Comfort items

Both my kids have their comfort items. That special thing they need to calm them when they are sleepy or upset.

JJ's is his blankie. It's a knitted blanket that my Grandma actually made for KK, and somehow JJ got really attached to. Now we don't go anywhere without it. He can be instantly calmed just on the sight of his blankie. You can see the change in him the moment he recognizes it. It's almost like the blankie is a person the way he interacts with it (him? her?).

When I realized he was attached to this blankie, I asked my Grandma to make up a smaller version of it for us to carry around with us. It gets a little challenging to bring a crib-sized blankie everywhere we go. But he instantly rejected the "mini-blankie" so his large blankie gets dragged everywhere.

Washing his blankie is 45 minutes of intense stress for the little guy and requires mommy to be extra creative with play until we hear the magic sound of the dryer buzzer.

KK's comfort item, however, is always with me. I can't forget it anywhere. It gets cleaned once-a-day whether I plan it or not. She can find it in her sleep, although she must come to our room to get it.

What is this comfort item?

My belly button, or "button tummy", of course. For nearly three years now, she has comforted herself by rubbing and poking my belly button. Before she can go to sleep at night, she must let each finger spend some time with my belly button. If she gets injured or has her feelings hurt, my belly button can fix the pain.

It's magic like that, sigh...

Of boys and men

One of the things that I love about having a son, is that he helps me understand my husband.

One of the things that I love about having a husband, is that he helps me understand my son.

JJ is two. He is learning that he is under authority. He doesn't like learning that he is under authority. When we hit a situation where he and I are in a stand-off (it happens) (did I mention he's two?), sometimes I just have to lay down the law. I have to pull out my parent card. My way or the highway.

He don't like it much.

But I've noticed something that helps a lot. And I probably wouldn't have noticed it as soon, if it weren't for having noticed it also in my husband about a year ago.

He needs privacy to accept that he has failed, or made a mistake, or needs to concede.

One of our battles as women is our need to control. It is part of our curse from the fall. It is a heart issue that only God can fix in us. One of men's battles is pride. It too is a heart issue that only God can fix in them.

Since only God can fix the pride, then I have to let go of the control, and walk away. Give him the privacy he needs to let God fix his heart.

If Peanut-lover has made a mistake (it's happened once or twice), he knows it. It doesn't help if I get in his face and remind him about it and tell him he needs to change. I've tried it. Not helpful at all. He needs privacy. That's it. Walk away.

When JJ refuses to concede, we could remain in a stand-off until one of us tires, but the issue won't get dealt with. If I lay down the law (you can have your snack once you get your jammies on) and then walk away, every single time, he concedes.

Humility is hard.

We can model humility by admitting to our kids when we have made mistakes (one thing that my dad always did, which I really respected). But ultimately, only God can change our hearts.

If I can step out, I get out of God's way, and he fixes both our hearts. That's what he's in the business of doing.

Just one of the reasons I won't be homeschooling this one

JJ is such a different learner than I am. He has no interest in practicing anything. He isn't patient enough to do something just for the sake of doing it.

Remember how he learned to walk? Never held our hands to try taking steps. Never pulled himself along furniture. Nothing. Just up and started walking one day.

It's like that with everything. Which probably explains why he's only potty-trained at bedtime and when we're standing in long line-ups.

In the fall, we did swimming lessons. JJ and I were in a class together and KK was in a class by herself, at the other end of the pool.

Towards the end of the lessons, our teacher kept saying that JJ was so much more comfortable in the water than he'd been at the beginning. Even some of the parents made a point of mentioning the difference in him.

But I'm his mommy. I know better.

He was not more comfortable in the water. He never was uncomfortable in the water. He is a water baby. No fear. None. At. All. Which is why he often looks like this, even on dry land:

It wasn't that he was more comfortable in the water. It just took him a few weeks to figure out who the teacher was, so he knew who to impress.

I'm sure there was more than one time that the lifeguard thought of throwing the life-preserver out to him and I. But that thrashing in the water? It was just me trying to get him to do the skill that the teacher had asked us to work on. Not once would he perform the skill for me, but as soon as the teacher appeared, he would execute it perfectly ONCE. Then she'd move on, and the water thrashing would begin again.

It happened again today.

For months now, he's been counting like this, "one... two... one... two.. one... two!" I've been trying to teach him to count to three by counting everything that comes in twos or threes with him. And still, one... two... one... two...

Today, when I was cooking dinner, he ran into the kitchen, threw something on the counter and ran out, telling me that he was hiding. And then he proceeded to count to four. Just like that. I didn't even know he knew four existed. We exchanged high-fives and I went back to cooking.

Back around the corner he went, and this is what I heard:

one...two...three...four...dog...five...six...seven...eight...nine...ten...

Just like that. Confidently and clearly, he counted to ten.

There was great rejoicing in the land.

So, he counted to ten, once. And now that he has mastered the skill, he has no interest in it and has gone back to counting however he wants.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm going to have to leave his formal education to the professionals.