Aurora Wells

For those of you who don’t already know it, I absolutely love the movie “Fiddler on the Roof”. For me, it’s more than a movie; it’s a home movie that my Grandma Lena’s family might have taken if they had video cameras and awesome singing and dancing skills back in her little Russian village a hundred years ago.

Today while having lunch I felt like listening to the soundtrack of “Fiddler on the Roof” but I knew Aurora would have trouble enjoying it if she couldn’t “see” the story. Luckily, the whole movie is on YouTube, so we sat back and started watching it. I knew that we’d never make it as far as the progrom scene, so I wasn’t worried about the violence. I stopped the show every once in a while to explain to her what was going on. She understandably had a lot of questions, for example, why do the sons go to school, but the daughters do housework? I used the phrase “a long time ago, people used to…” a lot in my explanations. I was surprised that after each 10-minute clip, she kept asking for more (usually live action films are “too boring”). She made it to the song “L’Chaim” before she gave up and went to go colouring.

Later, as we were walking to the store, I asked her what she thought about the movie. She pondered the question for a while before saying, “I thought it was good, but I had a lot of trouble understanding what they were saying.” She went on, “Maybe that’s because it took place back in medieval times and their accents were different then.”  : )

While watching hockey last night, Daddy criticized the players for making a mistake.

“Daddy, do they have to go to the Bad Boy (penalty) Box?” Aurora asked.

“No, that’s only if they do something bad,” he replied.

“Like going pee on the ice?” she wondered.

“Yeah, they would probably get a penalty if they peed on the ice.”

Aurora loves the word “whopper” when describing a big fish, for example. However, yesterday she told the biggest whopper I’ve heard yet.

In our dining room we have a big, wooden harvest table with a single drawer on the side (right next to Aurora’s place at the table). We bought it when we moved into this house nine years ago. I occasionally re-tighten the wooden knob on the drawer without really thinking about why it’s so often loose.

Last night while I was making dinner I heard “Uh-oh! It fell down!” and went to investigate. The wooden knob was on the floor, and Aurora was upset, telling me to put it back on. I asked the obvious question, “Why did you unscrew the knob?” and she replied, “I didn’t do it. The people who lived here before us did it when they lived here.”

Anybody got any good whopper stories?

Aurora has a really cute baby book, given to us by Aunt Jane & Uncle Bruce, into which a parent can slip baby photos and facts about their infant. Stuff like the day the baby came home from the hospital, baby’s first trip, baby likes to eat, etc. I filled in all the blanks and added all the photos by the time Aurora was six months old, but she still picks it out for me to read every once in a while. Today she wanted to read it before preschool.

Everything was going along just fine until we got to the “favourite toys” page. I listed Aurora’s three favourite toys at age six months: Teddy Bear, Gato, and a cloth book.

Gato was the adorable plush teether toy that my Basque friend Ivan sent us from Spain when Aurora was born. It looked vaguely cat-like, so we named it after the word ‘cat’ in Spanish. Aurora asked me (not for the first time) where Gato was now, so I told her that we lost him a long time ago when she accidentally chucked him out of her stroller.

Before we could go on, Aurora burst into tears. “Where is Gato now?” she cried. She was desolate with loss for this toy that she couldn’t possibly remember, and that she had shown not a moment’s regret for its loss until today. When I discovered it was gone that day, I retraced my steps, my entire walking route, twice, desperately trying to find him. I searched the Internet for a replacement, to no avail. I was heartbroken that day, not she.

So this morning Aurora belatedly experienced the anguish that usually accompanies the loss of a child’s favourite toy. She couldn’t remember what it looked like, so we showed her pictures. She wanted to know what had happened to it, so I tried to reassure her that some other child must have found it, and having seen no name or phone number on Gato, they must have taken it home to love. We were finally able to calm her down enough to get to preschool, albeit a bit late.

Then, late this afternoon, an idea occured to Aurora: “Mommy, we need to check Kate’s (our neighbour friend’s) toys to see if she has Gato.” Aurora was sure that if some other child had picked up Gato, it must have been her best friend. Of course. So, Kate, the next time we come over for a playdate, don’t be surprised if Aurora asks to search your things for a fuzzy cat-like baby toy. It would be a humongous coincidence if you have it, but it would no more surprise Aurora than finding a missing dinosaur in her pocket.

*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.