Not ready for prime time

This rainy weekend, we invested in our first board game thinking that Sophie would love to play and it would give us all something fun to do together. The box indicated that the game was for children 3+. We figured our super smart 2.5 year old would be more than ready. We were way wrong.

The obvious game to get was CandyLand, a childhood favorite of mine, but we were against the overt, insidious theme. Instead we bought for some ABC board game. Turns out, even a modified version of it, just spinning the spinner and counting out one to four spaces, is just too, too much.

Maybe next week, maybe CandyLand.

mathematician in training

Last night while sitting on the porch, Sophie told us she needed three seats in her kayak, one for me, her and her dad. Then I asked her what if JJ comes too. She thought for a moment, then said four.

mortified

"Mommy," her voice wavered from her room at the end of her nap.

"Mommy!"

I got there first.

She was standing in front of her crib. There was a large wet spot covering her mattress.

"Daddy, daddy I peepee!" she said and burst into tears.

I gathered her up as her mother appeared in the doorway.

"I peepee my Pato!" she cried and–this was a tipping point–gave herself over to great wrenching sobs of despair. (Pato being her stuffed duck).

And, I mean, it's not even like we've been all that strict with the potty training, her mother and I. We're pretty easygoing. It's been all positive reinforcement when things work out and "oh well, let's try to remember the potty next time" when it doesn't. And here was my girl absolutely devastated over a little accident.

I was halfway to laughter, it was such a little thing. But I stopped. It broke my heart to see my little girl's heart a-breaking.

"Oh sweetie, oh honey, it's okay!"

We stripped the bed, stripped the girl. And held her and reassured her until she started smiling again.

*too* smug

Oh dear.

There have been outraged howls of protest in the night.

Milkie on the hour, every hour. (We're having to phase this out for our own sanity.)

An offer of water is a mortal insult.

The night before last was bad. Last night was a bit better.

"I no want water, daddy. I no *want* wa-ha-ha-ter!" (followed by heart rending sobs).

Tonight will be better.

It will.

Room Service

She's taken to coordinating our milk runs.

"Okay," she said the other night. "Okay daddy, you out my room. My here. I 'Milkie!' You bring milk my room!"

"Alright, Goose," I said, "Sweet dreams."

I shut the door, walked to the living room and then:

"Daddy! Milkie!"

Back I walked to deliver milk to a very smug little girl.

She does this with her mother too.

Ima workin' on dis!

Sophie's settling in well, I'm happy to report.

We were a bit apprehensive (and sad) when, in the first week of daycare, she asked for her old daycare and caretakers back. Now she's getting on with the business of making friends and working on projects.

• We went to a school picnic a week or so ago. Sophie was concerned with finding and playing with her "kids". "Where my kids?" she'd ask. Then she saw someone she recognized up on a hill. "Oh! Oh! Dere my kids, Daddy!"
• She's come home from school with some intriguing new habits. She puts her hands behind her back when we tell her not to touch. She told us she needs to line up on the line to get ready to eat. And she took one of her blankets, rolled it up and put it in a corner. "Dis go here" she said, "Dis my rug. Ima workin' on dis." Yay Montessori!
• In general, there's a lot of working on projects now. When we tell her to put something away, we need to go: "No!! Ima workin' on dis!" she replies. When she asks for something we'd rather not give her at the moment: "No, I nee' dis, Mommy!" she says, "I, I, Ima *need* dis!"
• Oh the sly goose. We're slowly weaning her from the binkie. Exceptions are road trips (and, fine, yes, parental exhaustion). "Binkie, Daddy," she'll say on the way to the supermarket, "Dis road trip!"
• Her language use is exploding. She's got "other" now (as in "my other binkie" rather than "my more binkie"). She's also got more complex sentence structure: "My Daddy bring my tricycle here!" she told her daycare friends when I arrived to pick her up with said tricycle in tow.

I'm intrigued by the evidence of her internal emotional life. She'll play with things for long periods now without our intervention. And so I'll watch as she "reads" to her Elmo doll, or pretends to cook things (which we are then enlisted to "eat"), or as she reenacts conflict and sharing as she plays with a plastic tractor.

"No dis *my* tractor" said one of the little plastic farmers to the other, who was trying to push it off.

"No dis mines!"

"No my turn now!"

"Oh your turn now. Oh! Okay!"