TimothyAndHeather.com

Recent Bobbinisms

They're coming too fast and furious to remember and document every one, but here are a few of the ones that made me giggle the most. Inside, of course. Because she's very serious. Most of the time :-)

You are what you eat
We're in the car driving, and Bobbin is watching out the window, looking for birds. She recognizes several varieties by sight from the parks and our back yard, and is able to name them correctly: crows, seagulls, geese, pigeons, starlings, robins, etc. She also is big into categorizing things. Kinds of birds ("a cwow is a kind of bird, mommy. Do you know what else is a kind of bird? A chicken is also a kind of bird. Yes."); things you can ride ("You can ride a school bus, you know Mommy. BUT you cannot ride a house. You know that?"); things you can eat ("Apples and bananas are food mommy. You can eat apples. But you cannot eat a tree" to which I always respond "Unless you are a beaver" and then she'll erupt into giggles herself. They are kinda silly looking animals, I suppose). It's all those Elmo episodes, I think. "can a birthday cake have a friend? NO! But friends can have a birthday party!" If you got that, you're in as sad shape as I am.

So, anyway, we're in the car driving and we come to a red light, and Bobbin spots a bird hopping around in the grass by the sidewalk. "Mommy, look! A Wobin birdie!" she exclaims. I glance out the window and acknowledge the birdie hopping around. The light turns green and we go. Bobbin sits in silence in the back for a few minutes, unbeknownst to me, contemplating deeply. Then she speaks up "You can't EAT a Wobin birdie" she says matter-of-factly. "No, you can't" I agree. More silence. And then, "You have to COOK it first" she proclaims. "Good plan" was my response, and we moved on before she could make the connection between her beloved McNuggets and the fluffy yellow baby chicks at the animal park that she thinks are so cute.

Back in the day
One of the things we've taken to doing, to help Bobbin adjust to the concept of trying or doing something new, is reminiscing about how we LOVED to do it ourselves when we were her age. Like when she was skeptical about riding her tricycle without anyone pushing her. "When I was a little girl, I used to really love riding my bike. I still love to ride my bike! When I was your age, I had a tricycle and I named it George and I would ride it all the time because I LOVED it so much!" We use it for food too "Wow, you don't want to eat your carrots? When I was your age, carrots were my FAVOURITE vegetables. I used to pick them right out of Grandpa's garden and eat them right on the spot, raw, because I LOVED them so much! I still do! Won't you try yours? If you're not going to eat them can I eat them?" It actually works a surprising percentage of the time. But there are the times it doesn't. Like with olives. She will not taste olives. Tim loves them, so he'll ask her every time we serve them. We had a pizza with olives the other day, and Tim gave her a couple from his slice for her to try. Bobbin took the olives that he had placed on her plate, and reached out and deposited them back on his napkin. Then she looked him in the eyes and said, with the most enthusiastic and honest expression on her face "Daddy, you like olives? When I was a little boy, I used to LOVE olives. You can try them if you want to. I used to eat them ALL the time when I was a little boy".

A lasting impression
Our good friends, Jeni and Roger, live in the neighbourhood and we'll occasionally get together either at our house or theirs. They have a son a year younger than Bobbin that she asks about whenever we drive up the hill to the ice cream place and pass by their street. It's been a while since we've seen them last; a few weeks at least. So it was a bit surprising when she came into the kitchen holding her little stuffed pink pig wrapped in one of my linen napkins and said "Mommy, sshhhhhh, my baby brother is sleeping". "Baby brother?" I asked in response, mildly curious. Several of her school friends have siblings so she has some understanding of the concept and she has in the past expressed interest in having a brother or sister of her own some day. NO - don't go there. It's not happening. "Yes, Mommy, this is my baby brother, and over there is my baby sister, Jeni" she said pointing to her little chair where her stuffed panda bear was sitting. "Oh! I see. Your baby sister's name is Jeni. She's very cute" I responded. "So is this your baby brother sleeping in the blankie?" She nods solemnly. "Yes", she says, "This is my baby brother. His name is Roger. His full name is Pig Roger" she said. I couldn't help it. I busted out laughing.

For lack of a peel
Bobbin asked for a banana this morning. She insisted on peeling it herself, so I handed it over, completely intact. After she pretended she was talking to Grandpa Jerry on it ("Hello? Grandpa? How are you? Yeah? Are you coming over? Yep? Ok? Yep? Ok bye") she tried to break the stem and peel it herself, but it wasn't cooperating. Just as I was about to offer my help, she thrust the banana into my hands and said "Here Mommy. I can't deal wif it. I just can't deal" shaking her head in exasperation and seriousness.

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No More Crayons

A couple of weeks ago I stopped at the bookstore and picked up a couple of new picture books for Bobbin. "The Bunnies are Not in their Beds" by Marisabina Russo, and "A Day with No Crayons" by Elizabeth Rusch. Both were instant hits but the favourite by far is the Crayon book. And it seemed I was quite timely in my selection of this book. It came in handy today.

The book is about a little girl named Liza who loves to colour. But when she runs out of paper and gets caught in the act of colouring on her bedroom wall, her mother promptly confiscates the tools of her crime and Liza must get through an ENTIRE DAY without any crayons. She manages to find ways to entertain herself and make and discover art in other creative ways and in the end she finds she didn't miss them so much after all.

Bobbin loves to make art. She absolutely adores painting. And so when I bought her some Crayola Paint Brush Pens for her to be able to keep in her room and use anytime without asking (I'm in charge of the regular paints; they're not readily accessible at her whim) she was really ecstatic.

Usually she sits at the table or her desk to draw and paint but today she decided to arrange herself and her paper and pens on our floor. The solid brazilian cherry floor that just last weekend I had spent hours on my hands and knees cleaning so I could get at every nook and cranny myself. After about 10 months of buildup I started getting annoyed and just generally disgusted whenever my socks, or worse my bare feet, would stick to the floor as I walked through the house. But I digress.

And so I said "Ok, but we have two rules. Can you guess what they are?"

" Y' know?" she replied, which is her usual response to these questions.

"Rule 1: NO colouring on the floor. Colour on the paper only. Not the floor. Got it?" She nodded her head emphatically. "Rule 2: When you are finished your painting, you put the caps on and put your pens away. Ok?" which solicited another somber nod. I asked her to repeat the rules back to me, which she did, and then I asked her what would happen if she didnt' follow the rules. "Mommy take my paintbrushes away and I cannot use them again". We seemed good.

It wasn't 10 minutes later that I then found her laying on the floor on her stomach, colouring book well out of reach, non-chalantly brushing her marker back and forth over the same spot over and over. Purple. On purpose. Clearly intentional. I asked her what she was doing and she looked up and stated the obvious. I picked up the rest of her pens and then spent the next 5 minutes quietly demanding that she turn over the purple one still in her hand. She started out defiant in her "No!" answer, but when she saw I wasn't letting up they turned to pleads, and then she started negotiating and promising "I will not paint on the floor again, I will not Mommy, please, I will not and I will clean it up". She finally turned over the last pen when I showed her the deep purple stain on the hardwood floor. The big, deep purple stain. The stain from the "washable" paint brush pens that refused to be wiped away with soap and water, and that only faded slightly when I applied something a little more harsh. She knew she was done.

I deposited the pens in what I mockingly refer to as the "Cubby of Confiscation" when I use it, or as Bobbin mispronounces it, the "Cubby of Constipation". It's a small wicker basket I keep on top of the china cabinet for just such purposes. Confiscation purposes, not constipation purposes. And then while she was sobbing uncontrollably I took her on my lap and reminded her about her picture book, and we talked about what Liza had done, and what her Mommy had done, and how this was just like what Liza had done and I took her pens away from her for the same reason Liza's Mommy took Liza's crayons away from Liza. In the end she acquiesced. It seemed fair. Liza's Mommy had done the same thing. It happened in a picture book; it must not be so bad.

I managed to get her out of her blues and back to her jovial self by enticing her outside to blow bubbles on the deck after putting the cubby back on the top of the china cabinet. The pens were not forgotten completely however, and she would refer to them repeatedly throughout the day. "Mommy, 'member when I was colouring with my pens and I coloured on the floor and that was not ok and so you took my pens and I cannot have them now until tomorrow, just like Liza". I reminded her repeatedly that Liza managed to have fun despite having no crayons for the day. We went to the park and fed the ducks and geese, and played at the playground, and rode her tricycle all up and down the bike path, and generally had a great afternoon but every so often she'd bring up the pen incident as a reminder. "Member, Mommy, when I did that?"

I had intended to give them back tomorrow but later this afternoon she willingly volunteered to help me clean the house. I gave her our little Dirt Devil portable broom vacuum thingie, and she went to town from one end of the house to the other while I used the "real" vacuum to do the carpets. When we had finished and put the vacuums away, I thanked her and praised her for being such a great helper and gave her a big hug and kiss. And that's when she looked up at me and said "Mommy, maybe I can have my pens back now please?"

This time, I put a mat underneath her paper and pens.

Not even three yet. Man are we in trouble.

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The toilet ring of potty training

If a "silver lining" is the metaphor for an unexpected glimmer of hope from a seemingly otherwise gloomy situation, then the ugly grey ring around a toilet bowl that has seen more than its fair share of use between cleanings is the metaphorical equivalent of an unexpected negative from the otherwise positive benefits of a potty trained preschooler.

A lot of current parent literature tells us that using the phrase potty "training" is no longer socially acceptable because it invokes some sort of negative imagery of toddlers as lower life forms being conditioned into using a potty in the same way lab rats can be trained to push a lever to get a treat. It says instead that we should use the phrase potty "learning". It's somehow more accurate and less demeaning. Whatever. Saying "Bobbin is potty learned" sounds a bit weird. And I wouldn't know whether I should actually pronounce learned in this context as "learn-ed". Which just makes me giggle. So instead I'll say that Bobbin has learned ('learnD') to use the potty every time she needs to go. No more diapers except at night time and even that is "just in case" these days as she almost always wakes up dry.

This is a good thing, right?

Yes, it is. No argument from me here. No more diaper pails. No more diapers. No more space consumed by changing tables, changing pads, diapering accessories and supplies. No more accidents to mop up. No more soiled underpants coming home from daycare in plastic bags with the "evidence" still attached to them. Which brings up another question: Why do they send the poop home with the kid? Do they think we parents won't believe them if they simply write a note that says "Bobbin had a #2 accident today in the playground"? It's not like the poop is the diarrahea variety. It's solid chunks. Shake the pants over the toilet before popping them in the baggy and voila - poop fragments all gone. I promise I'll believe it happened if you tell me it did. But I digress.

Yes, the fact that Bobbin now puts all her #1 and #2 in the potty all the time is a very very good thing. She is proud. We are proud. Life is easier. Life is cheaper. Life is good.

But there is a grey toilet ring around all this goodness. It's not dark grey. Just a mild discoloration. And it is the fact that as a result of her mind being so attuned to her bodily functions, she is waking up at 2am and 5am, like clockwork, every night, because she has to pee. Despite the fact that she still wears the nighttime pullups "just in case", her body has gotten to the point where it recognizes the signs and wakes her up before it happens and she must use the toilet. And after her body wakes her up, she wakes me up.

"Mommmmmyyyyyyyy.... I have to pee mommmyyyyyyyy I feel my pee pee coming MOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYY! I have to pee mommyyyyy I have to pee my pee pee is COMING"

And so I get up and stagger into her bedroom and mumble praises that she woke up in time to use the potty and ddn't have an accident and how proud I am of her. I think I mumble these praises out loud. I hear them in my head. And I hold her hand and blearily escort her to the bathroom and help her onto the potty and sit on the floor in front of her and wait for her to finish.

I have to remain semi-conscious during and after her pee in order to be able to help her back to her bed and tuck her in. She on the other hand confidently collapses into my arms in a sound slumber immediately after she has completed her business. There she will be, slumped forward into my arms, eyes closed, mouth open, snoring, still sitting on her potty with her pullups around her ankles. I have to get her all put back together and tucked back into her bed and empty the potty in the toilet and wash my hands before I can go back to my bed. And invariably, as I said, within 3 hours I'm doing it all over again.

Yes - using the potty is a good good thing. Pleased as punch we've arrived at this stage of life! But I'll be even happier when her bladder is large enough that she can make it til morning without having to pee, OR she starts getting out of bed and going on her own without waking me up :-)

Yes, I want my cake and I want to eat it too. But not at 2am. Or 5. At the more civilized hour of 7, if possible. But I'll take 6:30 if I have to.

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But...

Arrived in my inbox this week, was the monthly newsletter from Babycenter.com that I've been giving since Bobbin was first born, describing the developmental milestones we can expect her to achieve for this month, typical behaviours we're likely to see, and other stuff.

This month we were informed that "The typical young preschooler picks up new words every single day and will soon be able to string them together in sentences from two to four words long". We're well past that. Even when she's not using conjunctions to lengthen her sentences and express more complex ideas, she's easily composing and speaking endless paragraphs of 6-12 word sentences. The appearance of the aforementioned conjunctions though has been swift and noticeable. She loves to experiment with new grammatical structures almost as much as she loves to experiment with new words themselves. The fascination with words is something I expected. The fascination with constructing sentences is interesting and unanticipated in my scientific mombservations. I guess I never thought about the fact that she'd be interested in increasing her skill in sentence construction and explicitely experimenting with that; I thought sentence formation at this age, before she can actually read, would be more organic in nature, and variety would be more resulting from repeating sentence constructs she's heard, and less intentionally creative. But she's very intentional in her sentence experimentation. In watching her take such care in building these sentences and using the conjunctions and other grammatical constructs in intentional ways - sometimes correct and sometimes incorrect but intentionally either way - I'm really learning about how Bobbin is learning. It's waaaaaay fascinating (that's "way" used as an adjective). This week, we've learned how to use the word "but" in much more complicated constructs than the not-surprising "But I don't want to". Take our conversation today in the car.

Mommy: Bobbin, what should we have for dinner tonight? (I knew the answer, which is why I asked; it happened to be the only thing we had in the house having not gone grocery shopping this weekend)

Bobbin: Hotdogs and Macamoni and CHEESE!

Mommy: Sounds like a plan, then!

Bobbin: Mommy, amember peekaboo hotdogs?

Mommy: Yes, I remember peekaboo hotdogs ("Peekaboo hotdogs" are corndogs. Last year - exactly 1 year ago to be precise - we were in Bobcaygeon for my sister's wedding. We went out to lunch to a local cafe. The only kind of hotdogs they had on the menu were corn dogs. Bobbin wouldn't eat anything but hotdogs, so to try and entice her to eat a corndog instead, I showed her that the hotdog was "hiding" inside the crust. She saw the hotdog and yelled, "Peekaboo hotdog!" and henceforth she has referred to corndogs as peekaboo hotdogs. Although she's never seen one since because she made it clear she would never actually eat one).

Bobbin: Mommy, I don't like peekaboo hotdogs, BUT (she empasized it strongly and then gave a slight pause for impact so her audience could notice her usage of the word 'but' and ponder on it) I DO like regaloor hotdogs

Mommy: That's good to know. we'll have regular hotdogs then.

Bobbin: Mommy? You know why I don't like peekaboo hotdogs?

Mommy: No, why don't you like them?

Bobbin: So, because I like regaloor hotdogs, BUT I don't like peekaboo hotdogs.

Mommy: Hmm... you lost me. Can you explain it differently? Why don't you like peekaboo hotdogs?

Bobbin: So, I like REGALOOR hotdogs.

Mommy: Ok. So we'll have regular hotdogs.

Bobbin: Mommy? I like hotdogs but I want macamoni and cheese too. So we can have bowf. Ok? Ok.

Mommy: that's settled then. No peekaboo hotdogs. Only regular hotdogs and macaroni and cheese.

Bobbin: BOWF. macamoni and cheese but also (this time she placed emphasis on the word 'also' which we've also been hearing her experiment with lately) I want hotdogs.

Mommy: Yes. We will have both Macaroni and Cheese, and hotdogs.

Her deductive reasoning skills and cause & effect analytical skills are also growing in leaps and bounds and that's been just as fascinating to observe - to see how she chooses to connect two seemingly unrelated events or ideas. Sometimes the connections are correct and sometimes not, but in either case it's a fun glimpse into the inner wiring of her little neurons and the relationships that she's building up within her brain. The "not correct" relationships are just as, and often more, telling and fascinating as the "correct" ones.

On Sunday (2 days ago) Tim and Bobbin and I were getting ready to go to the zoo. We got in the car, and Tim turned the ignition and the "low oil" indicator came on. Tim turned off the car and went into the house to get a new container of oil. I explained to Bobbin what Daddy was doing when she asked. When Tim raised the hood, the gap at the hinges allowed Bobbin to see through to the engine and watch Tim pour the oil in the car. I explained what he was doing. She noted the black bottle and asked what colour the actual oil was. I told her it was kind of brownish. She asked why it was needed. I explained that the car needed oil to work - that it wouldn't drive properly if it didn't have oil. Tim finished up and we went to the zoo and had a blast.

Almost two full days after the oil incident, I picked Bobbin up today after school. It was sprinkling lightly and my windshield was kinda cloudy. I squirted the windshield washer fluid and ran the wipers to clear it up. The liquid that came out was a dirty brownish colour instead of the usual clear or slightly blue-tinged cleaner colour. I made an offhand comment like "Hmm... that's a weird colour" and was about to move on when Bobbin asked (rather, insisted on) me to do it again so she could see the colour. I squirted more fluid on the windshield and she said "Mommy, know why it is that colour? why it is yucky brown?" I replied "No... not really". "Mommy, amember when daddy put oil in the car? And maybe daddy's oil makes the yucky brown colour. Why Daddy put oil in the car to make it move and it makes a yucky brown colour on the windshield?".

Wild. She had made several connections. One that the oil and the windshield washer fluid source were located in fairly close proximity to one another, under the hood of the car. Despite the fact that she's never seen Tim change the windshield washer fluid. Nor have we ever talked about the windshield washer fluid at any length (although apparently it is a fascinating subject to ponder). And she made a connection that the strangeness of the colour of the fluid (which she's never noticed herself before) must be as a result of the oil that Daddy poured into the car two days ago. I have absolutely no idea if that's the case, but the fact that she thinks so is interesting to me.

Oh, hey, Tim... when you get a chance can you check the windshield washer fluid in the car? It's coming out a yucky brown colour.

Today Bobbin also had her first potty accident in months at school. It occurred minutes before I arrived to pick her up. She was devastated. Embarrassed. Angry. All of the above. After I managed to calm her down and let her know that these things happen and sometimes our bodies just need to go and can't wait for us to finish playing first, I asked her what happened because it has literally been months. "My pee pee sneaked up on me" she blurted out between sobs. "I was playing outside and I didn't want to go potty and I wanted to play and then I felt my pee pee coming but I was outside, so my teacher took me in to the potty but I didn't want to use THAT potty, I wanted to use the other potty and my pee pee came out and I peed on the floor over HERE, see, c'mere Mommy, Look? See that pee pee on the floor? And then my teacher was taking me to the other potty and I peed my pants". She started crying all over again as she relived the trauma. My heart just broke. She was so upset with herself and I could see that she had figured out on her own that she shouldn't have waited; that she should have stopped playing when she felt the need to go. So I didn't think I needed to remind her of that. We got her all cleaned up and she was back to her old self again (after I managed to coax her into wearing her running shoes without socks since they too were quite soaked from the incident). Although her old self these days is really all about defying Mommy and Daddy and seeing just how far we can push the "No" and the nasty voice tones until something happens (which these days is pretty swift; I have VERY low tolerance for nasty tones of voice - from anyone, at any age. It's really unpleasant and I'm hoping that because there are swift and consistent consequences that we can get through this "testing" phase fairly quickly). Anyway, we got everything taken care of, got dressed and then headed home which was then where we had both the oil/windshield washer discussion followed by the hotdog discussion.

Is it any wonder at the end of the day I'm mentally drained?

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Hazard lights and sprinkler hoses

Today was a blast. Bobbin slept in until 8am after not going to bed last night until after 10pm and not having a nap at all yesterday. She woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed, singing to herself. Eventually she started calling for me. We had breakfast - waffles and oranges - and then ran down to the Starbucks to get Tim his croissant and coffee, and then immediately headed out to the park in Juanita - the one with the big wooden "castle" shaped play structure. She saw it from the parking lot and ran all the way up hill until she was inside it, and then ran from slide to slide, ladder to ladder, balance beam to balance beam, and back and forth and back and forth. After about an hour of that, we decided to go for a walk in the forest and ended up completing the 0.3 mile loop and then going another quarter mile round trip to the little stone grotto on the edge of the woods and back.

We zipped through McDonalds' on the way home for takeout; she was starving. Then home where she devoured her meal and then crawled into bed at 2pm and slept for 2 hours straight. When she woke at 4 we ran up to the grocery store, bought all the fixings for a lasagna dinner, and then came home and cooked. She cooked, I should say. All I did was brown ground beef in a pan, stir some sauce in, and preheat the oven. She assembled the entire thing without my assistance. Scooped the meat into the pan; layered the noodles; mixed in ricotta cheese; sprinkled the final layer of mozzerella and parmesan onto it. Except for putting it in the oven; that was my job too. She even cleaned up after herself.

Have I mentioned how much I love the learning tower that we bought a few months back? The thing is a miracle. She's so self sufficient and she's so much safer on it than she would be standing on a chair.

While the lasagna was cooking we went outside and enjoyed some fun in the sun. First she helped me clean out my car; she kept coming up from the deck with glasses of water for me to drink that she had poured herself from the container I had I filled with ice water and put on the table outside. It has a spout with a button, which entertained her to no end, and turned her into quite the hospitable little hostess. "Mommy, would you like some water? Yah? Ok! I'll bring you some! Here you go!" she'd yell while running enthusiastically up the path from the deck with a little plastic cup filled with water. I must say it was refreshing in the heat. Then she'd run back down after I drained the glass, and would pour some more and run back up. Not bad. Not bad at all.

After we got the car cleaned out I let her play "driver" and she took me on a pretend trip to the park. At one point I got out to toss something in the garbage bag that was still lying on the ground behind the car from when we had been cleaning and when I looked up, my hazard lights were flashing. I asked her what she had done and she said she "pressed the triangle so people would stop and help". The girl does not forget a single detail she's ever told. I had shown her that triangle button about 6 months ago when we somehow got on the topic of why people use signal lights (she watches the cars in front of us driving, and whenever their brake light or signal light turns on she asks what happened and what they are doing. So I've explained to her all about signalling, braking, and how you know what the car in front of you is doing, and why it's important to let the cars behind you know what you're doing. She's even pointed out drivers who have turned without signalling. It's a bit unnerving). Anyway - she had decided on our imaginary trip that we needed some roadside assistance and had turned on the hazard lights. We took care of our hazard and proceeded to the park.

At this point I then filled her pool and turned on the fountain and she splashed and poured water everywhere including on the plants, which were very grateful. Then she decided she wanted to go get her bathing suit on and have me spray her with the hose. Entirely her idea. So we changed and she spent the next half hour running around in her swimsuit trying to dodge my jet spray and screaming with glee whenever I zapped her with the cold water. We climbed and slid (and discovered that it's not as much fun to slide down a plastic slide in a bathing suit as it is to slide down in full-length pants) and climbed and ran and climbed and ran and got soaked and then came inside, changed, and ate two helpings of the lasagna once it had cooled sufficiently.

I have some video of the lasagna making that I'll post when I get a chance to piece it together. But in the meantime, enjoy our car and sprinkler photos!

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The eternal question

Why?

The answer 42 does not carry any meaning with an almost-3-year-old. Neither does the eternal answer "because". Sometimes creative answers that involve magic, fairy dust and wish flowers hold water and satisfy temporarily, but usually it just leads into even more fantastical lines of questioning that become ever more challenging to answer with the same amount of gusto and creativity.

On the ride home from B, D, and Z's tonight, the line of questioning went something like this. And it's worth noting, that this was about 9:45pm - an hour and 45 minutes past her bedtime, and she had no nap today at school.

we went from tunnels to the rotation of the earth on its axis in 20 minutes, after passing through a seemingly endless set of other topics - one question after the other. Always "how" or "why".

Are we going through 2 tunnels to get home?

Yes, that's right.

why are we going through 2 tunnels?

Because that's how many tunnels there on the way home?

Why are there no brushes in the tunnels?

Because the tunnels are not carwashes; they are tunnels.

Why they are not carwashes?

Well, because, that would slow traffic down considerably and some people may not want to wash their car on the way home.

Why you would need to go slow if there are brushes?

Because I wouldn't want to damage the car or the brushes.

Why you would hurt the car?

Because if I went too fast it might scratch the car. Or I might hit the brushes and break them.

Mommy, is that the space needle?

Yup, that's the space needle.

How you go up the space needle?

Do you remember how we went up the space needle last time?

You know?

Yes I know. Do you know?

How, Mommy?

Did we jump to the top of the space needle?

Noooooo.

Did we fly to the top of the space needle?

Noooooo!

Did we ride our bicycles to the top of the space needle?

NOOOO!

Well then, how did we get up there?

You know, Mommy? how?

We rode the elevator.

Why we rode the elevator?

Because it would have been a very long walk?

And we would get tired?

Yup.

Why I didn't like the elevator?

I don't know; why didn't you like the elevator?

You know?

I actually don't. Can you tell me?

I don't know. Why?

Was it too fast?

Yeah.

Was it too high?

Yeah.

Did you think it was a little bit scarey?

Yeah.

Then that's why you didn't like the elevator.

Why?

Because you thought it was too fast, and high and a little bit scary.

Why I didn't wait at the bottom?

Because you're not old enough to wait by yourself.

Mommy, is that a tower on the bridge?

Yes.

Why that tower is there?

The tower does two things; first if it sees a car in an accident or in trouble on the bridge it can call the police to help. Second, if it sees a boat in the water that is waiting to get to the other side of the bridge, it can stop traffic and lift the bridge so the boat can pass through.

How it lifts the bridge?

Well, I think there are a lot of ropes and pulleys.

It ties a rope to the bridge?

I think the pullies and ropes are underneath and machines lift it up.

Why it lifts the bridge?

So tall boats can pass through.

Why tall boats want to pass through?

So they can get to the other side.

Why they want to get to the other side?

I dunno... why do you think they want to get to the other side?

You know?

Well, any number of reasons. Maybe they want to get to the other side because that's where the rainbow ends and they think they'll find a pot of gold.

Mommy, there's no rainbow. I don't see a rainbow.

That's because it's dark right now.

Why it's dark?

Why do you think it's dark?

Because the sun has gone to bed.

GREAT ANSWER! The sun has gone to bed.

Why the sun has gone to bed so it can shine on another part of the world?

Because everyone in the world has to share the sun, and it can only shine on one side at a time. Now it's Australia and China's turn to have the sun so they can have daytime.

How the sun shines on the other part of the world? How?

Well, the world is like a big ball and it turns around and around, and we live on one side, and other people live on the other side. And when our side faces the sun we get daytime. And as the world turns the sun sets and we get nighttime and other people get daytime.

How the world turns, Mommy?

Hey - look Bobbin, there are the circus tents!

Why those soccer field lights are on? Why I can't see people playing soccer?

I guess the ended the soccer game and someone forgot to turn off the lights.

why they forgot to turn off the lights?

Well, did you call and remind them?

No

Then that's why they forgot.

Mommy, why I'm tired?

Maybe because you've been asking so many questions?

Why I'm asking so many questions?

Because you're a bright and curious little girl.

Mommy, you tired too?

Yes, sweetheart. I'm very tired. But we're almost home.

We were literally less then a quarter mile from home when she finally dropped off to sleep. Didn't even wake when I picked her up, brought her in the house, laid her down on her bed, removed her coat and socks, and tucked her in. Still soundly sleeping. Dreaming of tall ships and drawbridges, tunnels, elevators, and a big blue ball in a sea of black spinning around a yellow sun, or something.

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It's 9:15pm. Do you know where your preschooler is?

Ours is in her room, in bed, "reading" her "Hand, Hand, Finger Thumb" book to herself out loud as she bangs her legs up and down on the mattress in rhythm with the "dum ditty dum ditty dum dum dum" words.

I need some chocolate ice cream.

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I need a raise

I came across this little gem today:

Mom's Salary Wizard

According to this, as a Working Mom in the Pacific Northwest someone oughtta be paying me about $40K for my mom duties - this is above and beyond the salary my actual employer pays me for the 50 hrs a week I spend at my "day-job".

I have the invoice. Just need to know where to send it to claim what's mine - about $100K plus change at this point. Hello? Anyone out there writing checks for mom duty?

I know, I know... the joy of raising a child are reward enough. And really, who can put a price tag on what my role as mommy is really worth?

18 years of books, toys, clothing, food, transportation, shelter, education/childcare: $425K. (Don't take my word for it - there's a calculator for that too).

Raising a healthy, confident, independent, morally, fiscally, and socially responsible child: Priceless.

Of course, someone forgot to tell Bobbin that "she is reward enough" when she had a massive screaming temper tantrum over her "nite-nite" music at bedtime this evening (and then an even more massive one when we turned the nite-nite music off).

Joy.

Happy. Happy.

Joy. joy.

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Look out John Coltrane... here comes Bobbin

Bobbin plays the sax (video)

I love how she has to turn the saxophone 360 degrees when she needs to press a key with the other hand. It's an interesting technique :-). She loves playing "High note, low note" on her sax and piano where I'll call out "high note" and she'll play the highest note and then I'll call out "low note" and she'll find the lowest note. She also likes the game where she plays a note on the saxophone, and I play the same on on her piano.

My favourite part of this video though is near the end with the skeptical look she gives me when I announce to her she just played "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", and then she repeats it for herself and yells out "I did it!"

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Can you guess what we did today?

That's right... The Elmo concert was in town, and we headed up to Everett to see it, with friends Jeni and L. Bobbin was SOOOO excited. As soon as we got to the door she handed the lady her ticket to scan and then ran inside jumping up and down, hugging her little elmo doll excitedly and shouting for me to "Hurry Mommy, HURRY!" Our seats were on the floor level and she couldn't get her little legs to go down the stairs fast enough; especially after she heard Big Bird's voice from the hallway. She was pretty darn adorable. The total Elmo groupie.

After the concert she saw this big poster you could stand in front of to get your picture taken, and she went into jumping up and down mode again, excitedly pointing to it and calling "Mommy! Mommy, LOOK! Mommy, look!" When I took this picture I thought she was literally about to burst with happiness.

We eventually made it home, and had quiet time from about 2:15 - 4:00pm. When she woke up, we headed out to Fred Meyers to pick up the ingredients for dinner (we made our own pizza for dinner; completely with pilsbury dough-boy pizza dough, pizza sauce, pepperoni, and ample mozzerella. I should say - she made the pizza. Completely by herself), and a pool because dammit, it was hot. 103F-in-the-sun hot. So said both of our outdoor thermometers. It was a lovely 93F in the shade. She seemed to enjoy herself.

After we finished playing, and making our pizza I got out this watermelon quarter to slice up and have with our pizza. It had been in the fridge so was nice and cold. But when I put it on the counter, Bobbin was so excited to see the size of it she jumped up and down with joy and then begged me, politely, not to slice it but to let her eat it whole. She was so sincere and polite and happy and it was freakin' hot, and how could I possibly say no? So here she is, chowin' down. She actually managed to get almost to the rind in some spots before deciding she was all done.

All in all, a totally fun day for both of us. These photos barely scratch the surface; our photo album has lots more from today's concert and heat wave and yesterday's trip to the dairy for ice cream. And you should also check out last week's soccer pics and fun at school.

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More Bobbin vignettes

All night, and every day

It was a beautiful day today. Blue skies, sunny, high 70's. I had picked up Bobbin from school a bit early and we were sittin' in the car with all the windows down so Bobbin can enjoy the sun and light breeze. It was rush hour, so we were in gridlock. A car next to us with a couple of teenagers in the front seat had their car stereo blaring. Bobbin asked me "Mommy, what's that kind of music?" "Umm... that's rock and roll, honey", I replied.

"Mom, I wanna rock and roll" was her response. I kid you not. So I tuned into 96.5 because if she was gonna rock, it was going to be to classic 80's tunes. She stared out the window absently and I watched her little leg bopping up and down to the rhythm. My girl wants to rock and roll :-)

Out of the mouthes of babes

It's a classic scenario. You're out in public and your little preschooler, still learning the fine art of social etiquette, notices something that's a bit different about someone. Maybe the person is way taller or shorter than the average person, or wider or skinnier, or walks with a limp, or is hunched over, or has unique facial features, or purple hair, or a voice that stands out. And you hear her little voice pipe up loud enough for all to hear, "Mommy, Why is that person [fill in the blank]?" and you turn red as strangers stare disapprovingly at you and try and figure out an appropriate way to answer her sincere and innocent question without adding further offense while simultaneously trying to teach her that pointing such things out really loudly is actually not really the polite way to ask the question and yet the question itself is still ok to ask...

Yeah, so that was me and Bobbin in the parking lot of PCC the other day. We were strolling hand-in-hand and right in the middle of the parking lot Bobbin stopped, pointed, and called out "Hey, Mommy? Why is that lady so big?"

And she was... a very very large lady. And i have no idea if the lady herself heard the question. I know that Bobbin was asking it out of innocent curiosity and not out of any sort of mean spiritedness. She had never seen someone quite that large, and so she wanted to know more. It was nothing more than that.

I did get a dirty look from a woman behind me as she walked by. Someone who clearly has no children. And who was not completely free of her own curious characteristics.

So, I responded in a normal tone of voice to Bobbin and said "Well honey, people come in all kinds of shapes and sizes and everyone is different. Some people are tall, some are short, some are big, some are small. Some have lots of hair, and some have none. Some have dark skin, and some have light skin. And that's what makes the world such an interesting place - everyone is different and special. Just like you. No one is the same as you; no one is the same as anyone else."

And while I believe everything that I told her, I couldn't help also constructing the mental image of a miniature Mr. Rogers sitting on my shoulder smiling, and patting me on the head. As much as that man annoyed me when I was still in my "I'm not having kids" stage of my life, I appreciate him a million times more now because those are the messages he was trying to get across.

Whenever we are out in public, and Bobbin asks "What's that?" or "What's that person doing" or "Why does that lady talk like that" when someone in a wheelchair whizzes by, or when a man is walking slowly in front of us with a cane, or she hears the developmentally challenged woman speaking who helps out at the coffee shop we sometimes go to, I respond in a normal voice because I also don't want to offend by offering a whispered response or whisking her away. And usually the person will look right at us and smile and chime right in with the actual answer to her question and all is well. Sometimes they'll ignore us and that's fine too. And then the next time a wheelchair or man with a cane goes by, or she hears the lady at the coffee shop talking, she doesn't point it out or ask about it. She just continues about her business because it's not unusual anymore.

I'm gonna what, now?

We were sitting in the car on the way to get Bobbin's haircut. I was a bit frustrated because Bobbin's hairdresser had moved shop and the directions I had been given when I called were not panning out, and I was in the middle of nowhere with a cell phone that was about to go dead, and almost ready to call it quits. Bobbin sensed my frustration and asked if I was ok, and I explained I was feeling frustrated and why. And then I got my bearings straight and figured out where I was and all was calm, until an obnoxious teenager in his daddy's BMW decided to cut me off and then immediately switch lanes again and almost caused at least two accidents, one of which would have definitely involved me if I didn't have the split-section reflex response of a... well... mom of a preschooler. I cursed the driver with a nasty tone under my breath as he sped away (he subsequently ran a red stoplight, causing me to curse some more) and after I did so, Bobbin piped up from the back seat with a very loud and very firm, menacing tone that matched my own and said

"Mommy! You're gonna DIE!"

Just like that. Out of the blue. And in the split-second silence that followed I was racking my brain to try and comprehend WHERE in the world THAT came from, and whether it was in response to my cursing (I'm going to die and go to hell for swearing) or in response to the bad driving on the part of the little shithead who almost hit me (the dude could have killed us and Bobbin was pointing this out in her usual, direct, manner) or whether she was having some sort of premonition ala "Medium" and forsaw my death in her mind's eye. Or was saying it out of pure malace and this was the first of many warning signs to come that we were raising a little sociopath and someday our story would end up as a made-for-tv movie.

Luckily the logical mommy part of my brain took over before any of these ideas had a chance to really percolate and I realized that she must have heard it somewhere... school maybe... and that the frustration and emotion that I was expressing and that she was picking up on had triggered a memory of it because wherever she heard it had the same emotions surrounding it. But where the hell did she hear it?

So I responded by asking her what she had just said, as objectively as possible so she'd actually repeat it without sounding sheepish or embarassed or defiant. And she said "You're going to die, Mommy" in a more matter-of-fact tone without all the emotion and menace in her voice this time. I shivered and shook it off. "Why did you say that, sweetie? What does it mean? What does 'die' mean?" I asked. "You know?" was her response, in her usual curious voice. I felt a bit reassured. "Well, honey, when someone dies that means that they can't... uh..." and I found myself racking my brain for an explanation that doesn't involve an analogy to sleeping and not waking up, and that also doesn't imply that once one is dead they simply no longer exist because I actually don't believe that to be true; one continues to exist in the hearts and minds and memories and actions and values of everyone who knew the person but that concept was way too abstract for her to grasp at that age. So I settled on "well, when a person dies, that person is no longer able to be with you. They are gone, and can't hold your hand, or talk to you or hug you or kiss you. You remember them, but they cannot be there in front of you. And if the person is someone you love very much, you can feel really sad for a long time when that person is dead. Because you really want that person to be there in front of you, to talk to you and hold your hand and hug you and kiss you. So when you say to someone they are going to die, it's actually a very scary and sad thing for that person to hear".

Again.. no idea what of that explanation stuck. So I turned instead to trying to find the source and hopefully the context of the statement. "Why did you say this, sweetie? Did you hear someone else say it?" She nodded. "Who did you hear say this? Was it someone at school?" She nodded again. "Was it Lukey?" Lukey is a boy in her class with an older brother, and I've noticed lately that Lukey's taken to pretending to shoot guns at people. He'll stand there with a block in his hand, hold it out and point it at someone or something and then say "Pew pew pew pew" making shooting sounds and then grin and run away. In other words, he's a typical little boy with an older brother to teach him these games. Maybe Lukey had said something along these lines during one of his little "shooting" matches. She shook her head. "No, not lukey". "Then who, Bobbin? Where did you hear this? Who said it? If you tell me that, maybe I can tell you more about what it means".

She looked at me and said "Satsuki said it". Satsuki is a character in her favourite movie, "My Neighbour Totoro". And I knew that she was telling the truth because as she said it, the scene from the movie in which Satsuki screams at her younger sister "DO YOU WANT HER TO DIE?" and then breaks down into tears, came vividly to the forefront of my mind.

In the movie, Satsuki is a little girl about 10-12 years old, with a young sister who is about 4 years old. Their mother is in the hospital being treated for an unnamed disease. At one point during the movie it looks as though the doctors at the hospital are going to let the mother come home for the weekend, but then she catches a cold and they change their mind. They send a telegram to Satsuki's house but her father is at work so Satsuki opens it and reads it and all it says is that her father must call the hospital at once. So she walks into town and calls her father from the house of the one person in the village that has a phone, and her father phones the hospital and then calls Satsuki back to say that their mother will not be coming home that weekend. Mai, the younger sister is disappointed and has a tantrum, yelling "Not fair!" and in desperation and frustration, Mai's cries of unfairness finally getting to her, Satsuki finally crumbles, turns on her sister, and yells "DO YOU WANT HER TO DIE? MAI? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT" and then breaks down into tears and runs away. Leaving Mai with her own feelings of despair and abandonment, to break down into tears herself.

It's a very dramatic scene. And apparently one that Bobbin remembers vividly.

So I explained in detail what Satsuki was feeling when she said that, and reiterated my earlier explanation of what happens when someone dies and that the thought of not being able to hold her mommy's hand again or hug or or kiss her ever again, made Satsuki so very very sad just like it would make Bobbin sad, and that's why she shouted those words to her sister.

I think something resonated with Bobbin because she reached forward and asked to hold my hand, and I reached back and grabbed it, and she squeezed my fingers and I squeezed her back. Then she smiled at me in the rearview mirror and I smiled at her, and we were at the hairdressers.

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Spell it, Hot hot hot!

Now that Bobbin recognizes all her letters, we've been working on learning how to write them. A few weeks ago we started with the letter 'H'. 'H' for 'Horton', to be precise. We read the book almost every day.

'H' for 'Horton': One line down, another line down, and a line straight across the middle!

It helps if you do the lines with flourish - that makes it much more exciting to want to do. She loves making huge, sweeping, 'H's on her chalkboard and then erasing them with just as much gusto. Almost every picture she brings home these days from school has a bunch of large, skinny, 'H's scrawled all over it.

After a week of 'H' we started learning 'T'. Probably should have done the other way around, if we were going by # of "brush strokes", but she seems to be catching on fast, so don't think it made any difference

'T' for 'Tommy': One line down, and another line across the top!

Next came 'O' for 'Octopus' and 'Oven'. That was easy because she's been drawing circles for a while.

'O' for 'Octopus': One big circle.

So today we practiced putting them together into a word. I wrote each letter next to the other, and then we sounded them out together. Then I erased it and had her write the letters side by side. 'HOT' is officially Bobbin's first written word :-)

She gets that every letter has a sound, but she hasn't quite made all the associations yet. However, she's getting there. Completely on her own, when I asked her for a 'T' word today, she came up with 'Tree'.

We haven't tried tackling lower case yet. Everything we do is upper case. I do point out "small" and "big" versions of each letter from time to time, but currently her recognition is all upper case letters.

She can recognize the words "Mommy" and "Mom" though, in a written sentence, although occasionally she'll interchange them. I showed her how you can turn "Mom" into "Mommy" by adding an "my" at the end. And how it rhymes with "Tommy" and all but one letter are the same. She loves to rhyme - often times in the car on the way to school she'll make up all kinds of words to rhyme with the word she's thinking about.

After we mastered "HOT", I decided to try a new letter, and showed her how to write "D". One line down, and one big bump that starts at the top and goes all the way down to the bottom. She gave it a shot but then became more interested in colouring in the middle of the letter when I finished so we ditched the ABC's altogether and just went all out drawing and colouring in random, oddly-shaped circles :-)

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Shhhh... Artist at Work

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Best. Game. EVER!

I just spent the last hour playing "quiet time" with Bobbin. This was entirely her doing. She decided she wanted to turn the living room into a preschool, and got out floppy bunny, and peter rabbit, and giraffe, and laid them all down for quiet time. They each had a blanket, which was actually a cloth napkin from my linen drawer (Bobbin has decided my linen drawer full of napkins is actually the classroom's "extra blanket" cubby. All of my linen napkins are now strewn about the house, covering some stuffed animal or another. Floor, tables, chairs, sofas, etc. It looks a bit like a morgue for really tiny people around here).

Once she had tucked in all her toys, she spread a blanket out for me (a human-child sized one) and told me that I needed to have quiet time too. I laid down on the blanket on the sofa and she told me to close my eyes, and she proceeded to tuck me in. If I opened my eyes, she'd stroke my forehead and whisper "Shhhhh... mommy... it's quiet time. Close your eyes ok? I'll read you a book after quiet time but not if you don't go to sleep, ok?" As I laid there with my eyes closed, I could hear her moving around the room checking and retucking-in each of her other "kids", and saying in hushed tones "ok now, go to sleep, ok? It's quiet time now". Then she proceeded to pile a bunch of extra stuffed animals in around my legs and head and elbows for me to cuddle with while I lay there.

At one point she disappeared and was gone so long i was starting to wonder what she had gotten into. I got up and tiptoed down the hall to her room and peeked in. She was quietly playing with her toys on her bedroom floor, but she glanced up and saw me and quietly ordered me back to bed. I complied.

And so, that is how I got almost an entire hour nap this morning, after being allowed to sleep in until 8am to begin with. And now Bobbin herself is having a real quiet time so here I sit, wondering what to do with myself, being all rested and everything.

"Quiet Time". Best game ever.

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Differences

I have been contemplating the impact that the difference in technology and information access in 1973 when I was two, and today when Bobbin is 2, has had on Bobbin's view of the world. Just little things, mind you - not deep philosophical pondering. But it's the little things that are interesting to think about. Like...

Bobbin is convinced that all content that she views on the television is on-demand and completely controllable by a wireless remote control. she cannot grasp the concept that some of the shows she's watching real-time on the actual TV channel, are one-time events that are viewable only at that point in time, only in the order presented and are not repeatable, fast-forwardable, re-windable, or chapter-selectable. One of her favourite TV shows in the morning while we're getting ready for school is "Curious George". We do not have any "Curious George" shows on DVD or recorded to hard disk so her only option for watching it is to tune in at the right time on the right channel. And sometimes she doesn't, and gets disappointed. And it's near impossible to explain to a two-year-old why some stuff on the TV can be seen anytime and other stuff can only be seen at certain times. We've also stopped allowing her to choose the scene she wants to watch in movies - we've instituted the "beginning to end" rule for all recorded or DVD media. If she stops watching before the end, then when she comes back to it we do let her decide whether she wants to watch from the beginning or pick up where she left off. But no more chapter-choosing at whim. It was just getting too out of hand and I wondered about what sorts of neuron connections, associations, and assumptions, were forming in her brain with this ability to seemingly be able to "cut to the chase" or at least the content of interest with everything. I didn't want it to start translating into other aspects of life :-)

By contrast, of course, at the same age Bobbin is now, I was watching a black-and-white television that required you to get up and turn the dials, and the concept of a VCR let alone a DVD player or "TiVo" was still science fiction for most. And we got, maybe, a handful of channels. I didn't know and didn't care, as long as I could watch Polka Dot Door, and the Friendly Giant. And if I didn't happen to tune in, I couldn't ask my parents to call it up from the hard disk to watch it on demand. I had to wait until the next day and even then, it'd be a different episode. I had "missed out". Nor could I skip to my favourite parts (I hated Marigold, and loved Polkaroo. What a difference that functionality would have made. Not ;-)

Side note: Yeah, they had colour TVs back then, but we didn't actually own one until we moved back from Germany in 1979, and at that point I had already spent 3 whole consecutive formative years tv-less - and phone-less, I might add - in a foreign country.

Bobbin has a CD player in her room, and collection of music CDs that she loves to listen to - everything from Sound of Music to Sesame Street Sing-a-longs to Sharon, Lois and Bram, to the lullaby versions of Led Zepplin and Johnny Cash. She knows how to take out and put in the CDs by herself, knows how to start and stop them, and how to adjust the volume. And she does this on a regular basis, choosing the music that suits her mood.

At her age, I was listening to vinyl records, on my parent's record player in our living room at the farm. Sesame Street, Bambi, and countless Christmas Carol records. And of course, my parents' Neil Diamond and Nana Miskouri. Mom and Dad had to put them on because the record player was out of my reach - for good reason. Doesn't take much to damage that little arm or the needle inside it, not to mention the records themselves. Eventually, at the ripe old age of 4, I graduated to having my very own cassette tape player that I could use all by myself, and which I did use to listen to all my stories on tape. It was black and had a big silver switch that you pushed forward to play, and backwards to rewind. It looked like a little mini gear shift. I was always envious of the kids that I knew that had the cassette tape players with the big bulky buttons though because I preferred pushing buttons to moving the switch. I liked the big clicky sound the buttons made.

CDs and DVDs present an interesting challenge in and of themselves. There are some little silver discs that are usable only on the computer. Computer games like her favourite Sesame Street game. There are identical looking little silver discs that contain only audio content and no visual content. You can use them on the computer, or in the DVD player, or the CD player but you only ever hear stuff. You can't see stuff. Then there are the little silver discs that lets you see stuff and hear stuff. But they only work on the Computer or in the DVD player. If you put them into the CD player nothing happens. But damn if you can tell the difference between the three when you're only 2 and haven't learned how to read yet. And it gets downright nutty trying to explain it so she understands. I think she grasps the concept now - they all look the same, but do different things and don't all work in the same machines, and when she has additional context (like if they are in their case and/or are sitting near a particular type of "player") she can figure it out mostly. DVDs mostly come in rectangle cases and we keep them near the TV. Music CDs mostly come in square cases and they hang out near her CD player but also near the computer. Computer games come in both types of cases but you usually only find them on the shelf above our computer.

The computer is something she totally takes for granted at this point. It's just another part of her world - she doesn't give it any thought. It's like the fridge, stove, washer, dryer. You have one, and you play games or look at pictures or watch movies or listen to music, or type stuff and that's just what you do. She knows what we use it for; she asks to play games, look at pictures and movies of herself and Tim and I. She even recently dictated a letter to Aunt Sarah :-) The games are vivid, exciting (note, we're talking pre-schooler exciting. Big Bird, Elmo, and a bit of the Cat in the Hat thrown in for good measure), with full surround sound. My first computer was a commodore Vic 20. I copied lines of code from the manual into my TV screen via the huge klunky keyboard that also housed the actual "computer" to make it turn colours, and thought that was way exciting. The sounds that were emitted from the TV speakers sounded like SOS signals.

If Bobbin wants to see a picture or video of something... anything... from astronauts gliding through space, to the ancient pyramids of Egypt, to a live stream of newly born panda bears frolicking in the zoo to a volcano erupting in a cloud of black ash and rock (we'll stick with educational stuff, thank you) I just pull up my browser and away we go. She thinks it's fabulous. I'll ask her what she wants to see, she'll tell me "Giraffes" and voila - we're at the Woodland Park Zoo web site, or National Geographic, or any other number of places scrolling through countless pictures and videos of Giraffes. On demand. Instant knowledge. Instant gratification. You just gotta have your search safety settings on "high", avoid using image search, and weed out the crap. That's what Mommies are for. Later, Parental Controls will start getting involved as well. And the computer will be staying in the kitchen :-)

The telephone is another interesting piece of technology that has evolved over the years. When I wanted to pretend I was talking on a phone with just my hand as the prop, I would hold out my thumb and pinky finger... cause the receivers were those big bulky ones that curved slightly so your mouth was actually near the mouthpiece. Bobbin pretends she's talking on the phone by holding her hand up to her ear. Like you see people who are talking on cell phones doing. She pretends that the digital timer is a phone because it is the same compact size and has a digital readout and little buttons. She also doesn't think the fact that I take and view pictures on the same apparatus that I use to make phone calls is anything to write home about. It's a phone. It's a camera. It's a photo album. It's the thing mommy uses to read her the email that Aunt Sarah sent her. It's the thing mommy always has in her pocket :-)

The iPhone, which is the kind of phone I have, is likewise seeming to have its own impact on Bobbin's view of the world. She thinks nothing of the fact that when she gently traces her finger over the picture it scrolls to the next picture. Or that she can enlarge and shrink with a pinch of the fingers. It just makes sense to her. Everything should work that way in her view. Everything that looks like that, and can do those things. It's fascinating to watch her interact with it.

All the lights in our house are on dimmer switches, and I've noticed a tendency for Bobbin to use the same phrases as she does with volume to express how bright or dark she would like the room to be. "Turn the light louder, mommy". She likes her lights loud, especially in the bathroom.

Instead of your traditional photo albums, we have printed picture books of Bobbin - the kind you format online with digital photos you upload, and then order in hardbound printed format. The pictures have captions, and are sized and formatted in various ways, and she loves "reading" through these with me. Tim gave me a digital photo frame at Christmas and I loaded it up with pictures of us - the two of us, and then the three of us. Bobbin was mesmerized by it. we have your traditionally framed photos of Bobbin too, but even those were taken by digital cameras (her Santa picture was printed out on the spot and even came with a CD). I remember my first camera. It had a flash cube that turned automatically, and a film cartridge that you popped into the back. I remember taking the film to the drug store to get developed, and getting the pictures back a week later. No instant gratification there. In fact, I still have little tubes of film in various drawers around the house that have to be at least 8 years old, because I started using a digital camera exclusively around then.

Bobbin knows how to unlock and lock my car with a press of a button on my key fob remote. It makes the headlights blink too, and a cool little beep. She likes to do it while standing in the kitchen in front of the french door. She'll hold out her hand, aiming through the glass at the car, and press the button and giggle. She likes to make the car "wink" at her :-)

Banking and money-handling is another aspect of life that has fundamentally changed. Bobbin does have a bank account and we'll make rare visits to the local branch to dump the contents of her piggy bank into the coin sorter, and make a deposit. But even on those visits, we don't interact with the teller in person. I have eto walk up to the video teller, pick up the phone, and talk to someone on a television screen. When we need to exchange actual stuff like deposit slips and cash, I put it into a clear plastic tube, press a button that causes it to get sucked up a pipe into nowhere, and then a few minutes later it comes back down with different stuff in it. Way way different than the visits to the bank that I recall when I was a kid.

Most of our banking, however, is done online so we don't do a lot of actual branch visits. Our bill payments are done online, so rarely will Bobbin ever see us writing a check for something. And our purchases are all done with our debit card so cash rarely changes hands. I remember when ATMs started to make their first appearance, and thought it was cool that you could walk up to a machine, stick a card in, and get money out without having to interact with a person. Toronto Dominion Bank came out with the "green machine" as the nickname for their ATM. When I was old enough to get an ATM card for my savings account (I think you actually had to be 14 to be given an ATM card at our bank) I thought that was way cool and was so proud. I was very careful with it.

When we go grocery shopping together I try and make sure I have some coin or paper bills, even small ones, on hand so I can let Bobbin "pay" for part of the groceries. But sometimes all I scrounge up are some pennies and nickels because I didn't have time to withdraw cash and Bobbin will proudly deposit these on the counter at the grocery store. Luckily the cashiers at our local PCC are happy to humour us, so I'll have a $50 total and then she'll subtract the 17 cents that Bobbin gave her and let me pay for the rest via my debit card.

Right now our primary focus with Bobbin on "Money Management" is saving - putting stuff in her piggy bank and making deposits into her savings account. On occasion I'll give her a little bit of money while we're in a store and ask her if she wants to buy something with it or save it so she can buy something more expensive later when she's saved enough. So despite the fact that almost all of our transactions take place electronically now and a little plastic card seems to magically pay for everything at whim, we are trying to teach her the value of money and making smart decisions, and that money is something you earn, not something you just have in endless supply. eventually when she's capable of grasping the concept, she'll be allowed to check her account balance online with our help but we're a ways out from that. It's definitely different though, because that little plastic debit card does seem so magical (not as magical as a credit card will seem when she understands the difference, but still). So for now we'll stick to cash-on-hand and counting out the stuff in her piggy bank.

Yeah... times, they are a-changin'. I can't wait to see what Bobbin's own blog entry will look like as she contemplates the differences between her childhood and her child's childhood. What will be the "blog" of the future? Maybe she'll just be projecting little 3-D holograms of her memories into a special nook of cyber space, accessible only by wearing the full-body sensation suit and viewing helmet. She'll be able to recall and project smells and tastes of her youth to her cyber-audience - comparing the aroma and palette of her favourite food - those oven-warmed frozen meatballs that were actually still made with meat from real animals - to that of the test-tube grown version of the same in the future. "I remember when they slaughtered animals for meat and the steak-on-a-stick that I used to love so much came from an actual cow" will be the thought that drifts alongside the images, smells, and tastes. Mmmm.

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Random Bobbin Pics

A bit of what we've been up to in May:

For the full scoop on all of these photos as well as many more, check out our May Photo Album. Videos to be posted soon!

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Random Bobbin shorts

We've been talking about nicknames. It's in one of her story books, I think, where we came across the concept. I asked her what her nickname is. She exclaimed, without hesitating, "POPPINS!". And so Poppins she is. She's pretty consistent on this answer too. Go ahead... next time you see her, ask her what her nickname is. According to her, my nickname is apparently "honey". Ok.

We were in the bathroom this evening, having her bath. I haven't mentioned anything about Mother's Day coming up. I knew that Tim had though. He's been prepping her for the day because apparently she and Tim are going to get up together, letting mommy sleep in, and they're going to make me breakfast. I have to tell you, I'm pretty excited. The notion of sleeping in alone is pretty exciting. Breakfast of some sort, made by my daughter and loving husband, is a sweet bonus! And so, wanting to help secure this plan for myself, I non-chalantly asked "Hey Bobbin, do you know what this Sunday is?" "Yup!" was her enthusiastic response as she dumped a cup of water over her head and then erupted into fits of hysterical cackles (yes, cackles. Not giggles). "What is it?" I asked. I was expecting her to come back with her infamous "You know?" response, which is what she does to almost every question I ask ("No, actually, I don't know why you just painted your face blue and squeezed glitter glue into your head. That's why I was asking"). But instead she stopped, stood up, and jumped (in the bathtub; giving me a small heart attack in the process) up and down and yelled "MOTHER'S DAY!" and then resumed to dumping water over her head and cackling.

Her favourite story these days is "Odd Velvet". It's been on her bookshelf for about 2 years now but only recently was rediscovered. We've read it 7 times in the last two days. She sent me to bed with it tonight. "Here Mommy, here's a nite-nite book for you. You take it to bed with you, ok? But be careful. Careful mommy. This is a special book, and it can break so you need to be careful. Ok? Ok. You can take it and read it now". She's looking me straight in the eye to confirm I've understood and will comply. That's how I was "dismissed" to bed this evening. With the same sort of attitude you would expect of the Queen dismissing one of her ladies in waiting. "You can go now. We thank you for your loyal service and shan't be needing you any longer today".

Like Odd Velvet, Bobbin is totally into rock collecting. Every article of clothing that has a pocket in it also has about a pound and a half of small and medium sized pebbles in each pocket. Her pants are usually sagging when she's walking, running or playing, because they're weighted down with rocks. We have to thoroughly shake down her laundry before tossing it into the washing machine. Her teacher is constantly scooping rocks out of Bobbin's cubby at school. Bobbin's apparently garnered a reputation amongst the entire school staff for her rock collecting and it's a source amusement as well as pride if any one of them are lucky enough to receive one of these gems as a gift, willingly given by Bobbin. Bobbin spends great portions of her outdoor time combing the playground for rocks, pocketing them, and then depositing them in her cubby when they go back inside, to "keep them safe". Many of her classmates have since picked up the hobby as well. Every time I pick her up from school when they happen to be playing outside, yet another classmate hands me a bunch of rocks. Bobbin of course, insists that I take her rocks first. And I always do. I have rocks in every coat and pair of jeans I own too, as a result. We have rocks rolling around in the back of my trunk and back seat, and in the little trinket cups at the base of her car seat. I have a rather large collection of rocks growing on my desk next to my monitor. Each one lovingly plucked from our driveway and carefully pocketed until she decides to bestow one upon me as a special gift. 24 rocks. That's how many are sitting on my desk as I type this. Eventually most of the rocks make their way back into our driveway. She's very selective in the ones she picks up, but I'm not entirely sure what catches her eye in particular when she decides to pick up a rock. We talk about the texture and colour and shape and relative size of each one. And each one is a marvel to her. My little future geologist.

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Don't be taking that tone with me

Bobbin has a couple of friends that are a bit more defiant, demanding, and bossy in their verbal expression than she has been up to now. We've successfully navigated through the "whiny" waters with Bobbin but now find ourselves wading knee deep through the confrontational, demanding and bossy tones of voice that Bobbin's started imitating and experimenting with us.

The "whiny" period was thankfully short lived. Because that whining tone is really grating on my nerves and pushes all of my buttons. We managed to get through it with daily repetition of "no whiny voice please; try that again with a normal voice" and me demonstrating the difference between a whiny and normal voice

Mommy: Bobbin, do you understand what a whiny voice is?
Bobbin: You know? (her response to just about every question even when she knows the answer)
Mommy: Let me show you. I'll talk in a whiny voice, and then I'll talk in a normal voice.
Mommy (whining): I don't WANT to wash my hands. I don't LIKE green beans. No, I don't WANT to go to bed". That was my whiny voice.
Mommy (normal): I don't want to wash my hands. I don't like green beens. I don't want to go to bed". That was my normal voice.
Mommy (whining): THIS is WHYyyyyy-ning. It's reeeeeaaaaalllllly annOYing, I don't LIKE WHYyyyyy-ning.
Mommy (normal): this is my normal voice. It's much more pleasant. It's not annoying. I like this kind of voice. Do you understand the difference now?
Bobbin: Yup.
Mommy: So what voice should you use to tell mommy what you like or what you're feeling or to have a conversation?
Bobbin: You know?
Mommy: Should you use your whiny voice?
Bobbin: (with glee and excitement) NO!
Mommy: Which voice should you use?
Bobbin: My normal voice. Like this. See? Mommy? Is this my normal voice? Mommy, you happy now? You not frustrated anymore? I'm not whining. I'm talking wif a NORMAL voice! See!

Often times these conversations. - these little "reinforcements" of the behaviour that I'm trying to teach her - take place while she's sitting on the potty. Because she's a captive audience. I'll usually start off "Hey Bobbin, remember when.." like "Remember when Mommy was really frustrated because you were trying to climb the bookcase, and I told you the bookcase was not made for climbing on and asked you to get off, but you kept climbing and didn't listen to mommy?" and we'll talk about what happened, and why I was angry, and why it was not ok that she had been doing that, and then not ok that she didn't listen and do as I ask, and then why she found herself in a timeout in her room until she could start listening and doing as I ask, etc. Seems to work pretty well.

So yeah... no more whinies (or at least they are now a rare occurance) but the whole demanding and bossy tone is new. And sudden. And it's definitely learned behaviour. And we're trying to nip that in the bud. Kinda taking the same tact as we did with the whinies. But it's harder because it means biting back the initial instinct to use the same demanding tone of voice to get her to stop using it with me. Because she is clever enough to use it against me. And has.

Bobbin: I WANT COOKIE OF THE DAY COOKIES!
Bobbin: COOKIE OF THE DAY COOKIES! NOW! MOMMY! GET MY COOKIES!
Mommy: How do you ask?
Bobbin: PEAS! GET THEM NOW. I WANT THEM NOW. (her hand slaps the ottoman for emphasis).
Mommy: It's good you remembered your please. But I don't like your tone of voice. You need to use your nice voice to ask.
Bobbin: NO! I DON'T NEED TO! I DON'T LIKE THAT! I WANT IT
Mommy: NO! NOT UNTIL YOU ASK IN YOUR NICE VOICE
Bobbin: Mommy, that is not your nice voice, Mommy. That's not ok.

$%#$^&! And double #$(O%)#!

Mommy: You're right. So let me say it again in my nice voice. No. You cannot have any cookies. I don't like your tone of voice. It is rude and disrespectful and makes me feel angry.
Bobbin: Mommy. Ok. I'm using a nice voice now. Peas, can I have cookies?
Mommy: I'm sorry. It's too late. Next time you want something try asking in your nice voice the first time, and maybe you will find that you'll have a better chance of getting what you are asking for.

Sometimes she accepts that and moves on. But most of the time she throws herself on the floor and has herself a nice little teary-eyed, fist pumping, leg waving, howling tantrum first. But I ain't budgin'. No cookies for you, kiddo. Not even if you use your nice voice now.

I hate feeling like the mean Grinch who stole Christmas but the alternative is much much worse. And I've watched enough Nanny 911 episodes to know that to be the truth.

The bossiness is new too. She's tried several times to order us around like we're her hired help. Or not even. "Go get me the monkey plate. I want more water now. GET my water. Turn on Nemo. I want to play dough - YOU go get it". And let me tell you, none of this is flyin' with us either.

It's all part of the age, and she'll learn. Just like she did with the whining. And just like she learned to say please and thank you without prompting (80% of the time, anyway). And just like she learned to help clean up after herself. And just like she learned how to use the potty all the time. It'll all come. But that doesn't mean I have to like it while we're still going through it :-)

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Stuff we do in nice weather

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My own little Dora the Explorer

The magnifying glass, the "bug book" and the dora backpack were all Christmas gifts from Ginger and Spicey. Bobbin's favourite DVD at that time was Dora the Explorer, and in particular the "Bugga bugga" episode where she goes hunting for bugs. Bobbin would sit and play with my address book, pretending it was her bug book just like Dora's, so I figured she needed one of her own, since my address book is really the only place I keep everyone's addresses and phone numbers (I'm still very old fashioned in that respect :-)). So for Christmas, I... er... Ginger and Spicey.... got out an old photo album - the kind that fits one picture per page, rustled up some old nature and gardening magazines, and bought a bunch of bug stickers and scrapbook paper and made her a "bug book" just like Dora's. I just cut out the scrapbook paper into 4x6 rectangles, pasted a bunch of bugs on each one, slotted them into the album sleeves, and stuck a bunch of cut-out magazine letters that spelled out "My Bug Book" on the front cover, and voila. I bought a heavily discounted Dora the Explorer purple backpack (discounted because some of the Dora games that came with it were missing their tiddlywinks, cards, and dominoes) and threw the bug book and a 99-cent magnifying glass into it and wrapped it all up from the kitties. The kitties like bugs. And they also like Bobbin being occupied with just about anything but them. And so it was a logical gift. They're also very crafty and creative like that. They really would have done the whole thing entirely themselves if they had opposable thumbs and a tiny bit of cash.

Anyway, she loves it and drags it out on a regular basis and usually requires me to put the Dora DVD in the TV at the same time so she can play along.

I have to say when I first looked at the top picture, it didn't look to me like a little girl who is still 4 months shy of her 3rd birthday. She looks so much older here for some reason, to me.

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Great Big Friends

Bobbin and Miss E got together last weekend and had their own little Great Big Sea Kitchen Party.

Click to view video

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Tubed and denoided

Overall, today's ear-tube replacement and adenoid removal went extremely well.

Bobbin had some serious issues getting to sleep the night before surgery. Tim and I think most of it was anxiousness. I think she was having stress dreams whenever she closed her eyes. She was up at 10, 11:30, 12:30, and 1:30 and between those times was sleeping fitfully, moaning and often crying out. at 11:30 I took her temperature and she was running a slight fever - 99.8F on one side and 100.3F on the other. I gave her the water that she requested (midnight was the cutoff for food and drink although I would have violated it if she had maintained the fever) and a dose of Tylenol. The fever came down, but she was still restless and moaning and up at twice more before finally falling asleep more soundly around 2am.

So when the alarm went off at 5am both Tim and I were beyond exhausted. We finally roused ourselves out of bed at 5:20. I downed some yogurt and juice before waking Bobbin at 5:40. I wasn't hungry or thirsty at the time but I knew I would be if I didn't take in something and eating/drinking in front of her was out of the question.

Bobbin was basically awake when I went into her room. I have no idea how much actual sleep time she got but it wasn't much. She was a bit cranky because of nerves, I think, but she got out of bed and slipped on her shoes and socks and by the time we had made it to the kitchen she was in good spirits. As if we were headed off on some grand adventure in the wee hours of the morning. Not entirely untrue, I guess :-)

We arrived on time at 6:30 and checked in. Bobbin coloured with the crayons and papers I had brought with her, and never let go of her "Koko Bear" ear-tube book the entire time. Every time a nurse introduced herself (and there were many who wanted various pieces of information) Bobbin would immediately ask "Where's Dr. Lee?" (her ENT and the doctor performing the actual surgery) and then when the person would walk away she would say "I don't like --fill-in-the-name-of-the-dr-or-nurse--. I want Dr. Lee" emphatically and then pout. She had definitely bonded with Dr. Lee and formed a very deep attachment in the last visit. No one else was going to be able to get close to her without having first been clearly approved by Dr. Lee. Man I was hoping that nothing would come up that would prevent him from being her surgeon this morning!

Eventually Dr. Lee's assistant Sue led us back to the preparation area. There were some little hospital jammies laid out (which Sue said were optional; Bobbin decided to keep her own jammies on the entire time). There was a little anesthesia mask on the table for Bobbin to play with so she could get used to the idea (she knew what it was as soon as she saw it, without anyone saying anything. Thanks Koko!). Bobbin was fascinated by the curtain that sectioned us off from the hallway, giving us our own private "room". She kept peeking around it and spying on the nurses and doctors walking by.

Sue came back a little later and asked Bobbin if there was anything she needed. Bobbin replied quietly "Yes. I would like a surprise". I started to explain that the surprise would come after surgery but Sue said they do in fact have surprises before surgery too, if someone requests it, and asked Bobbin if she'd like to come with her to get a sticker. Like there was any chance of Bobbin saying no to a sticker. However half way through the curtain she stopped and held out her hand and invited me to come with her.

She walked the hallway behind Sue like she owned it, little arms and legs striking out purposefully, eyes glancing into every prep area, scanning for other patients. She picked a Clifford sticker (although she doesn't know who he is, I don' t think) and ran happily back to our prep area to show Tim.

The "where's Dr. Lee? I want Dr. Lee. I don't like anybody else. I like Dr. Lee" questions and statements continued to pepper any conversation with Sue or any of the other nurses and the anxiety returned with ever new face she encountered. Sue patiently confirmed repeatedly that he was on his way and would come see her when he arrived. In the meantime, Sue brought her some "happy juice", the pre-anesthetic, after conferring with the anesthesiologist. And boy, did things change from that point on.

First we had to convince Bobbin to take it though. The excuse that finally got her to cave was that Dr. Lee had phoned Sue and asked Sue to give Bobbin this medicine, and she needed to take the medicine before Dr. Lee could see her. Bobbin eventually let Tim give her the dose while she was seated on his lap. A few minutes later, she had visibly relaxed. And about 15 minutes later, she was higher than a kite and goofy as all getout.

Sitting on my lap, she was playing with the anesthesia mask, holding it up to her eye and shouting at the top of her lungs, in slurred speech, "Mommy, I seeeee yooooo" and then busting into fits of drunken giggles. Then she'd hold it up to her mouth and slurrily sing "Twinkle twinkle little star" and then bust into more giggles and goofy grins. Now whenever someone new came into the curtain, she'd look at them through the mask and shout"Hi! I seeeee yooooo! Whooooo are yooooo? I seeee yoooo" and then grin her dorky drunken grin and whoever it was would just burst out laughing. Trying to have a serious conversation with the anesthesiologist about medication allergies, health history and other details essential to him doing the exact right stuff for our daughter during surgery while having a 2 year old spying at you and him through an oxygen mask, wiggling her finger at you through the mask hole and sing-songing "I seeeeee you, you know! Hey, look, it's got my finger!" limp as spaghetti in my arms the entire time, is quite challenging. Even he was starting to crack up as he watched her out of the corner of his eye while he carefully listened to my answers and noted them all down. Thank goodness for professional training and years of experience ;-)

After the anesthesiologist left, Dr. Lee came in to check on her, and was greeted enthusiastically with the same routine as everyone else since the happy juice had been ingested. He laughed.

Eventually, his surgery nurse came back to introduce herself and to take Bobbin back with her to the operating room. Bobbin expressed the tiniest bit of anxiety when the nurse picked her up from me, but was then quickly distracted, presumably by all the psychedelic swirling colour and noise that I was fairly convinced she was experiencing, and when she left she was even smiling. And her mouth was half-open. And she was staring off into space. Much better than last time. I learned later that she had been given a little extra happy juice which explained the totally different demeanor this time around. Last time she barely registered any change in tension and the separation was angst-ridden for both of us. And as a result of her doing much better this time around, I fared much better too. I didn't cry.

The actual tube replacement and adenoid removal took about 10 minutes total. But we were in the waiting room for a bit longer than that. When it was over, Dr. Lee came out and told us it went really well, she did great, and that they did end up removing her adenoids because they were very big. Her old tubes, in addition to being filled with gunk, had apparently been pressing up against the eardrum and the eardrum I guess had pushed them back out. So they were essentially less than useless and definitely would have explained the hearing problems as well as the sensitivity to high and low pitch noise.

A little while later the nurse came to get us to take us back to her. She was just coming out of the anesthesia, and completely disoriented. And cranky. As we were warned about 10 percent of kids would be. I guess the pre-anesthesia has an amnesia effect and essentially she wouldn't remember anything at all after taking her dose. And then of course, there was the irritation from having a tube down her throat during surgery that was still sensitive as she became aware of herself, as well as the effects of the anesthesia itself. She also still had her IV in, and a finger probe measuring her blood oxygen level, which she was desperately trying to tear off when we arrived in the recovery room.

Bobbin is extremely, EXTREMELY strong when she is cranky and upset. And even stronger when she's anxious and cranky and upset. It's hard to keep a grasp of her, and she can actually hurt you, unintentionally of course, if you aren't prepared for it. We were though, and we quickly got her settled into my arms where she started dozing a bit more after finally winning the blood-oxygen probe battle, the nurse deciding it would do more damage than good to keep trying.

We got the IV out of her and got some fluids into her mouth (she drank thirstily from her sippy cup that I had brought) but refused the Popsicle, jello, and applesauce and so they relented on their "rule" to watch the patient ingest something other than sugar and let us leave with us promising that we'd fill her tummy at home with appropriate soft foods.

When we did get home, she tore into a plate of soft pancakes, drank a tonne more water, took a 2 hour nap, and then downed 2 servings of mac & cheese and 1 1/2 hot dogs. And then decided to go out to play and life was back to normal. Yes, just like that.

She went to bed at her usual time, but as I've sat here blogging about this experience, twice her baby monitor has erupted in chatter - she's dreaming vividly, and talking quite animatedly with someone about something. I think it has to do with today. It's excited, happy, confident chatter. I'm pretty sure her brain is working through all the bits and pieces of odd memory that she has lying around from this morning. She's not crying out (fingers crossed) and not upset. I think we'll have a good night of it tonight.

She's on ear drops 3x daily for 5 days, and oral antibiotics 1x daily for 5 days, and we have Tylenol with codeine for pain as needed for the next couple of days but she seems to be faring well, only occasionally complaining about throat pain.

They left her tonsils in because they didn't appear to be enlarged (whereas her adenoids were quite so) and Dr. Lee doesn't think they'll present any problem in the future.

And so hopefully this is the last ear tube replacement we'll have done. By the time she grows out of these she should have outgrown the ear infections, her Eustachian tubes having grown and oriented themselves more vertically to allow drainage to occur unassisted.

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Prepped for surgery

Well, we're as ready as we're gonna be. We've spent the last couple of days talking with Bobbin about what she can expect at the hospital, the sequence of events that will take place, reading her books (yes, they write books for kids on the subject of ear tubes), and play acting the actual visit. Tomorrow morning at 5:45am we'll be rousing our little munchkin and making the 30 minute trek to the hospital where we'll arrive at the receptionist promptly at our 6:30 checkin time, and then wait for 60 minutes until our 7:30 surgery time. the surgery itself will last about 15 minutes once she's out, and then we'll spend the rest of the day at home. 2 days of prep for a 15 minute procedure. We'll see how it goes :-)

I bought 3 books from amazon.com: "Koko Bear's Big Earache: Preparing Your Child for Ear Tube Surgery", "Tubes In My Hears: My Trip to the Hospital", and "Chris Gets Ear Tubes". They are all pretty much the same, but having multiple consistent stories is a good thing for Bobbin; She listened intently and studied the pictures and pointed out objects and asked questions and by the end of the 3rd book she pretty much had it down pat. Her favourite was Koko though. There's just something about a cuddly little bear that makes everything more endurable.

So we read the books and in particular I focused on how Mommy and Daddy were going to wait in the waiting room while she went with the doctor and nurse to the special operation room. The special operation room is a very clean room with no germs and so only the doctors, nurses, and Bobbin would be allowed in, to keep it clean and safe for her surgery. we practiced saying "Bye! See you later!" cheerfully. I played the doctor, Bobbin played herself, and Tommy served as Mommy. I would tell Bobbin to give 'Mommy' a kiss and hug and tell her that she'd see her later. She'd crouch down and wrap her arms around Tommy. "Bye bye Mommy! I love you! I'm getting new ear tubes!" she'd exclaim happily, and then we'd go down to her bedroom which served as the "operating room".

The next thing I focused on in the books and in our role playing was the special medicine mask that they would have her breath into, to help make her sleepy so she could nap. I explained they could only put the ear tubes while she was napping, because then she'd be very still. I held a pretend mask in my hand and held it gently up to her nose and mouth and told her to breath in and out. Then asked if she was sleepy, and she replied yes and closed her eyes. Then I wiggled my finger just inside her ear lobe of each ear and said "There, all done! You can wake up now Bobbin!"

The last thing we spent a lot of time on was the fact that the doctors and nurses had to wear masks so that they could keep the air clean and safe and not spread germs during her surgery. I talked about how the masks kinda look a bit scary at first, but if you look at the doctor and nurses' eyes you can tell what they're feeling and if they're happy and relaxed, their eyes will look happy and relaxed. So just because they were wearing masks, you could still know that everything is ok by looking at their eyes. we practiced making happy, sad, angry and scared faces while covering our mouth and nose. I'd cover my mouth and make a face and ask her to guess if I was happy or sad. She thought it was pretty hilarious.

We played acted the whole scenario through several times - at Bobbin's request. She would enthusiastically arrive at the "waiting room" (living room) with 'Mommy' and wait for me to call her name. I'd pretend that I didn't know which one she was, when she stood up and introduced herself, I'd say hi and then go over to talk to her 'Mommy' and explain that I had to take Bobbin to the operation room and that 'Mommy' would have to wait here. She'd give 'Mommy' a hug and then 'Mommy' would roll over on his doggie bed in a sigh of relief as she gallivanted up the stairs and ran down the hall to the 'operation room' and clamoured onto her 'operating bed'. We'd do the whole anesthesia thing, I'd stick my fingers in her ears, she'd 'wake up' and we'd run back to the 'waiting room' to do it all over again. Then she became the doctor and Kitty became the patient, and I was kitty's mommy who had to wait in the waiting room, etc. etc. etc.

I suspect the enthusiasm will not be quite as great tomorrow. Some apprehension will surface when we actually arrive. And I don't know what to expect at all in the whole waiting room parting. She could surprise me. On Monday when I took her to see the cardiologist, my normally shy and cautious-with-strangers preschooler actually disappeared down the cardiology department hallway, following the nurse she had spent all of 10 minutes with, on the promise of getting stickers and a lollipop while I was still in the examining room talking with the doctor. And she came back with a fistful of both (before I could gently admonish my little sticker-grabber the nurse did admit that she had been intentionally free with the offering because Bobbin was just so sweet and had done so well during all the procedures ;-)). Likewise she surprised me by letting the doctor examine her without much preamble, and then in the middle of her stethescope exam exclaiming to the doctor quite directly and animatedly "Oh! You have cold hands, you know". That's my girl - always full of surprises.

So who knows what to really expect. we've done what we can to make sure she knows what's happening and that she's feeling upbeat about it at least at this point. She may surprise us, or she may be sweetly and heartbreakingly sad and scared. Either way, we'll be there for her, to cuddle and love her.

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Cutiepie cut-up

Bobbin's been playing with scissors since just before she turned two. Supervised, of course :-) But it's only recently that she's finally mastered the art of cutting. "Mommy, I wanna cut" is what she says when she wants to practice with her scissors. Cute, in a creepy kinda way ;-)

About the same time that she started actually "getting it" was also about the same time that the mouth synchronization appeared. Not exactly sure where it comes from, but it is SOOOO adorable the way she moves her mouth as she's cutting. It's the mouth movement that's the whole point of this video.

That and the last little bit that discusses the dangers of cutting while emotional ;-)

Click to view video

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