| He's SUCH a boy. |
[Sep. 12th, 2007|04:58 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | dermot | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  amused | ] |
Dermot has had some gas lately. Actually, lots of gas.
He thinks that's the funniest thing ever.
At least we have some warning. After an episode, he'll look at us impishly and announce, "STINKY!" And then he laughs and laughs... Sometimes he'll try to force another one out.
He's a boy, that's for sure. |
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| Some startling discoveries today |
[Sep. 10th, 2007|02:52 pm] |
I spent much of today thus far pairing socks. That's just because I have such a thrilling life. Most of the socks were not my socks. I keep mine paired as much as possible, because what cold-footed masochist wants to hunt down a pair of socks from a jumbled mishmash of foot coverings?
My husband, that's who. The same husband who is always complaining that he doesn't have enough socks. Well. At least now I know why. (Although... why exactly did we "have to" buy half a dozen more socks for him just a couple of weeks ago? He SWORE he needed them!) He likes his socks spread out. I found three separate drawers each containing an assortment of his unmatched socks (as well as various underwear and pajamas... oh, and two randomly selected shirts).
I have been in purge mode the last couple of days, partly because the place needs it, and partly because I have recently learned that we face an impending move. Not terribly "impending," mind you, but likely to occur while I am with newborn and don't exactly have the time or energy to sort, purge, pack, move, unpack, organize, and settle. So the sort, purge, pack is going to have to happen before Niblet arrives. Still, we weren't especially hoping or planning to move for at least another couple of years, so this was an unpleasant surprise. Anyhoo, I figured now is a good time to start going through our mounds of crap, some of which came with the house when we moved in, and some of which is actually ours.
I started with the bedroom, because there are three of us sleeping and dressing in there, it's a small room, and there's just way too much stuff in it. Plus, I had just done a whack of laundry last night and needed somewhere to put it. So, interesting trivia from my husband's dresser:
- He could throw out socks as he wears them for the next THREE MONTHS and still have plenty of socks--and that's after I tossed out the ones with holes or stains.
- He could do the same with underwear for a month.
- He has more clothes than Dermot and I have PUT TOGETHER including my maternity wardrobe and my off-season clothes which are currently stored in bins.
- He is the reason we have no space in our bedroom.
He is also the reason he can never find the item of clothing he is looking for, resulting in the purchase of additional clothing items which he can never find when he wants them. He is not allowed to complain of any lack of clothing for at least three years, because unless the house burns to the ground and takes all his clothes with it that will just be impossible. Yes, honey, you heard me. THREE YEARS. AND DON'T YOU DARE BURN DOWN THE HOUSE.
Another interesting discovery: MY clothes. Which were hidden among his clothes, in drawers and piles and in his closet. So THAT'S what happened to that top I haven't been able to find. THAT'S why I was having so much trouble pairing the few of my socks which were missing mates.
On a positive note, I found some things that I thought were were lost forever, and, despite the fact that I won't be able to wear them for many months (excluding the socks; I hope I'll continue to fit into the socks!), it's still a good feeling.
I know there's more in his closet, but I haven't ventured very far in there yet. |
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| Oh dear. |
[Aug. 31st, 2007|12:22 pm] |
Well, it looks like I took too long blogging the bananas. When I went back up, I found him sampling some chocolate chips he had maneuvered down from the kitchen counter and pulled from a hole he poked in the bag (I'm about to make some chocolate chip cookies because I am a weak, weak woman).
Me: Oh, Dermot, you can't eat those! Those make you sick.
(That's kind of a lie, since he has never gotten sick from eating chocolate the several times he has managed to sneak some, but it's a risky food for this little boy and I don't want him unable to eat chocolate when it would really matter to him.)
Dermot: *heartbreaking little eyes welling up with tears, pointing at the bag* Mommy Daddy eat it.
(He has seen us both munching on those infernal chips for a quick chocolate fix lately.)
Me: *realizing I'm caught in a double-standard that I have to explain to a two-year-old* Yes, honey, Mommy and Daddy can eat it because it doesn't make us sick. Someday when you're bigger, it won't make you sick and you can have some too, okay?
Dermot: *cries*
Me: *wants to crawl under a rock*
I hate having to treat food this way with him. I hate having to fear the possible effects of a random exposure or a newly developed reaction to a formerly safe food. I hate that his list of absolutely forbidden foods keeps growing. Sigh. My life as a mommy to an allergic little boy. Sometimes it really sucks. |
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| A few minutes ago. |
[Aug. 31st, 2007|11:56 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  surprised | ] |
Dermot is on his second banana while watching Thomas the Tank Engine so I can be downstairs for a few minutes and take care of some laundry. Lemme back up and try to do this coherently...
First thing this morning, Dermot asked for a banana, except that we went back to sleep for most of the morning, which was awesome and I gotta figure out how to get him to do that more because I really needed it! So when we got up, I gave him a banana, set him up with some Thomas, and came downstairs to take care of laundry and sundry. While I was down here, I heard the (rather heavy) fruit bowl being moved from its usual location, and realized that he was going for the last banana. No problem, but I don't want him breaking his foot or shattering glass all over the floor, so I ran up to help him. No need, he had everything well in hand. The bowl was already safely on the floor by the time I arrived.
But where was his other banana? I went looking for it, but there was no sign of it anywhere. So I asked Dermot. "Where's your banana?"
"Table," he said, pointing to the coffee table. (He had left it on the coffee table earlier so that he could use the toilet.)
"But it isn't there, honey. Where did you put it when you were done with it?" I am imagining smooshed banana between the couch cushions or something equally terrible.
"Garbage." (Okay, so it sounds more like "gahbag," he's two, remember.)
"You put the banana in the garbage? The banana or just the peel?"
"Dut peel."
We walk into the kitchen and check. Sure enough, banana peel in the garbage. So despite his earlier requests for banana pops, which I hadn't made yet, I acquiesced and gave him the second banana before returning to the basement. Moments later I heard the familiar sound of the garbage lid in the kitchen.
"Dermot, are you done with your banana already?"
"No, garbage."
"Are you putting your banana in the garbage?"
"No."
Confused, I join him at the garbage can, thinking he is discarding perfectly good banana or something. Nope, he's just peeling the rest of his banana so he can eat it without any trouble. Just the peel in the garbage can, edible portion safely in his hand.
When did he get so grown up? Where's my baby boy?!? |
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| So cute. |
[Aug. 15th, 2007|07:57 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | amused | ] |
Dermot likes to greet Daddy at the front window when he gets home from work (then he runs to the door and yells, "SURPRISE!" as Daddy walks in).
So today Daddy got home while Dermot was in the middle of eating a (rice) tortilla, one of his all-time favourite foods. As usual, Dermot opened the window so he could call to Daddy before he was even out of the car. "Hi Daddy! Hello! Lello Daddy!" ("lello" is "love you" in Dermot-speak). He then realized he had run out of tortilla, so he held up one finger and called out, "One mimmick, more tia!" ("One minute, more tortilla!"). Then he ran back to his plate, grabbed another piece of tortilla, and returned to the window to show Daddy.
I had never heard him use that phrase before (though I know where he got it; I use it plenty), and the finger-holding-up was the best part. I couldn't stop laughing. Too funny.
(And as I have not been posting, there is much, much more. But I'll get to it.) |
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| A New Dilemma |
[Mar. 15th, 2007|11:57 am] |
Pottying-related, to forewarn you.
Dermot has been putting almost all of his pees and some of his poops in the potty for the last couple of weeks. If we have a miss, it's usually poop and he informs me of it immediately (thanks, kiddo!). The last time we had a miss at night was...at least a month ago, maybe six weeks (though to be honest he has always been very clear about signalling at night and we'd been at about a miss a month for a while). The last time he used training pants was over a week ago while we were out visiting. At home during the day, he's usually either nakey-butt or in little undies or commando under pants to facilitate easy pottying (still nakey-butt at night). Which is working out great. We've even had him in undies to go out to run errands, without incident.
This has all been precipitated by a recent and unforeseen change in his potty rhythms, wherein his potty intervals increased dramatically and overnight. Now even when I'm busy or distracted, I can remind him before it's too late or find a suitable break in his activities during which he can potty. We've been much more in sync the past couple of months, and it's only getting better.
So all is well in pottyland. Wherein may lie our problem. We're going to be away from home for the weekend at a wedding, thus departing pottyland for a while. That means he won't be able to run around nakey-butt, and we're not sure about the undies. I think actually Brian is more nervous than I am, but I don't want to send any mixed signals to Dermot. I want him to know that I trust him to go potty when he has to.
What to do? Bring a supply of undies and extra pants and hope for the best? Bring training pants again? A happy dilemma. And one I'm sure will be solved by doing a bit of both. But the undies are much, much cuter. |
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| My little pro-star, part 2 -- The proof |
[Feb. 18th, 2007|12:39 am] |
Got the pics from my brother. The first set is from December 9th, his second day having skates. By this point, he was able to walk on them and do a little stick-handling. He also learned how to get up by himself when he fell down. This was a Christmas get-together with extended family.
Then we had our Christmas with my mom and brother on New Year's Day, and we went out skating together at City Hall. Here are some pictures of our outing. This was, if memory serves, the third time he had been on ice in the skates.
His biggest accomplishment that day was standing for about three seconds on his own. He also managed to glide a bit while being pulled. That was it. Mostly a lot of falling down and slipping all over the place.
So, it had been six weeks since Dermot was last on skates on ice. With the abandonment of our backyard rink, it took much longer than we had realized to go out skating again. As it turns out, however, our neighbour (the former mayor) very kindly offered his own backyard rink to use. We went out today (er, yesterday--and I should be in bed!), with rather shocking results.
I don't know, maybe he's been secretly taking lessons or something. At first, we did the holding his hands, pulling him around thing. It worked about as well as it had the last time. We tried a skating sled. He wasn't a fan. He kept trying to let go of my hand as I supported him, so finally I let him try on his own. There was a lot of falling down, to be sure. Then, there was a lot of...not falling down. And some movement forward. And some movement backward. And some pivoting and turning. And some playing with a stick and a puck. All. By. Himself.
It finally occurred to me to grab the camera and record some of it, but the batteries were almost out of juice, so I didn't get much.
Take that, Brad.
I may still get to uploading some video. Right now I'm off to bed! |
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| Dermot's signs. |
[Feb. 17th, 2007|11:45 pm] |
And, as promised, the list of signs.
Italics indicate signs learned since 15 months. Roughly in the order he acquired them.
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| Dermot-speak |
[Feb. 17th, 2007|11:22 pm] |
As promised, here is a (mostly up-to-date) relatively alphabetized list of Dermot's words, for those who would like to understand him when he is speaking (that's mostly you, Mom--you forgot your copy on Thursday). |
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| A very late 18 month update. |
[Feb. 17th, 2007|10:54 pm] |
[It's about time I posted an update. I started this thing just before he turned 18 months because I knew it would take a while. And then it did. Hard to get this sort of thing done when my computer was tucked into a dark corner of Brian's (Dermot-free) computer room and I get 5-10 minutes a day of computer time. Pretend it's last month.]
So Derdoo is 18 (er, 19, but this is old information) months old. That's what he calls himself: Derdoo. So we sometimes call him that too.
I could never have imagined motherhood being so wonderful. Really, if I could get a guarantee that all my children would be just like Dermot I would greedily have a dozen more. Being his mother is fantastic. I could not have wished for a more likeable, more affectionate, more sensitive, brighter, more curious, more intense, or more energetic son. He is so eager to share his world with me. I feel incredibly blessed.
He keeps surprising us with new words. My mother and I were meeting up with my Great-Aunt to spend the day at St. Jacobs, so Dermot and I hitched a ride with Daddy on his way to work. As Brian was putting him into his carseat, Dermot started arching and wiggling out of the seat (as usual), so Brian put him back in and explained that he had to sit in his seat when he was in the car. The following conversation ensued: Dermot: Buh-buck. Brian: What? Dermot: Buh-buck! Buh-buck! Brian: You want your puck? Duck? Button? Potty? … Dermot: *staring telepathically at Daddy* Buh-buck. Brian: Can you sign it? Dermot: *makes standard I-don't-know-the-sign-but-I'll-give-it-a-shot-because-you-asked sign* Buh-buck. Brian: Uhhh… I don't know what that means. Dermot: *continues staring telepathically at Daddy* Buh-buck! *lifts off of the seat and reaches for his bum* Brian: Poopoo? You need to do a poopoo? Dermot: *pointing at his own butt* Buh-buck. Buh-buck. In a separate entry I'll post a cumulative list of his words so you can see what I mean when I talk about him talking. His pronunciation is very limited, but improving. He just got his K to a consistent level in the first couple of weeks of January. Generally he doesn't attempt words unless he thinks he can get close enough to be understood, but there are a few that aren't remotely like the signified item. It's so nice to be able to ask for a sign or, failing that, for him to point when we don't understand. He doesn't have a sign for all of the words he says, but there's a lot of very helpful overlap. Oh yeah, and I handily alphabetized the list so that it also serves as a Dermot-speak glossary for those times when we have trouble understanding him. Of course I have to mention the signing (he recently came up with his own remarkably logical sign for "Don Cherry"). Skip over it if you're sick of hearing about it. I'll put his signs list into a separate post as well. Shockingly, however, the popularity of Signing Time in our household has been eclipsed by a new favourite show. Also for Christmas, we received both current volumes of Animusic. Had I not actually seen the animations and heard the music, it would not have been something to which I would pay much attention. I'm glad I was introduced to these DVDs, though, because they're complex and well-crafted and they're fascinating on so many levels. Which is a good thing, because we have a little addict who walks around requesting, nay, begging for, "mee mee" (music). And lest you think that just any music will do, as I unwittingly did, he means Animusic and ONLY Animusic. And he often means a specific volume of Animusic. The boy has opinions. He comes up with some unbelieveable things, too. During my father's funeral service, Dermot was really quiet and low-key, which is not terribly surprising, but also not much in character with his normally energetic and excitable self. Anyway, toward the end of the service, Dermot started to get restless, so Brian and I passed him back and forth for a bit, then Brian let him stand on the floor and play with his fingers. At one point, Brian had his two index fingers pointed at Dermot and Dermot was going back and forth between them saying, "Dee. Boo. Dee. Boo. Dee. Boo…" I looked at him, wondering what in the world he was doing and suddenly realized. I looked down at his shoes, and sure enough he was right. Dee and boo. Dermot's Robeez have a train ("dee") on one foot and a caboose ("boo") on the other. On our way to the reception I checked to see if I could replicate the results. Yep. Which means that in his own way, Dermot knows his left and right. He just doesn't call them that. |
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| My little pro-star. |
[Feb. 10th, 2007|12:19 am] |
I'm trying hard to finish up the 18 month update I started, uh, almost a month ago (almost there!), and I'm finding it long--too long to hit people with all at once. So I have decided to chop it up into smaller postings. Without further ado...
Dermot has an uncanny knack for skates, of which I should have written when it first appeared two months ago. My mom and I were out shopping December 8 and, on a whim, went into a sports store to see how small the skates came. The sales guy there was amused at our interest and suggested that it was probably premature to be putting a nearly 17 month old in skates. True enough. We put the smallest pair on Dermot just to see what the hockey-crazed toddler thought, though. He was delighted. The sales guy (let's call him Brad, because I am certain that was not his name) opined that the skates were way too big for Dermot. Also true. Dermot did not care. Brad pronounced authoritatively that unless my son's name was Wayne Gretzky, he would probably not be able to stand up in the skates, much less locomote. Meh to that, we said. Dermot stood wobbling on his skates while we held his hands. "Wow, he's strong for his age," Brad said. "He's got really good balance." "Yes," we said. Dermot took some very unsteady steps in the skates while we held his hands. It's a good thing Brad was called away to another customer when he was, because he would have hit the floor (as both of our jaws did) when Dermot let go of us and took three or four steps on his own. We were just holding him back, is all. He needed some speed. Mom and I just looked at each other and stammered, "Did you see that? Did he really just...? Wow, that's...wow." And then we went to take off his skates. Dermot protested, loudly and with kicking motions. In moderately sharp skates. Since we had nowhere to be and had only arbitrarily decided to leave, we figured we could give him a few more minutes in the skates. He was thrilled, the kind of thrilled that makes a mother's heart swell with pride. After a few more minutes of Dermot toddling precariously in the skates while he held our hands for balance, wobbling around, and falling down, we tried again to take the skates off. He still wasn't ready. He was also quite overdue for his nap. Our third attempt was successful, and Dermot good-naturedly deigned to have the skates removed. Needless to say, we walked out of the store with an early Christmas gift for Dermot (and it was kind of a gift for his Daddy). His first few times on ice in skates were consumed with a toddler's fascination with the frictionless nature of skate blades on ice. He is starting to get the hang of standing and gliding with support, though.
And you should see him with a hockey stick and a puck (except that he pronounces stick with a d and puck with a breathy b, which makes for interesting looks from passersby when he notices such items while out in public). Be-skated or not, he is truly a force with which to be reckoned.
Brian is attempting a backyard rink, which would be finished were it not for the blizzardiness we've been experiencing. What we have right now is an inch of ice surface covered by two feet of snow. Dermot will be in his glory when he can have a little ice time every afternoon.
I'll post some pictures when I get them from my brother (he has all of the good ones). Maybe some video. We've got some decent video. |
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| Thank you, friends. |
[Jan. 3rd, 2007|01:20 pm] |
I have been avoiding that entry about my father for a while, and I'm sure some of you have felt that your comments were ignored. They were not. Actually, they were much-appreciated and my thanks is long overdue. Your kindness and sympathy have helped me through the past weeks. Just knowing that people cared enough to post replies meant so much to me. Thank you.
The holidays were strange this year. I had already bought some gifts by November, but all of them were for my father, bizarrely enough. He was always hard to buy for and then there was his birthday (tomorrow) following closely on the heels of Christmas, so I had planned ahead this year and looked for things early. How often do you think when you're buying a Christmas gift for someone that they won't be alive to receive it? I wish I had known to give him his gifts early. Or maybe just to space out the gift-giving throughout the year. Why wait for Christmas (or birthdays, or Father's Day, or Mother's Day, for that matter) at all? Life is so fragile.
And I'm upsetting myself now, so rather than being Captain Bring-Down for all of you too, I'll just sign off with the promise to return when I can keep it together a bit. Sound good? |
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| Christmas and all that. |
[Dec. 27th, 2006|09:29 am] |
I suppose it's time for me to get back on here. Christmas wasn't especially Christmas-y this year for me, partly because of the massive shortage of snow, partly because of preparing for my mother-in-law to move in with us, and no doubt mostly because of my father's death last month. So things have been relatively unfestive here. For those who might have been expecting Christmas cards from us this year, I apologize. I didn't get my act together enough after the funeral to get such things done, and, truth be told, I wasn't much in the mood for writing Christmas cards. Merry Christmas anyway!
Anyway, we finally did make it to the mall Santa for a picture. Unfortunately, it's pretty disappointing. Poor quality picture, ridiculously bad backdrop (er, there was a backdrop?), all in all, lacking.
I kid you not, that's what we got. Good grief, what were we thinking?! The only salvation of that picture is the nice man who was Santa and the sweet expression on Dermot's face.
Maybe it's just because I was thoroughly and unwittingly spoiled by last year's picture, which was much nicer, taken by a professional photographer (rather than teenaged girls) who had an eye for composition (rather than...well, take a look), printed by a photo store (rather than an instant picture kiosk--ew), with beautiful colours and a festive backdrop (don't even get me started).
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| Too cute not to share. |
[Nov. 4th, 2006|10:11 pm] |
As it happens, my darling son loves tobogganing. Not that he was on a toboggan, mind you. He was on a Magic Carpet (or whatever those flimsy, hazardous, but ubiquitous strips of plastic are called). But he doesn't know the difference and he loves it all the same.
Daddy took Dermot out this morning for some wintertime frolicking and Mommy remained relatively un-snow-encrusted while taking videos and pictures of the event. I didn't get any good action pictures, so I pulled some stills out of the videos for a couple of runs.
*smile* I can handle a long, cold, snowy winter if this is what I get to see everyday. |
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| So, um, hello winter?! |
[Nov. 3rd, 2006|06:40 pm] |
It is officially winter at our house. I can tell by the snow. The snow I saw when I woke up this morning. |
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| Various and sundry. |
[Nov. 1st, 2006|10:57 pm] |
Last night I thought I was going to post about our new Signing Time DVDs that finally arrived. Shipping, handling, border crossings, everything took longer than it should have (except the filling of my order by the lovely people at Signing Time—that was much faster than I expected), so it took two weeks instead of one to receive our package. Not to mention the extra charges. And the having to sign for it. And the resulting inconveniences thereof. Because I ordered it from Signing Time and not the Signing Store. I wish I had known about the Canadian alternative before I ordered them! Wouldn't you know, I found out a couple of days after ordering. It's a good thing I get to do this over when we order again, so I can right the injustices of the USPS by avoiding it entirely. More exciting last night—and I thought nothing would outshine the Signing Time, but outshine it did—was his new skill. He can walk down stairs by himself now, unsupervised, mostly holding the rail because he's still little enough that it's ill-conceived just to drop a foot over the edge.
This morning he found a tissue. He proceeded to wipe his (already clean) hands with it and then his (also clean) face, before he took off running for the bathroom. I considered just waiting for him to reappear but my curiosity got the better of me and I went after him. By the time I got to the bathroom, he was merrily on his way back, empty-handed. Puzzled, I asked him what happened to the tissue. He was not forth-coming, but I was cleverly able to deduce that he had put it in the garbage and was quite pleased with himself. I was pretty pleased with him, too, but confused. When did he become concerned with picking up after himself?
As it turns out, Daddy has been teaching him. "Here, Dermot, can you put this in the garbage?" Yes, yes he can. "Dermot, do you want to put this away in that drawer?" Sure, Dad. I knew of the drawer-putting-away after Brian demonstrated proudly the other day. I did not know about the garbage-putting-away until after I had discovered an assortment of building blocks, a water bottle, and a left shoe in various garbage receptacles around the house. Brian found it amusing, probably because he didn't have to touch garbage to reclaim non-garbage items. I found it somewhat less amusing, for pretty much the same reason. |
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| My little cracker monster. |
[Oct. 31st, 2006|10:49 am] |
Heheh.
How cute is that? Too tired to take a bite. Luckily, he stayed asleep long enough for me to run and grab the camera.
This may be even cuter than when we find him fast asleep covered in cracker shrapnel like a cracker exploded all over him. I wondered when I passed him that last cracker whether he was in the process of falling asleep. He hadn't asked for one, but he didn't turn me down.
For the record, dear husband, that's not how to do up his seatbelt, but kudos for managing to get it done up at all against such vehement opposition! |
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| 200 signs! |
[Oct. 29th, 2006|05:47 pm] |
I almost forgot, but this is a milestone that probably merits mentioning. I discovered as I updated Dermot's sign list that he reached 200 signs on Friday.
In a way, it's totally normal, because that's just how things are for us, it's just what he does. And then I think about it and I'm struck by the size of that number. I might have expected this at 18 months or so, but we're not even close. Proud is not really the word. I am awestruck by my little man. |
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