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.