One of the real perks to living in NYC is being able to give our children access to so many different people and ideas.  While most of the time these interactions flow smoothly with benefits all around, every once in a while there is friction.  Not necessarily so much friction among the children, but rather among parents and the childrearing ideas that we hold dear to our hearts.   For instance, I have discovered that I am a fairly relaxed parent, who tries not to say “no” just for the sake of saying “no.”  I firmly believe that my child should have the chance to experience life through his own interactions and experiments with the world, not mine.  I am the parent that makes others shudder because I allow my son to lick rocks, put sticks in his mouth (indoors no less), and balance precariously on the furniture. (more…)

First, let’s face the ugly truth – screeching “Mine!” would be a behavioral upgrade for many of our preschoolers.  When we hear a young child patter over to a peer who is happily engaged in play with some fascinating object and NOT grab the goods, something already has been accomplished.  If just a snatch and run occurs, we’re still doing pretty well, since no toddler-on-toddler violence has been perpetrated.  Likewise, if “Mine!” comes in defense of a possession, we can be glad mouths are being used for words, not biting.

Of course, it’s laughable when the robber claims “Mine!” about the goods in question, but it represents a crucial first step toward articulate self-expression and negotiation.  (more…)

What do the phrases “time cop,” “chimney cub,” and “ten o’clock” all have in common?  Each of them might be what my two year old just said.

If you’ve had occasion to muddle through the early stages of speech development with a child of your own, or even a niece, cousin, or friend’s child, you’re very familiar with that frustrating moment when you know that they are earnestly talking to you, but you have no idea what they are saying.  “Throw me a bone, here, kid.  At least give me one word clearly!”

It’s all very cute, of course; how else would we ever get to have “hawk-dahs” and “noonoos” for lunch, or end up with nicknames like “Cashy?”  The grinding of the gears occurs when we are working with these little people in genuine partnership but the rope-bridge they’re extending across the chasm of communication just doesn’t quite reach this side. (more…)

On a recent drive past the urban mega-cemetery where the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway intersects the Long Island Expressway, my five year old exclaimed “Look, a stone forest!”  It was a wondrous, important place in her eyes, and though she had visited graveyards, she had never taken in such a striking panoramic view of one.  Having officiated at several of her own pet funerals in her brief career as a thinking, feeling being, she exhibited a comfortable somberness at the sight.  I could see her lips move slightly as she attempted to count in hushed amazement the innumerable headstones rocketing past our view.  “What are all those stones for, Daddy?” (more…)