Carlene Canton has written professionally for newspapers, magazines, theaters and a variety of healthcare organizations during her 42-year career. Now she finds the most fun and satisfying writing of all is when she can indulgently capture milestones and moments spent with her grandson Elliott.

Life Lessons at Starbucks

Okay. I have to admit I was getting to the point where I was beginning to forget that my just-turned-three-year-old grandson Elliott would not forever be caught in the throes of tantrums and stubbornness. He would not forever cry when his video ended and was turned off, or when someone else sat in his favorite seat. He would not forever be constitutionally unable to sit at a table in a restaurant for more than seven minutes at a time. After awhile you just start to accept those things as part of normal life.

And then out of the blue, it happened. A glimpse of civility, a stunning moment of stellar communication with the outside world and clear evidence of reasoned forethought.

It happened like this.

Elliott and his mom and I had stopped at a Starbucks for his favorite treat – a chocolate milk and pumpkin bread. As we drove up and parked he told me we were on a mission and the mission was to get chocolate milk and pumpkin bread. As his mom stepped up to order, she asked Elliott to please go find a table. I started out after him but he stopped in his tracks, turned to me and said “No, I can do it.”

So, I backed off and watched.

He walked to the only open spot, a small table near the window with two chairs. Without missing a beat he walked up to a couple at a nearby table. They were two people. They had four chairs. Elliott put his hands on one of the extra chairs and clear as a bell in a voice so polite and mature it was barely recognizable to me, said “May we use this chair?” They looked up, somewhat taken aback to see that the question came from a 36-month-old little boy who was waiting politely for their answer. “Yes, you may,” the woman answered. Elliott said thank you and then proceeded to push the chair all the way to the table he had saved. Only then did he motion me to come over and assigned me a seat, informing me that the one in the middle was for his mom.

I was speechless. I relayed the story to my daughter who was laughing more at my stunned reaction than at Elliott’s perfect Starbucks etiquette. “Have you seen him do that before?”  I asked. “No,” she replied, “but he’s certainly seen us do it enough times.”

Just when you think they aren’t paying attention it turns out they are watching and learning. And while they may catch you using a not necessarily G-rated word now and then they’re also watching and learning the good stuff. Civility. Communication. Reasoning. Three people need three chairs. Two people don’t need four chairs.  If you are in charge of finding the table, you need to find the right number of chairs.  Mission accomplished – and then some.

As his third birthday approaches, Elliott’s vocabulary is growing by leaps and bounds. He comes out with individual words that cause us all to look at each other in disbelief and wonder aloud: “who taught him that?” Usually we do not know and probably never will know. These are words like lobster, planets, hermit crab, submarine, and humpback whale.

But then there are the concepts that are amazing and often very funny. While looking at  his parents’ wedding pictures  hanging on the walls at our home he says “Mommy has a beautiful dress and they are very happy.” Then he adds “I wasn’t there because I decided to stay at our home.”

Or when talking about how hard construction site workers work he throws out: “My daddy works hard, too. He works in a scraper building.” Well, to a two year old
I guess a six story office building does look like a skyscraper. But where did he learn skyscraper?

Our best guess is he is learning some of these things during his three days a
week at preschool. But my bet is there are bewildered teachers at school
wondering where he learned some of what he says there and concluding he
must be learning that at home.

It brings to mind something one of my children’s teachers told a group of assembled parents of kindergarteners many years ago. “I won’t believe half of what I hear is going on in your house if you don’t believe half of what you hear is going on in my classroom.” Deal.

January 25, 2016 –Every once in awhile it’s possible, if you’re listening carefully, to get a view of how a very young brain copes with the mysteries of this new language being learned at a whirlwind pace.

It happened just the other day. Elliott came to our house carrying something in his hand that he repeatedly put in his mouth.

Me: What do you have there, Elliott?
Elliott: A zookeeper.
Me: Really? It kind of looks like a kazoo to me.
Elliott: Yes! Zookeeper.

I realized that the “z” sound and the double “oo” and the “k” sound are all fully represented in the words zookeeper and kazoo. And although the order wasn’t quite right, all three  sounds are present and accounted for.

It might cause some confusion on our next trip to the zoo but I have no doubts that he will work it all out. And all too soon the only vestige of the kazoo/zookeeper interplay will be these few paragraphs that his Gaga recorded.

 

 

 

 

 

November 20, 2015 –The letter “L” doesn’t seem that important of a letter but when you are two years old and your name is Elliott William Fuller and you can’t pronounce the letter L – well, you’ve got a problem.

Of course, chances are Elliott is not even aware of how he is altering his own name. It seems to sound perfectly fine to him. He says his name loudly and proudly whenever asked and if it sounds any different to him when he says it than when we say it, he doesn’t let on.

Some other self-identifying names are more clear – because  they lack the letter L.

“I am Superman!” he proudly exclaims, hands on hips in the classic superman stance – especially effective when standing on top of a mound of dirt. “I am Batman” is a close second, followed by the ever-popular “I am Firechief” which is not quite so clear because he’s got a little problem with the letter R, too.

In truth, pronunciation when you are two is not nearly as important as simply being able to communicate an idea, an identity or an intention. And those he is able to do better and better every day.

So, we are proud of you, Edit Widdam Fooder. Vewy, vewy pwoud.

 

 

 

Today was one of those milestone days when you are all too aware of time marching on. In a good way, but leaving no doubt that milestones are piling up perhaps faster than we might like.

I was getting my two-and-a-half year old grandson Elliott ready for his nap which usually involves a quick diaper change and a question: Who is going to take a nap with you today? Could be a favorite book, a toy or one of the gazillion of stuffed animals kept around for just such events.

He picked the giraffe, but instead of walking over to his crib he walked to the big king-sized bed that takes up the majority of his room at our house and said “big bed” and threw his giraffe and his blanket onto the bed. His intention was clear. He wanted, no, he fully intended, to sleep in the big bed for his nap. I sat with him and asked why. “Because I’m a big boy now.” Hard to argue with that. I told him he would get one chance to fall asleep in the big bed and if he got out or couldn’t fall asleep we would move him back to the crib because his nap was very important (Truth be told, it’s way more important to us than it is to him, but that’s another story.)

His gagi (grandad) read him a story and covered him up and said night, night. We listened carefully for several minutes and heard nothing. Not a peep. I peeked in about 20 minutes later and he was sound asleep in his nest, two big pillows flanking him on each side. Arms extended up over his head and giraffe nestled close by.

And there he stayed for almost two-and-a-half hours. When he woke up he called us in and, though he often takes quite a few minutes to wake up, he was wide awake and excitedly proclaimed, “I did it.”

Undoubtedly just one more in a growing list of many “I did its” that will hopefully continue to come easily and smoothly when he decides that he’s ready for them.

There’s just no arguing with big boys who are fast approaching three years old.

Ever since he was about five months old, Elliott has pretty much nailed the sleeping thing. He never fought bedtime or nap time. He cheerfully climbed the stairs, books or stuffed animals in hand and either drifted off to sleep right away or chatted contentedly with his animal friends until sleep came to him.

At just past two-and-a-half year old he began almost half-heartedly employing some stalling tactics when it came to naptime or bedtime. Requests for stories and more stories, multiple drinks of water, light adjustments and lots of last minute complicated conversations began to occur.

One Sunday night in November, Elliott spent the night at Gaga and Gagi’s house. After multiple stories cuddling on the big bed with Gagi, he transferred happily to his crib and managed to get a few more stories from Gaga, holding hands with me through the crib railing. When I too said good night and closed the door, all was quiet for a few minutes.

And then the urgent calls began again. “Gagi! Gagi!” After a minute or so Gagi went to the room, opened the door and asked Elliott what was wrong. Elliott, standing in the crib, held out his hand to Gagi as if to give him something. In the dim light coming from the hallway, Gagi couldn’t tell what it was. When he got closer he still couldn’t tell what it was. In fact he couldn’t see anything at all pressed between Elliott’s fingers. He finally saw that there was, indeed, something between Elliott’s thumb and forefinger. Something tiny. Something almost microscopic, in fact. Elliott carefully transferred it to Gagi’s hand and pointed to the garbage can. Gagi took the microscopic piece of something to the can and threw it away. Elliott nodded with satisfaction, laid back down, snuggled into his blanket and went to sleep.

The mystery remains as to what exactly was handed off in the dark. Was it a sliver of lint? A molecule of dust? Or, perhaps a tiny bit of a treasure found in a tiny boy’s tiny nose? Personally, I bet on the latter. But whatever, with that little bit of a problem resolved, sleep was finally possible – for us all.

Most of the time I totally delight in two-year-old Elliott’s growth and progress and celebrate his milestones as he moves into each new developmental stage.

Most of the time.

There are a few poignant moments when I hate to see the signs of toddlerhood give way to a more mature and articulate being.

Take monomo and hockercopper. For about a year, Elliott has called motorcycles monomo. What a great word. It’s fun to say, it’s close but not too close to the real word and it’s all his. I don’t know any other person who uses that word. Precious. But in the last couple of months I’ve realized that he doesn’t use monomo anymore. He isn’t quite saying motorcycle but he’s moved a lot closer to that word and left monomo behind.  I know it’s progress but I hate to see monomo go.

Hockercopper is another Elliottism that is still in use but I know its demise can’t be far away. Helicopter is waiting in the wings to push hockercopper out. I will hate to see it go, too.

But the one that will really slay me is when “workerhelper” goes by the wayside. Firemen, policemen, ambulance drivers, gardeners, housecleaners, traffic cops, bulldozer drivers and just about any person doing any job – big or small – are workerhelpers or helperworkers. It helps if they require a helmet to do their work but that is not essential. Elliott himself is a self-described workerhelper. He came up with it himself and knows exactly when and how to use it. And I hope it stays part of his vocabulary for a long, long time.

But I know full well that it may not. Time marches on and perhaps no one on the planet marches any faster than a two year old. Their world is one big explosion of exploration and mastery of tasks physical, emotional and mental. We cannot stop them and most of the time we wouldn’t dream of wanting to stop them. Most of the time.

 

 

October 10, 2015 –It was kind of like a dream, but I was awake.

In my mind, I hear a phone ringing. In my mind, I answer it.

The voice on the other end is instantly recognizable. Young, earnest and full of enthusiasm.

“Hi, Gaga.”

It’s Elliott, my grandson. But not the two-year-old he is today but an older version. Maybe ten years old.

“Gaga, if I start walking now from my house and you start walking now from your house we will meet at the frozen yogurt store at exactly the same time. Will you meet me there?”

Of course I will. Ready, set, go. We arrive at exactly the same time, as he has calculated. We eat our yogurt outside on the little tables. We play  “one, two, three four. I declare a thumb war.”  He tells me about his day. I tell him a few stories about when he was a two-year-old. He loves those stories.

We hug goodbye. I remind him to be careful walking home. He says, “I know, Gaga. “

“I love you, Elliott.”

“I love you, Gaga.”

“Let’s do this again,” we say in unison. And we do.