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radegundOf course, I forgot a squillion things when I wrote my last post, but you'll be delighted to learn that I've scribbled them down on a piece of paper, and you shall have them with all due speed.
DELIGHTED. Capisce?
1. Yes.
Just in the past few days, Oisín has been experimenting with alternatives to "yes". I ask him if he wants a glass of water, for example, and he nods and says - with huge care and pride - "why not?" This morning he was asking to leave the room. I said, "will Mama open the door for you?", and he replied, "good idea".
2. Sartorial self-determination.
He chooses what to wear in the morning. Ages ago - like, months - he began to show a marked preference for red clothes; now he has the whole process down. He picks trousers first, then a T-shirt to go with them, and often socks, too, although the weather's still pretty warm. He likes BRIGHT colours - red, yellow, orange, green. Stripes and designs are favoured. He knows which of his T-shirts his aunt bought him and which Mama bought. The fact that choosing one T-shirt to wear entails putting the rest away was a bitter, bitter lesson.
3. Literacy.
He's developed a keen interest in letters over the last couple of weeks. He can reliably point out O-for-Oisín (pronounced "oh-Unny"), and does so wherever he finds it (e.g. the lozenge around the Penguin Books logo). He also frequently identifies N-for-Niall and M-for-Mama (pronounced "en-na-Naah" and "en-na-Mama", though he doesn't confuse the two). He can usually find S-for-snake, big-T-for-teapot and little-t-for-teapot. He's less sure about e-for-elephant, h-for-hat, I-for-Iseult and L-for-Linnea, but he has a go. We got some fridge letters last weekend, which are a big hit.
4. Numeracy.
He hasn't started counting yet, but he's learning the number names. Sequences known: 1-2-3-4 (from Slinky Malinki - and by the way, how much do we love that book?), 3-9-10 (all-purpose, uttered when jabbing finger repeatedly at items to be counted), and most recently, 1-2-3-4-9-10-12. We count the steps as we come downstairs in the morning (keeps us focussed), and they go 1, 2, 3, 4, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10, 11, 12. His favourite, by far, is 9 - we guess because it sounds like "Niall".
5. Joke!
The other week we were eating a salad including blue cheese, avocados and some other stuff. "Blue cheese," said Oisín, fishing out a piece and eating it (he's a big fan). Then he picked up a piece of avocado (another favourite, normally pronounced "addo-gaddo"), gave me a conspiratorial grin, and said "green cheese!" before popping it into his mouth. Clearly, he has a brilliant stand-up career ahead of him.
6. A traffic jam...
...is (I love this) a choo-choo-train of cars. Enough said.
7. Animal noises.
Adult: What does the cow say?
Oyster: MMMMmmmmmm!
Adult: What does the cat say?
Oyster: Mao! Mao! Mao!
Adult: What does the donkey say?
Oyster: Ee-aw, ee-aw!
[and so on, until we come to...]
Adult: What does the snake say?
Oyster: *inhales and exhales noisily through nose*
8. Momma and Biddy.
This is what he calls my parents (Momma being my father; Biddy, my mother). This iseven funnier if you know them.
9. Internalising his oppression.
Oisín has always been a fairly co-operative child, but in certain contexts he takes this to almost collaborationist levels. For example, months ago, when I first banned climbing onto the kitchen table, he took to putting his bear up on the table, scolding her, and then ratting on her to me. Ouch!
One day I noticed him ordering his crayons to stay on the rim of his high-chair tray - the path - and not to go down onto the main surface - the road.
More recently, we've developed the Litany of the Knife, whereby Oisín watches me chopping vegetables and says, in tones of hushed solemnity (presumably aping my own dignified firmness, hem-hem), "Mama knife". To which I must reply (or I'll hear about it), "Yes, this is Mama's knife, and it's very sharp. It's not for Oisín to use; it can only be used by grown-up people." He prompts, "Biddy," and then we go on to list all the grown-up people we know who can use the knife ("not Unny, and not Nea, because they are Small Children, and it is Too Sharp").
This morning, he was commanding me to build him a tower. I'm trying to encourage please-and-thank-you, so I said, "Are you asking me to build you a tower?" He nodded, and I said, "What do you say?" His answer: "Please! Good boy."
I mean, obviously, what we don't want him to do is often dangerous or otherwise risky, so this trait is by no means all bad. And yes, I do realise that it's perfectly normal for toddlers to engage with rules in great detail. I'm not pathologising it - mostly it's just amusing. But nonetheless, sometimes, it's ... disconcerting. I'm a recovering approval junkie, and I'd hoped not to pass on that particular malaise to my offspring. It's a part of my personality that I now try to suppress and - oh, dear - basically despise, so it can be hard to know how to react when it's served up to me in all innocence like that. There are times when it makes me feel like crying.
[Not far now, my little Smurfs. Just another few, and we'll be finished. I'll post them as they occur to me in future. Promise.]
10. Pay money! Unny pay money!
Whenever the person at the counter can reach his hand, Oisín pays - or at least presses "enter" on the Laser card machine. He knows all about getting change, and putting the coins in the zip compartment of my wallet and the notes and the receipt in the folding bit. Several of the sellers in the markets we go to know him by name - as do some of the supermarket checkout people. (Hmmm. So, what I'm saying is, he's growing up with a warm-fuzzy view of commerce. What's a Big Hippy to do?)
11. No tail.
A few months back, Oisín discovered that he has no tail. Well, strictly, he discovered that several of his stuffed animals do have tails, and his first assumption was that he must have one too. For about a week, several times a day, he would shake his head gravely and announce, in the manner of a doctor bearing sad tidings, "Unny no tail. Mama no tail. Niall no tail." Killer cute, I tell you.
12. The swans of Richmond Hill.
This is also from way back in the mists of the past, but I want to record it. Some time in the spring, I was wheeling Oisín along Richmond Hill, a Victorian street in Rathmines. Suddenly he flung out his hand and said "swan!" Being the linguistically conscientious parent I am, I hastened to reinforce his observation ... except I couldn't work out what he had seen. The Swan Centre? Nope, not visible from here. No birds with long necks in evidence. No car logos or garden ornaments. "Swan! Swan! Swan!" he kept exclaiming. At last, I looked up and realised that he was referring to the ornate cast-iron street-lamps. Which is a pretty nifty illustration, if you ask me, of the fact that a child's world-view is not - as you might imagine - a big map with only some bits filled in. It's internally consistent. New data either get fitted into existing categories (as happened here) or cause new categories to be created. Refinements happen constantly. I find this absolutely fascinating, and I feel immensely privileged to be in a position to witness it.
(So that's it, for the moment. If you've got this far, thanks for reading and please forgive my verbosity. These posts, as I've said, are mostly for my own benefit. Did I mention, at all, that I love my son and think he's amazing?)
DELIGHTED. Capisce?
1. Yes.
Just in the past few days, Oisín has been experimenting with alternatives to "yes". I ask him if he wants a glass of water, for example, and he nods and says - with huge care and pride - "why not?" This morning he was asking to leave the room. I said, "will Mama open the door for you?", and he replied, "good idea".
2. Sartorial self-determination.
He chooses what to wear in the morning. Ages ago - like, months - he began to show a marked preference for red clothes; now he has the whole process down. He picks trousers first, then a T-shirt to go with them, and often socks, too, although the weather's still pretty warm. He likes BRIGHT colours - red, yellow, orange, green. Stripes and designs are favoured. He knows which of his T-shirts his aunt bought him and which Mama bought. The fact that choosing one T-shirt to wear entails putting the rest away was a bitter, bitter lesson.
3. Literacy.
He's developed a keen interest in letters over the last couple of weeks. He can reliably point out O-for-Oisín (pronounced "oh-Unny"), and does so wherever he finds it (e.g. the lozenge around the Penguin Books logo). He also frequently identifies N-for-Niall and M-for-Mama (pronounced "en-na-Naah" and "en-na-Mama", though he doesn't confuse the two). He can usually find S-for-snake, big-T-for-teapot and little-t-for-teapot. He's less sure about e-for-elephant, h-for-hat, I-for-Iseult and L-for-Linnea, but he has a go. We got some fridge letters last weekend, which are a big hit.
4. Numeracy.
He hasn't started counting yet, but he's learning the number names. Sequences known: 1-2-3-4 (from Slinky Malinki - and by the way, how much do we love that book?), 3-9-10 (all-purpose, uttered when jabbing finger repeatedly at items to be counted), and most recently, 1-2-3-4-9-10-12. We count the steps as we come downstairs in the morning (keeps us focussed), and they go 1, 2, 3, 4, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10, 11, 12. His favourite, by far, is 9 - we guess because it sounds like "Niall".
5. Joke!
The other week we were eating a salad including blue cheese, avocados and some other stuff. "Blue cheese," said Oisín, fishing out a piece and eating it (he's a big fan). Then he picked up a piece of avocado (another favourite, normally pronounced "addo-gaddo"), gave me a conspiratorial grin, and said "green cheese!" before popping it into his mouth. Clearly, he has a brilliant stand-up career ahead of him.
6. A traffic jam...
...is (I love this) a choo-choo-train of cars. Enough said.
7. Animal noises.
Adult: What does the cow say?
Oyster: MMMMmmmmmm!
Adult: What does the cat say?
Oyster: Mao! Mao! Mao!
Adult: What does the donkey say?
Oyster: Ee-aw, ee-aw!
[and so on, until we come to...]
Adult: What does the snake say?
Oyster: *inhales and exhales noisily through nose*
8. Momma and Biddy.
This is what he calls my parents (Momma being my father; Biddy, my mother). This is
9. Internalising his oppression.
Oisín has always been a fairly co-operative child, but in certain contexts he takes this to almost collaborationist levels. For example, months ago, when I first banned climbing onto the kitchen table, he took to putting his bear up on the table, scolding her, and then ratting on her to me. Ouch!
One day I noticed him ordering his crayons to stay on the rim of his high-chair tray - the path - and not to go down onto the main surface - the road.
More recently, we've developed the Litany of the Knife, whereby Oisín watches me chopping vegetables and says, in tones of hushed solemnity (presumably aping my own dignified firmness, hem-hem), "Mama knife". To which I must reply (or I'll hear about it), "Yes, this is Mama's knife, and it's very sharp. It's not for Oisín to use; it can only be used by grown-up people." He prompts, "Biddy," and then we go on to list all the grown-up people we know who can use the knife ("not Unny, and not Nea, because they are Small Children, and it is Too Sharp").
This morning, he was commanding me to build him a tower. I'm trying to encourage please-and-thank-you, so I said, "Are you asking me to build you a tower?" He nodded, and I said, "What do you say?" His answer: "Please! Good boy."
I mean, obviously, what we don't want him to do is often dangerous or otherwise risky, so this trait is by no means all bad. And yes, I do realise that it's perfectly normal for toddlers to engage with rules in great detail. I'm not pathologising it - mostly it's just amusing. But nonetheless, sometimes, it's ... disconcerting. I'm a recovering approval junkie, and I'd hoped not to pass on that particular malaise to my offspring. It's a part of my personality that I now try to suppress and - oh, dear - basically despise, so it can be hard to know how to react when it's served up to me in all innocence like that. There are times when it makes me feel like crying.
[Not far now, my little Smurfs. Just another few, and we'll be finished. I'll post them as they occur to me in future. Promise.]
10. Pay money! Unny pay money!
Whenever the person at the counter can reach his hand, Oisín pays - or at least presses "enter" on the Laser card machine. He knows all about getting change, and putting the coins in the zip compartment of my wallet and the notes and the receipt in the folding bit. Several of the sellers in the markets we go to know him by name - as do some of the supermarket checkout people. (Hmmm. So, what I'm saying is, he's growing up with a warm-fuzzy view of commerce. What's a Big Hippy to do?)
11. No tail.
A few months back, Oisín discovered that he has no tail. Well, strictly, he discovered that several of his stuffed animals do have tails, and his first assumption was that he must have one too. For about a week, several times a day, he would shake his head gravely and announce, in the manner of a doctor bearing sad tidings, "Unny no tail. Mama no tail. Niall no tail." Killer cute, I tell you.
12. The swans of Richmond Hill.
This is also from way back in the mists of the past, but I want to record it. Some time in the spring, I was wheeling Oisín along Richmond Hill, a Victorian street in Rathmines. Suddenly he flung out his hand and said "swan!" Being the linguistically conscientious parent I am, I hastened to reinforce his observation ... except I couldn't work out what he had seen. The Swan Centre? Nope, not visible from here. No birds with long necks in evidence. No car logos or garden ornaments. "Swan! Swan! Swan!" he kept exclaiming. At last, I looked up and realised that he was referring to the ornate cast-iron street-lamps. Which is a pretty nifty illustration, if you ask me, of the fact that a child's world-view is not - as you might imagine - a big map with only some bits filled in. It's internally consistent. New data either get fitted into existing categories (as happened here) or cause new categories to be created. Refinements happen constantly. I find this absolutely fascinating, and I feel immensely privileged to be in a position to witness it.
(So that's it, for the moment. If you've got this far, thanks for reading and please forgive my verbosity. These posts, as I've said, are mostly for my own benefit. Did I mention, at all, that I love my son and think he's amazing?)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-04 12:51 pm (UTC)Also, re: 12 - yes! The analysis and re-analysis! The thinking and sorting and revising! The basic assumption that the world is theirs, and must be comprehensible! It breaks my heart that one day Gnome will find something she can't assimilate and understand, and realise that the world isn't hers in its entirety.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-04 03:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-04 05:19 pm (UTC)This is it exactly! The sense of possibility is ... intoxicating.
fascination with rules [...] fascination with reasoning [...] illocutionary acts
Yes! This! *bounces* You are fabulous, you know?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-07 12:57 pm (UTC)