2/27/2007

Words, Words, Words

I try not to do too many of those "look at how smart my kid is" posts, because every parent knows that his or her child is the most brilliant perfect creation in the history of the universe, but I'm going to indulge a little here anyway:

A few months ago when I took Fiona to the doctor for a checkup, the doctor started running through the list of things that a child her age ought to be cognitively capable of doing.

"Do you read books to her?" he asked.

Andrea and I laugh about that, because, while we've never been flash card type parents, I started trying to read to Fiona when she was about 3-4 weeks old. That wound up being a little soon -- she didn't like to sit still at all when she was that age -- but by the time she was three months old we'd developed a bedtime routine that began with me leaning over the crib with a book and reading it to her while she crawled around. Before long she'd figured out how to turn the pages, and since then there's been no looking back.

Recently, Fiona has started "reading" her books to her stuffed animals. She can actually do her entire book of Mother Goose rhymes word for word, and she also reads a book with the Knick Knack Paddywack rhyme, a book on opposites, and one or two others.

Now, obviously she's not reading just yet, as proud a parent as I'd like to be. She's memorized her favorite books because she's heard us read them so many times, and she can recognize the pictures on each page and know what's going on.

However, she has made two big leaps recently when it comes to reading.

First, she's developed an interest in longer books. Where we started out reading board books that might have a sentence or, very rarely, two sentences per page (and when we got to long pages we'd wind up abbreviating the text in order to finish before Fiona insisted on flipping the page), Fiona can now sit still while we read Dr. Seuss, Little Bear and a slew of other books that contain whole paragraphs of text on each page.

Obviously we're still reading picture books at this age (although we did read all the way through a version of Little Red Riding Hood that had four pages of solid text and only one page with a picture), but Fiona has developed enough of an appreciation for narrative that she's pretty much left the basic board books behind. Now, that's not to say she won't return to the short and simple stuff when she's learning how to sound out words, but it's fun to see her progress to more complicated material. Although it does mean she's had to come to terms with cutting down from two books before bed to one book (you'd think she'd understand that she's getting just as many words as ever, but a toddler doesn't think that way).

The second big leap Fiona has made recently is that she's started understanding that letters are put together to make words. She can identify all of her letters in upper case now (although she sometimes confuses "M" and "N", and occasionally she'll get her "B"s and "D"s confused). She can take her refrigerator magnet letters (or bath magnet letters) and spell "FIONA", whereas before she just knew that Fiona started with "F" (and she got upset when told that other words started with "F", too).

But she's also started showing an interest in words other than her name. She can tell you that Mommy starts with M, Daddy with D, Pop and Poppa with P, Nana with N, and Aunt Kathy with K (we're not worrying about spelling "Aunt" right now). When she plays with her letters, she's constantly asking me to tell her what letter comes next as she spells her friends' and families' names. And when she sees a letter, she likes to ask for words that start with that letter (she can tell you that zebra starts with Z, for example).

Finally, she's started writing letters as well. She can write Fiona so that it's pretty recognizable. She writes words on her doodle pad, or in the morning condensation on her bedroom window, or anywhere else she gets a writing implement and a canvas. Sometimes you have to know which letters she says she's doing -- the M and N don't always have connecting lines, the A sometimes looks like an H, and her P gets a straight line with a circle at the top but the circle floats all over the place depending on the day -- but there's no question that she's writing words.

So we don't use flash cards, but we've wound up with quite the little reader despite our negligence. Pretty soon her parents are going to have to stop using the trick of spelling words to each other that we don't want Fiona to hear and get overexcited by (e.g. "Do we have any c-o-o-k-i-e-s in the kitchen?")

Racial Awareness

This happened a month or two ago, but I keep forgetting to post it.

Fiona's at an age where she loves babies. When she sees a picture of a baby she has to point it out to everybody, she has toy babies at her house and each of her grandparents various homes, and when a new baby starts coming to day care she talks about the baby incessantly.

Her favorite baby at day care is Taylor. When Fiona arrives at day care in the morning, if Taylor is already there Fiona runs straight for her. And Taylor bounces excitedly up and down when she sees Fiona as well.

Taylor is also the only African-American child at day care.

One day recently Fiona and I were out for a walk and we started talking about skin. Fiona, who will never have trouble convincing people she's of Scots-Irish descent, mentioned that her skin was light.

"Yes, you have very fair skin," I told her.

"Taylor's skin is dark."

"That's right," I said, preparing for my first diversity discussion as a parent. "Some people have dark skin and some people have light skin. Skin comes in all sorts of different colors."

"Yeah," said Fiona, nodding. "When I was a little baby, my skin was dark like Taylor's."

Um....

I explained to her that Taylor's skin was dark because that's how Taylor was born, just as Fiona's skin was light and was going to stay that way.

But given how many parents can tell some hideously awful story about the first time their child noticed different races (usually involving loud yelling and pointing in a public place), I thought Fiona's first awareness was pretty charming.

2/23/2007

This Will Be Worth a Follow-Up Post

So Fiona has been up the past two nights coughing (and as a result her parents have been up as well). We decided to call the doctor this morning to see if we could get any medication to help her out, and so we waited around until 10 a.m. to call the office... at which point we were reminded that on Fridays the doctor doesn't get in until 3 p.m. (this is so they can maintain Saturday office hours without total burnout).

At that point it was a little late to take Fiona to day care, but both of us had to work. Andrea actually has a light load at the office right now, relatively speaking, so she decided it would be a good time to take Fiona in to the city for a half day. And so as we speak, Fiona is at the office with Mommy. I have a feeling further details will follow.

On the way out the door while I drove them to the subway station, Fiona looked at me and said "Are you coming too, Daddy?"

"No, you're going to Mommy's work. Daddy works in a different place," I replied, not wanting to remind her that that different place is actually at home a few steps from the kitchen.

"That's right," she said. "Mommy and I are going to the girl work and you're going to the boy work."

I wonder how she responded when she discovered Mommy's office is co-ed?

2/22/2007

Maybe a Little Too Much Bass

Tuesday night Mommy had to go to a meeting so it was a Daddy-daughter night, so I ordered a pizza and salad, in the time honored tradition of such evenings. When the food arrived, I put the salad down on the dining table and took the pizza into the kitchen to cut it up for Fiona.

As I went, Fiona reached for the salad to grab a carrot.

"Hang on a second, Fiona," I told her, scooting the salad further away from the edge and into the middle of the table. "Wait until I have plates on the table."

I dropped the pizza in the kitchen, grabbed some plates and silverware, and headed back into the dining room. Whereupon I discovered my daughter, stretched out lengthwise across the table, lying on her stomach to reach for ever more carrots and cucumbers.

"Hey!" I barked. "Get down, we do not climb on the table!"

A perfectly reasonable sentiment, and appropriate as well. Unfortunately, as those of you who know me can attest, my voice has a pretty low pitch. And when you combine a deep voice with a hike in volume and a bit of anger and urgency...

Fiona scampered off the table as quickly as she could, which is to say more quickly than she should. She slipped a little, and then starting to flee across the room. Let's just say I clearly crossed the line from reprimanding my child to actually scaring her. As she started to gag on her carrot while stifling sobs, I found myself picking her up and trying to simultaneously let her know that what she had done was wrong, keep her from choking on the food already in her mouth, and soothe her so that she got past her terror.

Which she did, of course, but her enthusiasm for her salad was a little dimmed. And I've resolved to try to modulate down slightly from drill-sergeant-with-a-migraine the next time my child forgets her etiquette.

So Polite

Fiona is playing with her friend Ito at day care when she sees me walk through the door to pick her up. She turns to Ito before even acknowledging me:

Fiona: I'm sorry, Ito, I can't play with you any more. My daddy is here. I have to go home.

Pardon the parental boasting, but that's quite a mouthful for a three year-old, right?

2/11/2007

Checking Her Parents' Curfew

For a while now, Fiona has been taking various stuffed animals with her to day care. Each day we'll let her choose one (some days she wants to take a whole menagerie, which is difficult to manage on a quarter mile walk). About a month ago she started periodically handing her animal of the day to Andrea once she had been dropped off, explaining to Mommy that this way Mommy would think of her when she was at work.

Last night, Aunt Kathy had a concert and we booked a babysitter. We did our usual good-byes, telling Fiona that Miriam (her babysitter) would be there for dinner and bedtime but that we would come in and kiss her when we got home.

Fiona announced that she wanted Mommy to take Rojo, her red dog, with her. "And then," she said, "when you come in to kiss me you put Rojo in my bed so I know you're home."

Pretty clever for a three year-old, huh? It reminds me how, when I was a teenager, my parents used to be able to tell if I'd come home yet or not by whether the light over the garage had been turned off for the night. Nobody ever told me I'd be facing curfew checks from the other direction when I became an adult.

2/02/2007

Beep Beep, Beep Beep

Some of you may remember that a few months ago Fiona learned her first Beatles song. Well, we have another one to add to her repertoire.

The other night before bed we were talking about cars and I started singing to her "Baby you can drive my car..."

Fiona instantly perked up. "What's that song?" she asked.

I should have remembered that Fiona loves any song with a pop hook and the word "baby" in it, which means I've been singing her a lot of Beach Boys, Beatles and 60's girl group songs (which probably weren't meant to be heard in a baritone, but what can you do?).

But "Drive My Car" has a second hook going for it -- the "beep beep, beep beep yeah" that follows the chorus. To a toddler, that's probably the finest line in the history of western pop.

Now Fiona loves going around saying "beep beep, beep beep yeah." That is, when she isn't trying to be contrary and singing "beep beep, beep beep no."

"Drive My Car" comes off of Rubber Soul, which means Fiona has already progressed from early to mid-Beatles. At this rate we'll be on to the White Album and George's Indian explorations and John and Yoko by summer.

Soup is Good Food

Fiona has a cough again (hey, it's winter in the northeast, what do you expect) and she's figured out this time around that water can help. There have been times when she wakes up coughing in the middle of the night and asks for a glass of water.

Last weekend when she was having a very rough day we gave her some chicken noodle soup (Fiona loves soup). While we were having lunch I told her that, in addition to tasting good, the soup would help her cough feel better.

The next evening after her bath as Fiona was getting into her sleeper she started coughing.

"Do you want some water?" I asked.

"No," she replied, "I want soup. Soup helps my cough."