In Anticipation

Emmy is very excited about our upcoming trip to the beach.  Everyday, she asks, "Are we going to the beach, tomorrow?"  And we've been trying to contain her eagerness-- saying, "No, honey, not yet."  Unfortunately, since Emmy doesn't really understand time-- ("tomorrow" is all future events and "yesterday" is all past events) it's been difficult to explain that we're going "next month," or "later this summer," or even in "two more weeks."  But, now we're finally under 7 days, so I think we might actually be in small enough units that Emmy has some understanding.

Last night, when she asked if we're going to beach yet, I told her, "Five more days, sweetie.  You go to school for five days, then we go to Grandma's house Friday night, then we go to the beach on Saturday."  I paused, holding up five fingers.  "Can you count to five?" 

To which she responded, "I don't want to count to five, mama."  As if she just couldn't understand what I was thinking.  She's asking about the beach (the beach! mama) and her mom wants her to practice numbers.

Missed Updates from One Year Ago

I found a post-it note on my desk last week with several notes about posts I wanted to write-- and thankfully, I dated it.  The date was May 23, 2012.  There's a post from May 23 on the blog, where I hit the first few bullet points, but I never got around to the rest.

Even though they're a year old, I think they're still valuable memories, especially in light of the differences between then and now.

One day last year when I picked her up, she told me that she had gotten in trouble, and when I asked her why, she told me she had hit another little girl.  This was the first time she self-reported bad behavior.  I remember thinking how remarkable it was that with her limited vocabulary she was able to tell me what happened, and I thought it was a mark of our good relationship and developing moral system that she told me about it.

Also, around this time last year, she started talking about Grandma, Grandma and Grandpa, and Patty and JP.  (I think she might have still been calling her Pat-Pat, which I was really hoping would stick, but alas, it's just "Aunt Patty" (and JP).)  This was the point at which she understood that they had titles, were separate people, and that Grandma (Tom's mom) was separate from Grandma and Grandpa (my parents), and that Patty was associated with Grandma and Grandpa-- AND that JP was associated with Patty.  Very complicated for a 2 and 1/2 year old.

She also had just learned what a siren was, and every vehicle that passed us with a siren blaring was automatically a "fire truck."  (Still is.)

Lastly, about a year ago, she had just started playing with the ipad.  She started with a simple coloring program that allowed her to swipe colors across the screen.  Now, barely a year later, she is, I think it's safe to say, an advanced user.

Lost and Found at the Science Museum

Everything they’ve told me about parenting so far has been true.  They said I’d love her the instant I met her, and they were right.  They said, when she was ready, potty-training would just happen—and it did.  And they said that at some point, every kid gets lost.

And yesterday, mine did.

It was the worst ten minutes of my life.

We took Emmy to the children’s science museum, which has a pretty open-plan format, and tried to keep up with her.  She’s fast, and her attention span is fairly short, so by the time we had figured out what she was supposed to be doing/learning at a specific exhibit, she’d already moved on, and we had to scramble to catch up.  She was so excited to “play.”

And then, in the side room on the second floor, she just ran off.  I turned to follow her, and I couldn’t see her anymore.  I figured Tom had kept an eye on her, so I didn’t panic, but I moved to catch up, and then I saw that Tom wasn’t with her.

We made eye contact, and realized neither of us had the kid in sight, so we both started checking the room.  We searched for about two minutes, and didn’t see her.  I went back to a couple of places she had already been to, and he checked the side room.

We met back, and then searched for about one more minute, and I said, “I think it’s time to ask for help.”   

So I went to the front desk and told them that my daughter had walked away from me.  They initiated a staff search, asking me for details about her outfit and hair color.  They asked me to stay at the desk, which I absolutely didn’t want to do, but knowing that Tom was looking for her, I agreed and stood there, wringing my hands and worrying.

I listened to the traffic on the walkie-talkie at the desk, and I tried to tamp down my panic.  Where on earth could she have gone to?

Finally, after what felt like an extremely long time (but couldn’t have been more than 10-15 minutes) someone squawked on the radio that they’d found her.  I waved Tom down to the front desk and, finally, she appeared at the top of the stairs, in a staff member’s arms, sobbing.

They found her in the bathroom.  The bathroom doors all push in, but pull out.  So, Emmy was able to get into the bathroom, but couldn’t reach the handle to get herself out.  She told us later that she had to wait for a big one to get her out (big person?). 

I don’t know if she left me and went straight to the bathroom.  I don’t know if she wandered off and just happened upon a bathroom and decided she had to go.  I don’t know what happened to the necklaces she was wearing (they were gone when we found her), and I don’t know why she pulled her hair down out of the ponytail.  I don’t know when she started crying.

And I don’t know why we didn’t check the damn bathrooms.

It turned out fine.  No lasting damage.  But during that terrible time, while I stood at the front desk, literally wringing my hands, I didn’t know that would be the case, and it was terrifying.  I hated being out of control.  I hated not knowing where she was or what might be happening to her. 

The Discovery Center staff did a great job.  I could see in the faces of the few staff members who crossed my line of sight that they were taking it seriously, and they found her quickly, without having to disrupt any of the other guests.  I can't emphasize enough how much I appreciate them.  We won't be going back to the Discovery Center for awhile, but it's not because the staff didn't do a great job-- it's just that I don't think Emmy is quite old enough to run around by herself in such a large space.

Every time I think about it, I get upset again, but I just don't think we could have done anything differently.  I will always kick myself for not keeping up with her better, and for not checking the bathrooms right away.  Tom and I both said later that we each thought about the possibility of her being in the bathroom, but we both shrugged it off.  I didn't think that enough time had passed for her to have decided to go to the bathroom.  I thought she was off playing, totally unaware that neither Mama nor Daddy knew where she was.  I didn't think she could be stuck in the bathroom crying because she couldn't get out.  The image that my brain produces of what that must have looked like will haunt me for a long time.  I failed her.  I wasn't there to get her out of that jam.  I didn't check the bathroom.

But, on the other hand, I know I have to let it go.  It's over, it ended fine, and we all learned from it.  And that's the most positive thought I can muster about it today.

Emmy's First Story

It was raining yesterday when I went to pick Emmy up from daycare.  As we walked out to the car, Emmy told me that God made the rain.  I agreed with her, and asked her if she knew why God made the rain.  Why is kind of a difficult concept still (she often answers the same thing for why, when, and where), so I plowed ahead and told her that God made the rain so that the trees, flowers and vegetables could grow.

Then we talked a bit about vegetables and people who eat vegetables.  Emmy is familiar with vegetables because during the spring and summer months (and often into the fall, bless you Tennessee's long growing season) we go to the farmer's market on Saturday mornings to "get vegetables."

Then, as we drove home, Emmy told me a story.  I'm paraphrasing here, because I can't remember it exactly, and I didn't realize she was telling a story until she got to the end. (It's hard to tell the difference between toddler rambling and more concrete communication attempts)

When she finished, I told her I loved her story and that we should write it down.  Emmy said, "Write it down?"  I promised I would, so here goes:

Emmy's story:

God made the rain.  God made the vegetables.  I (Emmy) broke the vegetables.  God made more vegetables.  "That's all the pages."

(That last part is a direct quote, and it's how I knew that Emmy had just told me a story.  She's just started saying "that's all the pages," whenever she gets to the end of a book, movie, or TV show.)

How's that for a solid understanding of God's love and forgiveness?  God made the vegetables.  Emmy broke the vegetables, but it's okay, because God made more vegetables.  (Maybe I'm reading WAY too much into it.  But I think I can be forgiven for that.  Probably.)

Also, clearly, Emmy is another in a long line of Rollins-Smith-Watson (and probably Schleicher and Eggenberger) story-tellers.

Hit the Road, Jack.

I'm still working on my post for Emmy's birthday, which, hopefully, I'll complete sometime before her next birthday, but in the meantime, I wanted to post this:

Grandma Susan taught her the hook to "Hit the Road, Jack," and she's been singing it for a couple of weeks.

This weekend, she made up her own lyrics.

She was eating lunch with Grandma Susan, and singing:

"Hit the road, Jack,
and don't you come back,
I'm eating my mac and cheese."

Tom missed it, so later in the car on the drive home, I was telling him that she had started making up her own songs, so I asked her to sing her lunch song for Tom, and she did.

I almost collapsed from the cuteness.

Whoops, I forgot to publish this one.

Emmy's going through a phase where she likes to take off her pants and then her diaper.

The other night, she spilled water on her pants, so of course, she had to take them off.  Then after dinner, off comes the diaper because "it's wet, mama."

It was almost bath time, so I suggested to her that she needed pants, but didn't pursue it further.  I did ask her not to pee pee on the carpet.

A few minutes later, I smelled a familiar odor.  "Tom, is that you?" I asked.  He shook his head.  I checked Emmy, and she was clean, so I shrugged and ignored it.

Then, a few more minutes later, Emmy gets a horrified look on her face.  "Oh, oh, oh!" she cries.  I look down, and my baby is pooping on the carpet.  She's struggling to look over her shoulder and see what's happening.

"Honey," I say.  "Don't just stand there.  Go sit on your potty!"

So, she runs over to her potty and plops down.

Shaking my head, I walk over to get a paper towel to pick up the poops.  As I walk back into the living room, I see my daughter stand up, pick up the bowl of her potty and dump the pee out on the wood floor.

At least she got it in the potty in the first place.  Right?

So, Tom and I are trying desperately not to laugh uproariously-- and failing miserably.  We pick her up and cart her upstairs for bath time.

We also want to encourage the potty use, so after she's in the bath, I ask if she remembers what happens when she pee pees in the potty.  She looks up at me and says, "I get m&m's, mommy."

She got her m&ms, even though it wasn't a perfect potty experience.

Brief Emmy Updates (It ended up not being very brief)

Emmy is so adorable right now!  Every single day, I think to myself, she can't possibly top this level of cute.  But then she does. 

And then she throws a fit and sobs for 20 minutes.  Because we can't watch another episode of Mickey's Clubhouse.  So it balances out.

Emmy is very excited about our plans to buy our Christmas tree and decorate this weekend.  Last night I told her we would be decorating, and Emmy said, "What we going to dec-or-ate, mama?"  I suppose she'd never heard the word decorate before, so she spoke very slowly and deliberately to get it out correctly.  I was so amused, I couldn't even answer her because I was grinning and trying to contain my laughter.

I told her we would get a Christmas tree and she said, "With lights?"

We tried to go see Santa two weeks ago.  It was an unmitigated disaster.  She refused to sit on Santa's lap, and when we finally decided to just have her stand beside him, the store made the decision to dump the photos before I could decide if any of them were usable.  I complained to the store manager, who essentially told me that it wasn't feasible to allow parents to review all the photos and pick the best one.  So, instead the 17 year old who is running the camera "decides" which is the best/most saleable photo.  Which means that the photo they chose for us was the first of 5 shots.  Rage doesn't even begin to describe my feelings.  I was so mad, I was shaking.  I was shaking so hard I wasn't sure I could say, "I'd like to speak to a manager," clearly. 

Sigh.  We won't be going back to that store.  Even if they do have the best looking Santa.

I decided that we won't be going to see Santa again until either a) Emmy actually wants to go see him or b) one of the grandmas decides to take the task on herself.  It's just not worth the hassle and rage.  Emmy doesn't get anything out of it, because she's just scared of this weird man in red.  And Tom and I just get to exercise our anger management.  A skill that neither of us is particularly good at when shopping malls are involved.  My rage meter tends to max out MUCH more quickly in a mall than in any other location.  Except the DMV.  And my polling place.  Oh, nevermind, my rage meter maxes out a lot.

Emmy has also gotten interested in cooking and baking.  She loves to help cook.  She's made cookies with both grandmas, and she helps me make dinner fairly often.  We also made a "pumpkin pie" for Thanksgiving.  She likes to stir, pour things into the mixing bowl, and she loves to crack the eggs.  Her egg cracking is a little, ahem, inelegant at the moment, but she'll improve.

I also want to mention her vocabulary and speaking.  It seems to have happened overnight, but my little girl is now speaking in full complex sentences.  It's an amazing transformation.  She uses the word because.  Correctly.  Most of her sentences have a comma in them.  There are still times when I have no idea what she's talking about, but for the most part, her communication has just taken off and she talks non-stop.  I don't even think I could count all the words in her vocabulary at this point.

For Christmas, she's asking Santa for a jack in the box, a dollhouse, and (according to the letter she "wrote" at school) for "Grandma to see Santa."