Points for Honesty

Now that Fiona is quite terribly two she tries to delay doing just about anything we ask her to do. Time for a bath? Not until she finishes her "gardening" (i.e. carrying around a watering can and pretending to pour it on pieces of furniture). Time for dinner? Not until she's done reading to Roo.

At times like these we wind up telling her, with increasing levels of exasperation, to "stop stalling."

This morning I was trying to get Fiona out the door, and she, of course, had no interest in putting on her shoes or taking her asthma meds, or whatever it was I needed her to do. I walked into her bedroom to find her face down on the matress, rocking back and forth.

"Fiona, we need to get your [shoes, medicine, etc.]" I told her. "What are you doing?"

"Go away, Daddy," she replied. "I'm stalling."

My High School Music Teacher Said the Same Thing

As Fiona watches Dora the Explorer, Daddy tries to have a little fun:

Daddy: I'm the map.
Fiona: No, the map is on the TV.
Daddy: No, I'm the map.
Fiona: No, the map is on TV. You're Daddy.
Daddy: (singing the song familiar to any parent who's sat through a Dora episode) I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map...
Fiona: Stop! (referring to my singing:) That sound scares my ears!

I Read the News Today, Oh Boy

OK, I know I haven't updated the main site in forever (10 months, egad!), but we do still take photos, so here's one to tie people over. I particularly like that she's reading this over her cereal in the morning.

Hmm, maybe it's time to get going on the main photo site again...

I Can't Hide

Though it seems like the kind of material that's just out there in the ether, it turns out that kids aren't actually born knowing Beatles songs and sooner or later have to hear them for the first time. The other night I sang a bit of "I Want to Hold Your Hand" to Fiona and she immediately perked up.

"What's that?" she asked.
"That's a Beatles song."
"I want to hear the Beatles song."

So I sang the whole thing to her, and then she wanted it again. And again. By the third time through I either forgot part of the song or was sick of singing, because I tried to skip the bridge ("And when I touch you I feel happy inside...") But when I finished, Fiona was displeased:

"No," she said.
"What?"
"I can't hide. I can't hide," she repeated, pointing out the repetition that was clearly her favorite part of the song.

The next morning I dug out the song on CD and played it for her. As soon as it was over, guess what we had to listen to again? And again.

Later that afternoon, as Fiona played in the hallway and her room, we had the stereo on and "I Want to Hold Your Hand" came back around on the CD shuffle. At that exact moment, Andrea wandered in from the office and decided she wanted to watch the TV, so she turned the stereo off.

"Nooooo, the Beatles song!" Fiona shouted, as she ran full speed down the hall towards the stereo.

We decided we had to play the song one final time for the night before the TV could go on (and how often do you have a child begging to keep the TV off?)

So Fiona's hooked, on at least one song (I suppose eventually she'll learn that it's ridiculous to call one song "The Beatles Song"--it's not like this is Dexy's Midnight Runners or something). In a few more years we'll have to get her ready to choose her favorite Beatle. But that's a momentous decision, like learning to talk or read, so we won't push it too fast.

Just Repeating What She Hears

Fiona's very good about wanting to clean her hands when they get food on them, but her face is a different issue. Usually we find ourselves trying to grab hold of her head long enough to wipe the worst bits up as Fiona struggles and yells and we try to calm her down by saying things like "honey, sweetie, please..."

Last night as I tried to wipe the ketchup off of Fiona's face (like all too many toddlers, she'd rather have a grilled ribeye steak with ketchup than without) she yelled and struggled, but I didn't say anything. So Fiona helped me out, screaming "honey, sweetie, please!" Which sounded awfully weird coming from a voice that sounded upset.

Incomplete Instructions

Another one from the catching up file from our San Diego trip:

On Sunday, Nana and Pop took Fiona to church while we headed to a ballgame (apparently if our souls weren't going to be saved that week they at least wanted to make sure the grandchild wasn't in arrears). Nana decided to see how Fiona would do sitting with the congregation for the first part of the service, and explained to her that when it came time for the children's sermon she could go up to the front with all the other children and sit quietly while the minister spoke.

The children's sermon arrived and Fiona bounded down the aisle and found a seat, where she proceeded to play footsie with another child. But she listened to the sermon without disrupting the minister, and enjoyed being with all the other big boys and girls at the front of the sanctuary.

When the sermon ended, the other children got up and filed out to Sunday school. Except for Fiona, who hadn't received any instructions from Nana on what to do after the sermon ended. As the children poured up the aisle (making it impossible for Nana to sneak down the aisle), Fiona sat happily by herself on the steps at the front of the church, smiling and looking around and oblivious to the idea that she wasn't supposed to be there.

The lesson: thorough instructions are the way to go.

My Eye is Sad

No posting lately because I've been getting ready for a job change (but this blog isn't about me) and we've been dealing with Fiona's health. She's fine now, but dealing with a sick kid tends to take the mind off blogging.

Late last week we noticed Fiona was getting a little puffy in her left eye. After a couple of days the puffiness didn't subside, so we took her to the pediatrician who diagnosed it as conjunctivitis and gave us two different prescriptions, one for bacterial and one for allergic conjunctivitis. She couldn't tell which one Fiona had, so she wanted us to treat her with antibiotics first and then move on to antihistamines.

Fiona hated her eyedrops and things didn't seem to be improving. Tuesday night during her bath we noticed blood in her teardrops. This is not, I might point out, something parents want to see.

The blood went away as quickly as it had come, and we figured it might have been an interaction with her shampoo (nominally "no tears," but we guessed that might only apply to healthy eyes). We called the pediatrician's off hours number, and she advised us to hold off on the eyedrops that evening (no need to risk aggravating the situation) and to see what Fiona looked like in the morning.

The next morning she had a little blood again (not a huge amount, but really the only amount you want to see is "zero"). We spent the next few hours trying to find a Pediatric Opthamologist who could see her on short notice and then driving into Manhattan (always a pleasure, and so affordable during business hours too!)

The most reassuring thing a parent can hear in that situation is "I've been seeing a lot of this lately" (at least assuming it's not followed by the word "unfortunately"), and the specialist diagnosed Fiona as having a hemmorhagic virus in her eye (sounds pleasant, huh?) and put her on a steroid eyedrop and told us to keep her home for the next several days because she's highly contagious.

I'm happy to report that, so far at least, it appears that the specialist knew what he was talking about. Fiona's left eye (what she calls either her "sad eye" or "sick eye") still looks a little swollen, but not nearly so puffy as it did, and she's only asking for a cold compress on her eye a few times a day instead of every 5-10 minutes. So we seem to be on the mend.

Meanwhile, Dr. Fiona has been having a great time treating her Tigger doll for his sick eye, complete with laying his head on her lap to give him eyedrops while he complains that the drops hurt.

Multilingual

Nana and Pop took a trip to Spain in June and (surprise) brought back some presents for Fiona. Among the gifts was a word book in Spanish -- vaca for cow, cordero for lamb, etc. Andrea read the book with Fiona once, but Fiona didn't seem to quite get the point. She'd point at a vaca and ask what it was, Andrea would reply "vaca" and Fiona would say "no, that's a cow." And Andrea would try to explain that a cow in Spanish is vaca.

Well, some of it sank in. A few days later I discovered Fiona reading the book to one of her stuffed animals and pointing out the various words to her toy.

"That's cow in Spanish," she said. "That's lamb in Spanish..."