Did you know that Bryson is a big boy? Chances are, if you didn't, he'll tell you in the next 5 minutes or so. About six weeks ago, we transitioned Bry from his crib to a "big boy bed," because he kept trying to crawl out of his crib, and we felt due for some kind of milestone.
We got the crib disassembled, plunked his crib mattress on the floor for naptime, and then assembled the new bed just before bedtime. When we went into his room for bedtime, his first question was, "Where's my crib?"
In retrospect, we may have overdone it a little on the "convince Bry he's a big boy" campaign. "You're ready to sleep in big boy bed now because you're a big boy," we told him. He looked at the bed again, "Where's my crib?" "You slept in a crib when you were a baby. Now that you're a big boy, you're ready for a bed with no rails." You'd think that he'd be grateful for us jailbreaking him, but not so much.
After a few nights and no falls, Bry seemed accustomed enough to the new bed, and had stopped asking about his crib. In the following weeks, every time Bry has asserted his independence - whether through insisting that he can climb into his carseat himself, or wash his hands himself, or climb into his booster seat himself, and so on - he'll declare, "I'm a big boy now. I can do it all by myself." Should Steve or I make the mistake of absentmindedly picking him up to plunk him in his carseat, or lift him off the stool after he's washed his hands, he'll remind us, "No, I sleep in a big boy bed now. I can do it by myself." Sleeping in a big boy bed has become the mantra signaling his growing realization that he is his own person, he can take pride in what he does, and he can drive his parents crazy by making them wait the approximately 72 hours that it takes him to crawl into his carseat. He declares to random people on the sidewalk, "I sleep in a big boy bed now." It's sweet to see him puffed up with pride, a look of serious determination on his face. And it makes the times when he does ask for help, "Can you wash my hands for me today, mama?" doubly sweet.
Amusingly, even though Bry has been sleeping in his big boy bed for some time, he hasn't yet entirely figured out that he can get in and out of it of his own free will. Most mornings, when he wakes up, he'll call out from the refuge of his bed, "What does Bryson want to do?" Invariably, the answer to this question is, "Go play with trucks!" I don't know quite why Bry asks about himself in the third person, or why he has persisted on waiting until Steve or I cross the threshold of his room before bolting out of his bed toward the living room and his trucks. One morning he called out, "Sandra, can you come get me?" "You can get out of bed by yourself! You're a big boy!" I called out in response, from the cocoon of my own bed. "Sandra, can you come get me?" came his answer, in a higher, more desperate pitch. And so I did.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
Before I Forget
Bryson is a funny guy. A pint-sized comedian, if you will. And the funniest thing about him is that he doesn't know he's being funny until you laugh. But when you do, he joins in like he's training for the giggle Olympics.
The other morning, when I was trying to "coat him" (Bryson's terminology for putting on his coat; also, a request to put his shoes on goes like this: "Shoe me!"), Bry had a truck in each hand. This is not an unusual occurrence. I asked him to please put down his trucks so I could put his coat on. His response? "It's okay mama; the dump truck is quite small." Not just small. Quite small. I laughed. He laughed. Hilarity ensued.
Yesterday morning, Bry was playing with his "animal hospital" (i.e., plastic box with lockable kennels that are proportioned such that one needs to forcefully shove the included stuffed animals in so they fit). He held up the stuffed kitten, shined a flashlight on it, and declared, "This kitty weighs 200,000 pounds!" Same routine with the dog: "This puppy weighs 300,000 pounds!" And finally the parrot: "This bird weighs 500,000 pounds!" With each subsequent animal, the volume of his voice increased, until he reached a fever pitch with "500,000 pounds!" Meanwhile, I'm stuck with the image of a 100-ton cat stalking down the street. "Hmm, that must be a really dense kitty," I respond. For now, my science humor is lost on him. I figure I might as well get him started early though, since he's going to be stuck with his parents' bizarre senses of humor for a long time.
And finally, this morning, on the way to school, Bry was sitting contentedly in his carseat, playing with trucks, per usual. He startled me when he shouted, distraught, "No! There's no wind in the car, excavator!" Bewildered, I asked for clarification. "There's no wind, excavator! You shouldn't turn like that!" came the response. Putting 2 and 2 together, I said, "You think wind makes the excavator's arm move, but there's no wind in the car, so why is the arm moving anyways?" "Yes!" Poor kid doesn't quite understand gravity yet, or, I suppose, Newton's first law of motion. He's continually frustrated when his trucks roll down inclines, or otherwise succumb to the force of gravity by falling, shifting, or moving. He put the truck there, so it should stay there. Simple as that. I suppose it would be mean to laugh out loud at this, so I do my best to stifle my giggles, so that I can attend to his distress with all due gravity. Pun intended. Gotta love the science humor.
The other morning, when I was trying to "coat him" (Bryson's terminology for putting on his coat; also, a request to put his shoes on goes like this: "Shoe me!"), Bry had a truck in each hand. This is not an unusual occurrence. I asked him to please put down his trucks so I could put his coat on. His response? "It's okay mama; the dump truck is quite small." Not just small. Quite small. I laughed. He laughed. Hilarity ensued.
Yesterday morning, Bry was playing with his "animal hospital" (i.e., plastic box with lockable kennels that are proportioned such that one needs to forcefully shove the included stuffed animals in so they fit). He held up the stuffed kitten, shined a flashlight on it, and declared, "This kitty weighs 200,000 pounds!" Same routine with the dog: "This puppy weighs 300,000 pounds!" And finally the parrot: "This bird weighs 500,000 pounds!" With each subsequent animal, the volume of his voice increased, until he reached a fever pitch with "500,000 pounds!" Meanwhile, I'm stuck with the image of a 100-ton cat stalking down the street. "Hmm, that must be a really dense kitty," I respond. For now, my science humor is lost on him. I figure I might as well get him started early though, since he's going to be stuck with his parents' bizarre senses of humor for a long time.
And finally, this morning, on the way to school, Bry was sitting contentedly in his carseat, playing with trucks, per usual. He startled me when he shouted, distraught, "No! There's no wind in the car, excavator!" Bewildered, I asked for clarification. "There's no wind, excavator! You shouldn't turn like that!" came the response. Putting 2 and 2 together, I said, "You think wind makes the excavator's arm move, but there's no wind in the car, so why is the arm moving anyways?" "Yes!" Poor kid doesn't quite understand gravity yet, or, I suppose, Newton's first law of motion. He's continually frustrated when his trucks roll down inclines, or otherwise succumb to the force of gravity by falling, shifting, or moving. He put the truck there, so it should stay there. Simple as that. I suppose it would be mean to laugh out loud at this, so I do my best to stifle my giggles, so that I can attend to his distress with all due gravity. Pun intended. Gotta love the science humor.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
More on the Inner Workings of a Two-Year-Old Mind
Yesterday when picking up Bry at school, his teachers stopped me, saying they had to share two amusing things that Bry had said. First, he apparently announced, apropos of nothing, "Bry's mom goes really fast!" Sure I do. And second, in response to a book about frustrated children who can't complete any of the tasks that they'd like to (it's not as dreary as it sounds), Bry asserted, "Bry can do everything!" and then started counting as high as he could. His self-esteem is apparently still very much intact.
And then this evening, our conversation in relation to a picture of people on horseback in the book Our Animal Friends at Maple Farm:
Bry: What are those people doing?
Mama: They're riding the horses. People do that sometimes.
Bry: Why?
Mama: Um, because horses can run really fast and some people find it fun to ride them. See those ropes? They're called reins; people use them to steer the horses, to tell them which way to go.
Bry: Because horses don't have steering wheels!
And then this evening, our conversation in relation to a picture of people on horseback in the book Our Animal Friends at Maple Farm:
Bry: What are those people doing?
Mama: They're riding the horses. People do that sometimes.
Bry: Why?
Mama: Um, because horses can run really fast and some people find it fun to ride them. See those ropes? They're called reins; people use them to steer the horses, to tell them which way to go.
Bry: Because horses don't have steering wheels!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Two More Since Nap Time
Upon waking from his nap, the first thing Bry said was, "Sheeps don't have hands!" You're right on that one, kiddo.
And later, spelling his name: "B-R-Y-S-O-N-Exclamation point!" Sounds about right.
And later, spelling his name: "B-R-Y-S-O-N-Exclamation point!" Sounds about right.
From the Mouths of Babes
Recently, Bry has been conjuring up some interesting theories about the world and how it works, as well as the parameters within which he'd like it to operate. He's also just been saying some funny things. Here's a sampling of some of his more endearing thoughts:
On giraffes: "The mama giraffe has a baby giraffe in her tummy. That's why she's so tall."
On being asked if he'd like a sister or brother: "Someday."
On what he'd like for dinner at grandma and grandpa's house: "Ribs. And corn and broccoli. And bacon."
On mimicking mama, who commented one day, "What's up with all of this traffic?": "What is up with it?"
On being asked what he did at school: "All of the things." Or, "No."
On the physiology of turtles: "Turtle is drinking water. It's going in his shell. Turtles don't make BMs."
On the physiology of people: "The food goes in your mouth. Then in your tummy. Then in your little intestine. Then in your large intestine. Then out your bottom!"
On being asked not to yell: "BRY WANTS TO YELL!"
On being chastised for further yelling: "Bry is being respectful!"
On the seasons: "All the snow is melted! It's springtime!"
On being told that 47 is not the same as 74 (for example): "Bry wants it to be 74!"
On being persuaded to start any new activity: "Bry not want to [insert activity here]!"
On being told it's time to stop said activity: "Bry not want to stop [insert activity here]!"
On being asked why he is throwing a toy, a stuffed animal, a blanket, etc.: "Because Bry is throwing it!"
There's just no arguing with that kind of logic.
On giraffes: "The mama giraffe has a baby giraffe in her tummy. That's why she's so tall."
On being asked if he'd like a sister or brother: "Someday."
On what he'd like for dinner at grandma and grandpa's house: "Ribs. And corn and broccoli. And bacon."
On mimicking mama, who commented one day, "What's up with all of this traffic?": "What is up with it?"
On being asked what he did at school: "All of the things." Or, "No."
On the physiology of turtles: "Turtle is drinking water. It's going in his shell. Turtles don't make BMs."
On the physiology of people: "The food goes in your mouth. Then in your tummy. Then in your little intestine. Then in your large intestine. Then out your bottom!"
On being asked not to yell: "BRY WANTS TO YELL!"
On being chastised for further yelling: "Bry is being respectful!"
On the seasons: "All the snow is melted! It's springtime!"
On being told that 47 is not the same as 74 (for example): "Bry wants it to be 74!"
On being persuaded to start any new activity: "Bry not want to [insert activity here]!"
On being told it's time to stop said activity: "Bry not want to stop [insert activity here]!"
On being asked why he is throwing a toy, a stuffed animal, a blanket, etc.: "Because Bry is throwing it!"
There's just no arguing with that kind of logic.
State of the Bry Address
A lot of things have happened in the life of Bry and company. Things that I might have blogged about, had I not been knee-deep in articles and documents, and other assorted dissertation paraphernalia. Instead of re-living every moment of our lives over the past six weeks, I thought I'd summarize the major talking points (not necessarily in chronological order):
- We went to the zoo. Bry saw giraffes. Then he wanted to see elephants, but there weren't any.
- We went to Wood Lake. Daddy broke the ice on the lake with his foot. Bry wanted to go inside.
- We walked to Minnehaha Creek. Bry shouted, "1, 2, 3, Go!" and threw rocks and other detritus into the water.
- We went to MoA. Bry rode on the carousel. He wanted to ride again, but we told him he couldn't because we had to go eat at McDonald's.
- We attended a potluck dinner at Bry's daycare. We discovered that Bry is unique in eating his weight in fruit each day. Bry found the fact that we were eating in the gym hilarious. He jumped on the trampoline.
- We went to the Children's Museum. Bry climbed on Clifford, the Big Red Dog. He touched a corn snake. He declared, "There's too much kids here."
- We took a trip to Office Depot. Bry endured an hour of hunting for a printer by reading off all of the letters and numbers he could see and rearranging all of the claim cards for the electronics. We put them all back in their proper places before we left.
- Nana and Gong-Gong visited. We stayed in a "rotel," played at Edinborough Park, went swimming, and had dim sum. We did not jump on the beds at the hotel, because "only monkeys jump on the bed."
- We went to Grandma and Grandpa's house. Bry pushed all of the buttons on "noisy bulldozer" and leapt, terrified, onto the couch. He ate ribs with much gusto.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Finely Calibrated Wishes - An Ode to Two
Oh 2, you have such finely calibrated wishes. For example, yesterday when I drove you home from daycare, you were irate, livid, appalled that the Fed Ex truck that happened by our car had purple and green letters, rather than purple and orange letters. And you voiced your outrage in clear terms: "Bry not want purple and green letters! Bry wants purple and orange letters!" You punctuated this vocalization with fist pounding and face contorting, fury seeping through your every pore. I can understand your outrage. The world is such an unbending place, isn't it?
Also, 2, your wishes today may not be your wishes tomorrow. Or even your wishes, say, in the next 30 seconds. You must have received instructions to keep us guessing. Good work on that imperative. One moment you want mama to take you out of your crib and shriek when daddy tries to do it. Five minutes later, daddy is king and you shriek when mama comes within five feet of you. That's a good mixture of power and confounding. Have you been taking advice from W again? At any rate, you don't want anyone around you to get too comfortable.
On, and an extension on that last point, 2. The drama? It is epic. You could singlehandedly take on an afternoon's lineup of soaps and emerge ahead for sheer quantity, intensity, and persistence of drama. Days has nothing on you. In fact, I'd say that your acting is superior - there's no phoning it in on days you're tired. If anything, you manage to somehow step up the drama when you're short on sleep or hungry or someone looked at you wrong. Bravo!
But 2, you know what else? You give the best hugs ever. You wrap your arms tightly around our necks and squeeze like we're giant tubes of toothpaste.
You're more inquisitive than a puppy, or a graduate student in biochemistry. You want to know about everything. Why? is something we hear coming from you more and more. Why is the bus yellow? Why do we have traffic? Why is that truck driving that way? When you're not satisfied with the answers, you simply ask again. And again.
You try to jump, throwing your entire body into the endeavor. You don't yet get any air, but this only makes the process more endearing.
You dance, a funny little jig, when you're happy or excited.
You make us smile everyday, a hundred times a day, and we love you for that.
Also, 2, your wishes today may not be your wishes tomorrow. Or even your wishes, say, in the next 30 seconds. You must have received instructions to keep us guessing. Good work on that imperative. One moment you want mama to take you out of your crib and shriek when daddy tries to do it. Five minutes later, daddy is king and you shriek when mama comes within five feet of you. That's a good mixture of power and confounding. Have you been taking advice from W again? At any rate, you don't want anyone around you to get too comfortable.
On, and an extension on that last point, 2. The drama? It is epic. You could singlehandedly take on an afternoon's lineup of soaps and emerge ahead for sheer quantity, intensity, and persistence of drama. Days has nothing on you. In fact, I'd say that your acting is superior - there's no phoning it in on days you're tired. If anything, you manage to somehow step up the drama when you're short on sleep or hungry or someone looked at you wrong. Bravo!
But 2, you know what else? You give the best hugs ever. You wrap your arms tightly around our necks and squeeze like we're giant tubes of toothpaste.
You're more inquisitive than a puppy, or a graduate student in biochemistry. You want to know about everything. Why? is something we hear coming from you more and more. Why is the bus yellow? Why do we have traffic? Why is that truck driving that way? When you're not satisfied with the answers, you simply ask again. And again.
You try to jump, throwing your entire body into the endeavor. You don't yet get any air, but this only makes the process more endearing.
You dance, a funny little jig, when you're happy or excited.
You make us smile everyday, a hundred times a day, and we love you for that.
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