Tag Archives: little miss

Being A Big Brother

We slept in later than usual for a Saturday. The Little Man, almost 5 years old now, came into our room sometime before sunrise and got into bed with us. Sometime later, after sunrise, we heard the Little Miss, 2-1/2, calling for us. We both wanted to sleep in1 and in an act of small miracle, the Little Man got out of our bed, walked into their shared room, and greeted the Little Miss.

The morning routine involves the Little Miss using the potty before she comes into our room. We both lay there, waiting for the call, “Mommy, Little Miss needs to go potty!” But it didn’t come. We lay there and listened in wonder as the Little Man took charge.

“Do you to go potty, Little Miss?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s go. You want me to help with your pajamas?”

“I can do it,” the Little Miss said.

We could hear her unzip her feetie pajamas and sit on the potty. We could hear her start to go. What we heard next was one of those things that, as a parent, melts your heart. The Little Man said, “Little Miss, I’m very proud of you for going potty.”

He helped her back into her pajamas and then walked her into our room and into our bed, where the four of us lazed around for a little while longer. The Little Man might have been proud of the Little Miss, but we simply beamed with pride at what a good big brother he has become.

Notes

  1. I’ve found, as I’ve gotten older, that “sleeping in” is a relative term. Anything after 6 am feel like sleeping in, even on a Saturday. Anything past 7 am feels almost lazy. We slept past 7 this morning.

Inherited Traits: Or, What I Have Passed on to the Little Man and Little Miss

When you have kids, you kind of expect there are certain things they will inherit: eye color, hair thickness (or thinness), etc. These are all physical characteristics, and our kids have a good mixture from both of us. But I’ve noticed more and more non-physical things that they have inherited from me.

The Little Man has inherited my ear for lyrics and music. He remembers all of the songs I sing, and I sometimes find him singing them to himself. I’m not talking about children’s lullabies, either. I’m talking things like R.E.M.’s “Superman” or Bing Crosby and Louis Armstrong’s “Gone Fishin’”.

The Little Miss has inherited another of these traits. I have this strange ability to quote from any episode of M*A*S*H, and do so frequently when in the company of willing conspirators, much to Kelly’s chagrin. Sometimes, when an episode of M*A*S*H is on TV, I’ll often say the lines just before the actors, which I know can be very annoying–but I just can’t help myself. The Little Miss seems to have inherited a version of this peculiar talent. Except, instead of M*A*S*H, she quotes lines from Caillou–often immediately before the character says the line. I noticed this for the first time a few nights ago and it was slightly disconcerting. She has done it more than once, since, but I think she does it now because she knows how proud it makes me. She will be a very good TV episode quoter, just like her dad.

When I Need Perspective and Relief from Stress

When I put the kids to bed at night, we listen to about 10 minutes of what they call “rain music.” This is really an album of white-noise tracks of thunderstorms and rain storms. It is very calming, and I often listen to this while writing when there is other noise in the background. The Little Miss does not want to sleep in her room at the moment, so she, the Little Man and I go into the Little Man’s room. He climbs into his bed and I tuck him in.

The Little Miss then points to the beanbag chair on the floor next the Little Man’s bed and said, quite firmly, “You sit, daddy!”

I drop into the beanbag chair and she crawls in beside me with her entourage of stuffed animals and baby dolls. We turn off the lights, I turn on the rain music, and the three of us lay there in the darkness, listening to the sound of rain and the occasional gentle rumble of thunder.

Sometime, the Little Man wants to hold my hand while we do this. So there I am with both of my kids, holding the Little Man’s hand and with the Little Miss nestled in the crook of my left shoulder and it is just wonderful. I’m not sure there is anything that acts as quickly as a stress reliever than laying there for 10 minutes with the kids falling asleep around me.

The Little Miss Turns Two

Happy birthday, Little Miss! It’s hard to believe that the Little Miss was born two years ago today. We have outgrown babies and now have a preschooler and toddler, although technically they are both preschoolers since the Little Miss goes to the same preschool as the Little Man.

As a doting father, it is incumbent upon me to say that she is utterly adorable. And so she is. Mostly. She seems to catch onto things with a quickness that is as scary as it is impressive. She is currently going through a Mommy phase, where Mommy has to do absolutely everything and I am not allowed to do anything, unless, of course, she is desperate and there appears to be no alternative but to ask Daddy for help.

She has been speaking in complete sentences for some time now, but she has an older brother, to say nothing of native intelligence, to help her in this respect. She communicates very clearly, actually, often being very specific about what she wants to tell us, or how she wants things to be.

She dotes on her big brother. She likes watching the shows he watches, and she can name all of the super heroes on sight because the Little Man can do this, and she has learned it from him.  She wants to do everything that he does, and is the perfect little emulator.

Mostly, she is just a little bundle of joy.

Happy birthday, Little Miss! I hope you have a fun day today!

You Cannot Fool the Little Miss

I‘ve noticed something recently, a kind of harsh mathematical truth about the Little Miss: as she grows increasingly adorable, she also grows increasingly willful. It’s not a direct proportion either. I’d say her willfulness factor increases to the cube of her adorability, which, from an evolutionary point of view, makes a good deal of sense, I suppose.

Take the other night, for instance. We have a pretty solid bedtime routine. It usually ends with Kelly getting the Little Miss into her sleep sack, and then the Little Miss stands on our bed and shouts to me (she shouts because I am usually writing and wearing my noise-cancelling headset), “Daddy, I’m ready!” But on this night, when Kelly said it was time for bed, the Little miss replied, calmly but firmly, “No.”

Various things were tried, various bribes were made, but to no avail. The Little Miss had taken a position and she was not going to give up the high ground. More warnings were given. More bribes were made. Quid pro quo was in full force. Eventually, satisfied she’d gotten what she wanted, the Little Miss acquiesced and I put her in her bed.

Usually, as our routine goes, I lie down next to the Little Miss and we listen to “rain music” on my iPhone for the 10 minutes or so it takes for her to fall asleep. The one significant variation to this routine comes when we listen to rain music for 30 or 40 minutes, not because the Little Miss won’t sleep, but because I have fallen asleep. But this seemed to be an ordinary night. We had figured out some way of getting her into bed quietly, mostly by distracting her from the fact that she was going to bed, and now, we both laid quietly in her room, the Little Miss in her bed, me on the floor, listening to rain music.

I was drowsy, but I kept watching her. Sometimes, I watch her as she falls asleep. On this particularly evening, she lay on her back looking at the ceiling, and I could actually see her mind working. It was eerie. But she didn’t stir. She simply stared at the ceiling, quiet, while the rain music continued to play.

My eyes had closed and I had nearly fallen asleep when I heard her speak suddenly. She didn’t shout or howl. She said, as if in sudden realization, “I am in my bed.” She paused and then followed it up with a vehement, “Oh man!

I am not a mind-reader so I cannot say this with certainty, but I believe that in that moment, the Little Miss realized that, despite her protest, she ended in her bed anyway, and by her own acquiescence, and was expressing her own utter frustration.

A Perspective on Priorities

When I picked up the Little Miss from her daycare today, she had a bloody nose. Not a big deal, just a little bloody nose. She has a wonderful daycare and the caretakers told me what had happened that led to the bloody nose. Perfectly normal stuff.

I brought her home. Kelly and the Little Man were already home. The Little Miss had brought a rose for Kelly for Mother’s Day.

“Happy mommy’s day,” the Little Miss said, running into the house to give the rose to Kelly.

“Oh, thank you!” Kelly said. There was a pause. “What happened to–”

“She got a bloody nose at school,” I said.

The Little Man perked up. At nearly four years old, he is fascinated by blood.

I explained what happened. “When so-and-so’s dad came to pick him up, all of the kids suddenly wanted to play with the same toy, or something. I think they said it was a dinosaur. Anyway, in the commotion, whosits threw the dinosaur and it bobbed the Little Miss squarely in the nose.”

“Aww, my poor little girl!” Kelly said. The Little Miss did not seem bothered by this in the least.

The Little Man seemed to consider the story carefully and then asked what he deemed to be the most significant question.

“What kind of dinosaur was it?”

Get Whatever You Want in 12 Easy Steps

This post is brought to you courtesy of the Little Miss, who demonstrated the process this very evening to a small audience. I am merely passing along her methods, which, I should add, are frighteningly effective. Credit where credit is due.

Step 1. Begin nonchalantly. Stand up on your mom and dad’s bed.

Step 2. Release your stored up energy. Jump around on mom and dad’s bed, until mom says, “It’s time to relax, no jumping.”

Step 3. Demonstrate your independence. Continue to jump anyway until mom say, “If you don’t listen you’ll have to go into your own bed.”

Step 4. Call the bluff. Live for the moment. Do it again.

Step 5. Marvel at how quickly your are transported to your own bed.

Step 6. Play along. Lay down quietly, feigning sleep.

Step 7. Wait five minutes.

Step 8. Start yelling for mommy. Throw in a few screams. Turn on the waterworks.

Step 9. When daddy asks why you are crying, say, “I want mommy pick me up.”

Step 10. Surprise your opponent. When daddy says, “You can’t sleep in our bed, you have to sleep in here,” you say in your charming, voluble, 21-month-old voice, “I be good girl!”

Step 11. Puppy-eyes for effect.

Step 12. Marvel at how quickly you are transported to mommy and daddy’s bed.

Game. Set. Match.

The Little Miss Channels… The Terminator?

The nightly routine

We go upstairs. The kids play for a little while, while Kelly and I do various tasks in preparation for the next day. Lay out clothes. Pack bags and backpacks. Then it’s time for a bath or shower. When that is over we read a book. Sometimes, we read two, one for the Little Man and another for the Little Miss. When the book-reading is done, the kids usually climb onto our bed. They each get to watch a show. The Little Miss generally watches Caillou, while the Little Man, obsessed with superheroes as he is1, watches The Avengers cartoon. They both drink their milk.

It is during this brief respite that I squeeze in the my daily fiction-writing. I can generally get as much as 500 words done before the shows are over. At some point, Kelly gets the Little Miss into her sleep-sack, usually with only minor protest. Not long after that, the Little Miss will say, “Daddy, I ready!” Usually she has to yell this, as I wear my noise-canceling headset as I write. Usually, I respond (once I hear her), with “Okay, I just need two minutes.” This is because the Little Miss has chosen the exact wrong moment in my writing to “be ready.” I finish my thoughts, typing feverishly. Then I stand.

“Okay,” I say, taking out my iPhone and holding it up, “should we go listen to rain music?”

The Little Miss waddles across the bed in her sleep sack, a big grin on her face. She practically leaps into my arms.

“Goo-night, mommy,” she says. “Goo-night, Little Man.”

“Goodnight,” Kelly says.

The Little Man generally says nothing, absorbed as he is in what is going on with the Avengers. We prod him and without taking his eyes off the TV he says, “Goodnight!”

“I love you!” the Little Miss says.

“I love you,” Kelly says. “Sweet dreams.”

We start to walk out of the room and this is where the Little Miss channels the Terminator, every night, without fail.

“I be back,” she announces.

And before morning, she almost always is.

Notes

  1. I wonder where he gets that from?

Daylight Saving Pet Peeves

First and foremost, it is daylight saving time, and not daylight savings time as I both see and hear it referred to by so many people. There is a difference, slight at it may be. It is not a bank account into which you put your accumulated savings of daylight (and earn an utterly meaningless amount of daylight interest). You cannot withdraw daylight from your daylight savings account in the winter to get you an extra hour of sunlight. Small pet peeve, I know, but there it is nevertheless.

I actually like daylight saving time, and I like even more that it has been expanded. It is, like my birthday, yet another harbinger of spring, and spring is probably my favorite season. (And spring is always so much better after a somewhat cold and snowy winter!)

My real pet peeve regarding daylight saving time has plagued me for only a few years. Daylight saving time and parenting don’t mix well. Parenting, especially when your kids are very young, seems to be all about routine. Daylight saving time (and the eventual return to standard time) screw up those routines. It’s not so bad when your kids are infants. But when they are toddlers or preschoolers, it can wreak havoc on a well-ordered household.

Advantage: we can start taking our evening walks again as a family.

Disadvantage: the kids aren’t tired at their usual bedtime.

Advantage: it feels like we have more time to accomplish all our chores in the evening.

Disadvantage: the kids see the extra sunlight as meaning its not time to do those chores yet.

It took me an hour to get the Little Miss to fall asleep last night, this despite putting her to bed nearly an hour later to try to compensate for daylight saving time. I suspect that I would not have had this problem had we not sprung forward early Sunday morning1.

Notes

  1. Okay, who else likes to wake up at 1:59am on Sunday and watch the clock on the cable box change from 1:59 to 3:00am? Anyone? Anyone?

The Little Miss’s Trio of Songs

Despite the fact that the Little Miss is only 18 months old, she already knows a bunch of songs. Some of these are snippets of the songs I sing to her instead of the traditional lullabies. (Think: “Where the Blue of the Night Meets the Gold of the Day” or “Far Away Places.”) But recently, I noticed that she knows most of the words and tune to three different songs: “ABC”, “Bah-Bah-Black Sheep”, and “Twinlke, Twinkle, Little Star,” If I start singing one of these songs, she’ll jump right in and join me, getting most of the words, and all of the tune right. And as soon as I finish singing, say, “ABC,” she’ll bounce up and down and say, “Bah-Bah Black Sheep!” and we’ll move on to that one. It really is amazing to me.

Of course, it is also a bit of a cheat. After all, the “tune” to all three songs is identical. Hum it to yourself and fit the lyrics to each of the three songs and you’ll see they are identical. Even so, the Little Miss’s voluble singing abilities continue to amaze me–and always bring a smile to my face.

Puppets and the Perils of Parenting (A Little Miss Tale)

I found a unique way of entertaining the kids today while Kelly was on the elliptical machine. The Little Man, Little Miss and I were up in the Little Man’s bedroom. The two Little Ones were happily bouncing on the bed while I sat on the floor, encased in a beanbag chair and attempting to read my book. The fun lasted about as long as you might expect and the two Little Ones were ready to move on to something else.

The Little Man happened to pick up a Yankees hand-puppet that I got for Christmas. I told him to hand it over and proceeded to do my best Edgar Bergan/Charlie McCarthy. Before long, I had the Little Man rolling in the aisles. He was not only laughing, but interacting with the hand puppet, holding a conversation with it and having a good ‘ol time.

And that’s when I noticed the Little Miss. She had moved away from the bed and was standing in the dead center of the room. She hadn’t moved since the puppet had come to life. And she had a strange look in her eyes. Now, the Little Man is nearly four and the Little Miss just past the 211 18-month mark. The Little Man was having a blast. And I made a mistake.

I misinterpreted the Little Miss’s nervous silence as frustration. After all, the puppet spent most of his time talking to the Little Man–who, naturally, was talking right back.

So I turned the puppet to the Little Miss, and he said to her, “Hello Little Miss! How are you today?”

In the ordinary passage of conversation, the Little Miss would have returned this interrogative with a delightful little, “Heh-loh!” She might even clap her hands together, bat her blue eyes and issue forth a smile that could brighten a looming darkness.

Instead, she eyed the puppet warily. Convinced that she hadn’t heard him, the puppet repeated, “Well hey there, Little Miss. Can I get a kiss?” He gestured with his arms.

It might have been the gesture that triggered what happened next. She took two nervous steps to her left–the direction of the bedroom door–and burst into tears. It was as that point that it occurred to me that she might be frightened of the puppet. It might seem inexplicable to her.

So I did what I could: I tossed the puppet into the closet and picked up the Little Miss. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I said, wiping away her tears. “It’s just a puppet. It’s pretend. It’s just a puppet.”

Through her sobs, she clarified at once that I was mistaken. “Scary puppet, Daddy,” she said. After that she held tight to me. I took her into our bedroom, sat down in the rocker and rocked her to sleep, feeling like the absolute worst dad in the world.

Scary puppet,” she muttered as she dozed off.

I wonder how many years of therapy that will result in?

(And for those curious, here is the scary puppet:)

Puppet

Notes

  1. I don’t know what I was thinking here. I just totally screwed up the math, okay.

The Little Miss Turns One

We had family in town this weekend and I was so busy with that and other things that I didn’t get a chance to post about the Little Miss’s first birthday until now. On Sunday, the Little Miss turned one and it is rather remarkable how quickly that first year went by.

At one, the Little Miss is just such an adorable little girl that there are times when I wish she would stay one forever. She has a vocabulary of twenty or twenty-five words that she can say. She can understand a lot more. If I ask her where the light is, she’ll look up at the ceiling, find a light, point and say, “Liiiiight!” If I ask here where the bed is, she will point at it but won’t say the word. Which is strange because many of the words she says start with the letter B: book, ball, and stuff like that. She says Mama and Daddy. She says Maggie (one of our cats) and Miriam (one of the caretakers at her daycare). The latter comes out like “Mhi-yam.”

She can walk if she wants to but she still prefers to crawl. This is different from the Little Man, who never crawled so he walked more quickly. But she can crawl like the wind. She can climb the stairs by herself, meaning if we stand there to make sure she is safe, she can do it all by herself. We avoid letting her do this when we are not supervising, of course. She has an adorable laugh, and when she thinks something is really funny, the laugh turns into such a high-pitched squeal that she might upset nearby dogs and stir up any bats in the neighborhood. The one person who can make her laugh the hardest is the Little Man.

The Little Miss has quite a few teeth already. She’s omnivorous at this point, having eaten some meats in addition to other foods. She is a big fan of blueberries and strawberries, and loves macaroni and cheese. She is an incredibly messy eater, more food being distributed about her person than actually getting into her mouth–at least when she feeds herself.

The Little Man gets along much better with her. He now understands that she is a baby and she is learning, and he helps her out when he can. He is more tolerant of her touching his toys and will sometimes, of his own according, giver her one of his toys to play with.

And she is a clever girl, who I fear will be out to taunt me with her wit from here on out. Just the other evening, she was sleeping on the floor with Kelly (Kelly wasn’t feeling well and wanted to be able to stretch out–the floor had more space) and all was quiet when I heard our cat, Maggie, banging on the gate at the top of the stairs. It was her signal that she wanted to be let downstairs. It was 3:30am and I stirred slowly, but then I heard what I thought was crying. I suspected the Little Man, so I wandered into the hallway to investigate. It turns out it was neither the Little Man, nor Maggie, nor even crying that I heard. The Little Miss had wandered, on her own accord, down the hallway and was standing by the gate, giving it a good rattle now and then. When she saw me, she smiled and giggled.

I think we’ll have to keep an eye on that one.