When my two year old son wants me to wake up, he puts my slippers on the pillow next to me.
Now that he’s two, we decided to get my son off breast milk. We’d made a few half-hearted efforts earlier, that consisted of his mother’s refusal, his increasingly hysterical protests, and acquiescence. It seemed to me that this would be as hard on Danylo’s mother as it would be on him.
Danylo has been walking to the bed, uncovering a corner of the covers. Climbing in, and calling for milk. Very manager-like. His grandmother jokes that he’s like the “holova kolhospu” (head of the collective farm).
After a talk yesterday, we decided that today was the day. We were still at Yuliia’s parents for the Easter holiday and it’d be easier with their support. Yuliia has been playfully cursing me all day. Danylo called for milk a few times, but we distracted him with toys or calling attention to the cat, or the sun, or going outside to play.
When Yuliia tried to put him down for his afternoon nap, Danylo went into hysterics. We tried driving him around in the car, but it didn’t help. He didn’t get any milk during lunch, and didn’t nap either. His sobbing hysterics relented with grandma offering playful distraction.
So he didn’t go sleep.
In the afternoon he continued getting extra attention from everybody, and went to the schoolyard with his grandfather. He also rode a bus for the first time, which was a big deal for him. He knows, cars, trains, buses and other modes of transportation very well. Combined with his knowledge of colors, this is often a subject of our conversations. Yuliia drove behind the bus for several stops, until Danylo and his grandfather existed.
At dinner, he was obviously exhausted and ate handfuls of macaroni with a sort of glazed look over his eyes.
When it was dark, his grandmother brought him into the bedroom where Yuliia was already laying down, pretending to sleep. “Mama is sleeping,” his grandmother told him, in Ukrainian.
“And Danny will sleep,” he answered. He laid down near her.
Grandma called me to look. He was quietly curled up in the center of the bed.
“I’ll cover you,” I said quietly and laid his baby blanket over him.
“And cover mommy,” he said.
Touched, and not wanting to disturb anything, I quickly moved to another room to get a blanket with which I covered Yuliia.
Everything was happening better than we could have hoped. I returned to my computer to work. A few minutes later, Danylo, in his diaper came into my room, picked up a plastic box of q-tips which he likes to play with. There was also a bed where I sat working and Danylo pulled open the corner of the cover. “Do you want to sleep here?” I asked. “No,” he said, and walked back to the bedroom where his mother lay. I followed and gave him a little boost as he climbed into bed, which for him is almost shoulder-high. He was still holding the box.
I covered him again. Gave both his mom and him a kiss, and laid down next to him until he was sound asleep. Yuliia reached over him and pinched me again — playfully. Making sure I realize what I’m putting her through. Then she held my hand as Danylo fell into a deeper and deeper sleep.
Addendum: The second day was very similar to the first. Crying after lunch. Not napping. Lots of attention, and then falling asleep quickly in the evening. On the third day we’d returned to our apartment. Danylo hadn’t napped. In the evening Yuliia read to him in bed. It was Yuliia who fell asleep. When she woke, she found Danylo sleeping on the floor beside the bed, facedown in a book. She called me to come look. He did not wake up as we lifted him carefully and tucked him in.
I suppose it’s normal for kids to keep impressing and delighting their parents with new abilities and understandings. Their bodies and brains develop so quickly.
Yesterday, I joked with my wife: “Who finished the honey? I think a little bear must have snuck into our kitchen, climbed up into the cabinets, and ate it all.” Then I turned to Danylo.and said, “If you ever see him, catch him.”
He went to the bedroom and returned with the big stuffed bear relatives had gifted him.
We couldn’t believe it. Though he can name some animals and other things from flash cards, I would never have guessed he understood a single word of our conversation.
Several times now, while my son was breastfeeding, I put my arm over his mother’s shoulders, and he, without changing his disposition or refocusing his eyes, slowly moved his little hand to mine, gripped my finger or whatever he happened to reach, and removed my hand — with a coldness and gravitas that were he not a 20-something pound baby, I would find downright frightening.
Apparently, my not-yet-two-year-old son has a not-yet-two-year-old girlfriend at nursery school. They hold hands, and go for walks to different corners of their classroom. I’m told that when he slipped and fell (no big deal), his girlfriend, frightened, ran to her mother and mimed falling down in an effort to communicate what had happened.
Family Friday. After an autumn rain. Looking for slender trees in the park, and shaking them to the delight of my 1.5 yo.
— Двадцятидворічний Ярослав Скасків загинув у бою з німецькими фашистами 19 липня 1944 року. Тоді фронт проходив через ці землі. У „Літописі УПА“ написано, що Провід ОУН перебував недалеко від Прибина в селі Старі Стрілища, а боївка оборони була в лісі поблизу. Відступаюча з фронту німецька частина перетинала село, тож ухилитися від зіткнення було неможливо. Намагаючись відступити до лісу, штаб прийняв нерівний бій, врятуватися в якому не було шансів. У результаті бою загинули два провідники — краєвий референт ОУН Юліан Гулян, псевдо Токар, і обласний провідник ОУН Ярослав Скасків, псевдо Моряк.
3 вересня 2017 року в селі Прибин на Перемишлянщині освятили відновлений військовий меморіал полеглим невідомим воїнам УПА — 11 пам’ятних хрестів. Серед тих поховань — могила студента-відмінника хіміко-технологічного факультету Львівської політехніки обласного провідника ОУН Ярослава Скасківа.
On September 3, 2017, a reconstructed military memorial was dedicated to the fallen unidentified UPA soldiers – 11 memorable crosses in the Peremyshlyan region in the village of Pribin. Among those burial places is the grave of the student-specialist of the chemical-technological faculty of Lviv Polytechnic of the OUN Regional Leader Yaroslav Skaskiv.
Twenty-two-year-old Yaroslav Skaskiv died in a fight with the German fascists on July 19, 1944. Then the front passed through these lands. In the “Chronicle of the UPA” it is written that the OUN’s wires were not far from Pribinka in the village of Stari Strilishka, and the combat bunker was in the forest near. The German side, retreating from the front, crossed the village, so it was impossible to avoid the collision. Trying to retreat to the forest, the headquarters took an unequal battle, to escape in which there was no chance. As a result of the battle, two leaders died – regional adviser of the OUN Julian Gulyan, pseudo Tokar, and the regional leader of the OUN Yaroslav Sakasov, pseudo Mariner.
We counted. Including animal sounds, my 1 1/2 year old speaks (or has spoken) about 40 words. Incomplete list:
kurka (chicken / bird)
xriu xriu (oink oink)
bliblibli (turkey noise)
how how (woof woof)
titsa (mother’s milk)
My son’s favorite keyboard key (so far) is Caps Lock – because it lights up.
Our son nearly floored his mother and me with astonished pride by pointing to the logo on our refrigerator and pronouncing the letter A. Then, as if to show it wasn’t a fluke, he did the same with the letter D.
I helped him with the rest — R, then O. Then the whole word: “A R D O”.
He spent the next few minutes saying “Ardo.”
It could be a television commercial.
First he played with his truck on the bed beside me. Then he drove the truck over my back as I still tried to sleep. And only then did he pry my eyelid open to see if anyone was home.
Thanks, little guy. I should have taken the hints. My bad.
My three and a half year old niece: “You should stop calling him baby Danny, because maybe he doesn’t like being called ‘baby’.”
My 10 months old son had a difficult day last Sunday. First he fell (nothing serious), then he bit down too hard on one of his toys, then he bonked himself in the head with the spoon which we have him as consolation. ( He sometimes prefers dinnerware to toys.)
On Monday, he woke up with a very serious demeanor. I imagined him to be contemplating the years ahead together with his discovery of how cruel unforgiving the world can be. To the surprise of my wife and I, his air of seriousness did not abate. He took no solace in toys or baby sounds.
Only in the evening, did bath-time finally break the spell, and he again started smiling and laughing.
My son bumped his head today. I’m not sure how aware he was that hard surfaces exist in the world.
Anyway, once he was in his mother’s arms, he babbled through his tears with such earnestness and intensity, he could have been describing all the injustices in the world. We’d never heard him go on like that. It was by far the most expressive proto-speach we’d heard from him yet.