Notes on a 3-year-old Jed

Our Jed falls down. A lot. He's clumsy enough that when we go to our friend Brooke's house, and he runs face-first into yet another wall, she doesn't even turn around and reassures her husband "Oh, he does that all the time." Unfortunately for him, he seems to have inherited his mother's athletic talent.

Earlier this week, however, was a banner week even for Jed. He fell down the stairs. He fell over on his tricycle, WITH his tricycle, which has an exceedingly wide base, twice in an hour. He fell off his little tiny scooter bike more often than I could count. He fell off the piano bench. He fell of his dinner chair. He fell off his stool. He fell over sitting in the bench. He could barely walk in a straight line without falling over. I thought we'd have til teenage-hood before this stage arrived!

Meanwhile, this past Sunday, I went to Ward Council early and Michael took care of the troops while I was gone. When he arrived, laden down with bags of church-utility, he tossed Jed's church shoes at me while he dumped the kids in the pew. I looked at Jed's feet. He was nicely dressed in, um, a t-shirt and pants (because he doesn't have any church clothes that fit right now... I know, I know... I can feel the grandmother's disapproving glares from here...) and RED CROCS. "Do those shoes fit him?" Michael asked. "Um, yah, he wore them last week," I said pointedly and leaned down, as the meeting began, to put the shoes on. As I laced them up, Jed started to cry. "No, MOM, they don't fit, they are too tight!" What?! I checked his toes. Sure enough, they were straining the edges of his shoes. So back on with the crocs for the least-best-dressed kid in nursery award. Oh well.

The next night, Jed ate for dinner: 1 man-sized hamburger, a pile of sweet potato fries, one large apple, and four burger-sized millet/bean patties dripping with horseradish mustard. ("More, dad! I like the spicy dip!" Weird kid.) Yes, he ate as much as me and Michael combined. This from the child who often counts three required bites and a mouthful of bread as a full-meal-deal.

So the following morning, realizing that the short pants, clumsiness, shoe issues, and food might all be related, I measured him. The last marking on the wall was a mere six weeks ago. And now our Jed is... A FULL INCH TALLER. Wow! Holy macaroni! No wonder he's been so cranky for the last month.
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Yesterday, we took Jed in for his first real dentist appointment. His very first dentist appointment involved an infected gum, with four of us bodily holding his flailing limbs down as he screamed at the top of his lungs and blood spurted about the room, really not so great.

This time, we wanted it to be a more pleasant experience. I hyped it, with quite good success if I do say so myself, for several days in advance. As we got ready to go, Jed insisted that he needed a bow in his hair just like Zoe. "Mom, I have to look nice for the dentist." We compromised with a tie (which I have been trying, in vain, to convince him for some time now is the "bow for men.") He picked out a red and blue striped tie to compliment his blue and white striped shirt (we are all about matching of late.)

Naturally, the outfit made waves with the ladies at the office. I mean who can resist a slightly matching 3-year-old in red crocs wearing a tie!? He hopped up into the dentist's chair and politely returned her greeting. "Are you here to get you teeth all clean and shiny?" she asked him brightly. "No. My tooths is chipped," he replied seriously, but with enthusiasm. He pointed to his mouth. "I need you to fix it." Then he leaned back and opened up wide. And at that point I felt a deep rush of parental success. What a kid! Then he saw that there were CARTOONS on the ceiling, and, well, his eyes glazed over. But really, he was perfectly behaved for the rest of the two and a half hour visit. I couldn't be prouder.
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One last parenting "win:" Recently, a five-year-old friend soberly gave me the ripped off tag from his new Batman backpack, announcing that it was an invitation to his birthday party in August. It was to be a Transformer Party with cupcakes all around. Naturally, I accepted. (See, now that I'm Primary President I get invited to such swanky occasions around Newburgh. Woo woo!) Jed, also naturally, assumed the invite as his own.
"Mom, are we going to Jackson's birthday party today? It's a... Hm."
He furrowed his brow. "I forgot the guy's name, Mom."
"Jackson?"
"No, Mom, the super guy."
"Oh, right, Batman."
"Fatman?"
I paused for a long moment.
"Yes. Fatman."

So now my darling child goes around all day muttering to himself about the fantastic adventures of.... FAT MAN!

I feel so pleased with myself I can hardly stand it.
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On a separate note, Jed is now fully potty trained (Hurrah!) Even at night. (Hurrah!) He recently discovered the joys of peeing standing up, which is darling because he's so little and can barely get over the edge of the toilet.

So then the other day I walked in the bathroom to find him awkwardly leaning against the opened pot. It took me about 1/4 second to figure out what was going on. And all I will say is:

Standing Poop = FAIL