brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

Now that Thanksgiving is over, the Christmas Season can officially begin.

Ugh.

Because Niko is only 3 1/2, we don’t really have any solid Christmas traditions for him yet. Everything’s still kind of up in the air. Especially since my Christmas traditions and Nesko’s Christmas traditions are so vastly different in many respects (mine involved no tree until very close to Christmas day, taking it down on the 26th, and lots of Mass; his involves very little religion and an entirely different date). We know from past experience that putting a tree up soon after Thanksgiving and leaving it up until Orthodox Christmas triggers a lot of mental distress in me. So we’ve talked about doing non-tree decorating and then putting the actual tree up later.

Our current plan involves cleaning and prepping the house but not doing any decorating until after Nesko’s Slava, which is St Nikolas, on December 19. That weekend we can decorate and put the tree up and be all CHRISTMAS! YAY! and then leave everything up until the weekend after January 7th, which is Orthodox Christmas. We will probably do Christmas Stockings and one gift (or maybe gifts with my parents) in December, but save most of the unwrapping and celebration for January. Honestly, if I can spend the 25th sitting on my ass eating Pad Thai with glass noodles and watching shitty movies, I’ll be happy. Nesko has to work, of course, so we couldn’t really do anything big if we wanted to.

Speaking of stockings and Santa, I think one family tradition we’re going to establish is that Santa only brings small things, things that will fit in a stocking. I grew up with a kind of unhealthy Christmas gift-giving situation, and I really want to keep the emphasis of Christmas off of gifts and onto stuff like family togetherness blah blah blah. Among his stocking gifts this year will be a bunch of tumbled semi-precious stones because he’s still really into rocks and pretty things. I don’t know if he’s quite up to one of those open-it-yourself geode kits, especially as he managed to destroy one geode I gave him.

How do you handle Christmas, if you celebrate it? How do you blend differing family traditions? Does Santa visit your house? How do you manage Santa gifts?

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

The other day, we were in a big hurry to get Niko ready and go out the door to meet some fine folks AT A RESTAURANT. Luckily, this was NOT the sort of place where your entire party had to be present to be seated, because we were HALF A DAMN HOUR LATE because SOMEBODY refused to put pants or shoes on and wanted to stay home and watch tv and FOR ONCE this person was NOT ME. It was Niko. Just FYI.

It was actually pretty awful, and a great example of what people mean when they talk about how shitty 3 1/2 year olds are, and it’s honestly pretty unusual in our house. Niko’s a pretty laid back dude, very cooperative, and I try to prepare him for transitions and new things which I think helps a lot in him feeling secure and relaxed. But that night was just AWFUL. There was kicking and screaming and hitting and running and hiding and I almost gave in and sent Nesko off by himself while I stayed at home with King Buttbutt but Nesko STOOD FIRM and said we were doing this as a FAMILY or NOTHING.

I ended up confiscating and putting in time out all of Niko’s stuffed animals, with the understanding that he could start redeeming them with good behavior. He won 2 back by putting on his pants and shoes and jacket, and I brought another small one with us that he could redeem at the restaurant. He got another one or two, I forget how many, back for going down to bed easily that night. The rest are in a big bin in our bedroom.

Yes, are.

They are still there.

He’s continued to redeem them, but he has a LOT of stuffed animals, and now he’s just… I don’t know. I invited him to take ALL OF THEM out of our room and he refused. “No, mama, I want to be good and get one back every day because I’m good!”

I just want them out of our room.

We live in a vintage apartment building. It’s about 100 years old. We have a queen sized bed which BARELY fits. This bin of stuffed animals is taking up a LOT of space, to the point where I can’t open most of the drawers of my dresser and nobody can get in on one side of the bed.

It’s inconvenient.

And our bedroom is also holding a bunch of stuff that USED to be in our office, which is now a bedroom for a friend who’s staying with us for a while. So we have 3 guitar cases, 2 guitar stands, a bunch of wrapping paper, and some boxes in our bedroom and basically I am about to go more insane than ever and why can’t I just have nice things? Oh right, because my bedroom is full of stuffed animals.

Which Niko won’t take back.

Because reasons.

I think he’s punishing me.

“Oh, you’re going to take away my special friends? Well you go right ahead and see how much you like that idea when it’s YOU who has to trip over them MAMA.”

I’m pretty sure he practices an evil laugh at night, after I’ve tucked him.

The evilest of laughs.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

One of Niko’s favorite books is “Babies” by Gyo Fujikawa. If you can find an old version of this in a used book store or thrift store, pick it up. It’s delightful. Sadly, current versions remove a few pages, which is appalling since it’s a very short book to begin with. Fujikawa was dedicated to portraying a wide variety of babies and children in her books, and her illustrations are delightful. After reading the book, we’ll talk about the different babies and kids. Are they happy, or sad? What are they doing? What are they thinking? Following the advice of anti-racism educators, we look at skin color and hair color and texture and talk about how some people are different in the same way we look at clothing and activities (this baby is wearing pants, but this baby isn’t. This baby is putting on socks, and this baby is wearing a funny hat. this baby has long straight yellow hair and light skin. This baby has orange hair. This baby is wearing a kimono. This baby is crying. This baby has curly hair and dark skin.). And sometimes I ask him if a baby is a boy or a girl.

Sometimes he gets confused.

And sometimes it’s really not clear if one of Fujikawa’s babies is male or female. It’s just a fat faced baby in a diaper!

He does better with older kids, who are wearing gendered clothing and hair styles.

This one has pants and short hair. It’s a boy. This one has long hair and a dress. It’s a girl.

But this one? Wrapped up in a towel and grinning? That’s a baby.

There’s boy, there’s girl, and there’s baby.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

I’ve mentioned a few times that Niko has some textural issues. This is especially noticeable when he’s not EXPECTING a certain texture. So, for instance, he had a caramel-filled Hershey Kiss the other day. He bit into it and was Shocked! Appalled! Outraged! There was A STICKINESS!!!!!! That was not what he signed up for. I told him it was caramel and it was sweet and he should try it and he looked at me like I was The Great Betrayer and was trying to trick him into something. But then he touched the verrrrrry tip of his tongue within the general area of the caramel, eventually made contact, and realized it was sweet and tasted good. And then he ate the whole thing. So he’s willing to give New Things and Disgusting Textures a chance, at least some times, which is totally awesome. And I try to prepare him for unexpected textures, because then everything goes more smoothly.

So when we had eggnog in the house, I poured a very small amount in a pink Hello Kitty (“Pretty Kitty” as he calls her) cup and told him it was a little bit like milk but sweeter and a little thicker. And he tried a little sip and liked it and had an adorable milk mustache. And he tried another sip and liked it. And then he took a huge glug into his mouth and didn’t know what to do with it, his cheeks all bulged out. He headed toward the bathroom to spit it out but I intercepted him and tried to get him to swallow. He looked around frantically and I made a mistake. I made a big mistake.

I laughed.

It wasn’t a real laugh, it was a sort of chuckle-snort that I tried to suppress. But I didn’t do a very good job of it.

And then Niko laughed. Eggnog sprayed out, a mouthful of thick sweet white, all over himself, the wall, the floor.

I’m really glad it wasn’t pea soup he’d been eating.

And then he started crying because his clothing was all wet with eggnog and Nesko calmed him down, cleaned everything up, and gave him a bath. After which Niko came out and took a few more sips of eggnog and asked to drink MY eggnog which HA! HAAAA! NO! because it was impregnated with Kraken rum.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

Niko almost filled his blue plastic pumpkin bucket with candy, a nice feat considering we only hit 2 1/2 blocks (albeit both sides of the blocks) and those blocks had a lot of apartments and darkened not-at-home-or-else-faking-it houses. It helps that his bucket was padded out with:

  • A beanie baby dog that is his puppy that needed to go Trick Or Treating so it would experience Trick Or Treating and be a Halloween Dog and grow up into a big boy dog and is named Harry.
  • A gourd that some woman picked up off her porch and gave him because he liked it. SCORE.

Niko refused to go into one house because it had, and I quote, “A g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-GHOST!!!” hanging from the porch rafters. He actually said “guh guh guh ghost” and it was HILARIOUS and made other people laugh. Also some older kids dressed up as zombies scared the crap out of him. They were so adorable and called him “little dude” and “little guy” and apologized for scaring him and promised they weren’t going to hurt him it was just costumes it’s ok little guy it’s ok. They backed way off of him to give him space and skipped a house that was giving out candy, moving to the next one, so they wouldn’t freak him out again. Oh, young teens. You are so awesome with your zombie clown bloody faces and tattered clothing and rainbow wigs and hooks for hands. Halloween forever.

We kind of broke All The Halloween Rules, by which I mean Niko was dressed all in dark clothing with no reflective strips, and his mask was too big and he had a hard time seeing out the eye holes. But I figured it was ok for our short walk around residential streets that dead end and don’t see a lot of traffic.

If you’re wondering what Niko’s costume actually was, it was a track suit, a green wool duffel coat, and a white papier-mache cat mask that he colored with crayons to be a rainbow kitty. I was feeling like a bum that he didn’t have a nicer Halloween costume, even though being “a rainbow kitty” was exactly what he wanted to be, when I remembered that October 31st in Chicago is cold and windy and usually rainy and he was going to be wearing a coat anyway. So I got out a super awesome coat I picked up at a thrift store last year that is still a bit big for him and it covered up his lack of costume. And really, a mostly-white cat mask over a big duffel coat is kind of spooky in its own serial killer way.

Anyway, I hope your Halloween was super ace. How’d it go? What’d you/your kids dress up as? Did you give out candy? Get a lot of Trick Or Treaters? Did you get much loot?

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

Halloween is On! Its! Way! and I have no idea what Niko will dress up as. His current suggestions include:

  • Shaun The Sheep
  • Bitzer the Dog, from Shaun The Sheep
  • A cat
  • The Brown Line – no, the Red Line. No! The purple line!
  • A crossing gate
  • A steam engine!
  • A dinosaur
  • A conductor
  • A dump truck
  • a ghost
  • A snail with a big shell
  • A penguin

Oh, these ideas? They are all from one day.

Other things he wants to dress up as include various imaginary friends of his, and a character from a short story (by Betsy Byars) he read that is a tiny cat (Finley Nox) who dressed up as a watermelon but really it was a cucumber because watermelons don’t come that small. So he wants to dress up as a cat dressed up as a watermelon but really it’s a cucumber. OF COURSE. That will be a SNAP to do!

I was actually pretty jazzed about the sheep idea because I can make a sheep costume. Just sew a bunch of cotton balls to a white shirt! So we went to Target where… they did not have white t-shirts in the appropriate size. A size smaller? A size larger? Oh hell yeah! Overflowing! The size that would fit over his black sweater? All gone. Well then. We perused the costume aisle and he flirted with the idea of being a butterfly, a fairy princess, a pink sparkly cat with wings, a ninja, or just plain buying a be-ribboned sparkly star-topped wand so he’d have a new “hitting stick” (that is my hitting stick! I use it to hit things! I mean no, that is my waving stick. I use it to wave good bye to people.”). I lingered over a $30 dinosaur costume but can’t really justify spending $30 on a costume. Then I saw a papier-mâché cat mask for like $2 or some cheap price and asked him if he wanted to be a cat. He said yes. I’m going to pick up some (more, we’re running out) tempera paint and he can paint the mask himself and we’ll get a sweat suit or track suit or something in similar colors and a feather boa for his tail and TADA, cat.

And maybe I’ll get a big oblong balloon and make a papier-mâché cucumber and he can be Finley Nox after all. Or we’ll toss a sheet over him and he can be a ghost cat.

What are you/your kids going as?

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Names

Sep. 24th, 2012 04:28 pm
brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

We went to a wedding on Saturday and Niko got to play with some other kids who were at the wedding. One of them, Evan, became his special running around like a wild thing friend and they chased each other up and down a (empty, unused, carpeted) hallway, crashed into each other, fell down dramatically, tried to use the water fountain together, etc. Good times! We went to the library today for story time. The kids’ librarian at the Independence Library Branch is really dedicated and involved and story time with her is pretty awesome. The social aspect – sitting on his bottom, being quiet, taking turns, not interrupting, interacting with other kids, sharing – is great for Niko. But as far as he’s concerned the best part of the library story time is running around the story time room in laps for fifteen minutes with the handful of other kids who’ve also stayed after the program.

One of the kids he played with is named Eddie. They had a fun time, chasing each other around and being lions and dinosaurs and trains, and crawling under chairs because they were caves, and playing freeze tag (poorly). Niko referred to Eddie as “Evan” once and after I corrected him he commented wistfully that it’d be nice if his name were Evan. Yeah, kiddo, it WOULD be convenient if all your friends had the same name. How easy would that be? You’d never have to learn a name again! But, alas.

Niko and I and Eddie and his mom shared a table in the library together and the boys looked at books and played with Lincoln Logs and worked out a toy-sharing deal until my MIL came to pick us up and we hustled out of there… to McDonald’s where Niko peed “in the special pee potty” and shuffled out of the bathroom with this pants and underpants around his ankles like the class act he is. (YES, I let my 3 1/2 year old go into the empty, clean, men’s room alone as I stood outside the door)

Then he went to Baba’s house and I crashed at home reading a library book instead of cleaning the bathroom or living room or doing any laundry because I feel like I have a cold or the flu coming on and hurt in all my joints. Do you know how many joints the human body has? A lot. I know, I can feel them all.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

I want you to imagine that you have 100 year old wooden floors, and a two-cup measuring cup. Perhaps a lovely glass pyrex measuring cup, heat proof and heavy and wonderfully balanced.

Now imagine that someone has taken that measuring cup and filled it with urine.

And now they’ve dumped it all over your hundred year old hard wood floors.

And when you said “HEY! WHAT THE HELLLLL! DON’T DO THAT DUDE WHAT ARE YOU DOING AHHHHHH STOP IT AHHHHHHHHHHH!” they, instead of stopping it, wigged the fuck out and so, instead of cleaning up the urine which is EVEN NOW EATING ITS WAY THROUGH THE WOOD you had to calm them down and help them put the rest of the pee in the potty NO NOT THAT ONE THE BIG POTTY and then reassure them that you aren’t MAD, you’re just cross, and you’re still a happy person and you love them.

And then you had to clean up all that pee.

And throw away the cheese crackers that also got peed on.

And explain that nobody in your household is allowed to eat food that’s had pee on it, sorry, that’s just a rule. That’s an ALWAYS rule.

Imagine that.

That is my day.

And that sudden onrush of pee obviously took Niko by surprise because he peed all over the snack he’d been lobbying heavily for and he wanted to eat that snack, that was no “I’m a dog and I hate your new boyfriend so I’m going to make eye contact and pee on your bed to show my disdain” move. That was no “I’m a cat and I’m going to show my revulsion for you by vomiting in your shoe every morning JUST BECAUSE.” This was an accident, a big accident, in a kid who’s been a totally successful potty user for a really long time now. I do not remind him to potty anymore because most of the time he does a great job by himself. Dude stays dry while asleep 99% of the time.

So what happened here?

I have no idea. Zero. None. Accidents happen. I’m just… I’m so happy it happened not on the (hundred year old, wool, hand tufted, incredibly worn and super absorbent) wool rug. Small favors, I guess.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

Here is a list of totally effective things I say to my kid in an attempt to parent and discipline him:

  • Hey!
  • Stop it!
  • Seriously, knock it off.
  • Did you hear me?
  • What did I just say?
  • Why did you do that?
  • WHY did you DO that?
  • Is that a good idea?
  • What do you have?
  • OH GOD PUT THAT DOWN.
  • I’m going to count to three.
  • Is that a good decision?
  • I’m going to eat your face.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

Have you ever seen The In-Laws? The 1979 version with Peter Falk and Alan Arkin. At one point, Falk asks Arkin to break into his office, and Arkin sees an autographed photo of JFK saying “Thanks for your help, at least we tried.” Tried what? The Bay Of Pigs, of course! “You were involved in the Bay Of Pigs?” “Involved? It was my idea!”

"The In-Laws Movie Poster, courtesy of Wikipedia"

Niko and I made cookies today. Involved? It was my idea!

The highlight was when I asked Niko to help me break an egg into a bowl. He griped it in his tiny fist and tried to crush it. “grrrr” he said. “GRRRRR!” I showed him how to hold the bowl with one hand and tap the egg on the side of the bowl with his other hand. Then he helped me prick the yolk with the tines of a fork and scramble it up just a bit.

The cookies were a total disaster.

You may have seen a 4-ingredient nutella cookie recipe floating around, especially if you’re on Pinterest.

It’s 4 ingredients, right? I’ve been baking cookies for over 15 years. What could go wrong?

I have no idea. One very likely problem is that, since we have a hazelnut allergy in our household, I didn’t use Nutella: I used a cocoa-almond spread (from Trader Joe’s). The problem might lie in the different ingredients (although the ingredients, other than the nut used, seem pretty similar) or in the oil content (maybe almonds have less oil than hazelnuts?). The dough was extremely dry, only coming together when I squeezed it in my hands (something that other people who followed the directions with no substitutions also complained about), the cookies spread, and they are just… disgusting. The primary taste is of raw flour, and they are gritty and leathery at the same time. I have never had a baking fail this bad.

We’re going to try again tomorrow with peanut butter cookies.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

Niko and I went to the library today for story time. Because our branch (which is walkable, or reachable by walking 2 blocks, taking a bus, and crossing the street) is closed for reconstruction, we had to go to a different branch which involves a lot more walking OR taking two buses. It would actually be easier to go all the way downtown on the train, I think, but I had books on hold to pick up anyway, so away we went.

As we trekked back home, a woman parked in the street smoking a cigarette with her window down waved at us and started going on and on about how cute and beautiful and adorable Niko is.

Now, here’s the thing.

I think my kid is hot shit.

I think he’s the cutest, most adorable child on the face of the planet. I think he’s gorgeous. He’s awesome.

But I’m his mom. I’m VERY aware of my bias.

But when a white woman starts oozing praise on how “beautiful” my blonde-haired grey-eyed pale-skinned child is, and adds that it’s SO RARE that she sees attractive children in this neighborhood, they’re just SO UGLY, and it’s a neighborhood that’s primarily Hispanic and Korean… this is not a case of my child needing to sign up with a talent agency STAT so he can be the next big toddler modeling thing. This is a case of creepy, intrusive racism and elevating white children and white physical traits above not-white children with their not-white physical traits.

And let me tell you, there are some BEAUTIFUL kids in our neighborhood. (they also tend to be MUCH better behaved than my kid. Sorry, world.)

The other alternative, of course, is that she’s gearing up to snatch a “beautiful” kid or something. I honestly don’t know. Now that I’m chillin’ out and thinking about this more, I think we’ve had a similar run in with her before.

Complete with her screaming praise at Niko’s beauty as we walk further and further away.

Ugh, creepers.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

“Logo for Daniel Tigers Neighborhood”

I had no idea how much of an impact “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood” had on me until “Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood,” a spin off of the PBS classic, aired. The main character, Daniel Tiger, is the son of Daniel Striped Tiger and some other tiger woman. The other characters are the offspring of original Magical Land of Make Believe puppets, and the aged-up original cast. Instead of puppets, though, the characters are animated in a paper cutout/CGI style that I’m afraid is going to look very dated very soon. The transition from exterior to interior, and from one room to another, already look like cut scenes from older video and computer games.

The theme of the show is emotions. What do you do with negative emotions? What do you do when you’re disappointed or sad? Or scared? How do you handle new things? Daniel Tiger and his mother/other adults/friends travel to different new places (a bakery, a doctor, a school) and talk through what they can expect and what actually happens. It feels similar to Mr Roger’s original show, but kind of… reduced? Simplified?

Niko assured me several times while watching the show that he liked it. “Oh, I like this show,” he said. “Oh, this is a good show.” “Mama, this is the show that I like.” He especially likes when Daniel Tiger says “Ugga Mugga,” he thinks it’s hilarious.

Niko doesn’t usually respond when the tv asks him something. When Dora the Explora or the creepy floating kids on “Super Why” turn their blank, soulless eyes to the viewer and ask a question and then pause for an extended period of time, he says nothing. He just ignores it. When Daniel Tiger asks if anyone wants to “imagine with him” or “visit a bakery with him” or “decorate a cake with him” or etc, Niko answers. He says “No,” but he answers.

My one complaint about the show is that Lady Elaine Fairchilde is historically pretty ugly. She had a big nose and chin and terrible hair and a frumpy red dress. In the cartoon, she’s slender and attractive with a stylish hair cut. I loved ugly Lady Elaine Fairchilde and am disappointed she’s been given a make over. Less-than-beautiful people on tv make me feel better about my own less-than-beautiful bits. But maybe this isn’t the real Lady Elaine Fairchilde but a cousin or daughter or something? I’m not sure.

Her kid is cute as hell, though.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

I tell people my kid is weird and they either look at me funny and TOTALLY JUDGE ME or they laugh and mentally high five me. Really, pretty much ALL three year olds are weird, but mine is gloriously so. And I enjoy it! I enjoy weirdos and am one myself so, whatever.

One of Niko’s tetkas (aunts) traveled to Canada a while ago and brought him back a little stuffed moose with a red knit sweater that says “Canada” on it. Niko, cleverboots that he is, named the moose Canada. Canada the moose. Canadians, if it makes you feel any better, every single elephant he has is named Carl. ANYWAY, he recently discovered that Canada’s sweater is removable and it’s sized to fit beanie babies.

So his beanie babies (kissy bear, baba bear, tata kitty, mama otter, and EW SKUNK EW GROSSSSSSSSSS; CJ the dog, C the dog, J the dog, and Delilah the dog (he’s named them after dogs he knows, CJ and Delilah); Falcon Bernouli the goat and Edward Thomas the groundhog; they all get into fights over who is going to wear the sweater and who is going to be naked.

It’s like someone ate the forbidden fruit and now they know nakedness. And sin. And there is only one sweater to go around and cover their shame! So he sets them up and he has these little voices for them, and they argue over who is going to wear the sweater (only he calls it a shirt and he can’t say “sh” well so it’s a sirt) and why. They have VOCAL TICS, for crying out loud (albeit not very subtle ones: Canada brackets his statements with a sing-songy “I’m a moose, I’m a moose, I’m a moose, I’m a moose!”) At one point, Canada was saying “Kissy Bear you have my sirt and my pants! Oh no wait nobody has pants. You have my sirt! I am naked without my sirt. I’m a moose I’m a moose I’m a moose I’m a moose!” You have to admire his commitment. Canada breaks into identity-related song and dance constantly.

His stuffed animals tell jokes and they have specialty jokes. He sets them up and has them tell jokes. And laugh. And they fall over laughing.

I just… ok.

He’s three, right? And three year olds can be huge assholes. I think we’re all in agreement there. But they can also be FUCKING HILARIOUS and oh my GOD this is such a great age. And if I didn’t have carpal tunnel and arthritis and a complete inability to follow directions I would knit a bunch of tiny beanie baby sized sweaters so everyone could be clothed and the falsetto plush bickering could stop.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

I grew up in a kitchen with a parent who was a professional cook for many years, which means that a lot of very basic knife (and general kitchen) safety was burned into my brain from a young age. Never put knives in the sink. Never run with a knife. Always pass a knife to someone handle first. Never touch a knife blade. Dull knives are more dangerous than sharp knives. Don’t use a too-small knife. I even know how to hone a knife on a whetstone. As I’ve said earlier, some of my earliest memories are helping my mom in the kitchen and I don’t really remember a time when I wasn’t actively helping.

Our current kitchen isn’t very usable, for a number of reasons, so I’ve been doing the bulk of my cooking solo. Even though Niko is at that magical age where he wants to help and is capable of helping in some ways, I’ve been curtailing that because it’s just so inconvenient for me. And that’s a wrong headed attitude to have, frankly. So lately I’ve been asking him to help me load and unload the dishwasher, put his dishes in the sink, measure coffee into the coffee maker… and cut red peppers.

Yes, I’ve given my baby a knife.

"A toddler stands on the Learning Tower, image taking from the Learning Tower website"

A toddler stands on a wooden scaffolding called “The Learning Tower,” which raises her height to be safely able to work at a kitchen counter. Image taken from the Learning Tower website.

Several people have mentioned using things like the “Learning Tower,” which is a wooden scaffolding that costs quite a bit of money. If we had the money and the space for it I’d totally consider it, but as it is, Niko is very happy on his 2-step stepladder. We pull it right up to the counter and we practice handing a knife back and forth handle first, and then I give him strips of red pepper to slice in half.

We work on paying attention to what he’s doing, to the cutting board and the peppers. We work on how to hold the knife in his hand. We work on remembering that the blade is sharp. We work on how to hold the food steady. We work on not going too fast. And then he hands the knife carefully back to me and we put the peppers in a bowl, and he eats them all because red peppers are basically the bomb.

I know there are dull knives that people use for toddlers. There’s some plastic lettuce specialty knife that a lot of people laud for its dull blade and inability to puncture skin. I considered getting one of those, but in the end decided that with close supervision using a real knife was the better choice. Knives are sharp. I want my child very aware of that, at all times. I want him to know knife safety, and I want him to develop cooking skills that will last him through his life. If you have young children in your life you may very well make a different choice, and I’d love to hear what you have chosen or will chose. But Niko’s enjoying cutting up his own peppers, and he’s enjoying helping me, and he’s learning a lot while doing so.

How old were you when you started using a sharp knife?

Would you let a 3 year old use a knife?

What would you do?

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

One of the things I like about our little family is the traditions we’re developing like going to Day Out With Thomas (2 years in a row) or to Wagner Farm every year for the Rotary Club fund raising (3 years in a row) or… uh. I guess that’s it, so far.

Anyway, we made the trek up to The Illinois Railway Museum in Union, Illinois for the 2012 Day Out With Thomas. It was great. It was fun last year, but it was rainy, and Niko was younger and cranky and nap disruptions made everything terrible (everything!). And even though he’s been a jerk about sleeping and napping lately, he’s old enough that he was able to hold his shit together allowing us to explore and do more things.

"Niko Posing With Thomas"

Nikola turns around long enough for a photo.

As they do, they had platforms set up for photo ops with Thomas. There were three platforms and of course the one in the middle was the most popular. There were professional photographers and you had the option to view and purchase a pro photo (perhaps in a fancy commemorative frame?) but we did not go that route because we are cheap assholes with our own (shitty) camera. How shitty? Let me just say that if you have an iPhone 4 your phone has a batter camera than my straight up camera. I discarded literally over half the photos I took because they were crap not because of anything I did but because it’s just a crap camera. Enough complaining! Niko was far more interested in checking out Thomas than turning around for his photo op, but he was very kind and patient with us and eventually turned around and consented to have his photo taken. Bless. We only backed the line up a LITTLE bit.

"Nikola checks out a hand car"

Nikola checks out a hand car.

There are many, many sheds with trains on display– engines, coaches, freight cars, CTA cars, cabooses, and more. Most of them have signs and are genteely roped off but apparently it’s ok to climb on this one. At least I hope it’s ok. Other people were doing so and there were no ropes or signs saying not to. Here’s Niko on a yellow hand car.

"Nikola sees a huge steam engine"

Nikola is stunned by the sheer immensity of a black steam engine.

And here he is checking out a huge black steam engine which, he was quick to tell us, looked just like Gordon. Well of course.

"Nikola and Nesko in front of a steam enginge"

Nikola and Nesko stand in front of a big steam engine.

I took, no exaggeration, about 50 photos of the awesome trains inside the sheds including the Nebraska Zephyr and some simply IMMENSE engines. None of them turned out. My camera, a point and shoot, has issues with its flash I guess. The photos in strong natural light, like this one, turned out much better. Steam engines are incredibly huge! And loud! And huge! I kind of have a thing for taking photos of people in front of GIANT TIRES and have done so both here and at Wagner Farm in front of a tractor’s giant tires.

"Niko on a caboose"

Niko also got to check out a caboose.

He also got to clamber around a caboose/brake van. It’s a cheerful red, as cabooses should be.

We went on a short street car ride but skipped the longer 19 mile ride because Niko was fading fast and while Nesko thought it’d be a chance for us all to relax including Niko, I was afraid Niko would get cranky and disrupt things. We checked out the Zephyr, which Niko’s been talking about for months, and also checked out the CTA train they’ve been restoring. We were also able to check out the museum’s gift shop and we bought a beautiful print for $5 of a pencil drawing of street car passing the Chicago theater.

This was a super great time and if we lived closer than an hour away we’d seriously consider buying a membership. A family membership costs $65, which is pretty cheap, and they have lots of events and it’d be super fun to just be able to look at the trains and ride them whenever we had a weekend to do so. We miiiiight look into hotels in the area and do a 3 day vacation out there, exploring the railway museum and also the Wild West Town and KOA campground and one room school house in the are. I AM A SUCKER FOR HISTORICAL REENACTMENTS, you have no idea.

Maybe you’re curious as to how accessible the museum is. There are designated handicap parking spaces on asphalt, but most of the parking is on grass, which may not be as much of an issue on NON Day Out With Thomas days. There are wide paved walkways throughout the grounds of the museum, but many of the sheds have a step to get in and some of them are not super well lit. They have paved walkways in the sheds. Some of the doorways are not very wide. I don’t think any of the trains are accessible. They are historic trains with narrow, steep, widely spaced steps. We all had problems boarding and disembarking. The museum has golf cart “courtesy shuttles” for Day Out With Thomas, but I don’t know if they have them at other times. The museum gift shop has a ramp leading up to it, but it’s narrow inside. I saw people at Day Out With Thomas using wheel chairs, motorized chairs, walkers, crutches, braces, and assistance dogs. So obviously some persons with disabilities are able to navigate the museum. There were also a lot of people using strollers and wagons along the pathways and over the grassy areas, although those weren’t allowed on the trains or in the gift store or in the museum’s diner. There were many portapotties, some of which were accessible, but I don’t know if those are a constant fixture or brought in specially for Day Out With Thomas. The diner has a big bathroom and the lady’s room had a handicapped stall but I don’t remember if the doorways were wide enough for a wheel chair user. It’s a newer building, though.

To sum up, “Day Out With Thomas” was a great time. I don’t think it’s possible for a more perfect day to have happened. We had a really good time and just as Niko talked about last year’s event all year I’m sure he’ll be talking about this year’s event for a long time as well. If you have the chance to attend “Day Out With Thomas,” or the Illinois Railway Museum, and you or someone you love is All About Trains, check it out. It’s well worth the money and the drive.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

I mentioned previously that I was going to work with Niko on “knife skills.”

I remember cooking on the stove top when I was young enough and small enough that I had to stand on a chair to be able to see into the pot. I don’t know how OLD I was, but I was pretty young. My mom kept me in the kitchen with her and I picked up a lot of safety lessons just by watching and listening to her. Keep pot handles toward the back of the stove, not hanging over. Don’t put knives in the sink. Don’t wear dangling sleeves. Keep your hair tied back. Wash your hands. That sort of stuff. And, of course, how to hand a knife to someone.

Now, in theory, Niko knew the first rule of knife safety which, as Suzanne pointed out, is OMG DON’T TOUCH THAT. Yet he tried to cut an apple with a bread knife and cut several of his fingers. Oh, toddlers 3 year olds children human beings, always got to touch the thing you were told not to touch. Here, have this key. It unlocks a secret room. DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR. ha haaaaaa, you opened it! Don’t touch this knife. ha haaaaaaa, you touched it. Great.

So we talked about the parts of the knife. This is the handle. This is the blade. The blade is sharp. Don’t touch the blade. Always hold a knife by the handle. Don’t touch a knife unless mama or tata is there and says it’s ok.

And then we talked about how you hand a knife to someone. You pick it up by the handle and then you hand it, handle first, to the person. We practiced this, asking for a knife and handing it to each other.

And then we talked about how you walk with a knife. You hold it low, and pointing away from you. You don’t point it at anyone, ever. You walk carefully.

Niko asked me today if he could “walks around the kitchen with a knife” which sounds like a weird question to ask until you realize that’s a specific skill I was teaching him, not that he’s a budding knife-wielding serial killer. So I gave him a butter knife, reminded him of the parts of the knife, and he walked around carefully holding it down and away from him. And then I asked for him to hand it to me and we practised that a bit more.

It went well.

After a few more safety lessons like this we might move on to cutting.

Or maybe spreading. Yes. He can use a knife to spread things first.

Maybe.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

Nesko and I were sitting in the living room while Niko kept running into other rooms and making messes then running back to let us know about his messes. He was in a rare mood today. A rare and clumsy mood. At one point he scampered out of the room and Nesko told him to come back because duh every time he left the room he just made some new problem.

This time he came back and said “Uh, mama, I have an owie owie” in a very calm, nonchalant voice. I looked over and HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA BLOOD. All over his hands, his wrists, his snooze-a-saurus pyjama shirt. He didn’t seem too upset or in pain so I calmly herded him into the bathroom and cleaned him up. It was actually difficult to locate the wound, because although it bled a lot it was a small cut on his thumb. He’d just spread the blood around a lot.

What had he done to injure himself so badly?

Why, tried to cut up an apple with a serrated bread knife, of course! WHY NOT.

So we had a talk about Not Touching Knives, and I gave him a boring bandage instead of a cute! fun! Elmo! bandage because I don’t want to reward playing with knives, you know? And now I’m considering teaching him proper knife using. On the one hand, he needs to know which part of the knife is the sharp part and how to respect it. On the other hand, he’s 3 and he’s clumsy and a knife skills lessons could easily turn into some kind of murder-suicide ordeal. On the OTHER other hand (pretend I have three hands, ok?), how sweet would it be if I had a tiny sous chef in my kitchen? Pretty fucking sweet, I tell you.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

Niko’s full name is Nikola, and this is for a number of reasons. It’s a straight up traditional name in Nesko’s culture, it’s a family name, their Slava is St Nikolaus, and of course there’s Nikola Tesla. It’s also apparently A REALLY FUCKING COMMON NAME and when we go to, say, Nesko’s cousin’s Slava and their friends and cousins are there, there’s always other kids named Nikola/Niko. I haven’t encountered any called Nikatz or Nano, both of which are nicknames we use more frequently, though. but I’m sure we will. So I’ve started expecting Nikolas/Nikos at family gatherings, but I’m still surprised when I encounter a Nikola/Niko in the wild.

We ran into one at Wagner Farm last weekend.

Let me back up.

Historic Wagner Farm is a little slice of history in Glenview, IL. Nesko’s bosses are Rotary Club members, and for the past 3 years they’ve had fund raisers at Wagner Farm that includes a hayride, ice cream, and this year face painting. This is the third year we’ve gone, and it’s a lot of fun. Niko enjoys running around, he likes watching the cows and horses and talking about their poop, he likes looking for the barn cats, and he thinks the chickens are super cute and he wants to take them home. And of course he likes eating the ice cream. Who doesn’t? (me, I don’t. ooooh, lactose intolerance. i want to love you again, ice cream, I do. you’re just… not worth it.) There’s a building with bathrooms and a gift shop and some edutainment museum-ish displays and the ice cream parlor. One of the interactive displays is supposed to be about chicken eggs and collecting and sorting them and candling them, but every time we’ve been it’s just a frenzy of kids grabbing eggs and dumping them down the chute and grabbing more eggs and EGGS EGGS EGGS OH GOD THERE’S EGGS AND BASKETS AAHHHHHHHHHH BEST THING EVERRRRRRRRRR! While Niko was taking part in the eggs and basket frenzy, I heard another woman reminding Niko to play nice and share and not grab. Basically, I’d open my mouth to remind Niko to not be a dick, and then this other woman would say exactly what I was going to say! DUN DUN DUNNNNNN! As it turns out, she has a 3 year old named Nikola also.

I guess it’s just a popular name.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

Niko is pretty imaginative, as 3 year olds usually are. In addition to his imaginary friends January, Cup Custard, and Howdy Cat, our house also teams with Mon Mons. I know what you’re thinking, and no, he isn’t talking about Pokemon (although he may have heard the name in that context and picked it up).

Mon Mons do not swim but they live in the water. They do not have fur or scales, they have skin, and sometimes hair. They like to come out of the water and live in the sand. THEY ARE NOT OTTERS. They live in the sand and they eat the sand. They can be any color. They can be red, blue, brown, orange, white. They walk like this *walks sideways, crouched down.* They have two big hands and they use their big hands to TICKLE YOU and pinch you and scratch you. And you say OH MON MON THANK YOU FOR THE TICKLES AND PINCHES AND SCRATCHES. They only scratch you if you’re itchy and want them to scratch you, and they pinch you gently like this *pinches gently.*

We were out running errands the other day and stopped to get something to eat. The waitress gave us crayons and a paper placemat and Niko and I draw on the back of it. I drew a crab and he got very excited because apparently Mon Mons are just crabs. I said “Oh, Mon Mons are crabs?” and he said “YES I TOLD YOU THEY WERE CRABS. Geeze. Mon Mons are crabs. EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT, MAMA.” Then he clicked his fingers together like crab claws and reached over and pinched me (gently). Which is how Mon Mons, aka crabs, say hello.

So now you know what Mon Mons are, and a little bit more about crabs.

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THE PITS!!!

Aug. 6th, 2012 11:55 pm
brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

I was cutting up some cherries today and Niko objected. He could just eat them whole! The way he eats grapes! And carrots! No no, I said. They have pits, I said.

He looked at me like I was full of shit.

He actually gives me this look a lot, because I say all kinds of crazy shit like “you can’t eat a box of granola bars for breakfast” and “don’t paint the rug” and “your fingers don’t belong up your butt.”

“MAMA,” he said, “a pit is something YOU FALL IN. It is IN THE GROUND. It is a BIG HOLE that you fall in and get lost in.”

So we had a conversation about cherry pits (and peach pits), and pits that are holes in the ground, and arm pits.

Later on I tucked him into bed for a nap and then took a shower. As I was drying off I heard a big thump and then sad noises. He made his way into the bathroom, sniveling.

“Oh, Niko, did you fall out of bed?”

“No. I tumbled.”

Well there you go.

He also had a freak out when I wouldn’t let him eat an entire bag of dried cherries. When I wouldn’t open the bag, he reassured me that it was ok, he’d open it himself. I put it on a shelf. He flipped his shit. Among the insults he slung at me? “YOU ARE NOT A PERSON!” I… do not know where that came from.

He is, in general, in a “I’ll do it MY! SELF!” mood where everything but pulling up his own pants is concerned. He’s pretty much toilet trained except for sometimes he pees on his bed when he wants a bath (RAGE METER FILLED. WHY WOULD YOU DOOOOOOO THAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT) and he’s wet the bed twice overnight possibly because he’s had a nightmare. So we’re back to pullups while sleeping, even though he’s totally dry 99% of the time. He also likes to get himself “a nice cool fresh glass of water.” AWWW ADORBS. I FORGIVE YOUR URINE ANTICS.

IN OTHER NEWS, I was all on top of things and ahead of the game, and took Niko in for his dental exam and check up/physical and got his school forms filled out so I’d be all ready to enroll him… and I’ve lost those forms. CRI CRI. No idea where they are. I guess I put them someplace safe? So safe they’re safe EVEN FROM ME. Good job, me. Good job.

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