A lesson in sharing by Tucker...

Learning to share has been one of the more challenging feats to teach Cole. It is a constant ongoing dialogue in this house as he plays with us and his friends. I am constantly reminding him that we share snacks, balls, crayons, but most importantly his trucks.

Cole's trucks are his beloved possessions and thus handovers to others are a very rare event. He could be carrying around a handful or playing in a separate room and if a playmate even eyes one laying on the floor, the shriek of "don't even think about it buster" goes out. Many vain attempts have been made, once a peer actually picks up one of Cole's fleet, to calm him down out of his obvious (to everyone) discomfort. He becomes so agitated and his distress so palpable it is beyond the typical parental reaction "Cole we need to be able to share our toys". Cole hoards his trucks at home, at the rec center and at playdates. I do my best to keep him to two trucks (one for each hand) but many times he manages to balance as many as humanely possible which actually keeps him from being able to play with them at all but try explaining that to a two year old.

So we struggle each time we have this "situation". I consistently ask to see and hold his trucks when I play with him one-on-one to let him know that I too can enjoy them and will ultimately return them to him so that he may use them once again. Sometimes he hesitates but hands them over like they are fine china watching me carefully until I hand them back and he snatches them and runs away as if he is afraid I will ask for them back again; sometimes he readily brings them to me and deposits a whole caravan on my desk and says "mommy push" so that I will push them back and forth with him; other times he states vehemently "no mommy" when I ask to play with them and darts me a glance that says "don't ask again".

So the other day while we were couped up once again on a bitter cold day, I had both kids (Tucker and Cole) down in the basement playroom. Tucker was antsy and wanted to play fetch with his stuffed woodchuck (not the real thing of course). Cole likes to grab poor Tucker's toys and run away with them so Tucker will chase him. He giggles with glee as Tucker gently (oh so gentle he is with Cole) tugs for his toy. Cole tugs back but is unwilling to release. Tucker looks my way with a "please mom, make him drop it" plea in his eyes. Normally, I make Cole drop the toy so Tucker can romp away making himself happy squeaking the toy, while Cole pouts and whines that I let Tucker have his toy. So I decided to make this a teaching lesson about sharing. As Cole got over his fit and ran after Tucker to wrestle the toy away I said firmly "Cole, Tucker is willing to share his toys with you, can you share with Tucker"? Cole looked at me quizzically but released his grip on the toy allowing Tucker to trot back to me. I played tug with Tucker for a few seconds while Cole watched us both. I then said, "Okay, Tucker is ready to share again". Cole came running over with a smile and Tucker dropped the toy at his feet. Cole ran away as Tucker chased him but this time when Tucker tugged, Cole let go and laughed. Instead of immediately fussing, Cole ran over to us and Tucker once again liberated the woodchuck. This went back and forth for a few more intervals with both parties playing and sharing together!

Since that day, they continue to play well and in a similar fashion. Cole sometimes needs a prompt but he routinely will let Tucker retrieve his toy without a fight. I don't think Cole is ready for the same level of sharing with his peers quite yet. But I thought it was great that using Tucker as a catalyst for understanding how fun sharing can be allowed Cole to better understand that two-way street. I give kudos to my cherished canine for letting me use him to tackle the issue from a new perspective.

Don't put your trucks in the toaster...

My son has an addiction. My memory already escapes me as to when this obsession began for him exactly but it was before he finished his first year of life and has steadily become a stronger and mighty affliction.

Cole is consumed by all and anything to do with TRUCKS. When I state this most people will nod as if they understand that all little boys love toys with wheels. But I have been around other little boys at Cole's playdates and while at play areas and I have yet to see the desire in them for all things TRUCKS as I witness daily as Cole spends from dawn to dusk with his TRUCKS. It is the first word after MOMMY that he utters as he wakes and typically is the last word spoken before we turn out the lights at bedtime "night night trucks". Lately, he even wants a truck near his bed. He checks again and again after lights are out to ensure it is indeed within close grasp.

He trudges around, typically tripping over his trucks, as he lugs them around from room to room. He fills them with an assortment of items depending on their carrying capacity; board books, blocks, balls, blankets, crayons, cheerios, popcorn, and the occasional odd load such as dryer lint. He then proceeds to either inadvertently dump his cargo which sends him into an instant fit or he purposely unloads his freight in the middle of the kitchen as I attempt to prepare dinner while using the sharpest knife we have.

Trucks of varying dimensions are strewn in our cars, on all three floors of the house, in the bathtub, in our diaper bag, in his pockets, in and under the couch, and most recently, I found one on the shelf in the refrigerator.

He has his favorite trucks that he runs back and forth from our den to our living room (via the kitchen). I love that this exercise gives him a way to channel his energy however, on tile floors, the sound of plastic wheels screeching their way repeatedly after the 67th lap sometimes has a grating effect on my nerves. He used to have the backyard as the outlet for this activity but with our subzero winter temperatures and the amount of snow piled high since late November we are housebound and teetering on the brink of acquiring dreaded cabin fever hence our main floor has become a racetrack and highway of sorts.

Cole likes to be involved in whatever I am doing most of the time. Something I cherish and detest, two intense feelings blended together to form what I define as a "mixed emotion". It makes getting most tasks accomplished a sheer test of my patience. However I realize the importance of including him and showing him how to help and that trumps my internal dialogue which is normally taunting me since innately I am not a patient person. Many times to allow him to be a part of my task, I will bring a beloved truck with us to distract him which then permits me to get at least some chores DONE. He can run them over the counter as I cook or wipe down his trucks with a wet washcloth as I clean the bathroom or race ahead of me with his trucks as I vaccuum making it a game as I chase him with the Dyson.

But the clincher to this tale about trucks occurred last evening as I was cleaning up the spilled snacks on the counter as he stood on the dining room chair zooming his yellow Tonka crushing the Chex Mix into smaller and smaller pieces. I was getting a bit frustrated and redirected him to the other side of the counter where he promptly opened up our convection oven and tried to jam his Tonka into the toaster. He continued to bang and push (as I tried to quickly to clean up the aforementioned mess) with every intention of fitting his truck into the space. He looked at me blankly as if to say "mom, why won't this go in there"?? He then rammed his truck one last futile time and then began to fuss to which I retorted "Cole, please don't put your trucks in the toaster". It was an obvious remark to make considering the situation but I began to laugh as I realized how comical it sounded. So that goes into his scrapbook as one of the funnier "things you never thought you hear yourself saying out loud" kind of declaration.

The Apple doesn't fall far from the tree....

I am almost a week into a new year with my resolutions, lists of To-Do's, wishes, projects & a desire to find part time work while Cole is at Montessori school three days a week. The new year has also brought us into the throes of what I'm calling the BATTLE of the WILLS.

Cole turned two about a month ago and thus crossed the threshold into the age of self awareness. That stated, this means he is now in what the experts define as a period of "The Intentional Self". To me as a parent it should be more aptly titled "The Discerning, Determined, Wilful Disposition" and that is being mild (and kind) with an attempt at remaining within the confines of child development lingo.

Cole has from a very young age been an independent little guy. He crawled, walked and even lost his baby looks way before his peers. His focus, drive and sheer fortitude were words I used to describe him before his first birthday. He has continually amazed us at his limitless ability to soak up knowledge and spit it back out with a proud smile as he completes whatever task he has put forth in front of himself. He has shown an aptitude for tinkering with his toys, pulling parts off only to figure out how they go back together, babbling away to us in toddlerspeak as if to say "ha, look at that, it comes off but goes back on, cool"!

The above scenario is the fun aspect of watching him grow into a realization of his own competencies. The more challenging script plays out daily as he also understands that he can make what should be simple tasks a game, that he has a role now in determining the outcome of diaper changes, eating, getting dressed, and napping/sleeping (which for any of you who know what our past two years have been like with this facet of our day just means a continued journey of obstacles).

His new conscious appreciation of himself and how he as himself functions in this life is vital to his future self worth but at this tender age, we as his parents walk a tenuous line of providing guidance and balance against his powerful behavior.

Old school philosophy (aka our parents generation) believed in what was then the traditional approach of discipline, step out of line and you knew it with a raised voice and a swat (or two). Today's conundrum is how to handle obstinate behavior in order to make your child's choice part of the resolution teaching them they do have a voice but also allowing YOU as the parent to remain in charge (or maintain some semblance of authority).

HA...okay...I haven't figured this element of parenting out yet because my son's sweet face continues to taunt me as I try to keep a steady voice after three time outs for throwing his toys or as I try to slow my beating heart as he deliberately looks me in the eye and with Houdiniesque moves gets the grocery cart belt off and stands up again and again as I rush grabbing things off the shelves with one hand as I hold him in place with the other trying not to show that I'm sweating. Nap time takes the better part of an hour (and that doesn't include the sleeping) and the bedtime "ritual" exhausts us both as he flips, dives, jumps, jabbers, kicks, and on and on and on some nights. If we can just get him drowsy, we know we are in the homestretch but to get to the point requires an abundance of patience which at the end of long day is typically in depleted inventory.

I guess, just like with the previous chapters of motherhood I have mastered (or at least garnered more than rookie status at) I will have to persevere and find my way through the maze of this current phase. Over the course of my 37 years, I have been described as stubborn more times than I care to mention and I don't like to lose at anything either despite the fact that I have mellowed in other areas of my life. This makes for an interesting relationship with my son who obviously has replicated some of my DNA in his emerging self. The apple doesn't fall from the tree indeed.