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Archive for the ‘Childhood development’ Category

THE ICE CREAM MAN IS COMING!

THE ICE CREAM MAN IS COMING!

Is this familiar? Your husband does something annoying or forgets to do something important. The doing or the forgetting isn’t what really infuriates you, however. His  act or non-act is representative. It stands for a serious character flaw that must be addressed. A lecture is the only way to go about it, so you rehearse a fantastic speech in the shower or car, of course.

Later that evening, when you deliver your lecture, your husband feels very sorry for you and gives you roses after he takes out the trash, unloads the dishwasher, cleans the diaper genie, scrubs the kitchen, paints the house, cleans the car, and organizes the basement.

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Childhood

Childhood

Before motherhood, arriving at  my front door was predictable. Park the car, out the door, and up the steps while planning my to-do’s: dinner, laundry, a work project. Grab my keys, unlock the door, plop down my tote, and on with the evening.

With a toddler in hand, however, I embark on an adventurous excursion as soon as my field guide is out of his car seat. First, we kneel and study ants trailing along the sidewalk. Then, we see how the dandelions are doing. A handful is taken for close analysis. The wind scatters their little white furries, and we observe how each one skips across the grass.

A loud whoosh captures the little scientist’s attention. An airplane? He looks up . . . waits . . . waits . . . waits . . . and there! Yes, his hypothesis is correct. Airplane! “Ooooooh!” he remarks.

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Yogurt Goatee

Yogurt Goatee

To eat well is to live well. Each family defines eating well differently. For some, the menu is all organic; others serve Kraft mac-n-cheese and Mott’s applesauce, happy that everyone is together. Some use their best dishes; others set the table with well-loved chipped plates.

While there are many differences, one thing is similar: Families who eat well together are thoughtful about mealtime. Eating is a time to pause during the day and appreciate family and friends. For children, it’s a time to learn manners and the art of civil conversation. It’s a time for parents to show respect for their children, to nurture their body, mind, and soul.

Of course, wanting to orchestrate a gracious meal and actually creating one are two different things. The learning curve is steep. I have often felt frustrated and depressed over too many haphazard meals of clumsy prepping , survival snacking, and never finishing a healthy meal due to the constant getting up for a paper towel, for Jack’s spoon flung to the floor for the tenth time, for my water glass, and for . . . why am I standing again? Then there’s the endless sweeping of crumbs, wiping down sticky fingers, and scrubbing mushy bananas off the high chair tray. It’s easy to give in to constant chaos, claiming it the new norm for a stay-at-home mom with a toddler underfoot and a new baby on the way.

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I admire Pope Benedict XVI for his courage and discernment. Resigning from one of the most influential positions in the world reveals the depth of his humility and obedience. Having such inner quiet and stillness formed by the Holy Spirit is something that I aspire to perfect in myself and to nurture in our 15-month-old son.

I say nurture because I don’t have to teach Jack to find meaning in quiet space. He does this every morning when the sun shoots bold rays through our den windows.  Jack rises to his knees and tries to catch the farthest beam.  He moves his face in and out of the sun to learn the difference between warm and not warm. He waves his hands and is delighted by the dancing shadows.

Jack studies the sunlight like he studies his books, blocks, and stuffed animals. Everything in the toy bin, sunlight included, offers the opportunity to discover and define.

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Dogs are awesome. No wonder children love them. Dogs have funny ears, squishy noses, and cool tails. They make sloppy noises when they eat and contort into bizarre shapes when they sneeze. They give big hugs and kisses. They listen and they love unconditionally.

Our dog, Cowboy, is everything to our Jack. A super-sized springer spaniel, Cowboy is a best friend, a jungle gym, a train track, and a member of the band. He is his protector, babysitter, and, more recently, disciplinarian.

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Since Jack learned to crawl nearly three months ago, our lives have been very different. Before he became mobile, I could build blocks and read Pat the Bunny with him. Then, I could sit back and read a novel, or at least a paragraph in a novel, and write, or at least a few sentences in a journal.

Now that he requires more careful watching, more is demanded of us, especially of me as a stay-at-home mom. The advantage is that as Jack develops into the wonderful little guy God has created him to be, he interacts with me more, and I witness his personality come into being. When my husband comes home at the end of the day, he is excited to hear the daily play-by-play.

The disadvantage is the personal sacrifice. Me time is relegated to Jack’s nap time and an hour or so in the evening―not much time to finish a novel, take a ballet class, do an at-home facial, watch Modern Family, organize closets, and do whatever it was I did before baby.

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It’s playtime. I spread out Jack’s bright play mat, which has over 75 activities according to the packaging advertising. I place Jack on the mat and strategically arrange his hanging toys. Googly-eyed Owl is positioned at 12 o’clock. Squeaky Squirrel is stationed the east. Two large board books stand sentinel to the north and south.

I analyze the situation. Black and white images support visual stimulation. A garrison of textures supports tactile learning. Toys are ready for deployment when Jack’s neurons start firing. I bring in the dog for back-up. Cowboy is a brown and white springer spaniel with a soft coat. Roger that.

Jack blinks at Owl. Five minutes pass. He is still blinking at Owl. I grow nervous. He might not have enough stimulation. I consider painting the white ceiling in case he looks away from Owl. I can’t have him stare at white space, and, heaven forbid, think of white space? He’ll never get into Harvard! He’ll never get a job! I’ve read all the baby books. Why is this mission failing?! (more…)

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