Reasoning With A Toddler

Baby Boy is a serious climber.  Not a casual, social climber that only does it occasionally for fun and giggles - a hardcore, dedicated, practice every day and push the boundaries...climber.

Every day I keep one eye peeled for an airborne toddler.

Today I found him moving Baby Girl's toy basket, flipping it upside down, and using it to try and scale the fireplace.  After many 'no's and 'get down's, I finally explained to him that basket was not very strong and I didn't want him to fall and get hurt.  He said 'OH!'  and immediately got down and started moving the basket away.

I walked away, proud that reasoning with him was successful. 

Five minutes later, I walked back to find this...

Apparently this basket is stronger, so everything is ok.

Death By Blankie?

As a new mom, I was terrified Baby Boy was going to die.  I googled and read books and watched his every breath.  I meticulously kept track of the odds of SIDS at every month, relaxing just a fraction when he when exited the high risk window.  I am sure it was all new mom hormones - which no one told me were coming.  Caught me by surprise to find myself not only riding, but driving the crazy train.  I blame (as always) our hunter gatherer ancestors.  God had to give us these crazy protective hormone surges to keep those hunter gatherer moms from leaving their babies out for the saber tooth tigers. 

God, there are no more saber tooth tigers.

There are, however....blankets.

Scary, huh?

With Baby Boy, that was my craziest fear. (Well, that and falling off a bridge in my van full of kids, but that is a whole other story). I was hyper vigilant about blankets being twenty feet from my baby.  The hospital put this one in my head because before they let you go home with your new baby, you are forced to watch a video about the dangers of suffacating.  An entire twenty minutes of actors pretending to roll over on their babies or pull blankets over their faces.  IT.WAS.HORRIFYING.  He was a year old before I would let him sleep with even the smallest blanket. 

Fast forward to Baby Girl who is currently 9 months old...Mama is still a 'lil crazy (See bridge fear above) but I think it is mostly in check.  Which is good, because Baby Girl's favorite way to sleep is this...

Discipline Fail

Baby Boy just turned two on November and has started to blatantly not listen at times.  He gets spanked when he doesn't listen sometimes but he doesn't seem to really understand and instead just swats back at us.  I really don't want to be in a slap war with a toddler.  So this past week, we have started implementing the Time Out Chair.  My reasoning was that if he is old enough to choose to not listen, then he is old enough to understand the concept behind the Time Out Chair.

He. Loves. It.

Time Out Chair is the best new game ever.

It usually begins by him stealing something from his sister or whacking her in the head.  I will ask if he wants to be in time out.  His response is to say "Noooooo" while giggling.  Then he does whatever he is doing AGAIN and looks up at me expectantly.

When I say it's time to go to the Time Out Chair - he laughs, jumps up, and starts running around screaming "Mama, get me! Mama get me!"

When I catch him -the whole time trying desperately to keep a straight face- he wiggles and laughs uncontrollably while I set him in the chair.  He will scoot a little further off it and wait for me to notice and then yell "Play!" at the top of his lungs.  When I tell him no, he just laughs more.

To end Time Out, I always tell him he has to go hug sister and say sorry.  Every single time, the first time down he always pretends he is going to do it and then veers off at the last minute - dashing off to hide in a corner while yelling for me to come get him.  I have to haul him back - insert more giggling - and then he does finally apologize.

So I guess it is sort of successful.  He does eventually apologize and behave.  Hopefully he doesnt start slapping Baby Girl just to get me to "play" time out though.  Further proof that nothing you expect when parenting actually works out that way.

Armed & Accidentally Dangerous

Big Boy and Baby Boy both have new Nerf guns - courtesy of Santa. Knowing Santa the way I do, I can only wonder at his mental process. Not that 'he' would gift them the guns, but that Baby Boy's gun is every-so-slightly out of his skill set. This has created a new category of mom crazy. Here is how this process works:

Baby Boy finds a stray nerf bullet or gun that I meant to hide but apparently missed. He is immediately enraptured, spouting "My Gun!" and "Mama, where bullets at, more?" every other minute.

The minute he is not saying these things, he is handing me the gun because the gun shoots one lousy bullet at a time. Santa believed this would be good - age appropriate, easy to navigate. Not the case.

Baby Boy is able to load the bullet into the gun. He is NOT able to pull back the lever that cocks the gun. So he finds a bullet, puts it in, makes me pull the level, shoots something, and then we begin again. Santa should have got him a Nerf machine gun - at least that way Mama could load it all up and get five minutes worth of laundry done.

Once he is loaded, he hunts for a target. He has surprisingly good aim for a two year old. And apparently there is a gene built into boys that gives them immediate disdain of stationary targets. Baby Boy instinctively knows that it is no fun to shoot the piano...or the chair...or his stuffed bear. He was born knowing what the off limit targets are...and wanting to shoot only them. Santa must be behind this, too.

Mama: Shoot your bear!

Baby Boy: No! Shoot (insert one of our three dogs here)!

Mama: No, be nice to doggies.

Baby Boy: Shoot sister!

Mama: No, we do NOT shoot the baby in the head. Not ever.

Baby Boy: (grins slyly) Shoot Mama?

What the hell. At least that way I have the bullet already to reload.

God Works Through Gallstones

I did not want to have a gallbladder attack.

Not the first time.  Or the second time, a few months later.  I really didn't want the third one when I was eight months pregnant and already miserable.  And I totally didn't want the last awful one that brought me literally to my knees in the bathroom for fifteen hours. 

After that last miserable night, I definitely did not want to not eat a single thing for four days.  I did not want the blood tests or the CT scan with its IV that the tech warned me would feel like I was peeing my pants.  (Side note:  He was pretty round, had a white beard and glasses AND was abnormally cheerful at eight in the morning.  Ya think Santa works in health care?)

When all the dust settled and it was established that my vital organs would live to see another day...I still did not want to give up my Coke or my deep dish pizza or my yellow cake with chocolate frosting or my mid afternoon candy bar snack....or....or...or....

BUT...

I do want to be the best role model and the healthiest mom that I can be.  I want to be active with my kids and not worry about health issues.  I want my kids to grow up with a healthy relationship with food and a good self image.  I dont want Baby Girl to follow in my fatty footsteps.  Soooooo....

God sent me gallstones.  And said get your ass moving.  

So I did.  I am down 17 pounds since the beginning of December and feel better than I have in a long, long time.  I haven't had any pop or fast food (except a plain hamburger for Sunday morning McDonald's tradition) or pizza delivery for over a month.  It was hard...and I may or may not have been crabby, ask my husband...but I feel a giant sense of accomplishment that I have every intention of continuing.

Thanks for the ass kicking, God.  Next time maybe though, consider a kindly stranger message, would ya?  I promise to listen this time.  

Her Highness

We have (almost) solved the dilemma of putting Baby Boy to sleep without tears on his part or ours.  So naturally, Baby Girl decides to step it up.

Someone has to fill those slippers, right?

She wakes up crying for the third time since I put her down, thoroughly unhappy with this new teething process that is going on.  She does NOT want to lay back down in her crib...no binky will soothe her...when offered a bottle she writhes and screeches in disgust as if I just offered her rat poisen.

Fiiiiiiiiiine.

I will pick you up and transport you to your preferred mattress, princess.

Once ensconced in between Jack and I, she snuggles her little body in, turns her unblinking and suddenly calm eyes on me, and holds up her hands.

My bottle, peasant.

Yes, your majesty.  Right away, your majesty.

Now the same rat poison offered five minutes and twenty feet ago is suddenly gourmet baby nirvana.  Three sucks later, the bottle lilts drunkenly and she turns her self satisfied little face into my neck and breathes deep.  Her belly is full, her world is safe, and there is no night time magic more powerful than Mama's bed.

Sleep tight, my princess.

Sleep, Babies, Sleep

Happy New Year! 

2015 started off with the best night's sleep ever...in fact, I think this holiday was created just for mothers of small children.  Think about it...

Last night my whole house was up late.  Big Boy kept it going until almost eleven and Baby Girl stayed up to kiss Daddy at midnight and went down swinging close to one.  Jack and I went down about a half hour later.

For everyone else this was apparently exhausting.  My early bird worm eating husband is still out cold and it is 9:30...this is unheard of.  Baby Boy is cuddled up next to him and if I try and touch him he growls and swats at me.  Baby Girl hasn't made a sound since she went to bed so I had to check to make sure she was still breathing because I was legitimately worried.  Yup.  Everyone is alive and well...but exhausted, so they slept ALL.NIGHT.LONG.

This mama?  This mama is bright eyed and bushy tailed.  Despite making questionable late night food choices and drinking not one...not two...but three generous glasses of various red wines after a year of barely remembering where I keep the wine glasses - I slept for EIGHT hours!  Eight!  Uninterrupted!  On a typical night I might get six hours - and that is broken up by crying and cuddles and bedwetting and bottles.  Usually a lot of me threatening and begging and cajoling for a solid hour.  This night?  Total Magic.

I am done with the fifty bedtime routines people swear work...we are having a New Year's party ever night from now on.

I must buy more wine.