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?