Word.

I recently read that at my son's age (19 1/2 mo), he's adding a new word to his vocabulary every 90 minutes. Now, I don't know if that's just waking hours, or averaged based on a 24 hour day. What I do know is that, regardless, that's a lot of new stuff to say. I think it's referred to as the "language explosion". I love hearing him say new things. The only problem is that a lot of those newbies totally throw me for a loop. It took me about a week to realize, for instance, that "awahnee" means "I want it." In case you think he's referring to the famous lodge at Yosemite. And "iman" is not the supermodel from the 80s married to David Bowie. "Iman" means "Come on". Wyattese is a tricky language, but I have a team of translators on the job day and night.

This week has been rough. Wyatt's been great, but I've had a cold. It's hard to be on top of everything when your head is in a vice grip. And so, my kid has a few more freedoms than usual right now. Hey Wyatt, climb down from that 10' ladder. If you fall down, it could take me a while to remember how to dial 9-1-1. We're making it work, though. I thought about calling in sick, but figured leaving Wyatt in his crib all day would be asking for trouble. Out of pure hunger, he'd figure out how to climb out, and then my prison tactics would go the way of the dodo bird. Can't have that.

We're also prepping for more quality one-on-one mommy-kid time. That's glass half full code for single motherhood. Ryan's leaving again for South Dakota on Friday. The good news is that Wyatt and I get to fly out to see him on Tuesday and stay for a couple days for Thanksgiving. So it's only 4 days solo bookended by 2 more days solo. Ryan should be home by next Sunday sometime. And thanks to the same generous benefactor that allows us to use the SD ranch, we'll be flying private, so I won't have to do the airport security thing with a toddler. I'll admit it seriously weirds me out that my son's first flight will be on a private jet. I may need to get pics of him next to the plane in the hanger with sunglasses on, and start calling him Vinnie Chase. (I'm not sure. Is the mommy blog reading demographic the same as the Entourage demographic? Show of hands...) So anyway, the flight should be a lot easier than a typical traveling-with-toddler scenario. But lest you think he's being raised a spoiled brat, I hasten to remind you that he has a built-in humility regulator: i.e. we're raising him in humble Bakersfield. (Apologies to Bakersfield, which is actually a rad place to live. Sadly, a lot of people won't see it that way, because their only real education about Bakersfield has come from its freeway properties and it's non-LAness.)

So, anyway, to summarize: Wyatt talks. I'm sick. South Dakota for Thanksgiving. Bakersfield is rad.

Mommy Meets Judge and Jury

And then it was Fall. I guess this blog is seasonal. So, anyway... The monkey is now almost 19 months old. He's a rascal. Adorable? Heck yeah. But a RASCAL. Ha. He climbs shelves to get to "out of reach" coffee cups. He then drinks said coffee, spilling half of it on himself and the couch. He pulls bottles of wine out of the wine fridge. He pulls outlet covers out of their plugs. Basically, if he can climb it, knock it over, throw it or snatch it, he will. He is an evil genius and an angelic whirlwind. He is a toddler. And as far as I can tell, even with all that, compared to a lot of tykes out there, he's a really good kid.

And, as it turns out, this is also the age by which parents are judged. This is where people watch you intently to see how you'll handle the latest bit of toddler terror. This is where your family is suddenly public property. Discipline is at the forefront of conversation, and even the most gray minded people you know become apostles of the black and white. Their way or the highway. It makes me mad. But I think I just need to let it go.

Here's what I know: I care about the character of my child. I don't want him to be spoiled, nor do I want him to be opressed. I'm pretty sure that it's my job to teach my son about responsibility. About community. About faith. About consequences and rewards. About real life; not bubble life. And I'm going to do that in the way my husband and I have agreed upon, even if it's not in perfect alignment with the world's latest "only way" parenting craze. Child psychology is great. Sure. But the philosophies change with every generation. One guy writes a book and suddenly last year's wisdom is thrown out the window. New is better. It's shiny. I wonder what new study will overshadow everything we know today? I guess we're all kooks to somebody. So, yes. I have strong opinions about raising MY son. I promise not to inflict them on you. Just do me a favor and give me the same respect. It's none of my business whether you use time outs or lollipops or spankings or distractions or a mix of all of the above. I'll save my concern for the truly unwanted. The truly abused. The truly neglected. I'm just glad you love your kid enough to parent. That's pretty awesome.

Thumbs up. You're doing a good job. Ignore the snide look from the know-it-all in the corner. :)