Aurora Wells

*Aurora has not yet grasped the difference between the words “anything” and “nothing”. Likewise, when she says “any” she usually means “not any”.

I don’t usually complain about Aurora’s behaviour on this blog, because I don’t really want to preserve the bad stuff for posterity. But sometimes I have to let you know about something that really speaks about her personality, and temper tantrums are a significant part of a two-year-old’s personality.

(Aurora before music class this morning, dressed up as Buzz Lightyear. Yes, that is my high school Bovid Liberation Front button in the middle – I don’t have very many buttons to choose from.)

This morning’s breakdown at music class was the textbook example of the “Anything Tantrum”. For some reason, after a perfectly pleasant first half of class, the choice of musical instruments sent Aurora into a tailspin of anguish and despair. The maracas she chose were upsetting her, and when I asked if she would prefer a drum, or cymbals, or a triangle, or tambourine, she began to kvetch and cry. “What do you want to play?” “ANYTHING!” she wailed. I removed her to a more peaceful setting to try to talk it out, but every suggestion I made just worsened the situation. “Do you want to go back into the classroom?” “NOT ANYTHING!” “If you can’t stop crying I’m going to have to take you home.” “NOT HOME! NOT ANYTHING!” Ugh. It’s hard to get across the complete nihlism of her behaviour in print. Not only does she not want to do anything, she doesn’t want to do nothing, either. Nor does she want to be anybody. It’s very frustrating.

We do this about once every other day. I’ll be getting her ready for the Outing Of The Day, and she’ll announce that she doesn’t want to do anything. When I suggest that we stay home instead, she freaks out. “Well, we have to do something,” I say. “NOT SOMETHING! ANYTHING!!!” It’s the classic case of Toddler Existentialism. “My life is the sum total of the choices I make, but none of the choices I am given are satisfactory to me; therefore, I am trapped in a Theatre of the Absurd situation. I expect at any moment to wake up as a giant cockroach.” (As I am sure she would say if she could articulate her rage.) Of course, I can usually manage her outbursts with the judicious application of snacks and videos, but I really am trying to avoid turning her into a TV zombie quite so young.

Any thoughts? Ideas on tantrum causes and management? Interesting case studies? All comments are welcome!

Now that Aurora is talking, really talking, some of those gosh-darned, cutest-thing-you-ever-heard things keep popping out of her mouth. Here are a few recent ones:

I have a Seuss character t-shirt, and Aurora now recognizes almost every guy on the shirt, but she didn’t know Horton the elephant. I went to some trouble to get a copy from the library, and when we picked it up I immediately read it to her. She loved it, but for about 24 hours she insisted that the title was “Tim Horton Hears a Who.”

When we walked into a store the other day, Aurora saw the ubiquitous stuffed Olympics mascots (which she calls “Lympics Guys”), ran over to them, picked up one and proclaimed, “He is my BEST FRIEND!” as if that would convince me to let her take him home.

I love that Aurora squeals “MacDonald!” with glee when the automated bus-voice chimes, “MacDonald Street”. She has no idea what MacDonalds restaurant is. She thinks the street is named after Donald Duck.

Today I read the modern classic The Paper Bag Princess to Aurora at lunchtime. Afterwards she decided that for the rest of the day she would be not Elizabeth, the brave and clever princess who managed to save her fiancé from the hungry dragon while wearing nothing but a brown paper bag, but Ronald, the spoiled prince who didn’t thank her but chose to criticize her mode of dress. Aurora said that as Ronald, she/he would not be mean to Elizabeth, but rather would try to be a better boy from now on.

I’m sure you’re all familiar with Mickey, Donald, Pluto, Minnie, Daisy and Goofy, the core characters of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Disney’s animated educational show for preschoolers. However, unless you have your own small TV fiends, you’re probably unaware of Toodles, the most intriguing new Disney character to come along in decades. It (neither a he nor a she) is an omniscient, all-powerful being who supplies Mickey and friends with whatever tools they might possibly need in order to solve their problems, no matter where they are (even on Mars), as soon as they call, “Oh, Toodles!”. At the start of the show, Mickey goes to an incredibly complex-looking computeresque machine, tells it what job they are about to undertake, and Toodles pops out, dials spinning and lights flashing. Toodles is pre-loaded with three or four objects that will eventually get M & Co. out of whatever bind they find themselves in. The thing that I find incredible is that it is really hard to tell in advance how they could possibly use the random assortment of objects Toodles displays. Here’s an example:

In this episode, Mickey and Goofy need to return a lost baby bird to its mother in the forest. How do the tools come into play? The bird needs a snack (blueberries) and warmth (tiny blanket) on their hot-air balloon trip to the forest. The question mark indicates the “mystery mousketool”, which in this case turned out to be a baby elephant, which came in handy when their balloon went too high in the air. When they found the right tree in the forest, Goofy ended up using the pogo stick to bounce up high enough to jump on to the highest branch, which held the baby bird’s nest. Preposterous? Well, it’s a show meant to teach kids the fundamentals of math and problem solving, not physics. You should see the “rubber ball bounces to Mars” or “Daisy, Minnie and Pluto are lifted by a bunch of balloons” episodes!

When Aurora started watching this show a couple of months ago, she would assign us various characters to be throughout the day. I like being Goofy (”Gawrsh!”), but the character I most identify with is Toodles. Daddy and I call out “Oh, Toodles!” each evening at bedtime when we need help brushing Aurora’s teeth. But as a Mommy, I seem to have Toodles’ job description all day. When we are out and about, I am expected to provide immediately, upon request, any number of helpful objects; a variety of foods and drinks, clothes for extra warmth or in case of accidents; books or toys for entertainment; tools for pottying, cutting things up, writing things down; in addition to all the usual purse stuff like wallet, keys, sunglasses, and so on and so on. The real Toodles never has to carry more than four things, even if sometimes those things are as big as an elephant (literally). For the sake of my back, I’ve been taking the stroller almost everywhere, so I can hitch the backpack on the handles or plop it down on the seat when Aurora decides to walk.

So the next time you see us, just holler, “Oh, Toodles!” and I’ll be happy to provide you with whatever you need, even if you didn’t know prescisely what it was until I handed it to you. Then we can break into the Hot Dog Dance. Good times!

Okay, maybe a bit of an obscure reference there, but lately my conversations with my daughter have taken on the tone of a Surrealist, maybe even Dadaist, painting. Like this one, by Magritte:

“This is not my house!” “It is not light (in broad daylight)!” “You are not Mommy!” “You can’t say ‘no’!” and so on, and so on. She negates almost everything Daddy and I say, and a whole host of incontravertable facts about the world around her. About half the time I gently reassure her that yes, it is indeed so. The other half of the time I play along, i.e., “Okay, if we are not walking, what are we doing? Flying? Scuba-diving?”

I’m certain this is normal 2-year-old behaviour, but it does put me in mind of a Nova documentary I saw once, called Secrets of the Mind. In it, we were introduced to a man named David Silvera who, although he recognized his parents’ faces and voices, could not acknowledge that they were really his parents, because the part of his brain that governed his emotional attachment to things was not working right. It’s a very rare condition called the Capgras Delusion. He saw that they were identical, but since nothing clicked emotionally when he saw them, he thought they were imposters! “You are not my parents!”

So, in order to get through this phase of hyper-negativity, I’ll have to put the Talking Heads’ song, “Once in a Lifetime” on repeat-play in my head… “You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful house!”

Today’s post may be more diary-like than usual, and I hope Aurora forgives me for co-opting her blog for my own purposes. I may be able to turn this around to be more A-centric by the end – we shall see.

I live about a thousand miles away from my very close-knit family, and Thanksgiving is my favourite holiday, so it always gives me a pang when American Thanksgiving rolls around, and I am not at the table with my parents, brothers, and extended family. Luckily, this year I was able to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving with Mom, Dad and Steve, but I was sorry not to be able to share it with David, Ashleigh, my grandparents, or any of my aunts, uncles or cousins. Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I made a choice when I moved to another country, and I am happy with that choice.

Part of the reason for that is because I have a truly extraordinary group of friends. On Saturday night some of us feasted royally on a Thanksgiving-inspired potluck that featured some traditional dishes such as stuffing and mashed potatoes, as well as more original ones, like Butter Turkey (instead of Indian Butter Chicken) and purple kale salad. We get together about once a month for this sort of thing, and I always look forward to it. I’d had a stressful day, and a head-bonking incident (mine, for a change) on the way over, and I briefly considered nursing my head at home in bed. However, once I got there, the rest of the day melted away, and I was once again lovingly embraced in the comforting presence of my friends, and felt so much better. Aurora got to play with friends, Brian and I got to chat with adults, and we had a really lovely time.

Then there are the friends we see less often, but who are no less appreciated. Today we spent the afternoon at Aahva’s first birthday party. His parents, Morgaine and Craig, are extraordinarily warm, interesting, funny and generous with their time and with their hearts. Morgaine, an amazing photographer, took pictures of our family last month, and I can’t wait to show some to you soon. Morgaine is the sort of person who is willing to talk about love, life, beauty, and how work fits into it all, and she makes me think about things that I usually dismiss as less urgent than the tasks at hand. Aahva is truly blessed to be growing up in this family, and his parents seem to really appreciate him, too.

I had a little chat in the basement with Andrew-Bruce this evening, too, after Aurora went to bed. We discussed a number of things, including this blog (and yes, Bruce, I have insomnia again tonight!). One of the things we talked about was the fact that Vancouver has begun to feel so small, but in a good way. I feel like I’ve been here long enough that my roots have gone down deep, and spread, and are coming out as shoots all over the place. I run into people I know all the time, which has never happened anywhere else I’ve lived, and one friend even told me last week that she recognized another friend of mine solely through my blog postings, when they were at a community centre recently. I love the fact that one of my mentors at school turns out to be the mother of one of my mommy-friends. I love that so many of my friends ride bikes more often than they drive cars. I love that we get together to share an organically-grown, humanely-raised cow each year. I love that when my reading group gets together we have to spend at least an hour talking after we finish discussing the book. I love that I feel surrounded by so many sympathetic souls, who will act as my family whenever I need them.

Thank you to everyone, friends and family, near and far. A very wise young woman from East Germany, who had traveled all over the world, once told my cousin in response to the question, “Where is the best place you’ve ever been?”, that the best place in the world to be is where your loved ones are. I am incredibly grateful that my little girl is growing up with such a fantastic collection of people in our ‘family’. There! I brought it back to you, Aurora!

Much love,
Mommy

You may not know this, but most of the time that I write a blog post, I type to the accompaniment of Aurora’s pre-nap babble. A little whining, a little wall-kicking, some stuffed-animal-chatting, and occasionally some deep insights (”I have fingernails too!”). Time was when the pre-nap babble usually led to a nap, 4 times out of 5. Now the score seems to be reversed, and for the past couple of weeks, an actual nap is more of an anomaly. I look at the tired eyes of my daughter, with those purply college-student-during-finals bags under them, and listen to her say, “I’m tired, Mommy” and I think, “Yeah, so why won’t you nap, silly girl?”

Our potty-learning track record, so awesome from 19 to 23 months, hit the skids a couple of months ago, too. Now I carry old dishtowels with me everywhere I go (because I refuse to put her back in fuzzi bunz that never worked well anyway). She used to be quite happy to use the folding toilet seat when we went out, but now big toilets scare her. She’s also more likely at home to tell me that she just peed, than that she has to pee now.

Then there’s the Penny Incident. On Tuesday afternoon I stupidly tried to let her put herself to sleep in her bed instead of in her crib. She’d been playing with Daddy’s coin bank toy that morning, and she found a stray penny on the floor near her mattress. I was sitting here writing the last blog post when I heard the kind of gagging, choking noises that automatically put a parent on high alert. I ran into her room and found her sitting up in bed, crying that she ate the “toy” that was in her mouth. We established that it was money that she’d swallowed, but it was too far gone to pull out with my fingers, so I gathered her up and consulted Dr. Spock. He seemed pretty calm about coin-swallowing, and our family doctor seconded the “wait-and-see” attitude, so we sat on the couch and drank lots of liquids. After ten minutes, a couch-jumping marathon was underway, and her squeals of delight did much to calm my nerves. Two days later, the penny has passed, with no complaints of abdominal pain, so now we can breathe a sigh of relief. I am also re-evaluating all those “Not for children under the age of 3″ labels that I’ve been so blasé about, as in, “Oh, my child would never stick that sort of thing in her mouth!”

On a lighter note, thanks to Cara & Olin (& Marlow) for coming over this morning to make holiday crafts with us. We had so much fun, not least of which was the transformation of our couch into a “truck”. Here Aurora is opening the door, so I can climb on board with her. Where does she want to go? “Camaforna” here we come!