Optimism

I've always thought optimism was kind of over-rated. Sure, it helps to look on the bright side of things now and then, but with a healthy dose of skepticism and pessimism you're seldom disappointed. Take my last post. I should have realized that I was tempting fate by saying that I was "cautiously optimistic" that spring had finally arrived. I suppose that's why it's snowed twice this week (it's snowing lightly right now, as I type this). And of course, fool that I am, I packed away most of the winter stuff earlier in the week (not the kids coats, luckily, because I couldn't find Andrew's at the time). I do still have faith that spring will arrive for good.

Just not this week.

In other news, Evelyn has discovered, among her many new linguistic discoveries, a favorite word. It was cute at first, now it seems to me to have ominous overtones, as it presages her emergence into full-scale two-year-old toddlerhood. Her new word? "Self." As in, I'll do it myself. And she's started saying it for everything: putting her clothes on, opening doors, putting shoes on, taking clothes off, turning pages in books--pretty much anything she thinks she can do.

Luckily, she's not entirely self-sufficient. She still knows enough to stop and say "help" if she gets stuck doing something herself. But these occasions are getting rarer. And while I know that part of growing up is developing a strong sense of individuality and individual purpose, I'm not looking forward to the contest of wills that are sure to follow. . . .

Today, for instance, what should have been a simple exercise of putting on a coat and shoes prior to leaving the house turned into a good fifteen-minute exercise, as first Evelyn rejected the shoes she'd already been wearing in favor of some "sandals" (remember, it was cold today! I made her wear socks anyway), and then rejecting all of my suggestions for a jacket. When she finally settled on one she was willing to wear, she insisted on putting it on herself. "Self," she declared rebelliously. And if you've ever watched a toddler try and put on a coat, you know that, while they get the first arm in pretty well, trying to get the other sleeve to hold still while they turn in circles trying to catch it is a whole different story. She finally managed it by wedging herself into a corner by the bookshelf, where the wall obligingly pinned her loose sleeve in place until she found the opening. (I'd tried holding the sleeve in place for her, but of course, that only led to some angry yelling). And of course, by then we were late for story-time. Oh well.