The Great Orange Crayon Meltdown Of 2012

Husband is out-of-town, so for the next three days it's just me and my girls.  We're going to stay up late watching chick-flicks and eating ice cream out of the container. We might also give each other make-overs and talk about boys we like.  I haven't worked out all the details yet.

And I really feel like I need this quality time with my kids.  I've been focusing so much on my studying lately, that I haven't been engaging with them one-on-one as much as I used to.  I have to push them aside to continue pouring over old notes and textbooks.  In a very small way, I already feel like I'm back at work.

All of this is probably what led up to the great orange crayon meltdown of 2012.

You see, around 8:30 last Friday morning I called out to my girls "Let's get our socks and shoes on! It's time to go to school!"  Preschooler bounds to the steps and eagerly jams her shoes on her feet.  Toddler is dawdling by some pictures they were drawing in crayon.

"Orange crayon," she says.

"Ok," I say, "Finish drawing with your orange crayon.  It's time to go."

She makes some marks with the crayon, and then says a little louder, "ORANGE CRAYON."

"Yes," I reason, "You've drawn with your orange crayon.  Now it's time to go."  She pitter-patters up to me and starts to wail, "Ooorrrange crayyyyyooonn."

"Come on, sweetie, we have to go."  I start putting her socks on, and she runs away screeching, "NO! NO! ORANGE CRAYON! ORANGE CRAYON!"

And as her wails reach a crescendo in my ears, I hear a second voice chime in, "NO! NO! STOP IT! AAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!"

Poor Preschooler is especially sensitive to her sister's feelings, and hearing so much angst emitting from her sibling's mouth was enough to send Preschooler into utter hysterics.

For five straight minutes, while I wrestled socks and shoes and coats on them, my girls screamed until they were both red in the face. The amount of unnecessary noise was staggering, and I would've cried too if the whole thing hadn't been so ludicrous.

Later that day, I did talk to Preschooler about some other coping strategies she has when Toddler cries. We talked about how she can cover her ears, or she can go to her room where it's nice and quiet.  I wasn't sure whether any of that would stick, but she seemed to take it to heart.  A couple days later, when Toddler started pitching a fit about something, Preschooler announced, "I HAVE TO GO TO MY ROOM!!!!"  She scampered upstairs and about 5 minutes later she came back down with a smile on her face.  "I feel better!" she said. "That's great!" I announced.  "See!  When Toddler cried you were able to go up to your room where it was nice and quiet." "Or the toy room!" she agreed.

So maybe there is a silver lining after all.

Moms Always Know

It started when she was 18 months old.  She just had her 18-month-well-visit and was lagging behind a bit in her speech development.

Hmmmm........

Then she got an ear infection.  And then another. And then another

By twenty-one months she hadn’t gained any new words since that 18-month-well-visit.  Not one.

“Husband,” I said, “I think there’s something wrong with her hearing.”

“No there’s not, watch,” he said. “Toddler!  Come here!”

And Toddler toddled towards him.

“See? No problem.”

Hmmmm........

Three more months and three more ear infections, and Toddler and I find ourselves at the audiologist and ENT (ear, nose, and throat doctor.)  The audiology test shows she is at the line between normal hearing and hearing loss.  The ENT notices she has had a series of reoccurring ear infections.  I notice that her speech is delayed enough that she now qualifies for speech-therapy, and explain it’s because she’s not hearing properly.  But, the test says she’s technically normal.

“Let’s wait on it,” recommends the ENT.  “Lots of times the ear infections die down during the spring and summer months.  Then, if she doesn’t get more of them in the fall, we may be in the clear.”

Hmmmm........

Fall comes, and following that, winter.  Toddler continues with speech-therapy, and while she progresses, she still struggles with beginning and ending sounds of words.  I have her in to the doctor’s office at least six times, suspecting ear infections.  Two were ear infections.  The others?  “Wow, there’s a lot of fluid behind her ears!” the doctor would exclaim. “But it’s not infected.”

Hmmmm........

Speech-therapy continues. About a month ago, the therapist asks, “Have you had her hearing tested?”

“Yeah, like a year ago.” I replied.

“Maybe you should have her retested,” she replies.  I set up an appointment.

Finally, I bring her back the pediatrician a couple weeks ago with yet another suspected ear infection.  And this time we see a different pediatrician.  “Woah!” she says. “There’s A LOT of fluid behind her ear.”  The pediatrician flips through her chart, noting she’s in speech therapy.  “There’s no way she is hearing properly,” the pediatrician said.  “She needs her hearing tested.” 

Good thing I have that appointment set up.

A week ago I take her back to the audiologist.  Again, she tests on the border line of normal hearing and hearing loss.  But the tests for a toddler are limited.  She responded to her name, and to white noise, but there’s no way to test what speech sounds she’s hearing and what she’s not.  You might test an older child or an adult by asking them to repeat what you say.  “Chair” you say, and then maybe they say “hair” or “where” if they’re not hearing the “ch” sound properly.  But you can’t perform such a test on a two-year-old.

I talk to the ENT.  “Woah!” he says.  “There’s A LOT of fluid back there!”

So I’ve heard.

So we start to talk about ear tubes.  We agree that, infection or no infection, she needs tubes in her ears to drain all that fluid.  It will probably help with her hearing, and hopefully her speech.

And then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “What about her adenoids? I noticed she’s very congested.”

“Yes,” I reply, “She always has a stuffy nose, always has a bunch of dried-up boogers up there.”

“Does she snore?”

“Yup!  That’s how we know she’s really asleep, and not just up in bed biding her time.”

“I think we should take her adenoids out too, while we do the ear tubes.”

Apparently adenoids can also get in the way of ear fluid draining properly.  Or so I’m told. 

So we set up the procedure for today.  We’re to arrive at the hospital at 9:00 am for ear tubes and an adenoidectomy.  That means that when she wakes up there’s no sippy cup of milk.  And no breakfast.  And that means that the first hour of her day was one epic temper tantrum.  After that first hour, she seemed to be resigned to the fact that we weren’t feeding her this morning, but she was still pissed.

But once we got to the hospital, SHE. WAS. A. CHAMP.

She played with the toys in the waiting room.  When we were sent back to an exam room, she accepted the trade of her monkey jammies for the astronaut-themed hospital gown with no compunctions whatsoever.

She spent the next 45 minutes, while we waited for the anesthesiologist, playing peek-a-boo with the room’s curtain and generally entertaining herself.

She lets the nurses take her vital signs without blinking an eye.

The only time we had tears?  When we parted ways as they wheeled her towards the operating room and we went to the waiting room.  But were those her tears, or mine?  I’m still not sure.  Even though getting ear tubes put in is one of the most common surgical procedures in the country, no one likes to see their baby have surgery.

And what did we hear from the doctor when all was said and done?  “She had A LOT of fluid drain from both ears.  And her adenoids were HUGE.  She’ll definitely start hearing better after this.”

She wasn’t hearing properly?  WHO KNEW?

Lesson learned?  Trust your instincts. Moms always know.

Good job, my little trouper! Hope you’ll be talking up an (understandable) storm, soon!

Sisterly Love

My two girls get along like champs, at least at this young age.  There's way more playing together than fighting; they're each other's best friends.  And, like friends, they share.

Everything.

Even gross things.

Case in point.  The other night my family went out to a local brewpub with my mom and dad for dinner.  The kids ate macaroni and cheese with a side of apples and mandrin oranges.  Near the end of the meal, Toddler starts choking and sputtering on a piece of orange.  After a moment or two, she coughs up the offending orange onto her plate.  She then places the spit-out orange into her sister's fruit bowl, and then Preschooler promptly eats that very same orange.

Yum. 

Still, I know this sisterly love will only last for so long.  Pretty soon they'll be old enough to annoy each other, and then it may not be until they're grown up that they can say they are best friends again.

But I bet by then they'll be over the whole "ABC gum" thing.  At least, I hope they will.

30 Million Day Blog Challenge #8: Having Kids Changes Everything. Duh.

This next 30 (million) day blog challenge prompt is: A picture of someone or something that has the biggest impact on you.


Behold!  My kids.

Once upon  a time, I went to law school.  It was the first step in climbing the corporate ladder, and plugging away at my so-called "5-year-plan."

Then life happened.

Now I stay at home with my two children. I didn’t plan on this five years ago.  

Motherhood was to be put off until I was securely and comfortably established in a high-power career.  This would satisfy my unerring sense of drive and craving for self-worth. It would allow me to provide my children with the very best of everything tangible and impressive.

I thought it was the right thing to do.

It was the wrong thing to do.

My pregnancies were surprises, the most terrifying and extraordinary surprises of my life. I worked hard to be a big, important person; a high-stakes player in the legal world. Instead I became a big, important person to two small, impressionable, dependent human beings.  

After three years of trying to balance my family-life and work-life, it became clear that I had reached a cross-roads.  I couldn’t keep working at such a frantic pace, trying to do it all at once.  And my own self-image was slowly morphing. The so-called great, big, important career was no longer so great and big and important.  

I left my job when we moved back to Wisconsin.  It caused a significant hit to our household income.  It caused a significant set-back to my career.  But I could provide more for my children at home, than I could spending all my time at work bringing in the bacon for them to eat without me, as I burned the midnight oil.

The legal profession is often symbolized by a scale, weighing justice versus mercy. But there is no true way to know before starting a family how you will balance your career with your family time. When is it just to be at work? Or at home?  When can you show mercy, allowing your heart to rest at home with your family? Or do you allow your mind the mental break and space to build a career outside the home? It’s an ever-sliding scale, with the weights constantly moving from one end to the other.

I can’t always gauge whether my scale had balanced.  But I can listen to my heart.

It’s the right thing to do.

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This Is How Jackson Pollock’s Parents Must Have Felt

Today I gave my girls highlighters to color with.  The reason they were using highlighters instead of regular crayons or markers is that I banned markers from my household. I was tired of my girls walking away with marker tattoos on their arms and legs, and anyhow, they dried out due to the caps constantly being left off.

There were good reasons why I don’t give my kids markers.  I should’ve remembered this.

But it was cold and cloudy and nasty outdoors today, and my kids were whining about being bored.  And in my household, the easiest way to deal with nothing-to-do-itis is to set my kids up with arts and crafts projects.  Except instead of providing my kids with an elaborate craft involving paper bags, googly eyes, and felt, I gave them college-lined notebook paper and highlighters.  Same thing, really.

So while they busied themselves, I spent five glorious minutes cleaning my kitchen without any children attached to my leg, clamoring for snacks, or movies, or ponies.  But when I looked back at the kitchen table to check in on my kids, I saw two things. I saw a beautiful drawing of a flower in all its neon glory that would’ve made any 90’s era gal proud. And I saw Toddler entirely covered from chin downwards in pink highlighter.

So, after an impromptu mid-day bath, I brought the kids back downstairs.  The first thing Preschooler did was run to the kitchen to see if a picture she painted with poster paints earlier this morning was dry.

It wasn’t.

My freshly-bathed Preschooler now had hands covered in poster paint.

And what does she do before I have a chance to get her to the sink to wash her hands, or even just give her a wipe for immediate damage control?  

She rubs her hands on the upholstered living room chairs.

Now I get to clean the upholstery on my living room chairs.  So much for being bored.

The Breaking Point

Lately my kids have been pushing me to the breaking point.  

For weeks, Toddler has refused to go to sleep until at least 9:00 pm, yet she still wakes up several times during the night, and by 6:00 am the next morning.

I’m tired.

Preschooler is highly sensitive to her sister’s feelings.  When Toddler cries about something (which is every day, terrible twos and all), Preschooler will start crying and screaming until she is more upset than her sister.  If you try to get her to explain why she’s upset, she’ll just choke out, “I. Don’t. Like. It. When. Toddler. Cries!!!” Then Toddler will cry even more, because her sister is so upset.  It's so incredibly frustrating and difficult to try to calm Preschooler down when she's in one of these fits, not to mention coping with Toddler's initial temper-tantrum, especially when it happens multiple times a day.

We're trying to work with Toddler by not giving in when she has a tantrum, and removing her from the situation when necessary. We’ve also worked with Preschooler on some coping mechanisms.  Everyday I remind her she can cover her ears, she can say “I don’t like this noise,”  she can go sit in her special chair with her favorite blanket, but she can’t scream.  Sometimes this works.  

Sometimes it doesn’t.

Preschooler has also taken to not listening.  Most of our conversations lately go something like this:

Preschooler: Mommy, can I build with blocks?

Me: Of course!

Preschooler: Mommy, can I build with blocks?

Me: Yes!

Preschooler: Mommy, can I build with blocks?

Me: YES! I ALREADY SAID YES!!

Preschooler: MOMMY, YOU’RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!!

Finally, the other day, I just lost it.  Toddler was only whining a little bit, when Preschooler pitched one of her volume-to-11 screaming fits. She screamed so hard her face turned beet red.  And I lost it.

“STOP IT RIGHT NOW!” I growled. “I’M SICK OF THIS. YOU GO SIT IN YOUR CHAIR RIGHT NOW UNTIL YOU CALM DOWN!”

There are no words to express the amount of guilt I felt the minute those words left my mouth.

Preschooler was still crying, except now?  Now she was crying because I yelled at her.  I could see it in her eyes.  I will never forget the way she looked so afraid and miserable at that moment.

And then I cried.  I cried because I was so frustrated.  I cried because I was so tired.  I cried because I don’t want to squelch Preschooler’s feelings.  There needs to be some balance for her between understanding that it's ok to be sad and being so in tune to the feelings of others, yet not over-reacting about every little thing.  I just don’t know how to  help Preschooler achieve that balance.  

I apologized to Preschooler.  I admitted I got angry and yelled at her, but that wasn’t ok for me to yell like that, and I was sorry.

She forgave me.  And strangely enough, she was pretty chipper the rest of the day.

I’ve been so grouchy with my kids lately.  I hate it about myself.

So I prayed.  I’m not saying this works out for every one, but this time?  It worked out for me.  For the first time in probably weeks, I woke up in a good mood.  Even though Preschooler had a potty accident first thing in the morning, I was in a good mood.  Even though Toddler was up at 5:00 am, I was in a good mood.  Even though I spent my entire shower listening to my kids fight and scream and cry over some Duplo blocks they were playing with, I was in a good mood.

And I am thankful for that.  I am thankful that today, hopefully today, I’ll be able to handle what life throws at me without being so overwhelmed by it all.  

I hope today will be a good day.

My Head Exploded, And I'm Now Headless.

Preschooler has a little sore on her upper lip.  “Honey, what happened to your lip?” I asked.  Her prompt reply? “I got it from kissing boys.”

***HEAD EXPLODES***

Thank you, Husband, for putting that little bug in her ear.

But it brings up a good point.  We really have to be careful what we say in front of her.  She’s old enough to pick up on phrases, including swearing.  She has already said “damn it” in an appropriate context. 

And I think last week I made a big mistake.

At Preschooler’s first parent-teacher conference, ever, it came out that she sometimes says “I don’t know” when asked something simple that you know she knows.  After the conference, I phoned Husband, my mother, and my sister, each time relaying this information and displaying my usual predisposition towards angst and over-analyzing, by wondering out loud why she did this, how to fix it, and OH MY GOD WHAT IF SHE HAS LOW SELF-ESTEEM AND IT’S ALL MY FAULT??!!

The whole time I did this, I never thought about the fact that Preschooler was within hearing distance of all these conversations. Who knows what she picked up from it, and how that will affect her own sense of self, especially towards school.

Oops.

At least now, I’m that much more aware of how I relate to her. 

Also, she’s not allowed to kiss boys until she is 30.

Eau De Baby

She had so much hair, it showed up on her ultrasound, a softly moving halo around her giant alien head.  Even after she was born, her hair never fell out.  It just got thicker and longer.

I loved my first born's hair.  I loved to touch it, but more than that, I loved to smell it.  It was an intoxicating primal connection.  I probably could've identified my baby in a room full of babies based on the smell of her head alone.

As she grew, I always managed to get a good long sniff in whenever I caught her in my arms.  And then one day ... it was gone.  Though she'd always be my baby, her head lost that baby-smell.  But I almost didn't notice the transition because, at the same time, I had another baby.  A new baby with her own new baby smell.

I coveted that smell.  While feeding her, cuddling her, reading to her, I'd take liberal opportunities to breath in the soft scent of her baby hair.  For two years I reveled in it.

But yesterday .... it was gone.  She no longer smells like a baby, with that unique baby-head-smell.  She smells, well, like a little girl.  It's still a wonderful smell, I miss the baby scent.

She runs.  She jumps (sort of.)  She talks, (sort of.)  She's starting to potty-train.  She takes off her own pants and shirt and socks. The last vestiges of babyhood are gone.

I do love when my kids start the next phase in life.  It's exciting, and their own pride when they master a new skill matches my own pride in their accomplishment.

But with my youngest growing up, I do miss my littlest baby.  When you become a mother, everyone tells you to enjoy your children, they grow up too fast.

I guess I just didn't realize just how fast that was.

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Dear readers: I've been feeling a little down lately, so I'm using my blog to sort through the feelings that are bringing me down.  I'll return to my usual snark when I feel like it.  Thank you for understanding.

I'm Probably Not Going To Add "Parenting Expert" On My Resume

This week's Monday Listicle challenge was to offer your very best parenting advice.  Now, I'm no parenting expert.  Quite the opposite, sometimes I feel like I can do nothing right.  But here are some things I've learned over the years, albeit the hard way:

1) You can trick your kids into thinking a whole-wheat Ritz cracker is actually a cookie by explaining that cookies, like Oreos, Chips Ahoy, and ... uh ... Ritz are CIRCLES.  Crackers are squares.  Or occasionally triangles. Duh.

2) One day your child will only eat an apple if it’s cut up in slices.  The next day your child will only eat an apple if it’s the whole apple.  Either way, you’ll guess wrong.

3) If your child sees a commercial for a toy, and says, “I want that!” keep in mind that this is only theoretical.  Once she actually owns the toy she will discard it after one afternoon of play.  Also, it will probably break.  All this will make you swear multiple times under your breath.

4) Despite the disappointment mentioned in number three, your purchase will be redeemed when the younger sibling plays with the toy more than the original owner.  This is because your sister’s toys are always more interesting than your own toys.

5) If you leave any sort of important paperwork on your desk, it WILL become a coloring paper.  Also, coloring with mom’s highlighters is always preferred over coloring with regular markers.

6) All pants will become accidental capris after one month of wear.

7) Cleaning poop out of a potty chair is just as gross as a poopy diaper.

8) Your child’s favorite book will be the longest one on the bookshelf by default.

9) Don’t give your child your cell phone to play with.  They will break it and/or lose it and/or delete all your contacts.  Don’t ask me how I know this.

10) Despite your best intentions, there will come a day when a fruit roll-up constitutes a real serving of fruit.

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Thanks to Stasha and Cookie's Mom for the fun prompt!

No Sleep Makes Mama... Something... Something... Zzzzzzzz

Step...step....step....It’s two in the morning, and I’m plodding the hall in a twilight state of mind.  My youngest daughter lounges restless in my arms because, at two years old, she decided to stop sleeping through the night.  She graces us with her presence at least two or three times a night, demanding a sippy-cup full of milk, or some significant cuddling before falling asleep again.

I’m not sure how many more sleepless nights and painful mornings I can take. It’s like having an infant, but an infant who heretofore had been sleeping through the night for quite a while, weighs twenty-five pounds, and says “NO!”

We are at a loss as to what to do. We are reluctant to have her cry-it-out, since she shares a room with her sister.  We’ve contemplated having Preschooler sleep in a sleeping bag in our room, so she doesn’t wake up from the noise. But we’re afraid that she’ll start to prefer that arrangement, and then we’ll have another child refusing to sleep in her own bed at nighttime.

It is so frustrating.   One painfully sleepy morning, we took her to the doctor, hoping she had an ear infection.  At least if she had an ear infection, we’d know  WHY she wasn’t sleeping at night. No such luck.

On a possibly related note, she has also decided to stop eating.  Apparently she’s meeting her daily nutritional values by simply looking at her food.  We wonder if maybe she’s getting her two-year molars, but it’s to hard to tell when she clamps her jaw shut every time we try to look.  And her language skills aren’t good enough for her to simply tell us what’s wrong.

I know that as my kids get older, they’ll be able to better communicate their wants and needs.  I know that all this is happening, because she’s, well, two.  I know it’s a phase.

But it doesn’t always quiet the voice inside me that says, “Fix this.”  And my failure to do so, while unwarranted, still makes me feel like I’m simply floundering in a sea of incompetency.

So, step-step-step, I’ll continue my midnight strolls.

Because I love her.

Just Share, Dammit!

I’m an expert share-er.  What’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours.  When I was in college, my roommates and I would go grocery shopping, then split the bill three ways, rather than having our own personal boxes of crackers, cartons of milk, packages of ramen noodles, etc.  In retrospect that was a really bizarre arrangement. 

Because sharing comes so naturally, I foster that attitude with my kids, since as of now they’re too young to rebel.  With a few notable exceptions, all toys are everyone’s toys.  All books are everyone’s books.  However, they must take turns, and not just snatch away Malibu Barbie when her sister clearly has it bandaged up in what I can only resume is some sort of Civil War battlefield reenactment. And as of late, this has been the sticking point.

For example, Preschooler will be playing with something, and Toddler will come by and just pilfer the toy from Preschooler.  Preschooler’s reaction is not to steal the toy back, but to run to me crying about her lost toy.   Usually I help her out by taking the toy from Toddler and giving it back to Preschooler, while admonishing, “We don’t take toys from our sister.” But there have been times when I’ve been too busy to interfere, and simply called out to Preschooler, “JUST TAKE THE TOY BACK FROM HER!” I’m an awesome parent like that.  

It works both ways, though. Toddler will be playing with a toy, and Preschooler, who hitherto had no interest in the toy, will purloin the toy from Toddler’s grasp because, “I want to play with it.”  Then I have to return the toy to its rightful owner with a warning, “WE TAKE TURNS IN THIS HOUSE.”

I’m thinking my next job after this stay-at-home gig should be international peace negotiator. At this rate, I’ll surely have enough experience.

I'm Writing This Post For Extra-Credit

Note: Thank you all for your support after my last post.  I'm working through what I have to work through.  I have a good support system in place, including all of my blogging friends.  Thank you, again, for caring :)

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I was dubbed a “brain” almost instantly in school, a namesake that never left me, even when I struggled in certain subjects.

Calculus?  You can stay, but I’m leaving. 

I entered kindergarten already knowing how to read, so my teachers set me up as a “helper” to buddy up with kids who weren’t reading yet to help them.

I spent months in seventh grade carrying around a tattered copy of “Gone With The Wind,” my new favorite book. It was this ancient blue hardbound copy that my grandmother once owned, and I was asked by more than one fellow pupil if that was a Bible I was carrying around.

Not Jesus.  

I always missed a couple weeks of school each year to attend dance conferences and competitions.  During these absences I insisted on doing extra credit-work, even when the teacher required no extra-credit work whatsoever.

Oh, how I loved extra-credit work.  It was like insurance, should a disastrous “B” come my way.

Nooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!

So now that Preschooler is finally living up to her namesake, and entering preschool, I have a hard time holding back.  I want to be room mom, on the PTA, and a field trip volunteer, even though it isn’t feasible for me to be all those things, seeing as I have Toddler at home to contend with.

But that doesn’t stop me from believing I could, nay, should be all these things.  

I just have to keep reminding myself that there is no winner of preschool.  It’s meant to be fun, and I’m not going to suck that fun out of it just because I’m fighting off my own impossible determination to be perfect.

I always thought school was fun.  I hope she does too.

Some Moms Go To The Gym For Exercise. I Go To Story Time. Same Thing, Really.

Yesterday I took Toddler to her first “story time” at our local library.  I left sweaty and exhausted, OF COURSE I DID.  Doesn’t everyone?   

“It’s like, the easiest activity ever!” I’ve been told by other moms.  So story time should’ve been a treat, but it wasn’t. As a toddler, Preschooler had sensory issues that made even a quiet group of children overwhelming.  I tried two story times, and each time she’d be an inconsolable mess ten minutes into the activity.  

Despite that experience, I went to story time with Toddler in high hopes.  Toddler didn’t have such sensory issues, and she loved looking at books and playing games like “Where Is Thumbkin” at home. So off we trekked to the library.

We entered the big story time room with about fifteen other mothers and children.  A semi-circle of carpet squares were set up, one for each child. I claimed a teal blue square smack in the middle, and set up camp.  Then I attempted to have Toddler sit on my lap.  This was a mistake.

She howled.  She did not want to sit still.  She would not, could not on my lap.  She would not, could not on the square.  She would not, could not anywhere.

Story time began with a softly sung song that presented the opportunity for each mother and child to introduce themselves.  Toddler sobbed and flailed louder than ever.  I got sympathetic looks from the other mothers, but my kid was still the only one entering full tantrum mode.  And once she’s in tantrum mode there’s no big red emergency button to press for her to stop.  Like the Energizer Bunny, I have to leave the premises (or go up to her bedroom at home) while she slowly winds herself down.

I was almost set to leave when I decided that maybe I’ll just let her walk around.  But the minute she starts destroying something, we’re out of here.

Letting her walk helped a bit.  She wandered around the extremities of the room.  She crawled under a table.  She walked around the semi-circle of kids, stopping at each kid “duck, duck, goose” style, thankfully without the requisite pat on the head. By the way, for any readers in MInnesota it’s “duck, duck, goose,” not “duck, duck, gray duck.” Get with the picture.  

Despite this, I had to chase after her every minute or two to prevent her sticking her fingers into electrical sockets, tearing books off the bookshelves, or crawling in the librarian’s lap to snatch the book out of her hands.  I was starting to sweat from the sheer exertion of distracting her.

After the story, there were some songs and gross motor activities ala “Head, shoulders, knees and toes.”  Toddler would slow down every minute or two to reach for the sky and do a little dance. Despite this, I still had to chase her arounds the room to prevent her from causing any further damage to herself and others.

Finally, the librarian brought out two big bins of books and foam letters for the kids to play with.  The other kids naturally started flinging foam letters and books out of the bins, and my kid?  My kid starts picking up the books and letters, and putting them back into the bin.  

She might not be able to sit still for hell or high water, but she is a pretty good picker-upper.  I lucked out in that department.  

So we’ll try story time again next week, but this time I’m wearing jogging shoes and extra deodorant. 

It’s for the best.

ALL HAIL THE PORTABLE DVD PLAYER!

Back in July, we went on vacation to the north-woods of Minnesota and Wisconsin. It was quite the road-trip, consisting of a total of 20 hours on the road. We stopped to let Preschooler go potty only 239 times.  I think she’s the only person who can truly appreciate, nay enjoy, a truck stop bathroom.  Even better, there were no real breakdowns thanks to these little gems:

I give up.

Yes, the portable DVD player saved our vacation, or at least allowed us to drive hours at a time in relative peace and quiet.  Well, maybe not quiet, but definitely peace.   I know, REALLY? A TV?   The words “spoiled,” “privileged,” and “lazy” come to mind.

Before Husband and I were parents, we used to vocalize loudly on what consisted of appropriate parenting.  We were parenting snobs; parenting armchair quarterbacks. But after our kids were born, our parenting standards shattered, one by one.


“We’ll NEVER use a portable DVD player in the car.  Our children will entertain themselves, just like we did as children.”

Ahem.  Actually these little beauties will allow you to keep your sanity in between diaper changes, potty stops, mealtimes, snack times, and nap times. When you’re driving for a whole day, your sanity takes precedent over anything else.

“McDonald’s will ONLY be a very special treat, save for the road-trips to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Our kids will NEVER eat processed food.  There’s nothing wrong with fruits and vegetables.  Also, we’ll make all our own baby-food.  And, we’ll never frequent restaurants with children’s menus.  The kids will eat whatever we eat with gusto.”

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! You’re so cute.

You see, there will be times where even the notion of cooking is impossible.  You may be holding a screaming baby for 22 hours in one day.  You may have a Toddler clinging to your pants leg starting at 4:30 or so, and lasting for the next 3 hours.  You may be simply exhausted, having stayed up with an infant all night, or negotiating a peace treaty between your offspring all day. On these days, even if your fast-food suppers occur twice a week or more, they will be a blessing, a blessing from the Lord above. Amen.

“Our kids will only play with wooden toys.  Plastic, noisy toys are the work of Satan himself.”

Ok. Plastic toys ARE forged by the devil’s minions, but seeing as you already caved in with the DVD player and the junk food, you ought not worry about this.

In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

P.S.  Stay tuned for more vacation stories..... probably.

Shot In The Heart, And You're To Blame

When we moved to Wisconsin back in October, we had some difficulties getting my daughters’ vaccination records to move with us. Our first visit to our new pediatrician’s office was for Toddler’s 15-month-checkup. I was unsure which vaccinations she was due for, but I thought, “No problem!  That’s why they keep records of these things.  Right? RIGHT?”

WRONG.

When our doctor in Wisconsin reviewed the records we brought with us from Ohio, they couldn’t figure out which vaccinations she received. You see, the vaccination chart was on the SECOND page of the girls’ records we brought back from Ohio, but our new doctors’ office would only scan the FIRST page of the records into their electronic systems.  The rest of the documents in the girls’ charts went into some strange land of limbo known as “storage,” accessible by neither man nor beast. 

Because I couldn’t say for sure which vaccinations she already received, I went ahead and told the staff to skip the vaccinations for this visit, we’ll get the necessary vaccinations once we have all the records straight.

Fast forward three months, and we STILL didn’t have a clear vaccination record for either of my children.  By this point I was so fed up that I just said, “Go ahead, just give her whatever vaccinations she missed from her 15-month checkup, along with whatever she’s due for today.”

“M’am, that’s going to be six shots.”

“Really?  Hmmmm.... is it dangerous for her to get that many?”
“No, there’s no danger.”

“I may regret this, but lets just do them all and get it over with.  It’ll suck for today, but she’s so little she probably won’t remember.”

Poke. WHAAAA!!! Poke. Poke. WHAAAA!!! WHAAAA!!! Poke. Poke. Poke. WHAAAA!!! WHAAAA!!! WHAAAA!!!

I regret this. 

Not only did it physically hurt her at the time, which broke my heart, but she remembers those jabs. Now she is terrified, utterly, utterly, terrified.  All a doctor has to do is look at her to reduce her to a trembling wailing heap in my arms.  If I even go to lay her down on the scale to get her weight and height measured, she clings and trembles as if I were trying to baptize her in a fountain of acid. The poor thing desperately clings to me, shaking with terror, if I even try to lie her down on one of those plastic changing tables in the McDonald’s bathroom.

She remembers.

I ruined her.

And I felt like CRAP about it.  How could’ve I willingly exposed my baby to such pain, that it would stick around as one of her earliest memories?  But as I was wailing and gnashing my teeth over this, my Mom came up with the best reasoning I’ve heard yet. 

“Honey, lots of people are afraid of the doctor.  Who’s to say that she WOULDN’T have developed such a fear, no matter how many or few vaccinations she received?” 

So maybe I didn’t ruin her.  Yet.

Sorry Toddler.  Mommy loves you very much. Even when your 5, 15, 25 years old, if you need some one to hold your hand at the doctor’s office, I’ll be there.

*     *     *

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I Think My Babysitter Is Some Sort Of Saint. Probably The Saint Of Slow Parents. Amen.

When we lived in Ohio, we had no baby-sitter.  All our family and close friends lived at least a day’s drive away.  We fanagled crazy work schedules so we could manage to only send the girls to daycare three days a week.  My husband would work days Sunday through Friday, and I would work early afternoons until anywhere between 9:00 pm and 11:00 pm Tuesday through Saturday.  This meant we had very little time, much less any money, to go on dates anyhow.

I don’t recommend this.

When we moved back to Wisconsin, we tried to have date nights once a month.  Try is the operative word here.  We are close enough to relatives that we could call on them to babysit our kids for free.  But relatives aren’t always available when we need them, or don’t live quite close enough to do any late-night babysitting. 

Therefore, our outings with friends (even those who are also parents) tend to go something like like this*:

Arrive at our favorite brew-pub:

Hostess:  Hello! How many people are with you today?

Me: 4 adults and 4 children. We’ll need a highchair, unless we are seated in a booth.

Hostess: Ok! We’ll be able to seat you in 45 minutes!

We wait in an unobtrusive corner at the bar.  Grown-ups order drinks, while my children spin in circles for 20 minutes.  At that point Toddler decides waiting for a table is crazy-business, and bolts towards the door.  I chase after her and catch her, forcing her to become boneless as I drag her shrieking back to our corner.  Not wanting to disturb the other patrons any further, husband takes the kids outside until we’re seated.  

My friends are kind and understanding souls. “Let’s all get together at the local bier garten next time,” they say.  “It’s an enclosed area, and plenty of people bring their kids,” (this is Wisconsin, after all.)   Off we head to the bier garten.

It’s really quite pleasant.  There is an outdoor bar, but mostly the bier garten consists of lots of picnic tables.  We get a pitcher of beer to share.  Preschooler starts playing a rather subdued version of ring-around-the-rosy with one of her little friends.  Meanwhile, Toddler is trying to make a break for it. 

You see, the bier garten is fenced in, save for the entrance and exit doors.  Does Toddler eat snacks at the picnic table? No. Does she play with her sister? No.  Does she poke curious fingers at one of the many dogs also at the bier garten to enjoy a fine summer evening? No. She spends the entire time trying to run back out into the street every time  the door opens or closes.  ARE WE THAT BORING?
That was the final straw.  We wanted to go out with friends, without our kids.  We needed a babysitter. 

“No problem,” I thought.  “We live in a college town.  I’ll just put an advertisement for a babysitter on the student job board.” Except instead of the bulliten board being a physical board, as it was back when I was a student and dinosaurs roamed the earth, you post your ad on a website.  Same thing, really.  Up goes the ad.

The next morning my phone rang.  It was a student interested in the babysitting position.  I got her name and number, and arranged for a visit.  Five seconds later, my phone rang.  It was a student interested in the babysitting position.  I got her name and number, and arranged for a visit. While I was on the call, I heard my call-waiting beep.  It was another student interested int he babysitting position. I I ignored the call-waiting and hung up the phone. Five seconds after that, the phone rang.  Over the course of the day I got nearly 20 calls on my home phone, 20 calls on my cell phone, and over 35 emails all from students interested in babysitting.  I had to stop answering my phone by about 10 am, lest I end up talking to hopeful college students all day.

In the end, we were able to find a really awesome babysitter.  We have utilized her services numerous times, and it has been worth every penny.

But sometimes I have no parenting common sense.


*P.S. Our outings also sometimes go something like this.

P.P.S. I feel obligated to emphasize that any restaurants we try to visit have extensive children’s menus, while maintaining a great brew-pub in a reasonably family-friendly environment.  Nevertheless, we have been forced to vacate an otherwise lovely meal more than once, when my kids start to get obnoxious.

I Let My Kids Play With Glitter, And I’m Not Ashamed

I'm not exactly a morning person, but my kids are.  In fact, they like mornings so much that they wake up at six in the morning no matter how late they (or I) were up the previous evening.  And they like to hit the ground running.  Our mornings usually go something like this:


Preschooler:  Mommy, play with me! 

Me:  Wait until I've had my coffee. 

Preschooler: *blink* *blink*

Preschooler:  Mommy, play with me! 

Me: Errrmmm.....ok.  What should we do? 

Preschooler: I don't know? 

Me: Okaaaaay... how about we play with your farm animals?  You can be the horsey! 

Preschooler:  I don't want to be the horsey. 

Me: Oh. 

Preschooler: I want to be the horsey!  And you can be the horsey's mom! 

Me: Sounds good. 

Five minutes of neighing and frolicking ensues...

Preschooler:  Now what?

At this point, I usually point her in the direction of her toys: 

You’re on your own, kid!

Playtime with Toddler is only slightly better.  For example: 

Me: Look honey, blocks!  Let's make a tower!   

Toddler stacks blocks while I count "1... 2... 3..."

Toddler knocks down the tower, laughing maniacally. 

Me: It fell down!  Let's try again! 

Repeat twenty-seven times...

I'm not particularly bothered by any of this.  I try to find a decent balance between showing an interest in what my kids are doing and engaging with them, without actually having to be a play-mate.  That's what they have a sister for.

Plus, I have an ace up my sleeve.

Crayons.  Markers.  Glitter.  YES, GLITTER.

Because so long as I start her off, Preschooler will go on creating art for at least twenty minutes. That’s twenty minutes I can fritter away doing dishes, taking a shower, or vacuuming.  Not that I actually do those things.

It’s hard to resist the siren’s song.

Plus, trying to accomplish any task during those precious few minutes becomes markedly more difficult when I have a toddler clinging to my pants leg.  Because although Toddler likes art, she only lasts about five minutes before she loses interest and/or eats the crayons.  Same thing, really.

In enters the glitter.  Preschooler draws a picture on any various type of medium.  Construction paper.  Notebook paper.  Paper bags.  The dining room table.

When Preschooler is finished coloring her picture, I help her squeeze glue onto the appropriate places in her composition.  Then she sprinkles glitter on the whole creation.  And on the table.  And on the carpeting.  I shake the excess glitter onto a second sheet of paper, and use that paper to funnel the  remaining glitter back into its canister.

We put the masterpiece up on a high counter out Toddler’s reach, so she can’t attempt to use it as a napkin and/or hat.

Preschooler contentedly skips off to play with her sister, who is only too glad to follow Preschooler around while Preschooler bosses her.  Who am I to judge?

And I’m left to clean up the sticky table and sparkly carpeting. The twinkle of glitter nicely offsets the macaroni-and-cheese stains on my dining room floor.  And my refrigerator door can now do double-duty as Cher's Vegas dressing-room door.

It's a win-win situation.

Mommy Ima

“Mommy, Ima kitty!  At the carnival! Watch me on the ferris wheel!  MEEEOOOOOW!”

This is how Preschooler usually greets me in the morning. Preschooler likes to pretend.  In fact, she is very rarely Preschooler.  Instead she is a princess, a doctor, a pirate, a pet-store owner, a chef, a mama, a zebra, a puppy.  It’s not just that she plays with her My Little Ponies or her stuffed animals, sending them on wild adventures, although she does do this.  It’s that she imagines herself to be something, and sends herself on a wild adventure.

At the same time, this amount of pretend play seems totally normal to me, if only because I engaged in so much pretend play as a child.  Best Friend and I met when were were 4 and 6 respectively, and for the next six years or so, we pretended pretty much everything.  We were doggies, we were mommies, we were teachers, we were astronauts. 

Eventually we outgrew pretending in favor of activities such as board-games and fingernail-painting.*  But out of that pretend play grew creative writing.  We’d write stories, poems, and even created newspapers.  We’d start novels that we never finished.  She inspired me to start blogging, and when I did she was the only one I told, if only because she knew me so intimately as a writer and she had seen me start and then give up on some many writing projects before.

So I’m thrilled to see Preschooler plays pretend.  I’m even more thrilled that Toddler is already following in Preschooler’s footsteps.

Who knows where this will take them?

*By the way, does anyone else remember having sleep-over parties where you all gave each other manicures, or experimented with make-up, or something like that?  Do teenagers even do these things anymore?  I’m pretty out of it.

Sing. Sing A Song.

I’ve started singing in church.  Now, I don’t mean singing in the choir or anything like that.  It’s just that when the congregation rises to worship in song, I actually open my mouth and make noise sing, rather than just standing there trying to look pleasant.  For me, that’s a big step.

I don’t consider myself particularly musical.   My history as a musician has consisted mostly of trying really, really hard to be adequate. 

I took piano lessons as a kid.  My mother took it upon herself to see that I practiced fifteen minutes to half-an-hour almost every day.  And through all that practice, I managed to become an adequate pianist.  There was no real inborn talent, just being taught how to play.  I did, however, take the initiative to take apart my metronome with a screwdriver.  I wanted to see how it worked.  The result of my experiment?  There were gears and stuff inside.  BRILLIANT!

I also played the flute for about five years.  Unlike piano, practicing was not a chore; I enjoyed playing the flute.  But again, any success I had was through lessons and hard work, not necessarily because of any inborn talent.  I never became an expert flautist, I simply managed to become a decent flautist.

So imagine my surprise to see how crazy about music Preschooler is.  She sings with abandon.  She pretends her Barbies are any type of wind or brass instruments.  She gathers a plethora of objects around her and uses them as a makeshift drum kit.

I showed my usual lack of parenting common sense, and bought her one of those toy instrument sets, with a drum, maracas, tambourine and jingle bells.  She hardly puts the thing down.  I even went insane for about ten minutes, and considered buying her a real child-sized drum kit.

The gift of song is uplifting.  And loud.  And sometimes grating. But mostly joyful.

This Is The Next Chucky. I Think.

Last Christmas we bought Preschooler this beautiful Belle doll.  It’s much larger than a regular Barbie doll, with posable limbs, plus she sings.  At least, she sings in the store.

La-la-la-la-la-la. I’m-a-giant-rip-off.

La-la-la-la-la-la. Beauty-And-The-Beast.

The singing was really the selling point.  She had a sensor on her hand, and when you touch it she belts out one of several songs.  AWESOME!! I thought.  ANOTHER LOUD ANNOYING TOY TO ADD TO OUR COLLECTION! Keep in mind this was the same Christmas I gifted my children with a toy drum set, including maracas, jingle bells, and a tambourine.

Sometimes I have no parenting common sense.

On Christmas Eve Preschooler and I were both on pins and needles.  Having throughly examined the Santa theory, Preschooler determined the best way to examine this hypothesis was to actually GO TO SLEEP.  I was anticipating the morning, when she would open up this toy and forever remember this Christmas as the best Christmas ever, thus garnering me with another feather in my best mother ever hat.

MOM OF THE YEAR.

Christmas morning dawned and Preschooler opened her presents, including Giant Belle.  We take her out of the box, and I touched the sensor on Belle’s hand, expecting nothing short of an operatic miracle.

Nothing happens.

Preschooler didn’t really care.  By some stroke of accidental genius, I never told her the doll was supposed to sing. Over the next six months Belle did the usual tour-of-duty in Preschooler’s playtime routine.  But after a while, we noticed something odd. 

Belle’s head started to default to “backwards.”  Even if you put the head face forward at the beginning of the day, within several hours the head will slowly rotate backwards, remaining in that position forevermore.  It’s like the doll is possessed by some sort of half-assed demon.

So one afternoon, Preschooler was in the living room playing with her demonic Belle doll, whose head had already twisted backwards.  Out of nowhere, Belle engages in an unprecedented act and starts singing.

Preschooler was utterly agog.  For her it was as if an angel came down from the heavens and anointed her doll with the gift of voice.

To me it was as if this doll’s demonic possession was complete.

“Honey, look!” I say. “She sings when you press her hand!”

Preschooler was ecstatic.  She pressed Belle’s hand a couple more times just to witness the miracle once more.

Then she tossed Belle aside, moving on to a different toy. Nary a sound issued from her creepy head since.

So, next Christmas I’m making a concerted effort to buy toys that make no noise whatsoever.

I guess I’m a slow learner.