Unpack Your Adjectives

One of the neatest things about being a parent is watching your child develop and grow as a person. A subset of that – and one of the most exciting parts of being the Mom of the Mud Puddle is witnessing his vocabulary develop (I am a Word Nerd people. I have read books about “Pandas and shoots” and do not let my Chicago Manual of Style very far out of my sight).

Now, as time has gone on and his list of usable words has grown, there was a piece missing that I didn’t notice until he started using them: Adjectives. Describing things with any color really wasn’t happening until just recently, and now things are ‘stinky’, ‘pretty’, ‘fabulous’.
And the best part? He thinks I am beautiful. If he knew the power the sentence “Mommy you look beautiful” had coming from his mouth? He could rule the WORLD. He laid that one on me Sunday night and I was like, “Sweetest. Thing. Ever.” I wanted to eat him with a spoon and buy him a pony.

He has always been quick with the conversation but lately it has gone up a notch with the introduction of the descriptive words. He likes to say he is fine, happy, mad (although he can rarely give a reason for the anger: “I am just mad”). And the words flow seamlessly from his mouth, like he had been spouting them all along. Food tastes “DELICIOUS” (not just yummy, he goes big time in his description), and his Nemos (there are 27 of them at this point) are varying degrees of “soft”. His slippers (Nemo of course) are “comfortable”.

Now along with the adjectives has come another interesting phenomena: Colorful metaphors. It started just this week, and the first time I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. I asked him to pick up some toys and I hear “Oh, shoot.” Hmm.. better than the alternative I guess.
This morning there was a variation on that theme: “Oh, turtles”, “Oh, porcupines”, “Oh, bats”. He was cackling on the way to daycare making these up.

As long as he doesn’t take it to the next level and go for the extremely colorful phrases we should be safe (I don’t think three year olds get in trouble for saying “Oh Shoot” but I will know better based on my calls logged from daycare today).

We have dealt with the swear word issue at various points (“I’m not allowed to say f***” will be a mainstay of Mud Puddle folklore) and he is very quick to tell me “We don’t say Oh My God”- he is my own personal word police. Which is annoying but I will take it given the other great things he currently has to say.

One Track Mind

The Mud Puddle’s last name begins with a G but he is a Hallowell through and through. From his aversion to button shirts, to his crazy Sherman hair, he is one big ball of the foibles that make up being Hallowell.

Another one of these delightful character quirks has reared its head.
The Mud Puddle has a one track mind.
Now, I have known some of the more insane Hallowell One Track Minds, the biggest being my brother. Whether it was a specific toy (I am remembering a three foot tall stuffed banana) or his first dog (Daisy) he would not rest, give up or stop bothering my mother when there was something he wanted (His poor fiancé now must bear that burden, I think he is still singularly focused on a dog. Old habits and such). The Mud Puddle is on the verge of giving E a run for his money on this one.

So Sunday night we get confirmation that my brother and his lovely bride-to-be have set a wedding date (YAY!!) and we of course will be attending. I had not mentioned to the Mud Puddle til we were a little further down the planning trail.

I told him he was going to E’s wedding and that he would have to wear a button shirt (see aversion above) and a tie and shiny shoes. Great. He though that sounded like a terrific plan. So about fifteen minutes later, he comes padding out of the bedroom where he was watching a movie.
“Can I go to the wetig?” he says.
“I’m sorry, what?” I reply.
“Can I go to the wetig?” he repeats. “I need to call Grammie-ah and ask her if I can go to the wetig.”
Say what???

After this went on for five minutes I got that he wanted to go to the WEDDING and needed to discuss it with my mom. (Speaking three year old is only slightly easier than speaking Latin).
So we called “Grammie-ah” and he asked her if he could go to the ‘wetig’, she said yes and I hoped (prayed is more like it) that this would be the end of the story. HA!

Sunday night after being in bed 20 minutes: “Can I go to the wetig?” (This during the crucial scene in Celebrity Fit Club when we find out why Jeff Conaway won’t be back. For the love of Kenickie!!! How long will the madness continue???)
Monday before daycare: “Can I go to the wetig?”
Monday after daycare: “Can I go to the wetig?”
Monday before bedtime story: “Can I go to the wetig?”
Tuesday before daycare: “Can I go to the wetig?” Finally I said look, the wedding is seven months off. Yes you can go. We all will go. It will be fun.
Tuesday before daycare follow-up question: “I can wear a button shirt for E and Aunt Amy?”
*SIGH* I am typing this pre-pick up on Tuesday. I swear if he asks me about the button shirt again, I am going to do… I don’t know what. Something. Unpleasant. Probably involving self-inflicted pain.

GGOOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLLL!

The Mud Puddle had his first official soccer lesson this past weekend. He has been batting a soccer ball around for a while now and we figured it was time for a break from the swim lessons (he graduated from Pike, and could swim on his own with a floaty) and try some organized ball kicking.

So we trudged on up to the Y and instantly he wanted to go swimming. Of course. Every other week during swim lessons he had to be coerced into going but now that we have purchased soccer lessons he is all about the swimming (never mind that he didn’t have a suit with him, semantics I guess).

Once we FINALLY got him past the pool and into the gym/basketball/soccer area it was quite clear that he was the youngest in the class. By A LOT. These kids were a foot taller than him. The Mud Puddle was pretty good with the kicking part, the concept of not using your hands was a little difficult to grasp. He would stop the ball with his hand and then put his foot up on it.

As I was watching him man-handle the ball and run around with the other, much older kids I began to worry. Am I THAT mother? The one that pushes her kid too soon to do things that given time and a little encouragement they would come to (or not) on their own? How soon is too soon to start encouraging interests?

He honestly enjoys kicking his soccer ball (Tigger and Pooh) around the house and outside when he gets the chance and he said he wanted to play soccer. But is the word of a three-year old ever enough reason to do something?

This is the same kid who named the Nutcracker “Becky” and has been telling me lately that we keep our hands on our own bodies (I am sorry, I invoke Mommy hug privileges whenever I can).
So did I take the “I want to play soccer” as gospel just because I wanted to or was it a good call on my part?
Now, I harbor no delusions that he will be the next David Beckham, but I do want to give him every opportunity to be the best Mud Puddle he can be.
The question is where is the line between Good Mommy who offers encouragement and opportunity and Bad Mommy who dresses him up in a suit, teaches him a dance and sends him on auditions?
I HOPE I am still on the Good Mommy side but I will continue to evaluate my behavior to make sure I am not a candidate for the next season of “Show Biz Moms and Dads”.

Bad boys, Bad boys, Watcha Gonna Do?

Nowadays you have little option as a parent when it comes to discipline. Hitting is definitely out: even a light tap on a diapered fanny will have DHS outside your door with sirens blaring (I don’t think they actually give them sirens but the image is dramatic).

Sending someone to their room is like sending them to Toys R Us, so not really effective. That leaves two similar but equally bland methods: The time-out, and the naughty/bad boy corner/spot.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am well… opinionated, stubborn, set in my ways (I hear those snickers, that was putting it mildly but the true description contains profanity – think female dog – and we are a family friendly blog!) and from the first time I heard about this ‘time out’ thing and how kids are told to sit and think about what they have done and the result of their actions, BLAH BLAH BLAH.. I said: NEVER, never will I give a child of mine a ‘time out’; way too in-depth with your feelings for my tastes. Told you I was opinionated.

Anyhoo, so that leaves us with the Naughty Corner (lovingly ripped off from “The Nanny”. That show is a good ego booster for parents, BTW b/c no ones’ kids are THAT bad, not even the kids they show I am sure). Since the first time we used the Naughty Corner on the Mud Puddle he has come to loathe, dread, and out right fear being sent there.

You would think that there were electric eels, toddler eating monsters or some other horror awaiting him in The Corner. But in fact it is where the front door and closet walls meet. No big whoop. But it is what the Corner has come to represent in his mind that gets him every time. At this point, he visits once a week at most, more like once every two weeks. I just have to say the words and he stops whatever he is doing and turns into the Mud Puddle Angel.
Scott and I joke about sending each other to the Corner and he pipes right in “I’m not going!!”

And when he does go? My lord, it is a wonder the roof stays on the house. The screaming, wailing, TEARS that go along with it. (For the uninformed, the offender spends a minute for each year of age in the corner, so the Mud Puddle is sentenced to three minutes at a time – not an hour. And after your time is up you must apologize for your actions and give a hug. I would actually welcome 34 minutes of quiet time. Get some reading done. Perhaps I will start biting Scott and see if I get sent!). Usually the three minutes consist of The Mud Puddle sobbing “I’m SOOOORRRRRRYYYYY!!”
And me hiding in the bedroom so he can’t see me laugh/crying at him. I find it funny and sad at the same time. The offense has to be pretty bad to actually get sent. In the beginning it was usually for hitting me. That has tapered off (The Corner works!! One point for me!) and now it is usually when he gets out of hand by either spitting, trying to hit or sassing back (If there is one thing I can’t stand it is sass!!!).

So this morning we were having a conversation about the White Witch from “The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe” and how she is a bad witch and how she makes winter all the time, and is mean to the kids in the book. After our brief discussion, I go back to getting ready and as I am headed toward the door to leave, I spy the White Witch figurine sitting in the Corner. That ought to straighten her right out.