Happy Birthday Cake

Sure you get presents and you turn a year older and folks make a general fuss over you, but for Will, it’s the cake that defines a birthday.

This morning as I wrapped my aging boy in a big wake-up cuddle and told him he was 3 years old today he said, “But when is my birthday?”

And I knew that the obvious answer, “today,” was not was he was looking for. He wanted to know at exactly what time he was going to be able to devour his cake.

“Do you mean when will you get to eat your birthday cake?” I asked of the son I know too well.

He nodded, eyes hungry-dreamy with anticipation.

Luckily nasty stomach bug finally decided to make a permanent departure last night so we decided a little icing-free cake consumption would be okay even if it doesn’t fall under the BRAT (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast) diet recommended for restoring little upset tummies to normal. We’re holding out on the decorated owl cake (which I’m imagining may look nothing like an owl by the time I get my novice hands on the cake decorating kit I’ve borrowed) for the small birthday party with friends that we postponed to next week.

So for our little just-the-family party today, box-mix cupcakes were the order of the day. And partly because Will loves to cook, and also because I was exhausted mom last night, I decided to let Will make his own birthday cupcakes with me. He enjoyed the project, but was talking throughout about when we would be able to eat the cupcakes.

I’m not foolish enough to think I can get away with cooking cupcakes before a toddler’s eyes and then expect him to wait several hours to sample them, so I told him we could split a cupcake and have a little tea party with his stuffed animals and then eat a WHOLE cupcake after dinner as part of our birthday celebration with daddy. One and a half cupcakes in one day is like a dream for sugar-deprived Will.

But Will didn’t want any part in the waiting-while-they-bake portion of the project. He wanted to sample his half-cupcake “NOW” even if it was, as I pointed out, just batter and looked like no cupcake he’d ever eaten before and would taste yucky besides. So for the first five minutes of cupcake baking, Will had his birthday cry.

And then he found peace with the fact that some things have to cook a bit, and we enjoyed a nice day together, filled with puppet shows, sheet-fort-building, play with Baby Suey (Will’s baby doll whose diapering and sleeping needs today coincided with Owen’s exactly), refusals to talk to anyone on the phone who wanted to sing him a birthday song because “I am too busy” (which I believe may be code language for “I’m feeling shy”), an early morning walk to the park that helped revive our sanity after a week cooped up in the sick house, and some indoor tackle football with daddy.

But the real bliss for Will came at the moment when, relatively ambivalent to the still wrapped presents beside him, he got to sink his teeth into his sweet fluffy cupcake – and eat it ALL.

Talking to tantrumers (and spanking debate follow-up)

After things got a bit heated in the response to my blog on “the spanking debate” (See the post from August 24), lactation consultant Jennifer Fletcher sent me an e-mail disclaimer about her stance against paddling and spanking, both in the home and in schools. See an excerpt from her note below. (By the way, Psychologist Julie Rose's letter to the editor on the same subject drew much more heated and more numerous responses. To read that verbal battle go here and click on "We're still doing this?")

In my response to one of the comments on this blog, I had discussed my attempts to both talk to Will after (and sometimes during – although that’s always futile) a tantrum and to encourage Will to say to other kids who push or hit: “Stop. That is not nice.” Jennifer had some good advice about choosing words that are effective when kids are angry or tantruming:

Here are her thoughts:

In reading a little further in your Blog space I noted that you try to encourage Will to use his words by reminding him that hitting is "not nice." Well, here is something to think about. When a child is really angry, he could care less about being "nice." He is angry, frustrated, and purely pissed off. Being told that something is "not nice" may tend to make it just exactly what he most wants to do, because at that moment he isn't feeling very nice at all.
With my boys I used to say, "I bet you're really mad!" or "Boy, that's a mad face!" Sometimes I would have to resort to, "THAT WON'T DO!" (They knew what that phrase meant!) Sometimes I would say nothing at all, just remove them from the situation. And I would never, ever make them say, "I'm sorry" unless they really did feel some contrition. Otherwise the words become entirely meaningless. Just something to think about from one who's been there.....

With each of Will’s tantrums I still struggle to find the right words. I try to offer him a couple explanations for why he can’t have the thing he so desperately wants in that moment (this is usually the problem) but it’s quickly apparent that he has absolutely no interest in logic. Rob and I are learning to respect his need for a good cry here and there. We try to acknowledge his frustration, offer our rationale for not letting him have a cookie for breakfast(as one example), perhaps offer an acceptable alternative (which never interests Will) and then let him know that we won’t keep discussing it since it only seems to be making him madder. Usually if we’re able to leave the room, he calms down faster. Then he’s not confronted by our power, which of course is the root of most tantrums – the desire to have power when you cannot. We do try to choose our battles, let Will make choices and comply with his reasonable requests. But when tantrum boy rears his ugly head, I am always searching for the best way to discuss appropriate behavior after the tantrum simmers down (this is the only time for real talking with Will, and for most toddlers I presume.)

A good while back, I tried Harvey Karp’s recipe (from “The Happiest Toddler On The Block”) for mirroring your toddler’s frustration by getting down on their level and trying to vocalize their frustrations with the same level of rage they seem to be feeling (“Will is mad, mad, mad…. Will wants to…..” hitting fists on floor for emphasis. Then following up with a more soft-spoken explanation of why they can’t have the thing that you totally understand that they want.) It’s a nice enough idea but I couldn’t pull it off. Will was neither comforted nor amused by my primate-like empathy and I felt like a goof and a lousy actress. Anyone else tried that trick?

I’d also really love some ideas about how to talk to your toddler about what to do (and what to think) when another child hits them or pushes them. Anyone have thoughts on that one?

And finally the disclaimer from Jennifer Fletcher regarding comments to that August 24 post: Since she commented on an earlier post regarding co-sleeping safety, she was concerned she might be mistaken for the Jennifer who weighed in in favor of paddling. Jennifer Fletcher says: “I am 100% opposed to corporal punishment in any setting, but most particularly in the schools … So do whatever you need to do to assure your readers that Jennifer Fletcher, RN, IBCLC could never condone violence against our precious little ones.”

Mother Will

It’s been at least a few weeks since Will let me know that the baby ducklings that had been growing in his pregnant belly had finally made their way out. (That day he checked the scale to see how much weight he’d lost postpartum).
There’s been little talk of his ducklings since then, but today Will, still battling a bit of tummy trouble, decided to play nurturing mother – this time to Winnie the Pooh.
I walk into the living room, Owen in arms, and find Will on the couch, his shirt raised on the left side with Winnie the Pooh suckling comfortably on Will’s unsuckable chest. (He’s got Pooh well positioned, in a textbook “football hold.”)
“Mom, I am nursing Winnie the Pooh,” he says matter-of-factly.
I try to catch the moment on camera, but Will seems to take the view that nursing is not a public event, so he quickly changes mama tasks and starts walking Pooh around the room.
“I’ve got him up on my shoulder in case he needs to get a burp out,” Will says. “Mom, I’m patting him.”
Next Will, who has emptied an entire laundry basket of clean clothes onto our living room floor (yes, I let him do this), finds a waterproof pad and lays it on the carpet for some Winnie diaper changing. He goes to a closet and finds a poster tube, which will serve as the wipe dispenser.
“And I try not to get any poopy on me. Sometimes I do,” says Will, as I wonder if he’s trying to clue me in on the origins of his stomach bug.
He finishes the invisible diaper change and announces, “Mom, it’s stinky in here.”
“Is that because of Winnie the Pooh’s dirty diaper?” I ask.
“Yeah, and I need to get some spray.”
He’s thinking of the Lysol he watched me spray in the bathroom this morning. (I’m not normally a big Lysol user in our own home, but with diarrhea comes extra vigilance and general paranoia.)
So Will gets out a second poster tube and starts spraying our whole living room.
I’m wishing I could find my own tall tube of invisible non-toxic disinfectant and clear the house of all sick germs with a few presses of the finger. And I might add in a little magic ingredient to spray my mama-son back to wellness again.

Big beautiful balding baby-man

I’ve noticed over the past week that Owen’s growing body fits perfectly in my arms now. He’s no longer that fragile infant, slightly awkward to hold. (At 7 weeks, I’m starting to pull out the old 3-6 month outfits already.) He and I are beginning to really talk to each other more. He makes wonderful expressive bird-like word-caws as he works his arms in engaged little circles. And he’s attending to life a bit more each day, staying awake for the first half of a walk around the park and tracking his big brother as he moves around the room.

Will notices it too. “Mom, Owen’s watching me!” he says with excitement. We take a picture to document the fact that Owen is looking at Will – and not just because we’ve set Will in his line of sight.

Will takes the cliché, “they grow up so fast,” and runs with it:

“Mommy, Owen is a big man. He’s not a baby anymore.”

And if you look at the hair line on the back of Owen’s head, you’d almost say it’s true. Admiring Owen’s top-bald head in the mirror yesterday, I remembered this Saturday Night Live “commercial” marketing baby toupees for male infantile baldness . No toupees for us though. We think our balding boy’s quite beautiful.

Sick house

Life with two little ones is a rollercoaster ride. Especially when the oldest decides to contract a little stomach bug.

Two scenes from our day to illustrate the point:

Scene one: Stuck at home this morning, I’m wondering and worrying about whether come tomorrow morning I’ll be canceling Will’s little Wednesday birthday party or just madly disinfecting the house, from floor to ceiling, including all the toys in between. Will, oblivious to my thoughts, gets a sudden hankering for a granola bar. Nope, not so gentle on an upset tummy, I tell now sobbing Will in a couple dozen different ways before I recognize he just needs a good ten minute cry with no adult reasoning to interfere. Meanwhile, Owen’s crying inconsolably in my arms. He’s a sensitive little guy who often seems compelled to join in when he hears big brother wailing. And me? Yep, I’m on the verge of tears too. A triple tantrum in the making.

Scene two: Just an hour later, Will is as energetic and jubilant as ever, tummy troubles forgotten for the moment. He’s wearing a backpack with a jump rope attached and speeding on his Nemo scooter around the circle that links our living room to office to kitchen to dining room to living room again. I’m soothing Owen to sleep with the steady fuzz of radio static. Will wants me to play. “Chase us!” Will (also speaking for Ally and Puff) says with a grin. So I pat Owen’s back as I trot behind his big brother. Soon Owen is sleeping peacefully on my bobbing shoulder undisturbed by Will’s happy screams. And I know: This is harmony. It may look crazy, but we’ve found our rhythm again.

Until the next bout of diarrhea that is…

The spanking debate

I was disheartened to read in today’s Ledger-Enquirer, that corporal punishment is still used in Georgia and Alabama schools. Somehow I was thinking by now it was illegal here. You can read Wednesday’s story about a Harris County boy who was suspended (after his parents opted against a spanking or paddling) for throwing grapes in the cafeteria and other misbehavior, along with today’s story, which spells out policies for various school districts around here (all of which allow limited use of corporal punishment) and includes a chorus of comments from readers expressing approval for paddling in schools.

While I’ll be the first to admit that I’m often lost as to how to best discipline our willful Will, Rob and I have made a very deliberate decision not to hit him. On occasion when Will gets in a resistant mode he will start flailing his arms, and hitting at our legs or arms. We remove him from the scene and then talk about hitting. One of the first things I point out is how it hurt me to be hit and how no matter how frustrated we get, mommy and daddy never hit. We use our words.

I’ll admit that we might be able to scare Will out of hitting in the short term if we wailed on him every time he started to hit. But in the long term we would be teaching him a lesson: It’s okay to use physical force when you don’t like someone’s behavior. It would be a lot more difficult to explain to Will a year from now why it’s not okay to hit little brother Owen when he messes up your railroad track or your block tower. I know Will’s going to work through some aggression as a toddler trapped in that primitive state where you aren’t able to do many things for yourself and yet desperately want to assert your independence. But I want to model nonviolent ways of coping with frustration so that as he matures we can build toward a peaceful house. It may require some creative approaches for venting frustration (I have a friend whose father insisted that his sons could only wrestle, not hit each other, when they were angry. So they wrestled through their younger years, then tired of it and just got along like great friends for the rest of their years in the same house.)

A hitting-free household may sound like a pipe-dream for a mom facing life with two testosterone-filled siblings. We’re not there yet, but I like the challenge and I’m hoping with some deliberate, loving discipline we can make it happen.

Check out this website to find out which states have banned corporal punishment (I counted 29 of them) and for statistics about how frequently it is used in states that permit it.

Here are a couple quotes from this American Academy of Pediatrics article entitled “Guidance for Effective Discipline”:

“Spanking models aggressive behavior as a solution to conflict and has been associated with increased aggression in preschool and school children.”

“Although spanking may result in a reaction of shock by the child and cessation of the undesired behavior, repeated spanking may cause agitated, aggressive behavior in the child that may lead to physical altercation between parent and child.”

“Spanking is not more effective as a long-term strategy than other approaches, and reliance on spanking as a discipline approach makes other discipline strategies less effective to use.”

And for some insight on alternatives to punishment, check out this book by Alfie Kohn: "Unconditional Parenting: Moving from Rewards and Punishments to Love and Reason." (It's influenced my parenting, although we still resort to carrots and sticks some of the time.)

What do you think? Is it ever appropriate to spank or paddle a child – and should school administrators be allowed to use corporal punishment as one among many discipline tools?

Farewell, noisy surgeon

Today in his final hour before bidding us farewell and heading back to Berkeley, Uncle Graham performed surgery on Will’s knees. They had both been badly injured, the first when Will fell off a “train” (of chairs) at school and the second when Will fell of his “motorcycle” at home. And the wounds were serious. As Will examined one knee he held up a finger and said, “Look there was a jet ski in my knee!” Soon he found a jet ski in the other knee as well, and Graham decided to become surgeon.

“I think what we’re going to do,” he said to Will, who was lying on the couch in injured patient position, “is take a little piece of your ear to use as cartilage. This ear has a lot of cartilage. See how it moves?” He wiggled Will’s ear. “And sometimes you have to take a little piece of your body and substitute it for another one. And this knee’s not doing so well.”

So Graham injected Novocain into both the knee and the ear and performed cartilage replacement surgery. Then he put invisible casts on both of Will’s legs, making Daffy Duck-like noises as he squeezed the casts on tight.

Will kept insisting the casts were falling off so that Graham would replace them again and again and repeat the silly sound effects.

Will loves his Uncle Graham and his noises.

A bit earlier in the day when I reminded Will that Graham would be flying home to California today, he looked at both of us somberly and said: “Then he can’t make noises.”

“Do you mean you won’t be able to hear his noises?” I asked. Graham’s noise repertoire this week included the sounds of fake flatulence, whale calls (through a cardboard gift wrap tube), loon whistles and other bizarre sound effects.

Will nodded yes, still sad.

“Will you miss his noises?”

“Yes I like his noises. I really like his noises.”

Uncle Graham looked down at Will and said, “I like your noises too.”

Later as Graham and Will smothered each other with kisses for their final goodbye before Will’s nap, I got weepy (as I tend to do whenever I say goodbye to my family after a visit – Colorado and California are both too far away). I situated Will in my lap so he couldn’t see my face, patted my eyes dry and tried to control the little waver in my voice as I read his naptime story.

Because of course in the end I’ll miss Uncle Graham’s noises too.