Peanut talk

The Peanut is talking up a storm these days. Chatting, singing, telling stories, and performing comedy routines. Of course, you have to speak her language to understand what she’s saying, but once you have a grasp of her peculiar vocabulary, you’re in business.

Her favorite story is about how a little fly once buzzed around her eye. This incident occurred more than a month ago, and she is still quite worked up about it. “Fyyyyyyy,” she intones aggrievedly while pointing at her eye. “Fyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.” She’ll repeat this until you give her the “oh-yes-I-remember-a-fly-buzzed-your-eye-and-you-didn’t-like-it-did-you” response.

She also likes to relate the tale of her most recent poopalanche: “Dit. Poopt. Zhazha. Mommy. Jaji. Yucky.” Translation: “I sat in that chair and pooped. Poop got all over me, Mommy, and JJ. It was yucky.” True story.

I know I’m her mother and therefore biased, but I love how articulate and self-aware she is. “Zhyyyyyyy,” she says as she ducks her head and gazes coquettishly through her eyelashes. “Oh Peanut,” her brother replies, “Are you feeling shy? I’m shy sometimes, too.”

She’s a heartbreaker already, that one. Just wait until she has her Ph.D.—she’ll be unstoppable.

"It's so hard being four."

JJ had his fourth birthday the day after Halloween, and the House of Crazy has been in an uproar ever since.

I’m not sure why four is such a big deal for kids. Maybe it’s just that they’ve become increasingly aware of what age means with respect to their place in the world. A few months ago, JJ’s friend Q was waking up in the middle of the night screaming, “I’m not four yet! I’m not four!” Another friend recently announced that she wouldn’t be turning four, period. Four is serious business.

JJ was very, very excited about turning four. One of his closest friends is four and a half, and he idolizes her. “When will I be four and a half, Mommy?” He must ask me that at least 20 times a day.

Four is…interesting. Suddenly, the child who used to insist on being carried everywhere throws a screaming fit if he doesn’t get to open the car door and climb into his carseat. God help you if you flush the toilet for him or clear his dinner dishes. JJ is all about independence—as long as it’s on his terms, of course.

For JJ’s preschool’s parent education class, we were assigned reading from Liberated Parents, Liberated Children by Faber and Mazlish. Much of this book has resonated with me, but I was especially struck by the chapter dealing with nurturing a child’s sense of autonomy. “We help most by not helping,” write the authors, and if that’s true, then I’ve been doing a JJ a big disservice for a while now.

So this morning I decided to give him the opportunity to struggle. “I’d like you to pick out your clothes and get dressed yourself,” I said cheerfully. I expected some resistance, but I must confess I was unprepared for the full-fledged freakout that ensued. After about 20 minutes of hysteria, JJ launched himself into my arms and sobbed, “Mommy, it’s so hard being four.”

It's true. Growing up is hard. And he is only four, after all. So I’ll tell you what: if I’m still wiping his ass by the time we attend MotherBoy XXX, then we’ll revisit this whole independence thing.