Battles at three-and-a-half

Even before Finn existed, there was no doubt that late spring — the end of the academic year — sapped our energies. After Finn’s arrival, May became more than exhausting: it became a time for sleepwalking. But this year, it’s been more like a nightmare.

This is why:

Do you see that face? It’s not the normal silly-Finn-face; it’s the irritable-whiny-Finn face that seems to pop up so much more in recent weeks. Even when we’re doing something fun, like baking or drawing or coloring or stickering or playing, I find it hard to win, and if I’m doing something he doesn’t want me to, like washing his hair or asking him to come to the dinner table, forget it: it’s a battle. Of wills. Or maybe wits — and I’m about out of mine.

An “x” system with consequences worked for us before, but became less effective when Finn turned about three-and-a-half. He suddenly just didn’t feel like listening. We were giving too many x’s and taking too many things away, which was just miserable for everybody. So we decided to incorporate some serious positive reinforcement, playing up the praise for any good behavior and stocking up on little rewards we could pull out when needed. We had a great weekend that way. But then during the school-week he became impossible again, refusing to put on his clothes or shoes, purposely messing up his hair after I combed it, sometimes getting aggressive with me if I went to lift him out of the bath when he refused to get out on his own. He also had a couple of bathroom accidents and a night terror, both of which hadn’t happened in many months, all inside of a couple of days. Clearly, something wasn’t right. Then on the day after his night-terror, he got into trouble at school for biting during an altercation with another boy on the playground.

Of course we talked to Finn to try to understand the circumstances better. We already understood that he’s one of the youngest in his class of 3-5 year-olds and has been exposed to rough “good guy-bad-guy” games we strongly discourage. But although we felt frustrated with what takes place on the school playground, we had to face certain truths: 1) Finn had bitten, 2) he would be kept from playing with other kids for several days as a consequence, and 3) he would be asked to leave the school if he did it again, something we were not prepared to deal with.

We spoke with Finn about why he was being punished at school and repeatedly reminded him of what was at stake. We reminded him to tell a teacher if he’s frustrated and showed him how to take deep breaths to calm himself. We asked him to stay away from the kids who play rough games and suggested other games he could play instead. And when it came to dealing with his attitude at home, we lined up fun activities and rewards for good behavior, but decided to do less negotiating and provide more immediate, calm-but-assertive responses to inappropriate behavior. We resolved to be in control.

We try. The truth is that parenting is kind of like walking during an earthquake: the ground is always shifting beneath us. Finn is constantly changing, there’s so much out of our control, and it’s so hard to come up with any kind of secure plan when the dynamics are so unpredictable.

Perhaps we just need to stop for a bit and stand still in the open air. Our upcoming summer is only a few short weeks away. We’ll spend some time taking calm breaths, time having fun, time-IN together.

Hopefully, we’ll see more of this:

Finn and the twins at Wynwood Walls

A few streets away from where my sister lives in the midtown area of Miami is an artsy warehouse district of graffiti and street art known as Wynwood Walls. I’ve been wanting to take photos of Finn and his twin cousins there for months, and finally got around to it last weekend. It rained as we arrived but the showers stopped pretty quickly, leaving cooler weather and a few inviting puddles. I didn’t get the perfect shot of Finn, Sarah, and Margot together (will that EVER happen???) — but I did get some fun ones both with my “real” camera and with my iphone and instagram.

Space Bunny

Finn made Easter cards this year. My absolute favorite features a bunny in a rocket ship shooting through space. The colorful circle in his belly is his “belly button” full of “lettuce, lemons, and grapes.” Outside the rocket are the sun, planets, and dwarf planets, as well as several moons, asteroids, comets, and a shooting star.

I helped him out with the “Happy Easter” and “Love,” but isn’t he writing his name well these days?

Spring Break 2012

It is now April, and I have yet to document our mid-March Spring Break, when we shared nine delicious days that were gone in an instant.

We went to the orchid festival at one of our favorite places, Fairchild Tropical Gardens, where we got up close to beautiful things,

…hugged a Baobab,

…ate pistachio ice cream,

…and goofed around with good friends:

At home, we made pizzas,

rode bikes around the neighborhood,

…and visited with Finn’s twin cousins, pretending to be doctors and patients,

playing outside on the swing set,

and lounging around the garden:

Then toward the end of the week, we headed up to Sea World in honor of Finn’s long-held love for ocean animals. Unfortunately, since sleeping in a giant hotel bed with Mommy and Daddy wasn’t very conducive to actual sleep, Finn was operating on a three-hour deficit. By late afternoon, when we finally neared his beloved beluga and a shockingly enormous walrus, Finn actually asked, “are these animals real?” Even the glow-in-the-dark jellyfish that inspired last year’s Halloween costumes didn’t seem as interesting as the prospect of running around in a place full of strangers just to make us loco.

But we still had some great moments watching dolphins,

petting stingrays,

and laughing at silly seals:

I think my favorite moment, however, was not with an actual ocean animal, but back at home with a hammerhead shark KITE, which Finn flew for the first time on the last day of our vacation. It was so real — and so exhilarating:

Finn’s new obsession

Every day after school, almost without fail, we ask Finn what lessons he worked on. From August through January, he seemed more interested in talking about something that happened at playtime or on a “silly” program he watched while eating his oatmeal in before-care. This February, however, something changed. One night, as he lay in bed preparing for (or resisting) sleep, he actually volunteered specifics: “Tomorrow, I’m going to do South America,” he said, and spoke about the colors he would make the countries. Then he wanted to “do South America” at home — out of play-dough, with crayons, with paint. He started walking around singing a song about all of the continents, and he worked them into his pretend play. His ocean animals visited the various oceans. He put down his cars to put together his puzzle of the world — and then took the vehicles on tours through Antarctica and Australia, Europe and Asia. Even during our nightly reading ritual, after the first two books, he said, “I want to read the globe.” I never thought of it that way, never thought I’d agree so quickly (and, to be honest, never much cared for geography) — but I’m absolutely loving this new obsession.

Losing sleep over teeth

I’ve always feared losing my teeth. Even when I was younger, I had nightmares in which they’d start to wiggle and fall out, leaving holes in my mouth. Now that I’m older, I lie awake sometimes at night worrying about the day they’ll be gone — and what that will mean.

I assumed that my secret neurosis was far from my son’s three-year-old world, but one night about a month ago, as Finn lay in silence supposedly dozing off to sleep, he suddenly asked, “Mommy? When I’m five, will my teeth fall out?” He had the week before seen a five-year-old friend wiggling her first loose tooth, but we hadn’t spoken of it since. “Just one at a time,” I told him. “And new ones will take the place of the old ones!” He was quiet again, and then started to cry — a loud, wailing cry. “Don’t let me turn five, Mommy! Don’t let my teeth fall out!” It was such an innocent statement, so funny and sad, and I hugged him to me, telling him that everything would be okay.

Then a couple of weeks later, fresh from the bath and wrapped warmly in a towel like a little burrito, he pulled away while armless and fell flat on his face, smacking right down onto the tile floor — and his two front teeth. Relieved to see and feel that they were intact, I at first believed that only his lip had been cut and that the teeth were fine, but the next morning I saw that the gums above his front teeth were swollen and had been bleeding. An hour later, we were at the dentist. They may heal on their own, she said. We’ll do an x-ray in a month to check on the nerves, but until then, all we can do is watch for discoloration.

Now, as I repeatedly relive the past moment of impact and worry about the future, Finn celebrates the present, laughing, playing, smiling. Ahh, to be three.

Hello 2012!