Putting my kid in his place

Scott's a pretty mellow fellow. For the most part, he has a happy disposition, and he gets along well with people.

But he's also -- apparently -- decided to start tapping into his more-aggressive-I-am-going-to-take-no-prisoners-side.

I think age has a lot to do with it.
Scott moved to "Room 2" at daycare (for young toddlers 13-18 months) when he was barely 11 months old. He wasn't even walking. For a long time, he was the little guy. The small kid. The one who sort of had to deal with being bossed around.

And its that way outside of school too (big cousin Peyton, at the ripe age of 2) is not afraid to tell him where to sit, which bib to wear, which toy is hers and how and when to color.

And usually he listens and goes with the flow.

Until recently, that is. At 17-months, he can old his own. He's not the oldest kid in his class, but he's one of the biggest. And he's flexing his muscles. He's now apparently opening a can of whoop-ass on the other kids in his daycare room when they take his toys, or even play with a toy HE decides HE wants.

My mom went to pick him up the other day and he was standing in a crib, in a temporary "time out" for being aggressive. A follow-up conversation with his teachers yielded this note:

We've had a little trouble with Scott. He's being sort of an instigator. Pushing, taking toys. Hitting. And I don't know who started it, but now he and a couple of other kids think its fun to "sit" on the smaller children.

He may LOOK angelic, but behind that small is a bit of a hell-raiser.

Um. Okay. Getting into a little tug of war over a toy, I can handle. Sitting on smaller children and pinning them to the ground? Not cool.

Scott is a stubborn bugger, and time outs aren't always effective - he thinks they are a game. So we've employed a whole host of tactics to quell his sudden spate of bad behavior. They include:

1. Having his teachers take his prized Elmo toy when he walks in the room and put on a shelf. If he shares or behaves nicely, he gets it back as a reward.

2. Changing our tone of voice to "Mean, angry mommy//daddy sounds" when he does something bad. This is effective about half the time. The other 50 percent, he doesn't care.


3. The biggie: Temporary "day bumps" to Room 3 at daycare, where the kids are between 18 months and roughly 24 months old.

In other words: throwing the tiny fish into a pond of bigger, badder fish.

Yes, we've given our kid some comeuppance, 'cause now he's no longer long big boy on the block. Those toddlers are taller, faster, stronger, and can SIT ON HIM, if he they choose.

Not that I'd advocate that of course.

Postscript: Picked Scott up at 5:30 and he did GREAT in the bigger kid room. Slept on a cot (not in a crib) for the first time, and took a 2.5 hour nap! The teacher also told me, "Yeah, NONE of the kids picked on him. Sometimes, they go after the new, little ones, especially if they sense they are a little hesitant or scared or shy. But he acted like he'd been here forever and fit in great."


Yippee! And, most importantly, Scott didn't do any bullying either. Go Tank! Welcome to Room 3! Hopefully there will soon be a spot for you there permanently. 

Furry Red Muppet Monster Obsession

Elmo, the bedtime buddy.

What is it about the toddler brain that causes it to become utterly fascinated with a certain red muppet monster?

It's like someone flipped a switch deep within Scott's head and activated the "Elmo Obsession lobe."

Sure, the kid has long enjoyed "Play with Me Sesame," -- even breaking out into a big grin at the opening notes of the theme song. And I think his first crush was on Prairie Dawn, the little piano playing blonde-haired muppet girl.

But this is different.

Scott has a new, stuffed Elmo. It's permanently attached to him. It goes to the breakfast table, to daycare, he tried to bring it in the bath too.

Scott says only a handful of words with regularity -- "mama," "daa-da da da," "baww" (ball), "dahhnn"(down)...but suddenly, "Mem-MO" is in heavy rotation. He says it while pointing to the dog, as he's walking through the house, and whenever he enters his room.

The stuffed Elmo I bought him has become an extension of his body. Like a third arm. He has a Rock 'n Roll Elmo that plays drums, the tambourine and sings. For the past week, at bedtime and at naptime, he'll only let me read "Mem-MO" related books.

 

Elmo and Scott at the railroad park

Over and over and over and over again.

And there's a new insistence behind his voice. A sudden, underlying, "if you don't make the freaking red monster muppet thing appear RIGHT NOW I am going to have a complete, catastrophic meltdown" kind of tone.

So I guess we've officially entered the "Elmo Phase"...kind of makes me wonder if the good folks at Sesame Street have put some sort of subliminal messaging in their television show that only toddlers can hear and respond to.

Em-MO! I don't care if we've read it 400 times in the past two days, mommy. Read it AGAIN!!

On raising a bookworm

When I was a kid I loved books. My favorite childhood story was "The Poky Little Puppy."

When I was a teenager, my mom used to have to yell at me to put whatever I was reading down and go outside and get some fresh air.

Now I am an adult, and little has changed. I still love books. It is a passion that has served me well, and probably led me to my current career. I love words. I love telling stories. And so, I write for a living.

When I became pregnant, I was determined to pass my love of literature on to my son. When Jim and I designed Scott's nursery, I made sure it included a comfy rocker and a bookshelf within arm's reach.

At the time, I assumed the pretty blue "book nook" (which holds approximately 16 stories), would be sufficient for mine - and my baby's -- needs.

But fast forward nine-plus months, and I can safely say that I am out of control.

I now shop for board books with the same zeal and fervor that I once reserved for an end-of-the-year Ann Taylor sale. I've spent enough money on children's literature in the last year to buy two Cole Haan purses and at least three or four pairs of fun, strappy sandals.

And yet, I can't quit -- even though Scott's room is starting to look like a Barnes & Noble outlet.

Books now spill out from the blue shelf, where they are jammed in, every which way. They are stacked five or six deep on top of the bedside table, where they bump up against a little red lamp. They are wedged in the table's single pull out drawer, and on its middle shelf. And there are still more, stacked neatly in a row, in his toy box.

Part of Scott's literary collection.

I counted this morning. Scott owns 61 books. And that doesn't count the new one I bought today. I am sure he'll love it. It's about sheep, who get stuck in a jeep. See? The storyline rhymes! Good times!

Yes, I know, I must be stopped. I've even convinced others to participate in my sickness. Both of Scott's grandmas, his Aunt Kristy and Uncle Martin, his Aunt Kendall and Uncle Sean, his Uncle Chuckie, and my friend Christina have all contributed to his ever-expanding book collection.

I love the way the little cardboard children's books feel in my hand. I love their simple drawings and stories. I love the way Scott shakes them or tries to chew them.

But mostly, I love the idea that maybe, just maybe, he, too, is starting to develop a love of books.

I've read to Scott since he was six-weeks-old. And now, bedtime is one of my favorite times of the day. It's my special, quiet time with him. After his bath, Scott kisses Daddy goodnight, and he and I sit in the big rocker in his room, have a bottle and then read at least two bedtime stories.

My budding book lover.

At almost 10 months, Scott is starting to develop favorites.

He smiles and looks at me when I read "So Big," a Sesame Street book that features a pop up Elmo on the last page. He squeals when I put on the big fuzzy blue mitts that bring "The Tickle Monster Book" to life. He giggles when I make the various sounds in "Mr Brown Can Moo...Can You?" and he happily bangs his hands on the pages, almost like he's trying to mimic the drum-playing monkeys in "Hand Hand Fingers Thumb."

He has favorite "lullaby" books too - the ones that I read last at bedtime, right before I turn out the light. Most nights we alternate between "Goodnight Moon," "I Love You, Stinky Face," and "On the Night You Were Born."

I know that he doesn't really understand the words yet, and that in the months and years to come, his willingness to sit on my lap will dwindle as he becomes more active and pursues other interests.

But maybe -- just maybe -- I'll be lucky enough to raise a bookworm.
And when he's an adult, he'll pick up a favorite novel, think back, and somewhere have a vague, but warm memory, of a childhood filled with magical words and stories.

In the meantime, I think I should probably consider investing in a library card.