Posts Tagged ‘ Wayne Sanchez ’

To Spank Or Not To Spank

Thursday, December 15th, 2011

Strangling Wayne

Confession: I have swatted Fia a time or two. I hardly consider it “spanking” as it wouldn’t kill an ant. It’s not something I planned. It just came instinctually. Which perhaps I shouldn’t admit?? But it’s not when she tantrums.

When I swat Fia it’s because she is pulling Wayne’s tail. I yell at her to stop and she doesn’t. I try pulling her away and she grips his tail harder. This all happens in a matter of seconds and I know Wayne is about to lose his cool. Which would leave a scratch or a bite. So I do the lesser of evils. I swat her bottom, physically unpeel her fingers from his tail and yell “Fia, stop it.” At least this way she won’t have a scratch. The swatting is basically the distraction that causes her to let go. She doesn’t even react to it like a “spank.” No tears or whining. She just goes on to the next thing.

Like I said, it’s only happened twice. Maybe three times?? But does that put me in this “bad parents spanking” category? I don’t think so.

Parents has an article that talks about why the American Academy of Pediatrics says not to spank. Under any circumstances. But it’s more related to spanking when they tantrum. When she’s super upset, the last thing I would want to do is spank her. That to me doesn’t feel instinctual. It feels mean–and seems like it would only fuel the fire. I’m also lucky in that, so far, (knock on every piece of wood around), she doesn’t have huge tantrums. When they happen, they last for about 2 minutes. Max. I usually take the tactic of ignoring. Then she’s over it.

I’m curious: What do you guys think? And does the urge ever overcome you to swat your child, like I explained in my scenario?

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Milestone Monday: Too Much Hugging? (Operation Failure)

Monday, November 14th, 2011

Author’s Note: Join me every Monday as I share Fia’s ongoing milestone (mis)adventures–from potty training to talking to everything in between.  Mayhem and mischief guaranteed on Milestone Monday!

I think Operation Hugs and Snugs has become a failure. Not because it didn’t work, but because it worked too well. To summarize: Fia wasn’t a huge snugger in the beginning. But through army-like training, she became one.

Now, just two weeks shy of her 2-year birthday, I find her wanting to kiss and hug every child she plays with. She doesn’t stop there though. She literally hugs them so tight that she tackles them to the floor.  Now some tots seem to roll with it. Others not so much. And with this particular tot friend, Nate, she met her match. It was like watching two babies sumo wrestle.

The Wrestlers

I almost wonder if somehow I’ve encouraged this behavior, not only from smothering her myself (I can’t get enough of kissing her, and just found this article on the science of kissing), but also because of her relationship with Wayne Sanchez. We call her a barnacle baby. She latches onto him and doesn’t let go until one of us pulls her off, kicking and screaming. She’s like a magnet to living beings. A sweet leech, if there is such a thing.

An Incredibly Patient Wayne Sanchez

Not sure what to do about this. I tell her constantly to leave the cat alone; that he’s feisty. (She repeats after me, “feisty, feisty” but continues to cling, choke, and smother.)  I tell her that not all babies want to be clung to like a parasite. She burrows on in. I find myself apologizing to parents for her behavior, as their child wails and clings to them for dear life. The more they hide behind an adult or run away, the more she laughs and chases. Good god, what if she becomes a serial stalker? At the age of 2? At least I bet her mug shot would be cute…

Is this a milestone or madness? I know it’s maddening for me–and from the cries, I am guessing some of her tot friends feel the same.

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The Crib Tent Ain’t Gonna Work

Thursday, November 10th, 2011

Sleeping soundly--for five minutes

I had my sights set on the crib tent I ordered. It was $80.00. With Fia suddenly waking up multiple times in the night,  I figured this would us to let her cry it out a bit without the worry of her climbing out of the crib. I have friends who swear by it.

I put it together on Tuesday night and put her to sleep. Of course it’s the one time Phil was out of town for the night. She slept for 30 minutes then began waking up every 5-10 minutes. By 8:30 pm I was exhausted. She has never been this bad, and all I could link it to was the tent. Instead of feeling like she’s in a pretty white canopy, she must have felt like she was in a mesh jail. I admit, I think I’d feel a little freaked too.

In order to take it off, you have to take the mattress out. So here I was at nearly 9 pm, her wailing on the floor and my pregnant self trying to disassemble the whole thing. Finally got her back to sleep–then the usual waking began. Every 3 hours she needed me to come hold her. It’s like she’s a newborn again.

The next morning, this is what I found on our bed:

Really? The cat has to rub it in?

So do I keep an $80 item and call it a Wayne Tent? This is ridiculous. Wayne sleeps too much, Fia not enough. And now she has a runny nose, so I can’t retrain her tonight. Bleh.

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Lost and Found

Thursday, November 3rd, 2011

Exhausted From His Adventure

We lost Wayne Sanchez today. Phil put him in the section of the house where his litter and food are, so we could eat breakfast in peace.

Side note: He’s like a rabid raccoon. Or someone with Prader Willi syndrome. He has an insatiable appetite. If I turn my back for a split second, he’ll be drinking from my cereal bowl.

I went to let him out and he was nowhere to be found–until we stumbled upon a crawl space. It was way back in a cupboard that was open. Neither of us could even crawl back to see where it went (my pregnant stomach kept getting in the way), but it appeared to go to a hole in the floor. Thoughts of Baby Jessica came to mind. We rushed down to the basement to see if the space connected there. It didn’t. I began to get hysterical. I called the owner of the house at 7 a.m. and left her a frantic message. Then went hand-wringing to Phil.

“What if the hole goes to nowhere? Like deep into the ground?” I said, near tears.

“Jill, a hole goes to somewhere,” Phil said annoyed, though clearly stressed himself.

“Not necessarily” I said, panicked. “It could go to the sewer and then to the LA River and Wayne will be gone forever.”

“It would not. I’m telling you, a crawl space goes somewhere. If it went to the sewer we’d have rats in the house.”

Phil went outside to look around the exterior of the house.

Then I heard the magical words.

“I found him. Bring me food,” Phil shouted.

Wayne was sitting under the house in a screened in vent like-area, that apparently the hole dropped into.  Phil pried it open and held food out (never misses an eating opportunity). Wayne got close enough for Phil to grab him and pull him to safety.

The Hole to Somewhere

Fia and I cheered. Then I called the landlord. “Hi, it’s Jill again. We found Wayne. He is worse than a toddler. However, we need a handyman to cover up a hole in your house.”

Thank god the hole went to somewhere. I shudder to think of a world without Wayne.

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Moving With a Barfing Baby

Wednesday, October 26th, 2011

We Broke All The Rules. TV. Pacifier.

When we got to JFK I saw 2 signs: one for the chapel and the other for the restroom. I wasn’t sure which one I needed more. Divine intervention or soap.

We had just left Brooklyn at 7 a.m. to begin our new life in LA. We looked like the Brooklyn-to-Beverly Hillbillies. We had Wayne Sanchez as one carry on, 4 other carry-ons, 4 pieces of luggage, her stroller, and of course we three humans.

The driver, like most of them in New York, kept hitting the gas and brake. Stop and go. Stop and go. I was getting worried, but just hoped we’d make it. No such luck. 10 minutes from the airport, Fia whispered, “uh oh” and out came the barf. It went everywhere. Luckily for us, I had asked to use the driver’s car seat, because I didn’t feel like dealing with installing ours at that hour.

I won’t go into the stench. All parents know how horrendous it is. Make that double horrid when you’re 7 months pregnant and your sense of smell is heightened.

Poor Fia was crying. The driver didn’t say a word. I’m sure he was furious. I told him we’d give him extra for the cleaning. Phil and I were dealing with the aftermath, trying to clean up Fia with wipes, but really there was no point. She just had to sit in her vomit. And we all had to sit in the smelly van with her vomit. The only person who wasn’t rattled was Wayne.

I rushed Fia to the bathroom and the kind TSA women who saw us rushed over some plastic bags for her clothes. Thank god for national security.

I gave her a bath in the sink and managed to get off the smell. Slightly redeemed, we rushed to our gate, the last to board, looking like the 3-ring circus we were.

The plane was packed. All our carry-ons had to go under the seat. Wayne took up so much space we were literally scrunched with our knees to our chest. Fia fell sleep on takeoff and landing. The remaining, oh, 5 hours or so, was sheer entertainment and avoiding the ambush.  Wayne didn’t make a peep.

This may have been the worse travel day of my life. Oh, but it gets better.

(more…)

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