Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Vacation Auto-Responder

Mary is taking a few days off. In the meantime, you can might enjoy the latest "True Grit" post, always good for a chuckle, over at PiP. We've also just announced a series we'll be tackling on Sleep. One of the Big Three for toddlers. (Any guesses as to the other two?) See you in a few days! ~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

While I was in the kitchen making lunch...

Haley was supervising the children as they ate their vegetables. Vegetables, as you all know now, are always the first course at Mary's house. You don't get those yummy grilled cheese sandwiches till the beans are gone. Haley's voice drifts into the kitchen. "Arthur, it's rude to pick your nose at the table. Here, wipe it on thi--Eeeeww." Do I really want to know? Nah.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

My Daughter

Even when she's having a half-baked day, she's so clever! ~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Saturday, August 26, 2006

That'll Learn Me

Some years back, I was sitting peaceably in church, in a nice mid-central pew, with my peaceful baby in my arms. Suddenly Emma decided she was starving, and must be fed. That instant. So I left my pew and retreated to a corner at the back of the sanctuary, hoping to feed the child in privacy without having to descend to the nursery. (Being claustrophobic, crowded basement rooms are not my favourite places.) A small girl, about 4, child of a friend, slipped off the pew and followed me. I proceed to feed. "What are you doing?" asks small girl. "Feeding my baby. There's milk in my breasts for the baby to drink." I knew her mother would be fine with her child getting this information: small girl was the youngest of four, all of whom had been breastfed for over a year. Her older siblings wouldn't have needed to ask the question! She accepted this information with only a sage nod for comment, and watched baby Emma gulp and sigh. After a while, I burped Emma, explained this process to my small audience, then switched her to the other side. "Why are you putting her on the other one?" "Well, she's had her lunch, you see, and now she's having dessert. THIS side has the chocolate milk." (Hear my adult smirking. I am so clever, me and my inside jokes. Bwah-ha.) Again with the sage nod from girlchild. After church, her mother approaches. Suddenly all the child's calm sagacity vanishes and full small-child enthusiasm bubbles up as she races up the aisle towards mummy. "HEY, MUMMY!" she calls out across the sanctuary in her high, piping, oh-so-carrying four-year-old voice. "GUESS WHAT? MRS P. HAS A CHOCOLATE BOOBY!!!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Friday, August 25, 2006

Voice-Over for Living

Arthur is an extrovert. No, no, that isn't saying it forcibly enough.


Yes, that's better. With small children (and not-so-small ones) this often means that they talk a lot. Their every action is accompanied by a running commentary, which would be tolerable, well, mostly tolerable... well, sometimes... well... It would be kinda sorta tolerable on a really good day with great earplugs IF they didn't expect you to be paying attention while they did it. They don't expect you to listen, exactly, because generally the monologue is not for communication, it is for their own amusement. It is a monologue, not a conversation. They don't want to have to listen to you, but they do want your attention. Your role is to throw in "uh-huh"s and make sure to be looking at them when they look up at you. If, God forbid, you are looking elsewhere when you say "uh-huh" and they catch you at it, the volume goes UP and you'll probably get whacked in the leg as they repeat their last critical phrase three times over, just to be sure you didn't miss it. "I gots a red crayon, Mary, see? A red crayon." A poke to my upper arm. "This is my red crayon what I'm colouring with. I gots a RED CRAYON, MARY." "Yes, yes, I see. A red crayon." Let me state that tiny extroverts have many wonderful characteristics. This, however, is not one of them. Arthur's life is accompanied by a sound-track. He talks his way through every minute of his day, every action. "Mary, I'm gonna go pee now. I'm going up the stairs. I'm gonna go up the stairs and go pee, now..." His voice recedes as he ascends toilet-ward. The voice returns "...down step, down step, down step. Mary, I'm back. I finished peeing and I washed my hands and now I'm gonna go build something. I'm just gonna take out these blocks, and I'm gonna put this block here. These blocks are the gate and the truck will drive through here, and..." Some days I have more tolerance than others. Many days I can tune it out. Generally by the end of the week, I'm worn a little thin. "Arthur, you know what? I'm getting a bit of a headache, and I need you to be quiet now. Please don't talk to me." "I'm just gonna-" "No, Arthur. I mean it. Eat your snack and be quiet. My ears are tired of listening." A moment passes in silence, broken only by chomping and smacking. He opens his mouth, looks at my weary yet forbidding eyes, subsides. Chews some more. Takes a breath, opens his mouth. Sees my glare. Stops. This no-talking business is a big assignment. I relax my visual vigilance as he seems to be absorbed in the happily mouth-occupying task of snack-eating. I turn to the kitchen. "Mary, I'm swallowing now."

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Well, that's a relief!

George and Darcy play hockey. George swings the puck towards Darcy. "We are very old, but we’re not in heaven yet, so we can play hockey." Darcy likes this idea. "Yeah, we’re old." "Does that mean you can’t play hockey in heaven?" I ask, casually. Yes, I am playing with their heads, shit-disturber that I am. Shut it. The boys stop playing, stand upright in consternation. It's a Radical Thought. Heaven without hockey? Impossible! A place without hockey is, by definition, That Other Place. What a conundrum. Is there a solution? Yes! and George knows it. "Oh, yes you can! There’s ice on the clouds!" Phew.
© 2006, Mary P

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Too Much of a not so Good Thing, or, ENOUGH, ALREADY

I'm on holiday this week. For you entertainment, here's one I drafted up a couple of months ago but never posted: In the summer, the children are to arrive already lathered up with sunscreen. Saves me having to do five or more of them, and, since it's had time to be absorbed, it's effective the moment they walk through the door. No half-hour waits while it takes effect. However, a quick sniff and discreet rub of Mia's wee arm tells me there is no sunscreen on the girl. Just to confirm, I ask dad. "She wearing suncreen today?" He launches into a long and repetitive apology. "Sorrysorrybusysorrysorry, sorrysorryforgotsorrysorry, soooorrrry." I attempt to reassure. And stem the flow. "No need to apolo-" "Sorrysorrysorrydisorganizedsorrysorrysorry..." " -gize. I just need to know whether -" "Sorrysorrysorrystupidsorrysorrysorrdon'tknowhowsorry" "- whether I need to put some on her before we go out, is all." "Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrycrazymorningsorrysorrysorrysorry." "No, really -" "Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry..." " - really, it's okay." I turn my attention to Mia, hoping that will deflect dad. "We’ll just put some on now, won’t we, lovie?" Big smile for Mia. I glance up at dad, hoping to draw him into the conversation, but he is undeflectable. "Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry." "Oh, stop it!! Grovelling does not become you. And will you quit interrupting me and LISTEN?" No, no I didn't say that, of course. More's the pity. I know he's apologizing, but why do I feel like I’m the one being given a hard time here?
© 2006, Mary P

Brace Yourself

I found this post a few weeks ago, and it took my breath away. It's a tough read, and if you're in the early weeks of your pregnancy, you might want to wait a while to read it. But it's an amazing post.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

One Down...

It's been busy around Mary's house this week. I had an interview yesterday that went well (with both mom AND dad, which is unusual). They will let me know "soon". They're nice, though momma has a tendency to be a bit Earnest. Happily, Dad is nicely grounded, so I'm sure I could work with them. Two more calls on my machine, which I will answer today. Feast or famine, I tell you! And - tadah!! - that interview I had last Wednesday? They signed! What did it for mom? I made laughing reference to a "junk food nap". That got me the contract, right then, right there. It's a Weissbluth term, and doesn't it turn out she's a Weissbluth fan. She's delighted to find someone who will ensure that her baby girl will get the rest she needs. Me? I'm delighted to have a client who understands the "sleep begets sleep" principle, and won't be trying, as so many do, to get me to skip naps so that the child will go to bed without a fuss. (This doesn't work, you know. You DID know that, didn't you?) We were also in synch on food, activities, discipline. Her husband is a nice guy, even though he is a lawyer (well, student) and I've a healthy leeriness of lawyers. (Some of my daycare colleagues have been put through the mill by lawyers who like the contract when it works in their favour and fight it like crazy when it works for the caregiver.) He will be my first lawyer. The baby - a girl! - is round and friendly, two very appealing baby traits. I met mom on Wednesday, and mom and dad came on Friday to sign the contract. Quick, quick turnaround. Yes! One down, one to go. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Monday, August 21, 2006

Catching You Doing it Right: Yay for YOU

Parents of toddlers all experience humiliaphobia (fear of public tantrums) at one time or another. Who hasn't been mortified by their offspring, at least once or twice, in an indescribably public forum? * That's why my first ever Good Parenting Citation goes to Mamacita Tina, for her skillful handling of a potential department store meltdown. It's hard to keep a cool head when your child is off theirs, but the reward? Well. Imagine the Freedom! Ian and Laurel are lucky: they'll never be the kids no one wants to invite to the birthday party. Well done, Tina! Pour yourself that well-earned drink and kick back and enjoy. You've earned it. (*Like the graphic? The picture is a link to a site where you can buy it as a greeting card. Cute, huh?) ~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Friday, August 18, 2006


One of my outgoing families gave me a gift certificate at a local children's bookstore. A gift certificate for TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS!! For BOOKS!!

Did I have fun???
THIS one I've had on order forEVER, at this very bookstore. It just happened to come in this very week. So I get it, for free! HA. This one just seemed like fun. Each page has a section that pulls apart to reveal the animal hinted at by the text. Not great literature, but fun for two and three year olds. I generally like Leo Lionni, so we grabbed this one. A couple of Ladybird classic fairy tales, for the traditionalist in me: This one is busy, but what a fun book! It has a bit to touch, and a bit to sniff on each wild page. Lots of fun for the high-stim kid. And then, of course, the inestimable Sandra Boynton. Some of these books I already own, but as they've been loved just about to death, it was time for replacements: There were others for which I couldn't find pictures: a generic book on airplanes, a write-on wipe-off numbers book, and an alphabet book from a board book series I quite enjoy, "My First Canadian...", and a "Fabulous Book of Paper Dolls", suitably sturdy. (And yes, I obviously did find a picture but was too lazy to put it in once found. Do you have any idea how MANY links and pictures are in this post already??? Phew.) While we were at it, Emma chose herself three books: a French-English student dictionary, "In the City of Ember", and "Ma Soeur orpheline". Woo-eeee! ~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Brief Haitus

Hello, there! Lots of stuff going on in the Mary P household. Nothing appropriate to this venue, but a lot of it kind of stressful(and nothing to do with my marriage, which continues to be a source of strength and delight) so I'm taking a break this week. You may or may not hear from me before next Monday. I start holidays then, the worst of this current crisis will be most over, and I have some bits and bobs in the archives that might entertain you. See you all next week! xoxo ~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Friday, August 11, 2006

Rubber-band Man

Nigel and I have a conflict of interests at diaper time these days: I want to clean his parts; he wants to play with them. He must be reading my email over my shoulder as I empty the spam, because he's very concerned with the size of his parts. Specifically, the length. I peel off the diaper, he reaches in, grabs the tip of that thing, and hauls north. Just hauls on it. The stretch is startling. Who knew? Thumb and finger delicately at the tip of the foreskin, they just about reach his navel when he's done. Me, I think the boy is aiming for his chin. He's uncircumcized, as is standard around here. So, that little worry parents sometimes have about lesions forming in there? About a son who won't, when the time comes, be able to retract the foreskin?* Not an issue. So not an issue. * Contrary to popular thought, a you need not be peeling back the foreskin to clean underneath at this age. For most infants and toddlers, the foreskin is attached to the glans, and to pull it down will hurt and even in some cases, injure your boy. Generally, it can be retracted by age 5, but some boys are much later without it being a problem. © 2006, Mary P

Thursday, August 10, 2006

He Knows What I No

Ki-woon sits at a booster seat at the dining table. He holds a water bottle, the kind with the exterior flip-top straw attached to a straw on the inside of the bottle. Ours, however, have no interior straw, so they will spill if they're tipped upside down. "No!" He declares, smiling happily. "No, no!" He tips it over. Water puddles on the tray. He sets the bottle upright once more. Smiles. Because it's okay to do, when you're not quite two, as long as you know it's a no-no. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Face Value

Z: May I read me a story? (Meaning, in Zach's pronoun-challenged world, Will YOU read ME a story?) G: (busy playing with Emma) Yes, you may. Go away. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Two Things:

1. I have an interview tomorrow evening! So, if you would all keep me in your prayers, or think good thoughts, or cross your fingers, or touch wood or SOMETHING, it would be greatly appreciated! 2. Have you ever indulged in any non-PC, unconventional parenting "techniques", things you might not tell your friends for fear of raised eyebrows and judgement, and yet you just can't regret? In fact, you are bursting to tell someone who might understand - and even laugh?!? If you have any nitty-gritty parenting stories to tell, we're hunting for them over at Partners in Parenting, for our "True Grit" series. Check out the link for the first installment in this semi-regular series (and a few submission guidelines)! ~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Clearly, Someone has Omitted to Teach me the Dialect

Upon being presented with a bowl of corn this afternoon, Nigel immediately burst into ferocious tears. How strange. He normally loves corn. "All done, Nigel! All done." George yodels from across the dining table. "No, he isn't done, George. He can eat his corn. We know he likes it." The wails continue. "All done, Nigel!" George is cheerful, encouraging. George's language is usually much more precise than this. "He isn't all done, George. Do you mean he can get down when he is all done?" George gives me his patented "Adults are soooo stupid" look. "No, I'm telling him he's all done now." Which tells me precisely nothing. Thankfully, at that moment Nigel's tears are abruptly halted when he discovers that - hey! - someone put CORN on his tray!! He starts in with two fists. That evening, when mom comes, Nigel trips over a shoe in the front hall and sits down abruptly on his padded behind. He begins to wail. Nigel's mother picks him up and instructs in a mock-rueful voice, "Oh, All Done, Nigel. All done." Nigel stops crying. Oooooohhhhh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Monday, August 07, 2006

It's not all Fluffy Bunnies and Baby Giggles: Musings on Sentiment, Symbols, and Parenthood

People make assumptions about me because of my job. This is hardly surprising: people do that to other people all the time, for any number of reasons, and a few assumptions seem reasonable, after all. For example, people assume I'm patient. It seems a reasonable enough thing to assume when you see a woman knee-deep in knee-high people, and said woman is not drooling along with the kids, screaming, or staring glassy-eyed into space, but is smiling and speaking softly. "There goes a patient woman!" people say. However, they're wrong. I'm not patient. This is not to say I indulge in screaming hissy fits when the children don't jump the second I utter a direction. I know what's reasonable. My expectations are high, however, and I don't put up with anything I don't have to. People also tend to assume I'm sentimental about children. I'm not, not at all. I love children. I take joy in their accomplishments, they make me laugh every day. I enjoy being around them. I respect them as people. Perhaps that's where the sentiment ends: I see them as people. Not cute little puppies that tumble about my house, nor live "Precious Moments" figurines. I respect them - and I expect them to respect me back. When this doesn't happen, I am not a happy camper, and don't tell me that the delicious sound of baby giggles makes everything worth while. It may make up for that horrible runny poop you are currently wiping off your baby's butt, but it might not make up for your two-year-old's biting habit, and it's probably the last thing on your mind when your 16-year-old hasn't returned with the car three hours past curfew. I have long accepted that there is much more giving in parenting than there is receiving. I don't resent this: it's just how it goes. I love all the perks of being around babies. The giggles, the cuddles, the funny things they say and do, the peeks of kindness, the dawning of imagination and empathy. It's wonderful. And yet. You think baby giggles, toddler snuggles, and the smell of a clean baby somehow, magically, creates balance in this relationship? Adults give till it hurts. Children complain of being hurt when the adult gives a little less than normal. Adults make sacrifices of sleep, relationship, time, career, even health, for their children. Children see eating their vegetables, or taking out the garbage, or coming home for dinner once a week as a sacrifice too great to be asked. It's the way it is. But that's young children and teens, you say. Young children are too, well, young to understand. And teens? Well, we all know how teens are! "When my kids grow up and have kids of their own, then they'll get it. Then they'll appreciate all that's been done for them, because they'll be doing the same for their kids." It's certainly true that having that first baby is often a huge wake-up call for the young parents. I know it was for me. THIS is what my mother did for me? Wow. While there are some adults out there who speak kindly of their parents, there are many who routinely mock and sneer at them. They make fun of their parents' clothes, their music, their vacation and home decorating choices. These are merest difference in style and taste, yet we mock. Adult children gripe about how they were raised, badmouth a mother's choice in clothes or toys for her grandchildren, deplore how grampa does or doesn't interact with their grandchildren. Sometimes these concerns are real and justified, but more often, as with the clothes and music, it's just a matter of personal style and child-rearing current fashion. So, while I am thankful that it appears that my own children, even the one who's left home for university, don't appear to be falling into that camp (yet?), it also seems that for many of us, if our own behaviour is anything to go by, we won't start to feel a lot of the benefits of parenthood even once our children have grown. So, parenthood is a life-long journey of giving more than you get. It's what it is. So, no, I'm not sentimental. People who are sentimental tend to see babies as symbols. Babies are symbols of hope, of innocence, of all that's new and fresh. As indeed they are. However, babies are not solely symbols: babies are real people, toddlers even more so, and teens are so much people that sometimes they forget anyone else, particularly parents, are people too. Firemen are symbols. Especially post-9/11, they are symbols of heroism, self-sacrifice, and courage. They must be prepared to be that way every working day - and they do. They act with courage, they save lives. However, if your best girlfriend has ever dated one and been cheated on or summarily dumped, you know that the symbol is not the whole story. While many are perfectly lovely men (and women), some can be real jerks. It is what is it. Once you get up close and personal with a symbol, it loses much of its mystery and takes on a more real, more human face. Warts and all. Children are many wonderful things: innocent, funny, kind, cheerful, vibrant with life and love and energy... Still, those of us who work with them day in and day out know their wonderfulness sometimes takes a bit of bringing out, a lot of encouragement. We know that there are also things that need to be dealt with, trained away, subdued, and modified in order to bring all that wonderfulness to the surface. Because children are people, warts and all.

~~~~~~~~ © 2006, MaryP

Friday, August 04, 2006

If I Sit Down to Blog Properly, that Basement is Going to Come Upstairs and Eat us All Alive

Today is a day off for me, and I'm taking the time to do some serious basement organization. (Woo. Hoo.) You can get your tot fix over at Haley's today. It made me laugh! :-)

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Calling His Bluff

Lately, Zach is emerging as a child who will cut off his nose to spite his face. This is not an uncommon pattern in a two-year-old, masters of manipulation that they are. Yesteday morning, he arrives in a funk. Nothing that happens is right. He flops around dramatically, he throws himself to the floor with great fanfare, he fusses, he pouts. (He pouts beautifully, this boy. He is a beautiful child. He is so adorable that his pouts are worthy of framing. He is a beautiful child, and man, does he work it!) Whatever his internal workings this morning, the external is one giant pose. Each and every negative action he takes, he is playing to the audience, done with one eye on my reaction. Which is unforthcoming. After giving him a welcoming cuddle, I utterly ignore the flopping and flailing, invite him to join our activities (making a garage from a clementine box), and otherwise treat him as if he isn't behaving abominably. He will have nothing of it. "Here, Zach. You can have the green paint brush." "Nooooo!" More floppage on the dining room floor. I survey his prone figure, being sure not to make contact with that lustrous green eye, peeping up from under his arm, fringed by those ridiculously long lashes. "You know what, sweetie?" I announce cheerfully. "I think you must be tired. Off to bed with you for a little-lie down." It's 9:15 a.m. He has been in my house for about six minutes. I have had about enough of this. (I told you I wasn't patient. Of course, I am PMS-ing. In mid-cycle, I can put up with it for EIGHT minutes.) Even though nap time isn't officially for another four hours, I trundle the child upstairs. When I put him in bed, he rolls over with a big dramatic flop and buries his face in the pillow. Three minutes later, I return. He is wailing. "Hello, Zach. Are you ready to join us now?" "Noooo!" "You want to stay in bed?" He rolls over, presents me with his back. I let my shrug sound in my voice. "Okay, if that's what you want. But since you want to be up here, you can stop that silly yelling." I have a brief - and very satisfying - flash of his astounded face as I pull the door closed. There is silence behind it. Dumbfounded silence, I am sure. In Zach's world, I was supposed to coax. I was supposed to wheedle. I was supposed to sit on the side of the bed, stroke his back and speak soothing words of reason. While he ranted and roared and made me really, really work to get him to play. I will not do any of that, for innumerable reasons, an entire post all on their own. Let's just say I have too much self-respect to allow myself to be so blatantly manipulated. I know he wants to join the others; he knows he wants to join the others. He can be the one to tell me this. I stand outside the bedroom door, and wait. Let a couple of minutes pass. (Emma, Haley, and Adam are home with me today; the children downstairs are well attended.) When I open the door the second time, "Hello, Zach. You ready to join us now?", the answer is a calm, if snuffly, "Yes." Victory is mine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Another Public Service Announcement

In this heat, this one is good to know! Thanks, Jerry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Too. Tired.

No post today. After a brief reprieve, we plunged right back into a second heat wave a few days back. Yesterday was 35 degrees with a humidex of 48. FORTY-EIGHT!!!! (95 and 118.4. One hundred and eighteen point four!!!!) It was horrific, but I toughed out that most wretched day, knowing that it was supposed to be 22 overnight, and cooling from today on, down to some temperatures in the high teens. Mmmmm... Six o'clock in the morning here, it's 25, humidex of 34. (77 and 93). At six in the morning. I'm just too demoralized to write. See you all tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Calculated Risk

Little Timmy, you remember him? He's been coming to my place for two mornings a week for the last couple of months. The idea is to get him used to me and this place before he starts full-time in the fall. Is it working? Mom would give answer that with an unqualified "Yes!" He wriggles with enthusiasm when he sees me, he smiles at the other children, he rarely fusses when she leaves. "He's settling in so well," she says. "He just loves being here, I can tell." I think he does, too, as much as he loves anything. However, I would answer with a qualified yes. Timmy does have the sweetest smile. He can take pleasure in his little accomplishments - finally touching the cat (!!!), pulling himself to stand on the furniture. He can interact nicely with the other children, to the limits of his age. He can play on his own, or alongside the others. He can do all these things, but the truth is, he doesn't often. His problem? Here are the symptoms: He's fretful and clingy. He needs a lot of attention. He wants to be carried most of the time. He demands to be in the same room as me at all times. If I get more than three feet from him, he crawls after me, wailing. When he is held, he's twitchy, pinching at my arms with his fingernails and clutching my hair and clothing. If another child gets too close, he cries. He doesn't eat much, he drinks only when being held. He plays when I'm sitting beside him, or when he's in physical contact with me (his back leaning against my shin, say), but even then, rarely for more than five minutes. When we read, he sits in my lap, but again, is twitchy, tossing his head side to side, flailing at the pages. So what's the problem here? It's not that he's not settled in. As his mother notes, he greets me with a smile, and he includes the other children in his greeting. He's not teething, and he's been perfectly healthy since he started. Not even a sniffle. The problem is that this boy is chronically and severely sleep-deprived. His mother believes that he "doesn't need much sleep". She knows this because "he never sleeps more than 20 minutes at a stretch, except at night". At night, he sleeps eight hours. A ten-and-a-half-month-old who gets eight hours at night and another hour during the day is not getting enough sleep. Not nearly enough. By my calculations, he's about three hours short per night, and another hour or two short per day. This kid is getting a good four to five hours less - per day! - than he needs. And it shows. His mother is delightful, quite sensible in all other child-rearing practices, but this is her blind spot. And, as he's her first child, she sees his behaviour as normal - that's just what babies are like! So I'm taking this child on the assumption that with a little sleep training under his belt, he will turn into a different child. A calm, relaxed, non-twitchy child, able to play independently for more than a few seconds. I sure hope I'm right!

~~~~~~~~~~~~ © 2006, Mary P