Two Types of Parents / Greener Pastures

It’s just a shame that the more interesting stuff you have going on in any given time frame…the more difficult it is to find the time to sit down and write about it.

Two Types of Parents

It was about a month and a half ago that the Parents as Teachers lady sat on our living room floor and said, “There are two types of parents. The first group moves all dangerous items out of the baby’s living space. The second group leaves the items there and teaches the baby not to touch them.”

Now I was sitting there, cross-legged with my daughter on my lap thinking, “Well, I’m on the leave it there bus, myself.” I mean…cover the electrical outlets, block the stairs, keep them from killing themselves. But, I’m not going to live in a padded house to keep Norah from conking her head now and again. Besides, said I to myself, a kid has to learn how to navigate the real world. Silly paranoid parents, I thought.

Well, it’s been a month and a half and we are now actually living with a mobile child. The thought experiment has become a scuttling reality and our living room is a very different place. Ya see, I’ll stand by my previous opinion in theory….but I failed to factor in the sheer annoyance that can be generated by a child so clearly determined to injure herself and wreck our home.

After countless floor shuffling sessions, our cd rack has been moved behind the large, unmovable potted plant. It’s a horribly inconvenient place for them…but then, that’s the point, I guess. The potted plant itself has suffered many crushed leaves and would probably have been moved itself if it weren’t for its significant roll as cd and lethal cord blocker. Thanks for your valiant sacrifices, Unmovable Potted Plant. We appreciate it.

The couches that once angled into the living room to encourage conversation have been pushed flush against the wall to discourage electrocution. HGTV would not approve of the layout, but Norah cares naught for feng shui and was far too interested in the power chords and the heavy block of marble on spindly, wobbly legs that once sat behind our couch.

The grate to the fireplace has been transplanted to a safrer home, replaced by a tension pet gate. Not only does it keep her from a) pulling the grate down on her head and b) eating the fake coals….it’s also the height of interior design. Very industrial.

However, we’ve not moved completely into the "remove everything" camp. I think we’ve found a comfortable middle ground in which Norah can maintain a healthy level of bruised-but-not-broken.

For instance, for several days after she learned to pull herself up, Norah seemed determined to head-butt her way through our coffee table. Due to time constraints and an underlying faith in my child’s learning curve, I never found time to make it to Lowes to purchase my baby-proofing kit of water pipe insulation tubes and zip-ties. And I’d like to report that by the time I went to Lowes this weekend…she no longer needed it. She hasn’t hit her head on that thing in about a week. Now…when she learns running, we may need to go back to Plan A.

The only other problem we’re facing now as we chase our little girl from room to room is dog toys. Arlo has long understood the difference between his toys and Norah’s toys. If one of his toys happened to roll up against one of hers, he would ever so slowly and ever so gently retrieve it, careful to let you know at every step that he had no intention of touching the baby toy. Norah, on the other hand, has no such etiquette. Any toy her furry brother is playing with instantly becomes to coolest plaything in the house. And sadly, the dog will drop the toy and let her have it before moping away to bemoan his lot in life. “You’re faster than her,” we explain to him. “Just keep away from her. You don’t have to share.” But alas…he is a martyr at heart and only too willing to submit to the cruel injustice of it all. We keep telling Norah, “Don’t touch.” But, she just finds it an interesting prelude to her touching something.

So, of the two types of parents…we’re saddling the fence between the two these days. We let her roam and explore and aren’t too afraid of some bumps and bruises along the way. But I’ll admit that we had underestimated the destructive force of an 8-month-old.


Greener Pastures

It’s official…Spring is here. No, I’m not talking about the calendar. I’m talking about the fact that I had to mow our yard and finally rake all those half-decayed leaves that I’d been avoiding since Fall. The flowers are blooming, green things are sprouting everywhere and the fans have been pulled up from the basement. The windows are open which means the midnight practice session of the band across the street now seem much louder. But it also means a wonderful breeze across the bed and bird song to wake to. It’s very difficult to get out of bed these days. Just…too…comfy.

Instead of hiding upstairs during Moonshot’s piano lesions, I’ve been taking walks with Norah and Arlo on Monday and Wednesday nights. I have to remember not to leave my lunch cooler on the sun room floor lest the ants find it. And Norah has been tickled to be allowed to scurry about the house in just a diaper.

We’re all big fans of spring at Casa de Gren. Hope you're enjoying it whereever you are.