Ruby and Shepard at three

ruby and shep, center and right, playing with friends at fahnestock state park near beacon. photo by meredith

It's official: we have kids. Not babies. Not toddlers.
Here's a progress report, taking them one at a time and in alphabetical order.

HER: At the age of three, Ruby is highly inquisitive, vocal, adaptable, social, scary cute and ready for anything.

What she's into: helping in the kitchen, her blanket, all her grandparents, birthdays, Halloween, dancing with her brother in the living room, pretending to be the villains from the shows & books she's seen (e.g.: Mr. McGregor from Peter Rabbit), going for 'bubventures', making up hard-to-understand role playing games with her brother, looking at books, running, playing with blocks, drawing.

What she's not into: staying at home, being ignored, waiting.

Ruby can be a bit of a bruiser at times, pushing Shepard down and making him cry when she gets mad. This is a big change from the long-suffering Ruby of one and two years ago, who was more often the victim than the aggressor in sibling clashes. Indeed, our girl has sprouted an angry side. When she's really channeling the grouch she stomps around the house with a grimace like a werewolf, shouting in staccato bursts, "I… Don't… Want… to do… Anything!"

Speaking of werewolves though, she loves monsters. Maybe it's the season, but one of her favorite characters is Baby Monster. Baby Monster will snarl at you one minute and curl up in your lap with a tiny squeak the next.

Ruby is a fan of raw description. She has a sportscaster's knack for stream-of-consciousness commentary, whether it be a grocery trip or story time. For instance, "Daddy, we're gonna go upstairs for a little minute, then take a bath, then put on our jammies! Cuz it's getting dark outside! Okay?" Always with great enthusiasm.

Ask Ruby what a cowgirl says and she'll reply "moo." We can't bring ourselves to correct her. For best results, apply kiddie cowboy hat.


HIM: The boy of the house is an accomplished troublemaker and bedhead of alternating cunning and spaciness. He's a beach kid, TV lover, mama's boy, eczema and multiple allergy sufferer, social deviant and total ham.

Shep's in the middle of one of those developmental leaps you read about in parenting books. He's suddenly very interested in painting and crafts, whereas just a few months ago when presented with paper and crayons, he'd make a few absent scribbles before wandering off to find something to climb. He's also grown suddenly competitive. Everything is a race with Ruby: to the car, to the dinner table, to the front door, to the next drink of water. (For the parent it's hard not to abuse this trait. "Who's going to be first in the tub? "Who's going to be first to learn to use the potty?" "Who's going to be first to eat some dinner?" Ruby often plays along, though she's showing signs of rivalry fatigue.)

If Ruby's rough toddler phase has produced anger, Shep's has manifested in belligerence. 'No' is the standard response to any request. As a result, we're bribing him at every turn.

There's something really funny about Shep. It's an underlying attitude he carries around, an ability to tune out everything but his own (really absurd) internal muse. It may show up in a rigid humorous posture or a mysterious giggling fit.

What he's into: cutting with scissors, breaking things, water from the hose, things that are "a little bit scary," all his grandparents, television, running around naked after a bath, balloons, getting Ruby's goat, running off to hide with her in closets and empty rooms, airplanes.

What he's not into: eating anything in which sugar is not the first or second ingredient, brushing his teeth, being coerced.

What he's hardly aware of: the potty.