Frustration, Frustration

As he approaches that magical year-and-a-half mark, my sunny, happy-go-lucky, good-natured, easygoing child is suddenly developing a tendency to periodically throw himself on the ground in abject misery. Why is this, you may ask? The answer, I can tell you in one word: Frustration.

The most difficult part of being a toddler, in my humble opinion, is the fact that your brain is developing so much faster than your physical skills. My son’s curiosity continually drives him to try to figure things out, to manipulate them, to make them work. And he gets frustrated when he’s not tall enough, not strong enough, and not coordinated enough. He’s about half an inch too short to reach the hallway light switch, and after straining at it for a few seconds, he throws himself down in frustration. He knows he needs to turn the deadbolt to open the front door, but he’s not quite strong enough to turn it all the way, so he screams in frustration. He knows that he needs to stretch his sock out to get it on his foot, but he’s not quite coordinated enough to get his fingers and his toes to work together, so he sobs in frustration.

It’s a hard time of life to be in. The world is his oyster, but nobody gave him an oyster knife so he’s stuck licking around the edges, waiting for someone to lend him a hand. He wants to dress himself, but he still has to wait for Mom or Dad to help. He knows where the basketball hoop is outside, but he can’t go play unless someone opens the door for him and helps him down the steps. He really wants to eat that bowl of rice but it keeps jumping off the spoon before he gets it in his mouth. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he cries in frustration sometimes – in fact, it’s more surprising that he doesn’t cry in frustration ALL the time.

As a mom, it’s really hard for me to watch his frustration, especially when I’m the cause of it in some ways. It frustrates me when I can’t explain to him that we need to put on his socks and shoes before we can go outside and play ball. It frustrates me when I see him struggling to master a new skill and I have to force myself to let him struggle instead of simply doing it for him. It breaks my heart to see that little tear-stained face begging me to let (or help) him do something that just isn’t safe. But I’m discovering that sometimes being a good mom means being a tough mom. It means standing by and watching my baby struggle. It means letting my child learn that you can’t always do what you want to do. Sometimes, it even means taking away something fascinating (but dangerous) and hard-heartedly ignoring the tears of frustration and anger that follow.

But those moments when I do allow him to struggle and suddenly he masters a new skill, or does something without help for the very first time…those are the moments when seeing the pride and delight in his eyes makes it worth every tear we both shed in frustration a mere moment earlier.

Tick Tock Clock

Ryan is truly the “strong, silent type” in that he doesn’t say much yet. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard “up” in the right context, and he does say “ba ba” when he waves goodbye. But other than that, the only “word” he says is “K”. Now, that might not seem like much, but when you hear it in context, over and over again, it becomes very obvious that “K” is his way of saying “clock”.

We have a wall clock in our living room that chimes on the quarter hour, and Ryan has always been fascinated by that clock. He likes to watch the pendulum swing back and forth, he likes to watch the second hand makes its sweep, and he LOVES to hear it play its song. In fact, if he’s in another room when it chimes, he’ll often stop what he’s doing and run over to look at it, often repeating, “K! K! K!” as he watches. If he happens to be in the basement playroom and he hears it chime, he’ll point up the stairs and excitedly announce to whoever is in the room with him: “K! K! K!” And anytime we go past it, whether we’re on our way upstairs for a nap or bedtime, or we’ve just come in the door from a shopping trip, or he’s simply marching around the living room, he casually remarks, “K,” as he passes by, just to let you know that the clock is still there.

But what really impresses me is the fact that not only does he know that specific clock is a clock, he also has a clear understanding of the general concept of “clock”, enough that he’ll point to a clock in a strange place and announce, “K!” He seems to understand that a clock is big and round, and hangs on a wall, and has markings around the edge, and has hands that move. Yesterday we were with my mom at the doctor’s office, where each cubicle has a large blood pressure monitor mounted on the wall. The monitor has a large round face, hash marks and numbers around its edges, and a hand that points to the numbers. Ryan solemnly marched from cubicle to cubicle, pointing at each one and informing everyone within earshot that it was a “K”. We’ve been in offices and restaurants and stores with all shapes and sizes of clocks, and he unfailingly points to every clock within sight and proclaims it a “K”. On several occasions he’s repeated, “K! K! K!” in a place where I was sure there were no clocks, but whenever I followed his pointing finger, darned if there wasn’t a clock tucked away somewhere.

He’s even able to apply the concept of a clock to a timepiece that doesn’t quite fit all the general criteria. The other day he pointed at Daddy’s wristwatch and announced, “K!”, so he obviously understands that being big and hanging on a wall are not crucial to making something a clock. Of course, he occasionally points to a picture hanging on a wall, especially if it has any kind of a circle motif, and pronounces it a “K”, so the concept isn’t perfect, but for a one-year-old brain, it’s some pretty impressive deductive reasoning.