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My family has this weekly tradition.  We go out to our local Noah’s Bagels for lunch.  As Maddie’s grown older, she’s able to share grown-up food with us.  So we’ve been cutting off slices of the dog-part of my bagel dog, and feeding them to her.  Nowadays, she pretty much eats the whole wiener, leaving nothing but soggy bagel for me.

At home, she eats these tasty microwaveable mini corndogs.  Since I wanted my own bagel dog this week, we microwaved some corndogs, and brought them with us to Noah’s.  We offered Maddie her corndogs as I garnished my bagel dog.  But Maddie wasn’t having any of that.  She knows,

When we’re at Noah’s, Maddie gets steamy hot bagel dog wiener.

That’s the routine.  That’s the rule.

Fine, fine, fine.  I cut off slices of my bagel dog for her.  She grabs a spoon, but I correct her, and try to place a fork in her hand, so she can stab the slices and feed herself.  She wasn’t going to have any of that either.  Maddie insisted on using a spoon, and trying to stab the slices with that, as if it were a fork.  I tried to show her how to scoop up with slices with the spoon, but that wasn’t what she wanted to do!

So, Maddie’s Mom and I sit there watching our pride-and-joy ignore the food we brought for her, and trying to stab slices of my hotdog with a spoon (sometimes successfully).  I say to Maddie’s Mom with a little exasperation, “I tell you,” but then words fail me.

Without skipping a beat, she looks at me and deadpans, “It’s hard having kids?  You don’t have to tell me that.”

A few days ago, when I was changing Maddie, she went nuts.  She started wiggling furiously, and calling out something that sounded like, “dish!” or “this!” or “dhis!”

She was really trying to get at something on the counter.  She didn’t have any toys up there.  It’s where we keep the wipes, and creams, and nick nacks.  I just wanted to get her into a clean diaper.  I wasn’t particularly interested in figuring out what’s going on in her little head.  But she wasn’t letting up.

“Dhis! Dhis! Dhis!”

I just grabbed the nearest thing I remember Maddie having touched, a tube of cream.  I offered it to her, “What?  Do you what this?”

Aha!

That’s exactly what she wanted.  She grabbed the tube, settled down, and let me change her.  Apparently Maddie’s Mom and I have both been offering “this” to her.  And now she knows the cream is This.

Whoops.  What we accidentally teach our children.

Maddie’s shoes are getting a little too tight.  So at every available opportunity she tries to take them off.  First she unstraps the velcro strap, then violently kicks her little legs, flapping her little feet until the sheer whiplike force throws her shoes into the air.  It’s pretty funny if you don’t get hit by a shoe.

This weekend we took Maddie to see her grandparents.  Things went pretty well until the time came for Maddie’s Mom and me to go out for a date.  We said goodbye to the grandparents, then kissed Maddie goodbye and headed for the doorway to put on our shoes.

“Nooo!”

Maddie scampered after us, and latched onto my pants’ leg.  (Babies have incredibly strong grips.)  I gently pried her away, and she looked up at us in desperation.  Surely there must be something she can do!  She turned around looking for a corner to pout in, or… she squatted down, picked up her vile little shoes, stood up and held them high, as if to say, “I’ll wear the shoes.  Just take me with you!”

We knew how much she hates those shoes, and so it really melted our hearts to see what she would suffer just to be taken along with us.

Sometimes, when we’re out in the public and strangers are coming by, I’ll make a silly face or do something that’s sure to make Maddie laugh or crack a smile just as they get near.  Maddie will look up at them with this big ol’ irresistible smile.

Then, depending on how the strangers react, we can tell if they’re good people or bad people.  If they smile back, they’re good.  But if they don’t react, then we know they have dark hearts.

Luckily, based on the Maddie personality test, the world seems to be 95% filled with good people.

Phew!

Maddie’s got uncontrollably wavey hair.  It’s cute, but we get jealous of other babies that have comb-able hair.  Las Vegas managed to do what no amount of baby hair care could:  it straightened Maddie’s hair.  But when we returned to the Bay Area, Maddie’s hair returned to its usual wavey anarchy within a couple of hours.  Oh, well.

We just got back from a long weekend in Las Vegas.  A good time was had by all, with one minor exception.  We may have done a little irreparable damage to our child.

On our way through the MGM Grand hotel, we noticed the Rainforest Cafe, and thought that that would make a nice place to lunch.  Parents of babies take note: After getting on the list and waiting for half an hour, and the hostess calls your name, it’s not for seating.  It’s so you can wait in line for seating.  Ugh.  So, Maddie’s nap would be a little delayed.

We get seated, and are immediately taken by the atmosphere.  The cafe is dimly lit, with a little LED milky way overhead complete with shooting stars.  And our table is distantly surrounded by realistic animatronic figures partially hidden in a simulated forest canopy.  There are two elephants, some monkeys, a talking tree, and two leopards.

Maddie, in her high chair, seemed struck by the surroundings too.  But she never really took her eyes off one of the leopards.  She even pointed it out and gave us a concerned, “Ooo.”  We acknowledged the cat, and said “Yes, Maddie.  It’s a cat.  Can you say, ‘cat?'”  Maddie didn’t seem interested in lessons.  The leopard would occasionally wag its tail or rotate its head, the way animatronic critters are prone to do.  There was lots to watch, and it made passing the time easier.

Then, out of nowhere, Maddie freaked.  She just went nuts and lunged for her mother, who was sitting at her side.  She clawed at her mother’s blouse, almost ripping it off, as she tried to claw her way up and out of the high chair.  Maddie was crying and her little legs were pumping and her arms were flailing and her head was buried in her mom’s shoulder.

We didn’t actually see what the leopard did, but it must have given Maddie that “I’m going to tear you apart, limb from bloody limb” look.

This, of course, was well before the food even came.  Suffice it to say that the tempo for the meal had been set.

Maddie has begun saying, “um,” when she babbles.  For example, she’d pick up the phone, and have imaginary conversations with someone.

“Um, raba ticle dele bedle.”
“Um. Dele needle rata bel.”
“Um, bala rata raba udu.”

She’ll do the same thing when she talks to her animals in the crib.

A couple of days ago, while I was talking to Maddie’s mom, she answered a question with, “Um,” somthing or other.  I giggled because I thought she was immitating Maddie to be cute.  But it turns out she wasn’t.  Aha, I figured, that’s where Maddie must have picked it up!

Yesterday, I told this story to Rosie, and a little later in the conversation caught myself saying, “um.”  I tried to ignore it and kept going, but I couldn’t help but notice that I eventually said “um” at least two more times in the same conversation.  Darn.  Maybe Maddie didn’t just get it from her mother.

A few days ago I admitted how I enjoyed it when Maddie was sick.  That was because that was the only time Maddie would stay put, and seemed to want to be loved.  (Normally, she can out pace a caffeinated Tasmanian devil.)

Last week, Maddie noticed her Mommy listening to her discman (portable CD player).  When Mommy was done, and put down the discman, Maddie naturally wanted to see what the attraction was.  She pushed the buttons on the case, and was delighted that one or two would affect the slight whir of the tiny motor.  Then she noticed the wire to the headset, and did what babies to best.  She yanked hard on it.  The connector to the case unplugged.  So she entertained herself for a good minute trying to replug the thing, and unplugging it again.

Finally, she traced up the wire to the headset.  At this point, the disc was stopped.  She’d put the headset up over her head and around her neck like a necklace.  Then she’d call out, “Hello?  Hello?”  But alas, the thing was not a phone.  Mommy stepped in, and turned on the CD player, and positioned the headset over Maddie’s ears.

Maddie froze.

She didn’t dare move her head, body, arms, hands, even fingers, lest this wondrous music disappear as suddenly as it came.

So, naturally, we tease her.  We start circling her, and position ourselves just out of sight, but within arm’s reach.  Then we’d call out, “Maddie.  Maddie!”  And Maddie would cautiously, slowly roll her eyes in our direction without turning her head.  But even if she still couldn’t quite see us, that was too bad.  She wouldn’t move.  She just couldn’t risk losing the music.  After a couple of minutes, we took pity on her, and took off the headset.  Maddie breathed again.

This little game worked again over the next couple of days, but today Maddie was already over it.  She’d figured it out, and it wasn’t so special.  So, once again, there’s nothing that’ll keep Maddie still.  (Except for possibly the TV.  That’s not so good.)

Dr. Dean Edell, in his quest to provide medical perspective with “Eat Drink and be Merry,” says something very similar to this entry.  That we shouldn’t worry excessively about every new finding in a medical journal (some are premature or erroneous), and that we shouldn’t obsess about how much we diverge from our physical ideal (the human body is magnificently engineered and tolerates variation nicely).  We shouldn’t needlessly sacrifice the quality of our lives in a misguided effort to perfect them.

A couple of days ago, I got an email from a friend that read, “I feel behind.”  And it linked to a site where another parent reports how her two-year-old likes to glue clothes onto construction paper dolls.  (And she’s like to sell you her cutouts, so you can do it too.)  My friend felt behind because her 19 month daughter does not do what the 30 month daughter does.  Puleeze.

That got me to thinking about a few things.

1. Selling construction paper cutouts on the web?!  Why didn’t I think of that?  I’ve got scissors.  I’ve got paper.  I’ve got a PayPal account.
2. We really do ourselves a disservice by browsing the web until we find someone who’s got it better than us, and then obsessing about it.  That’s not just a waste of time, it’s destructive.

And three, that we humans in some sense, are not as fragile as we’re led to believe.  I love Sting’s song Fragile as much as anybody else. and it’s very poignant.  But as fragile we are, we can be (and often tend to be) even more resilient.  It’s important to keep that in mind to maintain proper perspective.

In America, the essence of a capitalist society, we’re told by every huckster that they’ve got something that will better our lives.  The correlation is that our lives are not what they should be.  Parents are particularly vulnerable, because we want the best for our children.  And when somebody else’s kid pastes shorts over the doll’s waist when our kid tries to eat them, we always wonder, “could I be doing something better?”

I’ve come to the enlightened conclusion, “Yes, I could be doing something better.”  I’m making plenty of mistakes, and don’t have the resources to do some of the things I’d love to do for my child.  But, I don’t know anybody who didn’t fall on their heads from the kitchen counter, or who didn’t get a door slammed on their fingers, or who didn’t go to public school, or whose parents didn’t lace their gasoline with MTBE.  And most of these friends seem OK.  Not that there aren’t cautionary tales.  There are.  I also don’t know anybody who doesn’t know someone in jail, or addicted to drugs, or who died due to human error/action.  But, of all the “success stories,” none of them are of people who’ve had perfect lives.  Everyone’s emerged from multiple failings.  And we have every reason to hope and expect that our children will overcome what we inflict on them.

Babytalk is a wonderful thing.  Maddie’s learning how to say shoes, juice and crackers.  (She’s very fond of Silang Coconut Crackers.)  She picked up shoes and juice first.  Actually, at the same time, since to her, they’re both about the same word.  “Shjuzch.”  A few days later, she’d learned to say crackers.  “Ca-ca.”

So, the joke’s over for you, the reader.  Maddie loves how her juice and crackers taste.  Ha, ha.  Move along.

But the joke just goes on and on for us.  Because Maddie really does love her juice and crackers, and we love how she pronounces them.  Here’s what happens before walks and before snacktimes.

Momma:  Maddie, can you say, “juice?”
Maddie: Shujch.
Momma: Maddie, can you say, “shoes?”
Maddie: Shujch.
Momma: What should we pour your juice into?
Maddie: Shujch!
Momma: Maddie, what do you think of crackers?
Maddie: Ca-ca!
Momma: Maddie, what’s your favorite thing in the world to eat?  (Waves a cracker out of reach.)
Maddie: Ca-ca!

It doesn’t get much more clever than that, although I wish it did.  You have to punch the word you want Maddie to repeat, or you have to show it to her to make her call for it.  Actually, we’re pretty happy that Maddie’s picking up new words, and just getting her to say them lights up our day.

Just before loopy time tonight, we were all in the living room, on the floor playing.  Lillian got up, went to the couch, grabbed a pillow, came back, and plopped down, resting her head on the pillow sideways.  Maddie, who’s usually oblivious to such stuff, got up, went to the couch, grabbed the other pillow (which was about as big as she was) to her chest, stumbled back, and collapsed tummy first near her Mamma.  Maddie’s face was buried in the pillow, so she was safe.

Being tired ourselves, and easily impressed and entertained, we laughed.  Maddie got it into her head that she had done something right.  So up she gets, then plop, down she goes again, already laughing in anticipation that Mamma and Dadda are going to laugh too.  We get a few more encores.  And it only got better with repetition.  She’d perfected the routine.  Then suddenly-

  “Uuh.  Uuuh!”

  Which means, “Everybody, stop!”  We did.  Maddie was indicating something on the floor.  It was just a two-inch piece of thread that had come off of the pillow she’d been mauling.  So we all stare at the thread.

  Time passes.

  “Uuh!  Oo!”

  Apparently this thread was going to do tricks.  We keep watching it.

  More time passes.  Maddie backs off from the thread, never taking her eyes off of it.  The thread was either somewhat threatening, or the trick was going to be pretty spectacular.  Then it hits me: Maddie must have discovered worms.  She thinks this thread is going to crawl.

  Oh, the opportunities.  Good parents wouldn’t play with their baby’s head.  Babies are very impressionable, you know.  We must try to be good, but maybe we can eke out a little fun from the situation.

  So we slowly, gently grab the thread, and offer it to Maddie.  She backs up just enough to be out of striking range of the varmint.  We put it back on the ground and whack it, to show that it’s not alive.  At least, not anymore if it was before the whack.  She edges closer.  We whack it again.  And again.  Maddie (the killer within awakened) gets close enough, raises her hand into whacking position, crouches, and…

  …gets the heebie jeebies.  She shivers, turns and runs back to a safer distance.  The thread could be playing possum, you know.  Lillian and I decide to try another tactic.  We grab the thread and give it back and forth to each other.  Then we hide it and reveal it to each other, delighting in the revelation.  She finally warms up to it.  And she gradually lets me place the thread in her hand.

  Lillian and I looked at each other, and silently congratulated each other for not messing with Maddie’s head by exclaiming, “eww,” which certainly would have rewarded us with another heebie jeebie dance.