Maia seems to love disappointing me--in play only, of course. There's her disappearing blanket trick. And then we've got a book of opposites, one of which is a sad/happy girl. Chloë and I used to play with that. So do Maia and I, but it's moved out of the book. When she says "Can we read book?" and then picks one out and says brightly, "How bout dis one?" I sit on the glider and say, "Are you coming up?"
"No," she says, because she knows I will make a sad face and say despairingly, "Sad Mom." She used to then say, "I will come up and sit with you," which would make me smile and say brightly, "Happy Mom!" But lately, she doesn't bother. Because Chloë is usually around for this, she's taken to saying, "I'll sit with you!" or throwing her arms around me for comfort, even though I've laughed and told her we're just playing often enough that it should have sunk in. And since Chloë's been doing this, Maia will say, "Chloë will sit with you," and lounge in front of the glider, all independence, even if Chloë's not around.
#
Chloë asked me to read out of her Elmo omnibus today. We read "Elmo Loves You," which is a poem in the formula "A loves to B, C loves to D. E loves to F, and F loves to [do something ending in -ou]. Elmo [does something], and Elmo loves you!" Afterwards I said, "And what do you love to do?"
"Watch body videos," she replied. Our Youtube selection has expanded to include videos on the liver and the kidneys (also Vihart's Doodle Music), and she does indeed ask to watch them morning and night. The other day she went to her room to dress and asked suddenly, "What's a duodenum?" And then later, to Eric, it was, "What's an esophageal sphincter?"
#
She's constantly asking what this or that means. "What's a plank? What does walking the plank mean?" "What does repair mean?" "What does focus mean?" "Then what does concentrate mean?" "What's an esophageal sphincter?"
The other day Eric was talking to her about school, and mentioned "college" (I don't know if he described it as optional or not). "I know what that is," Chloë said. "Mama was talking about it last night. During her Goldilocks story."
Eric turned to me. I certainly hadn't mentioned the educational level of Goldilocks or any of the bears, so I thought a moment. "Cottage."
"I forgot," Chloë said, with a charming grin.
#
"Stop eating the soap," Eric groaned to Maia at bathtime today.
"Yum," she replied.
#
Chloë and I discussed this morning what would happen if we moved to a new house, and how someone else would come live in ours. "Would they play with our toys?" she wondered, so I explained, "We would bring our things with us. The furniture and toys and books and clothes, all those things."
Tonight, at dinner, Eric groused about how the rectangular place mats never sufficiently protect the tablecloth on the round table. "This table isn't coming with us when we move," I reminded him.
"Mama! You said it was!" Chloë scolded me.
#
We went to the fabric store yesterday to give Chloë the opportunity to buy something with her money. (Her choice: a felt princess hat and a wand with streamers, the latter of which she didn't like and tried knotting on the shaft, so I wound it around and glued it down and got her now-frequent praise of "You're the best!" I was also happy when she was dressed up in these while playing with Maia, and at some point Maia said something about her being a princess. Chloë said, "No, I'm a pirate now! Arr, matey!") Maia, as usual lately, was very difficult to get to follow me through the store, preferring to linger and look at things longer than I could stand. At one point she stopped at a small display of stuffed animals. Chloë and I moved on to the next aisle. When Maia didn't follow, I went back and said, "Come on, baby bird, let's look at something new."
She turned to me, holding a purple hippo in both hands, and said, "This animal misses its mama so much."
(I did not buy it for her. But it was a very close thing. She got a wand of her own instead.)
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Maybe not my daughter after all.
"Why did you go to the bookstore? You already have plenty of books."
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Status report: Chloë, 3 years 8 months, and Maia, 23 months
The girls are impossibly cute and impossibly annoying and impossibly smart and entertaining and impossible, in general. In fact, logically speaking I don't have children. Then why am I so tired?
Chloë and I have spent the last few nights' "I get to stay up late because I had a nap" times looking at Youtube videos of the digestive, skeletal, and circulatory systems. She's been especially interested in her My First Body Book lately and has been asking questions about it. A couple of days ago she asked Eric to draw her the outline of a body, and proceeded to color in the organs and veins just as they suggest in the book. (The heart was below the stomach. Otherwise, it was pretty accurate.) "The video on digestion is my favorite," she said this morning. "Can we watch them again?" I am the proudest parent of a three-year-old ever. Even if the next thing she wants to watch is the Hemaway ad so she can watch someone pooping.
We got Chloë a math-based game for her LeapPad for the trip. She's already played every level and won every badge, and still plays almost daily. I venture to say she likes it.
She made a snake out of clay at preschool, and shortly after she brought it home I opened up the modelling clay they got at Christmas. I ended up making most of the things that first session (including a puppy for Maia that she was enthusiastic about, even as she slowly squished it into nonexistence), but a few days ago Eric let them play again and she made her own nest and eggs:
She is the most talented girl ever.
Maia has decided that limit-testing is a great pastime. "Don't do X," I say sternly. She stops and says, "I not doing X any more." Then, as soon as I've stopped eyeing her, she does X again.
She's also very fond of ordering me around. When she greets me when I get home in the evening, she says, "Hug, Mom? Hug?" Then, as soon as I pick her up, "Take your jacket off!" She likes to take hold of my cheeks and move my face around, probably for the faces I make while she's doing it. "Open your knees," she says when she wants to stand between my legs when I'm sitting on the couch; and if she wants to be enclosed in them, "Close your toes."
She knows most of her letters and some of her numbers. She persistently forgets about the existence of the number five, but otherwise is doing pretty well on counting, too. She now calls Chloë "Chwoë" instead of "Toë." It's still very cute, but I kind of miss Toë. Her voice is so small and high and articulate. She's the funniest thing.
She enjoys playing the "I'm your blanket Mama" game, meaning that she stretches out on top of me and I pretend to sleep (complete with snoring noises), and then she gets up and walks away and, if I don't do anything, prompts, "Where your blanket Mama?" whereupon I say "Hey, where's my blanket? Come back, blanket!" And she does.
The girls have been doing a lot of "sleepover" and "make a nest" playing in their rooms. After bathtime they get their hair combed--Maia, too, now, and I just adore the little curls at the ends of her hair--and Maia gets a diaper on, and they romp around and try to jump on the bed when we aren't looking. Then they fight over whose book is whose and whether the kitty belongs to Chloë or Maia (it's Chloë's), but on the whole we're still glad we have two instead of one.
They had a good time on Easter. I hadn't planned on doing an egg hunt for them, but Chloë remembered last year's and asked after it, persistently, so I hid eggs around. They picked them up. And, true to form, if they missed one we'd say "There!" pointing, and they'd say, "Where?" while looking right at it. When do young children learn to see?
Chloë keeps asking about going back to the skating ring (where her cousin's birthday party was more than a year ago) and they were both terribly excited about their return to the park when the weather turned (briefly) warm a few days ago. So am I, for that matter. We've got some seedlings started that they helped plant, and I hope to get the garden in shape to plant more things outdoors soon. They'll love it.
We got Chloë a math-based game for her LeapPad for the trip. She's already played every level and won every badge, and still plays almost daily. I venture to say she likes it.
She made a snake out of clay at preschool, and shortly after she brought it home I opened up the modelling clay they got at Christmas. I ended up making most of the things that first session (including a puppy for Maia that she was enthusiastic about, even as she slowly squished it into nonexistence), but a few days ago Eric let them play again and she made her own nest and eggs:
She is the most talented girl ever.
Maia has decided that limit-testing is a great pastime. "Don't do X," I say sternly. She stops and says, "I not doing X any more." Then, as soon as I've stopped eyeing her, she does X again.
She's also very fond of ordering me around. When she greets me when I get home in the evening, she says, "Hug, Mom? Hug?" Then, as soon as I pick her up, "Take your jacket off!" She likes to take hold of my cheeks and move my face around, probably for the faces I make while she's doing it. "Open your knees," she says when she wants to stand between my legs when I'm sitting on the couch; and if she wants to be enclosed in them, "Close your toes."
She knows most of her letters and some of her numbers. She persistently forgets about the existence of the number five, but otherwise is doing pretty well on counting, too. She now calls Chloë "Chwoë" instead of "Toë." It's still very cute, but I kind of miss Toë. Her voice is so small and high and articulate. She's the funniest thing.
She enjoys playing the "I'm your blanket Mama" game, meaning that she stretches out on top of me and I pretend to sleep (complete with snoring noises), and then she gets up and walks away and, if I don't do anything, prompts, "Where your blanket Mama?" whereupon I say "Hey, where's my blanket? Come back, blanket!" And she does.
 |
| She's not in pain. She's just sleeping. Can't you tell? |
They had a good time on Easter. I hadn't planned on doing an egg hunt for them, but Chloë remembered last year's and asked after it, persistently, so I hid eggs around. They picked them up. And, true to form, if they missed one we'd say "There!" pointing, and they'd say, "Where?" while looking right at it. When do young children learn to see?
Chloë keeps asking about going back to the skating ring (where her cousin's birthday party was more than a year ago) and they were both terribly excited about their return to the park when the weather turned (briefly) warm a few days ago. So am I, for that matter. We've got some seedlings started that they helped plant, and I hope to get the garden in shape to plant more things outdoors soon. They'll love it.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
In the quiet morning
I woke up this morning to Chloë calling softly, "Maia? Maia? Maia? Maia, are you awake? Maia? Maia?"
Evidently she was, or was by the time Chloë finished speaking. There were some murmurs. I burrowed deeper in the covers, savoring my last moments of being warm and prone and un-climbed-on. "I'll go get Mama," Chloë said, and I nodded to myself. There was a quiet pause.
Then I woke up again to hear Chloë saying something else to Maia, and Maia answering. The clock said 7:25, which meant it was high time to get up. So I elevated myself and padded to Maia's room.
Chloë lay on the floor, on her stomach. Maia lounged in her crib. They were both pleased to see me, but not as enthusiastic as they sometimes get. "Where were you?" Chloë asked as I lifted Maia out and prepared to change her diaper. "I went to your bed but you weren't there."
"I was there," I said. "Maybe you couldn't see me because I was next to Daddy?"
"Maybe you were under the blanket," she suggested, darkly, as if I'd hidden from her on purpose. I hadn't, but now I know how to fool her. Or at least I did. I suppose she's wise to that trick now.
Evidently she was, or was by the time Chloë finished speaking. There were some murmurs. I burrowed deeper in the covers, savoring my last moments of being warm and prone and un-climbed-on. "I'll go get Mama," Chloë said, and I nodded to myself. There was a quiet pause.
Then I woke up again to hear Chloë saying something else to Maia, and Maia answering. The clock said 7:25, which meant it was high time to get up. So I elevated myself and padded to Maia's room.
Chloë lay on the floor, on her stomach. Maia lounged in her crib. They were both pleased to see me, but not as enthusiastic as they sometimes get. "Where were you?" Chloë asked as I lifted Maia out and prepared to change her diaper. "I went to your bed but you weren't there."
"I was there," I said. "Maybe you couldn't see me because I was next to Daddy?"
"Maybe you were under the blanket," she suggested, darkly, as if I'd hidden from her on purpose. I hadn't, but now I know how to fool her. Or at least I did. I suppose she's wise to that trick now.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Let's make Candy Land better
Chloë enjoys playing games, which is of course really awesome. Unfortunately, as we all know, kids' games tend to be... well, hardly games. The games are entirely luck-based; at best, they teach counting and taking turns, though some may involve a "learning" element--teaching letters or number or whatnot.
She loves Candy Land, but it's a horrible game. So the other day, I spent some time with her trying to make it better--but it still needs a lot of work. Let's consider the "alternate" version given in the Candy Land rulebook, which actually integrates an element of thought, though no reduction in luck. This variant is to draw two cards, then use just one. It is useful for teaching how to determine which of two cards is best--a great skill for gaming!--but it's a true baby step.
Next try: Draw a hand of three cards. Play one, then draw one. Again, it adds an element of thought, though the game is still mostly deterministic; the only difference is that the cards that could set you back now simply become dead cards in your hand. OK, we're getting better.
Next try: Same as before, but add an attack. On your turn, if you're not in the lead, you can spend a card to move the leader backward rather than moving yourself forward. We didn't finish this game--Maia woke up and that was the end of that--but I think that, once you figure out how to play, this version turns into a complete slog where no one advances significantly.
I think the next step is to take the "special" cards--the doubles and the picture cards--and give them some sort of alternate special power.
At this age she's not ready for a complete strategic overhaul of Candy Land, but hey, it's worth starting now...
She loves Candy Land, but it's a horrible game. So the other day, I spent some time with her trying to make it better--but it still needs a lot of work. Let's consider the "alternate" version given in the Candy Land rulebook, which actually integrates an element of thought, though no reduction in luck. This variant is to draw two cards, then use just one. It is useful for teaching how to determine which of two cards is best--a great skill for gaming!--but it's a true baby step.
Next try: Draw a hand of three cards. Play one, then draw one. Again, it adds an element of thought, though the game is still mostly deterministic; the only difference is that the cards that could set you back now simply become dead cards in your hand. OK, we're getting better.
Next try: Same as before, but add an attack. On your turn, if you're not in the lead, you can spend a card to move the leader backward rather than moving yourself forward. We didn't finish this game--Maia woke up and that was the end of that--but I think that, once you figure out how to play, this version turns into a complete slog where no one advances significantly.
I think the next step is to take the "special" cards--the doubles and the picture cards--and give them some sort of alternate special power.
At this age she's not ready for a complete strategic overhaul of Candy Land, but hey, it's worth starting now...
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Status report: Chloë, 3 years 7 months, and Maia, 22 months
I have no coherent thoughts today, because coherent thoughts are for people who haven't been woken up multiple times for an hour or more by their children who ought to be sleeping peacefully through the night and not up screaming and bouncing in their cribs, dammit. But we're leaving soon for Seattle (vacation! Plane ride! Other people to watch the girls!) and the monthly report must go up.
What's been accomplished this month? Well, we're all still alive. Also, Maia's working on counting and Chloë has asked "Can we continue cleaning up?" which will never happen again, but totally charmed me when it did. And nightly naked time has morphed into dress-up time:
This has been a big month for numbers, for both girls. Maia can now recognize most letters and some numbers, and is working on counting. It's still a tossup whether she'll remember five and count normally, or skip it and go to "six, eighteen, eleven," but at least she does it sometimes. Even if she slips "twelveteen" in there.
 |
| I mean what I mean, dahling. |
(We got it today. It was a purple headband with a big purple flower that had some rhinestones in the middle.)
Maia, methodically taking blocks out, then putting them back in the little wagon they belong in: "One in. Two in. Three in. Four in. Five in. Six in."
So: numbers and words, all of them, being sucked in by both girls. It's delightful to watch in both of them. Each day there's some little nuance that wasn't there before. Maia's grasped the "stop counting when you run out of things to count" concept; Chloë asked "Is there a barn in our world?" tonight because she knows that Dora and Diego and Huckle and Lowly aren't in our world.
They're playing with each other more and more, not just things like blocks and trains (though those are delightful; the other evening when I came home Chloë greeted me with "Come see our surprise that is ruined!" which turned out to be a perfectly wonderful configuration of train tracks with the hill a bit askew) but games of "This is the stage and let's be dancers," and "There's a monster ghost out there, let's hide in our tent." Here, for example, they are wearing their safety helmets to ride their motorcycle/truck/boat/spaceship:
Chloë continues to be whiny; Maia continues to be screamy and tantrumy when she doesn't get her way, and also increasingly at bedtime. And after bedtime. Did I mention the middle-of-the-night wakeups? But they're also lovely to each other and to us. Maia's "I wove you too Dad/Mom" is the sweetest thing. Chloë is working on orienting her clothes herself (reluctantly), and was so proud of herself when she stopped using the potty seat. "I'm the best girl ever!" Maia has started getting Chloë's box of wipes for her when she's on the toilet (since Chloë hasn't advanced so far that she's not holding the toilet seat with a death grip while she's on it). Chloë is admittedly a bit of a tattletale whenever Maia steps out of line, but it's often because she's genuinely worried. "Maia is going toward the street!" she'll call if they're on the driveway and I'm around the corner momentarily. "Maia, don't go in the street! The cars will get you!" Maia continues to be more independent, but Chloë's also fond of taking the lead. They're both pretty intrepid explorers together. We like them that way.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
On with the show
Eric dropped the girls off to me at work yesterday, per our usual arrangement when he's teaching. Chloë was asleep, because it was a preschool day and she doesn't nap on preschool days, and despite her protests that she doesn't need one, she needs one. Maia greeted me: "Mom! Hi Mom! Daddy go? Toë teeping."
I talked back to her some and got settled in the driver's seat, and headed down the road toward home. Maia started singing: "Aay bee tee dee...you too, Mom!" So I joined in.
She knows most of the alphabet song, though "LMNOP" is rendered as "emopee," and she waited for me to chime in with S. But she did her best in her beautiful baby voice--toddler voice, really. Then she started again. "You too Mom!" So we sang, and sang, all the way home.
* * *
That night...no, I guess it must have been Monday night, because it was after Maia went to bed. Chloë and I were up, and she was looking at her spider counting book, which she made at preschool by stamping the appropriate number of spiders on each page. The front had three spider stickers on it. "That's the mama spider," she said, pointing, "and that's the big sister spider, and that's the baby spider. But there's no daddy spider."
"You could draw one," I suggested.
"I don't know how."
"I'll show you. We can practice on another piece of paper."
I expected her to say no, but she didn't. So we went to the easel, and I held up the spider counting book and demonstrated, then counseled her on how to draw a spider. "First a big circle for the body. Then a small one for the head. Then eight lines for legs. Four on each side." Once she had that down, we refined the legs by adding extra segments, and she added a face to the head all by herself. "Now I can draw one on my counting book," she said, and did, and executed it beautifully. She was so pleased to have the spider family complete.
* * *
We left the spider book on the table, and tonight when dinner was winding down she pointed it out, and the status of each spider: "That's the big mama spider, and the big daddy spider I drew, and the two small ones are the big sister and the baby."
Maia listened as she shoveled pasta into her mouth with her fork. Then she said, "That big Mama over there," pointing at me. "That big Daddy over there. That big sister over there." She considered. "Small Maia here, eating her food."
I talked back to her some and got settled in the driver's seat, and headed down the road toward home. Maia started singing: "Aay bee tee dee...you too, Mom!" So I joined in.
She knows most of the alphabet song, though "LMNOP" is rendered as "emopee," and she waited for me to chime in with S. But she did her best in her beautiful baby voice--toddler voice, really. Then she started again. "You too Mom!" So we sang, and sang, all the way home.
* * *
That night...no, I guess it must have been Monday night, because it was after Maia went to bed. Chloë and I were up, and she was looking at her spider counting book, which she made at preschool by stamping the appropriate number of spiders on each page. The front had three spider stickers on it. "That's the mama spider," she said, pointing, "and that's the big sister spider, and that's the baby spider. But there's no daddy spider."
"You could draw one," I suggested.
"I don't know how."
"I'll show you. We can practice on another piece of paper."
I expected her to say no, but she didn't. So we went to the easel, and I held up the spider counting book and demonstrated, then counseled her on how to draw a spider. "First a big circle for the body. Then a small one for the head. Then eight lines for legs. Four on each side." Once she had that down, we refined the legs by adding extra segments, and she added a face to the head all by herself. "Now I can draw one on my counting book," she said, and did, and executed it beautifully. She was so pleased to have the spider family complete.
* * *
We left the spider book on the table, and tonight when dinner was winding down she pointed it out, and the status of each spider: "That's the big mama spider, and the big daddy spider I drew, and the two small ones are the big sister and the baby."
Maia listened as she shoveled pasta into her mouth with her fork. Then she said, "That big Mama over there," pointing at me. "That big Daddy over there. That big sister over there." She considered. "Small Maia here, eating her food."
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