<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054</id><updated>2011-09-11T08:22:43.816-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenting - Live!</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>70</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-1940060569813902735</id><published>2011-04-20T21:28:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-20T21:30:51.216-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Snow in April</title><content type='html'>S was pretty excited about seeing snow this morning - I was just annoyed that I had to clean off the car because the garage is blocked by a dumpster and currently unusable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he helps put it in perspective, he walks outside immediately sticks his tongue out to catch the snow flakes and explains to me that "Minnesota is confused, it's really spring."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-1940060569813902735?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/1940060569813902735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=1940060569813902735' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1940060569813902735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1940060569813902735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2011/04/snow-in-april.html' title='Snow in April'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-2370689314448299741</id><published>2011-03-01T20:46:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-03-01T20:52:26.903-06:00</updated><title type='text'>GD</title><content type='html'>Having gestational diabetes is not something I would normally post about, but why not.&lt;br /&gt;Pregnancy #2, GD take 2, the only difference this time around is that I have a curious 4-year old asking tons of questions and wanting to watch everytime I check my blood sugar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's his take on what's happening:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I picked S up at school the other day and he showed me a pipe cleaner he had to bring home to "test my blood sugar." He then demonstrated by using the tip of the pipe cleaner to poke his finger and explained it was a little sharp but not too sharp to give him just a little stick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then went on to explain what his blood sugar test was for - which he said is different then mine, his test tells him how much sugar to have. The diagnosis:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It says I need one cookie a day, one chocolate chip muffin a day, and one all chocolatey muffin a day. That's how much sugar I need." [wish my test worked liked that]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He continues to watch me test, and use his pipe cleaner to test along with me. Tonight after dinner, our blood sugar was exactly the same with our different testing methods.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-2370689314448299741?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/2370689314448299741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=2370689314448299741' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2370689314448299741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2370689314448299741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2011/03/gd.html' title='GD'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-5012854685086799448</id><published>2010-12-13T11:50:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-12-13T16:04:37.258-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Introducing Hammy</title><content type='html'>I'm not sure about the exact chain of events, but it went something like this - G brought a ham home from work, S was thrilled, we took a family vote (I lost 2-1) and the baby (at least before it is born) is now called "Hammy". I'll admit, after a few days, it is starting to grow on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's right, we're pregnant and due in June. S couldn't be more thrilled about being a big brother, he gets giddy when telling anyone about his "big secret" that "mommy has a baby in her belly." And he spends a lot of time talking about all he'll do with the baby when it's born, read, sing, the works. And he decided last night that he's going to learn how to hold the baby the "special way" so he can take care of it himself - later that night he decided that actually the whole family should take care of the baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are a few other things we've heard from S:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's going to come out head first right?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can we call the baby Mickey Mouse? And then what if we called it Minnie by accident?" [followed by hysterical laughing]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: Let's call the baby SAS.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Won't that be confusing, if I call your name you won't know who I'm talking to. What if I say S, you need to sit in your listener chair (aka time out), who would I be talking to.&lt;br /&gt;S: The baby.&lt;br /&gt;Me: What if I say S, come get a special treat, who would I be talking to?&lt;br /&gt;S: no words required - with a big grin, points to himself!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: You can call the baby whatever you want when it's in my belly. Then when the baby is born, you can give us ideas for names, but mommy and daddy will make the final decision.&lt;br /&gt;S: How bout this. I can call the baby whatever I want when it's in your belly, and then when the baby is born, the whole family will decide what to call it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: Can I feel the baby?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Sure.&lt;br /&gt;S: [with hand on my belly] I think I just felt the baby's nose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: [after giving me a very sweet hug in the morning] I gave some of my hug to you and some of my hug to the baby.&lt;br /&gt;[he now continues to give big hugs to me and Hammy]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: I'm going to give you the biggest hug ever and the biggest high-5 ever after the baby is born if it doesn't hurt coming out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-5012854685086799448?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/5012854685086799448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=5012854685086799448' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5012854685086799448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5012854685086799448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/11/introducing-hammy.html' title='Introducing Hammy'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-3519814191796046465</id><published>2010-11-18T09:36:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-11-18T09:38:46.760-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Be specific please</title><content type='html'>A conversation S and I had in the car this morning on the way to school:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: I love these pretty flowers.&lt;br /&gt;Me: You mean the ones on your drink.&lt;br /&gt;S: No, my drink is water.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh, the ones on the cup your drink is in.&lt;br /&gt;S: Yes on the top by where I drink from. If they were in my drink they would be floating in the water and that would just be silly.&lt;br /&gt;Me: You're right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-3519814191796046465?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/3519814191796046465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=3519814191796046465' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3519814191796046465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3519814191796046465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/11/be-specific-please.html' title='Be specific please'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-8392424988218121289</id><published>2010-10-20T14:02:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-20T14:05:26.003-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Consequences</title><content type='html'>As parents, our words always sound different coming from our children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S was playing with his barn last night, and built up a barn area and decided a pig wanted to go insde. He rammed the pig into the block that was the door which then fell inside what was the barn. Next:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[said in a voice that I think was supposed to be the pig] "Oh no, I didn't want my door inside there."&lt;br /&gt;[as himself, and very nonchalant] "That's the consequence."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I could do was laugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-8392424988218121289?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/8392424988218121289/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=8392424988218121289' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8392424988218121289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8392424988218121289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/10/consequences.html' title='Consequences'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-24688462705831881</id><published>2010-10-12T08:22:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-12T08:25:31.357-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What fell on the Mall of America?</title><content type='html'>Here's the conversation S and I had in the car this morning:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: Mama, what fell on the Mall of America?&lt;br /&gt;Me: What fell on it?&lt;br /&gt;S: Yes, what fell on the Mall of America?&lt;br /&gt;Me: I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;S: Yes you do. I heard you say it when there was no mail, what fell on the Mall of America.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh, are you thinking about Columbus Day, when I said Christopher Columbus landed on the shores of America.&lt;br /&gt;S: Yes, he fell on the Mall of America.&lt;br /&gt;Me: No, he was on a boat and landed on the shores of the United States of America, not the Mall of America.&lt;br /&gt;S: Oh. Why was he on a boat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the conversation went on from there.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-24688462705831881?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/24688462705831881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=24688462705831881' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/24688462705831881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/24688462705831881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/10/what-fell-on-mall-of-america.html' title='What fell on the Mall of America?'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-3952563838547444657</id><published>2010-10-01T10:44:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-01T10:46:05.287-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A boy, a girl, and a playground</title><content type='html'>S: What's the boy in a wedding called?&lt;br /&gt;Me: The groom.&lt;br /&gt;S: Sophie invited me to her wedding. She was the girl and she wanted me to be the boy.&lt;br /&gt;Pause&lt;br /&gt;S: I told her no, I was playing a football tournament. Maybe I could play wedding with her the next day, I don't know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-3952563838547444657?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/3952563838547444657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=3952563838547444657' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3952563838547444657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3952563838547444657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/10/boy-girl-and-playground.html' title='A boy, a girl, and a playground'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-2640667723602998365</id><published>2010-09-22T08:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-22T08:55:55.872-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Roar</title><content type='html'>What we know hear when we say something S doesn't like. For instance, when he got up this morning, Geoff walked with him into the bathroom and told him to use the potty - the response "Roar!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has also taken to saying, in a very calm rational voice, "It's not your choice what I do, it's my choice. You can't tell me what to do, it's my choice."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-2640667723602998365?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/2640667723602998365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=2640667723602998365' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2640667723602998365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2640667723602998365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/09/roar.html' title='Roar'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-4546881187130868256</id><published>2010-09-13T14:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-13T14:52:31.489-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The blessing and curse of TV</title><content type='html'>Geoff thought I should post about this and since he rarely (or never) says that, I thought I should honor his request:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S has never been much for TV - mainly by design and partly by his personality, he would choose being outside and running around, or any other physical activity really, over TV any day - and we have done our best to encourage that. With that said, I recognize the need for some peace and quiet around the house every so often, if only for 15 minutes, and can certainly appreciate TVs ability to bring that on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Part two of this story - S was sick last week and unable to go to daycare. He's rarely sick and when he has had to stay home, it hasn't been a problem to coordinate between Geoff and I - not so last week. Everything that could have gone wrong did, so I ended up staying home with S, but had a 3 hour meeting that I couldn't really miss - so yes, this meant a 3 hr phone meeting and a kid who doesn't sit and watch TV or even play by himself very well or very quietly. So for three hours S watched a video for 15 minutes or so, paused it (fortunately he has mastered this skill), did a puzzle or some other activity, then watched a few more minutes, etc. etc. He spent the morning running back and forth between rooms, often trying to get my attention. Because he wasn't feeling well, he was much more low key than &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;usual&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, the kid I don't want to sit and watch TV, did what we wanted, only this time I really wanted him to watch TV and was just wishing he could get engrossed in a movie for an hour or two - ironic and our fault, I know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-4546881187130868256?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/4546881187130868256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=4546881187130868256' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4546881187130868256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4546881187130868256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/09/blessing-and-curse-of-tv.html' title='The blessing and curse of TV'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-3473706823739075373</id><published>2010-09-13T14:29:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-14T09:12:33.259-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What if....</title><content type='html'>Although we haven't moved beyond the "why?" stage we have also been in the "what if" stage - no one told me about this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This means we hear things like:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--What if you were walking down the street and you saw a shark and Batman walking down the street too?&lt;br /&gt;--What if your ears were on your belly? How could you hear if your ears were covered with your shirt?&lt;br /&gt;--What if your feet were on your head, you'd have to walk on your head.&lt;br /&gt;--What if we went to Como Town and they said we had a million points to ride the bumper cars? [his favorite activity, he would ride the bumper cars all day if we let him]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And sometimes it's followed up with - "could you imagine that?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S informed me yesterday that our minds don't work the same - and I wholeheartedly agreed, explaining we're all unique there's no other S out there in the world and that's what makes us all special, and it's okay (even good) to have a different take on the world.&lt;br /&gt;That's one of the great things about all the questions he comes up with - it gives me a new perspective on the world and forces me to think about small things in different ways. Although not a why or what if question, we also get a lot of questions about what words mean - what does sneaky mean or failed, try being a child's dictionary for a few hours to really clarify your own thinking and biases....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-3473706823739075373?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/3473706823739075373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=3473706823739075373' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3473706823739075373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3473706823739075373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/09/what-if.html' title='What if....'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-5434363100889736256</id><published>2010-08-24T12:35:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-24T12:39:04.381-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cool!</title><content type='html'>I am going to try being better at posting some of the funny things S says, so here's a couple:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're in the car and he's trying on Geoff's hard hat, he puts it on backwards and says,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is how cool kids wear their hats. Are you a cool adult?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In preparation for my camping trip this year he had some good advice on keeping the bears away,&lt;br /&gt;"You could try throwing a cookie at it."  or&lt;br /&gt;"You should go find the mama bear and tell her so she can tell the baby bear not to take your food."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-5434363100889736256?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/5434363100889736256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=5434363100889736256' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5434363100889736256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5434363100889736256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/08/cool.html' title='Cool!'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-8387500816851419918</id><published>2010-07-15T09:43:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T10:01:58.116-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A truly amazing librarian</title><content type='html'>Every two weeks, we have the privilege of visiting the bookmobile (bookmeal as S says). It parks in the church parking lot down the street from our house and is filled with kids books. We have been going for about two years now and the librarian knows us well - she's really great with kids, even gave S his own library card. She recommends books and orders whatever S asks for, even when it's Clifford's Christmas and it happens to be June.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the routine - we pick out books, S pulls the stool over to the desk hands her his books and library card then asks if he can have a sticker. She pulls out a little box and he can pick a sticker. Then S says, "do you have any tattoos?" When we first started going to the bookmobile there were stickers and tattoos in the box. The tattoos were pathetic, I don't think we ever had one that actually stuck to S's arm. But still, week after week he asked for a tattoo. Eventually they ran out of tattoos and never replenished the supply. They probably ran out a year ago, maybe longer, but still S asks if she has any tattoos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks ago we visit the bookmobile, S asks for a sticker and a tattoo and the librarian says she doesn't have any tattoos but she'll look into getting some. She then says, if I'm going to be getting tattoos, I should get what you want, what kind of tattoos would you like. S declares "dogs." She then looks at us and asks where to get tattoos, we have no great insight, I suggest the dollar store but say we usually just get them at give aways. She says she'll try to find some dog tattoos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks later we arrive at the bookmobile, excited to pick up all the books S has ordered, and there is a different librarian there. S asks if she has any books for him, she asks his name, he tells her, and she hands him a little envelope. We open it and find a note that reads:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S-&lt;br /&gt;Sorry I can't be here tonight. Here are some tattoos I found for you. See you in two weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And inside the envelope were some dog tattoos. S was beyond excited and it warmed my heart.&lt;br /&gt;In two weeks we'll have to be sure to say thank you. What a truly special woman - who makes visiting the library an adventure we never want to miss.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-8387500816851419918?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/8387500816851419918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=8387500816851419918' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8387500816851419918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8387500816851419918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/07/truly-amazing-librarian.html' title='A truly amazing librarian'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-1556923030003506614</id><published>2010-07-06T13:15:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-07-06T13:48:13.006-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pig Pig</title><content type='html'>S has taken to snorting, and of course thinks it's hysterical. We have been trying to discourage him. Yesterday I explained that it's not a very nice noise and other people don't want to have to listen to it. The conversation ended up with, "if I'm alone in my room can I snort."&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yes&lt;br /&gt;Flash forward a couple of hours. S is attempting to get out of taking his nap. I tell him that he can choose not to sleep but he needs to rest quietly in his bed - he can look at books, sing to himself, whatever he wants, he just needs to rest [and stop screaming for us]. As I'm walking out of his room he says, "can I snort?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yes&lt;br /&gt;S: Lots of giggling, then "okay."&lt;br /&gt;A couple minutes later we hear him start snorting then hysterical laughing. This doesn't last long. Five minutes later same thing, snort, snort, snort, laughing, snort, snort.&lt;br /&gt;Good thing he couldn't see us because we were laughing hysterically also as S put himself to sleep by snorting like a pig.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-1556923030003506614?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/1556923030003506614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=1556923030003506614' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1556923030003506614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1556923030003506614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/07/pig-pig.html' title='Pig Pig'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-2077818517703455078</id><published>2010-06-15T15:37:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-17T12:58:57.034-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What I'm learning</title><content type='html'>I'm learning a lot about myself as a parent and a lot about the world in general, here's some of the "wisdom":&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. When a kid makes up words you end up hearing things like so and so "is a hooker" or "fucker" and then need to try not to laugh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Kindness and respect are really important to me - not a major revelation - but the way it warms my heart when he spontaneously says things like "you're welcome over to our house any time" to his friend across the street or "welcome back we missed you" to a teacher who was gone for a week. I only hope this is a sign of what's to come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. At 3, my kid knows more than me about many things and he's happy to explain them - why there are rainbows, how you can tell that the dinosaur is a parasophalophus, the hand motion the officials do in a basketball game when a player is called for traveling (no idea where he learned that) and the list goes on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. When you whine about something it's called "acting like a toddler."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. We happen to have a kid who is generally a rule follower - he knows the rules and is happy to tell you when you're not following them (like telling strangers it's not safe to ride your bike without a helmet or it's not kind to splash people by jumping in a puddle). He also gets the concept of "school" - i.e. listening to a teacher, following the rules, sitting quietly and waiting your turn, etc. Not all kids know this or behave this way and it's okay for S to be around that - it's a hard but important lesson to learn that just because someone else is doing something doesn't mean you should too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I am trying to live more by the motto - Don't be so quick to judge. This hit me a couple of times recently. First when there was  a news story about a mom ignoring her son because she was on a cell phone or iTouch or something and eventually the kid bit her to get her attention. The assumption of the story was "bad parenting". What if we stepped back to see an overworked exhausted parent, a kid who talks nonstop all day and is learning patience, is it so horrible to make him wait a minute (without biting of course) for a parent's attention? The second was at swim class. Two boys in the class were totally not paying attention, doing their own thing, and running around splashing all the other kids. The parents were 10 feet away and did nothing. My initial reaction was, who let's their kids act like that. If that was S I would pull him out of the pool and explain he needs to listen to the teacher, it ruins the class for the other kids, it's not safe, etc. etc. Then I see a very pregnant mother who is parent to one of the boys, okay she's tired, this is probably what she deals with all the time, she may be out of energy for the moment to deal with it. My explanation goes in many other directions as well, most not as understanding, but I'm trying to go with, don't be so quick to judge - we all do the best can with the cards we're dealt at the moment, a different time and place and the scene would play out very differently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. It's really hard not to laugh at times - conversation between S and dad in the car:&lt;br /&gt;S: (adjusting his car seat belt) is this okay so it's not cutting into my neck?&lt;br /&gt;Dad: Yes. (then to me) Did you tell him that?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yes, he's been moving the chest strap up to his neck and down to his belly so I was telling him where to keep it for safety.&lt;br /&gt;Dad: (to S) Remember when you asked mom about your nipples?&lt;br /&gt;S: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;Dad: Do you remember where they are?&lt;br /&gt;S: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;Dad: Point to them.&lt;br /&gt;S: (points to his nipples)&lt;br /&gt;Dad:  The buckle goes right across your nipples.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Flash back a week or two, S standing in the bathroom with no shirt, pointing to both nipples. What are these momma? Your nipples. What are these squishy things under your nipples? Now really how am I supposed to answer these questions without a chuckle?]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-2077818517703455078?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/2077818517703455078/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=2077818517703455078' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2077818517703455078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2077818517703455078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-im-learning.html' title='What I&apos;m learning'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-4877628157243126181</id><published>2010-06-10T15:41:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T15:48:09.786-05:00</updated><title type='text'>When I'm 16....</title><content type='html'>I know I'm the worst blogger ever, but that isn't going to stop me from a few more posts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the conversation S and I had in the car yesterday:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: Why am I too young to drive?&lt;br /&gt;It's the law, you have to be 16 to drive.&lt;br /&gt;S: When will I be 16?&lt;br /&gt;In 13 years, how old are you now?&lt;br /&gt;S: 3&lt;br /&gt;13 plus 3 equals 16.&lt;br /&gt;S: What else can I do when I'm 16?&lt;br /&gt;[Note: it feels like we've been talking a lot lately about what you can do when you're older so I'm trying to make all the things he can do now sound cool and all the things he can do later sound less interesting.]&lt;br /&gt;Go to high school. Cross the street without holding a hand.&lt;br /&gt;S: Maybe walk away from the house by myself without a grownup.&lt;br /&gt;Yep.&lt;br /&gt;S: Chew gum while I'm walking around [since the Grand Old Day parade where he received lots of gum he's been fascinated so we gave him piece to try, two chews and he was done but was very proud, but it came with rules like you  need to be sitting down and with a grown up]&lt;br /&gt;Umm, stay up late and sleep late. Play football.&lt;br /&gt;S: (Lots of giggling with excitement, just anticipating all the fun things he can do.) What else?&lt;br /&gt;Ummmm.......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-4877628157243126181?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/4877628157243126181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=4877628157243126181' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4877628157243126181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4877628157243126181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/06/when-im-16.html' title='When I&apos;m 16....'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-797708211231465347</id><published>2010-01-25T20:58:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-25T21:02:28.585-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What I overheard....</title><content type='html'>in the curling club locker room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Parent: "She said, you love that kid, but I love him more."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest is a recap of the discussion that followed, but not direct quotes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Parent: I thought how could you love him more, I'm his mother. She said it very lovingly, it wasn't meant to be hurtful, and I could tell she really meant it and believed it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grandparent: It's true, grandparents love their grandkids more than their parents love them. It's different because they're not yours, and they're not a given, and you could lose them at any time. It's a really special relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What else is there to say?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-797708211231465347?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/797708211231465347/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=797708211231465347' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/797708211231465347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/797708211231465347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2010/01/what-i-overheard.html' title='What I overheard....'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-1295122742102444336</id><published>2009-12-28T13:46:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-28T13:50:24.332-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Two snowmen converged in our yard</title><content type='html'>Our yard has two snowmen - one was a traditional three tier snowman (engineer style), and the other was a big mound (mom and kid style). We thought both were complete until dinner that night when S looks at us very seriously and says, "Mama I want to give my snowman a penis and a bottom." Very funny! Don't worry, we didn't add anything to the snowman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day two - it had gotten warmer, we looked outside at the creations and one snowman had lost his head. S explained, "Your snowman lost his head daddy, mine didn't because I pushed it down." The kid style snowman (big mound of snow) wins!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-1295122742102444336?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/1295122742102444336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=1295122742102444336' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1295122742102444336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1295122742102444336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/12/two-snowmen-converged-in-our-yard.html' title='Two snowmen converged in our yard'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-5832458802860186633</id><published>2009-12-28T13:44:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-28T13:45:54.649-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Morning meat</title><content type='html'>Better late than never right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reminded of this the other night when we were having turkey for dinner. On Thanksgiving, S declared that he wanted morning meat and dark meat! What else can I say about that - he has a great view of the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-5832458802860186633?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/5832458802860186633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=5832458802860186633' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5832458802860186633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5832458802860186633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/12/morning-meat.html' title='Morning meat'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-7813451209710607921</id><published>2009-12-14T14:12:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-14T14:18:21.839-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Value of Education</title><content type='html'>I'm not sure how the conversation got started exactly but S and I were talking about school at dinner last night. He was saying things like, "when I get bigger I can go by myself." Then he said, "when I'm grown up I won't go to school anymore." My response, what else could it have been really,&lt;br /&gt;Me: "You've got at least 20 years or so of school ahead of you buddy."&lt;br /&gt;S: "Why?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Because your dad and I value education, we think it's really important that you go to school and learn."&lt;br /&gt;S: "Why?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Because then you'll have all sorts of choices and options in your life and you can be anything you want to be when you grow up."&lt;br /&gt;S: "This looks like a monster [referring to the dried kiwi he was holding]."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "You're right it does kind of look like a monster."&lt;br /&gt;Followed by a lot of laughing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm looking forward to the many conversations we'll have that go something like this!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-7813451209710607921?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/7813451209710607921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=7813451209710607921' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7813451209710607921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7813451209710607921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/12/value-of-education.html' title='The Value of Education'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-823582329476568414</id><published>2009-12-10T13:45:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T13:53:36.596-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Curling 101: Preschool Style</title><content type='html'>S has become totally obsessed with curling. Everyday this week when I arrive to pick him up, he's lying on the floor holding random toys pretending to "curl". The other day he had two measuring cups and a whisk, and his teachers informed me that he was playing curling all day with whatever he had in his hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently his enthusiasm for the sport has started to rub off and now his teachers want us to come in and talk to the kids about curling - really, curling for 2-3 year olds, I can't even imagine how that talk would go (ironically I spend a lot of my work life focused on helping parents talk with their kids about tough topics like alcohol and sex, maybe I should add curling to that list?). S thinks it's totally cool though and keeps asking when we can bring our curling rock and broom to school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today he is supposed to take his friends into the hallway (the curling ice) so they can all curl together - we'll see how that goes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-823582329476568414?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/823582329476568414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=823582329476568414' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/823582329476568414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/823582329476568414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/12/curling-101-preschool-style.html' title='Curling 101: Preschool Style'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-3606836134693494402</id><published>2009-12-09T08:48:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T08:51:32.024-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Purple, flowers, and they light up!</title><content type='html'>The school bag filled with snacks, a drink, a pack of pull ups, a spare pair of pants, an extra pair of mittens, and a few other random things did not have shoes in it this morning. S was wearing his snow boots and we forgot shoes. Fortunately he was excited to borrow a pair of "center shoes." I personally find it a bit gross but am glad they have them for times like today and was relieved to not have to run home. So he chose a pair of purple shoes with little flowers on the side that light up - what is cooler than that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS There were only 4 kids in his room at the time, and two forgot shoes, so I don't feel so bad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-3606836134693494402?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/3606836134693494402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=3606836134693494402' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3606836134693494402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3606836134693494402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/12/purple-flowers-and-they-light-up.html' title='Purple, flowers, and they light up!'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-7478506998625573488</id><published>2009-12-01T14:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T14:21:44.243-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Team Foo Foo</title><content type='html'>S has a wonderful imagination - whether it's talking to his imaginary friend in the backseat and sharing his snack with "Baka" or "Maka" or whoever is back there with him, to staging football games, curling matches, and pretending we're toddlers at his school - the details are vivid and the fun can last for hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The biggest excitement lately has been playing football and now curling. He puts on his winter coat or his football pads as he calls them, his winter hat (aka his football helmet), grabs his recorder from Uncle Ira for his whistle and the game begins. It involves throwing a football running after it, calling for a tackle or "pile up" and now he'll even declare a first down for touchdown (after measuring of course). The other night he asked me, "do you want me to tell you what team I'm on."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Of course, what team are you on?"&lt;br /&gt;S: "Umm, Team Foo Foo." (followed by hysterical laughter)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curling is a bit trickier, but no less fun. Grab a few wooden blocks (curling rocks), a plastic spoon (curling broom) and you're set. I usually get to watch with one of his stuffed animals behind the glass (couch) until it's time for him to take a break and "the kids (i.e. me and a stuffed elephant)" get to go on the ice. Yesterday during curling I was reminded of how truly literal an almost 3 yr old can be. He said it was his turn to throw the rock, so he picks up a wooden block and hurls it across the room. Hmm, try explaining that we use the word throw in curling, but the rocks never come off the ice and it's more of a push down the ice rather than an actual throw. Another good reminder of how important language can be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-7478506998625573488?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/7478506998625573488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=7478506998625573488' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7478506998625573488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7478506998625573488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/12/team-foo-foo.html' title='Team Foo Foo'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-4254237412419493623</id><published>2009-11-23T08:25:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-24T14:08:27.663-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A superhero?</title><content type='html'>Yesterday when I walked into S's room to get him up this morning, he sat up, looked at me and said,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When you came to get me up, I thought you were a Superman."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I asked him if he thought I was a Superman and he said no, he thought I was a monster, a scary monster. He then explained that sometimes he thinks I'm a Superman and sometimes a scary monster.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-4254237412419493623?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/4254237412419493623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=4254237412419493623' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4254237412419493623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4254237412419493623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/11/superhero.html' title='A superhero?'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-8004252428217759521</id><published>2009-11-03T11:16:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T11:20:54.679-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Who?</title><content type='html'>S has a new cousin and we couldn't be happier to welcome her into the world! The question still remains, what is her name?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before the baby was born we asked S what he thought the baby's name should be. Without skipping a beat he said, Baby Asha (one of his good buddies from school has a baby sister Asha). He would say things like, "Is Baby Asha here yet?" "Is Baby Asha still in Aunt J's belly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the baby was born, and her name was not Asha. Now when we ask S what his new cousin's name is he says, "Baby Asha."&lt;br /&gt;Us: "That's not her name, what's her name."&lt;br /&gt;S: "Baby Asha, I named her Baby Asha."&lt;br /&gt;Us: "But that's not what Uncle I and Aunt J named her."&lt;br /&gt;S:  "Why?"&lt;br /&gt;Us:  "What name did they give her?"&lt;br /&gt;S:  "I don't remember."  [followed by lots of laughter since he does know her name]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-8004252428217759521?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/8004252428217759521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=8004252428217759521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8004252428217759521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8004252428217759521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/11/baby-who.html' title='Baby Who?'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-8079824649629116028</id><published>2009-11-02T13:18:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T19:40:14.647-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Great songs</title><content type='html'>S has been making up some really "amazing" songs lately. His new ritual before bed is to sing me a song, it usually starts with, um, um, as he thinks it up. Here are two versions of what has followed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Goldy Gopher jumps into bed. Goldy Gopher jumps into bed. [repeated another 2x] Because that's what Goldy Gopher does."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The people don't get on the bus, the train gets on the bus. [repeated 3x] Because that's the way they do it."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-8079824649629116028?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/8079824649629116028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=8079824649629116028' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8079824649629116028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8079824649629116028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/11/great-songs.html' title='Great songs'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-4033584645988187072</id><published>2009-10-22T09:44:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T09:49:49.515-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Candy and Kisses</title><content type='html'>Yesterday we went to the bookmobile (our every other week ritual). This week however was different. There was candy (MN brand peppermint candies exactly). S asked for one and we said he could eat it after dinner. Dinner ended quickly to get to the candy quicker. As he shoved it in his mouth, and we kept insisting he not try and shove so much into his mouth, he proclaims,&lt;br /&gt;"it's not all going into my belly." Most of his candy eating time was spent with his finger in his mouth trying to scrape the candy off the roof of his mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have been working on a lesson - when two people are talking you need to wait until they are finished before you can speak to them. This means not trying to talk over people or interrupt them to get their attention. Last night I was talking to Geoff and told S that I was talking to Daddy and he would need to wait a minute. His solution, he climbed onto Geoff's lap, gave him a big hug strategically placing his cheek over Geoff's mouth, then giving Geoff a big kiss on the lips, all to prevent him from talking. Where does he come up with these things?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-4033584645988187072?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/4033584645988187072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=4033584645988187072' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4033584645988187072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4033584645988187072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/10/candy-and-kisses.html' title='Candy and Kisses'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-826383964438492607</id><published>2009-10-01T13:33:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-01T13:42:32.157-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Ernie, you're Bert....</title><content type='html'>and you're Cookie Monster. Hi Bert. Can you say Hi Ernie?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A typical conversation in our house initiated by S of course. It's really funny if you call him Abby Cadaby or Oscar "by mistake." In the car on the way to school he asked, "Bert, where's Cookie Monster [aka Dad]?" When I dropped him off at daycare he yelled through the window, "Bye Bert, have a good day at work Bert."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He also has developed his own version of a football game (wonder where he gets that gene?) - the couch is the bleachers and we have to sit and watch his game. His rules, "I'm going to throw the ball and then you clap and say Yeah Ernie." He throws the ball, we cheer Yeah Ernie and he runs after it, then we do it all over again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a kid who doesn't watch TV how does he know about Sesame Street, the Internet of course. He likes to watch "videos" - either YouTube or the Sesame Street website. He enjoys watching an orchestra play some classical music, a goofy middle aged man play the guitar and sing kids songs, or Sesame Street clips. He even has his own mouse - a mouse that I use with my laptop so it's not connected but he thinks it works and that he's finding the videos. Talk about generation differences, it's very 21st century.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's actually a nice before bed activity, it calms him down and gives me a few minutes to clean up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-826383964438492607?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/826383964438492607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=826383964438492607' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/826383964438492607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/826383964438492607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/10/im-ernie-youre-bert.html' title='I&apos;m Ernie, you&apos;re Bert....'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-6593279642434469399</id><published>2009-09-26T20:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T20:13:43.755-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Privacy, what's that?</title><content type='html'>I often have conversations with S about giving me a little privacy, a few minutes to myself. Our conversation went like this today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The scene - I walk into the bathroom, he walks in right behind me and sits down on the stool he uses to reach the sink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S:  What does privacy mean? No one else around? Apparently I can't give you any privacy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just had to laugh - it's getting more and more common that I hear him repeating what I once told him. Good thing I find it funny to hear a 2-year old try to say "apparently".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-6593279642434469399?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/6593279642434469399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=6593279642434469399' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6593279642434469399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6593279642434469399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/09/privacy-whats-that.html' title='Privacy, what&apos;s that?'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-6499014804633278825</id><published>2009-09-23T10:33:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T10:40:37.435-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Too funny</title><content type='html'>Direct quotes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: "Cover my curtains, they're looking at me." [they have Winnie the Pooh and friends on them]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: [upon waking up] "I was covering my head because those pictures are looking at me." [Pooh pictures on his wall that I think I have convinced him go to sleep at night when he does so they're not able to look at him]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: [the first thing out of his mouth this morning] "Are you wearing a red shirt? Can I touch your red shirt mama? It's beautiful."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-6499014804633278825?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/6499014804633278825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=6499014804633278825' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6499014804633278825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6499014804633278825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/09/too-funny.html' title='Too funny'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-1100533586706490577</id><published>2009-09-22T13:58:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T14:07:58.083-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The first day.....</title><content type='html'>of preschool did not go as planned. S was a bit nervous - made evident by the fact that when we brought it up at dinner the night before he burst out in tears, "I don't want to go to preschool. I want to go to toddlers." We calmed him down and even made cookies and a card for his toddler teachers to say thank you. He made it clear he didn't want to go to preschool Monday morning but we strolled in. He hugged my leg most of the time, but agreed to show me around a bit. Then it was time for me to leave, and it happened - he lost it, S was a complete and utter mess, hysterical crying. I have a vague recollection of him crying one other time when I left and that was pretty mild and ended once I was out of sight - basically he loves school and does very little crying there. If anything, he cries when I pick him up because he wants to stay and play with his friends. In particular if I happen to arrive before they have gone outside to play in the afternoon he is not happy and I usually have to wait around so he can go outside with this friends - the solution, I stay at work and get more done and pick him up later, problem solved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I digress - I finally left and he was still hysterical, it was really sad. He kept saying, "I don't want you to leave." "I want to go to work with you." Of course I had a day full of meetings so no ability to hang out much longer than I already had. I called to check in later and he was fine. After I left he sat in his cubby with his blanket and bear for about 20 minutes just wanting to be by himself. He then ventured out and started playing with toys, and from there he was all good. He was a bit confused because last week he was just visiting preschool and always went back to toddlers so apparently he kept asking his preschool teachers when he was going back.  All in all it was a great day, and this morning when I dropped him off, there were no tears and he seemed ready to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no doubt he'll love being a preschooler, more independence and pretty cool activities. Yesterday he even got to pour his own milk at lunch and loved it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-1100533586706490577?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/1100533586706490577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=1100533586706490577' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1100533586706490577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1100533586706490577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/09/first-day.html' title='The first day.....'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-6241414821913577924</id><published>2009-09-16T14:02:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T14:04:32.433-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What did you do in preschool?</title><content type='html'>S: [very excited and all smiles while he said it] "Color with markers. And I got to keep the cap. I held it in my hand."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A big transition in the life of a toddler - when a marker cap is no longer a choking hazard!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-6241414821913577924?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/6241414821913577924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=6241414821913577924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6241414821913577924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6241414821913577924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/09/what-did-you-do-in-preschool.html' title='What did you do in preschool?'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-3944314283396212267</id><published>2009-09-15T12:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T12:17:03.192-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A skirt? Really?</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was a big day, S was visiting the preschool classroom for the first time. No surprise, he loved it and spent most of the morning there. When I went to pick him here's what happened:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Are you wearing a skirt buddy? Why are you wearing a skirt?&lt;br /&gt;S: It's not a skirt momma it's a shirt.&lt;br /&gt;Me: No, this is a skirt (pointing to the skirt), and this is your shirt (pointing to the shirt). [said with much enunciation]&lt;br /&gt;S: Oh. Can I go outside with my friends for a few minutes?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Sure&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: I can tell you what happened. He was playing at preschool and his shorts got wet. They didn't have all his stuff so they grabbed these from the Center (aka the loaners) thinking they were shorts. They didn't realize until they put them on that it was a skirt. And then he didn't want to take them off. He was so proud because it was from preschool.&lt;br /&gt;Me [to S]: It looks just great on you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way out of school:&lt;br /&gt;Parent 1: I heard what the teacher was telling you, that's a really funny story.&lt;br /&gt;Another teacher:  How was preschool S?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Great, and he's coming home in a skirt. [I shared the story]&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: [laughs] That's really funny.&lt;br /&gt;Parent2: I was wondering why he was walking around in a skirt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S trots right out of school as proud as can be to be making his transition into the preschool classroom! Look out preschool here we come!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-3944314283396212267?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/3944314283396212267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=3944314283396212267' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3944314283396212267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3944314283396212267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/09/skirt-really.html' title='A skirt? Really?'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-8307732331562631289</id><published>2009-09-13T15:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-13T15:53:34.821-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm open!</title><content type='html'>Last week for the first time, I took S to watch Dad officiate a football game. His description of what Dad does - "he picks up the ball and throws it".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wanted to be on the field and I explained that we need to stay off the field while the teams were playing. Here's his explanation:&lt;br /&gt;S: "When the players are done I can go on the field?"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Yes&lt;br /&gt;S:  "If they throw it to me, I can throw it back?"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Sure, if they throw it to you, you can throw it back.&lt;br /&gt;S:  [yells] "Throw it over here!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-8307732331562631289?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/8307732331562631289/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=8307732331562631289' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8307732331562631289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8307732331562631289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/09/im-open.html' title='I&apos;m open!'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-2332360853720889659</id><published>2009-09-10T14:24:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T14:27:59.519-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Look out preschool.....</title><content type='html'>This has two meanings:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Many days on the way to school S proclaims with much enthusiasm:  "Look out school, here we come!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. We got the yellow slip - the one that says S is moving up to preschool. A spot has opened up in the next classroom. Next week he will be visiting, and then on Sept. 21st he will be a preschooler - a younger preschooler mind you, but a preschooler none the less - and yes they have younger and older preschoolers. I think he's ready and will love it. A lot of his toddler friends will be in his class, not to mention a bigger and more challenging playground with huge slides, places to climb and jump, and more sophisticated art projects. The classroom also has a class pet, very exciting! And who knows maybe seeing more potty trained kids around will rub off :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-2332360853720889659?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/2332360853720889659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=2332360853720889659' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2332360853720889659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2332360853720889659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/09/look-out-preschool.html' title='Look out preschool.....'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-5028606774257065050</id><published>2009-09-10T12:39:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T12:46:34.100-05:00</updated><title type='text'>No Dancing!</title><content type='html'>Day 1 - S asked to bring a book to school, he typically doesn't ask to bring things so on the rare occassion when he does, we typically say yes. He wanted to bring a Thomas the Train book that plays music and was excited to show all his friends. When I went to pick him up at the end of the day the book was in the teacher's office, and so we forgot to bring it home and didn't remember it until it was too late to go back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day 2 - We retrieved the book from the office and I learned why it was there (instead of in his cubby, which is essentially public access although there are rules). One day 1 the music was playing and kids started dancing. S did not want them to dance to his music and told them to stop dancing, they couldn't dance. The teacher explained that when you bring a toy that plays music that other kids can hear, they can choose to dance if they want. Since the book was already at school we left it there for the remainder of day 2.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End of Day 2 - I pick S up and the book is once again in the teacher's office. This time his teacher explained kids were dancing and he didn't want them to. The solution - S could turn away, he didn't have to watch them dance if he didn't want to. S then decided he no longer wanted to share the book and put it in his cubby. Some of the younger kids were not good at following "the rules" and kept trying to take it out of his cubby to hear the music again. S asked the teacher to put the book in the office, and we brought it home with us at the end of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day 3 - The book stayed at home and S didn't ask to bring it to school again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-5028606774257065050?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/5028606774257065050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=5028606774257065050' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5028606774257065050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5028606774257065050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/09/no-dancing.html' title='No Dancing!'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-3767799326201173840</id><published>2009-08-17T11:13:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T11:18:02.053-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreams</title><content type='html'>Well S definitely takes after me in the sleep department. He woke up around 5am screaming, "mama I took my shirt off." When I went in to his room (a strange thing to be yelling out, I had to check it out), he was sitting up holding his blanket out to me. I didn't turn on any lights so I had to feel and confirm his shirt was still on and it was his blanket he was holding. I explained it was just a dream and that was his blanket, his shirt was still on. He seemed a bit confused, looked down, seemed convinced that I was right and decided he wanted to get up. After a convincing argument that it was still the middle of the night he laid back down. Of course he got up a few more times after that, but his clothes stayed on!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-3767799326201173840?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/3767799326201173840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=3767799326201173840' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3767799326201173840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3767799326201173840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/08/dreams.html' title='Dreams'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-1649472504113477451</id><published>2009-08-13T13:08:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T13:15:21.513-05:00</updated><title type='text'>TV</title><content type='html'>For a while we didn't let S watch TV, then it got to the point where we figured a little TV was okay, but he showed no interest. He has always been too busy, always on the go, never wanting to sit still and watch. We even tried Sesame Street - nothing, after a few minutes when the real people showed up (as opposed to all the furry friends) he was done watching. Until last night. Geoff was flipping through the channels and found an orchestra playing on PBS, well S was enthralled. He even watched for a good 10-15 minutes until the music stopped, he was really into it, pointing out all the instruments. He even went to get his own guitar to play along "with the TV".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately he wouldn't let me get any pictures, but it was  priceless. He was playing with a big bowl and spoon when it came on TV. At this particular moment, the big orange bowl was on his head. So he proceeded to stare at the orchestra with a bowl on  his head, until he noticed I was gone (trying to get the camera) - then the bowl came off. When the music stopped he clapped and cheered, though he wasn't convinced they were really done.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-1649472504113477451?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/1649472504113477451/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=1649472504113477451' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1649472504113477451'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1649472504113477451'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/08/tv.html' title='TV'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-5223301398706503006</id><published>2009-08-12T16:05:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T16:10:54.582-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Potty training has begun</title><content type='html'>After we returned from our summer vacation we decided to focus more on potty training. S has been eagerly sitting on the potty for a while now and it seemed time to push the issue a bit more. How has it been going - well, we use pull ups now and he sits on the potty and urinates (yes he says urinate and BM, likely a consequence of having him in a University daycare), but his pulls are usually still wet. He has a potty chart with stickers and at school he gets to go to the bathroom with the toileters (the other kids who use the potty and who are hopefully serving as good role models and providing a bit of positive peer pressure). The only problem so far is that I think he's dreaming of potty training. The other morning at 5:30am he wakes up yelling, "come quick mama, I have to urinate." So  I took him to the potty and he urinated. I then explained it was the middle of the night and he had to go back to bed, so he did. The next night at 3:30am he wakes up and yells "hurry mama I have to urinate." I said to my sleeping husband, really, at 3:30am he feels the need to go, turn to get out of bed and realize he didn't say anything after that. He must have gone back to sleep. Hopefully this is a good sign and the potty training is being embedded in his brain. Either that or he takes after me and talks in his sleep!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-5223301398706503006?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/5223301398706503006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=5223301398706503006' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5223301398706503006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5223301398706503006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/08/potty-training-has-begun.html' title='Potty training has begun'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-7727942987563527082</id><published>2009-08-12T08:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T09:04:23.624-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A real game of catch</title><content type='html'>Last night S picked up a ball to play with, he threw it to me, I threw it back and voila he caught it! His face was beaming he was so proud of himself and of course we made a huge deal out of it, cheering and everything. We then of course spent the rest of the night playing catch. At one point S decided to sit down while we were playing. No surprise, it's easier to catch the ball, because it can just get caught between your arms and legs. So this happened, it kinda just landed on his legs. There were no cheers from us, so he looked at us and said, "are you going to say yeah!"? He also proclaimed that he is now a baseball player.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-7727942987563527082?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/7727942987563527082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=7727942987563527082' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7727942987563527082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7727942987563527082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/08/real-game-of-catch.html' title='A real game of catch'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-7586651120536304474</id><published>2009-07-13T13:15:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-13T13:20:25.020-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mockingbird</title><content type='html'>As part of our bedtime routine, S gets into bed, I read Goodnight Moon, he asks to touch the pictures (in particular, the mush, the fire (he likes it because he can't touch real fire), and the big star), and then I sing Hush Little Baby - which we call Mockingbird. The other night after reading, I said,&lt;br /&gt;"Do you want me to read Mockingbird, oh I mean sing Mockingbird?"&lt;br /&gt;S: [laughing] Do you have a book about Mockingbird?&lt;br /&gt;Me: No.&lt;br /&gt;S: Why not? Do they have a book about Mockingbird at the store?&lt;br /&gt;Me: I don't know. I just made a mistake, I meant to say sing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now, everynight while lying in his bed, he looks at me with a big grin and a giggle and says, "Do you have a book about Mockingbird?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keeping with the theme, when I was singing the other night I skipped a verse and he proclaimed, "you skipped a page mama."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-7586651120536304474?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/7586651120536304474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=7586651120536304474' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7586651120536304474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7586651120536304474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/07/mockingbird.html' title='Mockingbird'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-2973094216624603700</id><published>2009-07-09T09:45:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T09:47:35.631-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ratings</title><content type='html'>Last night S proclaimed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama, you're a 7, Daddy you're an 8-9.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although I could take a guess at what that might mean, I don't think that's what he was thinking. More on his imagination and made up stories to come.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-2973094216624603700?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/2973094216624603700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=2973094216624603700' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2973094216624603700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2973094216624603700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/07/ratings.html' title='Ratings'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-8821994075462741074</id><published>2009-07-02T11:17:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T11:23:24.027-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Keep it in perspective</title><content type='html'>A lesson learned from Stuart last night. We were preparing for our nightly ritual of reading in the rocking chair before bed and he was being his usual silly self - he was covering his head with his blanket.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Do you want me to read a book?&lt;br /&gt;S: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Then you need to uncover your head.&lt;br /&gt;S: Why?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Because I'm not reading to a blanket [said in a very serious, but not angry or frustrusted, tone. Just the usual feeling of always being a rush and needing to get one thing done to move on to the next.]&lt;br /&gt;S: Hysterical laughing, when he came up for air: why aren't you reading to a blanket mama?&lt;br /&gt;Me &amp;amp; S: Hysterical laughing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing like a child and a good laugh to keep the world in perspective. Another five minutes of cuddling in the chair is way more important than rushing out to the grocery store (which was next on my to do list) which is open 24 hours. Note to self: slow down, don't always be in such a rush, the less important things can wait!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-8821994075462741074?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/8821994075462741074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=8821994075462741074' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8821994075462741074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8821994075462741074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/07/keep-it-in-perspective.html' title='Keep it in perspective'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-3066046508730079323</id><published>2009-06-26T14:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-26T14:55:49.521-05:00</updated><title type='text'>More laughs</title><content type='html'>After putting Stuart to bed, he started crying which is not typical. Geoff went to check on him:&lt;br /&gt;S: (through tears) Mickey [Mouse] poked me in the eye.&lt;br /&gt;Geoff: It was just an accident, he won't do it again.&lt;br /&gt;Stuart went back to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stuart ran up to me yesterday and gave me a hug then ran away laughing and said:&lt;br /&gt;S: I stole your snuggle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-3066046508730079323?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/3066046508730079323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=3066046508730079323' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3066046508730079323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3066046508730079323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/06/more-laughs.html' title='More laughs'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-3773811191408146193</id><published>2009-06-23T14:31:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T14:39:11.344-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Rides - he loves them, he loves them not</title><content type='html'>We have discovered that Stuart loves rides and is quite brave. So we broke down and bought a season pass so he could ride all the rides he wants this summer. He was wanting to go on the swings - and he's sort of borderline, I don't think he's quite tall enough to ride them, but quick enough that the teenager running the ride doesn't notice. So we let him go on the swings and he loved them, great, our anxiety was relieved and we have another ride he can go on. Next time we went to the park he wanted to go on the swings and I figured of course, he loves the swings. Well he loved them for about two complete rotations, then came the tears and the cries, "I don't like it, they're going too high for me." And yes, I could hear the pathetic cries from the sidelines, only to be topped by all the pity comments from parents around me (not knowing it was my kid) - aw look at the poor kid, so sad, etc. So I became that mom - but not on purpose and with only the best intentions - the mom with the screaming kid on the ride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next time we went to the park (yes we go a lot) he wanted to try the swings again and told us, "I'm not going to cry." So we figured okay, let's try again, he was probably just over tired or something last time. Well before the swings even started he changed his mind and didn't want to go on, but this time he explained, "I didn't like them, they weren't moving." I suppose we can't expect a 2.5 year old to have much patience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who knows what will happen next time......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-3773811191408146193?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/3773811191408146193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=3773811191408146193' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3773811191408146193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3773811191408146193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/06/rides-he-loves-them-he-loves-them-not.html' title='Rides - he loves them, he loves them not'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-780174463057789032</id><published>2009-06-23T14:27:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-24T08:06:02.960-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny things</title><content type='html'>Move your foot it's looking at my stick!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dance to my music.  [his music goes something like this, "la la la la la la la la...."]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: Are you ready freddy?&lt;br /&gt;Me: I'm ready, are you ready freddy?&lt;br /&gt;S: I'm not ready freddy, I'm a Stuart. Silly mama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dad: I'm going to take a shower.&lt;br /&gt;S: Don't wash the food out of your tummy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: I wanna do blood blood. [what he now calls being held upside down since Dad explained that when you're upside down the blood rushes to your head]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-780174463057789032?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/780174463057789032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=780174463057789032' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/780174463057789032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/780174463057789032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/06/funny-things.html' title='Funny things'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-3958549001254036708</id><published>2009-06-17T12:38:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T12:41:57.490-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Stop reading mama</title><content type='html'>Reading a book with Stuart goes something like this:&lt;br /&gt;Me: reading, reading, reading&lt;br /&gt;S: What's that, who's that, why, etc. etc.&lt;br /&gt;Me: If you want me to keep reading you have to stop talking so you can hear the story [I know it's sounds rotten to tell your kid to stop talking, but it's too annoying to try to read over him talking and he's frustrated because I'm not answering his questions]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's what happened the other day:&lt;br /&gt;Me: reading, reading&lt;br /&gt;S: Stop reading mama. What's that, who's that, why, etc.....&lt;br /&gt;Me: reading&lt;br /&gt;S: Stop reading mama..... you get the picture&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-3958549001254036708?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/3958549001254036708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=3958549001254036708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3958549001254036708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/3958549001254036708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/06/stop-reading-mama.html' title='Stop reading mama'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-288580105550653326</id><published>2009-06-08T10:43:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T10:53:21.373-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A first</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was a big first for Stuart, he had his very first lollipop - up until this time his parents have chosen to deprive him of candy. But we were at a parade and encouraging him to pick up all the candy being thrown at us and then telling him he couldn't eat it. I think he was starting to catch on! Well he just loved it - talk about savoring every lick, he licked and licked and licked and of course got all sticky. We finally got home and ready for a nap, and Stuart just wouldn't settle down, he just kept saying "don't eat my candy, I want my lollipop." After convincing him mom and dad would not eat his candy while he slept (at least not the lollipops) he took a nap. The first thing he said when he woke up  - "where's my candy?" As promised, we let him choose another lollipop. The challenge for the poor kid is that he can't sit still and lollipops require sitting still and not climbing all over the furniture - so he had a bit of an internal struggle - the yumminess of a lollipop or toys? He went back and forth for a while, then I cut him off, and we went back to pretending we were on a boat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-288580105550653326?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/288580105550653326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=288580105550653326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/288580105550653326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/288580105550653326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/06/first.html' title='A first'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-2189364712274978814</id><published>2009-06-04T08:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-04T09:02:59.319-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Direct quote &amp; other funny things</title><content type='html'>There's nothing like hearing your words come out of the mouth of a two year old. The other day Stuart put a toy down on the sofa. I moved it to make room for people to sit and he looked at me and said, "I put it there for a reason." and proceeded to put it back. Hmmm, I wonder where he learned that line?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And some other funny things:&lt;br /&gt;For some reason he is concerned that when he is on the changing table he will fall off, so when I put him on the changing table he asks, "you'll make sure I don't fall into the laundry hamper?" For the record, he has never fallen into the laundry hamper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other night, dad got stung by a wasp. Kind hearted Stuart has been very concerned and is still asking if his owie is feeling better. After the sting he wanted to know: "Why did that bug bite you" and "I'm going to ask that bug why he did it." Of course I had to ask, "What do you think the bug will say" and he replied "Yes, the bug will say yes he did it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning we (ie Stuart) decided to pretend to ride bikes, so Stuart put our helmets on and we all stood in his room moving our legs like we were riding a bike.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-2189364712274978814?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/2189364712274978814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=2189364712274978814' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2189364712274978814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2189364712274978814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/06/direct-quote-other-funny-things.html' title='Direct quote &amp; other funny things'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-2441075640500645725</id><published>2009-05-19T20:33:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T20:35:11.599-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Where did my pants go?</title><content type='html'>What Stuart said to me when I went to get him up this morning. "Where did my pants go? Why did you take my pants?" He was wearing shorts. The poor kid just can't get the hang of shorts and short sleeves. Fortunately (or not) it was 90 today so he'll be getting a lot more practice wearing his summer clothes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-2441075640500645725?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/2441075640500645725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=2441075640500645725' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2441075640500645725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2441075640500645725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/05/where-did-my-pants-go.html' title='Where did my pants go?'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-7590482479572088940</id><published>2009-05-11T09:17:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T09:21:06.684-05:00</updated><title type='text'>We officially have ourselves.....</title><content type='html'>a bike rider (a tricycle rider to be more specific). After many hours of practice Stuart has finally taken off, he can peddle all the way down the street by himself, while steering (i.e. not running into a tree or a neighbors yard), and he can even get over the bumps in the sidewalk. The unintended consquence is that now we need to run to keep up:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he also has a "pony". In the bathtub the other day I was doing funny things with his hair and gave him a pony tail using bubbles, well he decided he wanted to keep it in, he even asked if he could sleep in it. Days later he is still telling everyone he has a pony and that mama put it in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-7590482479572088940?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/7590482479572088940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=7590482479572088940' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7590482479572088940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7590482479572088940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/05/we-officially-have-ourselves.html' title='We officially have ourselves.....'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-4145836299338035872</id><published>2009-05-08T14:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T14:09:58.131-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The mystery of the dinosaur</title><content type='html'>Stuart woke up quite early this am, crying. So I went to get him and he was up and ready to go. When we asked him why he woke up so early he said his dinosaur fell on his head. He sleeps with a medium size dinosaur so it's certainly possible, but we will never know for sure.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-4145836299338035872?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/4145836299338035872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=4145836299338035872' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4145836299338035872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4145836299338035872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/05/mystery-of-dinosaur.html' title='The mystery of the dinosaur'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-8335707628362228457</id><published>2009-05-06T13:17:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T14:08:26.679-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I turned them off</title><content type='html'>One way we get Stuart to listen - or at least stop what he's doing and pay attention to what we're telling him - is to tell him to turn his listening ears on. And he literally acts like he's turning them on, and of course we make a big deal out of it and he's doing a great job being a good listener, etc. etc. Well the other day I told him to turn his listening ears on, and he did. Then he looks at me, smiles, and says "I'm turning them off now." It took all I had not to laugh and thereby guarantee he would do it again. What a wonderfully sassy little two year old he is - sometimes we wonder if he's just too smart for his own good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another example - after eating dinner, I usually say go right into the bathroom to wash your hands and face, don't touch anything. Well the other day he was running his hand along the couch, and I reminded him not to touch anything, he explained that he was just touching it with his knuckles not his hand. I then explained that after eating dinner, your whole hands are dirty, including your knuckles. So now after dinner on our way to the bathroom to clean up, he says, "my knuckles are dirty too, why?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-8335707628362228457?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/8335707628362228457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=8335707628362228457' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8335707628362228457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8335707628362228457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-turned-them-off.html' title='I turned them off'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-1836728441754673890</id><published>2009-05-04T08:32:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T08:36:08.587-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The trajedy of hair twirling</title><content type='html'>I was awoken yesterday morning around 6am by a crying toddler. I rushed into his room to see what was wrong and he was sitting in his bed with his finger in his hair. When I asked him what was wrong, through the tears he explained, "my finger got stuck in my hair". Yes he had done so much twirling of his curly locks that his finger was stuck - very stuck. After some maneuvering I was able to release it without cutting any hair (I have resorted to cutting out the knots before). He was fine after that, but not interested in going back to sleep, oh well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-1836728441754673890?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/1836728441754673890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=1836728441754673890' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1836728441754673890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1836728441754673890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/05/trajedy-of-hair-twirling.html' title='The trajedy of hair twirling'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-6115674703928320995</id><published>2009-04-27T09:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T10:02:28.141-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Order and Food</title><content type='html'>As I was telling a friend these stories the other day, I realized they should be posted. Stuart has two things that confirm he is our child, a sense of order to the world (from dad) and a complete love of food (from me).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. We were walking into daycare the other day and he saw the shoes outside the infant classrom (you can't go in with shoes on), and he looks at them and says, "that's not right" and proceeds to turn a shoe around so it was pointing the same way as its mate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. When I pick Stuart up from school, he gets very excited and shouts "cinnamon bread after school" - okay he usually does say "momma" first (but not always), then the cinnamon bread, then the hugs. But food is clearly his first priority!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-6115674703928320995?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/6115674703928320995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=6115674703928320995' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6115674703928320995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6115674703928320995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/04/order-and-food.html' title='Order and Food'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-6285314820604421892</id><published>2009-04-24T08:38:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T08:42:04.448-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Why?</title><content type='html'>It has finally happened, this week started the why questions! For the past month or so we have gotten, what's that? I've quickly learned that's much easier to answer than why. Now conversations go something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: [looking at a picture in a book] What's that?&lt;br /&gt;Me: A snail.&lt;br /&gt;S: Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not quite sure how to answer that one, and a response like "because that snail is going to school with little miss spider" only leads to another "why?" The truth is, I have no idea why miss spider or the snail are going to school, but don't tell :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-6285314820604421892?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/6285314820604421892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=6285314820604421892' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6285314820604421892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6285314820604421892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/04/why.html' title='Why?'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-7701488113414211498</id><published>2009-04-23T14:55:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T15:02:55.080-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Shorts and short sleeves</title><content type='html'>It was scheduled to go up to 80 today (yes in MN) so I decided to dress Stuart in shorts for the first time in a while. He was pretty excited, but a bit confused. He was in his carseat this morning and I looked back and he was tugging on the bottom of his shorts, then he said, "pull my pants down." Yes he thought either I had put short pants on him or his pants had gotten pulled up in his carseat. I then explained that they were shorts and they were supposed to be um, short, and that we wear shorts to let our legs get some fresh air - he liked that explanation and proceeded to repeat that his legs were getting some air. He does the same thing with short sleeve shirts too. He'll wash his hands and say, pull my sleeves down, then laugh and say "I'm wearing short sleeves." This just serves as evidence that winters are too long around here - he forgets what shorts and short sleeves are - but that he is also a creature of habit, when we wash our hands we push our sleeves up and then pull them back down, even if we're wearing short sleeves :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-7701488113414211498?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/7701488113414211498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=7701488113414211498' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7701488113414211498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7701488113414211498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/04/shorts-and-short-sleeves.html' title='Shorts and short sleeves'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-6984508539166890770</id><published>2009-04-20T10:06:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T10:09:51.520-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Name Game</title><content type='html'>First, Stuart has started spelling his name - "S - T - U - A - R - T spells me!" He has also been really into the name game. If you don't know what that is, check it out here - &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Name_Game"&gt;http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Name_Game&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He makes requests like, do Daddy next. But he also takes it upon himself to start it now. This morning he tried Mickey, it went something like this: Mickey mickey mo mickey fo fickey bo mickey MICKEY! And yesterday I said the word better for some reason and he belted out: Better better fo better mo metter better! Pretty amusing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-6984508539166890770?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/6984508539166890770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=6984508539166890770' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6984508539166890770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6984508539166890770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/04/name-game.html' title='Name Game'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-954809550768603391</id><published>2009-04-20T10:02:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T10:06:32.995-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Boy Bed</title><content type='html'>We made the transition to a big boy bed this weekend - it's a toddler bed, essentially a crib with a lower front rail. All in all it went smoothly. We made a big production out of saying goodbye to the crib and taking the front off (it's a convertible crib) and putting the new rail on - it was very exciting. After "testing it out" Stuart declared "I love my new bed and Mickey loves it too." Mickey Mouse that is, his trusted sleeping companion. My concern was that he would start getting out if he woke up rather than staying in bed, but so far he has stayed put until we come to get him -  hopefully that will continue! In keeping with the big boy theme we also put on big boy underwear - with the Thomas the Train - over his diaper. Needless to say he was beyond thrilled. He has been using the potty for a while now but we haven't pushed it because he didn't seem ready to really be potty trained, but I think we'll start encouraging it more. A big boy bed and big boy underwear - every little boy's dream!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-954809550768603391?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/954809550768603391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=954809550768603391' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/954809550768603391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/954809550768603391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/04/big-boy-bed.html' title='Big Boy Bed'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-5742033473675485756</id><published>2009-04-09T11:28:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T11:30:31.109-05:00</updated><title type='text'>In memory</title><content type='html'>Today would have been my grandmother's birthday. I've been thinking about her alot this week. Happy Birthday Grandma, we love you!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-5742033473675485756?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/5742033473675485756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=5742033473675485756' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5742033473675485756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5742033473675485756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/04/in-memory.html' title='In memory'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-6537242719133952074</id><published>2009-02-26T14:41:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T14:43:01.758-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Decision time</title><content type='html'>Well I may very well be the worst blogger ever, so I have decided I am at a decision point, either get to the work of blogging or quit taking up virtual space. I will mull it over for a few days and let all my non-existent readers know of the outcome (or not know as the case may be).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-6537242719133952074?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/6537242719133952074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=6537242719133952074' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6537242719133952074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6537242719133952074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2009/02/decision-time.html' title='Decision time'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-2370687218263464195</id><published>2008-09-19T08:37:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-19T08:41:26.119-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Direct quotes</title><content type='html'>&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;When sitting on the toilet he said, "Poop!!" - urinated on toilet. SO proud of himself. Outside did a lot of running - liked when we would say "Ready...Go!!" [just like dad does] Also asked to be next a lot today "neh, neh". [his horse impression sounds remarkably similar to next]&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Stuart marched and danced like the wind-up toys.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Stuart comments on everything - lots of words!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;One very important lesson we're learning, Stuart imitates things. I know, it's no surprise really, but we need to be careful about what we say. Most of the time it's just really silly though. More to come on this....&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-2370687218263464195?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/2370687218263464195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=2370687218263464195' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2370687218263464195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/2370687218263464195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2008/09/direct-quotes.html' title='Direct quotes'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-5367400165851017492</id><published>2008-09-11T20:09:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T20:14:53.423-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Does he cry when you leave?</title><content type='html'>People often ask me if Stuart likes daycare and if he cries when I leave. The short answer is yes and no. In fact, there are days he cries when I pick him up. I showed up a little early a few days ago and he was not happy about it, he desperately wanted to go to the gym with his friends but instead he was stuck going home with mom. Another day he was cruising around (sitting still really) in a "cozy coupe" - the plastic cars kids can get in and move with their feet. I played with him for a bit but then said it was time to go and opened the car door, he grabbed the car door and slammed it shut. Poor guy, he probably had to wait a long time for his turn with the car and I ended it before it's time. Today on the other hand was a good day and he was thrilled to see me, took my hand and waved and said bye-bye to everyone as we walked past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think he ever cried when Geoff used to pick him up, oh well, I'm sure it's developmentally appropriate and he'll grow out of it. But as I often hear from friends with older children, he'll likely grow back into it around 8 or 9.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-5367400165851017492?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/5367400165851017492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=5367400165851017492' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5367400165851017492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5367400165851017492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2008/09/does-he-cry-when-you-leave.html' title='Does he cry when you leave?'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-7658432052509791971</id><published>2008-09-06T14:55:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T15:03:19.269-05:00</updated><title type='text'>As usual</title><content type='html'>That's how the past few days have been for Stuart, pretty typical. He pushed trucks through the sand, rocked on a boat and sang "row row" and built towers with Legos. He loves pretending so when he was playing with the pretend kitchen he blows on his food pretending it's hot (which is what we had done the night before when he wanted to try our eggplant parm) before pretending to take a bite. He gave his teachers and friends lots of hugs and practiced his animal sounds. "He loves climbing on and off big tricycles and cheering for himself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The potty saga continues - but I will say that as excited as we are when he pees, it's much less exciting to clean it up.&lt;br /&gt;He still enjoys sitting on the potty and at school apparently likes to sit on the potty and talk about "mama!" What a wonderful time to be in his thoughts....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-7658432052509791971?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/7658432052509791971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=7658432052509791971' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7658432052509791971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/7658432052509791971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2008/09/as-usual.html' title='As usual'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-4412176928173093367</id><published>2008-09-02T12:33:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T12:38:40.375-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Drum roll please</title><content type='html'>Well this seems like a great place to start since Stuart has had a busy couple of days. On our daily notes, one section is "diapering/toileting" and the options are as usual or other. We usually get as usual or nothing (same as as usual) but not on 8/28 we got an "other". It said, "urinated in potty chair!! Yay!!!" That's right, the use the word urinate and not the more standard pee pee like we do, but it was big news. We figured it was a one time deal, but we were wrong, he's done it three more times at home since then - I think the last time when most of it ended up on the floor and on his leg still counts :) We still did a lot of clapping and cheering for him. And now when he looks at the potty or we talk about it he claps and says "yeah". Not sure what can top that, but on the same day he loved coloring with markers, really liked scooping sand with the large spoons and lined by large blocks and knocked them down - all in a day's work for a toddler.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-4412176928173093367?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/4412176928173093367/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=4412176928173093367' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4412176928173093367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/4412176928173093367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2008/09/drum-roll-please.html' title='Drum roll please'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-5009898070267530773</id><published>2008-08-19T20:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T21:02:12.908-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Toddler Daily Information: Message From Caregiver</title><content type='html'>After starting this blog and not really posting, I was forced (okay that's a bit dramatic) to rethink the whole blogging thing. As it turns out I am just not a blogger, but I am an avid blog reader - probably for the same reasons that I'm obsessed with reality TV. As I've been rethinking my blogger identity I found myself reading friends' blogs - blogs designed to keep friends and family who are miles apart informed of what's going on in their daily lives. Well when I talk about what's going on with Stuart, I usually relay something from his "Message From Caregiver". Everyday when we drop Stuart off at school we fill out the "Message From Home" side, and when we pick him up we get the sheet back and a teacher has filled out the "Message From Caregiver" side. It lets us know what he ate, how he napped (or didn't) and how he spent his time. I love the daily sheets - so for all you daycare teachers out there, keep em coming, and keep em descriptive. For instance, we learned that Stuart does "a great monkey impression" from his sheet (and were able to confirm it at home, it's pretty good).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in the weeks to come I am going to do my best to post some of Stuart's "Teacher Comments" to keep friends and family informed. And of course I will insert some of my own commentary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-5009898070267530773?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/5009898070267530773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=5009898070267530773' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5009898070267530773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/5009898070267530773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2008/08/toddler-daily-information-message-from.html' title='Toddler Daily Information: Message From Caregiver'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-1185114222245588988</id><published>2008-06-10T10:32:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T10:38:41.956-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Toddler Peer Pressure</title><content type='html'>It's official, in the world of daycare (which we prefer to call school), my 16 mth old is a younger toddler. Yesterday was his first full day in the toddler classroom. Last week was his transition week where he visited for part of the day but always returned to the infant classroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He loves being a toddler! And we've already noticed some new behaviors, no doubt the result of toddler peer pressure - indirect of course - some good and some bad. He sits at a table and eats (no more highchair) and buses his own dishes, he sleeps on a cot (only 2 inches off the ground), and he washes his own hands - pumps the soap himself, rubs his hands together and then gets his own paper towel and dries them off. Wow, he's learning so much everyday. He also is a lot louder then he was before - which we've decided is because there's a lot more going on his classroom and toddlers are just louder than infants. He is also doing a lot more "limit testing" - a nice way of saying he knows that he's not supposed to do something but he looks at us, does it anyway, and then runs away laughing. The balance for me as a parent is that it's very cute, but I know I don't want to encourage that behavior, and he's also only 16mths so I need to cut him some slack because we're both still learning. No doubt there will be more to come on this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until then....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-1185114222245588988?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/1185114222245588988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=1185114222245588988' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1185114222245588988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1185114222245588988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2008/06/toddler-peer-pressure.html' title='Toddler Peer Pressure'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-1371182987433171325</id><published>2008-06-10T10:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T10:32:33.213-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Divided Attention</title><content type='html'>My son is now 16mths and everyday I am reminded that the ability to divide his attention between multiple tasks is one that he does not have - and one that he won't have for many years. That is why as parents we say things like, "look at me when I'm talking to you" and "turn your listening ears on" (my personal favorite because it adds a little humor to the situation). As adults we know that you don't need to be looking at someone to hear what they are saying but when you are talking to a toddler, the first thing you need to do is get their attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What this means is that when your toddler seems to be ignoring you, in fact they are likely just busy doing something else. That's the good news and the bad news. I want my son to be able to focus on particular tasks and get really involved in coloring so much that he blocks other things out (hopefully that will translate to his schoolwork someday). The bad news is that I need to call his name countless times to get his attention. The other good side of that is that I was able to sneak into his classroom the other day, grab my keys, and leave again, without him noticing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what I've decided is to keep it light, work on turning those listening ears on, laugh when he's so involved in trying to use his spoon to eat his applesauce that he doesn't notice dad came in the room or his cup fell on the ground, be glad he's working on developing the skill of focused attention, and know that in another ten years he'll be able to divide his attention between tasks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-1371182987433171325?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/1371182987433171325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=1371182987433171325' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1371182987433171325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/1371182987433171325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2008/06/divided-attention.html' title='Divided Attention'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-8327207221817720596</id><published>2008-05-20T10:03:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-20T10:07:10.195-05:00</updated><title type='text'>breastfeeding</title><content type='html'>During the early days, I spent a lot of time thinking about breastfeeding. For this “natural” experience there are lactation consultants, breastfeeding resource centers, and a wealth of other materials. Doesn't sound very natural to me.&lt;br /&gt;But what if you choose to use formula or have to use formula? I haven’t come across any bottle feeding consultants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And here’s the benefits they don’t tell you about the bottle (this doesn't minimize the benefits of breastfeeding):&lt;br /&gt;You know how much the baby is eating&lt;br /&gt;Anyone can give the baby a bottle, even in the middle of the night&lt;br /&gt;Depending on your own comfort level, it may be easier to give your baby a bottle in certain situations&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also learned that the advice that newborns need to eat every two hours is somewhat of a myth. What they don't tell you is that that is a fuzzy two hours, it could be every half hour, every hour, and if you're lucky every three hours. Some infants participate in what is called cluster feeding, during this time, eating every 30-60 minutes is not out of the question. Plus, you are supposed to start timing from the time the baby starts eating. Well my son could easily eat for 40 minutes, that means as soon as he was done, I needed to start thinking about feeding him again. Breastfeeding is really hard and exhausting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-8327207221817720596?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/8327207221817720596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=8327207221817720596' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8327207221817720596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/8327207221817720596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2008/05/breastfeeding.html' title='breastfeeding'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-6158194552322888665</id><published>2008-05-20T10:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-20T10:03:08.731-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleep (written during week 5)</title><content type='html'>Right now sleep seems like the most appropriate place to start, since that is what I am missing the most these days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Once the exhaustion really kicks in, if he will sleep 3 or 4 hours at night between feedings, who am I to wake him?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Newborns are really noisy. We started out with our son sleeping in a small portable crib next to our bed. What that means is that every time he flails his arms, changes his breathing pattern, grunts, or coos (which is quite enjoyable during the day), I was awake and hovering. Does he need to eat? Does he need his diaper changed? On his 1 month birthday I decided I needed more sleep and he should sleep in his room, that way I wouldn’t hear his every move. Well that worked like a charm and he has been sleeping in his own room, in his crib ever since. As it turns out, not only was he keeping me up, but apparently I was disturbing his sleep as well because he has been sleeping like a champ. I learned that all that hovering wasn’t good for either of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Checking to see if the baby is still breathing&lt;br /&gt;Babies have immature systems and that means their breathing patterns change from heavy and fast (sort of like a 90-year-old man) to slow and quiet. So of course you check to see if baby is still breathing because a minute ago you could hear him from the other room now you can’t hear him at all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-6158194552322888665?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/6158194552322888665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=6158194552322888665' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6158194552322888665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/6158194552322888665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2008/05/sleep-written-during-week-5.html' title='Sleep (written during week 5)'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4639190601889605054.post-814630253643977239</id><published>2008-05-20T09:56:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-20T10:02:00.690-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A real live blog</title><content type='html'>About a year and a half ago, a colleague and friend suggested I start a blog about parenting - what it's really like. As someone with a degree in human development, he thought it would be "fun" to blog about what it's really like, all the things they leave out of the books. With great intentions, I started a blog, well sort of. I started to blog in a word file - at the time my son was only 4 weeks old and I was too tired to actually figure out how the blog worked. Well, those good intentions got lost and now 16 months later I'm finally starting to get my act together and have started a real live blog! I'm going to start by blogging about the first few months of parenthood - yes, I'm pulling out those old word documents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, I have invited a good friend to blog with me. She is the parent of a teenager. So here we go.....parenting live! toddlers and teens.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4639190601889605054-814630253643977239?l=parentinglive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/feeds/814630253643977239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4639190601889605054&amp;postID=814630253643977239' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/814630253643977239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4639190601889605054/posts/default/814630253643977239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://parentinglive.blogspot.com/2008/05/about-year-and-half-ago-colleague-and.html' title='A real live blog'/><author><name>Jodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08074747342025202542</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
