Category: the girl

Speech Therapy

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The boy has always had amazing language skills.  I remember when we’d go to his well child visits and would receive a sheet of paper with his expected language milestones, all of which he had achieved months prior.  I thought, rather uncharitably, that the milestones were for the dumb kids.

Things were a bit different with the girl.  We’d go to the same well child visits, look at the sheets, and she’d have maybe one or two of them achieved, and just barely at that.  I know you’re not supposed to compare children, but it’s sort of hard not to.

Denver has a city program for early evaluation and intervention for any delay, and I figured it couldn’t hurt to have the girl evaluated.  We sat on the ground with a bunch of toys, books, and puzzles, and two delightful women engaged the girl in a series of tasks.  During each one, the women would nod vigorously and beam at the girl, who was at her charming best.  At the end of it, they looked at me and said, “She’s not behind at all! She’s actually about 15% ahead of her age.”

Um..okay…I’ll just…walk away now…I’m not an overacheiving parent…no…not at all…

The funny thing is, I just went to find a video of the boy speaking at her age and you know what I found? They use exactly the same number of words.  The only difference is that the boy’s speech was much clearer.

The therapists did note this, especially that the girl tends to skip letters and drop the end off of words.   They encouraged me to enunciate and repeat sounds back to the girl to improve her pronunciation.  For example, if I show her a picture of a dog, and she says, “Daw!” I’m supposed to say, “Right! Dog! Do-Guh-Guh-Guh,” emphasizing the “g” sound.

I went over this at dinner that night, and the boy listened to every word.

This morning at breakfast, Eric asked the boy what music he wanted to listen to.

“Wilco!” he replied.

“Wacko!” parroted the girl.

The boy turned to his sister, “Wuh-Wuh-Wuh-il-il-il-ko-ko-ko.”

“Wacko!” said the girl.

He kept repeating the appropriate diction of “Wilco” until she more or less got it right. “Wuhlco!” she finally blurted out.

With such a talented speech therapist in the house, I’m sure she’ll be speaking clearly in no time!

*sniff*

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Who would have thought that this would be the source of tears? It’s so cute!

Yes, that’s a toddler bed.  Where a crib once stood.  I posted the crib on CraigsList and it was gobbled up in a week, drop side and all.  (If you’re not a parent, you may be aware that drop-side cribs have all been recalled.  Then again, if you’re not a parent you probably have no clue what a drop-side crib is in the first place.)

But the crib is gone, which means that the little one is growing up and is not a baby anymore.  There’s a bit of me that’s sad about not having another baby in the house. (Grandparents, don’t see this as an invitation to remind me that another baby is entirely possible.  I’m done with the baby-making business.) It’s more that I can’t believe that my little baby girl is old enough for a bed.  It’s just so….grown-up!  The transition to a bed was seamless.  The first couple nights she got up and just walked over to the gate at the top of the stairs and stood there.  We went up to tell her that she needed to go to bed, and she toddled down the hall, back into her bed and fell asleep.

Yes, that’s it.

Don’t be jealous.  The boy gave us no END of trouble at bedtime, and still only falls asleep begrudgingly and usually in our bed.  I remember when there would be a couple hours of screaming tantrums at bedtime, eventually followed by silence.  We’d go to check on the boy and have a moment of panic when we saw nothing in the bed.  He’d taken his pillow and covers and gone to sleep in his CLOSET. Yeesh.  I’ve paid my dues in non-sleeping children.  That the girl is such an easy sleeper makes me feel so much better about myself–the boy’s terrible sleep habits have little to do with me as a parent, and are basically just how he is.  Of course, the girl’s wonderfully easy sleep habits have everything to do with my amazing parenting.

The next frontier…the potty!

brooklyn/manhattan

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After a great few days in Westchester, we headed to Brooklyn to spend a few days with my sister.  We hopped on the train and the girl waved goodbye to her new friends, who waved from the platform.  At every single station from Westchester to Grand Central, the girl looked at me and asked, “Friends? Where go?” She didn’t quite get the principle that we were at different stations every time…

We met up with Sapana –who, I’ve since learned, is called “Panda” by most of her workforce after multiple clients have written to the office for “Sapanda.” That’s how I’ll refer to her for the rest of this entry, and perhaps for the rest of the blog–anyway, we met up with Panda at Grand Central and dropped our stuff off at her office and headed to the Natural History Museum.  That place is HUGE.  Massive.  We got lost quite a bit until we got our bearings and made our way to the dinosaurs.

It’s nearly impossible to get a decent picture in there, partly because the girl never stops moving:

and because the lighting is terrible! (This is remedied by the awesome flash that my parents got me for my birthday, which I can’t wait to try out!)

Look at that hadrosaur!

We hopped on the train back to Brooklyn, and got to Panda’s apartment.  It’s a rather large (by NYC standards) 3 bedroom apartment, which she shares with two other people.

Do you remember being in college, or living away from home  (or if you still live at home, this is every day), when your mom would come visit and would, well, go into mom-mode?  I don’t remember this because my mother never once visited any place that I lived away from home until the day I left, so I never got this benefit. (Sorry, Mom, but it’s true.) My roommates’ parents, however, would often visit and I’d see the mom-ing take place.  Shortly after arrival would be a trip to Target and back would come bags and bags of shower curtains, and floor mats, and furniture.  When I was in high school, we got the mom-ing from my aunt! She came to visit us in California and was apparently so horrified that we used reusable sectioned plastic dishes as dinnerware that shortly after her departure, boxes and boxes of matching Mikasa dinnerware sets showed up at the house.  I used to wonder how one knew how to do that stuff–was there a mom class that you took?

Apparently, I’ve taken this class at some point because my first instinct on going to Panda’s place was to take her to Target, Ikea, and Bed Bath and Beyond and buy new stuff for her.  She’s been there for 9 months but on a shoestring and hasn’t been able to get a lot of the home furnishings she’d like.  We didn’t manage to go because it was just impossible with a two year old in tow, but I’ve learned that sometime after actually becoming a parent, I’ve become a Mom. Fantastic.

The next day we went to the Prospect Park Zoo and met up with Eric’s family, who drove up from Pennsylvania!

Here’s the girl with her adorable cousins:

The older kids were so good with the little girl, and they all clearly loved being together.  The Zoo is a bit scaled-down from your typical zoo which was perfect.  There’s a petting zoo that the girl just loved.  I think she fed almost all the animals except the alpaca and some dwarf cow thing, because they were over 4 times her size.  Anything smaller than that, she had no problem with.

The next day, we took a visit to the MoMA. The girl was NOT very impressed, though I did get her to sing “Twinkle Twinkle” while looking at “Starry Night,” which I got a kick out of.  

Then the girl posed in front of a wall describing all her finer points:

After that, a trip to Central Park and then, finally, back to Brooklyn to pass out.  Panda and I were exhausted, so we thought we’d watch a movie together and just choose from one of her roommate’s 100+ titles.  Unfortunately, this particular roommate is a documentary producer-type and doesn’t own movies, only films.  We ended up watching “Memento” and going to sleep with a quite unsettled feeling.

The next day the girl and I bid farewell to Panda and set off for Denver again.  The flight home was not as much fun, and culminated in the girl spitting into her hands and then grooming herself like a cat.

It felt good to get home.

A few thoughts after the trip as a whole:

I’ve been to New York plenty of times, and have always loved going there and just feeling the general excitement of the place.  Being there with a two year old is an entirely different phenomenon, however.  I was struck by how much of just getting around was a struggle.  Here, we live in the city but  aren’t fighting the crowds and noise right outside our doorstep every moment of every day.  Even if you’re a wealthy New Yorker and live in a beautiful apartment overlooking something green, as soon as you get on the street you’re back in the middle of it all.  And as for that “something green,” Denver is rife with green spaces and flora, even just in the front yards.  In New York, those spaces are relegated to small community gardens, balconies, some roofs, and Central Park.  You have to make an effort to get there–it’s not just in front of you all the time.  Before I had kids, I never would have noticed these things, since my main focus was on museums and, well, the bars and clubs.

I loved travelling with my daughter.  It’s so different to visit places as an adult and make an impression of them, and then think about those same places through your child’s eyes.  I know that she’ll remember little, if anything, of this trip when she’s older, but there is value in the experience and the exposure.  I don’t buy the argument that you shouldn’t travel with your kids before they can remember it–I mean, if you extend that argument why expose them to anything before memory sets in?  The girl LOVED all the newness and the thrill of being somewhere new, taking the train, having a daily adventure.  We give our children experiences that shape and form who they are as adults, even if the experience itself becomes nothing but a faded impression.

And one last thought–all you second and beyond children, your suspicions have been correct all these years.  You completely missed out.  The girl’s language developed exponentially during this one week trip, and I think it’s because she had my undivided attention.  I’ve realized ever since the boy came back home that he gets about 80% of my verbal attention and the girl gets the rest.  (Eric and I basically just communicate in grunts at this point, so that doesn’t factor in.)  It really made me realize that both Eric and I need to spend more one-on-one time with our small one.

Overall, a fantastic trip! I loved getting back to my garden, and can’t wait to update you all with the next post!

NYC-Westchester

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The girl and I took a trip last week to NYC, first to visit my good friend Rebecca in Westchester, and then onto visit my sister in Brooklyn.  I’ll talk about the Brooklyn half in the next post because this one gets a bit long.  Stick with it though, for the incredible, never-before-heard, toddler travel tip that will guarantee a smooth journey with your small one.

First, a few notes about the girl.

This is a 2 year old who skipped naps, skipped meals, ate all sorts of sugary crap, had leaky diapers, was a stranger in a strange land, and through it all, was her usual smiling self.  She is just remarkable.  If I had subjected her brother at the same age to all these disruptions, he would have been an absolute disaster. No fun at all.  With few exceptions, the girl was a pleasure to travel with and clearly loved the excitement of being somewhere new and making new friends.

We got into town last Wednesday night and went to Rebecca’s very nice house in Westchester and played with her delightful kids for three days.  Her daughter Sari, 51/2, is a real take-charge type (just like her mom) and made sure that the girl was well attended to.  At one point, my girl was outfitted with a baby-filled stroller, toy cell phone, purse, and play shoes.  Sari took one look at her and said, “You’re the mommy now, so you need a camera.  Here–let me get you one” and promptly plopped a camera around her neck, to my little one’s delight. This is the best picture I got of her, so you can’t properly see how adorable Sari is.  You can, however, see Rebecca’s playroom, complete with trampoline (!), that my girl went gaga over.

The next day we went to the Children’s Museum in Norwalk, Connecticut.  It’s a fabulous kids museum with a lot to do for the toddler set, which is a nice change since so many Children’s museums are often more geared to the 5-9 year old set, with the exception of a fomite-filled infant/toddler play area, from which your child is sure to bring home some novel germ and infect the entire family.  Of course, as luck would have it, 3 big school groups showed up at the same time we did and the place was insane.  The kids didn’t seem to mind at all, but it was maddening for Rebecca and I.

There was a great water play area.  My child is the one who refused to wear the protective apron.  See if you can spot her.

Sorry for the blurred out faces–it’s a little creepy, I know.  You know what I always think, though, is “What if someone is in the Witness Protection Program?” Then I go and post their picture on my little site with identifying local information and the mafia tracks them down and kills them.  I couldn’t live with myself.

The outdoor play area is awesome.  It’s a big area filled with giant blocks, noodles, and walls that can all be built together to make a DIY play structure.

See the older kids making the incredible sculpture in the background? Those were the some school group members I had to mildly chastise for trying to run our children over  in the “Tot Spot.”  When they all came out for lunch onto the playground, it felt like the Running of the Bulls had been let onto a field of baby bunnies.  Rebecca and I saw the doors open, and as if in slow motion, we saw the 8 year olds exploding out the doors. We jumped and swept our baby bunnies into our arms, seconds away from being trampled on by  size 6 sneakers.  After the bulls had been appropriately shooed away from the bunny field, our kids went back to playing peacefully.  On a side note, you may also notice that my daughter has undergone a wardrobe change from the water play area.  You figure it out.

Here’s Rebecca’s son, Donny, having a ball.  He would keep bringing in more and more foam blocks into the little fortress with the girl, and she would get increasingly disgruntled about it and promptly pick them up and throw them out as fast as she could.  It became very comical.

For me, it was just so nice to be around an old friend.  Bec and I have an easy time together and it was so relaxing to be with someone that I feel totally comfortable around.  I find that as I get older, it gets harder and harder to make that same sort of friend.  I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that Rebecca and I spent hours and hours together in medical school since we lived together, and also went through that difficult time together, which bonds you to someone.  Now with the kids, I just don’t have that same amount of free time or the ability to just sit on the couch for hours with a girlfriend watching dumb TV shows and talking about nothing.

I was pretty proud of myself for being a single parent travelling with a small child and not checking on any luggage.  I used bungee cords to attach the carseat to the carryon bag, had a backpack on my back and had one hand free.  As it turns out, the girl likes to walk everywhere and I didn’t have to carry her in the airport.  On the way over, the girl slept for an hour and a half, then woke up, drank juice, ate food and played with everything in the back of tricks I had brought.  The magical thing for small kids, I’ve learned, is stickers.  Lots and lots of stickers kept her occupied for a long time.  I also bought a magnetic playboard that was fun for a bit, as well as crayons and a few books.  It was one of those public “What a good mom I am” moments.  (It was not repeated on the flight back and I got plenty of “Why doesn’t she do something about that screaming child?” stares.  I’ll go into that the next post. For now, I’ll pretend like it didn’t happen.)

Are you ready for the never-before-heard toddler travel tip? It’ll change your life, I swear.  If you want to have easy travel with a small child, the trick is to….

Give birth to an easy child.

That’s it.  Just make sure that when you conceive, you are creating a future non-fussy, loves-to-sleep-and-eat, basically happy creature and you too can have many future enjoyable journeys.  You heard it here first.

Stay tuned for the Brooklyn half of the ex-po-tition!

Chataqua Hike

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Last Friday we all went for a lovely hike up at Chataqua.  It was one of those perfect Colorado summery days–hot dry heat and blue open sky.

The wildflowers peppered our walk with sprays of purple, white, pink and blue.  Our champion hiker # 1 led the way.

About halfway up the trail, there was a cairn shrine of sorts.

It reminded me of the incredible balanced rock sculptures that we’d see along the San Francisco Bay as we walked from Ghirardelli Square to to the Golden Gate Bridge along the water.  Once we even saw the artist plying his trade, so to speak.  He’d pick up a rock, turn it over so its pointiest edge was facing the ground, and gently set it down on top of a flat rock.  He would hold it in place, looking completely still, until he found the perfect balance and would let go.  It was as if he was stilling the rocks from within himself and waiting for a harmony to ring clear from the stones themselves.  It was heart-stopping, and if you’re ever in San Francisco you need to find this small bayside rock garden and wonder at it.

Back here in Boulder, the boy made his own cairn to add to the pile.

The girl, in contrast, did nothing to find the inner stillness of sandstone and instead did this:

See? This is a perfect representation of her personality. You know she’s going to throw the rock, she knows she’s not supposed to, but she has an expression that seems to say, “If I look as cute as possible, they won’t be able to get mad at me and I’ll get away with murder.  Or at least throwing this rock.”

She then threw the rock, and only got a mild rebuke, proving that we are well-trained parents.

As I was going through the pictures of the hike, I saw this one and my heart leaped–when did she get so big?! I even get a little teary just thinking about it. When did she get to be a beauty? When did she grow to be so tall?  Wasn’t it yesterday that she…was…smallllll?

Before this becomes the blog version of a musical, I’ll stop myself. 

Chataqua is a great place for the little ones, with lots to discover along the trails and is just challenging enough–I think we’ll head out there a lot this summer.  Any other hikers want to come along?  For the hiking-averse, I’d like to remind you that hiking is just walking, only you have to avoid the snakes, wasps, and bears you might find on the trail.

Garden Stage III

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The garden is planted, save a second row of carrots, bush beans, lettuce, and some spinach (though it’s late for that, I know).

The trellis went up and we put out all of the starts where we wanted them to go.  My hope is that the climbing plants wind their way up the bamboo poles to make a structural focal point for the garden.  I also conscientiously picked plants that have unusual colors or feature to add interest.  For example, the cucumber is an extra long variety, and the pole beans are purple with purple leaves.  There’s a purple and white striped eggplant, a patch of rainbow chard,  and I planted a variety of tomato colors, in the hopes that when everything grows it will be an explosion of color to rival a flower garden.  Of course, that all depends on whether anything grows or not, since I didn’t pay any attention to how these plants do in Denver.  I purchased all of my starts from a neighborhood woman who grows them organically in her backyard.  Everything that I got from her last year grew amazingly well despite the crappy location.  I think it’s because she spends a lot of time hardening off the plants, so when they go into the ground outside they’ve got a better shot at making it.  (Local folks, if you want her info leave a comment or send me a note and I’m happy to pass it along.)

Clearly, the girl was impressed by my brilliant idea.  Her basic function during the planting was to act as reluctant cheerleader, occasional digger, and mostly a general hindrance.  But then she’d give you this super cute face and you couldn’t possibly be upset with her.

The boy helped by planting dahlias in the center section:

As for things growing, the pea sprouts from a few weeks ago are up to a good start:

And the final layout of plants ended up like this:

Oops, I forgot to add the spinach in the center of the trellis.  I read somewhere that you can put spinach in the middle of a trellis arrangement because it’s shaded and keeps the ground cool and prevents the spinach from bolting early.  It’s worth a shot since I’ve got the seeds anyway.  I put dwarf sunflowers and zinnia as well as flowering chives along the walkway to have flowers along the path, and also to grow some cutting flowers.  I’d love to have flowers in front of my house I could snip anytime I wanted to brighten up the house or take to a friend’s as a bouquet.

We looked into some grass borders as suggested to keep the grass from encroaching into the garden, but everything I found needed to be dug in before we had planted, and it was too late for that.  Ah well.  That just means more ripping out of grass this year and remembering to do it next year.

And now waiting, watering, occasional fertilizing, and crossing fingers! I’ll try to post picture updates every 2 weeks or so to follow how things are progressing.

Language Lessons

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My parents were in town this past weekend for the girl’s birthday, and everyone had a great time. My mother outdid herself making delicious food for every meal that both kids gobbled up eagerly, and both grandparents enjoyed playing with the kids.

One of the things I do with my parents, often without knowing it, is slip into speaking Marathi. Once, at the lunch table, my parents and I were having some rather simple back and forth in Marathi (“Can you pass me the pickle?” “Here, take it”) and the boy started to hyperventilate in his dramatic way and wailed, “When am I going to learn that?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“When am I going to learn to speak Indian?” he replied. “Aaji,” he said, turning to my mother, “Where did you learn to speak Indian?”

I had a twinge of guilt over not being better about teaching him any Marathi, but the truth is I’m not very good at it anymore after years of not practicing it, and was never fluent in the first place. And another truth is that, well, it simply isn’t that useful to know Marathi.

In a country with hundreds of beautiful melodic languages, Marathi is like the German of the Indian languages, in sound and in culture. It’s just rough. There is no common way to say, “Please” or “Thank you,” and no one would say it anyway. The typical greeting when you answer the phone is not “Hello,” or even the elegant “Moshi Moshi” of Japanese, but is instead, “Kon aye?” which means “Who is it?” I recently learned that there isn’t even a true word for the color brown–everyone just says “chocolatey.” This in a country where EVERYONE IS BROWN. How does that make any sense? (My father told me that there is technically a word for “brown,” but no one ever uses it.) Even the way to say “I love you” is somewhat convoluted and people just end up saying it in English.

We use Marathi when we wish to gossip about someone who is right in front of us without them knowing. This works poorly for two reasons. First of all, in accordance with the language, Marathi speakers are not typically subtle. This means that we will walk up to a grocery checkout line speaking in English, then see the lady with the crazy curly red hair wearing large polka dots in line, look her over, make eye contact, and then promptly switch to Marathi. When gossiping about how her hair and clothing makes her look like a clown, we will speak the word “clown” in English, which the woman will overhear and be able to deduce that we are talking about her, which makes the entire switch to Marathi completely pointless in the first place.

Now of course, Marathi is apparently the 17th most commonly spoken language with 70 million speakers worldwide (surprisingly, more than Italian)–I don’t mean to say that the language shouldn’t exist. After all, people still learn Latin and it’s not like you ever have a riveting chat about how the Nuggets are doing in Latin. But the sad fact is that my kids will probably find cause to speak Marathi about 20 times in their life. Even when my sister and I TRIED to speak Marathi with our cousins in India growing up, they generally mocked us for our poor grammar and we ended up just using English–in this lies the big problem, which is that most Marathi speakers we would interact with speak English just as well. Many first-generation Marathi kids speak less Marathi than I can and it’s doubtful that they would be able to speak to each other in Marathi without a great deal of effort. If kids that are raised by two native Marathi speakers don’t speak Marathi fluently, then there’s no hope for my kids at all.

From a cultural heritage perspective, it would be great if they spoke Marathi but the reality is they won’t. Of course, I could just focus on the more useful vocabulary and mild swear words that I know so that at least we could insult each other in Marathi when necessary. That would probably stick.