My Little Chef-in-Training

Though I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a epicurean master, I am rather comfortable in the kitchen. I know my way around a Cuisinart, and I can whip up a yummy marinade by tossing a few random condiments together in a Ziploc bag. So it delights me to no end that Daniel seems to find happiness in all things culinary. Aside from simply liking to eat, Daniel prefers to play with cups and utensils over anything else. He just got a picnic-table playhouse, and he loves to sit on the bench and join me for a pretend tea party. He'll take a plastic cup and spoon and show me how to "stir," no doubt mimicking my feverish morning-coffee preparation. He picks up the plastic hot dog and takes a "bite," and even "nibbles" the plastic corn. What he much prefers, however, is the real thing.

If I allowed him, Daniel could play in the refrigerator and dishwasher for hours. He climbs into the fridge and proceeds to remove all jars and containers from the shelving on the door. He's particularly fond of the syrup and soy sauce. Whatever he can reach gets rearranged. The dishwasher, though not the safest of play zones, is a wonder to him. He pulls out silverware and mugs and begins to prepare a concoction. He loves the sound of the forks and knives clanging together, and really enjoys manipulating the "adult" utensils. All that he usually gets are the boring, noiseless, plastic spoons. I'm content to let him play with the contents of the dishwasher, so long as I'm nearby to supervise. So far, he hasn't shown any violent tendencies while brandishing a butter knife.

Last night, I served Daniel grilled chicken and sweet potatoes for dinner. He seemed to enjoy it at first, but soon grew annoyed with having to use his hands to feed himself. I pulled out a plastic fork and showed him how to stab the pieces of food and lift them to his mouth. He was doing pretty well, too, until the novelty wore off. In the end, I had to give him a real knife and fork to play with so that he would allow me to feed him the remainder of his dinner. There was something so interesting about those grown-up utensils that eating became a secondary function. Next step is to teach him how to cook me dinner!

Food, Glorious Food

Daniel seems to have turned over a new eating leaf. Which is to say, he has been rather adventurous lately with the foods he is willing to try. For example, at the deli this past Friday night, Peter decided to offer Daniel a couple of pieces of half-sour pickle, for what seemed like the millionth time. Prior to this occasion, Daniel had either tossed the pickle aside with not even a shred of consideration, or touched it to his lips and promptly puckered in disgust. For whatever reason, this night was different. Daniel hungrily gobbled up the pickle, grunting in frustration when the pieces in front of him were gone. But he didn't stop there. He sampled sour tomatoes, rye bread, and even black olives (ugh...he definitely didn't get this particular taste from me). When his dinner came, he ate mostly half of his grilled cheese sandwich, some sweet potato fries, and even some boiled chicken from Peter's soup! I had never seen anything like it. I find it hard to believe that this was the first time Daniel was actually hungry. I suspect, rather, that his appetite waxes and wanes as randomly as his moods. Welcome to toddlerhood!

For the most part, Daniel is still content with his fruit and oatmeal breakfast. Sometimes I spice things up with some banana chunks or graham crackers, but the kid is pretty consistent. Lunch is a challenge. Whether it's because he's tired and ready for a nap, or because he's displeased with the food selection I've offered, Daniel frequently tosses half his lunch on the floor. I can understand when Ollie is begging and Daniel wants to share. But most of the time, he just nonchalantly flings the food aside. I find that he's more likely to put the food in his mouth if I look away or busy myself with some other activity (i.e. reading, cleaning up). But I still haven't solved the mystery of what causes him to dispose of his lunch in the first place. I want to believe what everyone tells me: he will eat if he's hungry. But the frustration of seeing another meal go to waste is sometimes too much to bear!

At the grocery store this weekend, I tried my best to select items that would serve to expand Daniel's food repertoire. Some grilled chicken, veggie corn dogs, turkey meatballs...you know, real food! The baby food is officially gone. Pureed carrots no longer do it for him. I continue to struggle with providing a balanced, nutritional meal for him on a regular basis. But when I'm on my hands and knees, picking up pieces of strawberry and chicken, feeling overwhelmed, I repeat my mantra until even I believe it: If he's hungry, he will eat.

Laughing Through the Pain

Daniel has never been a hitter. So when he recently began kicking and swatting at my face while I was giving him his nighttime bottle, I was understandably concerned. He wasn't acting out of anger or frustration; in fact, he was smiling and laughing as he did it. For him, the hitting was a game. I probably reinforced that idea by making silly sound effects every time he hit or kicked. A couple of times, he really hurt me and I exclaimed, "Ouch!" I tried my best to be serious and said to him, sternly, "No hitting. You hurt Mommy." He continued to smile, repeating, "Ouch. Ouch." The way he said it ("Ach!") was so cute and funny, I couldn't help but laugh. Once again, I had inadvertently reinforced his behavior.

I now find myself in situations where Daniel will pull my hair or kick my chest, I'll say, "No hitting!" and he'll smile and say, "Ach!" Even when I put on my angry face, Daniel will continue to chirp, "Ach! Ach!" and I'll inevitably begin to laugh. How am I supposed to teach him that what he is doing is wrong, when he perceives me to be as amused by it as he is?

Poor Ollie has been the target of Daniel's physical exuberance lately. Not only does Daniel chase Ollie around the house, but he also takes away Ollie's rawhide while Ollie is chewing it. Even when I suspect he's trying to pet Ollie, Daniel kind of swats at him. Ollie ends up being extremely pissed off, and usually retreats to a corner somewhere. I feel terrible for Ollie. He's certainly not going to stick up for himself, but I can't yell at Daniel because he hardly knows what he's doing to the poor dog. Daniel sees it as playful behavior, whereas Ollie sees it as anything but. I'm torn between teaching Daniel the concept of right and wrong to the extent that he understands it and protecting Ollie and myself from these bouts of physical aggression. My hope is that Daniel will soon gain better control of his strength, thereby causing him to interact more gently with those around him.

Testing, Testing -- One, Two, Three

Daniel seems to be at an age where he is keenly aware of the difference between right and wrong. I'm not saying that he understands subtle questions of morality, but rather that he knows he shouldn't be pulling knives out of the dishwasher. Lately, he has been demonstrating behavior that can only be explained as a way to "test" my reaction to it. For example, he'll take a piece of food off the tray of his high chair and hold it over the side, almost daring me to stop him from dropping it on the floor. He knows this is unacceptable behavior, as evidenced by the "look" he gives me immediately before he drops the food. What I'm beginning to discover is that my reaction directly affects the outcome of the situation (duh, psychology 101, I know). If I sternly say, "No!" he usually hesitates for a moment before letting it go. But 9 times out of 10, he WILL let it go. If I sneak glances at him out of the corner of my eye, making him think I'm ignoring him and that I couldn't care less what he does with his food, he usually rethinks his actions and shoves the food in his mouth instead. All he wants is attention, good or bad. After having been a teacher for 7 years, you'd think I'd have figured this out a lot sooner. It's the classic "acting out" defense. Doing the wrong thing almost always gets the grownup's attention. Thus, knives pulled out of the dishwasher and food dropped on the floor.

I have been combating this misbehavior through a combination of ignoring it, as I mentioned, and by praising Daniel for good behavior. I can often be heard saying, "You are eating so beautifully!" or "Thank you for playing so nicely with your toys!" These super-positive statements may sound patronizing to a third grader, but not to an 18-month-old. The more positive attention I give to Daniel, the less he'll have to rely on behaviors like dumping Ollie's food onto the floor or tearing apart the TV Guide. He's figuring out what he can get away with, and what warrants a scolding. The hard part for me is drawing the line between teaching him what behaviors are unacceptable, and just letting him be a toddler without losing my mind.

Bonding Time

Daniel has always been willing to cuddle with me after finishing a bottle, but lately he likes to play little games that allow him to "explore" through the use of touch. He lays across my lap, his belly full of milk at the end of a long day. Once the bottle is out of the way, he places his hand on my face. Sometimes he just pushes my cheek so I'll turn my head, causing him to laugh hysterically. Other times, he'll run his fingers over my eyes, nose, and mouth, no doubt trying to figure out these strange facial features that everyone seems to have. If I ask him, "Where is Mommy's ear?" he'll gently brush my ear with his fingertips. Ditto for the eye, nose, and mouth. If he's feeling particularly spunky, he'll grab a piece of my hair and yank on it. When he doesn't pull my hair, he pulls my shirt. All of this "playing" with Mommy is Daniel's attempt to interact with his familiar surroundings in a new way. He used to cuddle passively, now he wants to be entertained.

While it's difficult to get him to sit still on my lap for any extended period of time, I cherish these quiet moments we share each night. There is so much rushing around during the day. I'm always busy driving to activities, changing diapers, or making meals. Daniel and I rarely get to simply be together, enjoying one another's company. This nightly ritual of silliness and intimacy is our way of connecting at the end of a busy day. We have our special routine, which Daniel can rely on. I've figured out, through much trial and error, what works best for him as he prepares for bedtime. Though the nighttime routine is constantly evolving, there will always be certain aspects of it that remain constant: I will always cuddle with Daniel (if and when he lets me, of course), I will always wish him sweet dreams, and I will always say, "I love you."

The First (Hair)cut is the Deepest

I didn't do it. It's not that I chickened out -- quite the opposite, actually. I made the phone call to schedule Daniel's first haircut appointment, but the place I had chosen was booked solid. I guess a lot of parents were feeling brave on this sunny Saturday. A wave of disappointment came over me. I had committed to the idea of taking Daniel to get his hair cut, and it wasn't going to happen the way I hoped. The thought of doing it on his 18-month birthday was almost symbolic, and certainly memorable. A coming-of-age ritual, of sorts. But there was to be no cutting of Daniel's golden locks today. Maybe it was a sign.

Now that I've psyched myself up for this momentous occasion, however, there's no turning back in my mind. I've tentatively booked Daniel's haircut for next Saturday. Time and place of my choice. We'll call it his special "Hanukkah" haircut, I guess! I'm not worried that he'll be scared or freak out, just that he'll no longer look like my gorgeous little boy. I'm most afraid that he'll emerge from this haircut appointment looking like a (gulp!) BIG BOY. Now that he's 18-months old, I definitely can no longer call him a baby or an infant. He is a toddler, in every sense of the word. He's approaching 2 years old, after which his age will no longer be marked in months, but rather in years. From that point on, it's just a matter of time until he's in preschool. Holy crap.

This week I will remind myself to enjoy his "babyness." I'll run my fingers through his (still) silky curls, gently kiss his soft cheeks, and tickle his bony little chest. Because next weekend's milestone is just a haircut. His essence will remain the same for now. One day, however, not too far in the future, I'll greet my gorgeous little boy by looking up at him and realizing that he is bigger than me.

To Cut or Not to Cut?

Daniel was pretty bald up until his first birthday. When I look at pictures of him from back then, I'm amazed by the cute little "buzz cut" he had. I remember the awful cradle cap -- how I would massage his scalp in the bathtub with Head & Shoulders, and then gently pick at the loose flakes while he drank his bottle and drifted into la-la land. Sometime between about 8 and 12 months, however, the cradle cap went away. In its place grew silky blond ringlets. As he approaches his 18-month birthday, Daniel now has a headful of beautiful hair. And I'm contemplating whether or not it's time to cut it. I must be crazy, right?

It's not that his hair is getting in the way. On the contrary, it stays out of his eyes and just barely caresses the top of his ears. The back of his head is covered by luscious ringlets that criss-cross one another like something Rapunzel spun up in that tower of hers. It gets thicker and thicker by the day. For some reason, I feel like it is a good time for his first haircut. Turning 18 months old is an exciting milestone, one that would be made all the more special by incorporating another important rite-of-passage: the first haircut. So why do I keep changing my mind and delaying my phone call to Sharkey's Cuts for Kids?

Celebrities like Kate Hudson and Celine Dion seem to be suffering from "first haircut-phobia" to an extreme. These little boys could easily be mistaken for little girls, due in no small part to their mothers' refusal to cut that silky baby hair that we all wish we could hold onto forever. I personally think these ladies need to get a grip and give in to the shears. I know that I will, soon enough. Will I regret doing it now, before Daniel's hair really necessitates a cut? Is the first haircut a symbolic "letting go" that means your child is no longer a baby? Whatever the case, I'll reveal my decision as Daniel's 18-month birthday comes and goes this weekend.

Vacation: The Not-So-Guilty Truth

Peter and I just returned from an adults-only trip to St. John. While we were away, Daniel stayed a couple of days with each set of grandparents. We had left him for multiple days once before, when he was about 6 months old. Back then, the instructions were easy: Give him 6 bottles of formula a day, put him to sleep on his stomach (doctor's orders), and try to feed him some rice cereal if you're feeling adventurous. A year later, he's a more complex little guy. The rituals are more detailed, and there's way more jumping through hoops to get him to cooperate. Despite the increased amount of responsibility involved in watching a mobile and curious toddler, however, I wasn't worried that the grandparents would have a tough time with Daniel. Rather, I was concerned that I wouldn't be able to stop missing him long enough to enjoy myself while on vacation!

The island of St. John is a very kid-friendly place. The dress code is casual, and every restaurant has a child's menu. There were many families staying at our hotel -- the kids frolicked on the beach and in the pool, and their parents pushed the little ones around in their jogging strollers. They seemed to have the best of both worlds: They were on vacation in beautiful St. John, but they also had their children with them. I would always feel a twinge of guilt when I saw these families together. Was it unfair to leave Daniel at home while we embarked on a getaway? Should we have included him in our vacation plans? Was I being selfish to desire some time to myself? I can honestly say, now that I am home and able to reflect on the 5 glorious days we spent away from Daniel, that the answer is NO. And I'm not embarrassed to explain why.

I'm always wary of people who boast that they've never been away from their children, not even for one night. I, for one, was unaware that there was a contest. Are the children of these "super-parents" really better off for never having been left with a babysitter while their parents enjoy some much-deserved alone time? I believe that Daniel is a flexible, easy-going child precisely because I have taken time for myself on occasion. If I didn't, I'd be a lot more stressed and exhausted. How would that make me a better mother? I needed this vacation. I had been feeling burnt out recently, and I was craving a break from the fast-paced routine of everyday life. Being alone in St. John allowed me to sit back and relax, and take time to do the frivolous things I enjoy: read chick-lit, exercise, daydream, and eat delicious food. There were no feeding times, no nap times. I didn't have to worry about getting back from dinner in time for Daniel to go to bed. I was able to enjoy a particular brand of freedom that I no longer take for granted (since I rarely get to experience it!).

Sure, I missed Daniel. I couldn't wait to see him and give him a big hug and kiss. Our reunion was sweet, and I still haven't come down from the high two days later. Peter and I look forward to many family vacations in the future. We can't wait to travel with our children, to make the memories that last forever. But we're proud of ourselves for recognizing the importance of an adults-only vacation now and again, if for no other reason than to reaffirm how much we adore our little guy.

Curiosity or Mischief?

Daniel is into everything these days. Wherever his little legs can carry him, that's where he wants to be. Up and down steps, in and out of rooms, over and under furniture. Thank goodness for babyproofing -- gates, cabinet locks, and outlet covers keep him safe and me sane. But he still manages to find a loophole. There's always some uncharted territory for him to explore (usually one that I never could've anticipated). Recently, he's become fascinated by the floor vents in each room. Since the grates are not screwed down, he's figured out how to remove them. it's a perfect hiding place for Daniel's treasures. Our Comcast remote disappeared for a week or so; it was found only when I observed Daniel "rescuing" it from one of these floor vents. After countless scoldings on my part, he continues to explore the vents. At this point, is he still seeking to satisfy his curiosity, or is he drawn to the vents for the sole purpose of pushing my buttons? Does he understand the concept of "mischief," or is he simply an innocent explorer?

Another place with which Daniel is obsessed is the dishwasher. Not only can he open and close it, he can lock and unlock the handle. It's a no-win situation. As soon as the door is down, there's no power on Earth great enough to keep him from touching the silverware. It's shiny! It's sharp! The knives are of particular interest to him (and the cause of a near-heart attack on my part -- the first time he pulled one out, he started running across the kitchen with the knife in his hand -- makes running with scissors seem like child's play). I had to start putting the knives on the top rack to keep them away from Daniel's hands. But he still likes to climb onto the open door and pull out the coffee mugs, to my chagrin.

The list of favorite objects goes on and on: the Diaper Genie (I've even caught him sticking his hand in and pulling out dirty wipes -- no diapers, thank goodness!), Ollie's food and water bowls (poor Ollie, his bowls spend half the day out of reach), my wallet (self-explanatory, only going to get worse as he gets older), any working telephone which we are too careless to place out of his reach, remote controls (he's inadvertently cancelled one too many TiVo recordings for it to be funny anymore), and basically anything else he's not supposed to touch. I truly believe that curiosity is an important trait for a little boy to have. I don't want to believe that Daniel goes directly to these objects with the intention of driving me crazy. But the Diaper Genie? Seriously. There's nothing in there even remotely worth checking out.

A New Phase, or a Temporary Funk?

It has been a trying weekend. My pleasant, cooperative angel has been displaying new dimensions to his personality (I figure that if I put a positive spin on it, I won't sound so whiny and desperate). Daniel is suffering from a bad cold, and maybe even teething a bit. I'm guessing, of course, in my attempt to justify this drastic change in behavior. Mealtimes have become tense, to say the least. Daniel is eating less than usual, even when I make his favorite foods (Ellio's pizza, why do you fail me now?). When he does put something in his mouth, he finds it extremely amusing to spit it back out. Most of the time, however, he just smashes things between his fingers or feeds them to Ollie. Tonight, he seemed satisfied by a meal of pancakes, strawberries, and yogurt -- that is, until about halfway through when he decided he was finished and began to scream bloody murder. Why the freaking out? I have no idea!

Another ritual which has gone downhill seemingly overnight is bedtime. Daniel still enjoys his bottle and appears to be content with the idea of being carried to his crib. As soon as I try to lay him down with his blanket and walk away, he loses his you-know-what. He stands up and gropes at my arms, beginning to whimper and whine. If I turn and walk out of the room, he begins to cry and scream. Again, with the screaming. What gives? I mean, it sounds like the poor child is being tortured. Luckily, it lasts only a couple of minutes and he soon falls asleep (with a wet, snotty face, no less), but it's still very upsetting to hear. He has exhibited this behavior for two consecutive nights now, but I'm still hopeful that my happy, agreeable little guy will make a reappearance sooner than later.

Peter and I are leaving on an adults-only vacation in a couple of days. Daniel will be staying with both sets of grandparents. There are two possible outcomes: he'll either make liars out of us and act like a perfect angel, or he'll wear out his welcome and make his grandparents very happy to have finished raising their children! I'm hoping for the former rather than the latter.

Thanksgiving...The Mommy Edition

In honor of the holiday, I've been reflecting on the people and things in my life for which I am thankful. While this year's list includes Simon Baker in "The Mentalist," a nice glass of Riesling, and Facebook status updates, I'll reserve this space for Mommy-related things (although I'd be happy to share my more frivolous treasures with you at a different time). Of course, all I really have to say is that I am thankful for Daniel. He is, after all, the reason I get out of bed in the morning. He is my sunshine and my source of comfort always. But enough with the mushy stuff.

I am thankful for cups and spoons. They keep Daniel occupied and sufficiently distracted when I am trying to feed him breakfast in a hurry. Pretty soon, he'll use them to actually eat, which will make my job a whole lot easier! I'm also thankful for pretzels and Goldfish. These portable, semi-nutritious snacks allow me to stretch my errands just a bit longer by curbing Daniel's hunger and giving him something to do while I run around the grocery store like a crazy woman. And what would I do without my Boppy cuddle pillow? Since Daniel was a newborn and still breastfeeding, I've used this pillow to support him so that I could relax comfortably during feeding time. Since he still drinks a morning and nighttime bottle, I use the pillow to cushion him on my lap while he drinks. It's an intimate, cherished ritual for us that I'm not soon willing to give up.

On the activity front, I'm thankful for music and gym classes, Mommy & Me, and the MOMS Club playgroup. They not only fill my schedule, but they fill my need for adult conversation and mother-to-mother support. When Daniel was born, I knew only a couple of people with babies. Now I can say that I have a new group of Mommy friends, and I owe it to these activities. My decision to resign from my job was a scary one, but having a destination each day makes it easier to reconcile. While I'm thankful to be busy, I'm also thankful for naptime! I'm very lucky to have a good sleeper. Daniel naps every day from about 2:00 to 5:00. I crave this time to myself. This is my treadmill time, my laundry time, my catch-up-on-TiVo-programming time, or just my snuggle with Ollie time. Part of the reason I'm so willing to wait to have another baby is that I'm not ready to give up this "free" time.

Finally, I'm thankful for everything and everyone who loves my little Daniel and makes him smile. Whether it's building forts with his Daddy or watching "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" while sitting in my lap, Daniel is perpetually happy and cheerful. I could never do it alone.

The Restaurant Blues

We began taking Daniel out to restaurants when he was about 2 weeks old. Sure, it was June. The balmy nights made it easy for us to justify our need to get out of the house. Pumpernicks was a favorite dining-with-Daniel destination in those early days. Daniel slept through most of these dinners, snug in his infant seat. Peter and I used to look at each other across the table and say, "Boy, this sure is easy!" In fact, we've been lucky enough to enjoy relatively incident-free dinners out with Daniel ever since then. Now that he's a toddler, however, the confines of a high chair are not at the top of his "places to spend time with Mom and Dad" list.

It has become increasingly more difficult to take Daniel out to restaurants for dinner. Not only does he want to escape from his high chair, but he wants to touch everything on the table -- silverware, condiment bottles, salt shakers, menus, sugar packets, etc. You get the idea. If you take something away from him (say, after he's chewed through a creamer cup, thereby causing creamer to spill down the front of his shirt) he freaks out. The rest of the meal becomes a guessing game for me and Peter. Daniel reaches out his arm and whines, and we frantically try to anticipate what will satisfy him. "Do you want the straw? How about the napkin?" We are rarely correct. Most of the time, I'm convinced not even Daniel knows what he wants.

We become so consumed with keeping him happy and calm, one of us inevitably neglects the meal and ends up eating next to nothing. The dinner ends with us looking wearily at one another as if to say, "Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?" It's not fun. You'd think we'd have learned our lesson more quickly. But we always gave Daniel the benefit of the doubt because he is so well-behaved. Despite the annoyance of enduring a meal with his whining and fidgeting, he is still one of the most pleasant and cooperative babies I've encountered. We're lucky. At least we got to go out with him at all. I suppose there are some people who are just homebound with their young children because they can't imagine sitting through a meal with them in a public place.

Interestingly enough, dinner seems to be the only meal that presents a real problem. We've continued to take him out for breakfast and lunch, and the disruptions are much less frequent. But for now, Peter and I have chosen to go out to dinner only when a babysitter is available. We're more relaxed, we can enjoy our food, and Daniel can run around and shout to his heart's content.

Training Him Early

I noticed quite a phenomenon in music class today. Daniel wanted to do nothing but help clean up! As I observed his actions, he moved quietly around the room. The teachers would bring out various instruments and props. Daniel would handle these objects for the duration of the song, but he wouldn't really come to life until it was time to put something away. Then he sprang into action. Egg shakers. Kitchen utensils. Tambourines and maracas. Everything went back into its designated container. If there were too many children crowding around the teacher, Daniel would sneak away and come back holding the lid to the container! At one point, he dragged a large lid over to one of the teachers and started doing his impatient grunt. As the other children handed her objects to put away, she had to remind Daniel that it wasn't yet time to close the container. He waited, dutifully and patiently, until his time had arrived. He even helped her push the container into the shelving cabinet!

At the end of class, as the children played along to a song with their various instruments, Daniel joined in with a tin can "shaker." About halfway through the song, he spotted the empty container in the corner of the room. He walked over to it and placed the tin can on top! He turned to walk away, but changed his mind and went back to retrieve the can. This repeated about 3 times, until the song was over. He couldn't decide whether he should play the instrument or get a jump on putting it away!

Daniel had learned this obsessive need to clean up from me, of course. While I don't usually emphasize cleaning up verbally to him, I'm sure he observes me on a regular basis putting his toys away and tidying up the kitchen and living room. I can certainly be obsessive about this activity, and I'm afraid that it has rubbed off on Daniel. I don't want him to be so worried about cleaning up that it prevents him from enjoying an activity. From now on, I'll have to be more conscious of how often I'm tidying up in front of him. I might actually have to wait until he's asleep before I do it.

My Support System

As any first-time mother will tell you, it can take quite some time to get into a semi-normal routine after having your baby. Between sleep deprivation, breast pumping, and general moodiness, it can seem at times like you'll never leave the house again. The irony of this situation is that leaving the house is precisely what you need. Which is why I thank my lucky stars for the MOMS Club.

I heard about the group from a neighborhood woman I had met at Gymboree. She raved about how well organized the activities were, and how nice the other mothers seemed to be. Upon her recommendation, I joined the group. I was immediately invited to join a playgroup of women with babies around Daniel's age. It was exactly what I was hoping for, and it fell right into my lap! I ended up being extra lucky to join a group of eight or so caring, nurturing women who have truly become friends. We meet once a week at someone's home and commiserate with one another while our children play. It's a win-win situation.

Today at playgroup, one of the women commented, "I'm so glad to have you ladies to talk to." Sure, we all have our friends and families, but there's something really special about spending time with people with whom you can share stories of experiences that they, too, have been through. Whether I'm looking for advice, encouragement, or simple understanding, I can turn to these women for support. Each one of them is genuinely interested in sharing the bond of motherhood. We lean on each other in times of frustration, but also know we can get a good laugh. Just this morning, we discussed leaky boobs, bribes for successful diaper changes, and how to properly address a toddler who is turning the pages of his book before his Mom is finished reading. This group is invaluable to me.

I enjoy taking Daniel to music class and Little Gym, but I cherish Tuesday mornings for their warmth and companionship. As the women in our group have more children, I hope we continue to meet. There will always be something to talk about. Kids will always do crazy things, moms will always find situations when they want to scream, and I will always appreciate these women for being my rock through the whirlwind of new motherhood.

So Proud!

One of the most amusing behaviors that I've seen Daniel display is when he claps for himself after completing a task. He doesn't clap for just any accomplishment, but rather for those things that he deems worthy of someone else's praise. Whether I initiate the celebration or not, Daniel claps for himself when he does something for which he's earned praise in the past. He remembers the warm reception he got last time, and therefore claps as an incentive for others to join in. Most of the time, the clapping is infectious. He's very clever, that little boy of mine.

If I recall correctly, the clapping began at mealtimes. If Daniel was playing games instead of eating, I'd try to find imaginative ways (singing, mostly) to encourage him to eat. When he finally put some food into his mouth, I'd make a really big deal out of it. Clapping, cheering, even standing ovations. He loved it! Soon, this "performing" for praise spread to other daily activities. If I ask him to hand me an object and he cooperates, I'll thank him and he'll clap for himself. He claps when he puts his toys away (I've even caught him doing this at music class several times -- he'll put a prop back into its container and clap discretely). Daniel also claps on cue when he hears others clapping. We could be at a restaurant where the waitstaff is singing "Happy Birthday" to a patron. Daniel will clap along with the group as if he is the one for whom the celebration is taking place!

I'm thrilled that Daniel can associate his positive behavior with being praised and feeling proud. Hopefully, he will continue to feel proud of his successes and accomplishments, and that feeling of pride will become addictive to him. Something I learned as a teacher and which holds true for parenting as well, is that the best way to discourage negative behaviors is to reinforce positive behaviors with praise. It's a Pavlovian concept, it's learned, and Daniel gets it.

Wild and Crazy Friday Nights

My twenties were filled with debauchery. Well, not really. After a long week of grad school and student teaching, however, I looked forward to letting loose over the weekend. Out on the town with the girls, I frolicked until the wee hours of the morning -- knowing that I could sleep it off the next day. Friday nights were the pinnacle of the festivities. We had the whole weekend ahead of us, and we were going to have fun. Staying home was out of the question.

Fast forward eight years or so, and I am curled up on the sofa in my sweats. My 17-month-old toddler is blissfully asleep in his crib and I am eager for take-out pizza and an On-Demand movie with the hubby. My Fridays of yesteryear are gone -- the closest I get these days are a glass of wine from the state store inside the Superfresh. If I pass out on the sofa, it's from exhaustion and not from too much partying. Tomorrow morning, I'll be up bright and early to greet my gorgeous little boy as he begins his day. And that's just how I like it.

I often remark how happy I am that I didn't have my first child until I turned 30. My twenties were marked by occasional moments of irresponsibility, and those nights were among the most fun. Though I do look back on that time in my life with fond memories, I don't miss it. I'll eat pizza in my sweats, put my baby boy to sleep, and curl up with a good movie. I'm okay with a Friday night at home, because I'm now responsible for the most precious thing of all.

My Friendly Little Guy

Daniel has never suffered from that common toddler condition known as "stranger anxiety." In fact, he has demonstrated social behavior that far surpasses most adults' level of friendliness. I like to tell people that he is a big flirt. But it's more than that. Sure, he loves the attention. Who doesn't? Daniel's brand of friendliness, however, involves more than simply feeling comfortable around strangers. First and foremost, he waves constantly. He waves at salespeople in stores, checkout clerks at the grocery store, people standing in line at the deli counter, waiters in restaurants, and other children pretty much wherever he goes. He doesn't wait for them to acknowledge his presence. Rather, I believe he waves unconditionally, in the hopes that his target will notice him and make a fuss. Most of the time, he successfully achieves his goal. I've even caught him waving at trucks while riding along in the car.

Another indicator of his friendliness is his smile. Once he has caught someone's eye, Daniel turns on the charm with a thousand-watt smile that could melt even the iciest of hearts. He usually smiles at women, but I've caught him charming the guys, too (usually nice little old men, but still...). Daniel's favorite scenario is when he is noticed while playing the role of the casual observer. He'll be staring at someone with whom I'm engaged in some sort of transaction, and that person will stop what he or she is doing to acknowledge him. Before he responds with a smile or wave, he glances at me with a small grin as if to ask permission to communicate with the stranger. I nod or smile at him, and he goes to work.

I try to always praise Daniel for demonstrating friendly behavior. I want him to know how important it is to project a positive demeanor to others. By that same token, when he is snubbed by an unfriendly grouch, I praise him extra loudly (in the hopes that the offending person will learn a little something in the process). If everyone were as happy and friendly as my little guy, the world would be a much more peaceful place!!!

A Time to Vent

Today's discussion at Mommy & Me was about anger. What makes your toddler angry, and how do you handle it? The topic is certainly age-appropriate. As Daniel becomes more mobile and independent, he wants to do everything himself (see yesterday's post). He knows what he wants, and how to get it. He doesn't have the language skills to explain his needs or argue his opinion. Thus, anger emerges.

Daniel gets angry when you take something away from him. The telephone and remote control are two sacred possessions which he holds on to for dear life. He'll immediately burst into tears if separated from either one. (The trick is to never give them to him in the first place -- Peter is still working on this strategy.) He also gets angry when you try to force him to eat something he doesn't want. That anger is usually accompanied by a swat of the hand, sending the spoon and offending food flying across the kitchen. Daniel occasionally gets angry when you lie him down for a diaper change or a change of clothes. He'd much rather be moving around, and he'll wriggle and complain until you've completed your task. I've usually broken into a sweat by that point.

I try to remain calm when Daniel freaks out, but I certainly have my meltdown moments. Smiling and joking helps, as does singing a silly song or confiding in Ollie. I've yelled at Daniel a couple of times, but quickly learned that was pointless. His response was to smile at me, making me feel even worse for having yelled. Deep breathing helps, and sometimes I just walk away from the situation. I think about what it must be like to know what you want but to not be able to communicate it to anyone. When Daniel does gets angry, though infrequent, it's usually because he is frustrated. It's hard to NOT be sympathetic.

Big Boy Behavior

A common phrase heard in our house these days is, "Do it like a big boy." Whether I'm asking Daniel to eat in a particular manner or to assist in getting himself dressed and groomed, I add this caveat in the hopes of encouraging him to impress me with his new skills. While I'm pretty sure he doesn't know what it means to act like a "big boy," he never hesitates to imitate any action I've demonstrated for him. When I stopped cutting his pizza into small pieces, he stepped up to the challenge of eating it in strips. I figured I had just been underestimating his ability to eat in a more advanced fashion. So now I'm trying to push the envelope with other routine activities. Instead of always carrying him to and from the car, I let him walk. Rather than wrestling with him to brush his teeth, I give him the toothbrush and let him move it around his mouth. It may not be the most effective tooth cleaning, but he's doing it himself -- without squirming or agitation! We're working on getting dressed and undressed. If I ask him to give me his pajama shirt, he'll tug at it. As I'm dressing him, he knows how to put his arms through the arm holes of his shirt. Lately, I'll give him the brush or comb and let him groom his hair like a "big boy." A little part of me hopes that all of this encouragement to be independent will help down the road with such imposing tasks as potty training and sleeping in a "big boy" bed. It never hurts to be prepared!

Branching Out

Peter and I are very fortunate to have our parents living close by. As the first grandchild on both sides, Daniel has had no shortage of available babysitters. We have been lucky enough to enjoy romantic dinners and movie nights, thanks to Daniel's grandparents who are always willing to help out. And even though I know they'd rather babysit him than be anywhere else, there's a little nagging feeling of guilt in the back of my mind. Do we burden them too often with the responsibility? Should they feel obligated to watch Daniel whenever we ask? Is it fair to have no "Plan C" when it comes to available babysitters?

Probably not. Which is why I'm so delighted to have found a possible babysitter who is not related to Daniel in any way. Her name was passed to me by another mom in the MOMS Club, who happens to be this girl's neighbor. She is looking for babysitting jobs, and appears to have some child-sitting experience. The best part is that she is 13 years old. If this works out, I could potentially utilize her services for the next 4 years!!!

What is so ironic is that Peter and I were just talking about the need for an "outside" babysitter. I was even willing to recruit a local teenager by stuffing fliers into mailboxes or by posting an advertisement at Montco or Temple Ambler. This girl just dropped into my lap at the perfect time! It almost seems too easy, which is why I'm not going to do any backflips until I meet her and get a sense of how trustworthy and mature she is. If I'm going to leave Daniel in the hands of a stranger (and a very young one at that) she's going to have to impress me. I've taught enough careless and irresponsible 9-year-olds to know how they turn out 4 years later! Here's hoping this girl surprises me and wins my trust.

Cheating on Gymbo

I started taking Daniel to Gymboree classes when he was just 7 weeks old. Now, approximately 15 months later, I am ready for a change of scenery. Daniel still loves the familiarity of the Welcome song, getting special attention from Miss Eva, and being hugged by Gymbo at the end of class. Maybe that's why I feel slightly guilty for dropping Gymboree in favor of The Little Gym. It's almost like I'm cheating on Gymbo with his archenemy, the kids' gym down the street.

Part of me feels like I should persevere and stick with Gymboree, since Daniel enjoys it so much. But who's to say that he won't love The Little Gym even more? Then there's that little selfish sliver of me that is simply bored with the same routine week after week. The same songs, the same equipment, the same faces. And now that the majority of the moms in the class are pregnant with their second (or third) child -- seriously, some weeks I feel like I'm the only one in there not talking about how I'm going to handle my toddler with a new bundle of joy on the way -- I feel like I have less in common with them. I'm ready for a new crop of mommies, and a new weekly destination for Daniel and I. Is that so wrong?

Today was our second-to-last Gymboree class. I grinned and bared it through the free play when Daniel went down the same slide about thirty times, the parachute games when Daniel only wanted to run off and do his own thing, and even having to listen to a particularly annoying pregnant mom share her feelings about the first time her toddler heard her unborn baby's heartbeat. As I filled out the "change of membership status" form at the end of class, I suddenly didn't feel so guilty anymore.

Daniel's Generation

It has been a momentous couple of weeks around here: David and Chandra got married, the Phillies WON the World Series, and Daniel celebrated his second Halloween (but his first time as a Trick-or-Treater). Tomorrow is Election Day, and our nation will be electing a new President. Regardless of who the winner turns out to be, this election will mark the first time in history that an African-American has run as a major-party candidate. While this fact may not directly impact Daniel's life (at least not immediately), it serves as a distinguishing moment for his generation.

I am 30 years older than my son. When I was born, Jimmy Carter was president. Elvis was still alive, albeit drug-addled and portly. Cell phones were science fiction. Computers were...oh, you get the point. I think about my childhood as a slide show of memorable events: the introduction of the Cabbage Patch Kid, Madonna's debut album, crying at the end of "E.T." Politically, things seemed pretty stable (from my naive point of view). Ronald Reagan was a popular president. I remember prosperity and domestic bliss. I'm not sure if I was lost in the utopia of my own youth, or if things really were that good.

When Daniel looks back upon his early years, what will stand out in his mind? The current economic crisis? Hopefully not. The war on terror? Please, no. Barack Obama's run for the White House? Not likely. We live in uncertain times (sorry for the cliche) and life seems so much more complicated than it was 30 years ago. I can only hope that Daniel's current point of view on history is as innocent as mine was way back when. I hope that he looks back on his childhood as a time of family trips, cherished toys, and special occasions. He has the rest of his life to read all about the other stuff.

Dancing Machine

As a child, I never passed up the opportunity to perform in front of other people. At family gatherings I would don my tutu and tap shoes, and dance my way across the fireplace hearth. So it's not much of a stretch to imagine that my little boy will be anything but a wallflower. Daniel has loved music since he was a newborn, and he especially enjoys music class with its movement, incorporation of props, and instrumentation. Until recently, however, he has been content to clap along with the music or rock back and forth a little bit (see post about musical Hallmark cards). It seems that he finally getting the idea of dancing.

For the past two nights, Peter has played The Police's greatest hits in our downstairs CD player. Peter keeps the rhythm on Daniel's plastic toy drum, of course. Daniel stands in awe of the music for just a moment. Then his upper torso begins to sway, along with his arms. Pretty soon, his knees are bent and he's bopping up and down with the beat. His little tush sticks out and his face remains serious. But he's definitely responding to the music!

I can't wait until he reaches the age of maximum dancing pleasure. It's the age my brothers were when they would each grab a sparkly glove and imitate my dance moves to Michael Jackson's "Thriller." Watching home movies of this spectacle is known to bring about both hysterics and the wetting of one's pants. I hope that Daniel never stops dancing, and that he'll permit me to dance alongside him for as long as my body will allow.

Ignorance is...Just Ignorance

A pregnant friend of mine recently asked my opinion on childhood vaccinations. She had been speaking to her neighbor, who informed my friend of her hesitancy in following her pediatrician's "aggressive" vaccination schedule. She even told my friend about a woman she knew who was "anti-vaccine" because of the "dangerous link to autism." True story. I'm not making this up.

Sadly, it is ignorant people like this who are contributing to a growing health crisis in this country. I must admit, I have a very strong opinion on this subject. I don't mean to lecture or criticize, but I wholeheartedly resent those people who feel they know more than the doctors. We hear almost daily that there is NO PROVEN LINK between childhood vaccines and autism. In fact, more and more studies are released each year which further disprove this "theory." Yet, ignorance exists. I believe in personal freedom, but not at the cost of my child's safety and well-being. I recently heard about an outbreak of measles somewhere in the Midwest. Measles!!! The CDC hypothesized that the disease originated with a child whose parents refused the MMR vaccine because of its rumored link to autism. Because of the selfishness of those parents, other children were put at serious risk.

Daniel gets vaccinated according to the pediatrician's schedule. Whatever they recommend at a particular visit, I accept. I certainly don't presume to know more about it than the pediatricians do, and I truly believe that they have Daniel's best interest at heart. Vaccines SAVE LIVES. Period. I am not at all worried about autism. I'm a hell of a lot more concerned about measles, mumps, rubella, polio, hepatitis, etc.

Some people favor a "staggered" vaccination schedule, meaning that their children receive only one vaccine at a time in hopes of lessening the impact these vaccines have on the body. I think this whole staggering idea is trendy -- the word spread via the media because some know-it-all celebrity like Jenny McCarthy shot her mouth off and made a bunch of already self-doubting mothers even more anxious. I have no doubt that I am doing what is best for Daniel. You want statistics? He is a happy, expressive, inquisitive little boy. At the end of the day, that is all I need to know.

Daniel's First Wedding

There may not have been any smiles, but there certainly weren't any tears -- and for that, I am thankful. I'm talking about Daniel, of course, as he walked down the aisle at his Uncle David's wedding to Aunt Chandra. Everyone was nervous at the prospect. Some were even pessimistic that the boys would even complete the task they had been given. Daniel had taken a long nap that afternoon, however, so I was confident that he would be okay.


When it came time for Isaac and Daniel to enter the room, I was already up front by the Chuppah. I felt bad for leaving Daniel outside with Amanda and Leah, Val and Ray, and Chandra, the bride! Aside from keeping Isaac happy, I knew they'd be saddled with the task of keeping Daniel from running off before he even had a chance to walk through the door! I was told, much later in the evening, that Daniel had been so eager to enter the room that he wanted to go ahead of his Aunt Caitlin! I held my breath as the boys came into view. Amanda was by their sides, holding Leah in her arms. As Isaac took a reluctant step, she grabbed his hand. Daniel looked confused, as if he had been blindfolded and driven to a remote location, only to be left alone to find his way back home. Luckily, Peter's aunts came to the rescue. Aunt Carole and Aunt Amy took Daniel's hands and guided him to the beginning of the aisle. He didn't protest.


As the women steered the boys down the aisle, I began to get all choked up. It was an overwhelmingly emotional experience to see my baby boy walking down the aisle, looking so handsome. He was absolutely precious and serious as can be. Once he spotted my Dad in a chair next to the aisle, he relaxed. His Pop-pop extended his arms and Daniel reached up for him. He must have felt so relieved to see a familiar face in that sea of people! I was a proud Mommy. Daniel had successfully completed his wedding duties!

Child Development, Take Two

As an education graduate student, I was required to take a class on child development. Upon entering a real-life classroom environment, I quickly forgot everything I had learned. As a mother, however, I am living and breathing a daily, hands-on class in child development. The stages of development that I once had to memorize are now taking place before my eyes. It is really an amazing experience, especially when it comes to comprehension.

Daniel is 16 months old, and his vocabulary is pretty much where it should be. He speaks often, but what comes out is mostly babble. I could probably list about a half-dozen words that he knows, including Dad, doggie, sit, and his current favorite, "this." Beyond his spoken vocabulary, however, lies a vast universe of comprehension. I am constantly amazed by how much of what I say Daniel actually understands. For example, when I ask him to get undressed, he tugs at his shirt and pants. This might not be rocket science, but I think it's amazing. If I say, "Put the basketball in the hoop," Daniel will drop what he is doing, walk across the playroom, and do just that. He even claps for himself after he completes the task!

I will continue to challenge Daniel by giving him increasingly more complex directions to follow, and by conversing with him as I have done since he was born. I'm confident that his vocabulary will grow and improve with time, and I know that pretty soon he'll be the one telling me what to do!

Back to School

Today was my first trip to Maple Glen Elementary School as a "visitor." I was no longer that third grade teacher out for the year on child-rearing leave. With Daniel in tow, I entered the building with mixed feelings of excitement and nervousness. I was eager to see my former colleagues and catch up on everyone's lives, but I was unsure about the reception I would get. Have I overstayed my welcome? Am I no longer relevant to those individuals I once commiserated with on a daily basis? Or would this reunion be warm and nostalgic, leaving me feeling sad to leave but satified with my decision to resign my position and stay home with Daniel?

For the most part, people were pleasantly surprised to see me. They asked about life on the outside and commented on how big Daniel had grown. Daniel behaved beautifully, batting his eyelashes at the ladies and goofing around with the men. We ran into a couple of my former students, though most of them have now moved on to the middle school. The students who were in my class the year I was pregnant with Daniel are now in 5th grade! They are so big! It really hit me how much time has passed since I was actually teaching. A year and a half seems like a lifetime ago.

Many things have remained constant. I will always get a warm reception from some people and a chilly one from others. The friends I had when I taught at Maple Glen are still my friends. Though we may go months without contact, we can pick up where we left off as if only days have passed. My third-grade colleagues will always be like family to me. We've seen each other through annoying staff meetings, PSSA stress, high maintenance parents, difficult students, and even relationship troubles and medical crises. That school will always hold a special place in my heart, but it's the people I miss most on a random Monday when Daniel is asleep, the house is quiet, and I yearn for some adult interaction.

When Good Intentions Go Bad

Today started out as a lovely day -- crystal clear skies, brisk autumn air, breathtaking fall foliage. After attending a MOMS Club meeting/Halloween celebration this morning, I decided to venture over to the King Of Prussia mall because I needed some things at Nordstrom. While I was there, I figured I'd stay for lunch with Daniel, thereby making it easier to put him down for his nap upon returning home. Boy, was that the wrong call!

Daniel has a had a slight cold all week, but it hasn't affected his eating or sleeping, so I thought he was well enough to be out and about. It's always a judgement call: Is a runny nose reason enough to sequester oneself inside the house? Today it wasn't. I could tell that Daniel was tired as we ran our errands, but I thought some food would perk him up. We got situated at the Nordstrom Cafe, and I fed Daniel some applesauce while we waited for our food to arrive. He seemed fine, scribbling on his placemat with a crayon and periodically feeding himself Goldfish from his Snack Trap. Perhaps I had made the mistake of ordering him a meal from the kids' menu. But you have to start sometime, right?

When his juice arrived in a sealed plastic cup with a big, plastic bendy straw, everything began to fall to pieces. Daniel was mesmerized by the cup, but didn't really understand how to hold it since it had no handles. When I tried to help, he freaked out. I allowed him to pull out the straw and play with it, but he only wanted to put it back in the cup and hold the cup himself. I was having visions of the entire cup of juice spilling in his lap, soaking his clothing, and forcing me to pony up $60 for a pair of pants from the Nordstrom kids' department. Not going to happen. So I took the cup away, causing him to burst into tears. The crying only made his already drippy nose worse. I couldn't pull out the tissues fast enough to keep up with his snot.

When he finally calmed down, I tried to encourage him to eat some food. He wanted no part of the fruit and cheese platter I had ordered him. I cut up some strawberries and placed them on the table. He turned up his nose. I managed to get him to eat some cheese, but half of it ended up in his lap or on the floor. He began to get frustrated, his irritation exacerbated by his clogged nose. He began loudly banging his sippy cup against the table. I took it away and, again, he cried. By that point, he was an unstoppable train wreck. He pulled the paper placemat off the table, sending pieces of strawberry and cheese flying into the air. I took a deep yoga breath.

After this little display of anger, he seemed to calm down. I put a cracker in front of him, and he actually took a bite! Then he began to cough. And choke. And gag. Can you guess what came next? Yup -- vomit, everywhere. Luckily, his bib and my napkins caught most of it. We were both finished with our lunch. I quickly cleaned him up, catching a sympathetic glance from the old lady at the next table. Once Daniel was back in his stroller, he was fine. He fell asleep in the car and transferred nicely into his crib once we got home. Phew!

As of 3:00, Daniel is napping peacefully and I'm relaxing in front of the computer. Of course, I could use a drink right about now.

Go Phillies!!!

Daniel congratulates the Philadelphia Phillies for making it to the World Series for the first time since 1993!!!


Back in 1993, Daniel's Mom-Mom stood in line at Veterans Stadium for 6 hours to get World Series tickets. She was able to get only two tickets.

Daniel's Mommy went to Game 4 and stayed for all 14 innings in the misty October rain, watching Mitch "Wild Thing" Williams blow a save. The Phillies lost to the Toronto Blue Jays that night, as well as in the Series.


Hopefully, Daniel will someday attend a World Series game himself.

Baby's Best Friend

Since the day we brought Daniel home from the hospital, I have desperately wanted him and Ollie to get along. Ollie was our first baby. We brought him into our lives shortly after our wedding, and spoiled him rotten from day one. He has been a loving companion to both me and Peter, but we have always secretly hoped that he would ultimately be our children's dog. Ollie has proven himself worthy of such a task, treating Daniel with a combination of curiosity and protectiveness and earning Daniel's adoration in return.


When Daniel was just an infant, spending most of his day snoozing in his vibrating seat, Ollie would hover around him like a lioness and her cub. He would find a cozy spot nearby and plop himself down to nap with his new "brother." Back then, Daniel and Ollie were about the same size. Not really knowing what to make of one another, they were civil nonetheless.

Now that Daniel has surpassed Ollie in both height and weight, the relationship has shifted. Daniel has begun to assert his control over Ollie, chasing him around and giggling with delight. We've tried to teach Daniel how to "make nice" and pet Ollie gently, rather than smack him in the head (which he did in the beginning and which Ollie took like a man). Ollie still follows Daniel around, and even participates alongside him in some of Daniel's activities.


Though Ollie still sleeps in bed with me and Peter, I envision a day when that, too, will change. As Ollie gets older, he will undoubtedly seek the companionship of this little boy whose boundless energy makes him feel like a puppy again. Daniel will come home from school and envelop Ollie in a massive bear hug. When he is sad, Ollie will comfort him (like he has for me so many times). He will find a best friend in this sweet, furry dog. Ollie will have a best friend for life.

My Musical "Prodigy"

Daniel loves music. He enjoys all genres, from U2 to Baby Mozart. Since he was about 5 months old, I've taken him to a weekly Forever Making Music class where he shares his love of music with other children. When Daniel first started these classes, he couldn't sit up on his own. I would lay him down on a blanket so he could watch me sing and dance. I would press the instruments against his hands so he could feel the vibration. Pretty soon, he was able to manipulate the instruments and other props (scarves, balls, etc.) on his own. Now he's a one-man-band, as he rocks out to the beat.


It doesn't take much to get Daniel grooving. A simple melody can grab his attention and suddenly he's swaying back and forth with the music. Recently, he's begun to do the "toddler bop," which involves bending his knees and bouncing up and down as if his feet were glued to the floor. It's really quite adorable. Sometimes even the sound effects of a particular toy are interpreted as music, and he begins to rock.

One thing I wish I had done as a child is learn to play an instrument. My rock star fantasies wouldn't seem so ridiculous if I only knew how to play guitar. I hope Daniel shows interest in learning an instrument. I'll gladly nurture those aspirations, paying for lessons and attending cacophonous elementary school recitals. Judging by his reaction to the Budilov's piano last week, I'd better start saving up now.

To TV or Not to TV?

I'm a bit of a TV junkie, I'll admit. I can be found, on occasion, circling programs in the "TV Guide" so I don't forget to record them on my Tivo. Interestingly, I discovered the wonder of TV later in life. When I was a young child, my parents put limits on the amount of TV I was permitted to watch. Having a TV set in my bedroom was out of the question, whereas today it seems to be more the norm. I once taught a student whose excuse for not doing her homework went something like this: "I had no time because I was watching American Idol!" True story.

I've read all of the recommendations when it comes to kids watching TV. The American Academy of Pediatrics suggests that children refrain from ALL television viewing before 2 years of age. Apparently, the members of the Academy never tried to make the bed or cook dinner with a fussy toddler nearby. (I'm joking -- kind of.) I did a stellar job of keeping Daniel away from the TV for the first year or so. I even took him to a live Backyardigans concert when he was 11 months old, never having viewed a single episode of the show (which I now think is pretty groovy). But as he got older and more mobile, it became more difficult to hold his attention for longer than a couple of minutes. Elmo and Diego saved me a lot of trouble.

I was part of a generation that was raised on Sesame Street. I remember learning to count in Spanish and mourning the death of Mr. Hooper. Should Daniel miss out on that magic just because some experts say it's not an ideal use of his time? I don't believe so. I've begun to allow short bursts of TV viewing each morning. Sometimes Daniel watches Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (brilliant use of They Might Be Giants music for us thirty-something parents!) and sometimes it's Go, Diego, Go. Both shows are age appropriate and what I believe to be "educational." After about 20 minutes, we turn off the TV and continue with our day. In that short amount of time, however, Daniel is completely engrossed with the action on the screen. He even "talks" to the characters. I try to interact with the program in order to model the learning experience for Daniel, but I think he'd take something valuable from each program even without my participation.

Am I afraid that I'm raising a TV addict? No. Do I think that I'm impeding Daniel's growing vocabulary? No. While I'm conscious of the amount of time Daniel spends in front of the TV, I'm confident that he's being exposed to diverse characters, exciting music, valuable lessons, and some good, old-fashioned fun. What's the harm in that?

Religion for Toddlers

From the day of his Bris, when the Moyel snipped and Daniel sucked on a wine-dipped cotton swab, my little boy was unequivocally Jewish. He had endured the earliest "rite of passage" for Jewish boys, and was awarded a personalized yarmulke as a souvenir of his courage. Tonight, Daniel will wear that very yarmulke for the first time since that fateful day. We are going to a "Tot Shabbat" at KI synagogue, guests of our friends Matt, Rachel, and Harrison Steinberg. We have selected a special event through which we will introduce Daniel to the rituals of the Sabbath. The KI Puppets will make an appearance, and a good time is sure to be had by all. Though I keep imagining the puppets singing "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist" while dressed in rabbinical garb, I imagine this performance will be less "Avenue Q" and more "Fiddler on the Roof."

I wonder what will go through Daniel's mind as he witnesses for the first time the majesty of the ark and the beauty of the Torah. It's usually shiny, so this should capture his attention quite successfully. I think it's important for him to see us there as a family. Judaism to me was always about family and tradition. By bringing Daniel to the synagogue for a family event, I am symbolically passing on this experience to my child. He will take from it what he will (most likely something distinguishing about a particular puppet). Most significantly, however, it will mark the first of many synagogue outings for our family. I can only hope that Daniel will feel the warmth and sense of belonging that I always have.

My Own Kind of Repentence

In honor of Yom Kippur, I've prepared a list of mommy-related things for which I should atone. Obviously, this is an abridged version of the list -- there are some indiscretions that are just too shameful to share with anyone but my G-d. If my attitude towards these infractions seems at all cavalier, it's solely for the purpose of amusing the reader. I don't mean to make light of anyone's sins, least of all my own. But I digress...

First of all, I'm atoning for missing Yom Kippur services today. When you have a 16-month-old, the last place you can expect him to sit still and be quiet is a synagogue sanctuary on Yom Kippur. We went to music class instead.

I'm atoning for the times I've lost my patience with Daniel, especially in situations that were obviously beyond his control (i.e. pooping for the third time in a row when I'm trying to get us out the door to Gymboree). In those situations that were clearly manipulated by him (spitting out every spoonful of food that goes in his mouth), I probably could have handled my frustration better. Even if, at the time, I wanted to bang my head against a brick wall.

I'm atoning for refusing to play Daniel's music in the car. I love the songs on his Forever Making Music CD's, but there's only so many times you can hear "Hello, I'm Uncle Jerry..." before you seriously lose your cool. In the interest of not driving off the road, I reserve those CD's for bedtime. Daniel recognizes the songs, and they are a great companion to a bottle of warm milk. In my car, my music rules. I think Daniel will grow up knowing more Gwen Stefani and Dave Matthews than Raffi and The Wiggles. And that's the way I like it (but I'll still atone).

I'm atoning for occasionally allowing Daniel to eat crackers, cheese, and baby food for dinner. I try so hard to introduce new, "adult" foods, but some nights it's just too hard to try and force him to eat something he doesn't want. As long as he's happy and satisfied, I can rest easy. I'll continue to push the table foods, so long as I can slip back to my old habits now and again. I promise I'll atone for it next year.

Phew! I don't know about you, but I feel much better. I love my little boy with all my heart and soul. If these mommy sins are the worst of it, then I think I'm doing a pretty darn good job!

Kids are Wack-o

As a teacher, I've encountered strange children over the years. I had one third-grader who behaved like a dog, even going so far as to have the other students pet him. Another student talked endlessly about "Bionicles," a toy whose characters have names so bizarre that half the time I though he was speaking a different language. The bottom line is, kids are eccentric. The degree of eccentricity varies from child to child, but it always rears its head sooner or later.

Toddlers are among the strangest creatures on the planet. Because they are still trying to make sense of the world around them, they are constantly exploring with their senses (mostly touch and taste!). Objects are fascinating to them, and they develop fixations with certain things. When Peter was a young boy, he was obsessed with vacuum cleaners. He didn't want to clean, he wanted to fly to the moon. Peter would "plug" the vacuum into the sofa cushions and pretend that it was a rocketship. Perhaps this anecdote is a good example of why parents do not rush their toddlers straight to the funny farm. Imagination sparks these strange behaviors. The act of make-believe can make an adult seem "delusional," but it makes a child seem "creative."

For a while, Daniel was obsessed with the Dustbuster. He would push it around the floor and spazz out with excitement when someone turned it on. He was also very fond of measuring spoons at one time. I bought him as many colorful plastic sets as I could find. These days, Daniel is less fixated on objects. He likes to carry out certain actions, some of which could certainly qualify as strange and unusual. One of his favorite activities is to explore inside the refrigerator (not very energy efficient, I know). As soon as he hears the door open, he comes running from any room in the house. He likes to take the condiments off the door shelf and line them up on the kitchen floor. He's particularly drawn to the hot sauce and the jelly. Lately, he's been climbing into the fridge.


He hasn't yet figured out how to get down, so this scenario usually ends in him crying out in fear. Today, he removed a bottle of salad dressing and ran around with it for at least 15 minutes. Then he found my Ugg boots and dropped the bottle into one of them (with the lid on, thank goodness). Crazy, right? Later on, I found him sitting in a drawer of appliance manuals in the kitchen. Sure, it was low to the ground, but what could have possessed him to climb in there? I should probably write down all of the bizarre things Daniel does on a daily basis, because it's difficult to remember so many. For now, I will continue to observe these strange behaviors and laugh to myself about what a "creative" child I have.

Lactose Blues

We all inherit different traits from our families -- physical, behavioral, and medical. Daniel is just a week shy of 16 months, and he seems to be a fascinating combination of me and Peter. Sure, there are things about myself that I hope Daniel does not inherit: poor eyesight, perfectionism, and a tendency towards envy. Peter's personality is much more stable than my own. He is easy to get along with, friendly, and hugely optimistic. But he is not perfect -- the poor thing is lactose intolerant! Imagine having to go through life avoiding cheese and ice cream! Peter's downfall is that he indulges in these foods and ends up sick as a dog. I could basically live on cheese and ice cream for the rest of my life -- that's how much I love these foods. Daniel certainly takes after my love of cheese. He can't seem to get enough. Ice cream hasn't caught on yet. When I see his playgroup pals gobbling it up, though, I know he'll learn to love it in time.

Why all this talk about lactose? Well, I haven't been feeling well recently. I'll spare the reader the details, but my ailments have included nausea, cramps, and massive amounts of gas and bloating. Unsure of the cause, I've hypothesized that it may have something to do with my intake of lactose. Call me crazy, but I fear that I may be allergic to the foods I love most. Just my luck, right? I'm embarking on an experiment this week: NO lactose (or as little as I can control. I'll use soy milk with my cereal, soy cheese on my sandwiches (the stuff is barely palatable), and avoid ice cream and pizza like the plague. Best case scenario, I'll feel much better and maybe even lose some weight! Worse case scenario...well, without cheese and ice cream, I'm pretty much living it.

Only time will tell whether or not lactose is my friend. In the meantime, I will live vicariously through Daniel as he devours cheese like it's going out of style. And I'll keep my fingers crossed for him that he will never see the day when his beloved lactose will be forbidden.

A Day of Exploration

Today we set off on an adventure -- we took Daniel to the Garden State Discovery Museum. It's not possible to find this place by accident. Located in Cherry Hill, the museum occupies the former Courier Post building in the middle of a nondescript industrial park. My friend Rachel told us about it and encouraged us to check it out. It was the perfect place for Daniel to explore on his own. The museum was small, not at all crowded (certainly in comparison to the Camden Aquarium, which was our second choice destination), and very accessible to a newly-walking 15-month-old. The exhibits were laid out in open spaces, where everything could be touched, manipulated, or climbed upon. Perfect for Daniel! He was in awe of the car exhibit pretty much right away. Typical boy!


Daniel sat in the driver's seat, put his hands on the steering wheel, and let his imagination run wild! Another favorite was the animal habitat -- a hollow tree with multiple levels through which the kids could climb. Peter accompanied him inside, while I tried to predict which hole he'd emerge from.

I got to live out a fantasy of my own in the news studio. Peter manned the camera while Daniel and I did our best Jim Gardner/Lisa Thomas-Laury impressions. Actually, we were more like Anchorman Ron Burgundy and Veronica Morningstar! Watch your back, Cecily Tynan!

Perhaps the museum's highlight for adults was a large pseudo-Lite Brite wall with plastic pegs. Daniel got a kick out of moving the pegs from hole to hole, but Peter and I enjoyed the sheer nostalgia of the exhibit. I tried not to think about how many sticky little hands had touched the pegs before us.
Other exhibits included a veteranarian's office, a construction site, a malt shop, and a fairy tale castle. Daniel was definitely too young for some of the interactive aspects of the museum, but he still enjoyed roaming around and exploring with his hands and feet. I'm sure we will return in the not-too-distant future to continue the adventure!

Stefanie v2.0

It's hard not to live in the moment when you have a toddler at home. Thoughts of your younger, less responsible self are almost always overshadowed by the snot on your cashmere sweater or the poop under your fingernail (yes, I washed my hands immediately afterwards!). College seems like a distant lifetime ago, and the single city girl you once were has been replaced by impossibly younger versions (seriously, why does everyone at the bar look like 14-year-old jailbait?). As I get older and continue to reinvent myself, it becomes increasingly more difficult to look back and truly remember what it felt like to be 24 and single, when my biggest concern was what to order for lunch from the Penn "ski lodge." Now that I'm a wife and a mother, I find it nearly impossible to sympathize with my younger self. Worrying whether or not HE would call? Give me a break. The insignificance of that compared with Daniel's health and well-being is ridiculous. I don't mean to come off as elitist or condescending. It's just that I've always been someone to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders for everyone to see. Pain and suffering? I can compete with the likes of DeNiro. That hasn't changed. But there's so much more at stake now than when I was a single city girl. My happiness is bound to Peter's and, most significantly, to Daniel's. While the responsibility to my husband and son can sometimes be scary and overwhelming, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Expanding Food Horizons

Daniel has always been a good eater. From breast to bottle and beyond, he consumed plenty -- so much so that my sub-6 pound preemie blossomed into a sturdy, 22-pound one year old! While his tastes and preferences have shifted, his ability to put away a considerable amount of food in one sitting has remained consistent. Now that he is approaching 16 months old and is moving around like the Energizer Bunny on speed, I can't help but wonder if he requires even more nourishment than he currently gets.

I'm beginning to make some changes in Daniel's food repertoire. The last bottle of formula is dwindling, soon to be replaced by organic whole milk. The canister of baby oatmeal will soon be empty, and I hope to convince Daniel that eggs are not as awful-tasting as he currently believes. I'm doing a better job of not stocking up on copious amounts of pureed baby food, but rather taking the time to prepare a variety of "adult" foods for him to try. We've added veggie burgers, cream cheese and jelly on whole wheat, Pirates Booty, waffles, and pizza crust to the rotation. Part of me is excited for the shift; my little boy is growing up! But the feeling is definitely bittersweet. Baby food was easy -- portable and cheap! I always knew how much he was getting. Now I'm faced with that scary uncertainty. Did he eat enough? Did he get something from each of the food groups? Can a toddler overdose on cheese?

Today I made Daniel Ellio's pizza for lunch, and he ate about a dozen pieces. He seemed to really enjoy it (what's not to enjoy?) and the chewing wasn't even too much of a problem. I was proud of him, and of myself for venturing into unfamiliar food territory. I did spoon-feed him baby applesauce in between bites of pizza, but no one's perfect! Baby steps, as they say...

My Little Bruiser

Having grown up with two younger brothers, I'm well aware of a little boy's ability to get injured in even the safest of locations. Back in the 1980's, before the lucrative baby-proofing business exploded, my brothers each ended up in the emergency room at least a handful of times. Usually requiring stitches, their injuries were caused mostly by glass coffee tables and fireplace hearths. In fact, our family room probably contained more sharp angles than a geometry textbook. Children of my generation weren't enclosed in plastic, bubble-wrapped bubbles like today's youth. We got hurt, and our parents dealt with the consequences.

Perhaps it's a form of celestial "payback," then, that Daniel is such a little daredevil. He has no fear of anything, especially if it involves climbing. As an infant, he remained blissfully injury-free (except for those awful self-inflicted facial scratches, but that was hardly my fault -- his nails were very difficult to file!). Now that he's walking (running), however, he suffers a minor injury at least twice a day. I'll hear him wailing from another room in the house and I'll know that one of three occurences has taken place: A. He dove headfirst into the wooden coffee table. B. He toppled off of the fireplace hearth while trying to step down. or C. His cozy coupe or some other riding toy capsized on top of him. Thankfully, these have all been minor injuries -- no blood, just some bruising. They have all occurred within the scrutiny-free confines of our home, where no one can accuse me of skimping on the babyproofing.

Today, during playgroup at Kim's house, Daniel decided to push the limits of safety in an unfamiliar environment. He spent about 20 minutes standing on a wooden child-sized chair, attempting to climb even higher onto the armrest. Minutes after I talked him down from that ledge, he started running around like his pants were on fire. Of course he tripped and fell, banging his mouth on the coffee table. I picked him up and comforted him while he cried tears of pain and surprise ("Who put that darn table there?"), and realized that his gums were bleeding a little bit. His first bloody injury! It felt like a significant milestone. The bleeding stopped quickly and Daniel was fine, but it seemed like we had entered a new phase of boyhood. It's just a matter of time before my invincible little boy gets knocked down to size -- again and again.