Cookies for Breakfast.

I was getting ready for the day when I noticed that Oliver was mysteriously silent in the other room. I walked out to the kitchen and found him up on our high bar stool chairs, chocolate smeared on his face and belly.

Oliver climbed up onto the stool, climbed up onto the counter, grabbed the bag of monster cookies, and then sat back down at the counter to have a civilized breakfast.  That part just kills me. The fact that he felt like he had to sit on the chair and eat them at the counter. Like an adult. Like Jared & I would.

When I confronted him about climbing onto the counters, he didn't have much to say for himself.

In fact, I think he was quite proud.

"Were you eating a cookie?"
"Cookie."
"Well, at least, was it good?"
"Mmmm...."




I told a friend of mine this story and she said, "How do you keep yourself from laughing at situations like that?"

I don't.

Why am I still up?

Oliver went to bed a bit after eight tonight in his new, exciting, fantastic big boy bed. I set up his room for him and when he walked in he exclaimed, "Big bed! Neat!"

He didn't try to get out when we told him it was bed time. He crawled up into bed, covered himself with his blanket and said goodnight to me. I haven't heard a peep since then. What a wonderful little boy.

It's past midnight now. Why am I still awake? I don't know. Something stupid inside of me is keeping me up, making me remember when he was little littler. When I was scared to leave him in that huge crib (that now seems small) all by himself when he first came home from the hospital. How I worried about leaving him overnight at my parents' for the first time. When I worried he would be scared to sleep in his new bedroom for the first time after we moved.

I worried today that after making this switch that he would fight it and be up all night, wandering into our room at all hours... but so far, he hasn't. He was excited for change. He  embraced it and now he's doing just fine, like so many other obstacles he's encountered.

This is just one more thing I've worried over for nothing. I need to give him more credit and accept that he is his own brave person now.

I've gone in twice to check on him, and he's still just as I left him - tucked in a far corner of his bed, holding on to a plastic dump truck with a sippy cup of water under his arm.

I very rarely go in to check on him anymore, but every time I do it reminds me of how I used to walk into his room when he was a newborn. I used to be able to walk in and trip over dirty laundry and make a huge racket, but he'd remain fast asleep.

Now if I try to sneak into his room and I make even the slightest noise he lifts his head up and says, "Mama? Hi."

I know it's so cliche to say that kids grow up fast, and I'm not even really saying that I miss those newborn days because I so enjoy the way he is now but... seriously. Something so trivial as changing his bed can make me remember so much. 

It's crazy.

Conversations with my (not actually) two year old.

Dinner is always interesting with Oliver. He wanted to call his grandma on the phone, but she was out. We made a video message for her instead. This is what typically takes place around our dinner table each night.



If you watch, you can see that he has a couple of problems with counting the numbers two and four. Why two and four, you ask?

Somehow, in his head, Oliver is convinced that he is two. He isn't. But he's still convinced. Whenever he counts and the number two comes up, he must tell everyone that he  "...is TWO!"

Finally, we overcome the issue with two and three comes out okay, but four is another temptation. It sounds like he's yelling "Eeee, Eee, Four!" but he's really (trying) saying "I am THOR!" He cannot distinguish between "Thor" and that stupid number after three.

Why does he say this? Because my mom bought him a toy hammer, and he loved to carry it around. Jared, seeing the tiny boy with a giant hammer, told him he looked like Thor, the hammer wielding Norse god.

Not pictured: My child.

Seeing how hilarious we thought it was when he yelled "I.... am.... THOR!" he now takes every opportunity to do just that. And if you have to do that in the middle of counting? Well, you have to.


In fact, when the second video starts, you catch the tail end of another "I... am... THOR!!!!"




Here are subtitles for the second movie:

Oliver reaches for the pitcher on the table.
Me: No, don't touch everything. You're kind of gross. You need to take a bath.
A spoon falls to the floor.
Oliver: Ooooooo-oops!
Me: Oops.
Oliver: It drop!
Me: Yeah, it did drop.
Oliver: Woops! (unintelligible) ..Yogurt? Yogurt! Yogurt. Yogurt. Yogurt.
Me: You want yogurt now?
Oliver: I like it.
Me: I know you like it.
Oliver: But. But I('m) yucky.
Me: But you're yucky. laughs
Oliver:  But..... ....Juice. Juice.
Me: Now you want juice instead?
Oliver: Uh huh.
Me: What kind of juice do you want?
Oliver: Orange juice.
Me: You want apple or grape?
Oliver: App-changes mind Grape!Uh huh.
Me: Uh huh. laughs Alright, well.. Let's clean you up a little bit and then you can have a little bit of juice, okay? Say goodbye to Grandma.
Oliver: Grandma, bye Grandma!

Don't you all want to come over to dinner now that you see what you're missing?

On raising a nonchristian child in our Christian world.

99% of our family disagree with us on our religious stances, or lack thereof.

I.E. We teach Oliver nothing religious and actively shield him from participating in overtly religious practices.

Why? Because. Because we think it's best, of course. We do everything for him because we think it's best. We don't hate Christians or people of any religion. If our friends and family believe it, that is their right and I'm happy for them. But for them, it's a major stressor that we don't share their beliefs and that just seems unfair.

Both Jared and I were troubled by religion when we grew up. I don't really want to speak for Jared's exact experiences, but I know we were both scared into belief by constant threat of hell. It was terrifying. I never believed any of the other things I was taught in Catholic school, yet I was still scared of hell.

I was taught, over and over again, that if I died with a mortal sin on my soul I was going to burn and suffer for all eternity. Life was never "good for you, you're a great person!" it was always "Good for you, you've avoided eternal punishment! ....For now."

Intentionally skip Mass on a Holy Day of Obligation? "Maliciously" lie?  Dishonor your parents? Feel those flames licking your skin - Or at least that's what they told me.


If I felt like Oliver could understand and process the information to make a decision and choose Christianity, I would absolutely allow him those influences.  But since he can't? It'll have to wait.

I don't want him to feel like I did. To be the only kid who really didn't believe, even in Grade 1. To feel that incessant guilt for not believing, despite trying. To never feel good enough because you don't believe. To want to believe just so everyone would stop bothering you. To try and try and try to believe just so you could fit in. To sometimes fake belief to get by.  To constantly feel guilty, afraid, unsafe - even when you've done nothing wrong and you're perfectly safe.

Worse still, I do not want other people  to lock him into a room and force him to accept Jesus as his personal saviour. I do not want other people to constantly pick at him, to wear him down on his beliefs before he is old enough, wise enough, sure enough to defend himself. I want him to know that he doesn't always need to defend himself, that sometimes it's okay just to know he's right. To know that his beliefs are his choice and no one can change them for him without his permission. I don't want anyone to make him feel like he is a bad person just because he is not Christian. All of these things I've personally experienced, and it hurt me. Jared has been hurt in similar ways.

We do not want that pain, that fear, that guilt for him.



Once he reaches an age where he can decide for himself - when he understands that not all grown-ups are infallible - well, then he can learn. Then he can decide. And if he chooses Christianity, Islam, Judaism... Great! We will not try to dissuade him of his beliefs. We will congratulate him on searching for himself and deciding what is true.



Until then, we're teaching him what we think is right:

Be nice to people, be nice to yourself.  Try to be fair when you can, but when you can't accept that that's life. Do not harbor hate, not towards anyone. Thank people when they give you something. Clean up after yourself. Eat your vegetables.  Take care of your family.  Try your hardest in everything you do. Accept what you're given and work with what you've got.  If you want things to be different, do something to change them yourself. Be truthful. Be happy in all things. Ask for help if you need it. Respect that other people's differences and similarities make them who they are.

Above all, we want him to do these things not because he is living in fear but because they are good. Because he is good, and he should know that.

If we instill those beliefs in him and he lives by those truths, what more could we ask of him? Oliver is a great, happy, loving little person right now, and I have no doubt that he will continue to be.  I think we must be doing something right.

A new house, but not the last house.

We're sort of moved in. By that, I mean that we have a considerable amount of our junk in this new apartment and a less considerable amount of our junk in the old one. Most of our stuff is still in boxes. And our furniture is in no way arranged. But there's a frozen pizza in the freezer so what more do we need?

Oliver seems unfazed by the move. He enjoys weaving through the furniture jungle and sitting on the floor to watch the same (and only unpacked) DVD over and over again.

 Here is what he has had to say about our new (temporary) digs:

"Outside? Outside?"
"Okay, you can go outside on our deck."
"Duck? Quack."

While looking out hte window at the swamp across the parking lot, "Ducks! Geese! Trees! Flowers! YEAAAHHHHH!!!"

"Do you like your new room?"
"Trains?"
"Yes, we brought your trains to your new room."
"YESSSSSSSSS!"

And, about 1 million times, he's said, "Grandma? Grandma? Outside to Grandma? Play? Come. Play."  The best feature about this place is that he can walk over to Grandma.
 

Wherein our child learns to lie.

Jared and I were getting ready to go run errands today. I walked out of the bathroom and found Oliver sitting on the dining table, up to his arm in a bag of Goldfish crackers. I looked at him, and he knew he was being naughty. He said to me,

"Go away!"

Realizing that I could at that point evoke no serious disciplinary tone, I said nothing and walked back to the bathroom.

"Go look at Oliver," I said to Jared.

Jared walked out with me and found the same scene on our table.

"Uh oh!" Oliver shouted at us cheerfully.  There was a momentary pause wherein he was weighing his options of what to do and say, and then he smiled at us. A coy smile. A knowing, manipulative smile.

".... I'm stuck? Yes. I'm stuck."

At the pool.

We're in the middle of finding a place to move and all so I've been neglecting my duties on my blog. I'm sorry. Be pacified with these images of the boy child taking a dip in our pool this week.

Walking to the pool. Cool. Confident. Calm.

Hey pretty lady, come here often?

Splashing.

Realizing how splashing gets your face wet.

"I will sit in your pool, woman, but I am very skeptical."

Dear Mom, I love you.

Dear Dad, Not so much.