Yay, DEE! (or: cheerleading for toddlers)

Yesterday I had an appointment that got changed from midday to late afternoon at the last minute. I was fairly sure I'd never be back in time to pick Otter up from daycare before it closed, so I called G and he volunteered to leave work early and do the pick-up.

Of course, having made those arrangements, I got done with my appointment in record time, hit no traffic coming back, and and beat G to daycare by about five minutes. And G very kindly didn't seem at all resentful that he'd rushed out of work on his busiest day of the week--for nothing.

So we all headed in both cars off to the market, where we got a prescription filled (I taught Otter to say "phar-ma-CY"; all through the store he kept saying it, liking the way it rolled off his tongue, or possibly just liking the way it made me laugh every time). And despite the quick marketing trip turning into a basketful of mainly beverages (seltzer, cranberry juice, bottled water, soy milk, more seltzer, Izze grapefruit soda, orange juice, yet more seltzer--did I mention seltzer was on sale, 10 2-liters for five bucks?), despite being the one who stood in line for cheese at our quite-frustrating deli, despite my changing our plans on what to eat for dinner repeatedly in fifteen minutes (subs! no, mac and cheese! no, veggie stroganoff!), G remained cheery.

He even stayed that way when we came out of the market into an outside world that had switched from sunny and warm to blustery and drizzling, even when we had loaded Otter and me and the lighter half of the groceries into my car. He stayed smiling even when Otter and I sat dry and warm and sheltered in my car waving to G while he loaded the many many many bottles of seltzer into his car in the drizzling cold rain and then took the cart back to the cart corral.

So when we left the market, G was, absolutely, my hero. Which isn't unusual; that happens regularly. Not only does he make me laugh hard, on an average more than twenty times a day, quite a feat given that he works all day, but he is a fabulous cook, a stunningly great parent, and a skilled juggler. And I mean that not as in: hey, he multi-tasks well, but as in: hey, he can pick up three or four objects (balls, Fisher Price Little People, plastic Easter eggs) and get them all spinning madly in the air at once.

Plus his many other sterling qualities, including his apparent enjoyment of being married to me, with all of my many virtues and (a-hem) eccentricities.

So on the way home, with G in his car following Otter and me in my car, I taught Otter the following chant...

Oh wait, for this to make sense, you need to know that when he was little, Otter didn't always say "daddy" but sometimes just "DEE!"

Okay, back to the chant:
Dee, we love you!
Dee, we missed you!
Dee, you're great!
Yay, Dee!

And after I said each line, Otter would chime in with me to repeat it from the back seat with enthusiasm.

When we got home, and G opened my passenger side door to get groceries, Otter and I did our cheerleading routine for him, with waving arms of joy at the "YAY, DEE!"

We did it again this morning as G was about to leave for work (with "we'll miss you" substituted for "we missed you.").

I try my best to be an appreciative partner.

MOU: Otterish 102 (or, words Otter can't say properly, part II)

As I've noted before, Otter has some words that he pronounces in his own unique way. I know that experts often advise that you stringently continue to use the correct pronounciation for the word, even as your child mangles it, thus helping the child absorb the right way to say it.

Well, I, as with many many parents before me, find it just too compelling to adopt a few of the best Otterisms. I now say "gap-oom" instead of vaccuum, "guss-es" instead of asparagus, and occasionally say "lik-kis" instead of music.

I suspect he'll learn the correct way to say all of those in his own time (even if not from me), and that will be necessary and, in the long run, good. After all, do you know any teenagers who say "gap-oom?" I thought not.

But when that inevtiable changes occurs, I will miss hearing his small voice say "more guss-es, mama? More? Guss-es?"

Poet child narratives?

Having a partially verbal child who wants to tell stories about his life is a fascinating phase. Otter has just, in the past two or three weeks, started to accumulate memories that he turns into recurring stories. At night or in the car ride to daycare, he'll start in on a story of going to the park and riding the train, or getting a blood test for anemia done at the hospital, or going to the Eric Carle picture art museum (see-UM) with his parents and grandmother.

However, because Otter is not yet talking regularly in complete sentences, never mind in complete paragraphs, these stories need some interpretation. He strips them down to the barest essentials, the most compelling images and moments, omitting all transitions and often the verbs as well.

For example, here is one version of his story of getting the blood test. (My explanatory notes added.)

Hozbiddle. (we went to the hospital)
Turn! (we went through the revolving door into the hospital)
Squeeze arm. (they tied the rubber tie around his arm to check for veins)
Other arm. (couldn't find a good one, checked other arm)
Other one. (back to the first arm, tying more tightly this time)
Poke it... needle! (self-explanatory, I think)
Like it. (said morosely, as what he is trying to say is "I don't like it" but he hasn't mastered don't)
Blood... red... tube (red blood came out and went in a tube)
All done! (said with air of satisfaction and a bit of anxiety)
Bandaid, PUR-ple one. (they gave him a purple stretchy "bandage" covering for the gauze over his tiny pinprick) (which, by the way, he didn't want to take it off all day; he showed it to everyone who came into the daycare, though he doesn't talk about that)
Turn! (revolving door again)

Now, I know I'm NOT at all objective, but I find that story pretty cool for a not-quite-two-year-old. Of course, if you weren't there for the event he's describing, it wouldn't be so clear what the heck he was talking about. (He might tell you who was also there, as that's another new trend: "Mama Tuuuuh!" Or, in the case of the train, "Daddy train Tuuuuh!")

And not being me, you probably aren't so impressed.

But developmentally, it's a definitely new phase. He is linking longer and longer chains of events or ideas, even if he can't quite articulate them yet.

His latest this week is to say "coffee" sometimes after he says "Jo", to remind us that Grammy Jo, when she visited this past weekend, drank coffee. And you have to respond, affirming that you understand what he's saying: yes, Grammy Jo drank coffee when she was here.

I feel like a UN translator for toddlers doing haiku narratives, a job I never knew I wanted, or even knew existed, but now I find it wholly compelling.

Though not so much compelling at bedtime when he wants to tell stories of what seems to be every experience he remembers from the past three weeks.