On Why My Son Negates the Need for a Smartphone

Though John and I are often tempted to trade in our only-phone-call-and-text-message-ready cell phones for something like iPhones, time and again we resist. For one thing, we don’t want to work two data plans into our budget. For another, I know I get distracted easily enough; I don’t need something else to take me out of the present, especially with a young child around all the time.

 

Really, though, caring for that particular child means that I always have substitutes for a bunch of popular apps close at hand.

 

Except on rare occasions, Jacob is my daily alarm clock. He not only wakes up and goes to bed at fairly consistent times every day, but he also knows when it’s time to go to church in the mornings. A little before nine, he’ll want to put his shoes on and start pointing at the door. Sundays, when we go to Mass half an hour later, are thus rather confusing. On days following special occasions—a trip to New Jersey, an afternoon visit that extended into the evening—I sometimes try to get Jacob to wait a little longer for his nap. Instead of turning the lights down and the music off, I’ll keep going about my business. The most I’ve gotten out of this is fifteen minutes. By then, he’s signing for sleep, lights turned off, and his room.

 

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Finally, we may not have angry birds in our home, but we do have a new game I call “Bunny Attack.” You might remember that a study done on Jacob’s stuffed animal population revealed a large percentage of bunnies. Since Easter’s on its way (hooray!), I brought out the rabbits last weekend. Something inspired me to tickle Jacob with them while calling out, “Bunny attack! Bunny attack!” It stuck. The next morning, he walked over to the bunnies and signed, “Again! again!” Today he’s started to try to attack himself with the bunnies. When that doesn’t work, he sits on them. Jacob attack?

 

(I know I used this photo the other day, but it’s my new favorite.)

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Kisses Mean I Love You

When Jacob was really little,

 

I sometimes told him that, “kisses mean I love you.” I’m not sure why I felt kisses needed to be explained—or that he would be able to process my explanation—but there it is.

 

Now Jacob has just learned to give kisses. He’ll often give one when asked, but sometimes he decides on his own when he wants to give a kiss. Being the recipient of a baby Jacob kiss is something very special. Or is it?

 

Last week, I asked Jacob for a kiss as we were getting ready to head out in the morning. He obliged and I was reveling in mommy-baby love when I reached to pull my jacket out of the open closet.

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“Kisses mean I love you, right?” I asked Jacob.

 

He nodded at me with a big smile, and then stepped up to the closet and . . .

 

kissed the vacuum.

 

To his point, it is one heck of a vacuum.

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See Ya! and Other Recent Episodes

These last eighteen months have meant about five hundred fifty different ways for me to fall in love with my little boy. A few glances into Jacob’s blossoming personality:

 

Every day starts with music. I’ve taught him the sign for “music,” but he prefers his own sign—raising his arms in the air and moving his head from side to side. I get this everyday at breakfast.

 

He’ll dance whether he’s in his high chair or not. He particularly enjoys “shaking his sillies out” and knows the order of the verses of that song. When he’s still got all his sillies inside, he’ll do a “spin move” on command, which involves him walking in two or three close circles, arms in the air, smile on his face. I’ve tried to film this, but he stops dancing and begs for the camera. I’m planning a sneak attack.

 

 

He loves songs with hand motions. “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” is a favorite, as is “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.” I’ve come to understand that certain gestures mean he wants me to sing these songs for him, and when I finish, I always get “Again! Again!”

 

 

If there was any doubt he was my child (and there isn’t), it’s quashed now. When I sing him “Under the Sea” from The Little Mermaid, he’s started to sing along. He also sings along with “Don’t Stop Believin’,” his new favorite bedtime song.

 

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Speaking of bedtime songs, up until recently I’d almost exclusively sung him hymns as lullabies. Now I wonder if he thinks “Don’t Stop Believin’” is a hymn. Oops.

 

 

He can point to John and say “Dada.” I’ll point to myself and tell him “Mama.” He replies by pointing at himself and repeating “Mama.” Oops again.

 

 

He has taken charge of bedtime. When he decides he wants John to put him down, he’ll wave at me to get me to leave his room. When he decides he’s sleepy enough and doesn’t need John anymore, he’ll wave from his crib to get John to leave. He’ll still give us hugs and kisses, so everybody wins.

 

 

Eighteen months old, and he is still one of the happiest and most relaxed people I know. He gets upset when we break from routine, but only because he so enjoys keeping up with what happens next. When I talk to him these days, I can’t help quoting Abilene from The Help: “You is smart. You is kind. You is important.”

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