Tales of the Little Dude
Sometime, he says very sweet and adorable stuff. Like when...
Julie heard cries and glanced toward the stairway. Charlie had just tucked the little dude in bed and he was already unhappy. Not a good sign.
Charlie grimaced and said, "We're experimenting with a shorter version of the tuck. I moved talking about the planets to the front and then shortened the last drink of water part."
Julie waited a moment, gauging the staying power of the intermittent cries. It sounded unwavering. "I'll go up," she said.
At the top of the stairway, she turned and walked into Greg's room. She gave him a hug and talked about beavers.
"...and you can pretend you are all snug in a beaver house, cuddled up with the other baby beavers," she finished.
Apparently satisfied, Greg curled up and said goodnight.
As Julie turned to leave the room Greg cried out, "I don't want to cuddle with pretend baby beavers! I want real beavers."
I hear you little buddy. Me too.
And then there was Tuesday night, right before I regaled my (hopefully) forgiving blog readers with stories about a toilet...
Greg had been struggling to go to sleep, asking for help in 30 minute intervals. Hearing his yell, I headed upstairs for round 3.
Usually, I avoid the chair cuddle. It can quickly turn into a lap nap with no way to smuggle the dude back into bed without restarting the tucking process. That evening though, my mind had been going round-and-round and I was baked. I just picked Greg up and we had a chair cuddle. I wanted one.
After about ten minutes, I mentioned to Greg that I was worried. "I'm going to talk in front of a bunch of people in a couple weeks," I said. "It's scary for me, kinda like when you were worried about meeting Danielle this morning."
Danielle had watched Greg that morning while Julie and I worked. Greg had never met Danielle before and he got pretty upset during the hand-off. She mentioned to us that he eventually calmed down, but we hadn't asked for the details.
"Just like with Danielle, there's really isn't any reason for me to be afraid, but I'm still worried about it," I said. At this point I was just dragooning him into being my therapist.
Greg turned and said, "Danielle gave me applesauce and that made me feel better."
I melted, hugged my sweet little guy, and told him that I was going to eat some applesauce and that I bet it would make me feel better too.
Fun fact: I'm eating applesauce while I write this.
And then, there was earlier this evening...
My shiny new iPhone can really easily do a video chat with other iPhone people and I wanted to try it out. After texting my intended target, I mentioned to Greg, "Hey Greg, want to talk to Grandma and Grandpa tonight?" I probably mentioned that it would be on the phone, but that part really doesn't matter.
At the time, it didn't get much of a rise out of him. I think he battling his supper or something. No response.
Time passed. The evening shadows drew long. Julie was reading Greg a book when suddenly, my phone yelped! I was being invited to join a FaceTime chat. I accepted the invitation.
I don't remember what I said. Likely it was something along the lines of, "Hello! I have weather, do you have weather? I notice sometimes the weather changes and sometimes the changes are pleasant, but sometimes I find they are unpleasant. Do you feel feelings about the changing weather?" Exchanging pleasantries, I headed over to get Greg involved.
The instant he figured out what was going on, he threw himself face down on the sofa and began to wail. We didn't have the faintest idea why.
While I exchanged more pleasantries, Julie scooped up the dude and began the interrogation.
"Grandpa and Grandma come here?!" It wasn't a rhetorical question, the shock and betrayal were heavy in his voice. He wanted to talk to his grandparents in person and I think that is super sweet.
About 15 seconds later he was giggling, messing with the phone, and having a great talk.
I will conclude with an almost totally unrelated photo. Happy Wednesday!
Julie heard cries and glanced toward the stairway. Charlie had just tucked the little dude in bed and he was already unhappy. Not a good sign.
Charlie grimaced and said, "We're experimenting with a shorter version of the tuck. I moved talking about the planets to the front and then shortened the last drink of water part."
Julie waited a moment, gauging the staying power of the intermittent cries. It sounded unwavering. "I'll go up," she said.
At the top of the stairway, she turned and walked into Greg's room. She gave him a hug and talked about beavers.
"...and you can pretend you are all snug in a beaver house, cuddled up with the other baby beavers," she finished.
Apparently satisfied, Greg curled up and said goodnight.
As Julie turned to leave the room Greg cried out, "I don't want to cuddle with pretend baby beavers! I want real beavers."
I hear you little buddy. Me too.
And then there was Tuesday night, right before I regaled my (hopefully) forgiving blog readers with stories about a toilet...
Greg had been struggling to go to sleep, asking for help in 30 minute intervals. Hearing his yell, I headed upstairs for round 3.
Usually, I avoid the chair cuddle. It can quickly turn into a lap nap with no way to smuggle the dude back into bed without restarting the tucking process. That evening though, my mind had been going round-and-round and I was baked. I just picked Greg up and we had a chair cuddle. I wanted one.
After about ten minutes, I mentioned to Greg that I was worried. "I'm going to talk in front of a bunch of people in a couple weeks," I said. "It's scary for me, kinda like when you were worried about meeting Danielle this morning."
Danielle had watched Greg that morning while Julie and I worked. Greg had never met Danielle before and he got pretty upset during the hand-off. She mentioned to us that he eventually calmed down, but we hadn't asked for the details.
"Just like with Danielle, there's really isn't any reason for me to be afraid, but I'm still worried about it," I said. At this point I was just dragooning him into being my therapist.
Greg turned and said, "Danielle gave me applesauce and that made me feel better."
I melted, hugged my sweet little guy, and told him that I was going to eat some applesauce and that I bet it would make me feel better too.
Fun fact: I'm eating applesauce while I write this.
And then, there was earlier this evening...
My shiny new iPhone can really easily do a video chat with other iPhone people and I wanted to try it out. After texting my intended target, I mentioned to Greg, "Hey Greg, want to talk to Grandma and Grandpa tonight?" I probably mentioned that it would be on the phone, but that part really doesn't matter.
At the time, it didn't get much of a rise out of him. I think he battling his supper or something. No response.
Time passed. The evening shadows drew long. Julie was reading Greg a book when suddenly, my phone yelped! I was being invited to join a FaceTime chat. I accepted the invitation.
I don't remember what I said. Likely it was something along the lines of, "Hello! I have weather, do you have weather? I notice sometimes the weather changes and sometimes the changes are pleasant, but sometimes I find they are unpleasant. Do you feel feelings about the changing weather?" Exchanging pleasantries, I headed over to get Greg involved.
The instant he figured out what was going on, he threw himself face down on the sofa and began to wail. We didn't have the faintest idea why.
While I exchanged more pleasantries, Julie scooped up the dude and began the interrogation.
"Grandpa and Grandma come here?!" It wasn't a rhetorical question, the shock and betrayal were heavy in his voice. He wanted to talk to his grandparents in person and I think that is super sweet.
About 15 seconds later he was giggling, messing with the phone, and having a great talk.
I will conclude with an almost totally unrelated photo. Happy Wednesday!
At the park today, checking out his new sand toys.
Comments