I Do

Today, for the first time, Justin volunteered the information that he had a poopy diaper. He's been getting better about answering the question truthfully when asked. If I smell something funny I'll ask him if he "made poopies." He generally answers either "no" (in which case I check anyway) or "I do" (in which case we head to the changing table). Occasionally he simply runs away and that's an answer in itself. But he's been getting good about telling the truth and will rarely actually lie.
Today I was on the exercise machine, half-watching a TV show on the computer and half making desultory conversation with Justin ("Up! Down! Up! Down!") when he got quiet for a minute and tugged at his pants, the faraway look of a preoccupied preschooler in his eyes. And as I wondered, he made eye contact and said, "I do."
So, amid effusive praise at his brilliant idea of telling Mama, we went and got his diaper changed. I'm hoping this continues. That would be tremendously helpful.

Practice

Justin has a baby-doll. Well, more accurately, it's on loan. I assured Father of this when we brought it in so he wouldn't have a conniption fit. ;-) The pink stroller is also on loan. Justin enjoys them both. He likes to push the baby around in the stroller and then hand it to me to "burp."
Tonight he decided to put the baby to bed. He dragged it in the bedroom where Father and I were talking and tucked it in carefully with my shawl, murmuring to it the whole time. Then he laid his finger on its little lips and said "Shh, shh." It was adorably sweet. I suggested that he sing it a lullaby, so he cradled it in his arms and sang what he could remember of the one I usually sing him at night, which is mostly the first three notes and the word "lullaby." He'll make a good father someday.

Washing hands

Justin made up his first song this week, which he sang as we went to get his stool so that he could wash his hands (one of his new favorite pastimes, so long as Mama doesn't get involved with all that cleaning-between-the-fingers stuff). It sounded like this:
"Ool, anna ool, anna ool, ash-ash."
Translated, the lyrics are as follows:
Stool
I want a stool
I want a stool
Wash-wash!
Not bad for a first attempt. It even had something you could more or less call a tune. I was proud of him.

Justin's vocabulary is expanding. Yesterday, when I told him the names of colors on some stickers, he echoed "geen." When we were walking home from the gym I pointed out various cars and one that was "black, or possibly a dark purple, or blue--difficult to tell at this distance." He smiled his mischievous smile up at me and said "uhple!" He loves to mimic.
One of the funniest things he likes to mimic is Mama tickling him. He will wiggle his fingers on his chest, grin widely, and say "gickle-gickle-gickle!" When I pretend to be a monster and say "rar, rar!" he will roar back at me and then charge me, hands held high and expecting to be picked up, swung around, and tickled some more. When he wants to be cuddled sometimes he does it without prompting. Sometimes he just comes and gives me a hug, or leans up against me, like he did when I was cleaning the tub today and prior experience told him my arms were temporarily unavailable. He's a very sweet baby.
We had the repairmen out today to fix some lights that have been crashing from the ceiling at random intervals, and Justin was fascinated with their work. He watched them and talked to them quite incessantly about the "dight" they were fixing. I just had to chase him away from the fiberglass and screws!

Christmas Tree

We decorated the Christmas tree after Justin was in bed one night. He's liked it since we put it up, but did pretty well with not touching it. The ornaments, however, are another matter. Being a big sister taught me to hang breakables well over baby reach height, but we have some adorable little wooden ornaments a sister of mine gave me that I hung all over the tree. Justin found them irresistible. No matter how many times I explained that the tree and ornaments were not to be touched, I'd walk back in the room five minutes later to find him holding wooden ornaments in his chubby little hands. Upon seeing me he would walk quickly towards me and hold out the ornaments, saying earnestly, "Uh-oh! Uh-oh!" It's so hard not to laugh while disciplining toddlers!
The funny part is that, while for the sake of consistency and future trees and keeping him away from the lights and all that I have to ban touching the tree, I don't care very much. The wooden ornaments are sturdy enough for his cautious examinations. The whole battle is keeping him distracted from the real issue, the stockings. Their hangers are heavy and sturdy to support full stockings, but they're heavy enough that they could hurt him if he pulled them down. I was watching him carefully, ready to pack them up and find some other way to hang stockings at the first tug. But he hasn't touched the stockings. He's too busy stealing Christmas tree ornaments. And he's such a creature of habit that between those and his singing Frosty, I don't think it's going to occur to him to get into the real trouble. I love diversions.

Our Church has an anologion, a formal chant stand. For those of you who've never seen one, I'll describe ours. Imagine taking the part of a music stand that holds music, and putting four of those back to back, leaning in, so that they form a pyramid shape. Then put the whole thing swiveling on top of a hollow column where you can store books, and you've got the basic idea. Ours has a hexagonal column and, since we only got it about six or eight months ago, nothing in it as yet. We have an adequate bookshelf so it's mostly empty. Its emptiness is probably encouraged by the fact that Justin likes to climb inside. It's a good little nook and he likes tight places. He's been fond of the chant stand since it arrived--he used to use it to hold on and walk before he was comfortable walking on his own, and he likes to climb inside, pull the door closed, and then kick it open. As he's gotten stronger, this has presented something of an issue. He can kick it hard enough, now, that it flies open and rebounds.
I tried to stop him doing that because I was concerned that it might put stress on the hinges, but it is very difficult to stop a toddler from doing something in a situation where he really can't make any noise and neither can you. Discipline at the chant stand is a tricky business. And while Justin is pretty obedient about avoiding things he's told are no-nos right out of the box, as it were, he's very stubborn about relinquishing toys or activities that have always been allowed and are suddenly forbidden as he gets too strong or mobile or whatever for it to be safe anymore.
This morning he broke the chant stand. He climbed inside as usual, insisted on having the door closed (since it's carved ornately he will put his little fingers through the carving and pull it closed if you refuse to close it for him) and then, after a few minutes, kicked it open as usual. Only this time the door went flying. It being an Orthodox Church, nothing happened. Father continued chanting and the two or three parishioners there for a weekday mid-morning service heard the crash but tried to ignore it. I picked up the door and put it out of the way, and the service went on. I had a look at it later and it should be an easy repair--the nails just came out. It needs a hammer and some wood glue and it'll be fine. The thing was built sturdily enough but it wasn't intended to take a toddler repeatedly kicking the door open. I guess I really have to teach him not to now.

Snuggles

Justin is a very snuggly toddler, a marked improvement from his babyhood. When he was six months old I used to envy all the other parents in Church with babies snuggled into their shoulders, arms draped affectionately round their necks. Justin's reaction to all this was confusion. Until the moment when his eyes defied his final struggles and closed, he was wide-eyed, head up, checking out the world.
I don't think age has produced the change, though. I think it's weaning. Nursing, of course, provided consistent, built-in snuggle time--several hours a day when he was little, not to mention most if not all of the night. And now that he's all but weaned he usually responds favorably to requests for hugs and kisses. He likes to cuddle when he's tired or when he's hurt, and sometimes in the morning when he wakes up he'll get in our bed, snuggle up with us and go back to sleep. Father and I are both snuggly people so we're glad our son is too. It's making it easier on me to wean him, which definitely has its emotional challenges.
To try to compensate for the fact that nursing will soon be entirely absent from his life, I've started rocking (something else he didn't use to like) and singing to him just before bedtime--and naptime if I can manage it. Today I was patting his back and he started patting my arm. When I put him into his crib and lean down for one last hug sometimes he grabs my head and holds me there. I love baby snuggles.

Yesterday, after Justin's nap and while Papa was still at Church, Justin and I sat down to wrap presents. Or rather, I sat and he stood. He rolled (and wrinkled) wrapping paper, played with ribbons, considered swiping the scissors, and systematically crushed a small gold bow I gave him to prevent him from crushing all the others. A good time was had by all.
But I got hungry, so I put some muffins in the oven. When the twenty-minute timer went, I checked them. Predictably, they had some browning to do, but they were cooked all the way through, so I took one out as a snack to tide me over. This, however, caused an imbalance in the snack force, previously neatly tied with mozzarella sticks and grapes for Justin and smoked gouda and grapes for me. Justin wanted some of my muffin.
"No," I told him, "It's hot."
He insisted.
"But it's hot."
He pointed at the muffin and requested some emphatically.
"Fine," I said, "but be careful; it's hot."
I tore off a small piece and gave it to him. "Hot," I warned again.
Usually he handles a piece of food for a minute and then realizes it's too warm for him, sets it down somewhere and comes back later. But this one popped straight into his open mouth. It stayed open. His eyes widened. For a second he tried to breathe around it. Then he began to cry.
"I told you it was hot!" I pleaded.
"Waaah!" said Justin, and spit out the muffin on the carpet.
I picked it up and put it in his bowl. He hadn't chewed it at all. When it cooled down, it would be fine. Five minutes later, the timer on the oven went off and I went to get the muffins out. I was still hungry so I got myself another one and came back to the present-wrapping. Justin asked for some.
"But it's hot!" I protested. "Eat yours!"
Justin explained the situation patiently. That one was hot; he had tried it. He wanted some of mine. I saw his point, but I refused to share. Eventually, he ate his muffin.

Fashion Show

Justin was in a fashion show a few weeks ago. The Church here hosts a Christmas tea and they spoke to a local children's clothing store about doing a fashion show. It was a perfect set-up, really. All the yiayias pay for their tea (fundraiser for the church) and watch their grandchildren look adorable in cute little clothes, then the cute little Christmas clothes are a really easy sell for the clothing store. I don't know what kind of trade they did but it ought to have been brisk.
Justin was also asked to participate and they gave him an adorable little pair of red and green plaid pajamas. He was to accompany a little girl, slightly older, wearing matching pajamas. She would help him down the runway, since he obviously would have no idea what to do. I didn't know the little girl but I hoped for the best. Justin's general reaction to meeting the female of the species is to allow his jaw to drop, his eyes to protrude slightly, and himself to follow the interesting little creature dumbly. Occasionally he tries to hug and kiss them. I didn't think he'd make much resistance to a two-and-a-half-year-old charmer trying to hold his hand and lead him about.
Unfortunately, in the event, the little charmer took one look at him and burst into tears. She was decidedly not interested. So we stood in line for their turn, parents and children jostling and trying to sort out who was going when, me just wondering what was going to happen.
Justin and Miss Pajamas were boosted onto the stage when their turn came, and the announcer gave their names and what they were wearing. Miss PJs headed off down the runway without a backward glance. She looked adorable. Justin walked just past the partitions dividing "backstage" from the audience and paused to watch all the people watching him. He's hardly unaccustomed to the limelight so it didn't make him nervous. He just didn't know what he was supposed to do. Fortunately, Presvytera Tina, who was coordinating the show, was standing nearby. She took his hand and, standing on the floor beside him, walked him down the runway and back. Everybody laughed and said he was adorable.
The problem came when he got back. Presvytera escorted him to that portion of the runway that was at the back, behind the dividers. At this juncture, however, Justin declined to get off the runway. He liked seeing the people, being seen, and being in the way of the other children coming and going. He likes other children. There ensued about five minutes of various mothers who were escorting their children to the stage trying to coax him to come to them, but Justin is generally leery of being picked up by people he doesn't know really, really well. I finally jostled my way to the edge of the stage and tried to collect him but he knew enough to stay out of my reach and meandered to the other side of the stage. I finally ran around to the other side, jostled up to the platform again, and snatched him before he was aware. Thus ended Justin's career as a runway model. If he is asked to participate again next year, I suppose I'll have to let him. But I'll come equipped with one of those long, hooked canes they used to use in vaudeville. I'm taking no chances.

Christmas Tree

Yesterday I bought our Christmas tree. I had been debating over whether to get a miniature, potted real one, like I did last year, or a larger but still not massive one that I saw at Costco. It was pre-lit, came in a shiny little pot, and wasn't too spreading at the base, so it looked like a good size for our apartment. Still, it's hard to tell these things in the store. I set it up yesterday and was glad to realize I'd made the right decision. It fit perfectly in the corner I'd intended it for. Justin regarded the strange object which had sprung up during his nap with considerable interest and evident enjoyment.
But his best reaction wasn't his first one. This morning, on emerging into the living room, he was impressed to find it still there (you can never tell with these things that spring up during a nap--there's a bed that keeps popping up and disappearing again in the study, but that's another story) but moved on before long to play with some other toys. I plugged it in but he didn't seem to notice. Then, as he turned to point at something or other, the brightly lit tree caught him full in the eye.
For an instant he stood, pointing, then hoarsely whispered a long-drawn-out "Wooooooow!"
It was totally worth it. And the thing's not even decorated yet.

Babysat

Justin went to a friend's house today. Chris is about my parents' age and her own little granddaughter is just Justin's age. Chris and Justin are very fond of each other. He's been going through intermittent stranger anxiety, but Chris is on his short list of OK people.
I dropped him off at Chris's house this morning and, after disposing of hats and coats, went in to give him a hug goodbye. He gave me a very brief one and then pushed me away.
"You don't want a hug?" I asked.
"Ah-doh," said Justin, holding out his hands, palms outward.
"You want to stay and play?"
"Adwa," he expostulated further, gesticulating at the room and clearly prepared to fend me off if necessary.
"I'm going to go bye-bye. I'll see you later."
I got the message loud and clear. He's perfectly comfortable and wants to see if he can make that rocking horse play that tune again. Where WAS that switch? Oh yeah, bye mom.
It makes me feel good that he's not screaming as I head out the door. He'll be glad to see me when I come back but he's happy while I'm gone. It's nice.

Reasons

I decided to start a new blog. I quit the blogosphere when Justin was impending a few years back. I was far too busy to blog, and have been since then. I wasn't, however, too busy to photograph. I took 2,000 photos in the first year of my son's life. And I sorted through them all and printed about 500 of them for photo albums. (It took forever.) I also posted photos to a webpage so relatives, god-parents, and "adopted" relatives could see how he was developing.
Then he started moving and photos didn't capture everything so well. I was very grateful for the video function on our camera. Video clips started going up--crawling, talking, walking, throwing balls.
But we've hit a new stage. He's gotten more interpersonal (and more inclined to grab the camera, even if it happens to be on at the right moment). He's reached the age of stories rather than descriptions. So, while I will continue to post photos and videos, I've decided to start a blog to tell the little stories of Justin's life. I hope you all enjoy!
Like Justin's photo page, this blog is not linked to by Blogger or other public sites and is supposed to be find-able only if you know the actual web address. I would request that you help me take precautions for Justin's safety by not linking to this address from any web page you may have. The web address can be e-mailed to any trusted individuals you want to be able to see it. Thanks!

On Names

We named him Justin Arthur, of course, but that didn't matter much for the first few months of his life. His person-ness, though miraculously complete, seemed too tiny to warrant a grown-up name. So he got called things--the inspirations of a moment. "Sweet pea" was applied when he curled up like a tiny, furled flower on my chest. "Small fry" was his father's more masculine appellation for the child. "Munchkin" got used so much that it even got diminutived into "munchies." And Anne, my close friend who lived across the street and pretty much comprised the short list of people other than blood relatives I would leave him with, called him "Justin-monster." Nobody (including her) knew why. She asked me once if it bothered me, and I said of course not. Nicknames just sort of stick, or don't.
Two years later, he's big enough not only to be called by his own name but to know it. "Small fry" has dropped but "Munchkin" is so synonymous with his person in my head that I have to remember not everyone will know who I'm talking about. And when Anne and I talk on the phone, she still asks me how "the Justin-monster" is doing. So I decided to make it the address for his blog. I don't know why. It just seemed to stick.