On helping a child through the gimmes, a guest post from Shannon of Pineapples & Artichokes:
I cannot give her a treat, or have a treat myself, without that being the topic of conversation for the next week. When can we have hot chocolate again? Why can’t we have hot chocolate today? Why do you get a coffee and I don’t get a drink? Why are we not buying a toy for me, only a birthday present for that friend? Can we skip the party and keep the toy? Can we go to the party and have cake, but not give them a toy? Can we keep the toy and give them this old, broken toy, I don’t want anymore? Can I also keep the broken toy? When is my birthday so my friends will bring me toys? Can I have a half birthday party, so my friends will bring me more toys? Can I have a birthday every month?
It is exhausting. It is maddening. I worry about her future as a hoarder, about her ability to ever share anything, about her ability to make friends if she won’t ever let them touch anything she likes. How can she interact in society when sometimes the dog can’t even look at her toys?
Cute idea for offering a free snack shelf for little ones but including refrigerated foods.
One of our most popular things right now is the mini bins - small containers with sensory activities. …
These are great when we don’t have a lot of time to clean up a big mess.
On explaining death to the young.
I’m reprinting my comment on the post, because it’s what I want to say anyway:
I really appreciate your thoughts here. We had a similar discussion the other night (what is it with four-year-olds?), because Mikko’d heard about mummies and was worried about them. I said, “It’s all right; they’re just dead bodies wrapped in cloth. They can’t hurt you. They’re dead.” Which, duh, led into, “What’s dead?”
Now, we’d talked death before, because our cat died last year. But this was not concrete enough for him, because he keeps asking when she’ll be able to come back from the vet, what medicine we can give her to make her better, whether more sleep will help (hint: the euphemism “put to sleep” doesn’t mean much to a four-year-old).
This time, as I fumbled once more through the explanations, we both ended up in tears, and I didn’t know what to tell him. I fell back on the concept of heaven, even though I have no idea (anymore) what waits beyond. I hoped it would be comforting. It was not. “Can we go there and see God and then come back here?” Well…no. It’s hard for me to understand, and harder still to deal with. I’m not surprised it made my four-year-old have nightmares all that night. :(
I have thought of and tried out this advice all evening: Saying “I wonder” in response to a four-year-old’s all-the-time questions. He really seems to receive it well, too!
(via Momma Jorje)