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.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Friday, May 24, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, May 6, 2013
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.
Friday, April 26, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, April 22, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
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...
Thursday, April 4, 2013
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.
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.
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