Now then, let's see - what valuable parenting lessons can one possibly learn in 27 months? Well, Kittyboy's only three months over two years old, and already I can think of several insights to share with those who have no children. Or whose children are boring.
1. Never ever set a precedent. Children learn that after X comes Y way sooner than you think. For a while after Kittyboy started walking, I made it a habit to step out of church after the morning gospel and after communion. Maybe not after the gospel, but always after communion. Then one morning, he was being just so good, and didn't seem to need a change or anything, so I figured we'd stay. The good behavior lasted only until it became apparent to him that we really were staying in. Even at 18 months, the complete lack of verbal communication did not stop him from loudly declaring "Mommyyyy, why are we still heeeerre, we ALWAYS go downstairs noooowwww, come ONNN..." My translation of "Mmmmmmm nnngggg nnggggg!" whined while he wiggled down and headed for the door. Yup, I'd taught him well. Same goes for figuring that you'll save a plate when it's just you and the toddler by feeding him off of yours - not, I repeat, NOT if you ever want your food to be your own ever ever again. We are in the middle of breaking that habit now - tooth and nail.
2. Some toddlers roll on the floor screaming and kicking when they don't get their way. Some just go limp. Mine has a creative, somewhat violent variation on going limp which involves throwing his arms up (makes it impossible to lift him with your hands under his armpits) and collapsing backwards with a melodramatic wail. And rolling around floppily, kicking, as you try to pick him up. There is ONE hold which can be executed no matter the position of limbs, and does not put you in direct danger of kicking or getting head-butted. It's called the airplane hold. They advise it for babies who have colic, but it's also excellent for transporting a raging toddler. Roll him onto his stomach, one arm underneath his torso from one end, one arm from the other. Google "airplane hold colic" for a better description. The kicking is all directed outward (do be aware of those around you and the position of store displays) and with one arm and one leg trapped against you, he really can't go anywhere, and he has no leverage to hit you with his head. I discovered this by accident - and out of desperation.
3. Try not to hold a toddler in your arms facing away from you, with his head at the level of your throat or face. Back of skull to the nose, mouth, or larynx is an experience you want to anticipate and avoid at all costs. A fat lip is bad enough, got one of those during church once, but protecting your Adam's apple is absolutely vital. A blow there will come close to making you drop the kid, as you clutch your throat hoping you can still breathe. Your sternum, on the other hand, can take a beating if necessary. Again, airplane hold - protects stuff you need to live.
4. When the baby is in the car and you're hoping he will sleep - DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT. Ever. Maybe it's just Kittyboy who has a thing about eye contact (eye contact also factors into various theories as to why he gets aggressive with other toddlers and not taller children), but if you sneak a glance back and he catches your eye, he wakes right back up. He could be almost asleep, but if he sees the whites of your eyes, back to square one. Don't know why this is - like I said, might just be Kittyboy.
5. "Uh oh" is VERY, VERY BAD. Worse than silence. Silence, whatever is going on is being relatively successful (whatever that may be - and it is probably not something you want). "Uh oh", on the other hand, means something went WRONG. Wrong enough that the toddler knows it. That's REALLY wrong.
More to follow if I think of anything else.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Good, Grand, Glorious News in the Speech Department
Kittyboy performed so marvelously in his Speech eval this morning, I think we'll probably lose Janna the SLT next month. We may hold onto her for another half-year, but I kind of doubt it. Not only is his expressive vocabulary growing by an average of a word a day, but he said "airplane" this morning! Okay, so it was more like "ay-pay" but it was a two syllable word, the two syllables of which are totally different from each other. It was obvious what he meant, we called the winged vehicle in his hand an airplane and he instantly responded with the word. THAT was amazing.
Janna said he obviously comprehends far, far more than he can express. We already knew this, but she was quite impressed at the extent to which that's true. And having gotten a taste of what communication - gestured or spoken - will get him, he's constantly looking to use it whenever possible. So he's sort of to the point of teaching himself! He's pushing his own boundaries now, of his own accord - eagerly and with gusto!
Ginny the OT, we will most likely have for another six months to practice sitting, completing tasks, and following instructions. Then we'll say goodbye to her too. Unless the school district has a concern they think warrants following, we will be completely sans therapists by November. How weird would THAT be? No one taking notes, evaluating, re-evaluating, checking things, asking questions, saying, "Here's what we're working on next..." Just us and a healthy, normal, scarily bright toddler.
Let's just hope God knows what He's doing, shall we? He's not SUPPOSED to give us more than we can handle. Would it be irreverent to say, I hope He remembers that?
Janna said he obviously comprehends far, far more than he can express. We already knew this, but she was quite impressed at the extent to which that's true. And having gotten a taste of what communication - gestured or spoken - will get him, he's constantly looking to use it whenever possible. So he's sort of to the point of teaching himself! He's pushing his own boundaries now, of his own accord - eagerly and with gusto!
Ginny the OT, we will most likely have for another six months to practice sitting, completing tasks, and following instructions. Then we'll say goodbye to her too. Unless the school district has a concern they think warrants following, we will be completely sans therapists by November. How weird would THAT be? No one taking notes, evaluating, re-evaluating, checking things, asking questions, saying, "Here's what we're working on next..." Just us and a healthy, normal, scarily bright toddler.
Let's just hope God knows what He's doing, shall we? He's not SUPPOSED to give us more than we can handle. Would it be irreverent to say, I hope He remembers that?
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Kittyboy and Puppygirl, the Indestructo-Children...
The weather was lovely today, and so we went to our friend Carey's house for a playdate. Carey's daughter rather resembles Kittyboy, were he six years older and a girl (does that make sense?), and so I call her Puppygirl. Puppygirl and Kittyboy, the superhero and super-sidekick, valiently saving the world from boredom - one adventure at a time!
They're both indestructo-children. You can tell the jaded, world-wise mothers of indestructo-children, by the fact that they stand at a distance saying, "Now, that looks dangerous, so be careful" rather than dashing over to help out. When the child falls, the mother of an indestructo-child looks first for misshapen limbs or flowing blood - seeing neither, she assumes all is well, which it generally is.
Carey's yard has the most wonderful swingset ever, so solid it may outlast the house. The ladder up to the slide has three or four rungs, a good foot apart from each other, and they're not steps, they really are rungs - dowels about an inch in diameter. It's a ladder, not a staircase. Kittyboy, naturally, wanted to conquor it. He's not much over two foot tall, so that was quite an ambitous endeavor. Puppygirl was behind him helping, and his itty-bitty feet kept slipping off the rungs, so what did she do but wrap her arms under his, around his ribcage, and hoist. Stubborn and strong, she actually dragged him all the way up the ladder with her. (We moms stood across the yard saying mom-things like "That looks dangerous, be careful"). They made it up just fine. Then WHEE down the slide, with her arms around his waist. They sent stuffed animals down the slide, they played catch up and down it, and then Kittyboy decided he was going down by himself - headfirst, on his stomach. There was only a drop of a couple inches at the bottom, and only dirt, no rocks. Nothing hazardous. I was expecting he'd get a mouthful of dirt, but instead he bounced off the stuffed monkey he'd sent down first, before landing on the grass. What FUN! In a few years he'll be the kid building ramps for his bike to see how high he can launch himself. Indestructo-child.
You can hover over him every moment, or you can make sure the bottom of the slide is free of rocks and clench your teeth and grimace when he goes down it headfirst, assuming that if he dislikes the result, he won't try again. Or he'll just learn how to catch himself. Either way, lesson learned.
I did help him learn how to negotiate the ladder. All he really needed was someone to hold his feet, and the first time went without incident. He can climb his dresser, after all. The second time, he was on the top rung getting ready to climb onto the platform, I had a hold of his feet and was ready for him to go either forwards or backwards. He decided to teach me the folly of assuming anything ever, by going sideways. He leaned sideways and did a sliding face-plant down the side of the ladder. I couldn't totally stop him without letting go of his feet, and I didn't want to do that completely because if his legs went through the ladder, THAT could have been a BIG problem, so I kept one hand on a foot and grabbed his arm with the other to slow his descent. Got him down to the ground, upright again, and gave my precious a hug. He cried for a few seconds, then wanted to go back up the ladder again. "Okay Mommy, let's try this again! Onwards and upwards!"
There really is a sort of laissez-faire mindset that goes along with having an incredibly brave daredevil child. It's the "well, that'll learn him" school of parenting. Scan for obvious actual dangers, and then just realize that the child is going to do what he's going to do. Some children only learn from experience, and ours is one. We've actually taken to placing him on the table or counter or such now and then, and then teaching him how to get down from it, because we can't stop him climbing - that would require impulse control - but we CAN make sure he has the skills to get down safely.
So yes, the next step was teaching him to back down once he was up! That went better than expected, too.
He and Puppygirl just had fun all over the place. They slid, they swung, they pushed stuffed animals in the swings, he chased her on her bike, she set him carefully over the lowest part of the frame and wheeled him slowly through the yard, and they got endless enjoyment from pushing stuffed animals back and forth through the cat-flap in the front door. Now that the weather is markedly better, we'll have to have playdates more often. Running and climbing in the sun and fresh air will encourage Kittyboy to continue napping!
I keep thinking, "Just wait, our next child will be a hot-house flower, afraid of everything, who cries when she trips." What parenting whiplash THAT would be! Although actually, the chances of that would be slim when she or he is watching Brother scale the walls and hang from the ceiling. My youngest brother was the No Fear Baby because he grew up watching three older siblings risking life and limb, and learned from it that risk is fun!
They're both indestructo-children. You can tell the jaded, world-wise mothers of indestructo-children, by the fact that they stand at a distance saying, "Now, that looks dangerous, so be careful" rather than dashing over to help out. When the child falls, the mother of an indestructo-child looks first for misshapen limbs or flowing blood - seeing neither, she assumes all is well, which it generally is.
Carey's yard has the most wonderful swingset ever, so solid it may outlast the house. The ladder up to the slide has three or four rungs, a good foot apart from each other, and they're not steps, they really are rungs - dowels about an inch in diameter. It's a ladder, not a staircase. Kittyboy, naturally, wanted to conquor it. He's not much over two foot tall, so that was quite an ambitous endeavor. Puppygirl was behind him helping, and his itty-bitty feet kept slipping off the rungs, so what did she do but wrap her arms under his, around his ribcage, and hoist. Stubborn and strong, she actually dragged him all the way up the ladder with her. (We moms stood across the yard saying mom-things like "That looks dangerous, be careful"). They made it up just fine. Then WHEE down the slide, with her arms around his waist. They sent stuffed animals down the slide, they played catch up and down it, and then Kittyboy decided he was going down by himself - headfirst, on his stomach. There was only a drop of a couple inches at the bottom, and only dirt, no rocks. Nothing hazardous. I was expecting he'd get a mouthful of dirt, but instead he bounced off the stuffed monkey he'd sent down first, before landing on the grass. What FUN! In a few years he'll be the kid building ramps for his bike to see how high he can launch himself. Indestructo-child.
You can hover over him every moment, or you can make sure the bottom of the slide is free of rocks and clench your teeth and grimace when he goes down it headfirst, assuming that if he dislikes the result, he won't try again. Or he'll just learn how to catch himself. Either way, lesson learned.
I did help him learn how to negotiate the ladder. All he really needed was someone to hold his feet, and the first time went without incident. He can climb his dresser, after all. The second time, he was on the top rung getting ready to climb onto the platform, I had a hold of his feet and was ready for him to go either forwards or backwards. He decided to teach me the folly of assuming anything ever, by going sideways. He leaned sideways and did a sliding face-plant down the side of the ladder. I couldn't totally stop him without letting go of his feet, and I didn't want to do that completely because if his legs went through the ladder, THAT could have been a BIG problem, so I kept one hand on a foot and grabbed his arm with the other to slow his descent. Got him down to the ground, upright again, and gave my precious a hug. He cried for a few seconds, then wanted to go back up the ladder again. "Okay Mommy, let's try this again! Onwards and upwards!"
There really is a sort of laissez-faire mindset that goes along with having an incredibly brave daredevil child. It's the "well, that'll learn him" school of parenting. Scan for obvious actual dangers, and then just realize that the child is going to do what he's going to do. Some children only learn from experience, and ours is one. We've actually taken to placing him on the table or counter or such now and then, and then teaching him how to get down from it, because we can't stop him climbing - that would require impulse control - but we CAN make sure he has the skills to get down safely.
So yes, the next step was teaching him to back down once he was up! That went better than expected, too.
He and Puppygirl just had fun all over the place. They slid, they swung, they pushed stuffed animals in the swings, he chased her on her bike, she set him carefully over the lowest part of the frame and wheeled him slowly through the yard, and they got endless enjoyment from pushing stuffed animals back and forth through the cat-flap in the front door. Now that the weather is markedly better, we'll have to have playdates more often. Running and climbing in the sun and fresh air will encourage Kittyboy to continue napping!
I keep thinking, "Just wait, our next child will be a hot-house flower, afraid of everything, who cries when she trips." What parenting whiplash THAT would be! Although actually, the chances of that would be slim when she or he is watching Brother scale the walls and hang from the ceiling. My youngest brother was the No Fear Baby because he grew up watching three older siblings risking life and limb, and learned from it that risk is fun!
Friday, March 13, 2009
So Happy It's Friday!
It's also a very happy day because when I opened my blog this morning, I had a NINTH follower!! Wow! For me, that's a lot! Nine is my favorite number, not to mention I'm amazed so many people read what I write. I guess the number's higher when you add the people who asked me to subscribe them, but 9 is an exciting milestone for me. It's a perfect little 3x3 square on the side of my blog. I'm a big fan of threes (part of why my favorite number is 3x3 - it's just a perfect number!).
I've been reading this week about the fastest and easiest way to recycle stuff - it doesn't involve sorting, or a recycling bin, or dragging anything to the curb. It's as simple and basic as just reusing whatever it is. I have numerous salsa, tomato sauce, and peanut butter containers washed and stashed with my dwindling supply of plastic containers, to be used for leftovers, chopped ingredients for future meals, small pieces of things, whatever. I've noticed that jar lids come in mainly in two or three standard sizes, which makes mixing and matching easier than you'd think. Husband, long-suffering as he is, has taken his lunch to work in a washed, de-labeled mayo jar on a couple occasions, because that was the container for which I could find a lid. Plastic lids also can be switched around, as small mayo lids and some others seem about the size of peanut butter lids.
It makes sense, when you think of the fact that part of the price you pay for the item goes to the packaging. I always thought of it as paying for the food, and then hey, if you can use the container, free container! But that's backwards. From a business standpoint, you're paying the cost of the food - the shipping - the marketing - bunch of other stuff - AND the packaging. You paid for that jar, as well as what's in it - why get rid of the jar afterwards, and THEN go shopping for food containers? With that in mind, I'm starting to look at the worth of the packaging when I shop, particularly if I'm choosing between items that are otherwise equal - but one's sold in a can (only reusable as a pencil container) and one's sold in a jar (which could then hold the leftovers of the meal).
I'm not cheap. I'm frugal. :)
I've been reading this week about the fastest and easiest way to recycle stuff - it doesn't involve sorting, or a recycling bin, or dragging anything to the curb. It's as simple and basic as just reusing whatever it is. I have numerous salsa, tomato sauce, and peanut butter containers washed and stashed with my dwindling supply of plastic containers, to be used for leftovers, chopped ingredients for future meals, small pieces of things, whatever. I've noticed that jar lids come in mainly in two or three standard sizes, which makes mixing and matching easier than you'd think. Husband, long-suffering as he is, has taken his lunch to work in a washed, de-labeled mayo jar on a couple occasions, because that was the container for which I could find a lid. Plastic lids also can be switched around, as small mayo lids and some others seem about the size of peanut butter lids.
It makes sense, when you think of the fact that part of the price you pay for the item goes to the packaging. I always thought of it as paying for the food, and then hey, if you can use the container, free container! But that's backwards. From a business standpoint, you're paying the cost of the food - the shipping - the marketing - bunch of other stuff - AND the packaging. You paid for that jar, as well as what's in it - why get rid of the jar afterwards, and THEN go shopping for food containers? With that in mind, I'm starting to look at the worth of the packaging when I shop, particularly if I'm choosing between items that are otherwise equal - but one's sold in a can (only reusable as a pencil container) and one's sold in a jar (which could then hold the leftovers of the meal).
I'm not cheap. I'm frugal. :)
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Sunday of Orthodoxy, Part Two
The Sunday of Orthodoxy celebrates the restoration of icons to the Church. Basically, icons are the images of Christ and of His saints (and of feastdays such as the Nativity, the Resurrection and such) which we venerate in church and in our homes. This had been the practice from the earliest - the Evangelist Luke painted the first icon of the Virgin Mary, the Theotokos. Icons aren't just for looking pretty on the wall, either, they take part in prayers and services. On a feast day, you would decorate the icon of the feast, or the icon of a saint on the day we remember them. The honor shown the icon goes to the person or event pictured - much as someone showing dishonor to the American flag is taken as dishonor towards our country (ever read the extensive regulations of flag etiquette?). The icon is also like a portrait - you might keep a picture of a relative who has passed on, in order to remember them, or a picture of an ancestor (or completely unrelated person, Abraham Lincoln for example) whose life was inspirational to you. The saints are our ancestors in the faith, the "cloud of witnesses" referenced by St. Paul (Heb. 12:1). Mothers whose children are having difficulty being left at a sitter's or at preschool are sometimes advised to send a picture of themselves with the child, because very young children instinctively equate the picture with the person in it (one of those things we "grow out of"). Well, as Orthodox, we don't "grow out of" that.
We don't "pray to" them - but we do ask for help sometimes from the person shown there. If you have a problem and want help with it, you might go to a priest (or pastor, minister, preacher, whatever your equivalent is) and ask him to pray FOR you - or some other person whose spirituality you admire. That is what we do with saints - they're not DEAD, after all, they're alive in heaven, so we are free to ask for prayers from them when we feel we need them. They are the cloud of witnesses surrounding us.
Example: When I was in the hospital a couple days before Kittyboy's birth, I was scared to death. I didn't know what was going on, I had no idea how things were going to turn out, all I knew was that it was WAY too early for me to be having this baby, and it seemed that the doctors were just preparing for whatever was going to happen, not that they really had any control OVER it. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed, and when just saying "God, please HELP!!!" just didn't feel comforting, I started asking for help from St. Patrick, Kittyboy's patron saint, and the Theotokos. It's like the little boy afraid of the dark, who told his mother at bedtime, "I know Jesus is here - but I want someone with skin on!" Of the Theotokos, I asked also that she hold my son and comfort him while I couldn't (hmm, and she's his favorite saint). And to know that in addition to my parents, grandparents, church and friends, I also had intersession from Kittyboy's saint and the Mother of God made me feel better - especially the mental image of the one who held the Son of God as an infant holding my unborn son. THAT was an ENORMOUS comfort. That was my "someone with skin on", figuratively speaking.
Anyhow, in the 600s, there was a movement to ban icons on the grounds that it violated the commandment against graven images. Totally paraphrasing here, but one saint, I can't remember which, was arguing in the emperor's court that by honoring the image, you honored the person, not the wood and paint, and when the emperor said "That's not how it works" or words to that effect, the saint took a coin (bearing the emperor's IMAGE) and stepped on it - and was thrown in jail for showing disrespect for the emperor. Point made. Today's equivalent would be burning a flag (except in circumstances where flag etiquette calls for such action). St. John of Damascus wrote in 730 AD in his treatise, In Defense of Icons, "Of old, God the incorporeal and uncircumscribed was never depicted. Now, however, when God is seen clothed in flesh, and conversing with men, I make an image of the God whom I see. I do not worship matter, I worship the God of matter, who became matter for my sake, and deigned to inhabit matter, who worked out my salvation through matter."
On Sunday of Orthodoxy, people bring icons from home and carry them in a procession around the church. Kittyboy and I had been outdoors or in the basement most of the service, but our friend Beth, the Sunday School teacher, came down and asked if Kittyboy would like to carry St. Patrick. I told him quite firmly that he could hold this icon IF AND ONLY IF he behaved in line. If he tried to leave the line or tried to walk in front of people, he would have to give up the icon. "Got it?" "Uh huh." And what do you know, he was just good as gold.
The other time in church when he is good as gold is when he's in line for communion - because if he acts up, he won't get any! Having the bribe of "Do you want communion? Then you stand still, mister!" keeps him in line without fail. And the idea that he would lose the icon if he acted up kept him good in the procession! I'm thinking about getting a bunch of laminated icon cards and sticking different ones in the diaper bag every week, and he can hold one as long as he's in church.
Next year, we need to bring some of ours from home. Kittyboy could bring his own St. Patrick to carry. He got SO EXCITED when the children came into church and the boy right behind us was holding an icon of Jesus. Kittyboy knew who that was, and signed Jesus very happily, repeatedly. Then he made his Winnie the Pooh kiss the icon! Then his teddybear had to! Then his doggie had to! Then he did, repeatedly! Then he discovered the only facial feature he can say - "Eeeyyyyyessss!" LOUDLY. And repeatedly. "Suffer the little children to come unto Me" indeed!
We don't "pray to" them - but we do ask for help sometimes from the person shown there. If you have a problem and want help with it, you might go to a priest (or pastor, minister, preacher, whatever your equivalent is) and ask him to pray FOR you - or some other person whose spirituality you admire. That is what we do with saints - they're not DEAD, after all, they're alive in heaven, so we are free to ask for prayers from them when we feel we need them. They are the cloud of witnesses surrounding us.
Example: When I was in the hospital a couple days before Kittyboy's birth, I was scared to death. I didn't know what was going on, I had no idea how things were going to turn out, all I knew was that it was WAY too early for me to be having this baby, and it seemed that the doctors were just preparing for whatever was going to happen, not that they really had any control OVER it. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed, and when just saying "God, please HELP!!!" just didn't feel comforting, I started asking for help from St. Patrick, Kittyboy's patron saint, and the Theotokos. It's like the little boy afraid of the dark, who told his mother at bedtime, "I know Jesus is here - but I want someone with skin on!" Of the Theotokos, I asked also that she hold my son and comfort him while I couldn't (hmm, and she's his favorite saint). And to know that in addition to my parents, grandparents, church and friends, I also had intersession from Kittyboy's saint and the Mother of God made me feel better - especially the mental image of the one who held the Son of God as an infant holding my unborn son. THAT was an ENORMOUS comfort. That was my "someone with skin on", figuratively speaking.
Anyhow, in the 600s, there was a movement to ban icons on the grounds that it violated the commandment against graven images. Totally paraphrasing here, but one saint, I can't remember which, was arguing in the emperor's court that by honoring the image, you honored the person, not the wood and paint, and when the emperor said "That's not how it works" or words to that effect, the saint took a coin (bearing the emperor's IMAGE) and stepped on it - and was thrown in jail for showing disrespect for the emperor. Point made. Today's equivalent would be burning a flag (except in circumstances where flag etiquette calls for such action). St. John of Damascus wrote in 730 AD in his treatise, In Defense of Icons, "Of old, God the incorporeal and uncircumscribed was never depicted. Now, however, when God is seen clothed in flesh, and conversing with men, I make an image of the God whom I see. I do not worship matter, I worship the God of matter, who became matter for my sake, and deigned to inhabit matter, who worked out my salvation through matter."
On Sunday of Orthodoxy, people bring icons from home and carry them in a procession around the church. Kittyboy and I had been outdoors or in the basement most of the service, but our friend Beth, the Sunday School teacher, came down and asked if Kittyboy would like to carry St. Patrick. I told him quite firmly that he could hold this icon IF AND ONLY IF he behaved in line. If he tried to leave the line or tried to walk in front of people, he would have to give up the icon. "Got it?" "Uh huh." And what do you know, he was just good as gold.
The other time in church when he is good as gold is when he's in line for communion - because if he acts up, he won't get any! Having the bribe of "Do you want communion? Then you stand still, mister!" keeps him in line without fail. And the idea that he would lose the icon if he acted up kept him good in the procession! I'm thinking about getting a bunch of laminated icon cards and sticking different ones in the diaper bag every week, and he can hold one as long as he's in church.
Next year, we need to bring some of ours from home. Kittyboy could bring his own St. Patrick to carry. He got SO EXCITED when the children came into church and the boy right behind us was holding an icon of Jesus. Kittyboy knew who that was, and signed Jesus very happily, repeatedly. Then he made his Winnie the Pooh kiss the icon! Then his teddybear had to! Then his doggie had to! Then he did, repeatedly! Then he discovered the only facial feature he can say - "Eeeyyyyyessss!" LOUDLY. And repeatedly. "Suffer the little children to come unto Me" indeed!
Monday, March 9, 2009
Sunday of Orthodoxy, Part One
"As the Prophets beheld,
As the Apostles taught,
As the Church received,
As the Teachers dogmatized,
As the Universe agreed,
As Grace illumined,
As the Truth revealed,
As falsehood passed away,
As Wisdom presented,
As Christ awarded,
Thus we declare,
Thus we assert,
Thus we proclaim Christ our true God
and honor His saints,
In words,
In writings,
In thoughts,
In sacrifices,
In churches,
In holy icons.
On the one hand, worshiping and reverencing Christ as God and Lord.
And on the other hand, honoring and venerating His Saints as true servants of the same Lord.
This is the Faith of the Apostles.
This is the Faith of the Fathers.
This is the Faith of the Orthodox.
This is the Faith which has established the Universe."
I love this selection from the Seventh Ecumenical Council. It's read at the end of church every Sunday of Orthodoxy, which is the first Sunday of Great Lent. It dates from 787 A.D., which tells you how old this writing is. More information on the Seventh Council and the issues resolved by it here (http://www.orthodoxwiki.org/Seventh_Ecumenical_Council).
Thursday, March 5, 2009
This Daredevil Child
It's one thing to baby-proof. It's another thing to toddler-proof. And for some toddlers, there is no such concept.
I must now assume that if anything is next to a taller thing, Kittyboy can reach whatever is on the taller thing, and may in fact be able to conquer the taller thing himself. He's been bringing us little things of which we would say, "OH! I thought I had put this beyond your reach! Must not have, la di da..." and we would put it up somewhere high again. This happened repeatedly...
Then one day, last week I think, I witnessed him climb onto the seat of my "kneeling chair", which is on wheels, climb from there over the arm of a dining room chair, and from there onto the dining room table.
Okay, so nothing on the table is safe. Note taken.
Then this week, he brought me something from the top of his bookcase - the corner away from his bed, which he shouldn't be able to reach. He was given all these porcelain or ceramic little pastel things when he was born, and they've all been on his book case, a little over three feet off the ground, and pushed to the far corner where he can't get them. Unless, of course, he tips the toybox over juuuust far enough, then balances on the slanted inner side against the bookcase - then he can reach all manner of breakable lovelies. He did this with deliberate intent - I know because when he brought me the Precious Moments bell, I said, "Oh - how pretty! Can you put it back where you got it from?" and he proceeded to do so as I watched and held my breath.
Okay, so we moved everything from the bookcase.
Then, this afternoon, he topped it all. I heard this long, involved, complicated crashing, ran into his room, and got there just in time to watch my one-and-only precious boy fall from an unknown height onto his rocking caterpillar, then backwards off of it to the floor, with his chewing toothbrush in his mouth. Oblivious to his dramatic defiance of death, he rolled over and picked up a Pooh videotape case and sat opening and closing it. Totally unfazed. Didn't care. Triumphant even - he had gotten what he wanted.
The long, involved and complicated crashing was the avalanche of STUFF from the top of his dresser. Dresser comes up to my shoulder, by the by. A lamp, two videotapes, an assortment of bottles, baby powders and whatnot, and a porcelain music box we had moved from the bookcase (how ironic). Working backwards, I deduced that he had pulled the middle drawer out a couple inches (I remembered hearing him tugging, I'd thought he was stashing a toy), climbed onto the back of his rocking caterpillar, stood on that, grabbed a drawer handle and stepped up onto the edge of the pulled out drawer, and after grabbing at something on the top of the dresser, lost his grip, balance or both, and caused an avalanche as he did whatever he did to slow his fall (considering I heard the crashing and then saw the fall). Down from drawer's edge to caterpillar, caterpillar is a soft, rounded surface, so backwards then onto his back.
WITH THE BLANKETY-BLANK TOOTHBRUSH IN HIS MOUTH THE WHOLE BLANKETY-BLANKING TIME!!!!!
Tomorrow, chewies with handles go up. He's got plastic tube chewies I can tie into loops with handles, so he can stick something in his mouth cigar-style that won't have disastrous consequences if he falls. And anything next to anything taller will be moved, so that he'll at least need to make noise moving it - no matter HOW improbable it looks as a stepstool.
Kid won't look where his feet are going when he's walking down stairs - but I have to move a rocking caterpillar because he has no problem using it as the base of a ladder. Un-be-lievable.
I must now assume that if anything is next to a taller thing, Kittyboy can reach whatever is on the taller thing, and may in fact be able to conquer the taller thing himself. He's been bringing us little things of which we would say, "OH! I thought I had put this beyond your reach! Must not have, la di da..." and we would put it up somewhere high again. This happened repeatedly...
Then one day, last week I think, I witnessed him climb onto the seat of my "kneeling chair", which is on wheels, climb from there over the arm of a dining room chair, and from there onto the dining room table.
Okay, so nothing on the table is safe. Note taken.
Then this week, he brought me something from the top of his bookcase - the corner away from his bed, which he shouldn't be able to reach. He was given all these porcelain or ceramic little pastel things when he was born, and they've all been on his book case, a little over three feet off the ground, and pushed to the far corner where he can't get them. Unless, of course, he tips the toybox over juuuust far enough, then balances on the slanted inner side against the bookcase - then he can reach all manner of breakable lovelies. He did this with deliberate intent - I know because when he brought me the Precious Moments bell, I said, "Oh - how pretty! Can you put it back where you got it from?" and he proceeded to do so as I watched and held my breath.
Okay, so we moved everything from the bookcase.
Then, this afternoon, he topped it all. I heard this long, involved, complicated crashing, ran into his room, and got there just in time to watch my one-and-only precious boy fall from an unknown height onto his rocking caterpillar, then backwards off of it to the floor, with his chewing toothbrush in his mouth. Oblivious to his dramatic defiance of death, he rolled over and picked up a Pooh videotape case and sat opening and closing it. Totally unfazed. Didn't care. Triumphant even - he had gotten what he wanted.
The long, involved and complicated crashing was the avalanche of STUFF from the top of his dresser. Dresser comes up to my shoulder, by the by. A lamp, two videotapes, an assortment of bottles, baby powders and whatnot, and a porcelain music box we had moved from the bookcase (how ironic). Working backwards, I deduced that he had pulled the middle drawer out a couple inches (I remembered hearing him tugging, I'd thought he was stashing a toy), climbed onto the back of his rocking caterpillar, stood on that, grabbed a drawer handle and stepped up onto the edge of the pulled out drawer, and after grabbing at something on the top of the dresser, lost his grip, balance or both, and caused an avalanche as he did whatever he did to slow his fall (considering I heard the crashing and then saw the fall). Down from drawer's edge to caterpillar, caterpillar is a soft, rounded surface, so backwards then onto his back.
WITH THE BLANKETY-BLANK TOOTHBRUSH IN HIS MOUTH THE WHOLE BLANKETY-BLANKING TIME!!!!!
Tomorrow, chewies with handles go up. He's got plastic tube chewies I can tie into loops with handles, so he can stick something in his mouth cigar-style that won't have disastrous consequences if he falls. And anything next to anything taller will be moved, so that he'll at least need to make noise moving it - no matter HOW improbable it looks as a stepstool.
Kid won't look where his feet are going when he's walking down stairs - but I have to move a rocking caterpillar because he has no problem using it as the base of a ladder. Un-be-lievable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)