s house? When can he take the bus? Or drive after dark? Some of the best parenting advice I’ve seen was in The Blessing of the Skinned Knee, where the author argued that for matters such as these you should consult and defer to more experienced parents in your area. Which I would do, except most of those who qualify have one-story houses, have new babies and and so have left gates up for the second child, or have older children and can’t remember any more.

So I’m going to keep deciding to pull down that top gate, and will continue to dream of unobstructed passageways and easier trips down stairs with laundry, until someone can tell me that it’s OK, until Simon pulls the thing out the rest of the way, or until I trip over it next, whichever comes first.

About a week ago, Simon uttered his first subject-verb-object sentence that did not start “I need”*. He was watching Curious George when he looked over at Matt and helpfully explained “Monkey see clock.”

The sentences have been coming fast and furious since then. He’s told us when Wall-E is scared, when planes go overhead, and what he’s enjoyed playing with. We’re communicating better than ever, but also realize that Simon speaks a unique idiolect others would not know.

For example, “dee-dee” is red, “Hankah” is helicopter, “Ta-ta” is Thomas, “why-da” is yellow, “see bar” is fruit bar, “bun” is vitamin, Curious George is most often “monkey” and occasionally “monkey Dooge”, and the plural of deer is “deers.” We understand how and why each of these coinages came about, even the ones that make no sense to outsiders.

What we don’t know is whether we should subtly correct him, as in “No Simon, you already had your vitamin today”; correct him directly, as in “You mean ‘helicopter’ Simon, not ‘hankah’ but ‘helicopter'; or go along with him, as in “Simon, do you want to play with dee-dee car?”

I’m guessing that subtle correction is the best route, and I do that at times. I never directly correct because I’m wary of discouraging Simon from his efforts. And frankly, it seems churlish when I understand him and he’s come so far. But the unfortunate truth is that I also go along at times, because Simon’s speech is cute, because his own coinages fascinate me with what they demonstrate about language acquisition, and because it’s fun to share a secret language with him.

There’s probably guidance on this somewhere, and I’ll look for it and follow it soon enough. But when Simon is all grown up in mind and body, I know I’m going to miss hearing about “dee-dee hankah” and “why-da car” very much.

* Previous to this Simon’s most complicated sentences have been things like “I need help play car” or “I need fruit bar.” Next up, we teach him the difference between “want” and “need.”

We’re on our second straight snow day, and they’ve already called the rest of the week. Time to get the sled out! Today I put Simon in his cousin Ben’s (size 4T!) bib overalls, dragged the sled outside, and went exploring.

We talked to some neighbors, met some neighbors for the first time, and had to change our route more than once due to a downed tree or powerline. Simon had a pretty good time, but the third time we passed the house he informed me that he “need home. ” That seemed like a good sign to shut it down to me.

I’m hoping to get out again, preferably with Matt because I learned today that being the photographer and the sledge dog at the same time is a bit tricky.

You know that guy who always has to show off? The guy who isn’t satisfied to have a drink and socialize a bit, but must, you know, talk really loudly, get up up on the bar or table to dance, let out a series of too-loud yeahs and generally make an ass out of himself?

I’m afraid that Simon is showing signs of being THAT GUY.

At least now, thank goodness, it’s only Sir Topham Hatt being disturbed. We’ve got time to work on this before he annoys everyone else. Not laughing and taking pictures of it might be a good place to start!