Halloween 2011

In 2009 we had Clara Belle the cow, our eight-month old crawling around in a consignment shop cow costume baggy enough for her to slip free of it with little effort. 

In 2010 we resurrected the cow out of thriftiness (or lack of interest in shopping for something new when we're quite certain she believed it was new) and paraded up and down the streets of Mordecai with our marauding band of toddlers on a crisp autumn evening. It was a perfect fit on a 20-month old.

And then, for 2011, twas a dark and stormy night when we unleashed The Bovine Redundancy (or Seriously?! This Costume Again??), a rather snug (or perhaps constricting is a better word) fit around our two-year old that required some tugging at the neck line to allow oxygen to squeak down her windpipe. 

For the record, the parents were perfectly eager to get Clara a new costume this year. Yes, we're blaming this on her. Clara insisted she wanted to be the cow again. For weeks, as she prepared herself mentally for Halloween, if anyone asked what she was going to dress as she answered with a low-growling, furrowed brow "Moooooo." She even insisted on wearing it to the doctor for her flu shot nearly two weeks before trick-or-treating. (By the way, the nurses were very impressed when the little cow hardly flinched for the shot and shed no tears.) Who are we to deny her wishes?

And so it was, we met our friends in Mordecai in cold, drenching rain to walk up and down Clifton Street. These children would not be denied the opportunity to bag some candy. Our cow spent most of the walk holding hands with her buddy Adah, the lady bug. Olive would have joined hands, too, were it not for the sniffles forcing her to stay closer to her parents.

Lucky for everyone, Clara ate a few pieces of candy on Halloween night but promptly forgot (or lost interest) in the rest when Kate put it high on a shelf in the pantry. Everyone wins when Clara goes back to eating blueberries for treats while her parents pilfer candy right out of her jack-o-lantern bucket the moment she goes to sleep.

As for that cow costume, we think it will fit Baby Sister very nicely as she approaches the 11-month mark for her first Halloween. We're getting all the mileage possible out of this $5 consignment shop purchase.

The NEW House

A "Franklin Golden" picture in our new front yard.

This came on fast and required a furious effort to pull it off, but the move from Frank Street to O'Berry is now complete thanks mainly to Kate's herculean ability to juggle pregnancy, nesting, packing, unpacking, parenting, spousing, and work without so much as a crack in that famously pleasant disposition of hers. 

Paul, on the other hand, was often found curled in the fetal position, immobilized by fear of change.

We put Frank Street on the market in April. And while we received a few dozen showing nibbles, we never even had the chance to act indignant over a low-ball offer. We found out home buyers are playing things very close to the vest right now. As Baby Sister's due date crept up on us, we prepared ourselves mentally to take the house off the market and hunker down for another year or so of living in tight quarters. 

Then Kate ran across the O'Berry Street opportunity in mid-September, presenting a chance to add some much needed square footage in a neighborhood that kept us near downtown Raleigh. We scrambled, securing the house, putting Frank Street up for rent, and organizing all the moving logistics for an October 15th transition. For a family that prizes the slow, quiet life, we felt as if a month passed in which we could hardly take a breath. 

Clara being greeted with a familiarity from Davis Golden that sends her father's blood pressure surging. 

But we made it...we're in and pretty much settled with a few weeks to spare before Baby Sister's scheduled arrival. We couldn't be more pleased with the extra space and believe it could be difficult (were we ever asked) to go without the updated amenities to which we've quickly become accustomed in these couple weeks.  Clara is ecstatic about the "new house", (and, in particular, with a room about five times as large as her old one) and shortly after the move required frequent assurances that we weren't going to force her to go back.

Naturally, there are trade offs. We love the new home and are pleased with its location. But we do miss being so close to all the wonderful friends in our old neighborhood. So it's good news we're only about a 10-minute drive away.

And so we feel as prepared as we're going to heading into holiday season and bringing Baby Sister into this world.

September 2011 Notes

Dryden Family notes from September 2011, deep in the heart of two-year old darkness (2 years, 7 months to be exact) and getting so much nearer to Baby Sister's arrival...

Clara with Aunt Angela, our gracious babysitter during a night out with the Princes and Hills in Atlanta.

Twas a travel-filled September with road trips to Atlanta, Auburn, and Wild Dunes rolling the car odometer closer and closer to that 200,000 milestone. It's the last of the big travel we'll make for a while as we're now hunkering down in preparation for our mid-October move, scurrying to get 412 Frank rented out to reputable tenants, and then nesting down in anticipation of Baby Sister's early-December stork delivery.   

Reverse Psychology on Steroids...A Countermeasure For Defiance

Let's put it out there...Clara is sporting a mean defiant streak. As first time parents we're inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt by believing it is purely a function of her age (as in, all two-year olds do it) and in no way reflects on her specific personality. If you believe otherwise, keep it to yourself. 

Regardless of its causes, it can be maddening behavior and keeps us in what feels like an unending mode of negotiation with our daughter. You see, we cannot simply ask her to do something and expect compliance. In fact it pretty much guarantees the opposite. Some illustrations might help here....

Clara climbing a tree on the beach with some assistance from Mama.

Example 1: When Clara gets up in the morning, if we ask to change her soaked pull-up it leads to a battle which ends in parental badgering, bullying and (finally) bartering. This can take anywhere from five to 45 minutes. 

Example 2: When it's time for Clara's "quiet time" video (i.e., nap replacement therapy), we offer a specific Barney DVD. No, no, no! she says, beginning to work her way into a tizzy. She doesn't want THAT one. She wants a different one. But she won't tell you what that different one is. If not managed properly, this can quickly dissolve into a full-fledged fit.

Example 3: Getting Clara into her car seat has been particularly tough, and in one harrowing incident required one parent calling the other parent for tag team assistance after a 45-minute showdown in the parking lot of Target. 

The unifying theme in all of these is defiance. If Clara believes we want her to do something specific, she will muster up every ounce of resistance to that thing we want her to do. It's almost become automatic, like some sort of reflex that she doesn't even control. 

Now here's the discovery we've stumbled upon...if you don't ask/instruct her directly on the task, your chance of success in getting her to complete that task rises dramatically. With varying degrees of success, we've found tricks to make the task her idea, we've provided false choices, and we've used the much-dreaded countdown (in other words, you have until the count of five...but that became the least useful as we found that she seems to get off on conflict, choosing to push an escalation rather than backing down).

But it's the latest discovery, which builds upon the other concepts, that has us excited. It's dramatic reverse psychology on steroids. Rather than make something Clara's idea (a very time- and energy-consuming process for parents because it requires you to plant the seed of an idea, fertilize, water it...you get the point), we feign a heavy interest in her doing the opposite of what we actually want her to do and almost defy her to do the desired task.

An example....yesterday we went to an Octoberfest gathering in a nearby neighborhood. It being a beautiful autumn afternoon, we desperately wanted to walk there with our friends the Brownings. The trouble is, Clara has taken an ill-view of her stroller and was not likely to agree to jumping in for the mile or so walk.  So our approach went something like this:

Paul (addressing Kate): Clara doesn't like riding in the stroller, Mama, and she better not do it today. No, no, no.

Clara (taking the bait...immediately at rapt attention and without forethought): Yeah! I want to ride in my stroller. Yes, yes, YES! 

Paul: I don't know. I'm not sure you can even get in the stroller by yourself.

Clara (on the hook now):   Yes I can, look. (She climbs into the stroller by herself.)

Paul: Hmmm. Well, I don't think you can put your seatbelt on by yourself.

Clara: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look! (She straps herself in.)

Paul (in slightly dejected manner): Okay. I guess you can do it this time. 

Clara beams as if she pulled a big one over on her parents. And we all enjoy a nice, leisurely, fit-free walk to Octoberfest (where we promptly find at least another half-dozen opportunities to repeat the technique). Other applications: bath time, using the potty, putting on pajamas, reading books with Daddy at night so Mama gets a small break, putting on shoes, leaving the house without a fit, etc, etc, etc.

Clara the Kitty.

Admittedly, Paul uses this much more than Kate. And more discerning minds than his can easily see this technique building some majorly bad habits, karma, neuroses, or whatever you want to call it that will come back for vengeance in due time. But for the time being, it's working like a charm!  

The funny thing is, we sort of suspect that she knows it's a form of manipulation. But it's as if we're hitting a tightly-coiled reflex with a percussion hammer. Even though she knows it's coming, she can't help but respond with swift jerk of her knee. 

*****

Goodbye Barney(?!)

We don't want to tempt fate, but after many, many months of enduring Barney (and, for the most part, willingly so) we believe that he might have finally been supplanted. Just as Barney replaced Elmo, we believe Caillou is in the process of replacing Barney. 

Caillou is calm. Non-musical (no more jingles sticking in your head). Relatively un-stimulating almost to the point of soothing. All the things that Barney is not. Our word is "benign."

Barney is dead...long live Caillou.

*****

Daily Picayunes...

- A few weeks ago, Pappaw overheard Clara telling Ga about her dream last night. A recurring theme: there was a monkey in her room. She raises her hand in the air for emphasis and actually says "I swear to God," as in there was DEFINITELY a monkey in my room. We don't believe we're ever around people that swear to any deity on a regular basis. Where did she get that? 

- Mid-morning one day we find Clara lying on her back in the front room, legs stretched up to the ceiling, opening and closing like scissors. "Look Mama," she says, "I'm the letter 'Y'!"

- Clara is throwing a classic conniption, fighting going to bed one night as we're pushing 9:30. Clara, I need you to go lie down, now please. (Clearly before we started using reverse psychology on steroids.) "I can't," she whines. "I'm too busy."

- Clara bonked her head on the table one morning and insisted on a medical treatment. Rather than tangling sticky bandaid adhesives in her hair, we negotiated down to gauze. She wore this proudly all day (on Paul's watch, of course) including our afternoon trip to the park. We earned lots of stares from curious parents but gave no explanations.

*****

And, finally, some notes Paul jotted down early in September....

Why Remember When It Feels So Much Better to Forget?

Clara woke up this morning in a most excellent mood, aided by ten hours of uninterrupted sleep in her own bed.

Happy Clara is a delight. She giggles a lot at nothing in particular. She offers the following comments all in a row: "I smell eggs with my nose" and "my ears listen" and "my mouth says 'hi'" and "with my eyes I blink like this." Unsolicited, she recollects her dreams says, "I dream of you, Dada. And Mama, too. And, and, and, um, Santa. He comes at Christmas." Pause for thought, and then..."Dada, wanna see my Christmas dress?"

Best of all, when happy Clara greets her father in the kitchen in the morning, she gives him a big hug. Pulling back when it's done to say with halting chuckles, "I didn't hit Dada. I give Dada hugs. Hugs are nice. Hitting is NOT nice."

Indeed. This stands in wonderful contrast to a disconcerting behavior that's presented itself these past few days...hitting Dada.

This Wednesday Clara returned from her first day back at school to find Dada home for lunch. She seemed a bit irritable, so Paul was surprised when she ran towards him with arms raised. A hug? Unusual, he thought. No, those arms were cocked at the shoulders to provide Dada with firm, repeated smacks on the legs.

A first, but the behavior would persist through the week. Each day when Paul came home, Clara would hit him and tell him to go away. A person might begin to take things personally.

It's all been wrapped up with some attitude that's come out with a vengeance this month. Is it a coincidence that it's occurring at the same time Kate's baby bump has become much more pronounced? Perhaps it happens with all two-year-olds, but we suspect this compounds things.

Most pronounced is the sharing thing. Just the mention of the word will set Clara off on a soliloquy  of the evils of that concept (as applied to her).  One night this month, following a playground confrontation with friend Adah regarding taking turns to climb up a ladder, we heard Clara cry out in her sleep. "No, Adah!" she said, "you can't have my red hat!" This thing runs deep.

When Kate picks her up from school, she asked the teacher for a status update. Last term, Clara was among the more passive students in the class. The teacher's hesitation -- clearly looking for ways to mince her feedback -- indicated a change on that front. Clara, it would seem, came to school spoiling for a sharing showdown. Upon arriving, she immediately started gathering toys in her arms and went into growling dog mode whenever a classmate attempted access. We were told she saved a particular focus for her neighborhood friend Olive with whom she has plenty experiences in the sharing battle.

(Of course we might have guessed the day would turn out as such when half the morning was spent negotiating with our daughter whether she could take her Barney stuffed toy to school and whether that meant she might be obliged to share it with classmates. Perhaps we tripped some sharing alarm.)

Clara in the laundry hamper. Why? We can't exactly answer that question.

We are -- as best as possible -- attempting to address this whole sharing issue. Within a 24 hour period this month, two separate women explained to Kate her insight that sharing is a term we misuse with children. We should use "taking turns" in its place, a phrase that children understand much better and captures what they're actually trying to do. We are currently working on eradicating the "s-word" from the family lexicon.

In the euphoria of the good mood of a morning like this, it's easy for parental amnesia to kick-in (though we're still debating whether its a malady or a blessing, we are all in agreement that Kate suffers the most from this child-behaving-badly fugue state...out of sight, out of mind). Indeed, why would you want to remember the other "stuff" if you could just focus on this?