We Have Survived

Bundled up for the first day of school

Today is Sidney's last day of pre-school for the year. Although he started in February and only spent five months under the strict tutelage of Madame Isabelle, his Belgian, French speaking teacher, he has learned so much. In many ways he started as a shy little boy and has emerged as a much more confident  and worldly boy. But although short, it hasn't been an easy road.

For the first few weeks Sidney alternatively liked and hated school. At the end of the day he would say he had fun but then refuse to get out of bed the next morning. He would literally glue himself to his booster seat once we reached the school parking lot, requiring me to pry him out of the car and bring him kicking and screaming into his classroom. He said he didn't know what was going on since everything was conducted in French. Disliking the lunch that was provided by the school and refusing to even try it, he would be ravenous at the end of the day yet have no idea what was even offered on the menu. He would tell me he was good during the day but my appearance in the classroom at pick up time would immediately illicit a laundry list from his classmates reporting of everything Sidney (supposedly) did wrong during the day. On various days Sidney would come home with scribbles on the top of his head, paint on his arms and face and torn knees on his jeans with no real explanation as to how they all got there. Madame Isabelle initially said he was adjusting then she told us that he really needed to get better about listening. I began to wonder if our son would be kicked out of pre-school. (He wouldn't be the first one).

But gradually something changed. Sidney started listening to Madame and stopped hitting or kicking back at children who supposedly did this to him. He started talking about playing with his friends and began telling us how to say various things in French. Much to all of our surprise he started at least tasting everything on his lunch plate and has reported that some of the soup is even good. Pasta dishes remain his favorite but he will now sample the meats that are drenched in Dijon sauce and he really looks forward to the days when they serve fish. His artwork is still quite creative but he can write his name and readily recognizes many words in both English and French.

Somewhere along the line Sidney stopped crying at the notion of having to go to school in the morning and now gets himself up and dressed most mornings without any prompting or supervision. We arrived during the blustery and cold winter months making dressing in layers a no brainer. School is ending with days that are filled with cool mornings and warm afternoons (which reminds me more of later September rather than late June) thus prompting debates of what is appropriate attire for the day. Most days we end up in a compromise. He is now disappointed when it is Friday and he can't go to school for a whole two days. The refrain of "why is my school closed Mamma" has become a regular Saturday morning occurrence. And as of 15.15 today, Sidney will be on summer break; what will the boy (and his Mamma) do? We have variety of activities planned for the coming weeks including an extended stay in the United States and two weeks of summer camp (which Sidney is only willing to attend because "it is like school but with more fun activities and everyone will speak English). Sidney is concerned that other kids will be at his school while he isn't but I've assured him that no one will be there. And I've promised him that when we return from America he will be able to back to his school. It will be the same school with some of the same kids but a new Madame. Sidney wanted to know if she would speak English or French and my reassurance that she would speak French seemed to comfort him. Yes, things have changed in the past few months. My little boy has grown up and loves school. A mother really can't ask for more than that.

And Sid on a recent school morning wearing a
compromise outfit

Say It In French

"Say it in French Mamma; please say it in French." With increasingly frequency, this is Sidney's request to me. On one hand I love it; his French immersion school is obviously paying off since he is absorbing his new language like a sponge. On the other hand, it is making me realize just how shaky my high school French really is. At the moment our French language skills are probably equal but it is only a matter of weeks before Sidney's will surpass me.

I don't actually remember how Sidney learned Albanian. At nineteen months old he was just developing his English language skills with us when he started spending his days with his Albanian speaking nanny. It seemed that each day upon returning home he was speaking a new Albanian word or two. Gradually the individual words became sentences and suddenly he was listening and speaking his second language more fluently than his native tongue. But with only the rarest of exceptions, I was forced to listen to Sidney speaking Albanian surreptitiously since he flat out refused to speak anything but English in the presences of his parents. (Or as he said, English is for Mamma and Daddy, Albanian is for Nene). But with French, it is fortunately turning out to be an entirely different experience.

It would appear that Sidney is embracing French in a way that despite his fluency, he never did with Albanian. Sidney's class is run completely in French. At first he would come home telling me that he didn't understand what was being said but after just a couple of weeks Sidney informed me that he now knew what was being said and asked of him in class. When they listened to French music in class Sidney told me that it was pretty and that he would like me to buy French music to listen to at home. When we are out in public he will ask me what language the people around us are speaking. Sometimes it is French or even English, or one of the other numerous languages that are spoken in our community. More often than not, when he now hears French he will excitedly tell me that that is the language being spoken. I've even heard him talking and muttering to himself in French. Like I said, the boy is a sponge.

And "saying it in French" has become a daily ritual at home as well. Over breakfast each morning, Sidney peppers me with requests to say things in French. Sometimes his requests are pretty basic and I can easily provide him with the translation he is looking for. Other times I am out of my league and find myself relying on Google Translate. Sidney loves it when I whip out my iPhone, tap in his request, and we listen to the translation. Often we listen two or three times with his mouthing the sound along with the phone. I know he is ready to move on when he issues a new language request. At first I thought he was just throwing out random words. Now I realize that he is asking about words or subjects that his class discussed the previous day. Earlier this week we learned the translations for "circle" and "square". This came after an exercise in tracing then drawing these shapes. Today we talked about transportation- "bus", "truck" and "car" were the words of the day. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

And then there was the morning last week when Sidney quickly and fluidly counted from one to ten in French. When I asked him how he knew the words he proudly informed me that Madam (his teacher) had taught him and he wanted to learn more numbers to impress her. Yes, my little boy is well on his way to becoming tri-lingual and I love it. It also means that I need to hone up on my own French skills but I'm game.

On A Learning Curve

Parenting is hard. Very hard. Parenting my four year old is very very hard. Much harder than I had ever anticipated. Just when I think I have figured out my son's behavior, he goes and changes what he says or does and how he reacts to a situation. You could say he is keeping us on our toes but man are our toes getting tired.

I knew this move would be difficult for Sidney. While this is his third move in his short life, it is the first one where he has lasting memories of the life he left behind. Prior to our move he had talked excitedly about it "being just the three of us everyday" but apparently this novelty has worn off. Six weeks after we left Albania he still asks where Tirana is, when we will go back, proclaims he doesn't want to stay in Belgium all day, and most heartbreaking of all, cries that he lost something. Upon inquiry he states that it is his nene (nanny) that he lost and can't find her. We've done everything we can to comfort and reassure him and some days I feel as though it is enough. But others, I'm not so sure. Fortunately, these verbal proclamations are becoming less frequent but his sorrow is manifesting in other ways that I can neither anticipate nor address.

The crying fits that marked our first few weeks have morphed into loud outbursts of anger or even worse tantrums involving hitting followed by a refusal to speak. I (thought) I had finally figured out how to deal with the crying through lots of hugging and reassuring that it was perfectly natural to be sad and miss our old home. By also pointing out the positives of our new one--and the things he can do here that he couldn't back in Albania-- Sidney is able to focus on the things he likes about Belgium and thus his moments of sadness seem to dissipate as quickly as they appear. (One of my biggest fears about this move however, fortunately failed to materialized. The prospect of Sidney's starting school had given me great angst but after a rather rough first week, Sidney is loving school. Or so he says when he comes home each day. Unfortunately for us, his entire school is on vacation this week and after one day of not going to school he is already asking when he can go back. When we tell him he can return next week he sadly tells me he wants to go back now. I know, most parents can only hope for a child who actually wants to be in school. But for a child who loves routine, a break in his new routine is throwing his already fragile world further askew).

But these recent angry outbursts of his? I have no idea how to handle them. It takes every inch of my being to not react in a negative way. Reminding Sidney that he shouldn't hit is hard to do when he is in the middle of a tantrum and getting too close puts me in the direct line of fire of his flailing fists. When he refuses to speak to me I have no idea how much of what I am saying is getting through or what he is even thinking. Fortunately these angry fits are much shorter and rarer in duration than his crying fits were. And they are always followed by his being remorseful and talking about the things he likes to do here in Belgium. Or, as was the case yesterday afternoon, a request to sit on my lap and "read" his French book on his Leap Pad. I can only hope that this angry phase is short lived............

Yes, being a parent is very hard but being a four year old who has been uprooted from the only life he remembers is equally difficult. At least as a parent I have the maturity and intellectual understanding and an incredibly supportive partner to help me through all of this. A four year old has......his parents. And as his parent, all I can do is be there for whatever phase or curve ball he throws our way. He'll get through this, as will we. And maybe, just maybe, this is all practice for the teenage years. By then we will be pros at this game.

Who What When Where Why?

Who, what, when, where, why? These are all questions we were taught to ask in elementary school English class. I distinctively remember sitting in class-either in fourth or fifth grade- and having to write sentences that both asked and answered these questions. At the time it seemed like a fun exercise but now as a parent of a four year old all of these questions are coming rushing back to me. Why you ask? (No pun intended). Because my oh-so inquisitive, perpetual question asking son asks these questions of me on a continuous basis. Who is over there? Who is my friend? What does a bus do? What is pasta? When will we be there? When is tomorrow? Where are we going? Where is Belgium? Why does an airplane fly? Why is she a girl? Over and over and over again. If you are a parent or have spent any time around a four year old, you know exactly what I mean.

We've spent a considerable amount of time driving over the past week and these are the questions that Sidney has been peppering us with during every waking moment of car time. At first the questions were fun and often silly (What is good? What is bad? What is funny?) but over time many of them grew to be marginally annoying. After all, there are only so many times that I can answer the same mundane question. The phrase "when will we be there?" grows old after the first fifteen minutes. After an hour we were tempted to just stop the car so we could say yes, we are here already. But other questions really made us think. Why is the sun yellow? (Good question). What is a broken road? (I sarcastically answered that it is an Albanian road). Why are we going to Belgium? (Because of daddy's new job). The questions went on and on and in hindsight, many of them provided me with a window into what my little boy was thinking. Why are we moving? When will we go home? Where is home? Who will be there? Where are my books? Where is Nene (Sidney's beloved nanny)?

My question is how do I answer all of these more serious questions in a non-overwhelming way that a four year old can understand? How do I allay my son's unspoken fears? What are the correct answers? Are there correct answers? How will I even know?

Explaining Change

It has happened millions of times the world over but this is the first time we've been faced with having the conversation. What conversation you ask?  The one with our almost four year old where we need to help him understand that in a few short months we will be packing up and moving to a totally new country and he will leave behind so much of the world that is familiar to him.  This isn't the first time we've moved since Sidney was born. In fact, we moved when he was just a few months old then again when we came to Albania a little over a year later. But this impending move will be different since it will be the first one where he both remembers where we're coming from and will remember where we are going.  And because of his strong attachment to his Albanian life, I'm unsure as to how to go about preparing for it and explaining it all.

Early next year the movers will arrive at our house to pack up all of our worldly belongings and ship them off to Belgium.  With the crates will go Sidney's toys, clothing, and books; the very physical items that provide him with daily comfort.  For a little boy who has thrived in his current environment, life as he knows it will be changing in a big way.  He will be leaving behind his dear Nene, the woman who has been like a grandmother to him and has cared for him since the moment we arrived in Albania.  He only knows one house, (perhaps better than we do), he knows "his" playground and his street and no other.  While we've done a lot of traveling, we always return to our home and surroundings that are familiar to Sidney.  When we land in our new, semi-permanent home, we will be in a completely foreign environment. (Literally and physically).  Sidney's daily routine will change as he will be attending school for the first time where he will initially know no one and the students and teachers will speak neither English nor Albanian.  He will be brought home at the end of the day in a new car to a new house filled with new furniture (or at least furniture that is new to him).  It will all be so foreign to him that I wonder how I can help him understand what is happening.

Like the obsessive and book loving mother I am, I've purchased age appropriate reading material on the subject.  In these books, the Berenstain Bears are both moving to a new home and attending school for the first time.   While I wait for them to arrive in the mail, I have started to talk about these impending changes with Sidney and he isn't happy about it.  One of Sidney's playmates for the past two years recently left Post.  We've been using this as a learning tool and when Sidney asks about his friend we explain that he moved with his family to a new home and soon, our family will be doing the same.  To provide comfort I've assured him that we will be together as a family; or "just the three of us" as he likes to say.  This doesn't sit well with him and Sidney has informed me on numerous occasions that not only does he want his friend to come back to Tirana but that Sidney doesn't want to move.  When I've brought up getting to pick out new furniture to go in his new room (yes, I'm stooping to bribes here), he has informed me that he wants his current (Embassy owned) bed.  The prospect of making new friends at school is met with a proclamation that he likes his friends here.  (And I haven't even mentioned the part about all of this being done in French......).  Because Sidney loves flying on airplanes I've talked up that experience of flying to get to Belgium and promised him that we can stay in a hotel when we arrive. Hotels are another thing he loves but I have omitted the fact that we will be staying in one for two months or so.  Sidney is excited about flying and staying in a hotel but also says that when we come back home (Albania) he will be able to tell Nene all about it. Ugh!  

I'm hoping these books can help Sidney understand and accept our impending move in a way I just can't explain.  Or, perhaps, they can at least help make these next few months less painful.  I know change is hard; adults struggle with it so I can only imagine what goes through the mind of a four year old.  I feel helpless and fear that the only thing I can do---reassure Sidney about the changes--- just isn't enough.  Because children are incredibly resilient I know Sidney will be OK but I wish there was a way I could make this process easier for him.  After all, as a "Navy brat" this won't be his last childhood move.  I can only hope it gets easier.

On A Mission For A Little Red Suitcase

Every parent of a young child has experienced this--the dreaded toilet training phase. For some lucky people it is a relatively painless process but for others, and I put us in that category, it is a long and painful period filled with power struggles, mutual frustrations, and battles of the wills.  And between years of diapers, toilet training educational materials, and incentives, it can be down right expensive.  Most people claim girls are easier to train than boys. And of course there are different schools of thought as to how one should go about potty training.  Do you begin at age two or three or somewhere in between?  Do you just go cold turkey by taking away the diapers or do you ease into it?  For some simply discussing it and modeling behavior is enough while for other children incentives are necessary. I've come to realize that there isn't any right or wrong way but rather you must do whatever works for you and your child.  And for our child it took all of the above and then some.

From the onset Glenn and I suspected that the toilet training process was going to be a long and arduous one with Sidney and we were right.  Like his parents, Sidney is incredibly stubborn and will only do things on his terms and only when he is ready.  We weren't sure when we should introduce the concept of using the toilet but when our nanny suggested doing it shortly after Sidney's second birthday, we were game.  After all she had raised two boys of her own and has been toilet training American boys for over a decade.  Her initial attempts were met with disinterest and our attempts were met with down right refusal.  My own mother kept telling me that he was too young so we backed off.  A few months later after witnessing the fact that so many of his peers were regularly using the toilet, we tried again.  Armed with an Elmo themed potty and Elmo's Potty Time DVD, we thought we were good to go. After all Sidney had been a quick study in everything else we had introduced so we were sure (?) hopeful (?) that he would be in this venue as well.

But the Elmo potty didn't work. Neither did the video. Sidney loved watching it but wasn't inspired to emulate Elmo.  As age two crept closer to age three we increased our efforts.  We started offering small incentives for each success; a tiny piece of chocolate was the initial bribe, the option to pick out underwear just like dad's, the pleasure of being a big boy soon followed.  And still it was a no go on his part.  My nighttime reading became self help manuals for toilet training boys.  According to the experts we were doing everything right but it still wasn't working. Despite my threats that it was the last one I would buy, case after case of Pampers continued to arrive via Amazon.com and I became increasingly frustrated.  Our "deadline" of being toilet trained before this summer got pushed back to before we move onto our next assignment.  At that point we will be enrolling Sidney in a school with a no diaper policy so I was beginning to feel desperate.  We upped the ante on the incentives.  Sidney loves Matchbox cars and asked for "20 new makinas (cars)" when he only uses the toilet.  At last I felt a glimmer of hope since he was identifying his own reward. Every once in a while I felt as though we were making progress.  He would occasionally request to use the toilet at home and dining out in restaurants was always a sure way to solicit a request.  This is a rather scary proposition in this part of the Balkans since many restaurant rest rooms are rudimentary at best.  The driving force behind the requests was usually the reward of getting to wash his hands but we were taking what we could get.   Increasingly Sidney would ask to go when we were bumping down some Albanian road.  Of course he would choose some inconvenient time but fortunately much of the country is rural so stopping by the side of the road really is an option. 

 

About one month ago while we were packing for our Corfu trip and I was filling my suitcase with a large sleeve of diapers, Sidney upped the ante.  He said he needed his own suitcase for trips.  He went on to tell me that it needed to be red and have wheels so he could pull it himself.  We leaped upon this request and told him that once he was only wearing underwear he could pick out his own suitcase.  He was excited, we were excited and I thought we had turned a corner.  But still no dice. During our recent road trip Sidney made a couple of requests to use the toilet but that was it.  He still talked in great detail about this red suitcase but didn't make any effort to use the toilet.  Glenn and I decided, and informed Sidney, that upon returning to Tirana he was not going to wear diapers any more.  He could wear underwear or be naked but as long as we were in the house diapers would not be touching his little tushie.  He agreed, but we had heard that one before.

 

The first morning home was a test and as I was getting Sidney dressed I asked him to pick out which underwear he wanted.  I expected a protest but instead he thoughtfully selected a bright blue pair.  He then asked me if daddy wore underwear. When I assured him that he did he proceeded to ask if I did.  A yes answer resulted in the question of whether most people wear them.  After hearing my positive response Sidney declared that only babies wear diapers and he was a big boy and would wear underwear too.  Long awaited success?  Actually yes.  The single accident that day and the one the next resulted in requests to put on new underwear.  (And a request to watch the well worn Elmo video again).  The next week passed without a single accident.  Yes, he still wears diapers at night but he is also increasingly getting up at night to use the toilet.  Sure this is interfering with a solid night's sleep for us, but we'll take it.  Upon her return to work after her extended vacation, we proudly informed Sidney's nanny that he was only wearing underwear.  I dare say that we've finally crossed the hurdle!

 

So this past weekend we went out and bought Sidney his promised little red suitcase.  He spent quite some time "test driving" the suitcases at the local Samsonite store before making his selection.  A few he dismissed as being "too big for Sidney" before selecting a small red carry on with four wheels.  After making his selection he thanked the sales clerk in Albanian and pulled the suitcase through the mall and out to the car.  At home he moved it into the garage and placed it next to the pile of our other luggage.  Then he went upstairs and said he needed to use the toilet.

Of course, prior to our vacation I recently purchased an extra large case of diapers and not one, but two cases of wipes.  So if anyone  is in need of size 5 Pampers or 1500 wipes, let me know.

Momma Guilt

We all have it (at least once in a while). Or at least I do.  The feeling that we could have changed what we did or made a different decision in terms of our children.  Call me an insecure parent but I struggle with this uncertainty in regards with many of the decisions I have made in regards to Sidney.  I've felt guilty about each sickness or sadness he has encountered feeling as though I could have done something to prevent or at least temper them.  Bedtimes, diets, even the choice of toys and clothing are opportunities that cause me to wonder if I have made or am making the right decisions.  I still feel guilty over the time Sidney developed strep throat while I was in Germany and he was in the very able care of his nanny back in Tirana.  After all, shouldn't a child have his Mamma around when he is sick?  Pre-school or nanny?  Bucking the trend of those around us we've opted for a full time nanny rather then sending Sidney to a local pre-school. It isn't a money saving measure; in fact it actually costs us more.  Sure Sidney may be missing out on some of the social aspects of attending school with his peers but he has no problem making friends at the local playgrounds, readily jumps in and welcomes new kids to the group, and can count to 100 and narrate his way through life in both English and Albanian.  This reaffirms the decision to have the nanny.  But then there are other, smaller decisions, that keep me up at night second guessing the decisions I have made.

We've been on vacation for the past two weeks road tripping our way through the Balkans.  It hasn't always been easy (this is the Balkans after all) but it has been an adventure.  As is the case whenever we travel, our normal routines were left back in Tirana.  We've all been staying up later than our normal appointed bedtimes, bath nights have been occasionally forgone for the littlest one, and regular meals have been skipped in lieu of ice cream for breakfast (although when the child opts for carrot sticks instead of McDonald's French fries from a Bulgarian drive through it is hard to complain).  Even for this die hard planner, being off schedule has been wonderful and relaxing.  Until it isn't and I find myself second guessing our vacation decisions.

Earlier this week while in Bucharest we joined Romanian friends for dinner.  They are friends from Tirana and were excited to show us around their home city.  As they gave us a guided tour of some of their favorite spots, Sidney enjoyed running along the broad pedestrian friendly sidewalks that line so many of Bucharest's streets.  When we came to a large park, complete with ponds, fountains, playgrounds, and trees he was beyond excited.  (You probably have to live in Tirana or a similar place to appreciate how nice it is to have clean and open green spaces free of stray dogs, pan handlers, and speeding motor scooters).  Sidney also loves leaves and picked up several large green leaves and their accompanying seed pods as we played on the playground.  After the playground we went onto dinner where I sanitized Sidney's grimy hands with my ever present wet wipes.   It was late when we returned to our hotels and as such, we skipped Sidney's evening bath.  At this point I didn't give his park experience another thought.  Until the next morning.......

Ginkgo- it looks so innocent

Sidney awoke the next morning with a few bumps on his cheek.  He wasn't scratching them and wasn't complaining about their presence but as I looked closer I realized that these bumps were multiplying in front of my eyes and were in fact covering both of his lower legs, his lower arms and his entire face.  I started to panic and had visions of needing to find a Romanian doctor (on a Sunday no less).  Sidney is fully vaccinated for all of the usual childhood bumpy pox like diseases but I wondered about what he could have  potentially been exposed to on the playground.  (Yes, my imagination was running wild but I worry about his exposure to preventable childhood diseases a lot since we live in a region where vaccines are not commonplace).  Glenn took one look at him and said that the rash looked like a poison ivy.  I wasn't so sure but Sidney's lack a fever and his showing zero interest in the bumps tempered my fears ever so slightly.  I mean, I know what poison ivy leaves look like and I was certain he hadn't been playing in any patches.  For better or worse I decided to research poison ivy on WebMD.  Yes, the rash did resemble poison ivy, but as I continued reading I discovered that Ginkgo Biloba, a large green tree with known medicinal powers, has seeds whose fleshy outer coating produces chemicals that can cause blister like rashes on people with skin sensitivities to these chemicals.  These rashes are virtually identical to poison ivy.  Perhaps I had an answer.

The previous evening we had stopped to stand in the shade of a large Ginkgo Biloba tree and Sidney had proceeded to pick up its leaves and seeds while we discussed the tree and its medicinal purposes.  The cause of the rash was all beginning to make sense.  I didn't know that Sidney had an allergic reaction to Ginkgo (after all, why would I?) but it did make sense given the fact that both Glenn and I have strong allergic reactions to poison ivy and other skin irritants.  Knowing that his rash was neither life threatening nor contagious we visited a pharmacy where the pharmacist took one look at Sidney and promptly supplied us with a  clear gel to put on his rash.  Problem averted.  But then the Mamma guilt set in.

I started kicking myself for allowing Sidney to scramble all over the ground collecting leaves and such the previous evening.  If I was better schooled on toxic plants I would have known about the not so nice side effects of Gingko.  I know he is a little boy and that is what boys want to do but I felt that if I had given him more attention instead of talking to our friends he wouldn't have had the opportunity to expose himself to so many allergens.  If I had only insisted on a bath the night before instead of agreeing to wait until the next day we could have washed those chemicals right off of his body and perhaps prevented, or at least halted their spread.  Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda.  If only; if only; if only.................

Oddly enough, aside from a random comment or two about the bumps and wanting his skin to be smooth, Sidney seems to be oblivious to this whole experience.  He isn't itching and to help prevent the rude stares he's been receiving from strangers, he's been happily wearing his favorite pants.  If people have been making comments they've been lost on me because of the language barrier which is a good thing because the looks induce enough guilt without my hearing the words.  (I've also realized just how much cross contamination can come from a child's hands; this rash is everywhere and in places I know he didn't directly put leaves).  And the rash is disappearing already.  Yesterday his skin looked better than the day before and this afternoon he looks better than he was just this morning. Perhaps the rash will have all but disappeared by the time we return to Tirana.  I can only imagine the scorn and scolding I would get from his nanny if she saw what I allowed to happen to her Sidney.  That, would induce a whole new level of guilt.

We're still on vacation and continuing to skip meals while eating lots of ice cream.  We have, however, re-instituted baths before bed each night.  I know they are unlikely to prevent the next childhood hiccup that comes our way but if Sidney is clean, that is one less thing for me to feel guilty about.  Because as a mother, I already have enough guilt.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

I had always been told that parents are the greatest influence on their children and now that I'm seeing it in action on a daily basis, I'm realizing how true this statement really is.  What started with looks and mannerisms between Sidney and Glenn has progressed into talking, sighing, and body language at a whole new level.  And with more frequency, he is copying me as well.  It is uncanny, flattering, and scary all at the same time.

Throwing stones in tandem

From the first moments I laid eyes on Sidney I immediately saw that resembled Glenn in so many ways.  His dark blue eyes come from me, but everything else was all Glenn.  Sidney's newborn strawberry blond hair was the exact same shade and texture as Glenn's as were the exceptionally long eyelashes and even the crinkly curve on one ear.  While his hair has now lightened to a blond that resembles what my own hair was like at age three, his untamable cowlick is undeniably the same as his dad's. At a few days old when Sidney, still a tiny baby hooked up to numerous NICU monitors, rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of his curled fists, I almost fell over.  Glenn does the exact same thing---and I later noticed that Glenn's father has the same mannerism as well.  Sidney still does this, sometimes immediately after Glenn has but other times when Glenn is not even in the same room.  What is nurture, what is nature, what is genetics, and what is just unexplainable?

Decorating for Christmas; notice the identical hair

Toasting in Germany

Riding the rails; you can't see it but Glenn's right knee is also propped up

Waiting for a sausage lunch in Munich

Chilling together in Pristine

For some time now Sidney has been mimicking Glenn's physical actions and postures.  If Glenn is sitting in his chair with legs crossed Sidney does the same.  A deep sigh from dad is followed by a smaller sized deep sigh from Sidney.  Glenn's "hmmmmm, hmmmmmm," in response to something he likes, has now been transformed into a tiny version.  Sometimes I can see that these actions are deliberate, but other times it seems as though they occur unconsciously.  When faced with a new dinner item on his plate, Sidney looks to Glenn to see if he is eating it before taking the first tentative bite. If Glenn won't eat it, it doesn't go in Sidney's mouth either.  (I'm the least fussy eater in our house so why can't Sidney be taking his cues from me on this one?).

Pizza and the same lean in Prague

And yes, more pizza

Lately, Sidney has been copying me and it isn't in the best of ways.  Much to my delight, he loves to help me in the kitchen and even when he is using his own play kitchen,  from the tilt of the pan to the stir of the spoon, his actions are identical to mine.  That part is flattering, but others are less so.  In a country filled with dirt, dust, and too many inedible objects to count, my biggest struggle is to keep Sidney from putting things in his mouth.  Usually he is good, but early on I labeled off limit items as "nasty" or "icky" as a way of separating the good from the bad.  So what are my little boy's favorite phrases as of late?  Yes, you guessed it. Everything has become icky or nasty and much to my chagrin, these labels are not being used correctly.  In fact, they are never used correctly.  I never realized how much I used these phrases until I started to hear them come from Sidney's mouth on a daily basis.  I've always tried to watch what I say but now more than ever, I find myself choosing my words very carefully.  You never know when little ears are listening or eyes are watching.  Our children are sponges and absorb everything they see and hear.  As parents, it is our responsibility to be positive role models.  It isn't easy and it is certainly the hardest task I have ever faced.

The Secret Life Of Sidney

My mischievous little guy

The single best baby item I bought when Sidney was born was a baby monitor with a video screen.  During the first few months it was a lifesaver for this slightly paranoid first time mother who worried with each noise I did (or didn't) hear coming from  his room.  As Sidney got older it was nice to be able to check and see if he was still napping rather than go into his room and risk disturbing him.  (Remember the old adage of never waking a sleeping baby?  Trust me, it is so true).  When we moved out of our one story house in Norfolk and into a three story townhouse in Washington D.C., this baby monitor saved us a lot of unnecessary stair climbing.  As Sidney got older and we began to travel more, the monitor was small enough that we could pack it up and take it with us, making it possible to keep an eye on him in unfamiliar surroundings without actually standing over him.

Theoretically at 3 1/2 he's probably outgrown the monitor but since this $59.99 special continues to go strong, we're still using it.  The base is currently perched atop his wardrobe giving us a bird's eye view of all that goes on in Sidney's room.  The nanny loves it since she is of the mindset that he must be watched at all times.  On more than one occasion I've returned home to find her sitting in the living room watching Sidney as he sleeps on the monitor. As strange as this may sound, this is a big improvement over her earlier tactic of sitting in the dark room and watching him sleep.  And of course the monitor allows me to continue to see if he is still sleeping before entering his room.  But the monitor has taken on a new purpose as of late.  As a fiercely independent pre-schooler, Sidney is increasingly relishing having time to himself.  While he loves to play with us, more and more often he is asking to go to his room to hang out there by himself. He will go in and shut the door leaving me wondering what type of mischief he might be causing inside.  But the monitor puts an end to my worries.  More often than not when I peek at the screen I see him sitting on his bed reading a book, talking to himself or his favorite stuffed animals, playing with his Leap Pad, or just lying there and relaxing.  I think I anticipate that he will be doing something he shouldn't be so when I witness such innocent actions my voyeurism makes me feel a bit guilty.  It is also making me realize that my little boy is growing up and doesn't require his Mamma's attention on a 24/7 basis.  And this independence makes me feel a tad sad and realize that he has a life of his own.  Oh my!

But Sidney's independent life apparently runs much deeper.  He knows the names of all the neighborhood children--something neither Glenn nor I do-- and he readily recognizes them.  We've been out in public, outside of our neighborhood, only for Sidney to be greeted by people we think of as strangers but ones he readily recognizes.  The boy has friends we don't know about.  The latest twist on Sidney's secret life came to light this morning.  His nanny has been sick this week so we've had a back up nanny watching Sidney during the morning hours.  When our nanny finally returned to our house this morning she revealed that she has been having phone conversations with Sidney each day, talking about what he has been doing, and making sure he was eating his lunch and taking his medicine.  We never knew this and Sidney had made no mention of talking to his Nene each day.  Of course I never specifically asked but his daily narrative of what he did all day had never once included any mention of talking on the phone.  It makes me wonder what else is he up to that I am unaware of?  While I love his independence, I'm so not ready for my little boy to grow up!

Readjustment

Today was a rough day in Household Brown.  After Sidney's joyous welcome to our return yesterday, I had had visions of a quiet family weekend just spending time together.  Alas, it was not to be.  While yesterday Sidney was filled with hugs, telling us he was happy we were back home, and clinginess, today was the opposite.  His behavior had us wanting to immediately return to the airport.

Glenn and I had returned from Germany determined that we were going to jump right into potty training with both feet.  Using the toilet has been a battle of the wills between Sidney and ourselves over recent months with Sidney having the upper hand but we had decided that we were now going to take control of the situation.  The solution? Nothing but underpants in the house.  We suspect that his diapers are too good and his lack of discomfort with a wet diaper isn't enough of an incentive to use the toilet.  Sidney was all smiles this morning but that smile soon turned to tears when I put his underpants on him.  Instead of liking his new Lightening McQueen underwear, he hated them.  As in refused to keep them on his tiny tushie and went to his wardrobe to take out a new diaper.  Not wanting to have bad associations with using the toilet we switched back to a diaper with a mutual agreement that tomorrow would be all about wearing underwear.

This morning was filled with typical Saturday activities.  Playtime, grocery shopping, and playground time filled the morning hours with the only moments of unhappiness coming when Sidney realized that both Glenn and I were not in the room with him.  I chalked this up to the fact we had both been gone for the past week; it is a rare occurrence that we are both gone and never for a full week.  The afternoon was filled with temper tantrums intermingled with happiness.  This was more than the usual three year old mood swings.  One minute we would be reading together and the next I was being pummeled with tiny fists.  Sidney spent most of the afternoon throwing toys and generally turning his playroom into a chaotic mess.  He is usually good about eventually picking up his toys but his refusal today resulted in the removal of all of his matchbox cars, his play kitchen, and his collection of "friends", six stuffed animals he takes everywhere with him.  (He actually threw the friends away saying he didn't want them any more.  We've secured them in a safe place for the time he decides he wants them back).  But then in the next minute he was remorseful and cuddly before returning to being an over the top three year old terror.

Tonight's dinner was a disaster of flying food, crying, and refusing to eat.  Sidney was quick to "help" me in the kitchen and for a moment I thought he had forgiven us for our absence.  But then the bad behavior would return.  Time outs in the corner were filled with crying followed by apologies then a few moments of peacefulness before a return to more bad behavior.

By this point in the evening both Glenn and I feel battered and bruised; literally and figuratively.  Right now I'm longing for the reemergence of my sweet little boy or even  a return to the "terrible twos" which in hindsight, were actually pretty easy.  I know Sidney isn't happy that we went away but as promised, we returned.  We don't have any solo trips planned in the near future and now I'm questioning the wisdom of planning any.  While I know we can't let a little three year old rule our lives, whether we like it or not, he does.  I know things will get better and easier.  They have to.  In the meantime, I'm hoping that tomorrow will be a better day all around and it will include wearing underpants.  

A happy day in Budapest last month

P.S. I would welcome any advice on how to successfully potty train boys.  We've tried it all and keep striking out!

The Antics of Boys

The face of innocence? 

As any parent knows, raising children is not for the faint of heart. When Sidney was born prematurely and spent eleven weeks in the NICU I had my share of scary moments.  In hindsight, I spent every day literally holding my breath and was only able to exhale as each hurdle was overcome.  When he was three days old and his brain scan showed no abnormalities, I felt a weight lifted off of my shoulders.  When Sidney was removed from oxygen and breathing on his own, my own breathing was suddenly freer.  From moving out of the ICU to the CCU and then receiving a medical clearance to be transferred to a hospital closer to home brought even more relief. Each time the doctors reported that he was exceeding anticipated milestones it became a little easier for me to breath.  All was not positive though and Sidney's setbacks were my setbacks and with each one I felt as though I aged a bit. Even after Sidney was finally discharged from the hospital and we brought him home I continued to worry.  Being too quiet during nap time made me fret that he wasn't breathing, refusing to cooperate during tummy time caused me to think his neck muscles wouldn't develop properly, and not performing on demand during a pediatric development appointment caused me to have fits of worry.  Gradually these worries subsided and I naively thought things would get easier.

Alas, each milestone, whether it be crawling, walking, or his ever emerging independence, has brought about new rounds of worry.  Would he fall and hurt himself?  Would his desire to explore introduce him to an unanticipated danger?  These were the things that kept me up at night but gradually, ever so gradually, my fears subsided. And then we would enter a new phase and I would start to worry all over again.  Just when I thought I was getting the hang of things we picked up and moved to Albania; probably the most child loving yet un-child proofed place on earth.  This land of concrete buildings, tiled floors, no green space, and exposed electrical wires is a child proofing nightmare.  We had been warned that Albania's pediatric care was not only not up to western standards but that there wasn't a single trauma center in the entire country.  These are just the facts a parent of an active toddler wants to hear.  Our first few months here found me paranoid about Sidney's falling and hitting his head, ingesting something toxic, or getting impaled by a sharp metal object.  (These were all realistic fears by the way).  These fears slowly subsided and surprisingly continued to diminish even after Sidney fell on our concrete stairs, chipped his front tooth, and survived relatively unscathed.  And then Sidney became a pre-schooler.

Last summer I had my first heart in my stomach, paralyzed by fear moment.  We were on a weekend trip to a mountain village with a group of colleagues from the Embassy.  Late in the evening, with Sidney safely (or so we thought) tucked away for the night in his pack and play in our third floor hotel room, a group of us were sitting outside on the patio enjoying a drink.  Because the hotel lacked air conditioning we had set up Sidney's bed under the open window in the hopes that the evening breezes would help keep him cool.  We had our baby monitor with us and we able to watch Sidney laying in his bed sucking his thumb and clutching his blanket.  At least that is what he was doing one moment.  In the next he disappeared from view in the monitor only to reappear in the third floor window.  As he peered out over the ledge and made moves to hoist himself up I was paralyzed by fear.  Glenn made a mad dash across the patio, into the hotel and up three flights of stairs as I stood there too petrified to move.  Half of our group moved to stand under the window and talk Sidney down as the others moved in to comfort me.  Too afraid to look I had to turn my back and in those short few minutes between the time Glenn leaped from his seat until he reached Sidney's side I felt as though I had aged years.  It was a horrifying feeling with a fortunate result that I never, ever wanted to feel again.

Fast forward to yesterday.  I should have realized that this moment six months ago was only an omen of things to come.  In the past months Sidney has grown both physically and intellectually and is now in the "Sidney can do it by himself "phase.  I have grown with him and have even gotten better about letting him test his limits (within a controlled environment of course).  As such, Sidney has taken to wanting to go from the second to third floors of our house to retrieve things all by himself and for the most part I've gone along with this. He knows to turn on the lights, hold onto the handrail, and be careful with each step.  We've also been teaching him to close the door behind him in an attempt to keep heat and cold in their respective places.  Yesterday, however, the game changed.



This looks like trouble........

Shortly after Sidney had asked to go upstairs to get "his birds"--- actually Glenn's Kindle with Angry Birds loaded on it, I heard a pitiful wail.  The nanny was in the process of leaving for the day but we both immediately stopped what we were doing and bolted up the stairs.  Now, we live in a traditional Albanian house with a center stairwell and doors at each and every doorway.  Each door is slightly different in size and door handle height but the one consistency is that every door is locked with a key from both the inside and outside but not both sides at the same time.  Each door is also configured with its own key meaning a "master" household key would be irrelevant.  When we moved into the house the issue of doors and keys was irrelevant since Sidney could neither reach the door handles nor was he able to manipulate a key in the lock.  Over the past 19 months he has grown and become exceptionally dexterous when it comes to turning things.  As such, we've removed the keys from the doors and have them hanging on hooks well beyond the span of his reach.  Or so I thought.  Since we have been working with Sidney to close doors behind him, he did exactly this when he reached the third floor.  He also took it upon himself to turn the key (something we have NOT been teaching him), that was somehow in the lock, into the closed position. The wails we heard were his scared cries when the door wouldn't open.



as does this.....

Realizing that I had no way of opening the door, I quickly called Glenn at work to have him send someone from the Embassy to come and take down (?) break down (?) open (?) the door.  I wasn't exactly sure what I needed because my mind was focused on Sidney's painful and scared cries of "Mamma help me." The nanny had already taken off her coat and had it wrapped around her hand in an attempt to punch out the glass on the door (the other thing about Albanian doors is that they all have glass panels).  In my broken Albanian I simultaneously plead with her not to do it since I feared the shattering glass would injure Sidney while trying to calm down my crying son through the door. I tried to envision any dangers that might be locked behind the door with him but it was his scared cries that really caused me to unravel.  As he kept up his cries of "Mamma" I asked him to turn the key to unlock the door.  My  pleas went unmet but the nanny's requests in Albanian finally netted results.  After what felt like hours but was in reality ten or so minutes, I heard the lock click and the door slowly open. Sidney was as pale and tear stained as was I.  Again, I felt as though I had aged years in the matter of minutes and the number of gray hairs on my head had multiplied exponentially.

I would like to think that I will never again feel this level of fear but I know better.  I am raising a mischievous, curious, and limit testing boy so I know my future is filled with moments like this and antics I don't even want to think about.  Scrapes, bumps, and heart stopping scares are what the future holds for me.  Glenn continually shares tales of his own childhood and I fear that Sidney will follow in his footsteps in all things mischievous.  Although I know millions of mothers around the world go through this every day, I don't know if my heart can take this excitement.  At least I have a good colorist who helps keep the grays in check, a husband whose nerves can't be ruffled, and a sweet boy who always gives me a hug when he realizes that he scared his Mamma.