What in the heck is 'Gamato'?

Thom is rushing Ethan around the grocery store the other day.  As he scurries down the aisles, Ethan is pointing his little finger everywhere, exclaiming, 'Dinosaur.  Rawr!'

Thom couldn't see any dinosaurs, and after a while asked, 'Where?'

Ethan turned his finger around to reveal a tiny dinosaur sticker on the end of his pointer.

And so it goes, as the little man soaks up language like sponge and then surprise us with it later.  He still has a language all his own, and it frustrates him when we don't get it.

For several weeks, he would turn to us and say, 'Gamato' with such certainty and be wildly upset when we couldn't figure out what it was.  At first we offered tomato, but that wasn't it.  It reached the height of desperation one evening with Thom peering into the fridge with Ethan on his hip, pointing to various food items to find out what was Gamato.  Every item got a big 'No!' from Ethan.

We would spend evenings stewing on it.  Discussing it and mulling it over into the night.

Finally, the other day we BBQed and I was cutting up a tomato to add to dinner.  Ethan pipes up: 'Gamato!'  Our jaws drop.  We only offered him tomato about 300 times when he'd pleaded for Gamato before.

I held one up to him.  'Is this Gamato?'

'Yes', he stated matter a factly, reaching for it.  We sat down to dinner.  And you know, he didn't eat a single one.

A boy and an iPad: a love story

Take a look around you and it can seem that every member of the human race has their eyeballs glued to a little handheld screen.  Smartphone, iPad, whatever - we're hooked.  I gave my husband an iPhone for Christmas 3 years ago and haven't seen his eyes since.  

So baby comes along and from day one, we're all shoving these little gizmos in his face to snap his photo, playing with them while he's taking ages to feed and talking on them when he wants attention.  It's really no wonder he's fascinated.  Plus, these touch screens and apps are super simple and easy, he takes to it like a fish in water.  

We try to keep it rationed out and educational, but despite us stocking up on drawing apps, ABC apps, telling time apps, learning words apps, it still usually degenerates into something to keep his little hands busy while he his eyes turn square and he catches flies through too much mouth-breathing.  It's just s reflection of us all as we all like to believe that our smartphone use is important and useful when actually it's just a seductive time-waster usually.   

The other night, we were playing the telling time app.  If you tell the time correctly 3 times, you get a star.  5 stars and you get a fish that swims in your own little aquarium that you can feed with virtual fish food.  Fun.  Problem is Ethan is of course too young to understand the clock.  He likes to parrot back the numbers '2, 1, 8' and copy words, but he wouldn't stand a chance of getting a full fish tank on his own.  

Enter Daddy.  Thom often helps him move the hands of the clock and tries to get more stars and fish.  This evening, as Ethan's attention begins to wane from telling time, he climbs over to me for a story and a snuggle and some good fort-making by the sofa with a blanket.  Thom is on a roll though and keeps playing the app.  Whizzing through without the interruption of Ethan's sticky little fingers, Thom gets one fish, showing Ethan who is delighted.  Ethan gives the fish some fish food and returns to our playtime.  Minutes later, Dad has another one.  The another.  Each time, Ethan takes a break from our fort or story to have a look. 

But then the greed sets in.  After about the 4th fish, Ethan, dizzy with delight, shouts,'More! More!'  That was all Thom needed and he went off, telling the time like, well, like a grown-up and stocking up on fish.  I noted that even though Ethan was busy playing and forgetting about the iPad, Thom fed every new fish before going back to tell the time some more.  

Then, bath time arrived and Ethan cried and screamed to be dragged away from his virtual fish tank.  Thom had to placate him with the promise of 'one more fish, and then tubby'.  I'm not sure if that was for Ethan or himself.  Those damn fish are a little more than addictive.

Parenting, John Wayne style

 As I sit here on a quiet train carriage on my way into london, I love having a 2 year old.  He's funny and there's no pretense in him.  If he wants it, if he likes it, he lets me know.  It's refreshing, simple and sweet to see him becoming more grown up everyday.

But I admit that if you catch me dealing with him mid-tantrum, I'll be cursing the two-year-old logic of 'gimme what I want, no not that, now I'm losing it'.  In quiet times I can reflect on the frustration that must build up in him as he gets more independent but is still so reliant on us.  As he can express so much more, and yet we can struggle to understand him.  It's enough to piss off anyone.  

And in our adult minds, we imagine that we can reason with him.  'Just a minute and we'll get some juice.'  But two year old mind doesn't understand waiting.  It wants juice 5 minutes ago!  And then he's screaming so loudly that anything we say is lost in the noise.  

After a fortuitous incident, I discovered that Wild West rules might work better than negotiation.  And I have pretty much resolved to deal with tantrums in the manner John Wayne would deal with a raucous bar brawl.  Talk low, talk slow and don't talk much.  It gives him less to argue with.  

I'm also inclined to find something that could serve the same function as John Wayne's six shooter firing into the air.  That always punctuated the madness with silence, getting every gun slinger's undivided attention. 

We recently had some family over for lunch on Ethan's birthday.  There was a bottle of bubbly in the fridge for ages and this seemed as good a reason as any to crack it open.  Lunch was set and Ethan was getting worked up over the selection on his plate, saying 'No!' and trying to wriggle out of his chair.  Thom was trying to placate him and I was anticipating a stressful stand off.  But just  as he was about to launch into nonsensical scream-mode, the cork popped off the champagne and flew like bullet into the ceiling.  Ethan instantly stopped.  The room was silent and the spiral into tantrum land was halted.  We all had a wonderful lunch.  

Now I'm on the lookout for one of those loud popping toy guns.  There's a new sherif in town!

Two years on....

My baby is grown.  He is a little boy.  Running,  chatting,  sprouting an ever bigger personality.  It’s a wonderful time, but my mind has not caught up.  I still see him as my little cuddly bundle.  It's only when I see 6 month-olds that I realise how far away we are from baby-hood.  He can still be my sweet baby, crawling up into my lap for snuggles from mom at those times when he needs a little recharge.  The he's up and off, going about his grown up business.

As I look back, I've learned a lot.  Also, I can't think of what life is about, if not this little family that we have.  What did I ever do before?  I wonder even, what was important to me before? It's like looking back into another existence, another lifetime.  I've learned about children, obviously, but I've learned more about people, life, relationships and myself.  

Seeing this tender life come up, I'm constantly reminded that the most important thing - the only important thing! -  in life is love.  How much time I wasted worrying about the pregnancy, how to feed him, what stuff we would provide him.  Now that I have had a chance to get to know him, to see what a child really needs, I worry less about the periphery stuff.  I want to give him whatever he wants, if I can.  But I know the most valuable thing I can give is love.  Whatever life has dealt us and whatever it will bring, love is what he will measure his life by.

And two years on, Noah is still in my heart.  I feel like I want to share that I still cry, almost daily.  Sometimes just a silent tear or two whenever his memory feels near to me.  I don't fight it.  I see it as part of my special role as his mother.  I will cry for him forever, missing him with every fibre of my body, like a pain.  I possibly miss him more as I see Ethan's personality grow.  I wonder.   I 'what if'.  I get angry.  I cry for his pain.   But that's the role I accept out of the love I have for him. 

Yesterday, after some celebrations, presents and cake, Thom and I found a quiet moment to light a candle and think about that day two years ago.  Two years ago, when we met our two little boys.  We just sat in the silence, watching the candle flame flicker, holding hands and letting the joy and sadness sweep through us for a while.  Wishing it could have been different and yet thankful.  Complete in happiness and broken in painful grief.  Two years on, and it amazes me how there can be two such different feelings at the same time; how I can hold such sadness and such joy. 

Addicted to the sweet stuff

Number one guaranteed way to turn my little sweetness into a sour pickle? Introduce sugar.  What an evil substance!  I'm impressed by just how addictive it is seeing how Ethan handles it.  His relationship with food so far has been pretty healthy.  

Now we are staying at my parent's for Christmas.  Nothing makes Christmas like candy and cookies, right?  Although he's had cookies before, he's getting near to two and seemingly decided that he's big enough to call the shots now.  This coupled with a different environment and lots of people coo-ing around him, and we have created a sugar monster! 

He's waking in the morning, still rubbing his little sleepy eyes, asking for cookies.  Uh-oh, I was worried.  Is this the downhill journey to childhood obesity?  A couple weeks of being just a little more relaxed and liberal with the sweet stuff has him hooked!  And not just hooked, but angry, too, like a mini gorilla cut off from the banana supply.  Thankfully, I had the opportunity to chat with other Moms who've been down this road before.  One told me how after a stay at the grandparent's, her little girl came home demanding frosting on her English muffin in the morning.  But these habits can be broken, she assured me.

Besides, I can hardly be too rough on him.  We are all eating more sugar as we lead up to Christmas.  And the effect is undeniable.  A slip up one day leads to cravings for even more the next day.  The more we have it, the more we want it.  It's a horrible cycle, especially as I sit here now aware that my jeans are just a teeny bit tighter.   There's just no one to tell me off anymore.  I'd probably throw a fit if they did, too!

It's a time for loosening up a bit, and that's ok.  He still monstered through spinach and egg today and had chicken and rice for dinner.  All is not lost and it's yet another chance to learn from experience.  I guess we all get a little cross and upset when our sugar cravings are blocked.  But we can learn to choose well, somehow.   We will all survive.  

Hug

Just about the cutest thing Ethan learned to say over the last few weeks: Hug.  We borrowed a book from the library about a little panda looking for the perfect hug.  Like a lot of the things Ethan soaks in, he didn't seem all that into the hug book at first.  But one morning about a week later, he wandered after me into the kitchen.  Sleepy eyed and still in pj's.  He held up his arms and said, 'Hug.'

Not only is it heartbreakingly cute, but it was also a welcome replacement to the frustrated whinge he had been using to get picked up.  As he's got bigger, he wraps his little arms around, no longer a passive recipient, but an active component of the hug.

But as with all things in Ethan-world, leave it a week and he'll have evolved, learned, progressed.  He soon dialled that 'hug' got him off the floor and closer to the things he finds interesting in a much more predictable way than his wordless whine.  Light switches, computers, shiny knives, hot pans on the stove could all be within reach with a simple 'hug'. 

So we had to be a bit heartless sometimes.  When I'm cooking and Ethan comes along , arms up, chanting 'hug, hug!' I have to say, 'In a minute...'  He doesn't like that and resorts to the wordless whine.  It feels mean, but hug requests while I'm cooking have almost invariably led to him using me as a scaffold to reach out and see how hot the stuff in the frying pan is.  I'm left thinking, Hey, where's that hug?!

So he's employed another word for use when the hug isn't getting him closer to the action - Walk.  Which means 'let me down so I can go to where you won't let me'.  The other day in the grocery store, he wanted to touch everything, throw eggs on the ground and dig into old ladies' handbags.  Proper naughty.  He wanted to grab at something high up and demanded, 'Hug!'  I picked him up, pushing the trolley along with my free hand.  He was not pleased that this 'hug' wasn't actually getting him any closer to the object of his desire.  

'Walk! Walk!' He cried.  I carried on, the shop was almost done and this little man was about to turn monster.  He got more and more upset, struggling against me to get away, until in sheer desperation he turned towards total strangers to help him get to what he wanted.  'Hug!' he yelled at an old woman walking past us in the aisle.  I giggled nervously, hopping the woman wouldn't think he's being kidnapped.  Clever little guy, it was almost enough to get me to give in and let him run riot amongst the old ladies and canned goods.  I can tell I'm going to have keep on my toes with this hug monster!

Wriggly-man's adventures in Cake

My little wriggly-man loves a bit of cake.  I baked him a carrot cake for his first birthday.  He was unsure how to tackle it, even though the sweet taste had him interested.   Now, almost a year on, 'cake' is a favourite word and a catalyst for either happy giggles or violent tantrums.  Emotions run high in terms of cake.  

This morning, he woke early, settling into a snuggle with me and a drink of milk as he woke up.  Suddenly rejuvenated, he sprung up and clomped off towards the kitchen.  He cast a look back at me over his shoulder and said, 'Cake.'  He nodded his head in agreement with his own brilliant suggestion.  Unfortunately, there was no cake to be had and I decided that the day might be off to a better start with some eggs.  He didn't agree and cried, but we compromised with a hug.

He loves cake so much that it turns him from a lovely sweet boy into a monster.  When he goes to nursery, we are always told how good he is, except when cake is at stake.  We were informed that he threw a massive, inconsolable fit the other day when he spotted a trolley with cake but had to finish lunch first.  I would have hidden it from sight, and have even taken to spelling out the letters of the word rather than saying it and risk a tantrum.   I guess learning to see cake and hear about cake without eating cake is a valuable life lesson.  

So I am attempting to balance the tendencies of my mini cake fiend with some good nutrition and restraint.  But I do love his little glee-ful face when he's munching into a piece of cake.  Crumbs tumbling down his drool-drenched chin, exclaiming, 'Nice!' as he crams it in.  So I've come in from work and knocked up a carrot cake at quarter to ten tonight.   I guess its because I love him as much as he loves cake.  Probably more.