Faulty Assumption #3792

A ring pop will be analogous to a dum dum in the way in which Spencer will be able to handle and/or consume it.

Drama at The Little Gym

The middle of January began the "new semester" at The Little Gym.  Many of the same people were there, but there were also a lot of new people.  I'm horrible at guessing numbers, so this following statement means little to nothing, but I'd say there were probably three times as many people there than there usually are.  You know what I'm going to say next, right?  Spencer did not react well.  He wasn't bad, per se.  He was just super active.  And it is winter, and he doesn't get to go outside very often, so I would never qualify his activeness as "bad;"  it's just, what's a good word?  It's awesome--in the purest sense of the word.  It inspires in you a sense of awe.  

I had not bargained on there being so many new people in addition to all of the regulars, so, in my naivete, I tried to take his pacifier away as he was on his way into the gym.  I asked if he'd put it in his bag, if I could hold it for him.  We'd already discussed leaving it in the car, to which he gave me a resounding and negative response.  But, usually, once the fun gets going, he's cool being paci-less.  So, his teacher, "Miss Erin" yanked it from his little mouth and handed it to me as he ran into the gym.  I'm not sure if it was that she took it away or that it appeared to him that I wasn't coming in to the gym with him or that all of that happened as he simultaneously realized there were a bunch of strangers in the room, but he had a little fit.  And by little, I mean big.  

All the moms who've been around him all fall are so sweet.  They are not judgmental; they believe you are doing the best you can; their kid is totally different from yours and you both affirm that there is equal and amazing value in them all.  But I could feel the stares from all the new moms.  And I'm sure they are also just as understanding and kind (at least most of them probably are, lol!), but their poor little children are in a brand new, huge gym, which could be overwhelming to some toddlers (it never was to Spencer, by the way), and I just kept thinking, "Just smile, and act calm.  Raise your eyebrows.  Distract him.  He'll settle down.  Don't give the paci back, it'll just reinforce this behavior (you know, behavior any and every human naturally displays from time to time when their comfort is ripped from them just as their expectations for the day are broadly swept aside)."  But he didn't stop.  

Malin's (the "a" is like the "a" in "mail"--isn't it a cute name?) mom and I had an entire conversation about how they didn't give Malin her paci the other night before bed, and she never asked for it or missed it, so they're done with it.  But she can tell that probably won't work for Spencer.  (lol!  probably not!)  She said he's probably more of a "paci party" kid.  He'd probably do better when he could understand why he couldn't have it anymore, etc.  And as we discuss this paci-quasi-philosophy, he was still screaming.  

I made a few last-ditch efforts at "redirecting" his energy, but he must have felt my resolve dwindling because he just got louder.  Finally, I decided this was not the time or the place for a battle of the wills over his paci.  Or maybe it was the time and the place, and I admitted defeat.  I'm cool with either rendition.  Many, many other little children were starting to look down-right upset because of the adorable, screaming little boy in their class.  What must his mommy have done to him?  I asked him if he could say "Paci please," and he said "Peeese."  And immediately dried it up.  I left the gym to get his paci and returned to a sweet little boy awaiting his security object.  He immediately received it; and then, he was off.  

It was as if, on this particular Wednesday morning, his pacifier had given him strength--or maybe endurance would be a better word.  He ran, climbed, swung, and pulled me places non-stop.  One of the new mom's complimented the utter adorable-ness of his curls (you know, once people could hear people well enough to actually have conversations since Spencer had stopped screaming).  I told her they were his saving grace.  "Miss Erin" laughed and agreed.  He did his skills with "Miss Erin," but otherwise he was outta there.  He was obsessed with standing on the bars like a balance beam.  I was helping him do front and back hip circles and the kind with one leg over the bar (I can't remember what those are called).  He was jumping from the bar onto the ground.  I can't even remember much more besides being jealous of the mom's who've been coming as long as I have, standing on the side of the mat talking to each other while their children were playing happily in the gym without their input or assistance.

There is a mat wrapped around the water fountain and a two-door closet that is perpetually unlocked--both of which Spencer knows are off limits.  He went down both of those paths today.  And he hadn't messed with those things in so long.  I'd totally underestimated the power of things being a "little" bit different to totally sabotage all of Spencer's "progress" in class.  He was (not surprisingly) begging for his milk by the end of the class.  He wouldn't go get in line (or the blob of children) to get a stamp.  So, we just walked out.  And as soon as we did, it was like the clock had struck midnight, but in a good way.  He walked directly where I told him to go.  He sat down as soon as I asked.  He drank his milk as I put on his socks and shoes.  He said good bye to "Miss Erin."  And the whole gymnasium breathed a sigh of relief as we walked out.

Towards the end of the class hour-long session of crazy, a sweet mom who has known Spencer since August told me that her oldest daughter could not handle being over-stimulated, and that now, even at eighteen, she is still like that.  At first I was so thankful for her encouraging words (not automatically assuming I'm some half-brain-dead mom who can't calm, comfort, or control her own child but instead seeing Spencer and his needs in the broader context of all the differences that were at work today), but now that I'm reflecting, I wonder what this means for his (and my) future.

Then we went to get my allergy shot, where I decided it was the day to fight the battle over whether or not we stand in the chairs at the doctors' office.  I think the earlier paci defeat gave me new resolve.  I won, but it wasn't pretty.

Wound A Bit Tightly?

The night of the Sugar Bowl, I could not get over the behavior I witnessed from Spencer.  In the forefront of my mind swirled images of his less-than-joyous reactions to many of the "new" people and schedule amendments throughout our Christmas rounds.  I fully expected him to behave basically the same way towards all of the guests that would be dropping by his Gigi and Papa's house to watch the game.  Instead, he reinforced my slowly-learned "clarity statement" that I should employ any and every time I enter a room with my Spencer--expect the unexpected.

Had he not been identical in appearance, weight, speed, and strength to the Spencer I'd been with throughout the winter holidays, I would have sworn he was not the same child.  He smiled, squealed--still running off from many who greeted him--but he did so with a skip in his run (he doesn't take many "steps") and a welcoming grin on his face.  Spencer's countenance was inarguably unprecedented for a group event.  I could easily write enough for a year of blog posts with my hypotheses for this bewildering phenomenon; but suffice it to say I think it has much to do with his parents' subtle differences in mood and expectation levels--differences that I would argue are not so subtle to their young child.  Those of you who know us well know that we're both wound a bit tightly.

I don't hold that our every negative or ambivalent emotion is the cause of Spencer's every negative and ambivalent action.  And, I'm in no way new to the idea that there exists some sort of correlation.  These ideas are in no way an epiphany to me; but there was no ambivalence in the display of good will and excitement on this particular evening.  Not from me, not from Jonathan, and not from Spencer.

And since y'all don't come here just to hear me play psychologist, see for yourself.

"Hillary, come here!  I've got a plan."

"Not too bad for a rookie."

"I'd prefer you not catch me when I dive."

It's hard to get good pictures, no matter where I moved, he was turning the other way.  But, just know, behind those curls is a big smile alternating with looks of determination.  Either way, he wasn't screaming.  

Perfect angle for maximum leverage.

"Now they're off."

"Time for some bouncing."

Abusing Creatively arranging the sofa cushions take one hundred eighty six million.

"It was the best day."  --Ross reminiscing about mini-muffins at work.

I include the sheer volume of sofa cushion pictures to give you a proportional insight into what the evening entailed.  Yeah, it was mostly this.  He certainly stayed true to himself and continuously ripped the sofa cushions off of his Gigi's Century sofa.  [Side note, if you squelch your fear of his seemingly un-tameable physical conquests and invite us to your home, I won't let him do this to your furniture.]

Later, Spencer discovered a wooden recorder that was left out of his Christmas booty because his Gigi didn't think he'd be able to use it.  If you've ever seen Spencer anguished in the mire of frustration, you understand the importance of not setting him up for it on a holiday past his bedtime.  However, although Spencer was able to blow into the recorder and make one high, woodwind note fill the air; he was much more interested in forcing me to play it.  A failure at the piano for many, many years, I can still play the rendition of "Amazing Grace" taught to my entire fifth grade class in Music on the recorder.  Spencer ate it up.  He wouldn't let me quit.  Really.  I eventually had to switch to "Hot Cross Buns" just to make it less boring for me.  My mom and sister were cracking up; and it's hard to laugh and play the recorder simultaneously.  Spencer had no patience for my nonsense.  He will make quite the conductor someday--or merciless dictator.  We're all pulling for conductor.

While forcing me to play the recorder, he sashayed around the room.  Again:  expect the unexpected.  In my naivete, I'd pictured him running through the house, blowing on the recorder as hard as he could.  Glowing in his new found ability to add piercingly high sound waves to the already raucous atmosphere he enjoys creating.  Wrong again.

The testosterone was palpable that evening--which also may have contributed to putting Spencer at ease--and Spencer zeroed in on the one grown man who could match him bounce for bounce in both energy level and overall craziness--Steve Craig.  And bounce they did.

Again, to know Spencer is to know the rareness of this occurrence.  He doesn't let other people with whom he is not intimately acquainted bounce him.  Apparently Steve Craig ain't people.  

That same night Spencer spontaneously counted to four with coasters for his Gigi.  And when I say, "counted to four," I expect you to know that the average person on the street would have recognized the word "three" maybe.   If they'd had kids, who hadn't talked well, in the past two years--ha!  He does these sorts of things best when we are attempting to ignore him.  If we talk amongst ourselves, he'll approach us with a trick that he knows will get attention.  If you ask, or even invite or suggest, that he do an activity of this nature--you're sure to be left high and dry.  I found a great article about this "type" of kid.  It was written by an SLP about (surprise surprise) another boy.  She had to explain to his parents that "testing" him was  not the way to get him to learn how to do things or to evaluate whether or not he was able to do them.  Poor kid.  I think he was three or four and his parents still hadn't figured this out about him.  I could also write a year's worth of blog posts about that!  But, don't worry, I won't.

Christmas Memories: 'Twas Quite A Few Nights Before Christmas

We celebrated Christmas with my parents, sisters, and their husbands (how in the world are we all three grown and married?) a few days early this year.  Nat and Levi were heading to Witchita for Christmas, and we couldn't bear to be without them at "Christmas."  Dad missed the delicious meal since he was at work paying for it; but he made it home for the opening of gifts and the labile toddler.

We videotaped a lot of Spencer, so we didn't take many pictures.  My brother-in-law graciously spent his first Christmas as an official husband-to-a-Vinsant-girl by playing photographer.  Much appreciation shouted out his way.

Gigi's gone all modern on us in her old age, and we love it.  I remember trees she decorated all throughout my childhood.  Each year she had a different "inspiration," and each year I thought it was beautiful.

Keepers.

Each one deemed a keeper by a keeper.

Spoiled much?

I don't know what we'll do when Angel goes to doggy heaven.  DON'T suggest getting him one for our house.  I'm terrified that I'll cave and do it; and then I'll be physically ill for the next decade (or more).  Don't. let. me. buy. him. a. dog.

We were trying to hold him off 'til Papa Kurt got home.  He'd already plundered Gigi's bed and watched quite a few Dora's or Little Einsteins--I forget.  He'd refused to eat all of the delicious food, including home made mashed potatoes.  I can't wait until he's older, and I can (good-naturedly) harass him about his ridiculous eating habits.  To be fair, he's had GI issues for over half of his life.  But still, they're mashed potatoes for crying out loud.  He was mad they weren't sweet potatoes.

He got a magnetic zoo that he loved.  Eventually we had to convince him to go on and open another present.  But only that once.

He's pointing at which animal he wants me to punch out for him to stick to his magnetic zoo.

Our little family.

He was also a big fan of the sandwich set.  Are you seeing a theme?  Many toys with many many pieces per toy.  

Asking Jonathan if he can borrow his Sugar Bowl t-shirt.

Hard at work.  

At the time, it was so relaxing to do one Christmas experience a few days apart from the rest of them.  We didn't have to rush home and get everything prepared to jump out of bed and do it all over again in less than twelve hours.  In that way it was a refreshing change.  However, this was the first year of my life to not see my immediate family on Christmas day; and I have to admit that I missed them terribly.  I know for many people this is not a big deal, and for many more it's their idea of a great Christmas, ha!  I kept reminding myself that we had already had our Christmas, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a little surreal--a major holiday came and went without all of us being in the same room.  As I've already shared, we had a great Christmas day, it had nothing to do with that.  Growing up is just hard to do.

Christmas Memories: Christmas Day Is A Little Blurry...

"Preh!  Preh!  Preh!  Preh!"  That means "I can't say, 'Let me open all the presents that I can see right now or I'm going to burst!'  So I'm going to continue to say this same syllable over and over until you address my heartfelt concern and give me something for which the intended purpose is destruction of the outside wrapping in order to find something fun inside to be played with at a later date" for those of you who don't speak Spencenglish.    

His goal everywhere we went was to tear open every present.   If there happened to be a gift sitting to the side because for whatever reason, that person wasn't there or couldn't open it right now, it drove him crazy.  It had to be opened.  No present left behind.

He truly didn't seem to care much about what was inside.

He didn't mind finding toys inside, but he relished tearing, ripping, and opening the boxes, bags, and packages themselves exponentially more.

 It was like a sport to him.

And it wasn't over 'til it was over.

For the most part he remained amazingly focused, but at one point he heard his Nana telling his cousin Audrey that the Calico Critters were "pigs," and he immediately spun around and went over to investigate.  It was so funny.  He sure loves animals.  Pigs included.  But don't worry, he'd gotten a toy pig that morning.

I guess he was just making sure he didn't need to acquire any more livestock for his growing menagerie.  I tried to assure him that we had enough pigs for the time being--plenty of animals and plenty of dust mites.  He's got animals he doesn't even know exist.  No one can ever say I didn't let him have pets.

Our little bit of Christmas Day drama is probably best recounted during another burst of moderate to poor writing when I ought to be resting (or at least doing laundry), but I'll leave you with this apt summary as spoken by my sister Hillary, "You know it's a good Christmas when there's blood involved!"   However, in the midst of it all, we received a very light dusting of sleet and snow that ever so softly accumulated on the boxes and bags I was cramming into the trunk of the car.  I put one load in the car, and when I returned with the next load, I was greeted by the noise every Arkansas child knows and loves, the pitter patter of "wintry mix," and the picturesqe scene of snow-dusted Christmas excess.

A few days before Christmas, I was wrestling with Spencer, and I said, "You're my big big big boy!"  To which he whole-heartedly replied, "BABY!"  And while I know that my job as his mother is to bring him out of that mindset and to the place where he is willing, able, and ready to be an independent, autonomous self, I have to admit that little memory is certainly in the running as my favorite Christmas present.