My Two Favorite People

Swinging!

Here’s a Hofmann update to show why Charlotte and Chris are my two favorite people. Charlotte

Charlotte has been completely healthy for over a week, resulting in a delightful, goofy, chatty, freaking JOYFUL toddler. We missed her! So now that she’s back and better than ever, I have had THE MOST FUN watching her plunge into each day with absolute glee. Everything is hilarious to her. Spinach? HILARIOUS. Splashing? HILARIOUS. Daddy walking up the stairs? HILARIOUS. Mommy sneezing? HILARIOUS. And this past weekend, Charlotte had her first ride in a REAL swing. Oh my goodness, that rocked her world. Movement will never be the same again. I’m so loving the toddler stage, and I definitely like it better than the baby stage. Everybody told me variations of “watch out, toddlers are a handful,” and yeah, it’s true. This toddler is into everything she can possibly get into, usually with a sly—and sometimes plain defiant—grin. But what a happy handful we have. And. . . speaking of deliberate defiance, we’ve just started timeouts. The first one took place last Friday, as we were playing in a guest bedroom, and the little darling started crawling toward the nightstand. I had failed to adequately childproof the room (my fault) and I didn’t want her playing with the stuff on the nightstand. I told her no. She paused, looked at me, slyly smiled, and slowly inched forward. Well, crap. I didn’t care that much if she played with the nightstand, but now I had to follow through. She was testing me. “No,” I repeated. “Come this way.” Again she paused, looked at me, and then proceeded forward, completely defiant. So I picked her up, carried her downstairs, and plopped her down in the living room (our official timeout room, as there is NOTHING interesting in there), facing a blank wall—she didn't even have an outlet to play with. I then went across the foyer, into the powder room, and shut the door. I waited one full minute, which is the duration of her timeouts, felt like poo the whole time. Then I emerged. Charlotte was still where I had set her down, but she had gotten on her knees and turned to face the powder room, waiting for me to come out. Her face wore the most heartbreakingly forlorn and distressed look I have ever seen. Bottom lip jutted out, chin quivering, giant eyes full of unspilled tears, and an overall look of What the hell just happened? She did not like timeout one bit. I went over to her, gave her a hug, and we went into the family room to play. The Consequence, with a capital “C,” was over. As we played, she eyed some stone coasters sitting on the (brand new) coffee table. Charlotte worked her way over there, picked one up, and looked at me questioningly. “You can play with it,” I said, “But play gently.” Immediately, she started banging it on the coffee table--my beautiful, new coffee table. “No bang,” I said. “You can play with it, but no bang.” She moved it from one hand to the next, and then she looked at me. Charlotte banged it—just once more. Testing. “No bang,” I warned again. And lo and behold, Charlotte started gently, gently playing with it! She carefully caressed every curve, crevice, and inch of that stupid coaster. I told her how nicely she was playing with Miss Coaster, and how proud of her I was, and so on. I felt like the greatest mom EVER because I had successfully set a limit for Charlotte that she understood and could comply with. Right then, of course, the coaster slipped out of Charlotte’s pudgy hands, landing on the table with a loud bang. Her head snapped up and she looked at me wide-eyed and scared. “That’s okay,” I told her. “It was an accident. Sometimes Miss Coaster is slippery and falls down. That’s okay. You can still play with Miss Coaster.” Visibly relieved, Charlotte resumed playing. I couldn’t believe it, and I really felt like we had achieved a communication breakthrough. Charlotte is a wee bit behind on her language skills and talking (the pediatrician blames her being sick so much, which can cause a bit of language regression), so I never really know how much of what I say she understands. But she proved to me that she can identify a boundary, consciously decide whether to cross it, connect the consequence (timeout) to crossing the boundary, and—most importantly—regulate her behavior in response to a consequence. In the meantime, Charlotte has been babbling nonstop, so I think we’re on the brink of a language surge. She understands words better than she says them. “Yay!” makes her clap her hands (and grin), “Hi!” makes her wave like a passionate Italian (and grin), and “Touchdown!” makes her raise her arms over her head (and grin). I’m working on teaching her to use some basic words—“ball,” “cup,” and “more”are the top three. We’re getting there. Chris Poor, poor Chris has been busting his behind at work, only to come home, immediately take out his laptop, and continue working. My irritation is steadily growing—not at Chris, but at his work. First, I’m worried about the toll all this work is taking on my guy. It can’t be healthy. In fact, I actively resent his work right now. Part—a small but very real part—of my resentment is selfish. At home, in the evenings, I need a partner. I’ve been up since 5:15 a.m. I’ve worked all day. I have a toddler to care for, feed, bathe, dress, read to, rock, put down. I have laundry to keep moving. Dinner to prepare. Dishes to do. A kitchen to clean up. Lunches to make. Diaper bags to prepare for the next day. Leftovers to grind or cut up for Charlotte. Having somebody take on half of all that is a big deal. So the other night, after doing everything so Chris could work work work, I turned off the faucet, looked at the clock, and saw how late it was. And I was just now finishing. And I was tired. Chris closed his laptop, came up behind me as I was drying the highchair tray, and thanked me for handling everything. I won’t lie. That helped. A lot. Then he turned me around to face him, looked me in the eyes, and said, “What can I do . . . for you?” I was utterly caught off guard. For me? FOR ME? The best I could come up with, as my eyes, inexplicably, filled with tears? “Help me figure out what to put together for Charlotte’s lunch tomorrow, because I forgot to defrost anything!” And my, he attacked the pantry like a toddler attacking a bin full of plastic balls. What a guy, eh? Unfortunately, Chris is in Georgia now, but he’ll be back by tomorrow night. Hopefully, things will slow down for him at work now, but I’m doubtful. So there you have it! My Charlotte is just the sweetiest, happiest, funniest girl in the world, and my guy is the most hardworking, decent guy in the world. Lottery = won by ME!