Giraff-y

Before Niamh was born her Aunt Chris sent her this giraffe blankie. Niamh has always liked her giraffe, but her relationship with Giraff-y has now progressed to--shall we say--obsession. Giraff-y accompanies us on trips to Home Depot, the park, the gas station, the grocery store (where we almost lost hir in a bin of corn), and every other imaginable place.

In the early morning hours, i.e., 5:45 am, I hear Niamh talking to Giraff-y in her crib. I think Giraff-y must have a good sense of humor or some interesting things to say because s/he alone can keep Niamh occupied to allow for an additional 15 minutes of sleep for her parents. Thank you Giraff-y.

Niamh's attentiveness means that Giraff-y also gets waffles with syrup, sardines, raspberries, crackers and anything else entering Niamh's mouth, including peanut butter or the occasional lollipop. Enforcing a separation between Niamh and her Giraff-y during mealtimes, sleep times, moments of playtime, other unforeseeable scenarios--or any other time when Niamh sets her mind on hugging, smelling, clenching, or kissing her beloved artiodactyl--results in an excruciating wail and very large tears.

I don't mind that Niamh has grown attached to Giraff-y; in fact, I'm glad she finds hir comforting. Niamh's relationship with Giraff-y conjures up vivid memories of Oly, my childhood stuffed puppy (i.e., comfort item) who accompanied me everywhere (sometimes pulled on a leash I'd make out of hair ribbons or the like).















Oly is the only stuffed animal I chose to keep from the boxes of stuffed animals saved from my childhood. And I gratefully marvel at my parents' patience in indulging my Oly-moments, dog biscuits for Oly, a collar for Oly, hugs and kisses, and inquiries to Oly directly "Oly do you want a sip of milk?"

My mom lovingly washed and stitched and patiently washed and re-stiched that dog countless times.


















The smell of fresh ivory soap and Oly's matted fur and scratched eyes fill me up with sweet
nostalgia. Once on a family trip to Disney World when I was 8, Oly nearly became a statistic of lost stuffies if not for the kindness of a stranger (I recall him as a young businessman) who ran down a corridor of the old National Airport to deposit Oly safely in my arms. I'm not sure who was more relieved, me or my parents.

Finn never really took to a comfort item for an extended period of time so this is our first foray into the oh-my-gosh-what-will-we-do-if-giraffy-suddenly-disappears world. Last night I ordered 2 more identical giraff-y's. They should arrive this week.

Associations

Finn's latest habit is associating certain objects/actions with either myself or Tim. When he hears a mower outside his immediate exclamation is "Oh, Dada" (even if Tim is in the room). When he sees a paintbrush his immediate exclamation is "Oh, Mama." (I've been busy painting lately.) He does this frequently and the reaction is always the same. Other associations include, for example:

beer can, shirts, batteries, trash, window blinds, AC filters, pickled herring : Dada

screwdriver (not the drink kind), purse, chapstick, outlet covers, vacuum: Mama

He's a very observant and analytical little guy and is clear about his distinctions. The smaller ladder get associated only with me ("Oh, Mama, ladder"); the big ladder, with Tim. This is true--in our latest painting project I only used the short ladder and Tim alone got on the big extension ladder.

I find it fascinating, from a developmental perspective, how kids are naturally inclined to attach certain objects to a particular individual. Moreover--perhaps without Finn really realizing it--such associations in list form as above could provide quite a lot of information about a person.

If this is the case, what does it mean that Finn always associates the canned tomatoes with me (Tim also does his fair share of cooking)? Indeed, I think Finn believes the Contadina woman pictured on the can is me. I caught him staring at the can and after his usual exclamation "Oh Mama" he then gave the woman's face a kiss. Very sweet.

I managed to get him to do it for a video, though normally this is a very natural and spontaneous kind of thing--it's just that I never have my camera handy around the canned tomatoes.

Our New Blog

The time has come for merging the kids' blogs into one family blog. The change makes sense: Finn and Niamh are developmentally (and socially) closer, we're too busy to manage two separate blogs, and as an integrated family of 4 (6 if you count the dogs) it was time that our blog reflected our family as a whole.

Manners--and not the kid kind

I suppose comparison-making is a normal human inclination, but it drives me nuts when people compare children in a rather competitive manner--especially when it's other parents whom we've just met for the first time. Such comparisons usually begin with a question "Is s/he walking yet?" "How many words does s/he have?" Of course sometimes these questions are innocent enough and are merely polite niceties. Other times the questions--and the parents' follow-up answers--reek of ego-centrism, fierce competition, and just plain rudeness. The one we get most often is "How old are they?" As in the example below:




Ignore the fact that I got Niamh's age off by a month (15 months, not 14 months)--blame it on being caught off guard during a fun moment--but unfortunately what is not captured on the video is the follow-up comment which went something like:

Parent: "Oh, they are so little for their age. Little Jack here is only 12 months and already weighs 28 pounds."

So, is the implication that the bigger child is healthier/better/more advanced? I don't get it. Why is big better? Is it a carryover from our cultural past in which heavy or big meant healthier/stronger/richer and thus better? Maybe I'm over-sensitive but the protective mother-bear side of me gets offended by any suggestion that my small children are somehow inferior. Yes, they are indeed small. And, if our statures are any indication of genetic predispositions they will probably always be on the small side. So what?

I should note that this is not an isolated incident. In fact, I probably get such a comment ("oh, they are so tiny/little") at least once a week from strangers. When the comment seems innocent enough, I reply with: "Yes, and they have huge personalities." When the comment comes with a particularly rude or fierce comparison to little Johnny or Sally who is 2X the size and 1/2 the age, I reply with : "Yes, and the doctor says they will probably never suffer from childhood obesity like other children."

Can't we just let children be children? It seems to me that parenthood should breed solidarity and community, not competitiveness. The pride we feel for our children and their developmental milestones need not carryover into boastful comparisons. Who cares when X started doing Y or who can say what words first? What does it matter? More important is that these little humans are encouraged to be who they are and nurtured in such a way to develop the sensitivity and empathy to accept all people, no matter their size or abilities.

Water Water Everywhere (and anytime)

Thanks to Aunt Chris we go the aquarium pretty frequently. Finn's favorites are the penguins and the turtles. Niamh seems quite taken by the fish and eels.