My two-year-old is growing up.
I know this because all of my favorite words that he says, ya know, all the ones that he butchers and botches up, he's now starting to say them correctly. Like the word, "motorcycle," which up until yesterday afternoon was called a "wee-cycle."
And it sounded so weird to hear this tiny high-pitched voice properly enunciating the word, "motorcycle." He might as well have been wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase.
Oh how I loved "wee-cycle."
I loved it so much.
Along with "wee-pop." Lollipop.
And "wee-cocker." Helicopter.
But those are next. I just know it.
So this morning I found myself sitting next to his little babydoll on the couch, which of course is named, "Baby" (because why wouldn't it be?) And I found myself rubbing Baby's fake little baby tummy and I turned to Baby lovingly, looked deeply into its little fake eyes and asked, "You're not going to grow up too, are you?"
He didn't answer, but I'm pretty sure he's not making any promises either.
Thursday
Wee-Cycle. Next Stop, Wee-Pop.
Friday
Scream Free, That's Me!
I DON'T WANT TO YELL ANYMORE!
There. I said it.
Have you found that after you get to a certain age or have children, everything becomes so much more annoying? Stop that tapping! You're charging me for using my pin number? Are you seriously not going to take back this water bottle belt that I haven't used even though I'm upgrading and giving you more money for the more expensive one????
It's like how old people start not caring about what they do or how they drive, they just back out of the driveway without looking and say, "Look out! Here I come!" They don't even pray that you stop, they just plow on out with complete faith that you will, because they're old and they can.
Recently, I've approached that first step of elderly, where I have noticed that I, too, have stopped caring in certain scenarios. It's like you get to a certain age and you don't wanna take any more crap from anyone. Because that's what I've done all my life. I've been the one who just sat aside idly while someone completely took advantage of my niceness.
Whenever this happens and I'm in the midst of someone actively taking advantage of my niceness, I think back to 8th grade basketball. I had fallen down on the court and was hugging the ball and an entire gaggle of girls from the other team came stomping over, trampling me, ripping the ball away and from the stands I hear a mom call out, "That's right, girls, step all over her! Get that ball!"
Bitch.
But that's the type of person I was. I was too nice to get up and go stand up for myself and plow back over and knock them down for revenge. And my basketball career ended that year to be honest. I was just not aggressive that way. I was the passive aggressive type. I would be aggressive, but only from my side of the court or the field, i.e. softball or volleyball. Not in a contact sport type of way. And in life and career, although I was a leader in my job, I respected authority just a little too much and I would always, always get ripped off at the car dealership.
When I had children, a variety of things changed, like, for instance, my ability to take crap and the amount of shame I carried around with me. Now I didn't care anymore what people thought about me (or my underwear in the middle of the gym floor), and I wasn't afraid to go into a store and demand something and/or write a strongly worded letter if I wasn't happy with the results.
But I also began to yell more, too, and mostly at home. I would lose my cool and be the one throwing the tantrum right alongside my 4 and 2 year olds. How cool am I?
Aaaand I really wanna stop doing that. So I'm issuing you a challenge for 30 days. I am becoming a scream-free zone. Even though it is really, really, really, really, really, really, really hard to not yell when you're the mother of two toddler boys who are 19 months apart.
But here are some of the ways I have done this (I explained this a little for our May Monday Project at the Sisterhood of the Shrinking Jeans). And so far I have been successful.
- I ask questions. Do you think that's a good choice? Do you like it when people hit you? Can you try asking again in your indoor voice? Can you use your words? Was that a nice thing to say? Can you try that again?
- Change the subject. Look at that shiny object over there!
- I try to offer two mom-approved choices so they're under the illusion they have a choice.
- I've stopped saying "no" and instead say what we can do or offer an alternative. I.E. Him: "Can we climb a giant ladder and stand on the roof and jump off?" Me: "We can go outside and make sand birthday cakes, how about that?" Him: "Can we have cake?" Me: "It's time for breakfast, but maybe after dinner."
- Spell out the consequences nicely. "Hitting is not ok. You will not be allowed to play at the spray park if you hit." And then promptly remove him and follow through with the consequence. Although that does not net a pretty reaction from the child, so remaining scream-free in this instance is extra-difficult. Mommy may need a huge reward
beer, wine, chocolate cakefor keeping her cool in this scenario. - I have tried diffusing situations way before they brew. For instance, now if we leave for school at 8:55, I get us ready at 8 because it takes about a half-hour to decide which shoes we want to wear and because for some reason, they slow down to a stop when we have to get ready to go somewhere, so this gives us time to do all that toddler dilly-dallying.
- I give them a head's up before we change activities. (One more go down the slide and we're leaving! We're going to put on pajamas right after dinner, watch one Noddy and then it's storytime!)
- Finally, if I really, truly get pissed off, I whisper angrily. I get quieter rather than louder. And it has become so much more effective than yelling! They know I mean business when I'm whispering.
So we'll see how it goes. So far it has really been a lot more zenful in the house. And everyone is yelling a little less. I'll update here next Friday with my progress and if you wanna join in my little Scream-Free Project, feel free to post about it and link up down in the comments, or just tell me how you're going to be scream-free too. Because I can use all the suggestions you have!! Safety in numbers, I always say!
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Saturday
I Heard Snoring
I guess he's a little tired of being sick.
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Sunday
I Am A Sucker
I found myself sitting on my mother's couch this weekend ogling at a new fantastic contraption on yet another tv infomercial and decided something.
I'm a sucker.
I get captivated by these things because they look so wonderful and fantastic and they make it seem to me like I must have this. YESTERDAY!
And when another one of these things pops up on the television, I find myself watching the infomercial from beginning to end. Multiple times. Even if there's something better on. Because we have a dvr.
(In fact, I really should turn this off. But it's still on. Because I must see what else it can do!)
Just so you know, I knew the Magic Bullet Blending System infomercial by heart.
My husband would catch me watching it and I'd flick off the channel and he'd give me that look that says, "I know what you were doing."
It blends guacamole! It makes salsa!! You can make an omelette in 30 seconds! All of these cups are microwavable! You can make frozen drinks for everyone and all the lids are different colors so you will never mix them up!
What I also heard: "If you buy the Magic Bullet Blender, every single day will be a party!!"
My most recent acquisition was this:
The Big Top Cupcake. It makes a cupcake that's 25 times the size of a normal cupcake. It's so ridiculous I had to have it and I got it for Christmas. It.looked.magical. So magical that I can't even remember the actual name is "Big Top Cupcake," I call it the Magic Cupcake thingy. I would stop and watch the commercial where ever I was. I talked of this to my parents. My sister. My husband. All the people who would too eventually get caught up in my infomercial madness.
Because we all now have the Magic Bullet Blending system.
Alas, the Magic Cupcake thingy is only just ok. (I'll save you from yourself if you're like me.) I can't actually get it to look like a cupcake. I made one for Christmas so that we could gather the children around and sing to Jesus for his birthday. And someone crassly referred to my cupcake creation as a 'Jesus nipple.' I know. It's just so wrong there are no words and I'm pretending that by crossing it out, it's like I'm not really saying it. Because I'm sure the person who said it's going straight to hell. They know who they are.
So anyhoo. Back to my infomercial addiction.
Yes I own the Magic Bullet Blending System, even though when I excitedly mention the words "Magic Bullet," people do not initially believe I am speaking of a device that you use in the kitchen. (I do wish they'd change the name.)
But I made the children's babyfood in it, tomato sauce (which has become legendary on my legendary Margherita Pizza), guacamole, mango salsa (there was that one terrible incident when I didn't know you should remove the seeds from the jalapeno first...) Oh the memories. This contraption I still very much use and love. I still have yet to use it at in a party situation for mixed drinks because I am now the person who used to make babyfood and now has less of a need to make mixed drinks (or maybe more reason, depending on how I look at things...)
The Perfect Brownie pan I was initially excited about because it appeared to make a whole bunch of brownies that were all corner brownies! Corner brownies!! I can't believe they make such a thing! I would do anything for a pan that makes all corner brownies! Anything!
There's also that infomercial for the "Your Baby Can Read" thing which looks amazing and I feel like a bad parent every time I watch it because I've forked over money for the Magic Cupcake and the Magic Bullet, but something educational that can better my children? Nah.. (I'm terrible!) In fact, I'm so terrible that while skipping through the channels on one of those mornings where there are only infomercials on, I spotted a device that makes your boobs look fantastic and lifts them and it makes them look like you've had surgery without the surgery! (Did you know size "B"'s can droop after children? I know. Right? It's awful.)
Well we were passing through the commercials (my husband had the remote) and he passed by this thing, I asked him to stop, we watched, we went on and saw the "Your Baby Can Read" thing but I was still stuck on the "boob" thing and said, "We really need that!" and my husband thought I meant the "Your Baby Can Read" thing, which is what I should've meant if I were a good parent, and then he stopped when he realized I didn't mean the educational thing and said, "Oh, you meant the boob thing, didn't you?" And called me out on it. I know. I'm terrible.
I even got stuck watching an entire hour of one of those Time/Life music CD shows all on the classic country because I am secretly captivated by June and Johnny Cash and wanted to see the little snippets the infomercial had on them. And then I got caught up in the other music and briefly believed that I needed this CD series, too. Because you know, it's not available in stores!
But now I have my sights set on this: The Redi-Set-Go.
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Tuesday
Well now what do I do.
Well now both of my little mens are in preschool. Today was the day.
My two-year-old had his very first day of "school."
I walked them up to the door where their teacher greeted us and they both took off, without so much as a look back at this old Mommy.
Even the teacher had moved on to the other students who were arriving, so I was just kind of standing there, off to the side, a little perplexed as to what to do now. And I shrugged, laughed along with some of the other parents who noticed it, got into my car and drove away.
So, that's that, huh?
We're there. Two and a half hours A DAY all to ME!
Honestly, the part of this that gives me some time each day to do things by myself is a little exciting. When all of your moments are consumed by at least one little being, while cramming all things into tiny windows of when your children are (hopefully) the best behaved, it's a little daunting to all of a sudden have this window, alone.
But that doesn't seem to help the pit in my stomach that means that time is flying by fast again, so fast that my hair's on fire.
They're growing up.
I still call him the "baby."
Oh who am I kidding, they'll both always be that.
Looks like life is changing again, even if just a tad.
I do still have that big pit in my stomach. But I won't lie. The prospect of driving away and going to Starbucks to stare off into space for 2 1/2 hours doesn't sound half bad.
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Thursday
Christmas at 3
Do you remember how intense everything was at three years old?
I try to put myself back there sometimes. It's the only way I can deal with the tragedies that occur at my house on a daily basis. Because everything is a tragedy.
Because I don't remember much. Just the important stuff. Like my cousin getting the black patent leather shoes that I really wanted, and how tragic it was that I got the white ones. Because tap-dancing shoes weren't white! They were black, MOM! And these black patent leather shoes that my cousin got were not regular shoes in my tiny head, they were the shoes of a future dance star! They were tap shoes! Because I was a female Gene Kelly. And white shoes were not going to cut it. I was pretty broken up about that. That, I remember.
This afternoon, I sat down at the computer for the first time all day after baking cookies. The kids had just gotten up from their naps and were riding around the house (like lunatics) on their motorcycles that my parents had given them thank you so much! When all of a sudden I heard the loudest scream EVER. It was the scream of a broken body part. It was blood-curdling and I was scared out of my mind and I leapt from my chair and fled to the scene of whatever ailment/slash/crisis was upon me!
And in my panickymother voice asked, "What's wrong, are you ok? What happened! Where are you hurt! WHAT'S WRONG??!!!!"
To which my screaming three-year-old held up a broken candy cane and sobbed, "My candy (sniff) cane (sniff) is BROKENNNNNNN!!!!
I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but you must know, it was very important for me to relay just how awful that scream was and how it must never be screamed (scrum? scram?) again EVER.
So I said the following:
"Wait a minute. You're mad about a candy cane?"
And he sniffed real big to stop the big stream of snot flowing from his crying nose and wailed, "Yeahhhhh!"
And I asked, "So you're not hurt, then?"
And he said, "No." (sniff.) Still holding up his candy cane that was once one candy cane but is now two for me to see.
And I said, real calm-like, "Honey? I want you to know, that THAT is not the 'I broke my candy cane' scream. That is the 'my arm is broken' scream. Or the 'I'm bleeding from my neck' scream. Or the 'I'm pinned under something very heavy' scream. Not the 'I broke my candy cane' scream. OK? Do you understand what I am saying?"
He nods, still crying.
And I went on, "Because Mommy has just had a heart attack. In the split-second that it took me to leap up from my chair and get to you, I visualized very terrible things that you might be screaming about and I had a heart attack. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
And he said, "But my (SNIFF) CANDY CANE (BIGHUGE-SNIFF) IS BROKEN!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHH!!!!!" Followed by more crying and then running into his room and slamming the door.
Yes, I have a tendency to launch into these monologues that my children don't understand.
I like to talk things out. They are not quite there yet.
Until then I will continue my full belief that motherhood is a string of tiny heart attacks because you feel like you're protecting this tiny little egg like you did in Home Ec and you just want to put it in bubble wrap. There is all this leaping up and rushing to and trying to stop.
Sigh.
I know I should be glad that the veryterriblescream was just over a broken candy cane and not something worse.
Of course, to a three-year-old, what could possibly be worse than a broken candy cane?
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Friday
Sick Day
This has been one of those weeks.
The kind where both kids are sick. But the kind of sick where they're still very energetic - to put it mildly - except for the coughing and the rivers running out of their noses, i.e. sick enough to not be around any living walking human except of course for me.
We did a few activities, but their clear favorite was the one where we gathered up every single pillow in the house and made a pillow bed in the living room. We made popcorn and used old coffee cans as snack cups and watched movies. Specifically a A Very Mickey (or "Tickey Mouse") Christmas or something like that.
Tuesday
Questions from Domesticadia
Motherhood and a permanent residence in Domestic-adia raises more questions than answers. And I almost never ever feel like I know what I'm doing. (Do you have this problem?)
Among the questions I've asked this week are:
1. What happens if a child eats cat poo? (Don't ask.)
2. What is the difference in symptoms between the stomach bug my other son had last week and what happens after eating cat poo? (Updated: Whatever it was, it's gone now.)
3. If the stuffed animals are a casualty of said result of the above, can they be washed in the washing machine, even if it says not to?
4. What will happen to them? (Update: Best friend talked me into playing "stuffed animal roulette". Whoever makes it out of the washer alive gets to stay. And I have to tell you, a little of myself went in the washer with them. I was really worried and found myself really pulling for them. THANK GOODNESS! THEY MADE IT! All of them! George, Winnie the Pooh, Baby Bear and Elmo, guess what? You get to stay!
5. Now. If you wash them in the washer, does it follow too that you can dry them in the dryer?
6. What will happen to them? (Update #2: Yes! I used the "almost no heat" option. They are clean, germ-free, and surrounding my son on the couch as we speak.)
OK. New round of questions.
7. Is it weird if I buy a bottle of wine with a coupon?
8. Isn't it weird that coupons for wine exist?
9. Is it weird for me to buy a Twilight Edward doll?
10. What if it's for myself?
11. What is the difference between roasting a turkey in one of those slow roaster things that are on sale at Target and K-Mart instead of roasting it in the oven? Is it a skin crispyness issue?
12. Where are my hair ties and camera chargers?
13. How did I allow my e-mail inbox to hit 5000?
14. Should I throw a party? That's a pretty big milestone.
15. Do I have A.D.D. or do I just have an uncanny ability to multitask? Because I have been bouncing from this post to the one I started previously, and in between I'm doing laundry and cutting coupons (while wondering also why my favorite craft store even bothers offering 55% off "custom framing" because it still costs at least $150 every time I have them "custom frame" something.)
16. How much caffeine is too much?
17. Didn't I read somewhere that you should NOT pay attention to tantrums and they will eventually stop throwing them?
18. Why haven't they stopped?
19. Should I stop before I get to 20 questions?
20. Nahhh.... Why do I put on children's programming only to have them walk away, leaving me stuck watching Curious George or Martha? Like right now?...
PS. This is exhausting.
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Sunday
The Music Truck
I caught myself humbugging the Ice Cream man today.
I look at him so much differently now that I have toddlers.
I heard him driving through our neighborhood exactly 5 minutes into naptime and cursed him under my breath.
"Damn Ice Cream Truck!"
I felt bad sounding so bitter. But I can't help it! I knew what was going to happen! I had just settled into a peaceful house, that is, until I heard the faintness of the music and knew it was going to be over. Because my three year old was going to run out of bed and run to the window to listen to the Music Truck go by. And that would be it. Naptime over.
Yes, around here we call it a "music truck". My 3 and almost-two-year-old still believe it's just a truck that drives around playing music. They haven't a clue it also serves ice cream (and how absurd it would be that a truck would drive around for the sole purpose of playing circus music). But I am going to keep it that way as long as possible until the jig is up. But for now it's not, so it's a "music truck."
But the music truck always comes exactly 5 minutes into naptime and then again about 30 minutes after the kids have gone to bed.
So that my children hear it, wake up, want to go see it and then do not want to return to bed. Because all they want to do is listen to the music while it drives around our neighborhood, and the neighborhood next to us and the one behind us and the one over there, where the music is still faint, but a little three-year-old's ears can still hear it. He will listen until it has completely disappeared and gone away and if ears could squint, that's what he'd be doing just to listen until its very last second.
I realize that after lunch around 1, and after dinner between 7 and 8 p.m. might be a better time for the Ice Cream Man to, perhaps, sell some ice-cream and I sympathize with the fact that he's a business on wheels in probably a very difficult economy for ice cream trucks and probably even more difficult as it'll be cold out soon and no one will want ice cream because they'll be busy drinking hot chocolate, but still. These times really don't work for me. And forget about it when the kids realize it serves ice cream!
And when I see you at the park at whatever event my city is throwing, I have to physically hold my legs to keep them from walking over to you and yelling at you for driving by my house after naptime and bedtime because I already have to get up and lead my son back to bed a hundredty times a night and that other few just because of the music truck makes me a very special kind of crazy. The kind of crazy where you think you have a hold on things and then some unnecessary disruption in the force happens to make it so that you, indeed, do not have a hold on things.
!!!!!!
(Pulling hair out!)
I remember in my 20's I had a party at my apartment and the parents of a toddler came to my door and knocked and asked us to be quiet. And we didn't. Because we ruled the world. And they came up again and pleaded, because their toddler couldn't sleep. And then they called the police.
I so get that now. This may, indeed, be a musical karma driving around.
When I have to lay in my toddler's bed on a random Friday night in which there is no holiday whatsoever but for some reason there are fireworks and it sounds like World War Two outside and I have to snuggle with him until it's over while we listen to it, I get it. Loud cars with their radios pumping and the bass thumping, driving by my house waking up my kids. Believe me, I get it now. Unusually early landscapers... Oh yes. I get it now.
And I'm so sorry, parents of toddler, for being such a jerk. I promise, I really do get it now. So much so that I actually curse the sweet little innocent Ice Cream man and his tiny circus-song-playing truck.
But Ice Cream Man, if you're reading this, do you understand why I might be annoyed? Yes? So could you just do me a favor and skip our neighborhood for, oh, the next 6-8 years? It's mostly old people anyway! And they don't really like ice cream from ice cream trucks anymore. I never ever see the old people lining up outside waiting for the Ice Cream Truck. So, head over back to the park where all the kids are and where you can hang out and play music at all times of day and night. Thank you. I appreciate it.
And have a nice day!
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Saturday
Mommy, Where DO Babies Come From???
We ordered out last week for some Chinese food.
My son was sick, so he wasn't up for eating much. Except for, of course, the fortune cookie. And I have a pretty liberal "sick" policy around here; pretty much anything goes (especially when they are struggling to keep anything down). So fortune cookie you want? Fortune cookie you get.
He opens it up and wants me to read the tiny paper.
It says something about a drunk man's fortune or something like that and since I'm really not up for explaining "drunk" to a three-year-old, I need to think quickly. Motherhood is perfect training for Jeopardy by the way.
I hold up the paper and say, "Um, Superheroes are wise and kind." Yeah. That's it.
Sometimes I surprise even myself.
This look washes over his face like I have just paid him the biggest compliment in the world, he can't even comprehend this statement or wrap his mind around it or contain himself. His eyes get real big and a smile literally bursts forth and he is now gleaming. Because of course, he is a superhero and this fortune is exactly about him. It is for him. He's usually Batman, but a superhero nonetheless and the fortune cookie was about him. And he repeats the fortune over and over again. "Wise and kind, Mommy!" "Wise and kind!" Gosh I'm great.
Now, "kind" he knows. But wise is a little different. I had to explain "wise." And it was almost easy because we had already been talking about "smart" and "brain" earlier in the day.
Because the questions have been rolling in. I thought I was at least a year out from this by they way, but they're coming in fast, one after another, I barely have time to answer them before he's on to the next one. Earlier that day, he wanted to know how his brain worked.
So I said that the brain contains lots of answers and it always wants to know more answers. I asked him questions as an example. "What's that color?" He said, "Red." I said, "See? Your brain had the answer and told your mouth to say it. What are we sitting on?" (Don't say 'brain'.) "The couch," he says. "That's right. Your brain knew that too!" I could see in his face that on some three-year-old level, he was getting it.
Well now I've created a monster because when he realizes his brain doesn't know something, he realizes he needs to give it all the answers and now it seems like his brain won't stop telling his mouth to ask questions!
"How does a frog jump, Mommy?" (He uses his legs.) "How does a car go?" (It uses its wheels.) "But how?" (It has a motor that makes the wheels spin.) "But how?" (It eats gasoline that makes the motor run which makes the wheels spin.)
Blank stare.
Sometimes I think it's funny to overexplain things to see what his reaction is.
On the flip side, there are times where I wish to completely underexplain as much as I can. Like, that particular question that we mothers are not quite ready for once it is asked. You know the one.
You think you have plenty of time to drum up some genius, but no. It comes out when you least expect it. The one and only. THE question.
"Mommy, how do you have a baby?" Or "Where does the baby come from?" Or "How does it get there?" Or "How does it come out?"
He's three-and-a-half. I so wasn't ready for this.
They all came rapidfire, too, one after the other.
And as I began to sift through the questions, I answered each one, thoughtfully divulging just enough information but refraining from too much. I was almost even proud! I was on a roll!
But by the third question, it turned into my mouth answering questions and my mind turning to look at my mouth, saying, "What are you saying TURNIT OFF!" I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into the big ol' hole I was digging for myself and there was nothing I could do. By the end, there was something to do with God having a magic wand and pointing it at my belly and saying "Alacabam!"
Oh boy.
(He's three-and-a-half, he'll forget this by naptime, right?)
I embarrass even myself sometimes. And really, come on. I'm a creative girl. That's the best I could come up with? God has a magic wand?
Sigh.
I swear it all started off so well! I thought I was acing this!
By the end I wanted to turn and run.
And maybe say something supergenius like, "Let's ask your father when he gets home." Which, let's face it would probably go straight back to me in the end anyway.
I hope I have a chance to start over and re-splain. But for now I'll ask you. He's three-and-a-half and I'm interested in the less is more philosophy. While also being somewhat honest. (This sounds like a Craigs List ad). Actually, I would like to say the exact opposite of what I've already said so far. So. Help a mama out. Any tips?
PS. We opened up a second fortune cookie the next day, one that was left over. It said, "Eat your vegetable and you'll grow up big and strong like Popeye."
I swear. I'm not even making that one up.
Thank you, dear fortune cookie people. Thank you.
Tuesday
Potty Training 102
Not mere hours after I posted this (and if you haven't read it, go read it and please leave your input), my 22 month old went peepee in the potty.
He saw his brother go before bathtime and he went on the tiny musical potty and there you go.
Yep. Looks like we're getting a jump on things.
I'm going in for round two, people.
Wish me luck.
Friday
Hell Has Indeed Frozen Over
This is the hell frozen over part.
But I made some blankies for the babies. Me! (With my mom's help of course.)Tuesday
Lying 101
I heard music to my ears this morning at the wee hours of 5 a.m.
I heard my three-year-old get out of bed and open his bedroom door and close it. I then heard another door open (the bathroom) and then I heard nothing for about two minutes, and then I heard his bedroom door open again and then close and then I heard him rustling around in his bed again.
Besides the fact that no door that was opening in this scenario was mine, do you know what this means people????
We've turned a corner! There was pottying happening on own initiative, in the dark, and a mommy was not involved in any way shape or form! There I continue to lay, listening to the monitor and then being comforted by the lull of his return to his bed! Now of course, I stayed awake because I couldn't stop thinking about how wonderful and musical and magical this actually is!
And there are countless implications here, too, I mean, this means he is actually not going to walk down the aisle one day in a diaper.
Hurrah!
I've done my job.
I mean we do have the occasional accident still but we really are on our way safely and happily, with, and I won't lie here, a little help from the Tootsie Roll, (yes, that is my secret, I used candy and I don't care, judge away) which many people have wondered out loud if that is a fitting reward for this milestone (and/or coincidental) and not because it is candy. I don't know really why I chose the Tootsie Roll, actually, and yes, I do see how my mind could have subconsciously drawn some parallel and if so, my mind really is kind of weird and warped without telling me. But I have since drawn the conclusion (and you can file this away for your own personal records) that it is not really a spectacular reward only for the time it takes in consuming it, because he sits there and chews and chews and chews for this ridiculous amount of time, and at bedtime this could really get a bit annoying, so I think I'm going to move on to the M&M, something much smaller, and then eventually, nothing, except his own pride.
(The bigger secret here and I'll reveal it to you, where he also began to turn the corner in potty training when, was a couple weeks after an accident in the middle of the night, he said to me point blank, "Clean me." And I responded happily with, "Well actually, honey, you're going to clean yourself today!" And then had him do it all, put the contents of undie in potty, go and get his new undie and then clean up the spill with a towel. It sounds kind of gross, but if he is smart enough to think that mommy is going to do all the cleaning here, he is big enough to start doing it himself. This did not appeal to him. He started going in the potty almost immediately after that. Lesson learned for both of us.)
Well now that this job is done (almost), I have found myself charged with a new task: How to explain to a three-year-old how to not tell lies.
Does this really happen this early? And are they deliberate? I have to read up on this immediately.
Because I have found that our little "reward," (for a candyholic) has become kind of double-edged sword here. He is taking the initiative to potty all by himself. However, I caught him just yesterday telling me he went (and that he flushed!) and afterward making his case for a treat.
The only problem was that I knew he didn't go, and I knew he didn't flush either. I was standing right there (he did not know this.)
Little boogie.
So. I went into my "mom" mode, explaining to him that when we say we did something and we really didn't, that is called a lie. When we say we did something and we really did do that, that's called "the truth." And you need to tell the truth. Because it's not ok to tell lies. And then I started to go into "trust" and the disappointment that comes from not trusting people, but as it was all coming out of my mouth, I was confusing even myself and I'm pretty sure he had already tuned out by the time I even said the word "lie" because his eyes were glazed over (so were mine, who am I kidding) and he was likely already onto the next thing, thinking "CANDYCANDYCANDY IWANT CANDY HOWDOIGETCANDY".
So that was that. I've been testing him a little to find out if he learned anything about the truth, because it is out there, I have retained at least that much from X-Files and I do plan to pass that on to him in some shape or form, I just really don't know how to convey it in a toddler-type language.
The concept of truth isn't really like holding up a card and asking him what color it is. Or is it? Hmm. Any ideas here? Some useful toddler lingo you have used?
Because, I mean, lying is a very slippery slope! Today it's just about whether or not he flushed, but tomorrow, it's about whether or not he took the car out in the middle of the night and robbed a 7/11 for a carton of Marlboro Lights.
Any help saving my son from juvie is appreciated.
How Has Motherhood Changed You?
A question for my mothering friends...
I was drying my hair and thinking because there are two places where I do most of my thinking and one of them is while drying my hair.
The other is in the shower. I planned an entire department restructure in the shower once. No joke.
Anyway, I was drying my hair and I was thinking about my bathroom and how it, among other things, needs some serious renovation. Which led me to thinking about my shower curtain and how it is cute, but really just sub-par. As far as shower curtains go. It needs some umph. I know, picky picky. And about shower curtains no less. Which led me to thinking about how excited I am about the new sewing machine I got from my mom for my birthday!!!!!!! (Which is actually Thursday, by the way, and yes, gifts accepted. I'm kidding.) And then it got me to thinking about my husband laughing at me when I was so excited while opening up my new sewing machine (first the front loaders, now a sewing machine) and how he said to me while shaking his head, "My how you've changed."
He says that a lot lately and I always wonder if he thinks that's a good thing but I suppose he'd let me know if it wasn't in some way. Maybe he'd make a face or say something like, "Oh go SEW SOMETHING" if he was like that but he's not. (I don't sew yet either anyway. It's still in the box waiting for this weekend when it will take its maiden voyage.)
Which all led me to thinking about why I've changed and what exactly it was that changed me. And it was one answer, of course.
Motherhood.
Motherhood is why I started cooking, decorating, nesting, and finding other hobbies because I was no longer working. For a paycheck, anyway.
So I started listing off the ways I've changed in my head, all while drying my hair.
Ways that motherhood has changed me:
1. My boys first. Anything else, always, second.
2. Career on hold followed by short identity crisis, followed by coming out the other side, happy and different.
3. Different how? That's the reason for the list after all..
4. I cook and I've actually gotten pretty good at it. The turning point for me when I decided I was actually a pretty good cook was when I could make a decent gravy. Before the gravy, I was scared of making it. It clumped, it was too flour-y, I could never get that "rich" taste. But then I
"got it". Followed by a pretty kickass white sauce. That I don't make anymore because I'm off gravy for a while. At least until Thanksgiving.
5. I enjoy making centerpieces and tablescapes and hosting holidays with placecards and festive recipes and signature cocktails and desserts.
6. I like to do things like napkin-folding and have gotten a book on it for Christmas.
7. I take a millionandahalf more pictures and would love to see if it could turn into something.
8. I used to think that my "meaning in life" was simply my family. Of course it is, but I've realized it's even more than that. I believe that my "meaning in life" is living a full life, appreciating every moment of it, learning and doing everything I can and showing my children how to do the same. That and being nice.
9. I write a lot more now than I did as a "writer". Mostly about things I'm passionate about. A lot of it doesn't show up on here, but I do a lot of it.
10. I am a room mom at my son's preschool. I know. Me? Yeah. Me.
11. I want to start a fitness group called IronMommies, so I can train for endurance races with other mommies like me who are doing it to lose weight and/or stay fit. I am waiting for the right time but I think it's close.
12. I do things like endurance races. I know. Me? Yeah.
13. I now own a sewing machine because I was inspired to fix my shower curtain by a Better Homes and Gardens decorating magazine and I cannot sleep until I fix it up. Seriously.
14. I am actually getting in shape up in here but it's actually been a lifestyle change as opposed to the latest crash/fad diet of my many pounds past.
15. I love home improvement projects even if I groan about them while doing them.
16. My day consists of taking one to preschool, the other to Gymboree, blogging, working out, cooking dinner, rinse and repeat. And I.love.it.
17. Having a preemie made me passionate about helping others who have had one and I'm part of a preemie moms group which is working on projects to help families in the NICU.
18. I am more excited about GymBucks and front loaders than I am about happy hour.
19. I am the only stay at home mom on my Monday night softball team. And the only one who owns a minivan.
20. I care about having a clean house with clean floors, clean laundry, and paying bills on time. These qualities definitely did not make an appearance until motherhood. Just ask my parents about my bedroom growing up.
But of course, most of those are just surface things, right? What the list actually represents to me, though, is that had I not done this motherhood thing and continued on the career path (because one always looks back and analyzes her choices), I might not have ever paid much attention to things like cooking (I'd probably still be making my standard ziti and then ordering out) or decorating (can we say "futon"?) or sewing or photography or triathlon or the March of Dimes and families who have had preemies or good credit or making the bed and being responsible and careful and patient. And they've all become things I have not just learned but have actually become passionate about that honestly I never knew I had in me. Not to mention the fact that just looking at my little boys' faces can move me to tears because they are so special and perfect and mine and the very thought of anything other than perfect happiness for them makes my insides hurt. That alone has been known to change a person.
When my husband says I'm different, different from the partying 20-something-career-woman-go-getter, I agree with him that definitely I am indeed different. I used to wonder for myself if that was a good thing, but now I just know. It is neither good nor bad. It's just different. With a side of domestic. I am still driven, but I'm driven in different ways about different things. I am glad that I retained that property of myself, even through the changes that motherhood brought me. Because I love that part.
So. What do you think? How has motherhood changed you?
Friday
In the Weeds
Oh it just wouldn't be me if I didn't have some sort of a breakdown before a big event. That's my M.O.
No worries. I'm almost one with it. Learning to roll with the punches here.
What normally happens the week before any event, any event whatsoever, is that unplanned events occur. Illness. Sickness. A new aversion to the kiddie care at the gym. Oh any of those fun things like that. Happens literally every time. Every week of every year could be boring and uneventful except for the week we have something going on. And inevitably I have a period of about, oh 20 minutes, when I am reduced to a pile of grown woman-tears. (Yes, I'm a crier. Sue me.)
Anyway whatever decides to happen ends up piling up on top of whatever it is I am already inner panicking about and it feels like when I used to wait tables. We called it, "in the weeds"...
It all started with the throw up.
Tuesday night there was a sick Poops. Losing guts. No idea why. Yada yada yada, for a few hours, until it stops and then it's done.
Weird.
So the next day, for him, we decide no camp. We don't know the cause of said affliction and/or if it is indeed gone, so we stay home. It's a movie day. Which also means, there is no workout for me -- one of two final swim/slash/runs before the tri. Which is ok, because in my head I've moved it to Thursday. I still have Thursday, Friday and kind of Saturday but not really Saturday because you're not supposed to do much the day before. But I'm flexible. I'm Mommy first. Anything else, second.
So Wednesday was an entire day of not throwing up which is always good. A good day in fact. And the man has his appetite back. His only request? Pizza. I don't know about you, but when special requests come on sick days, I will pretty much give him a (reasonable) free pass. So pizza you want? Pizza you get. A small price to pay for losing everything in your body for a couple hours nonstop while a mommy stands by helplessly holding the bucket.
So I turn to the internet. Because, oh, yes, ordering pizza is soooo easy now!! You just order it online! One click! Yippety do!
You just plug in all your information and VOILA! PIZZA is at your front door. Is the way it's supposed to go.
But when, for some reason, and you know that it is NOT YOU, your card does not go through online, did you know that someone from Tennessee contacts you??? Instead of, say, the pizza place right down the block?
So I get the call from Tennessee that my card did not go through and of course I refuse to reorder over the phone because, well, it's someone in Tennessee and how do I know that this is a Pizza Schmut call center and not someone who has hacked into my computer somehow? So I call my local pizza place and order it over the phone and say I'll pay cash. Whatever. The kid wants pizza.So I load up the car with the kids and go get cash with the very same card that did not go through, by the way. And don't you just hate it when cards don't go through and they look at you or talk to you like you're some sort of pauper who's beneath them? I'm sorry ma'am, (says their tone of voice) but it appears you can't afford pizza tonight. Now, why don't you go away so I can help other people who can pay?
Oh sure. Because it HAS to be me. It cannot possibly be your machine.
So I pay for the pizza and of course, GUESS WHAT?? I check my balance the very next day and it appears that my card magically went through!
Oh really.
So now I've paid twice for this damn pain in the ass pizza. (Sigh. But still worth it I guess darn it because of the "Mommy, this is the best bread ever!" that I got from a little boy who ate - and held down - the pizza. So I just say -- finger wagging here -- You are very, very lucky, Pizza place!) But yes, I did call them and give them the business.
Then Thursday starts off nicely, everyone's dressed and ready to go and I realize I cannot find said ATM card. I search my car. My bags. My wallet. The floor. The toys. Pockets. Nothing.
And it occurs to me that I actually don't remember taking it back out of the ATM after I got the cash. Or do I? I can't think! I was frazzled by the pizza thing so there is a good chance I might have left it! So I report that "missing" and now I am without. Which kind of stinks. Because now I have to be "cash or check girl." For 5 to 7 business days. But that's ok, because Thursday is a gym day and the kids are all healthy. One goes to camp, one goes to Kid Kare at the gym.
I get about 20 minutes into workout when I hear:
ATTENTION FITNESS MEMBERS! ATTENTION FITNESS MEMBERS! WOULD RYAN'S MOTHER PLEASE COME TO KID KARE! I REPEAT, COULD RYAN'S MOTHER PLEASE COME TO KID KARE!People are snickering. I hear one lady say, "I'm not Ryan's mommy!" And I think, "I am, so shut it lady."
So I head on over and there is a little tiny someone, standing at the door, crying. Inconsolably. Red faced, big fat tears streaming, mouth open, hiccupping from crying.
OK OK, there there honey, we'll go. It's ok! The lady is apologizing, saying she really tried to keep him busy but he just wouldn't have it. And I know she tried, it's not her fault, it's ok, he's just having an off day I guess.
So instead, now the panic is beginning to set in that I'm scrapping this workout too, but I breathe in deeply and think, that's ok, I have two workouts left before Sunday but I still have Friday at least. We'll scrap Thursday, but I will still be able to get something else done that I really need to do which is, take our snack over to the bike shop so I can get something to wear for the tri, (if I can't work out).
Because, at present, I have no idea what I am going to wear. I know what I won't do. I won't throw on bike shorts after the swim because they cut off my circulation at the waist. And plus you can't run in them because of that massive padding in the butt. And plus mine take me about 10 minutes to put on. So the race will be over when I get them on.
And sure, some people do the whole thing in their bathing suit, but, uh uh, THAT'S NOT ME. My thighs still believe they are, indeed, one thigh, and not two. They probably always will no matter how much weight I ever lose. The chafing would be unbearable.
The one piece tri-suits help with that (see all this stuff I've learned??? I never thought about any of this before!). Anyway, trisuits, it's like a spandex tank and bottoms that are fused together at the middle and without the cutoff in circulation, so you can swim, then bike, then run in it, it's like a bathing suit type of running and cycling dream! It dries quickly and there's no changing! Oh. But they're $175 you say?
OK so I'll try to find one on clearance. Oh. But the ones on clearance seem to be on clearance for a reason i.e. stain, hole, etc...
And no one else has them. Hmm. (Dream temporarily shattered.) Ok I'll try on two pieces then (spandex top and spandex bottom). And this process becomes all very eerily remniscent of when I was in the larger sizes trying to stuff myself into regular clothing -- the sweating, the near-crying... And as suspected, two pieces won't work either. This sucks. Circulation being cut off everywhere. Baby is crying again. The dressing room is becoming very stressful. Oh and plus guess what?? That's right. No ATM card. Ugh. We're leaving anyway.
So not only do I not have anything to wear (I want my mommy!), I am also panicking that I still don't know how to change a bike tire should the opportunity present itself on the ride because no one is allowed to help you if you get a flat. And by now I realize I can't go to the store to try on tri clothing because somewhere between the time that I got money out and the time of well, now, my ATM card has disappeared. Meantime, going to the store is a fruitless venture anyway because my normally level-headed and pleasant 19 month old for some reason cannot seem to hold it together in any type of store (or daycare) whatsoever, so I am just sweating and panicking on the inside the whole time anyway. Not to mention two days of workouts are gone. TIME IS RUNNING OUT!!!!!!!!!
And this is where I really start to lose it.It's about lunchtime by this time, I have really tried to roll with the punches but now I am really starting to panic. And heeeeeeere come the water works!
I really am at the end of my rope for the day. I have my little cry. And we head out the door to pick up the other one and I leave myself enough time to get my most favorite comfort food of all, the light caramel frappuccino at Starbucks (130 calories fyi).
World is looking better. I decide to go to the bike shop when husband comes home, the heavens open and I find an outfit (husband came home bearing gift of cash for ATM card-less wife). I decide I will wear my bathing suit for the swim, throw on Tri shorts over it (which are like bike shorts but with lesser padding) then toss on a light blue, very light bike jersey (which is super cute and I am excited now because it matches my helmet) and that will be it.
I found a quickie free bike maintenance class at the bike shop, I skip on over there, and now I am somewhat versed on changing a tire although I am not sure I'll actually remember all the steps but I'll just pray for no flat at all, mkay?
World looking much better now.
So on to Friday's workout at the gym but the kid just won't do the kidcare again. Crying and madness ensues before we even step foot into the gym this time. And this is all becoming very very super inconvenient.
But life will go on. I'll just have to go now when the husband comes home. And I guess I'll have to live with the fact that I'll only have one more workout instead of two and pray that I will just be ready on Sunday.
Right?
It's really almost funny now. (Almost.) Because of course why is it that one would get sick and the other would go on strike from the daycare the WEEK before the triathlon when I feel like there is so much left to be done? How? Why? Really???
Murphy's Law. Well at least I have something to wear now. If I get a flat or can't finish the race, at least I'll look good! Right?
Tuesday
What do you do all day?
As a stay at home mom, I get this question a lot. And I never know quite how to answer it.
Because the truth is, really, I have no freakin' idea. None. All I know is that the week goes by in a flash and when I look back and think, "What did I get done all week?" the answer every single time is, pretty much nothing.
Why is that?
And even more recently, since school's been out, it's been even busier. It's 10 o'clock at night right now and I feel like I just put the kids to bed.
They were in bed at 7:30.
I haven't gotten a single thing done since then.
I haven't a clue what I've been doing this whole time.
I've been with myself the whole time. I should know what I've been doing. And I've been busy. But I've nothing to show for it. There is still a pile of laundry waiting to be folded. There are dishes in the sink. Two episodes of Family Guy have just passed and there is a husband snoring on the couch.
What is happening that time is moving but I seem not to be?
Let me analyze my day. Maybe I can be useful with this blog and figure it out.
OK. Here, we are made up of tiny windows. I discussed this briefly when discussing my brief girl weekend staycation. My day is made up of windows of time that are either filed under the "naptime window" or the tiny sections of time between naps. When the day is split up into these tiny windows, one has to prioritize and choose what tasks one has the time to perform within a given window.
The windows usually consist of 2 1/2 to 3 hour increments. But it's never long enough to get any one thing really done because instead of picking one thing, I try to cram a zillion things into each window. Actually that's not entirely true. I start one thing and then like a cat who gets sidetracked by shiny objects, I see something else that needs to be done and start that, forgetting entirely what I was working on before until I pass it on the way to doing something else and then another shiny object appears as if out of nowhere and perhaps maybe the phone rings, and before I know it the kids are up from their second nap and I'm making dinner and putting them to bed (again.) And now, instead of having a few things completed, I have a few more things that are only halfway done!
I've resorted to making lists, but then I get sidetracked somehow from the list...
Either way, it all just seems very tedious and boring on paper (or computer screen), doesn't it? And try explaining all of that to someone who asks you what you do all day. Because all I know is that at the end of the day I am completely wiped.
There is just not one thing that I do. And rarely is there even one substantial thing completed or done for the day. It's not like we sit down as a mom and her two kids to finish that thesis we've been working on...
The day is filled with a million little things like diaper changes and "Go sit on the potty, honey. Willyougositonthepotty? Wewillnotgo to Steven's unlessyougopottyfirst!" times 1,000, minus the accident where there was poo on the floor, plus "CanIhaveasnack -- No you just ate!" multiplied by 100, mulitplied by 500 questions like, "Mommy can you hear my heart? Where is my brain? Does Lightning McQueen have a brain? Do robots have brains? I'm a fireman!" divided by the number of times I empty and refill diaper bags, cups, snack cups and coffee cups, make meals, wash the dishes from those meals, multiplied by errands that I wish I could avoid at 5pm with two hungry children, plus whatever it was that I just slapped myself with my palm on the forehead about because it was really really important, and of course, inevitably, I forgot it.
You'd be amazed at how much time that takes up.
And I really do miss working sometimes, but to be perfectly honest I haven't the faintest idea how I'd fit that in!
And I still have nothing to show for all of it!
Because this is the first time I've been home all day other than to make dinner and I am not putting the laundry away with my 30 seconds of solitaryness. (Sorry, honey. But we will move it off your side of the bed and onto the chair next to my side, if that counts for something.)
And honestly as I write this and I think about picking my kids' noses and hugging them in their towels to dry them off after baths and explaining to them where space is and how one might get there, it really isn't that boring. I pretty much love every minute of it. It is very often quite amusing, and very often there is dancing involved. Well, in between some yelling.
I suppose sometimes it's like the movie Groundhog Day and being at home every day could sort of run together like one big day. But on the other hand, I suppose that's why we fill all of our days up with things like play dates and gymnastics and swim lessons and working out. So that I'm not (we're not) stuck in the house all the time doing laundry and washing the floors while they watch drivel on tv and feeling like it's the movie Groundhog Day. Right now our days are kind of like snowflakes; there really aren't two days that are alike and I like it that way. It doesn't matter whether you're staying at home or working or both or whether you're single or a mom or dad, any life could feel like Groundhog Day, right?
