Kristie and I were e-mailing back and forth about our sons' pickiness, and I thought, "Why not make everyone read about it?"
Okay, Seriously. He knows when I start typing. It's like a sixth sense. He's been in there, almost asleep, for twenty-five minutes. The second I typed 'pickiness,' I heard pitter-patter and the door handle. Or was it the door handle and then pitter-patter? Yes, the second one, as carpeted bedrooms and toddler feet do not produce a pitter-pattery effect.
ANYway, ahem, in no particular order, the Punkin's oddities:
1. Must wear both shoes and socks or be barefoot. Socks alone are impermissable and subject to wild meltdowns.
2. He must be naked when he potties--shoes, socks, shirt, and pants. Except, of course, at school or when Oma takes him at her house.
3. Lunch meat and other fillings that others might slide between two slices of perfectly good whole grain bread must instead be placed inside a hamburger bun. Again, school wins in this case, because all of their sandwiches come on buns.
4. "DA FIGHDER!" A love for all things long and skinny. Forks, spoons, pegs hooked together, snap beads linked together, wrapping paper tubes, shovels, straws. You get the idea.
5. He will eat fish sticks but not chicken nuggets. WHAT CHILD WON'T EAT CHICKEN NUGGETS???? My parents would claim that it's a cruel irony--punishment for years of going out to nice restaurants and ordering the chicken strips basket.
6. He loves being upside down. I must say that while I understand that this is new territory for many observers, and while it admittedly looks a but strange, and while I always want to be willing to answer questions in an effort to educate others, I do not need to see strangers' gaping stares in Cracker Barrel or hear them say, "Is that good for him? He's upside-down." No sh*t, Sherlock. I thought he was sitting in his booster seat, coloring nicely while he awaits his CHICKEN STRIPS BASKET. (Or "burder and Fen Fies.") You know, mostly I mind when people openly question my judgement; not the odd fact that Punkin enjoys such a strange sensation. Get the diff? I mean, I wouldn't want to hang my head upside-down for twenty minutes. Can you imagine? All the blood rushing and the pressure behind your eyeballs. No thank you. I don't get it, either. But please don't intimate that I am somehow hurting or endangering him. Obviously we are all happy; and most of us are being quiet and minding our own business, Ahem.
7. No blanket on top of him before he goes to sleep. After, yes. In fact, he may wake up and ask for one.
8. He wants me to rub my nose against his, but he can't bear to get his face that close to mine. He just giggles and turns his head. So cute.
Now it's not fair to pick on somebody unable to defend himself. So in a spirit of comradery, I give you Monna's quirks:
1. I Can Not STAND the sound that the windshield wipers make when they scrape across the frost on my windshield. *Shivers*
2. I wash dishes with a washcloth (a new one each day--I have about 15) or a scrubber with the water running. Meaning I do not, under any circumstance, fill the sink up with water and dunk the dishes. That is like a dish bath.
3. Which leads me to number three. I hate bathtubs. Actually I hate baths. I do not need to sit in a puddle of my own filth. Why would I want to do that? Now hot tubs are different; they have chemicals. And I may be convinced to take a bath at a hotel under the following conditions: a) the tub itself has been cleaned by me, b) I have been drinking wine and am feeling chill, and c) I have already taken a shower.
4. I love drinking soda through a straw--even if it's in a can. Fountain soda is best; it's the fizziest. Then cans, then bottles.
5. Ever since I was little, I have folded a small piece of the edge of a blanket or even an article of clothing and rubbed it against my thumb and forefinger. Punkin does this, too. And it's probably why he likes Legos--it's the same effect. I tried it. (My grandma did this as well. But not the Legos thing.)
6. Everything has its place. I have cubbies to sort toys, and each cubby has a picture on the front of what goes inside. The shelves even have pictures. The trucks are in one bin, and finally the mostly miscellaneous objects in another. I'd like to say that the primary motivation behind this labeling was to help Punkin learn to sort and clean up. And while that played a role, the main reason was because the respite workers kept putting things back in the wrong place.
7. Food should not touch, unless of course it is something along the lines of a casserole or salad. I just don't want any other part of my meal touching the casserole. My Aunt's friend even sent me an adult-sized round plate with dividers. Thanksgiving is kind of nerve-wracking.
8. I love the smell and flavor of oranges, but I cannot bring myself to eat one.
I really have no room to call him picky, do I? Darnit.
Now, it is funny when toddlers get mad. Especially mine. Because he smacks his arms around in attempt to hit me and instead whacks himself. And because he thinks the can pick up the heavy blanket from his mommy's bed and throw it at her. But he can't, so he chucks his blanket at her instead. Good problem solving, though. Hehehehe. This happened at about 6am after I told him to put on his pants. After he finally complied and calmed down, I asked him to bring me his shoes and socks. He brought me his snow boots and went back for socks. He grabbed the socks, and at my request grabbed his regular shoes. He handed me the boots. "No," I said, "Let's wear the white shoes. No boots." I could see a storm brewing inside. I had to make a decision, "Is it really worth it?" No. I put the boots on his feet, wrote a note to his teacher, and stuck the sneakers in his backpack. He looked really silly, though, because there isn't a flake of snow on the ground.
(Oh, and he is going to start transitioning to his new school next week. And I had a parent-teacher conference today. I talked his poor teacher's ear off. I'm just so proud!)