Vignettes from the Week

Before these stories fall out of my brain, I had to jot down these amusing anecdotes --

Traffic Light Greetings

Zoë: Daddy?

Daddy: Yes, Zoë.

Z: You know what Mommy does?

D: Hmm?

Z: Sometimes when we are going to school and we stop at a traffic light, Mommy looks at me in the mirror and says "Hi, Zoë". Then I say: "Hi, Mommy".  Isn't that nice?

(You never know what these kids notice and appreciate. It made me smile to know what such a simple gesture, practically an involuntary one, was observed and made some impression... makes me wonder about those not-so-good things that I do that might also get noticed. Hmmm...).

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Tummy Chambers

We are out for cupcakes. While we wait for Daddy to join us, I find a couple of clementines in my purse. I peel one and offer some to Zoë. She eats a few segments and hands back the rest and says:

Z: No more, Mommy, I'm full. 

Mommy: But what are you going to do? Aren't we are going to have cupcakes?

Z: No problem, Mommy. See? My belly has different parts. One part is for bananas, one part is for oranges and one part is for cupcakes. The banana part is empty now, but the oranges part is all full. But don't worry -- there's always room in the cupcake part for more cupcakes. 

She's my daughter, alright -- always ready with some excellent justification for eating the sweet stuff.

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The Lost Sock

When we were in Hawaii, I got Zoë some Hello Kitty socks, for our hike. It turns out that these are now her absolute favorite socks. One day, as I was folding the laundry, I discovered that I was missing one of the socks.

I told Zoë: Oh no! I think the laundry machine ate your sock. We'll save the other just in case the partner shows up later, but I think it might be lost. 

Zoë looked sad. The next day, as soon as I saw her after school, she ran over with great excitement and this news:

Z: Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! I found the sock! It was stuck to my blanket! (Then, sheepishly) Actually, I didn't find the sock. Ryanne did. (Pause... then, suddenly brightening) You know why? Ryanne's four years old. So her eyes are bigger than mine. That's why she can see things better and find things like my sock. When I am four, I will be able to see better and find things too!

Remember when you looked forward to aging?

Fall... (ing behind)

Two months have passed and there's much to update. So I think I won't even try. The Zych grandparents came a few weeks ago and we had lots of fun (Happy slightly belated Birthday, Grandma!)

The next few months will be very busy as I am applying for new positions (aiming a little ambitiously at a few faculty positions, and mainly more fellowships and postdoctoral research positions). As things are once again sitting on the precipice of total disruption, the level of stress and list of things to do are out of control! But luckily, tales of funny Zoë have been keeping me chuckling (and closer to sane, though she brings to our lives her own toddler angst). I wanted to share a few here before I forget!

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Yesterday, while we were sitting down for breakfast, I found her licking the dining table. Now she is just getting over a bout of stomach flu, probably brought on by her recent deplorable habit of licking EVERYTHING. (Weirdly, she wasn't super-licky as a baby, but in several ways I find she has been "testing" baby habits, regressing a bit on skills that she had down -- like trying the potty, getting dressed, brushing her own teeth, etc. So I had a conversation with her:

Me: Zoë, why are you licking the table? You know that the table is not food! Babies lick tables because they are learning what is food and what isn't. But you are older, you already *know* that the table isn't food. Can you eat a table? No! Can you eat a book?

Zoë: No.

M: Can you eat Mommy's phone?

Z: No. It's not food.

M. Right! Can you eat cheese?

Z: Yes. It's food.

M: Exactly, so you can put it in your mouth. See, you know what's food already. If you see a baby eating the table or eating blocks, you might want to say: "Don't eat that! It's not food." But the baby has to figure it out for herself. She might not listen to you. But you can try to explain that some things are food and it's ok to eat. But other things are not food and should not be put in the mouth!

Z: Ok! I know! I need to tell Choochoo baby (that's her doll with a train on the chest) right now!

Hops off the chair, runs into the other room. In her sternest, loudest "teacher" voice, she yells:
Z: Choochoo baby, DON'T LICK THE TABLE! IT'S NOT FOOD! YOU DON'T LICK THINGS. YOU ONLY LICK FOOD. Table's not a food, is it? No... you don't want to eat it, do you? NO!

I can report that Choochoo baby learned her lesson -- she has not licked the table since.

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This morning, another Choochoo baby story (these are starting to remind me of Calvin and Hobbes... only Choochoo is Zoë's naughty alter ego). For several months, Zoë has been saying "I don't like you" to me and Matt. I think it started as a form of protest, when we would make her do something she didn't want to do; and then it was silly, just to provoke some reaction like "fake crying", etc. In fact, once, first thing in the morning, she responded to my "Good Morning, Zoë!" with "I don't like you. Go away". Still sleepy and thoroughly disarmed, I reacted with "Fine. Since you don't like me, I am going away to New York tomorrow"... which was true, but I regretted telling her this way, making her think that my trip was a "punishment" or lesson for that phrase. She did stop saying it after that... but now that I have to travel again, we'll see how it goes. Anyway, this morning,

Zoë tells me, (in a tattle voice): Mommy, Choochoo Baby said she doesn't like me.

Me: Hmm... that's not nice! Maybe you should tell her how it makes you feel.

I heard her again sternly addressing Choochoo Baby in a quiet, ominous tone.

Zoë (to Choochoo Baby): Choochoo, You don't say, "I don't like you". IT'S NOT NICE! When you say "I don't like you" I get sad and feel mean.

(Pause the then sweetly) You don't want that, do you? You should say "sorry". You think what you said. I go to school now. When I come home, you say "sorry, I love you."

Choochoo Baby is no doubt contemplating her harsh words right now...

*****
THE END (for now).

Class is in session

We had a wonderful day today. After school, we went to cupcakes and then used my long-awaiting Living Social coupon for sushi at Sushiko. Zoë was covered in rice attempting to use her special kid-friendly chopsticks. It was really fun to watch her manipulating the chopsticks and stabbing at the rice (Boo hoo-- I forgot my camera today and can only describe in words this scenario! It was picture/video worthy). Then, we went grocery shopping at Whole Foods, which was nicely empty and gave Zoë the chance to run around as she and Daddy ran around finding things on the list. The best part was checking out -- Zoë was too excited when the checkout lights would blink to signal an open register. She was almost uncontainable as she got super-excited and yelled "Mommy Mommy -- blinking! Get ready, Everyone! Get READY!"

But this entry is really about this: Zoë loves school. So much that she doesn't get enough at school. When she comes home, she plays "teacher". I remember doing this too and since I tired of being bossed around by my favorite toddler teacher, I borrowed from my childhood ideas-- setting up her stuffed animals to be her class. She really like that. And is it any wonder that she's a natural teacher? After all, teaching is in her blood (both grandmothers, and aunt!) The funniest part is that she mimics her teacher's mannerisms. She regularly puts us on "time-out" these days. And poor Lamb! She was scolded for falling asleep during class!

Here are some videos of her class (don't you just dig the necklace??? She MADE it. :) ):




Also, another video of "cooking"-- apparently, Zoë's imagination is really exploding these days.



Finally, it seems worth mentioning... today marks a historic day: Osama bin Laden was killed last night and there was much rejoicing. But... as much as I understand the sentiment and appreciate the momentousness and significance of this event, I can't help but wonder... How does this evil man's death bring any peace to us? Don't we become morally corrupt by rejoicing in his death? As much as I want to rejoice in solidarity and unity with the rest of the world, I can't help but feel that hate should not unify us or we are no better than the terrorists. Apparently, I am not alone in this quandary. Anyway, I leave you with these thoughts:

“Where is the justice of political power if it executes the murderer and jails the plunderer, and then itself marches upon neighboring lands, killing thousands and pillaging the very hills?” -- Khalil Gibran

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."
- Martin Luther King, Jr.

July Part 2: A Very un-Happy Birthday and Other Tales

Here's the next installment in our most recent debacles. The title above should actually read: "Other Tales and a very un-Happy Birthday", since that will be order of discussion... (in case you care for an outline. How very scientific of me, I know...)

I start with a "Zoë is growing up" story. The first (of many, I suspect) Zoë versus Mom episode(s). We didn't do the whole sleep training thing. Zoë sleeps in our bed, we transfer her to her crib -- we sleep better without fighting her and she sleeps better too. But, this particular Friday night Zoë threw a fuss when transferring her to her crib. Back to letting her fall asleep in our bed, ... transferring her. Again, a fight. This pattern continued 3 times until it was 1am-- 3 hours after she first went to sleep. Finally, I had it. She's old enough now to understand that her bed is the crib and that there are boundaries. She's also simply too big to sleep in our bed with us, comfortably. And... it is a Friday night, so if there's ever a time to lay down the law, this is the time. So... I embark upon the battle of wills.

It is epic, it is fierce, it ends with Mom winning the battle. I will not relive it all here and now. However, here are some highlights:

• There was some rationalizing: "Zoë, you are old enough to sleep in your crib now without much fuss. We still love you. A lot of people love you a lot... (list of names), but you can't sleep in our bed anymore. You are a big girl. And when you wake up, you will see moon -- but even moon is sleeping now. So it's best if we all sleep soon." (Sadly, by the end of this process, both moon and Sun were on the brink of rising).
  
• Zoë understood all this. She nodded. She pointed at the window. "Moon", she said. More nodding. Less sobbing. She pointed at Daddy, "Dadda" she said (who, by the way, was snoring blissfully at this point. HOW???). She pointed at me, "Mama". She pointed at herself, "Zozo". There was complete understanding ... until "WAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" when I put her back into her crib. Lots of kicking, lots of screaming, lots of thrashing. All understanding undone. Back to square one.
  
• At one point, I found myself saying: "Zoë, I know you are stubborn. But you didn't get that trait from your father. Cry all you want. Scream all you want. But this time, I will out-stubborn you. So there!"
  
• The statement above was made with me kneeling on the floor, arms dangling over the crib railing. How ironic that while I was not granted any sleep, my arms were fast asleep, now throbbing from the numbness. Sigh.
  
• Patting, bursts of screams, more patting, lots of shushing... for ~2 hours. Sleep. My armpits hurt, but sweet sweet sleep at last.
  

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We have joined a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) for fresh produce for the summer. Every Tuesday, we pick up a grocery bag full of farm-fresh produce that is grown biodynamically to be the healthiest and with the least negative environmental impact. Zoë enjoys cleaning and learning about her food too! Here, you see her playing with the garlic, whose stalk is taller than she!

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WARNING: Like Lemony Snicket, I warn you and possibly discourage you from reading any farther if self-pity and tales of woe deeply depress you.

So, ten years married and 32 years on this Earth... and yet, the momentous day started with poor Zoë puking on poor me (aka, birthday girl). Zoë's school had an outbreak of Hand Foot and Mouth, which is NOT Foot and Mouth (despite the creative naming similarities). In this case, the name comes from the outbreak of blisters on the hand, foot and mouth (see here). The main concern with the disease is that the mouth blisters become so painful that children will stop eating or drinking and will become weak and dehydrated over the week long healing process. Zoë didn't have any of the symptoms except a few blisters on her heel and maybe a few on her hand. With the recent mosquito bites it was hard to tell definitively anyway (bonus: she can now say "bug bite!").

Other than throwing up, she did have a slight fever a few days earlier, and just seemed a little tired in general -- poor Zoë was missing her usual sparkle. When I called the school to share the news, the director told me that in addition (ooh! how exciting!) to this Hand Foot and Mouth, the school also had a recent confirmed case of Roseola. Back to the internet to research this one. Roseola has symptoms of incredibly high fevers (like >104 degrees F!) followed by a full body rash. Zoë's fever was much milder... but on close inspection, she was covered by small dots! Super.

Next: call the Doctor to make an appt. Followed by the call to cancel the appointment at Vidalia, the much anticipated restaurant where I was supposed to enjoy a nice birthday lunch with my husband. "Is this how birthdays go for grown-ups?" I think... closely followed by thoughts of worry and concern and "what if's" -- after all, we have had > 6 months of near-constant barrage of illness and none of us had any immunity left to fight another aggressive illness. Now what?

The Dr. barely walked five feet into the room and declared: "Roseola. Classic case." He then checked her temperature, ears, throat, ... I asked him to look at the blisters on the heel: "Are these also related to the Roseola?" He looked a little surprised and said that that was probably Hand footh and mouth. SHE'S GOT BOTH?!?? "Yup! They are different viruses, so no reason she can't have both" and that was that. He made it sound like I should be thrilled that she was chosen by the germ Gods to bestow both illnesses (mis-directed birthday gifts, perhaps?) upon our lucky little one-- Is that like having your birthday cake and eating it too? Luckily(if that's the right word-- silver lining outlook...!) she appeared to have a mild case of both SIMULTANEOUSLY.


Unlike Alice's very happy unbirthday, this birthday was my very unhappy birthday-- a backward day. You know? Where good is bad... and in kind, my birthday this year would instead be celebrated on July 21st. I started a list of 32 reasons that this birthday sucked (the self-pity oddly made me feel much better), but just at the moment that I got to #23 (note: that is 32 backward!!!) Stephanie wished me a happy day and gave me several reasons that I should feel good about myself and my special day. I received birthday wishes throughout the day and I realized that I did have many blessings to count. I did make it to Vidalia. Zoë is better and stronger now. This year I got the best gift of all-- I got a do-over. Two birthdays, two chances to appreciate my life, my family, my friends and our health, two opportunities to gain wisdom and perspective in this often too hurried life. And, my wonderful, supportive husband brought home a cake worthy of pictures, memories, and a few extra pounds.

One!

Hey everyone,

I turned one a whole week ago! It was a great party. Small and intimate, but good fun with old friends. Hey, Rumadida was even at my Mom's first birthday-- so these are dear friends indeed. I really enjoyed opening my birthday presents. Besides Lars, my Austrian teddy bear, and a handknit sweater (in Cal colors-- Go Bears!) from Mom, I received many pink and red (yay, I'm a Valentine's Day baby!) outfits from Aunt Michele and my cousins and from Didun and Dadu, and other toys too. It was fun because everyday there was more mail and more presents, from my Grandparents and from Ninamashi and Boris. See? I think people must really LOVE me! And people called and wrote nice messages on Facebook for me. And my Daddy bought me a special walking toy that I can push around the hallway (but it is in the mail and not yet here). So my birthday actually lasted this whole week, and longer!

Anyway, the presents were nice. But the cupcake was AMAZING -- I think I want to have a birthday every day because then I can make a mess and spread crumbs everywhere and eat sweet, yummy, goodness. Here are some pics of the grand event. (Oh! If you click on the slideshow, it will take you to the Picasa website where you can see the pictures a little better and print or download).



But in case you aren't convinced how much I truly enjoyed the chocolate cupcake, here's a video. I can't even stop to clap ("thai thai") at my artistic endeavors. I am far too busy eating, no, RELISHING, my treat.

And here are some more random pictures of me since a few weeks ago. I've grown and am doing interesting things... like playing with dishwashers, finding new places to hang out, and feeding myself.



Ok-- that's all I have to report for now. Maybe in a few weeks I will have some more exciting news, like... saying words or first steps, or feeding myself with a spoon. These are the things that my parents are anxiously awaiting (and I CAN do them, sort of... but I like to wait and see them squirm. Shhhhh... don't tell them!)

Love,
Zoë

p.s. One of the teachers at school overheard me saying "baby" but I think I convinced my parents that it was only a fluke. They are so gullible. Ha.