Transatlantic Two Year Old

I'm a good long haul flyer.  I can fall asleep before take off, stay hydrated and turn up feeling ready for anything.  Now that I am a mommy, everything is naturally more complicated.  And it is not a question of whether I'm good at it, but how well I can manage the embodiment of hurricane force tantrums at 30,000 feet.

 

 

Ethan and I are now in the states, visiting my parents and I am amazed to say that I have survived a solo transatlantic flight with a two year old.  My husband couldn't make it with us, but we decided it would still be a good time for Ethan to see his grandparents.

In the days leading up to the flight, I panicked a little.  On an everyday shopping trip on a hot day before the flight, I gave Ethan an ice cream.  He didn't eat it, just held it, until it melted all over his hands and dripped down his legs.  I took it away, and he threw a massive tantrum complete with flailing arms smacking my face and full body convulsions.  He seemed to want to chuck himself headfirst onto the ground.  As people stared, I held back my impulse to blurt out, 'Just eat the damn ice cream!'

Ethan was deaf to anything I had to say, anyways.  Many tears later and covered in sticky melted ice cream juice, I thought, 'how am I ever going to manage this flight alone?'

That evening, I told Thom that I was worried.  His advice -Man up.  And after being a bit miffed about it, I decided he was right.  I am the mom. I'm not going to be pushed around by the two year old in tantrum mode.   In fact, if I wanted to make sure he didn't actually crack his head open mid-tantrum, I needed to wo-Man up!

I had many more carry on's than I would in the old days - filled  with snacks, toys, extra clothes and kilos of nappies and baby wipes.  I felt like a commando approaching a potentially deadly mission.  The day started before the sun came up and tiredness alone could have turned my little cherub into a screaming banshee in a moment.  I had to be sharp and ready to improvise.  Being soft would not do.

As soon as we waved goodbye to dad, I took a deep breath, got down to look Ethan in the eyes and said, 'Now, I want you to be good and listen to mama. We are going on the plane.' He nodded, maybe a little surprised, but did exactly that, even to the point of letting the security people frisk him (we set off the metal detector) and holding his baby-chino very carefully with two hands as we waited at Starbucks for our gate to be announced. 

I was impressed by what I could see.  He was a pretty switched on, grown up boy in the seat next to me.  But he is a two year old after all, and probably entitled to his fair share of tantrums.  The funniest ones, in hindsight, were after looking out the window as the plane took off, saying 'done' and that he wanted to go in the car now.  He was not pleased that we had to stay where we were for what is an eternity in two year old time.  And also in those seemingly endless minutes when the pilot demands everyone stay seated with seatbelts on after landing, Ethan yelled 'Go? 1, 2, 3...Go!'  And then when it was time to leave the plane, he decided he wanted to stay and fell to the floor at the exit screaming that he wanted to stay on the plane, as all the other weary passengers were piling up behind us. 

It wasn't all about being tough, though I learned.  It is also about a good dose of keeping him engaged when he's bored and relaxed when he's upset.  Finding ways to have fun when you're cramped into two small seats for 9 hours takes creativity and lots of energy.  So different from my long haul sleeps of my pre-child life.   Finding  and enjoying the sweetness in him was essential. Things like when he yelled, 'Weeee!' after some bumpy turbulence and yelling 'Crash!' just before the landing.  Gotta love that funny child outlook!

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What in the heck is 'Gammato', Part 2

I think I will be sad when Ethan talks in the same language as us and leaves his own little expressions behind.  In his first few months he used make a little chirping squirrel sound, now gone.  Then it was endless 'da-da', then 'uh-oh', now also changed and used in only appropriate times, like when he sees dad or spills something, rather than the constantly repeated syllables they once were.   In a strange way it seems to suddenly hit me that he is far from that little baby he once was.

He understands more of us than we do of him these days.  I say, 'Don't touch that!' or 'Wait for me, please.' or 'Be patient, just a minute.' and he knows what I mean.  I think the words he has picked up tell us a little something about what ignites his young imagination.  Cars, colours, numbers, cooking utensils, dirt - are all things he has words for.  Numbers especially get him very excited.  So much so, that we have to limit the times of day he can watch one of favourite kids shows, the NumberJacks. 

They are like little number-shaped superheros that live a sofa and come out to help kids solve counting and maths related problems.  Sounds innocent enough, but it sets him off.  He is so excited by it that if he sees it too late in the day, bath time becomes a real battle and he jumps around in bed for a while before finally going to sleep. But he loves it, so now and again we give in.

The other day the Number Jacks were helping to solve a problem where people were counting wrong.  Ethan was chiming along, repeating his favourite numbers.  'Five! Eight! Twenty-nine!'  The went to a bakery and a woman was piling endless cream filled cakes and buns onto a tray. 

'Gammato!' Ethan yelled out.  Thom and I looked at each other, puzzled.  What is this Gammato?  Is it a cake instead of a tomato?  I asked Ethan, what is a gammato? 

'Yes', he answered , matter of factly.  We are none the wiser.  But it makes me a little sad that one day he will be able to tell us exactly what he means and Gammto will be gone.  

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.