Because Grandma is Short

A few nights ago, as I was rocking the Little One before bedtime, he grabs my hand in the dark and starts touching each of my fingers in turn.  After a few minutes, he identifies each one as a member of our family.

I'm laughing a little as he's naming each of my fingers.  I wasn't surprised until he got to my thumb, the one he named last.  I asked him why Grandma was my thumb, and he said, "Because she is short."  I laughed until tears rolled down my face.  I'm pretty impressed that he made these correlations, I mean, with the exception of Grandma somehow being shorter than the boys, the proportions are accurate.

Then I find out that, while babysitting the Bean, Grandma was informed that if she had an iPad, it would only have games on it like his does, (not "everything" like Mommy's) because she's short like him.

Grandma isn't very tall, but she's definitely taller than the boys, at least for a little while longer.  The pediatrician tells me that I shouldn't be surprised if they reach between 6' 4" and 6' 6" before they are done growing.  I guess that means my husband and I will become the ring finger and pinky, respectively, and the boys will be the index and middle.  

Grandma is still the thumb, though…  

Boo!

This is not a Halloween post.  Although, now that I think about it, the following may have been inspired by all the Halloween stories, projects, and decorating going on in our house.

Early this morning - 4am, to be exact - the Bean comes into my room and wakes me up.

"Mommy? I had a bad dream."
"Ok, sweetheart.  Let me get up.  Do you need to go potty, while you're awake?"
"Yes, I'll go in your bathroom."

He trips off into the bathroom as I drag my groggy body out of bed and try to get upright.  After he's finished, I go in.  I hear him click on the light in the main part of the bathroom and I wince, because I know I'm going to be blinded the minute I open the door between us.

As I'm staggering out of the bathroom, eyes half shut and reaching for the light switch, I call out into my bedroom, "I'm coming, love.  Let's get you back to bed."

At that point, from my right, where the bathtub is, he jumps up and yells, "BOO!"

I swear I thought I was having a heart attack.  I yelped, jumped, and then burst into tears.  All in the same three seconds.

"That was NOT NICE!  Get your stuffed animals and get back to your room!"  I did take him back to bed, and tuck him in and kiss him.  I'm not a complete ogre.

Later in the morning, I talked to my husband on the phone and told him what happened.  After he finished laughing, long and hard, he gently pointed out that I may have overreacted a bit.  "I'm sure he thought he was being funny, and I can just picture his little face after you yelled at him."

Now, I'm feeling horrible and guilty as hell.  My husband's right!  He thought he was doing something funny and cute and I shouted at him like a horrible, well, ogre.

I go down to his bedroom, where I can hear him playing quietly with his brother, pretending they aren't getting up too early.  I walk in, sit down on the floor, and pull him into my lap.

"Sweetheart, do you remember what happened during the night?  When you said, 'BOO!' and scared me?"

He giggled a little.  "Yes, Mommy."

"Well, I'm sorry I shouted at you.  You really scared me and I wasn't quite awake yet and I know you were just trying to be funny."  I kissed him and he snuggled into my arms for a hug.  So sweet.

Then...

"Mommy, I really scared you!  You thought I was in your room, but I wasn't!  I was hiding, and I made you jump and yell, because I scared you!!" And he's rolling on the floor laughing so hard he's snorting.

...

I called my husband back to tell him that his son was not, in fact, scarred by my overreaction.  That it just made it even funnier in his mind.  I was laughing, mind you, because this not the first time I've looked ridiculous to my children, and I'm positive it won't be the last.  They are pretty funny kids!

But next time he wakes me up in the middle of the night, I'll be ready for him.

If This Plane Lands in the Water...

Last weekend, my brother-in-law got married.  My boys were in the wedding (cutest ring-bearers in the history of the job, really), and my husband was the Best Man.  My job, besides doing one of the readings at the wedding ceremony, was to handle the ring-bearers and make sure they made it down the aisle, then sat quietly through Mass.  They did both admirably well, and my husband and I both heaved a sigh of relief when we made it to the end without any outbursts from our children.

The wedding was in Michigan.  My husband was already there (we're moving there soon, and he's been commuting from Florida for several months now), so I flew with the Bean and the Little One on last Wednesday evening.  They were amazing.  Charming, funny, talkative, cooperative...I could not have asked for a better experience.

We were on a large plane that was mostly empty.  There were maybe 30 people in the main cabin, which meant the boys could play with their tray tables and squirm in their seats without bothering anyone.  As we were preparing for takeoff, the lead flight attendant asks everyone to "please direct your attention to the overhead screens for a brief safety presentation."  Ordinarily, I ignore this.  I've flown enough times to know that in the event of an unexpected loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling, and that oxygen will be flowing, even if the bag doesn't inflate.  I also know that my seat cushion makes a handy flotation device in the event of a water landing.

Ordinarily, I said.  This was not an ordinary flight.  This was the first flight my kids noticed the video screen and paid attention.  My "mom antennae" were working overtime and I was already bracing myself for the questions.  The Little One didn't seem to care much.  He was examining the Sky Mall magazine, maybe working on his Christmas list.  I'm not sure.  I'm just glad he wasn't paying attention. The Bean was a different story altogether.

"Mommy? Do we have to wear a life vest to ride on a plane?  I thought those were for boats.  And why are those people on the TV wearing those funny masks on their faces?  Do we have to do that, too?  

Truth versus Anxiety-Free Trip...  Sorry, Truth.  There's no winning this one.  I completely dodged the question.  "Well, sweetheart, I've been on a lot of planes, and I've never had to use those things."  And then I gave him a bag of fruit snacks and told him to look at the all the things going on outside his window.

I turn to the Little One to answer his questions about products available for purchase from Sky Mall, and in the twenty seconds I wasn't looking at the Bean, he went rifling through the seat back pocket in front of him.  Of the thirteen things in there, what does he find to peruse?  The Safety Information Card.  Yay!

"Mommy?  Look at this.  Why is this a picture of an airplane parked in the water?  This is not a seaplane.  It cannot land on the water, Mommy. And why do they need boats?"  He wasn't upset, just confused about why the artist chose to show an airplane in the water with giant inflatable life rafts all around it.  As I stuttered and tried to think of a better answer than my previous one, he continued.  "Mommy!  Are you looking at this?  If this plane lands in the water, the people on it are not going to be able to get where they are going and they are not going to be happy."

The only thing going through my head was, If this plane lands in the water, we have bigger problems than how were going to get to our final destination!   I didn't say that.

Instead, I said, "Wow.  It's getting loud in here.  I think we're about to take off.  Want some more fruit snacks?"

Laugh at me, scold me for not telling him the truth, whatever... I'm just thrilled to say we made it through the two and half hour flight that landed 30 minutes ahead of schedule (which was still an hour beyond their normal bedtime) and both of my children were happy.  

When my husband picked us up at baggage claim, the boys hurled themselves off the escalator and into his arms, screaming, "DADDY!!!!" to a chorus of "awwwww"s coming from everyone around. 

The Bean announced later that night, "We rode a shuttle bus, an airplane, and a monorail train, Daddy picked us up at the airport, and now we're going to Grandma and Grandpa's house.  This is the best day of my life!"

Mission complete.

First Day of School

Wow...has it really been a month since I last wrote a post?  All I can say is that it has been one extremely busy month and I've been fully engaged with my children and my family.  I'll write more about our fun summer vacation and other adventures soon.  Today, I want to write about...today.

Today was the first day of school!

The Bean is starting what's called VPK here in Florida - Voluntary Pre-Kindergarten.  He's still four.  Not going to Kindergarten until next year, and thank heavens for that.  I'm so not ready!  The Little One is starting his new school year too - up to three mornings each week from last year's two - in a new school.  New teachers and classrooms for them (and me!).

The boys have been going to preschool two mornings each week for the last two years and we've all loved it.  It's been nice for me to have a little unencumbered time to do...well anything that's easier to do without two little guys tagging along.  They've learned social skills, how to be separate people (from me and each other), that it's okay to trust their teachers to take care of them when Mom and Dad aren't there, and innumerable other things that will help them fulfill all the potential my husband and I see in them every day.

This year is different.  The Bean will be going to school five mornings each week.  Wow...five.  I'm really hung up on that.  This might as well be Kindergarten!  I'm suddenly facing my little boy growing up and I'm finding myself very unprepared for the onslaught of emotion.  I hear things like, "He's ready for it!"  "Don't worry, you'll both end up loving it!"  "Think of all the free time you're going to have!" And I know all these things to be true, but I'm just not ready yet to give up my time with the Bean.  But we're doing it, because it's the best thing for our son.  And we'll do it with a smile and excitement, because he needs to see our enthusiasm to grow his own.

And if, tomorrow morning, the Bean cries and clings to me like he did this morning, I'll once again kiss him goodbye, smile while I promise to be back before lunchtime, and walk out of his classroom door like everything is fine, even though I'm dying inside listening to him pleading with me to stay with him.  There were two moms in my head warring this morning between "Keep walking, it's the best thing you can do for him right now!" and "Have you lost your mind - how could you leave your terrified little boy?!"

When I picked him up today, my little Bean was happy - not because he was leaving school, but because he had a great day!  He told me about his day, the cool playground, explained the green paint on his shirt (finger painting leaves!) and how his teacher helped him feel better when he was sad after I left this morning.  I was bursting with pride and pleasure in him, and gratitude for his teacher, who did what she promised me she would do.  When he wouldn't let go of me this morning, she looked me right in the eye and said, "Will you let me take him from you, and trust me to love him and help him handle this?"  What a blessing good teachers are!

What does the Little One think of school, you ask?  He loves it.  LOVES it.  He was upset that this morning wasn't "real" school for him - it was his classroom "sneak peek," when the children get to come with their parents and explore the classroom and meet their teachers with the safety net of Mom or Dad there.  We walked into the room, he let go of my hand and immediately set out to touch and play with every single thing in his "giant new class" (his words!).  An hour was not nearly long enough to satisfy him, and he certainly didn't want me getting in his way.  On FaceTime tonight with Daddy, he spent five minutes telling a convoluted story about what the plastic donkey was doing in Barbie's Dreamhouse*.  Wednesday will be his first full morning, and as far as he's concerned, it can't come fast enough.  The Bean told me, tearfully, this morning that he wanted to stay home with me forever and never go to school.  The Little One asked when he'd be big enough to ride the school bus.

I'm truly looking forward to what the year will bring, and there is real joy in picking my boys up at the end of their school day.  The big smiles as they dash out the door to hug me, chattering away about projects, games and friends.  They both love going to school and really thrive in that environment, and it's truly a miracle to get to see them grow into themselves throughout each year.  The two mornings each week when it will be just me and the Little One are going to be wonderful, too!  He told me today that he'd like to go to Starbucks with me (ha!) and play with all his brother's Legos (double-ha!).

So - if you're the parent who loves watching their children thrive and grow in school, but who isn't also waiting for the last day of summer vacation with bated breath, or isn't ready for five-mornings-a-week preschool, all-day Kindergarten, or facing the reality of time flying by faster than you can wrap your fingers around it, it's okay.  I'm right there, too. 

ps.
*In case you were wondering what the donkey was doing in the Dreamhouse: Riding the elevator up and down and up and down, and getting dressed to go play in the sand park before heading to the playground, which was bad because he got sand on the slides, and then there was something about using tweezers to possibly break a rope.  I clearly lost a bit of the story there. The Little One definitely has the makings of an Irish storyteller!

What time is it?

As the Bean gets older, I'm starting to explain to him what the numbers on the clock in his room mean.  It's an analog clock that makes an actual tick-tock noise.  We've identified the big hand, little hand, and he recognizes most of the numbers, most of the time.

Lately, he hasn't been wanting to actually sleep during his nap time.  Even when he doesn't sleep, though, he has a "rest," which means that he can do quiet activities (reading, puzzles) in his bed.  No toys, though, and he has to stay in bed.

Two days ago, I put him and the Little One down for their naps.  Ten minutes later, the Bean comes out of his room and asks if his rest is over.  I send him back to bed with a kiss and a "are you kidding me?" Ten minutes after that, he calls me to help him after he's gone to the bathroom.

Once again, I get him settled in his bed and I show him the clock on his wall.  "You can go to sleep or not, but if you don't, you can't get up until 3:00."  I point out the 3 on the clock and describe that 3:00 looks like a letter "L" - big hand pointing straight up, little hand pointing straight to the side, on the number 3.

"Okay, Mommy!  I know."  I leave him with his stack of books and Highlights High Five magazines.

Thirty minutes later, at 2:01pm, the Bean comes strolling into my sewing room, smiling.

"Hi, Mommy!  It's 3:00!  The hands on my clock are pointing like a letter "L" just like you said."
He's clearly excited and I'm thinking that maybe he's confused the 2 and the 3.  I follow him to his room where he points at the clock and says, "See, look!"

...  ...  ... this is what I found:

I have no words.  I just stare at my son, open-mouthed.  Part of me wants to cheer his ingenuity and critical thinking.  I mean, how great is it that my four year old, who is only just starting to understand clocks, figured this out?!  He climbed on train table to reach this.  Changed the time, and then tried to hang it back up so I wouldn't notice what he'd done.  

I pointed out that changing the time in his room doesn't change the time in the rest of the house.  I asked him to go back to bed and walked out of the room, down the hall to my bedroom, closed to the door, and laughed hysterically.  I'm so proud, so very very proud of this little boy. 

Also, I could hear my dad's voice in my head during this episode, laughing.  He used to joke that every room in our house must be in a different time zone because none of the clocks ever showed the same thing...

Something Serious This Way Comes

Okay...this post is a (semi) serious one.  I won't do this often.  The point of this blog is to be funny.  This is important to me, though, so buckle up...

If you're a parent, particularly a stay-at-home parent, or you're married to a stay-at-home parent, you're at least passingly familiar with the term "mommy wars."  Generally, it's this idea that all of us stay-at-home moms are trying to one-up each other for Mom of the Year.  And I'm not excluding dads from this.  I imagine they deal with this, and other things, too.  It's just, well, I'm a mom, so that's my perspective.

Social media has made it very easy for us all of us to feel inferior.  We're never doing enough.  Never making enough cookies, never volunteering to save the world enough, never wearing the most fashionable, newest clothes, never feeding our kids the most vegetables, never getting them to sit at the table without causing a scene at dinner EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.  We are left feeling that we are not enough.  We see on Facebook, Twitter, and everywhere else, that other people are doing all these things.  And I know this, because I feel like this sometimes.

A few months ago, a friend and former colleague of both mine and my husband's called him to catch up.  She mentioned that she sees on Facebook all the things I'm up to during the day with the boys.  "Your wife is such a great mom.  She's always finding cool stuff for the boys to do and help with."  My husband laughed and said, "Boy, my wife would really love to talk to you!"

About a week or so later, someone else made a comment in the same vein to him about the pictures they saw of the cookies and cupcakes I had made for the Bean's fourth birthday party.

I always joke that I don't take pictures of the kids when they're screaming and crying and fighting with me about picking up their toys, eating their dinners, putting on their shoes, going to bed, or any number of other things.  Who wants to remember those moments?   I don't believe that Facebook, Twitter, Google+, or any other public forum is the place for unloading negativity.  I deliberately try to keep it light and silly.  I post pictures of the boys doing the funny things they do all day, so that our friends and family can keep in touch and find out, if they're inclined, what the Bean and Little One are up to.  If you're not part of my day-to-day non-internet life, though, you'd never know about anything else.

So, why is it that when I see the happy pictures of laughing children or clever crafty projects, or read the posts about children who love eating green beans and who play nicely with their siblings all day long, that I suddenly feel like I must be doing something wrong?  The parents posting those pictures and comments  might have perfect children, who do exactly what they are told and never cause spikes in blood pressure, but odds are....they're doing the same thing I do.  Editing the negative, sharing the things that bring a smile to their faces.  Reminding themselves that these little people we are raising might make us doubt ourselves daily, but they are also capable of producing such an intense, piercing joy, if we, as parents, trust ourselves enough to feel it.

Please - if you see my posts on Facebook and think, "Wow!  I can't believe she made those cookies herself!" or "Her kids are always smiling and so happy!" take a step back and know this:  I called my husband crying one night this week because the Little One was in his room, sobbing hysterically that he was hungry.  I felt like a terrible human being because I wouldn't feed my three-year-old anything, as he had just been at the dinner table for thirty minutes screaming at me that he would not eat chicken, or anything else I'd made.  I'd finally reached my breaking point with his food demands.

Those cookies and cupcakes I made?  I have a mom who is amazingly talented and crafty, and growing  up, those kind of projects were part of the program.   I've been doing crafty projects like that since I was two years old.  I enjoy doing them, and I get a real sense of accomplishment from completing projects like that.  It makes me happy.  But I made a lot of ugly, misshapen cookies and produced a lot of cupcakes with wonky frosting before I learned.

My kids are always smiling and happy?  They are often that way, but I don't take pictures of them when they're on the floor having a tantrum.  I don't write posts on Facebook about the times I lose my temper and shout at them.  Or about the towering guilt that comes on the heels of losing my temper, or the feeling of utter despair that I'm failing my children as a mom.  Who wants to put that out there?!

Next time you're looking at something online and that little voice in the back of your head is saying, "Why am I not enough?" remember this:  you don't know the whole story.  It's like trying to understand the plot of book by reading page 82.  My mom said something to me once, in response to my tearful "I feel like a horrible mother!"  She said, "You're a good mom.  I know you're a good mom because if you weren't, you wouldn't care whether you're a good mom. You wouldn't keep trying."

So, keep trying, forgive yourself when you screw it up, and remember that you don't have to be perfect (what does that even mean, anyway!?) to be the ideal mother (or father!) for your children.  None of us are perfect, despite what it looks like on the internet.


ps.  As a note, I wrote this post several days ago and have been letting it stew, not sure when, or even whether, to post it.  Then, last night I was at a fundraiser event with some friends.  An aquaintance sat down to talk with us, and she said to me, "I can't believe you ever have a bad day with your kids!  You are always smiling in the hall at school [our children attend the same preschool]."  I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry!  I decided I needed to post this.  Also, one of my dearest friends pre-read it and begged me to post it too. 

2,487 Web Pages

Everyone who spends any time at all on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, or any other social networking site, has seen those ecards with the black-and-white illustration and some sharp, snarky commentary.  I love them.  They almost always make me laugh, particularly the ones relating to motherhood.

There was one going around recently that says if you want to know what the inside of a woman's brain is like, imagine a browser with 2,487 web pages open simultaneously.  Sometimes, I feel like that's absolutely true.  Of course, there are also the days when the wifi is down and no web pages will open.

When I was part of the traditional workforce, prior to having kids, I was absolutely a Type-A control-freak.  Everything on my desk was organized.  I had a white board on the wall with different color markers to keep track of multiple projects and the complex maze of formulas and code relating to the spreadsheets I spent my days programming.  I was good at my job!  I could multi-task all day long!

I am not, however, the kind of person who can have the radio and the TV on at the same time and not feel like I'm going crazy.  My husband can filter the sounds and has no problem watching a TED video on his iPad while simultaneously watching a DVR'ed episode of Elementary with me.  I can't focus on either, and I'm left with nothing.

Now, I live with the Little One (age 3) and the Bean (age 4 1/2).  And I'm pretty sure I'm going to be certifiably looney before long.  They talk...about everything.  All day.  ALL DAY.  The Bean even said in the car tonight that he can talk while he's sleeping.  YAY!!!!  It is like have the radio and TV on simultaneously, while some cackling little imp in the corner just keeps pushing the VOL ^ button.  They talk over each other, over everyone else, around each other...but almost never to each other.  Always to me.  At the same time.  And while my poor scrambled brain is trying to filter their voices to make sense the questions so I can form some kind of an answer, they've moved on to repeating the questions a dozen times because I didn't answer immediately.  Even when I do manage to get an answer in edgewise, they keep repeating the question because they didn't hear the answer.  They were too busy...talking!

I want to be clear - I love that they ask questions and share their views on the world around them.  Their insights are, by turns, funny, thoughtful, and usually, spot-on.  My kids are not sheep - they won't be led along blindly anywhere.  Their curious minds are trying to understand everything they see, and I want them to wonder about this world we share.  This will be something I'm intensely proud of in a few years.  I love it.  But it's also exhausting.

So, maybe my brain isn't like having 2,487 websites open simultaneously.  But, I'm pretty sure having two preschoolers in the house is like having 900 HD satellite TV channels and every possible Pandora station going at the same time.

He said, He said

The boys are upstairs playing in their rooms.  Together, happily!  I'm [insert random household chore here] downstairs.

Suddenly, the giggling from upstairs stops.  An unnatural calm settles around the house, like that moment before a storm cloud breaks open with a thunderous boom.  The house is holding its breath.  Then, the ear-splitting wail of a three year old comes bouncing off the tile floors and every other hard surface in the house.  As the first echoes are fading, a second shriek, from the Bean, comes ricocheting through the house.

This is a common occurence in my house.  I put down the [insert cleaning tool here], and head off to investigate.  I am greeted at the top of the stairs by two tear-streaked, anxious faces.

Me: "What's going on?"
Bean: "Mom," he sucks in a big breath, purses his lips slightly, and closes his eyes briefly.  If he knew what the Serenity Prayer was, I'm pretty sure he'd be saying it in his head right now. God grant me the serenity...  "Mom," he begins again, "we was goofing around and both got hurt."  He shakes his head slowly, It's really such a shame how these things happen sometimes, isn't it?

I can feel my eyebrows creeping up my forehead, but I'm powerless to keep the expression of incredulity off my face.

"No we was not!  I was not goofin' off!"  The Little One is indignant.  "He tried to take my [most-important-toy-ever-today] an' I hit him an' he hit me back an' made myself fall down."

So, this is what I've learned:  The Bean has reached an age where he's weighing how much trouble he'll get in if he admits guilt.  But he's smart.  He doesn't lie to me outright.  He does try that sometimes, but he's so obvious when he's lying to me that it backfires on him every time.  We've had many, many, many, many discussions about how lying will only get you in more trouble in the long run, the boy-who-cried-wolf syndrome, etc....  But he's four.  I'm sure he remembers these conversations for approximately three seconds after we finish them.  (But if you swear in front of a four year old, they'll remember and repeat that FOREVER. In front of your parents. In church.)  Instead, he has started distorting the events just slightly - everything sounds accidental and all in good fun in his version.

The Little One hasn't figured out how to lie to me yet, or to distort the truth, as his brother does.  He just busts out with whatever, including incriminating himself when that's the truth.  In his mind, his retaliation, or even provocation, is thoroughly justified, so I'm not sure he even thinks he has something to hide in the first place!

Heaven help me when they learn to work together and start polishing their stories before they tell me what's happening.

I solved my own problem!

Both the Bean and Little One are in non-crib beds now, which has mostly been a blessing.  Bean has a regular, full size bed, and the Little One's crib has been converted to a toddler bed.  We never really had too much trouble with kids wandering the house at night, which has been good.  The Bean just comes to our room if he needs something (occasionally annoying, but better than him wandering around downstairs getting into heaven knows what) and the Little One prefers to scream for "MOMMY" at the top of his lungs.

The big blessing is mornings.  We can actually sleep in, a little, now.  Or at least, even though we're awake, we don't have to rush out of bed to rescue an irate toddler from his prison crib.  The boys even play together.  Once the Little One starts shouting, the Bean (who is the earliest riser in our household, barring an alarm clock artifically waking my husband for work) goes to his brother's room and they play together happily and mostly quietly for 30 to 45 minutes!  YAY!

This morning, my husband was out of town, so I was awakened at 6:45 by the shout "MOMMY" shout from next door.  I heard the Bean go into the Little One's room, some giggling, and the sound of toys being dragged from the closet.  I talked to my husband on the phone for 30 minutes, during which time I heard very little from the rooms down the hall.

After saying goodbye to my husband, I went to check on the situation with the very quiet boys.  I walk into the Little One's bedroom and am greeted by several stuffed animals piled on the floor.  This might seem like nothing to get excited about, until you know that when I put the boys to bed last night, these selfsame stuffed animals were on the top of the hutch that is mounted on the dresser.  Approximately 7' off the floor!!  There is nothing in the room suitable for climbing that high (or so I thought), and I'm struggling a bit for words.

"Mommy," the Bean is grinning widely, "I got my amimals down for me guys!  I solved my own problem!"  

"I see!  How did you do that?"  I ask cheerfully, smiling back, because he's clearly proud of his accomplishment and I don't want to crush his spirit of independence and self-reliance.  They didn't ask me for help.  He solved this problem on his own, and I'm torn between bursting pride and panic.

"Like this, with my rocking horse.  I'll show you!"  He starts dragging the small rocking horse my dad and mom built for the boys when the Bean was born.  It's modeled after one I had as a child, and it's no more than a 18" high.  How is this going to work??

Carefully, the Bean scoots the horse into position beside the dresser, next to the diaper pail.  I'm having visions of him balancing on top of the Diaper Genie and I'm about ready to put a stop to the demonstration, but he does one better than my imagination.  He stands on the seat of the horse, reaches over and grabs the side of the hutch for balance, then steps up onto the hand holds on the side of the horse's head.  Handles - basically about the size of a wooden broom handle in diameter, sticking out about 8" from either side of the head, which is attached the body of the horse with a SINGLE BOLT AND WING NUT!  Yes, I'm yelling!  But silently.  Not at the boys.  I'm struck dumb watching this demonstration.

Stretching up on his tiptoes, the Bean grabs another animal from the top of the dresser, tosses it to his brother, below, and hops down.

I remember to breathe again, and reminding myself to see the pleasure and pride on his face, I check my impulse to shout about the dangers of climbing rocking horses and scaling the sides of dressers.  

"Bean, I love how you worked out the solution to that problem all by yourself!  I'm really proud of you!"  His grin could split his cheeks at this point.  "But, I want to tell you something.  Standing on the rocking horse like that isn't something you should be doing, ok?  It's not really very safe, and I know you didn't realize that, but if the handles or his head had broken, you would have fallen down and could've been hurt very badly."

His brows draw together for a moment, as he studies the horse and considers the implication of my words.  

"Aaaaah."  And with that and a nod, he's off with the Little One to find more adventures and breakfast.

I think I actually felt four hairs spontaneously turn gray watching the demonstration.  

I'm going to be fully gray by the time they make it to Kindergarten.

Yes Day!

The director of the preschool the boys attend is a wonderful woman who likes to stay involved the with the families at the school.  Periodically, she emails interesting articles about child development, parenting issues, and other relevant information.

Last week, she emailed an article about a storybook called Yes Day, by Amy Krouse Rosenthal and Tom Lichtenheld.  I had never read the story, but from the article, I got the gist of the story.  It's a special day where the answer to every question is "Yes!"  The article went to discuss ways to incorporate this into real life, but one particular line really resonated with me:

"What happens when you say "yes"? Everything changes for your child. Your child feels strong, capable, imaginative, and free!"

So, at first I thought - isn't basically every day "yes" day for kids?  I mean, our days generally revolve around their schedules and desires to play at the park, swim in the pool, ride bikes, go to a friend's house, etc...  Then, I really thought about it.  How often do I say "yes" to a question?

"Mom, can we have a cookie for breakfast?" "No!  That's not the way to start the day healthy!"

"Mom, can we get the playdough out after dinner?" "Not tonight.  I just vacuumed (which is every day anyway) and don't want to clean up a giant mess."

"Mom, can we go so-and-so's house to play this afternoon?" "Sorry guys, we have to go to the grocery store today!"

And a thousand other requests all day long, because they don't always fit into my agenda, aren't healthy choices, I don't feel like it, and any number of other reasons.  So, I started to picture what their faces would look like if I said "yes" to a cookie for breakfast.  "Yes" to the park and bikes and skipping naptime, and everything else.  I liked the vision in my head.

I'm not an idiot.  My kids are sharp and insightful and I knew it would take mere seconds before the exploitation of the Yes Day began.  There would need to be limitations.  My kids are smart, but they're still only 3 and 4 years old.  Still learning boundaries.

I decided to do it.

At 7:30 this morning, I was sitting on the floor in the Little One's bedroom, watching the Bean and him playing with train tracks and chattering away about breakfast.  So, I tell them that today is a special day.  They immediately tune in.  I explain that it's Yes Day and that, within the bounds of safety and reason, I would try to say "yes" to as many of their requests as I could.  Two pairs of big blue eyes lit up.

The Little One, in seconds, says, "Oh, can we skip our naps today?"
"Yes!" I say.  I'm feeling pretty good about this so far.  I said "yes" already!

The Bean is thinking a little harder about it.  He asks if we can go have breakfast now, and we all head downstairs.  After I get their yogurt and cereal bars and raisin bread organized, the Bean has come up with his first test of my resolve.

"Mommy, can we have a cookie with breakfast?"

My inner parent cringes.  Cookies for breakfast?  But I say, "yes!" and he lights up like I just handed him the world.  I kept my promise!  They both had cookies with their breakfast and we had popsicles BEFORE lunch.  We rode bikes, played baseball in the yard, and worked playdough on the back patio.  These are all things we do often anyway, but this is what the boys asked for.  It's been their day, all day.  We haven't done a thing they haven't asked for.  We swam in the pool this afternoon, and watched too much TV before dinner.  I said "no" to one request.  The Bean wanted to go to an indoor playground where a friend had her birthday party a couple of months ago.  The day is just too gorgeous to waste inside at a playground I have to pay for entry to.  We decided a bike ride would be more fun anyway.

The only problem we're running into now is dinner.  The boys are not in agreement about what dinner should be.  I might end up assembling two meals, but it's a small price to pay for the pleasure I see in their faces.  They are telling everyone we come in contact with that it's Yes Day!

After this busy, almost no-nap (the Little One actually went into his room to play and fell asleep, ha!) day, I'm hoping they don't ask to stay up late tonight.

Motherhood and a Tinkertoy

Today's post isn't about my little guys, but about a close friend and her son.

I was on the phone with my friend yesterday morning for about twenty minutes.  That's some kind of record by itself.  Usually, as any mom with small children will attest, the best we can do is five minutes before someone is interrupted by a desperate child in need of something.  Desperately.  In the case of my friend and I, it's usually me being interrupted.  Her son is usually pretty sweet and calm, and rarely gets himself too spun up about anything.

Yesterday morning was unusual, as I could hear her little guy in the background, begging for her to find a missing Tinkertoy piece.  It was the piece that would allow him to solve all his Tinkertoy problems.  He could bring the masterpiece rattling around in his head to glorious life!  She had been searching for this missing piece for most of the morning, including a good part of our twenty minute phone chat, to no avail.

Later that day, the Little One, Bean and I went over to their house to hang out and play.  The boys were immediately engrossed with Legos and other toys, and the grown ups sat down to talk.  Kids must sense the minute their mother's butts hit a chair, and automatically assume that because we are sitting down, we are bored and in need of distraction.  Choruses of "Mom! Mom!  I need you to help me!" came from the playroom.  After helping my boys with their Lego crisis, I realize that my friend's son is going on about the missing Tinkertoy again!  That dratted thing is still hiding somewhere.

I offer to help search and we quickly discover that the Tinkertoys and Legos have been mixed up in the SAME BOX!  After sorting it out, the missing piece is...still missing.  The poor 4 year old boy is still a frustrated artist and the angst is starting to wear on his mother's nerves.  I start digging behind furniture in an attempt to help my girlfriend and her aching head.  Voila!  The missing piece!  It is FOUND!

I fold it up in my hand and turn to her son.

"I have a surprise for you!  You're going to be so happy when you see what I have!  But first...I need a little kiss right here," and I present my cheek, tapping it with my index finger.  He giggles and gives me a quick peck before anxiously inspecting the surprise.

"I found the missing Tinkertoy!"  I present it to him triumphantly.His mother and I are both looking at him expectantly, big smiles on our faces.  He picks up the piece, looks it over, shrugs, and chucks it in the box with the other Tinkertoys before wandering off to find something else to play with.

Shock.  Mouths hanging open.  Seriously!?!  After a full day's worth of drama over this, THAT'S his response?

My friend collapses in hysterical laughter on the floor as I lay back and stare at the ceiling.

Yup - sometimes, that's what motherhood is all about.

Slap Your Graham Cracker

The boys have recently taken an avid interest in what music is playing on the radio in the car.  It's entertaining!  And sometimes irritating, when I'm asked to play the same songs over and over and over and over...  Even songs I formerly loved have now become dreaded requests, because there are only so many times a person can listen to "Life is a Highway" before you just don't want to hear it ever again.  Ever.

Fortunately, their taste in music seems to have expanded and we listen to everything from very current Top 40 to my favorite classic rock hits and country music.  My husband has set up playlists on our Pandora account for all sorts of music - Irish Pub Rock (I feel like stomping on the floor and drinking a beer every time we turn that on), Traditional Middle Eastern to set the mood when we've made shish tawook and fattoush for dinner, Bollywood, and Classical Symphonic.  They comment on all of it - what they like, what they don't like, and often ask if I have particular song on my phone, and can we replay it again?  I am grateful for Pandora, iTunes, and Sirius XM Radio, though, because I always have the answer to the questions: What band is this? What's the name of this song?  Who's the guy singing?  And I'm very proud when they start to pick out the instruments they can hear - guitar, drums, saxophone (that was a new one recently!).

Saturday morning two weeks ago, we were driving to the beach and listening to my iTunes playlist in the car.  After the obligatory round of "Another One Bites the Dust," which is the Bean's favorite song right now, and "Any Way You Want It," (the Little One's favorite!), I start cycling through, looking for something different.  "We Will Rock You" is the first thing I find to fill the dead air, and the boys start kicking our seats and clapping their hands and attempting to sing along.  It's hilarious, because the only lyric they seem to understand besides "We will rock you!" is "Mud on your face."  This is their new favorite song - it's awesome!  It's about having mud on your face!  They can't stop laughing and singing this one line over and over.

Then the song is over and the next one comes on.  Trace Adkins' "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk."  As it starts playing, this what is happening in my head:  Shit...maybe they shouldn't be listening to this.  Why is this still on my playlist? Well, it's probably ok - they won't understand most of what it means anyway, right? And, if I shut it off now, it's just going to call attention to it and they'll start begging me to turn it on again, and OMG, what are my kids learning from these songs?!!?!?  Meanwhile, the song is already well underway and there's no stopping it now.  My husband is grinning as we're waiting to see what the boys make of this song.  I'm certain one of us is shortly going to have to explain what a "badonkadonk" is.  And by "one of us" I mean, my husband.  I'm totally making that Dad's job.  A few lines in, the lyric goes, "Hoo-eee, shut my mouth, slap your Grandma."  I cringe.  Slap your Grandma!? Imagine that one out of context!  

The Bean says, "Slap your GRAM?!?" Incredulity is evident in his voice.  I'm already preparing my response to this in my head, when he says, "Gram is another word for graham cracker.  So, he just said 'slap your graham cracker.'  That's so funny!!"  The Little One is laughing hysterically and the two of them proceed to sing "Slap your graham cracker" over and over, oblivious that the song has moved on. My husband and I are laughing so hard in the front seat of the car neither of us can catch a breath.  Of all the ways that could have gone, I never saw that coming!

They now ask for the "Slap your cracker" song...  

Grandma Who?

My parents came for a visit! Yay!

However, we are having some confusion with names.  The boys have come up with their own way of handling this, though.  We have Mommy and Daddy, of course.  Easy and obvious.  But, things get a little hairier when it comes to grandparents.  My huband and I didn't have the foresight to give their grandmothers different nicknames.  They're both Grandma.  There's only one Grandpa, so that, at least, is clear.

Each of the boys has their own system.  The Bean calls my mother-in-law, who lives with us, "Grandma-Who-Lives-With-Us."  Ok.  Easy enough.  My mom became, "Grandpa's Grandma."  Because she belongs to my dad, not because she's actually my dad's Grandma.  We can't stop laughing over this.  Every time the Bean says it, I giggle a little, because it just sounds so funny, and confusing.  My poor mom just got aged two generations!

The Little One has his own strategy for their names, and it's just as funny.  My mother-in-law is "Grandma-Who-Goes-With-Us."  My mom is "Grandma-Who-Goes-With-Grandpa."  It feels very Native American.  I sort of wonder if he could come up with names like for all of us?  Who would I get to be?  Doubtless, if I asked, he'd stare at me as though I was crazy and wonder why we'd need long silly names like that when there is clearly only one Mommy and one Daddy.

The Projects

My children love to do art projects.  They really, really love them.  It's wonderful - all this creativity and fine motor skill development!  I feel like such a good mom when they are happily engaged in some kind of project.

It's also messy, so sometimes, I just tell myself that this is why we pay for them to go to preschool two mornings a week, and I tell them to go find their trains or trucks, or anything that I don't have to wash off of them when they're done.  And just to be clear, "art project" does not include coloring.  That's not a project, apparently.  The Bean knows about this stuff and has advised me accordingly. At school, they can paint, cut, and glue to their hearts' content and someone else has to clean up the floors, walls, ceiling, and at least nominally, the kid.  The boys have specifically designated school clothes that are permanently paint-stained, so I don't worry too much about the kid part of the clean up.

The boys are SUPER excited about Easter coming up!  We're doing Easter-themed art projects and playing with the 187,000 plastic eggs rolling around the house.   So, I'm getting tired of hiding plastic Easter eggs.  It's a fun game, but a person can only find so many hiding spots no more than three feet off the floor before the kids start finding the things too fast.  I suggest a new, cool project.  I take out the paint.  My kids are so excited to see that little tray of watercolors and the cups of clean water and brushes!  I give them sheets of construction paper and set them up on the patio to paint.

(If you rarely give your kids paint, when you do, it will occupy them for an hour, at least.  Yay!)

Now, I'm trying to decide how to turn this into an Easter project.  Then, I have a brainstorm.  I cut baskets out of brown paper and cut up the watercolored papers into eggs...voila!

The boys are thrilled, and I'm feeling pretty clever!  Win-win!

In case you want to try this:
1. Paint construction paper with watercolors.  The more paint the better.
2. Cut basket out of a full sheet of paper.  Make sure you leave space for the eggs to be glued on.
3. After the watercolor papers have dried, cut them up into eggs and glue into the basket.

FIRE!!

The boys have a favorite park near our house, and I understand why they love it so much.  It’s big and shady and has this enormous playscape filled with bridges, ladders, slides, towers, climbing walls – things to fuel the imaginations of energetic kids.  There are two sections – one built on a slighty smaller scale for younger children.  It’s a perfect spot for hours of outdoor fun.

I can’t take them there if I’m the only adult present.   There is no way for me to even attempt to keep even one eye on each of them.  It’s riddled with blind spots, and the two sections are separated by a wide sidewalk and splash park area (which thankfully has an on/off switch kids can’t reach!).  Of course, the boys don’t stick together – they immediately run in different directions and my efforts to get them to play at least in the same vicinity are wasted. 

They’ve learned that we only go to what they call the Flag Park (there’s a giant American flag flying nearby) when Daddy is available to go with us. 

We were at this park on a busy Sunday afternoon recently.  The park was packed with kids of all ages, running and shouting, and even with an adult-to-child ratio of 1:1, it was tough keeping eyes on them.  Then, they started prentending to be firemen, and suddenly, everyone in the park knew where my kids were.

“Fire! FIRE!” the Bean screamed as he ran by.  The Little One was hot on his heels, repeating the refrain.

“Get the hose!  Weee ooooo!  Weee oooo!” 

“Pssssshhhhhhhhhhh!  Spray the water on the fire!  Quick!”

“Mommy, don’t sit there – your butt is on fire!  Now you have to go in the ambs [ambulance].”

“Daddy, help me get down the fire pole!  Hurry! HURRY!”

“FIRE!! FIRE!! FIRE!!!”

The boys could be heard circling the playscape, shouting about the imaginary fire, firetrucks, ambulances, and making siren sounds.  It was incredible to watch their imaginations literally exploding with vivid imagery.  

Other kids were looking a little alarmed, particularly when they were told by our exuberant fireman that they were standing in fires.  Every time one of them shouted “Fire,” at least one parent would look up and scan the playground apprehensively.

Is it still illegal to shout “Fire” in a crowded theater when there isn’t really a fire?

Down the Hole!

Potty training the Bean was a piece of cake.  We bought Lightning McQueen underwear, took off his diaper one afternoon, and after two accidents, he was good to go.  He wore diapers for a while longer at naptime, and a bit longer than that for overnights.  But by the time he was four, we were totally done with diapers.

We delayed starting potty training with the Little One because he operates on a different program than his older brother.  The Bean was very motivated by rewards for behavior - pee in the potty, get a sticker.  Poop in the potty, get a matchbox car (this was a harder trick to master, so got a bigger reward).  He would negotiate for more stickers, stickers for just trying...you name it, I was was willing to give him a sticker for almost anything relating to getting out of diapers.  Wash your hands without being asked? Sticker!  Remember to flush the toliet?  Sticker!  Stand up to pee and don't miss the toliet?  Two stickers!  We had an 11x20 sheet of paper taped to the pantry door with so many stickers on it, it eventually collapse under it's own weight.

Now, the Little One? He doesn't work quite like that.  We decided he was ready for potty training and bought some Thomas the Train underwear.  Very exciting!  The Little One refused to even put them on.
"Come on, don't you want to try them out?  Be like your big brother?"
"No."  He shrugged, shook his head emphatically, so I would be clear on his position.
"I'll give you a sticker!"
"No!" and he walked away, effectively dismissing the conversation.

The next day, "Little One, do you want to try sitting on the potty today?"
"No Mommy."

The next day, "Little One, today's the day!  Let's try the potty.  You can stand up like big brother and Daddy do!"
"No, Mommy."

A week goes by, and I try again, "Okay, buddy!  Before you get in the bath tonight, let's try sitting on the potty.  No bath until you at least try to pee in the potty for me."
"No, Mommy.  I not gonna do it."
Now, I'm starting to feel like I have to do something to jump start this.  I mean, really?  He's almost three.  I'm not asking him to donate a kidney!  Just to give up diaper changes, which he loathes anyway!
"Why not?  Won't you at least try?  What if I give you a sticker?"
"No sticker."
"Lollipop?"
"No."
"What about a cookie?  I'll go downstairs and get you a cookie right now if you'll try the potty.  You don't even have to pee in it.  Just sit on it."
"No, Mommy.  I not."
"Why?!"
"Because I not want to."
"What can I do to make you want to?  What do you want?"
"Nuffing, Mommy.  I not want anyfing.  I not pee in potty."

And that was that.  How do you argue with that?  I let it go for awhile before we started again, a couple of weeks later.  And the result was exactly the same.  The bribes I offered got more outrageous.  After the usual sticker, lollipop, cookie, I upped the ante.
"What if I take you to the store and let you pick out a car - any car you want?"
"Any car?"  I am elated at this point.  This is the first time he hasn't shut me down outright!  We're making progress!!
"Yes, Little One!  Any car you want!  You've just got to pee on the potty and wear your underwear for the rest of the afternoon."
He thinks about it for a minute, then, "No."
ARGH!!!!!

Then, one evening, as the boys are getting in the bathtub, the Bean goes pee like he always does, and the Little One suddenly takes an interest in the toliet paper his brother is using.

"Mommy," he pulls off a piece of toliet paper and shows it to me. "Can I flush this down the hole?"
"You want to flush that toliet paper down the potty?" Bells and lights are going off in my head.  Oh yes, I'm having one of those parenting moments where you suddenly feel like you've got the answers to all the problems, ever!
"Yes, Mommy.  Can I?"
"Sure, but you have to pee in the potty first.  Then you can use the toliet paper to wipe yourself and flush the pee and the paper down the hole."
He shrugs, "Ok, Mommy.  Can you help me sit?"


He now wears underwear most of the time and, though he has accidents periodically, he's getting really good about giving me enough warning to get him to the toliet in time.

How Do You Fit in a Sink?

It’s haircut day for the Bean and Little One!  We go to this really cool place specifically targeted at kids.  They get to sit in big cars (think PowerWheels without the power, and on a stand to give them a little height).  There are individual TV screens showing programs like Thomas the Tank Engine.  They hand out lollipops like water. 

Two successful haircuts done!  Neither boy got upset about anything, which is a little unusual but, hey – I’m not questioning it.  I’m just handing over another lollipop and calling it a great morning.

In the car on the way home, the Bean asks me if the place I go to get my hair cut is the same as his.  I explain that I don’t get to sit in a car, which the Little One thinks is ludicrous.  I also tell them that while the ladies who cut their hair use a little spray bottle of water to wet their hair, I get mine washed in a sink.

The Little One bursts out laughing and says, “Do you have to sit on the drain?”  What?  I’m a little confused – sit on the drain?

The Bean starts laughing now, and says, “How do you fit in the sink, Mommy? That’s a little silly!”

Oh my God, what do they think goes on in a salon?!?  They’ve never been in one, so they’ve got no idea.  I’m laughing hard now, trying to picture what their imaginations must be conjuring in their little heads.  I’ve got a Dr. Seuess-esque illustration in my head of a person sitting, knees pulled to chest, wedged into a tiny little sink, with a dripping wet head.  “Boys, I don’t take a bath there.  I sit in a chair and they put my hair in the sink to wash it.  The rest of me stays dry.”

They laugh hysterically – this is the funniest thing they’ve heard all day, because they clearly don’t believe me.  How does  a person get their hair washed without being fully naked and in a bathtub?