I don’t want to participate in the Mommy Wars or anything, but this time of year I start to think that it might be easier to be a parent in, say, San Diego. At least there’d be fewer layers involved in the morning and evening routine.
Archive for the 'toddler stuff' Category
Stepping up to the counter
Published December 11, 2013 parenting , toddler stuff 6 CommentsTags: Guidecraft, kitchen helper, Little Partners
So, as you probably know, kids love to do what adults are doing. Specifically, kids love doing chores. I knew this, but I didn’t really know it until recently. At a Montessori school, where Bear is, they call all of the kids’ purposeful activity ‘work,’ which is cool but the term seems particularly apt when Molly is actually working. For example, we watch Molly spill water over and over just so she can clean it up. Surprisingly, this is only mildly annoying. Last weekend, I bought her some sponges, a spray bottle and a little caddy to carry her tools around in. She likes it, I think, but not as much as the similar version they have at school. The week before last, when we came to pick her up, she was “washing” the glass door and was quite surprised when she saw us on the other side of it. She was happy to see us, but after greeting us, she quickly returned to her chores.
Anyway, recently she’s been pretty obsessed with helping AO in the kitchen and wanting to fiddle with the toaster. I imagine we’ll buy her a play kitchen at some point, but for now I’m more interested in getting her up to countertop height so she can be a part of the actual kitchen (better her than me, afterall). Her teachers suggested we get her a Little Partners Learning Tower, but the $200 price tag has us flinch a little. I mean, it looks great and everything, but it’s really just a step stool, right? Well, not quite, but still. It seemed pricey. I searched on Craigslist and did a Google search for a used one. No dice. AO and I both stumbled upon this cool Ikea hack, though. I daydreamed that we’d be able to pull that together, but quickly got stressed out by the whole thing. Not to mention the fact that Ikea isn’t exactly in our backyard.
In the meantime, we’ve been using a chair. She can’t climb up on it, but it does the trick ok. She isn’t super steady on it, which can make for a nervous cooking session, but it’s not awful. On the other hand, AO didn’t think she was able to participate in things as much as she’d be able to if she were using something more secure. So I did a little more searching and found that Little Partners isn’t the only game in town. There’s also Guidecraft, which makes this number. At $180 a pop, though, the savings didn’t exactly make me feel giddy. I searched around some more and found that, for some reason, Amazon is currently selling them for $125. Hmm. I was intrigued.
[Also, keep in mind, I’m doing this research while having a texting discussion with friends about how we all want to be shopping more locally this holiday season. Oops.]
So, a little more research led me to this amazing YouTube video showing the differences between the two little helpers (that’s my new term for the thingees). Hooray! If only there could be easily accessible videos for every choice I have in life. Ultimately, we pulled the trigger on the Guidecraft one because (a) it’s less expensive and (b) it’s smaller. We’re hoping to move in April and while I don’t know what size our new kitchen will be, I know our current one is pretty teeny so Guidecraft’s smaller footprint is welcome.
I’ll be sure to let you all know what happens when we open up that box.
Molly’s new favorite word is ‘no.’ Sometimes it’s a curt ‘no’ and sometimes it’s a very dramatic and emotional ‘NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’ What’s confusing (read: frustrating) is that sometimes it doesn’t mean ‘no’ at all. It might mean ‘not right now’ or ‘maybe’ or – despite all of the PSAs to the contrary – ‘yes’ (gasp!).
Anyway, just today I was revisiting a Slate article from earlier this year that a friend had recently posted to her Facebook page. It’s all about why we should be cool with toddlers’ freakouts and tantrums. After a four-day weekend home with a 20-month old (21 months today! Happy day Bear!), it was especially reassuring. My favorite part? This quote, from the all-knowing Harvey Karp: “It is hard to spend all day with a 2-year-old, and they don’t really want to spend all day with you anyway.”
So true. This morning, as we were driving Mollybear to school, I turned around to face her in her carseat. I smiled and said, “Hi.” She smiled back at me, giggled and said, “No.”
I feel pretty blessed. I really can’t complain (though sometimes I do). I have friends who are like family and family who are like friends. I have a job that I (usually) enjoy. I live in a town I love with a little nuclear family we’ve created that is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Notwithstanding all of this love fest, I admit to getting a little down from time to time. And a little overwhelmed. I felt the overwhelming nature of things creeping up on me lately and I decided today – rather than letting it get out of hand and taking it out on those closest to me – that I needed to take some time off. I know this is a luxury that so many are not afforded, but I didn’t think I’d be doing those less fortunate any good by stewing in my overwhelmingness just for the sake of solidarity. So, with knowing that I had done triage on my work at the office and could afford a vacation day, I woke up and said to AO, “I slept really poorly last night. I think I’m going to stay home this morning.” He said, “Ok, but why don’t you take the whole day off?” The whole day? Done and done.
These hours off have felt decadent, blissful and all too short. I’ve stripped the bed and am washing the sheets, but I’m still in my pajamas and watching Income Property on HGTV. An hour or so ago I finished Sisterland. I’m still sort of sitting with it, but I declare Sittenfeld has produced another excellent book. It’s no American Wife, but what is?
For a long time while I was reading the book, I wasn’t sure how much I liked the story or characters, but I did appreciate the writing. But as I approached the end, I began to realize that I was relating to the characters and their struggles with love and forgiveness, for accepting their loved ones despite – and sometimes even because of – their flaws. I really have a lot to learn.
When Kate’s father says to her, “‘We all make mistakes, don’t we? But if you can’t forgive yourself, you’ll always be an exile in your own life,” I nearly cried. I hope I can instill this in Mollybear. When I read this, though, I did cry:
How peculiar, that morning we pulled out of our driveway on San Bonita Avenue for the last time, to think that Rosie and Owen wouldn’t remember living in this city, this house; if Rosie did remember, it would be only vaguely. There are, I have learned, so many gifts of motherhood, and so many sadnesses, and one of the sadnesses is the asymmetry of the family experience: that in spite of all the daily nuisances, and in spite of the unforgivable way I transgressed, these years of the children being little are the sweetest time in my life. And yet, for Rosie and Owen and Gabe, these won’t be their best years. They’ll grow up and go away, they’ll find spouses and have sons or daughters, and no matter how much we loved them, they’ll probably recall their childhoods as strange and confusing, as all childhoods are. The happiest time in their lives, if they’re lucky, will be when they’re raising their own families.
I got choked up again, writing it here. This is the happiest time.
I love information. No, not in general. Well, I mean, I suppose I like it in general, but I’m talking specifically about the type of information that comes in the form of a packet. Or a binder (without women). Or a folder stocked full of sheets of info. I prefer packets or folders or binders because they usually contain more information, but I won’t turn down a decent brochure. When I get into a new hotel room, the first thing I do (after stripping the nasty coverlet off the bed, should there be one) is take a look at all of the information in the room. I like to page through the hotel’s own info before perusing what they’ve left for me to know about the city. The more info, the better.
I also love the info that comes with a new job. Make no mistake, I don’t love forms, but I love the informative sheets about benefits and procedures. Last year’s gig at the UW was plentiful in this way; there was tons of info about all of the perks of being on the faculty of the university. Hoo-ray.
So with this in mind, it will come as no great surprise that I am sitting here eagerly awaiting the info for Bear’s new school. “What?” you ask. “Don’t you already have that info?” you wonder. “That was weeks ago that you enrolled,” you say. Well, you’re right. Except you’re not. Because just when you thought we had it all settled, we made another change on you. Bear is going to yet another school! Yes, this will be the fourth one this year. Except that it will really only be the second because she never started – or set foot – in the other two. We stopped by to drop off the deposit yesterday and I started to cry when we saw her new room. Only these tears weren’t because the place was kinda dark or depressing or had seen better days. These tears were happy tears. Tears that reflected my relief that I feel like we’ve found the right place for her and a place I see her staying in for many years. Tears indicating a great weight off of my shoulders.
I know that we have been so lucky in the past couple of weeks to feel that we had a choice between two high-quality, long-running, well-established, loved day care centers. It wasn’t a feeling we were used to. To change again wasn’t a decision that was easy and we went back and forth with it for days. I had a long talk with the GAOOG about our dilemma and I think that talk, more than anything, is what led me to advocate for the new place. I can’t thank her enough. She told me that while I could rationalize any choice, and go through the logic of why one was better than the other, that it was also ok to trust my gut with a decision like this. And my gut was definitely telling me we should send her to the new option. And thanks also to the GAOOG for something more. She could hear in my voice something that I had previously articulated only to AO. She knew that part of me felt the new place was too good for me. She reminded me that I don’t want to pass along that thinking to Bear. And she’s so right. I don’t think this place is too good for Bear. I don’t think any place is. I needed the reminder, though, that I was doing what I vowed not to do: passing along ridiculous insecurities that are pointless, counter-productive and hurtful. So, with that, we are headed to an exceptionally convenient, beautiful, established, loving Montessori school and I couldn’t be more excited.
After dropping off the deposit, we were told that we would be getting a packet of information in the next few days. I contained my excitement. I almost lost my cool, though, when we were told the packet would most likely be coming through the mail. Oh my gosh! Information sent by my love, the Post Office! Yes, I really think we made the right choice.*
*She starts at the new place September 16. I’m sure on September 16 I’ll be a disaster, thinking of all of the ways in which we made a colossal mistake.
life and puppies 