Category Archives: Peter

02.28.08
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And, yes, it is still there

Monday, nap time

Peter: Where’s my race car?

Me: I put it on top of your dresser. You can have it after nap time.

Monday, bed time

Peter: Where’s my race car?

Me: It’s still on your dresser. You can have it tomorrow.

Tuesday, nap time

Peter: Where’s my race car?

Me: Buddy, it’s still on your dresser. You can’t have it until after nap time.

Tuesday, bed time

Peter: Where’s my race car?

Me: On your dresser. Tomorrow, Petey.

Wednesday, nap time

Peter: Where’s my race car?

Me: On your dresser. Sorry, honey. I’ll get it down after you nap.

Wednesday, bed time

Peter: Where’s my race car?

Me: It’s on your dresser. Still.

Peter: That’s not my race car. That’s Jenny’s race car. My race car is downstairs.

Argh!

02.27.08
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Baby Talk

Peter’s latest addition to his vocabulary: horrible.

I don’t know if he knows what it means. I think he just likes the way it sounds.

Ha-roar-bull.

Ha-roar-bull.

Ha-roar-bull.

Sixteen…seventeen…eighteen…Ha-roar-bull.

That’s how he sang himself to sleep tonight.

01.12.08
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Still under quarantine

Pete was awfully lethargic this morning, and sure enough, he had a fever. I knew right away he had strep throat, since both Fritz and Billy have recently had it.

My first thought was how two days ago he was playing with his spit experimenting with the viscosity of human saliva, and, when he got bored, he turned to the baby to offer her his love and affection. Of course, I got some of this love too. Lovely.

Fortunately, the clinic was open today, so I took him and his three sisters in for throat cultures. The doc gave him some antibiotics right away anyway since all evidence points to strep.

On a wholly unrelated note, if you’ve ever tried to clean something greasy or oily, for instance spreadable butter, off of a slick surface, for example the storm window on the front door, you’d know that water doesn’t work very well.

I’d like to recommend Windex with vinegar. It takes butter (or other oily substances) right off windows (or other smooth surfaces). It does well on doors, hardwood floors, linoleum, and tables too.

Don’t ask how I know. Let’s just say even a lethargic toddler can manage to keep his mom on her toes.

12.28.07
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Would you care for a (slightly used) nut?

Peter likes M&Ms (who doesn’t?).

Peter likes plain M&Ms.

Peter does not like peanut M&Ms.

We only happen to have peanut M&Ms in the house right now. {My husband, who is addicted to M&Ms, switched to peanut from plain several years ago out of health reasons: nuts being a source of protein.}

If the M&Ms are left within his reach, Peter will eat them. The plain part. The peanut part he’ll put back for someone else to eat.

12.21.07
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You can put a child in bed, but you can’t make him sleep.

And a thirsty horse has more sense than an exhausted toddler.

My kids are spooled up. Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, packages seem to arrive every day by post (or by Brown), and then said packages disappear, cookies are baking, decorations are going up, we’re going to parties, the kids are drinking soda and staying up late. My older ones know that the real fun hasn’t even begun yet, and are getting antsier by the minute.

Within the hour, my boys will wake up and Billy will say, “It’s three more days until Christmas!” And Fritz will respond, “Three days and a wake up!” That’s what they do, every morning.

All of my kids seem to be having a bit of difficulty getting to sleep, some are even getting up earlier than normal, and everybody’s moods are a bit more…delicate. The worst one, though, is Peter. He fights his naps, despite demonstrating all morning long that he is in desperate need of one. If he manages to fall asleep, a big IF, he might sleep for an hour instead of his usual 2 or 3. Then he’s miserable all afternoon long, but when bedtime comes, he fights that too. Instead of compensating by sleeping late the following morning, he may wake one or more times at night and get up earlier than normal in the morning.

And then it begins again. Each day has been just a bit worse than the day before.

This morning I felt so bad for the kid. He climbed into my bed at some early hour. But from 4 am until after 5, he tossed and turned like a true insomniac. I finally offered to rock him in the chair in his room. First he tried his own bed and rolled around there. Then he let me rock him as I silently prayed a rosary with the intention of this poor child to get some rest. He seemed to be asleep, and three decades later I tried to put him in bed. He woke up. I brought him downstairs and put on Noggin, hoping he would zone out in front of the TV. He rolled around on the couch and then the floor, trying to get comfortable, trying to go back to sleep. Finally I had him snuggle on my lap until he was snoring soundly. He’s there now, but I doubt he’ll get more than an hour of rest before the din of the day wakes him.

I’ve never given my kids Benedryl, but I think this kid needs some help.

I think this mom needs some help.

11.28.07
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Who are you…

…and what have you done with my sweet, cooperative two-year old?

My Petey used to give me hugs and kisses. When I ask you for a kiss, you say NO.

My Petey used to love to help clean up. When I suggest picking up toys, you say NO.

My Petey used to race to let the dog in or out of the house. When I ask you nicely to do this simple thing for me, you say NO.

My Petey used to go to bed or nap without too much complaint. When I tell you it’s time to go, you run and hide. When I catch you and put you in your room, you throw a fit and won’t stay in bed.

My Petey used to say please and thank you without prompting. When I gently remind you how to ask nicely, you stare at me defiantly.

My Petey used to move gently around the baby. When I ask you to stop climbing on the couch where I’m sitting with Mary, you start jumping harder.

My Petey used to follow cooperatively to different activities. But you have a repertoire of diversionary tactics I find hard to believe a mere two year old could conjure.

My Petey used to listen and obey when given a warning that his parents were wise to his intentions. But you feign innocence and claim to be “just walking” and not preparing to repeat improper behavior.

Who are you, little boy? Where is my Petey?