A couple points that didn’t make it into the video: We don’t require Hank to express affection. If we ask him to hug someone, or kiss them goodnight, and he says no? That’s the end of the discussion. We say, “Oh, Hank is feeling shy right now. Maybe later,” and we drop it. Because he’s so little and he can’t yet process conversations about sexual abuse, I feel like this is one of the best ways to show him he has the right to decide how and whether touching occurs. My intent is to focus on self-esteem in general, and particularly around issues of personal space to make him a difficult target for predator grooming.

Advice from those with experience welcome in comments.

Update: A few more things I’d like to add after reading comments.

King County Sexual Assault Resource Center for how to talk to your kids in age appropriate ways
The Secret of the Silver Horse is a story for older kids.
Protecting the Gift by Gavin DeBecker for those who want more information on protecting their kids’ instincts and their own

Hank still hasn’t quite mastered the on-demand smile, so this is what you get when he notices a camera pointed his way. Actually, he usually says, “CHEEEEEEEEEEESE!” and then grimaces like he’s about to burst into tears, so this is progress.

My child is not yet potty trained, so feel free to ignore me completely in this video.

Love,
Maggie

The only responsibility I have on Thanksgiving is eating too much. In fact, I spent one of my favorite Thanksgivings at an Indian food restaurant. Compared to my Christmas to do list, my Thanksgiving list is positively zen:

Was I gluttonous? Check.
Did I have to unbutton my pants to sit comfortably? Check.

That’s a successful Thanksgiving.

…America!

I’m officially Momversing again, after a brief hiatus so I could remain sane while furiously checking things off the Mighty Life List. This week, we’re talking about online shopping versus brick and mortar stores. Does the mall give you hives?

On a related note, you know what doesn’t taste nearly as good as I remember? Orange Julius. If you haven’t had one since you were a kid, keep those halcyon memories intact and maybe grab a Coke next time you’re at the mall.

Behold! The cutest little fishy on the face of the planet.

And his little fish bum too! Oh. My. Goodness. The glue-gun burns were a small price to pay.

Bryan was a sea captain.

And I was a jellyfish. I made my hat from a lampshade.

The joy buzzer was the best part of my costume.

The whole costume only cost me like $11. Before going out for the night I added tentacles and a sweater. Surprisingly, there were tons of jellyfish on the street, the best one being a girl who had affixed blacklights to the underside of a white umbrella. I practically genuflected in the street. Happy Halloween!

Hank: Wha’s that sound?
Me: That’s the neighbor upstairs.
Hank: Oh! He’s so happy.
Me: Is he? Why is he so happy?
Hank: He love his mama.

“Hank, what do you want to watch before bed?”
“Weeeelll, Wall-E is a very good wobot, he’s a very good sharer!”
“You want to watch Wall-E?”
“YES!”
“Because Wall-E likes to share?”
“Yes.”

I grew up camping — fresh-picked blackberries and cream, sodas chilling in the creek, bug bites so profuse that I looked infectious. I figured Hank would be a natural outdoorsman.

He was a champ for the five-hour drive, and happy enough through camp set up. I kneeled for a kiss when we’d finished pitching the tent. He took my face in his hands, cocked his little head, and said, “We can go home?”

I figured he’d come around once he’d spent some time in the dirt with all his older cousins, and he did. A little. Unfortunately, he grew increasingly upset when they took occasional bike rides and left him behind. His lip quivered, his eyes welled, “We can go home, pease? Pease?”

We cuddled him. He asked to go home. We tickled him. He suggested we play tickle in the car. We hung him upside down by his feet. He thought that might be more fun if we left and tried it someplace else. Someplace like our apartment. So we pulled out the big guns:

When we were done with the water fight, Hank looked around and gave an unhappy sigh. We scooped him up and took him to the river where he was content to throw rocks for a couple hours. Then his cousin caught a fish. Oh dear. Hank examined the fish, touched it, and said, “Now that fishy go swim again,” and pointed to the water. Uhhh. I distracted him from the concept of death by making high-pitched noises and unattractive goofy faces while we exited the scene, but when he realized we were no longer by the water?

“We go home now. Now. Nooooow. NOOOOOOOW!”

We muddled through the day, but soon it began to dawn on him that there was no way to go inside when it got dark. His face twisted into a mask of such extreme toddler frustration, I’m certain he would have cursed like a sailor in a tattoo parlor if he’d had any expletives at his disposal. Instead he cried for a while, and Bryan cuddled him to sleep in the tent.

The following day was much the same, with a slightly more dramatic bedtime scene. But Hank woke the second morning refreshed. Say! He had a great idea. How about we all get in the truck? From there we could go home! No? What are we doing now? Getting ready to go home, he hoped. Are we going there now? He would enjoy that.

After an hour or two of subtle coercion, Hank asked me to lift him into his car seat, and then simply refused to be moved. His forlorn toddler face said it all:

So instead of staying another day, we cut the kid a break and packed up the campsite. My sister assured me that this was a passing phase. Her kids didn’t like to camp at Hank’s age; toddlers like routine. Meanwhile, Hank perched in his car seat with a matchbox truck and his sippey cup for nearly two hours while we packed. I have never seen him display such patience with anything that wasn’t shaped like a TV.

So, I’m crossing “Take Hank Camping” off my Mighty Life List. Next I think we’ll all go out to sushi and then head to the Opera. I’ll let you know how that goes.