The End of Privacy

I was standing at the toilet relieving myself, when the bathroom door opened, and Violet came into the bathroom.

"Hi Kiddo, Daddy's peeing.  Give me a minute."

Instead of giving me a minute, Violet came right up behind me.

"Hey, hey, come on," I said.  The few times circumstances occurred when Violet ended up coming in when I was peeing, she'd seemed fascinated by the process.

Unabated, Violet started coming around to my side and extending her hand toward the stream.

I scooted to the left and blocked Violet with my butt.  "Hey, that's pee.  Violet, get out of here."

She backed away, and I thought she was leaving.  But she was giving me the sneak attack.  I saw her little hand under me between my knees heading to the pee stream.

I had hit the limit of my patience of Violet's antics and I abruptly stopped peeing.  "Violet, get out of here, come on."  Violet took off and I finished peeing, thinking that I need to start locking the door.

But, later on that night, when Violet used the potty, she told me, "Daddy, I need some privacy."

"OK," I said and left the room.  "Let me know when you're done."

"Please close the door," she asked.  I closed it, thinking about our double standard.

Special Hugs

Violet, Mommy and I watched the second half of "Lilo and Stitch" sitting in our bed tonight.  Violet was all lovey-dovey and cozy.

Momma or I or the both of us would have our arms behind Violet hugging her.  Apparently Violet, big girl that she is, wanted to do that to.

"Daddy, will you please go forward?"

I had an idea what she was doing, so I leaned my body forward.  She put her little arm in the space behind my back, and the other arm around my front and gave me a big hug.  And, as is normal whenever she hugs, she gave the happy hug squeak noise.

She gave me a big hug for a minute or so.  Then it was Mommy's turn.  She gave Mommy a hug and then finally settled back and let us hug her while she watched the movie.

Not Crying Wolf

Violet had been taking naps for us every day since Baby Lila arrived.  Today, of course, Violet was wound up and didn't settle in for a nap.

I had gone into her room once to "reset" her back to bed.  But it didn't work.  She was still jumping around and being crazy in her bed.

A little while later I heard Violet through the baby monitor saying, "Daddy, come in here."  She said it over and over and over again.  For a while I ignored it, but she persisted.  The ill-fated nap had gone on long enough that I figured I'd give up and just get Violet up.

I went into her room and she just said, "Daddy," but her voice didn't have the normal "I'm glad to see you, nap is over, right?" tone.  She sounded scared and upset.  Then I noticed that she wasn't bouncing around the bed.  She was staying in one spot.

I came further into the room and saw that she seemed to be stuck.  She sleeps in her "big girl" bed, and the headboard and footboard of the bed have rows of white slats.  I never thought anything of it, because the slats were slats like a crib.  And she's two and a half.

Each of Violet's legs was stuck in a gap between slats.  She looked freaked out, like she'd been trying to get out for a while and couldn't.  "Daddy, I'm stuck."

I went a little bit into panic mode.  "Oh, Jeez, Violet.  OK, I'll get you out."  I looked at her legs, and they didn't look too badly stuck, so I tried to just pull her free.  I yanked her back away from the slats.  She screamed and screamed but didn't pop free.  I thought maybe if I pulled a bit harder I could free her that way, but she screams were too much.

Violet started screaming, "Mommy, mommy," trying to get some more gentle help.

I regrouped.  "OK, kiddo.  We'll figure this out."  I looked at the situation, basically two little legs coming through the footboard and Violet from the thighs and up, sitting on the mattress.  I tried to flex the slats but the didn't feel like they had any wiggle.

Finally, I slid Violet's legs down the slats toward the floor.  In the middle of the slats, they had enough flex that I could push her kneecaps back through without causing very much more pain.  With both knees in the side where they belong I picked her up and she clung onto me like a barnacle.

I brought her and some icepacks to her mother, and Nurse Mommy took over.  She got Violet comfortable and soothed.

The saddest part for me was seeing Violet's legs after the bath.  Each side of either knee had some kind of bruise, and the worse one was about the size of a quarter.

Certainly, Violet would have been just as stuck if I had gone into the nap sooner, but not for as long.  What can you do?  I really think she's petrified of the footboard and she won't do that again.  We'll just have to look out for that for the second kid.

Farewell (from Gramma Kelley)

Today we had some family over, including grandparents Gramma Kelley and Poppy, for Poppy's birthday.  We had a good meal, and birthday cake for Poppy.  A good time overall.

Later that night Gramma Kelley shared with me a story about Violet wishing her farewell:

When I was getting ready to leave, I gathered Violet up in my arms and said over and over, "I LOVE you, I love you, I love you." 

Then I told her we had to drive a long way home to Maine.

She took my face in her little hands, and brushed my hair away and looked me in the eye and said, "But you're leaving the cake, right?"

Library Class

Christie has told me about library class before, but until today, I hadn't seen this little slice of chaos for myself.  Quite an interesting experience.

I'm working part-time while we get used things with the new baby, so I was watching Violet this morning.  Today being Thursday, we had Library Class.  Violet loves to go, so today I got to take her.

We parked on the street near the library and walked up.  From there, I had to rely on Violet, since I don't know this branch of the library very well.  She led me up stairs to the children's area of the library, and had a minor freakout when I put the Curious George Christmas book into the return slot.  Once I assured her that we had lots of great books at home and that we could borrow another good book, she eased and she led me into a play room.  The play room was a neat place, full of book cases, a kid-sized play castle, a kid-sized play house with kitchen, and lots of other toys scattered around.

It looked like Violet heaven.  The only thing was that I didn't see enough empty space in the room to have the kind of singing and dancing class I had envisioned from my wife's descriptions of Library Class.  I asked Violet, "Is this the room where we have library class?"

"Yup," Violet said, sifting through a shelf full of books.

I looked at the time and we were already a few minutes late, so class should have been beginning.  I thought, Maybe they're a bit behind.

A few more minutes of playing, with no obvious class organizing, I grew suspicious.  "Violet, are you sure this is where we have class?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she told me in sing-song voice, causing me to doubt her more.

Violet hadn't peed before we left the house, so I thought that maybe we should try again.  I had bad visions of an accident in front of these dozens of kids and parents.  "Violet, do you need to go to the potty?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"Well, let's try anyway," I said and led her out of the play room.  I spotted the bathroom in far corner of the floor and pointed Violet that way.

On the way, there I saw a meeting room through a glass wall.  Inside a bunch of adults and kids were dancing and singing.  OK, that was obviously class.  She's been to class here dozens of times, so I wondered if she'd misled me on purpose, or not.

We found the bathroom and tried to pee, but Violet declared, "It's not ready."

I put on the 'Christy and Violet' name tag and we opened the door into the class, only about fifteen minutes late.  The scene before me was interesting, something that doesn't come up in my normal workweek.

The lights were dim, for no reason I could figure out.  About a dozen kids were engaged in various types of play, from dancing and singing and hanging on parents.  About half of the adults were dancing and singing along and having fun with the kids, and the other half sat in the chairs by the walls, unfazed by the show.

I sat in an empty chair in the corner.  Violet jumped right into play, not exactly with any one kid or adult, but touring the room.  It took a minute to get used to the dim light and the somewhat orchestrated chaos.

I kept an eye on Violet, but she was on autopilot, clearly a Library Class professional.  I looked at the clock and saw I had about a half hour to kill, so I played along.  I sang and made the hand motions to "Ran San San," the "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and some kind of song I'd never heard of about five little pumpkins.  When Violet's laps of the room brought her by my chair I'd scoop her up into my lap for a bit of singing and play, but she never stayed long.

After the songs wrapped up, the instructor in charge of the chaos broke out the parachute.  First the kids danced and crawled on the green, purple and pink plastic sheet.  After a minute of that the kids seemed to all flock to the edges of the parachute and shake it up and down.  From a closet somewhere, the instructor tossed a half dozen beach balls onto the parachute.  We kept shaking the parachute up and down bouncing the balls back and forth.  With the neon parachute undulating and the multi-colored beach balls bouncing, the scene was a trippy color overload.  Shortly, the balls disappeared and the adults worked the parachute while the kids danced like nuts underneath the parachute.

After parachute time, the instructor dumped out two bins full of musical instruments.  The kids jumped on the instruments like lions on a fallen gazelle.  So much banging, clacking, ringing--quite a bit from Violet--filled the room.  After the fray settles, the instructor begins the parade.  I bet sometimes, it's a fun parade around the room.  This class, however, the instructor and a couple others circled the pile of instruments, while most everyone else, banged and clanged in little pockets throughout the room.

As quickly as they appeared, the instruments found their way back into the bins and left the middle of the room.  I knew what was coming.  This was story time, also known as cheerio time.  I knew about this part, but it's Violet's favorite, the part she mentions whenever I ask about library class.

The kids and most parents settled into cushions on the floor while the instructor doled out little paper cups of cheerios to the kids.  The energy level in the room dropped from crazy nuts, immediately to mellow.  I wish I could pull that trick off at home, actually.  Maybe cheerios are the key.

Once each kid had a cup, the instructor went up to the front of the room to read a story.  She read "Five Little Monkey's Jumping on the Bed."  We often read that book at home, so Violet followed along closely.  When the Doctor in the story said "No more monkey's jumping on the bed," Violet shouted, "No more Violets jumping on the bed!"

After story time, the instructor said goodbye to everyone, told everyone that they could stay and play in the room if they want to, and took off.  I can't say I blame her.  She'd been gently herding cats for the better part of an hour, and doing it enthusiastically, with a smile.

The kids were spent.  I saw how much Violet loves it, even though she didn't really do what the instructor did.  I'm glad that my wife takes pains to go every week, regardless of how exhausted she was with the pregnancy, and whatever else was going on in our busy lives.

Apple Monster

I was toweling Violet off after her bath and she told me, matter of factly, "I'm a monster."

"Oh, really?  What kind of monster are you?" I asked.

"I'm an apple monster," she said.

"An apple monster?  What does an apple monster do?"

In a raspy threatening voice she told a word that I took to be "store."

"An apple monster stores?"  I asked.  "What does an apple monster store?"

"No, I 'stroy," she rasped.

"Ah, you 'stroy, like destroy?"

She nodded from underneath her yellow duckie towel hood.  "'Stroy.  I 'stroy the light.  I 'stroy the walls.  'Stroy!"

And just a quick as she was a monster, regular Violet came back.  I gave her a new pair of underpants to put on and she said, "Oooh, Elmo squares."

I want to know where she picked up a word like destroy, to use in exactly the right context with monsters.  Was there a destruction episode of Elmo's World last week?

Best Friend

Violet came up to me out of the blue and gave me a big hug.  "You're my best friend," she told me.

"Aww.  Thank you.  You're my best friend," I told her.

"Yeah," she agreed.

I didn't want to leave Momma out, so I asked, "Is Mommy your best friend too?"

"Yeah, she's my best friend too."  She noticed the dog and said, "And Doolin's my best friend too."

I changed the subject before the best friends list got any longer.

Dancing Doolin

I was typing on the computer, half-hearing Violet and seeing her out of the corner of my eye.  I witnessed this, though:

The dog is backing up, and I realize that he's backing away from Violet.  He's just not doing a very good job of getting away, because he's backing up sort of in a circle.

"Stay still," she says, and she catches up with him and puts her green Mardi Gras beads around his neck.

She's pleased with herself so she says, with satisfaction, "He has my beads on him."  But she's not really talk to me, just talking.

"Now you can dance!" she tells him.  Apparently beads are a requirement for dancing, at least for the dog.

She tells him, "So you can have a nice day with you."  Then she adds, "I almost forgot to dance with you," and executes a few spins around the kitchen with the dog.

"Those are my beads.  Do you like them?" she asks the dog.  "Oh my goodness, you look so pretty Doolin!"

After this, Violet moves on from the dog and comes over to see what I'm doing on the computer.  The dog is a saint.

Milk or Water?

Violet had just gotten up from a nap.  She had a bit of a runny nose so we wanted her to have lots of fluids.  I asked her, "Violet, do you want water or milk to drink?"

"I don't really care," she said.  I was surprised with the adult turn of phrase, a new one for her.

I got her water in a sippy cub, and gave it to her.  She fumbled it and said, "Whoopsies!"

"Whoopsies?" I repeated.

I think she thought I was making fun of her.  "I say it.  I don't want you to say it."  It's funny to me, the fine line between she finds to be fun and goofy, and what she finds irritations.

Lunchtime Frustrations

We recently promoted Violet from her high chair to a booster seat at the table for meals.  We finally traded the simplicity of the high chair forcing Violet to be a captive for the meal for the much more compact booster seat.  While we were enjoying regaining about eight square feet of floor space in our kitchen, Violet's relative freedom adds a new challenge to mealtime.

Violet, Momma and I were eating lunch.  In short, Violet was being a pain.  She made a mess with her food, she kept nearly knocking over her water and was super fidgety in her chair.

It was getting under Christie's skin a lot more than mine.  She told Violet, "Sit straight in your chair and pay attention.  You're making a mess and almost knocking over your water."  She gave an "Uhh" noise and finished with, "I'm sick of having to tell you."

Without a pause, Violet said, "I'm sick of it too," and accompanied it with her pouty face and sad eyes.

Best Friend

I was driving to get food with Violet.  She was holding and talking with her Monkey.  For a while she talked with Monkey and I couldn't make out what she was saying.  Suddenly she broke into a huge chorus of giggles and said, "You are my best friend."

It was sweet.  She said it over and over again.  "You are my best friend."  "You are my best friend."  More giggles.  "You are my best friend!"

After a dozen or so times, I asked her, "Are you saying that to Monkey or is he saying that to you?"

"Monkey's saying that to me," she said.

More giggles.  And another huge pile of  "You are my best friend" repetitions.

"Now I say it to Monkey, 'You are my best friend.'"  She made the hug noise, the happy squeak that she makes when she gives a good hug.

I realized that I had been smiling for the last few miles.  There is something so completely heartwarming about having your two and a half year old declare her friendship unabashedly to her stuffed Monkey.

A Typical Discussion with Violet

Violet said, "My nightgown is dirty."

It didn't exactly sound like a question, but I thought she was asking so I answered.  "Yeah.  You got your nightgown dirty yesterday.  We haven't washed it yet."

"Can I wear the thin ones?" she asked, referring to her lightweight monkey pajamas.

"No, kiddo.  We're going to wear the thick ones from last night.  They're nice and warm.  They're still good."

"They're not good."

"They are good," she said.

"Yes, Violet, they are still good."

"They're not tasty," she said shaking her head.

"No, but they're good."

Fruit Train

We were driving home from some errands and we got crossed at the train tracks.  Violet loves trains, so we made sure she looked up from her book to see it.  "Look, Violet, there's a train in front of us."

"Yay, a train!" she yelled.

"Yeah, that's great, you got to see a train," I said.

"It's a fruit train," Violet told us.

Momma thought that Violet was mispronouncing the word, so she said, "That's right, it's a freight train."

"Momma, it's a fruit train."

"A fruit train?" I asked.

"Yeah.  The train is full of red peppers," she told us.  We didn't bother to correct her on the whole red pepper is a vegetable, not a fruit thing.

"Red peppers?" Momma asked.

"Yup, it's full of red peppers."

"You're saying that all of those train cars are full of red peppers?" I asked.

"Yep," she said, like it was no big deal.