Garden Goodness

Kids and gardens and me just all go together. 
I love my kids.  I love my garden.  It's our favorite place to be.
I think Kole and Joey love it because they are free to eat whatever they want.
Their fingers, mouths, and spots they've touched on their bellies are constantly stained from fresh strawberry juice.  They also pick carrots out of the ground and eat those. 
Which is slightly less cool because it's basically eating a mud stick.  They don't even brush them off.  Yee-uck.
But picking beans off the vines and munching fresh raspberries and snap peas with my two little cubs- makes my life unbeatable. 

The boys light up when I say, "Let's go work in the garden!"  Of course, their idea of working in the garden is inspecting each plant, digging in the dirt for bugs, and eating what they consider to be ripe.  Poor Joey has eaten a lot of white strawberries this year.  But, he does so with a smile, and always says, "MMmm!  Love it!"

When the plants were just perking up. Circa mid to end of July.

 

When the boys checked on the potato plants they stuck their heads clear inside.  Very very thorough.

These gals are still cluckin' around.  And I've eaten a lifetime's share of omelets, egg salad sandwiches, and quiche.

After a hard days work- you gotta cool off in the kiddie pool and then get right back to tractorin'.  According to Joey.

It's a happy wonderful life at Crooked Row Farm.

Funny at the Literal Meaning

Two things have gone through my head that have made me laugh aloud at myself.  And my clever, coy style.  They are only funny when taken at their most literal meaning.

1.  "No way, Jose."  When I'm talking to Joey.

2.  I put up with so much Sh!t from these two.  Literal.  Come oooon. 

In other funny news, yesterday Joey bit Kole on the back.  Jaws style.  While I felt bad... as a member of the Maternal Justice League Kole really had this coming.  He gets about 45 cheap shots in on Joey for every one that Joey can reciprocate.  Kole was screaming and crying and I was cuddling him to make him feel better. (And make myself feel better for letting it happen.  I didn't sic Joey on him--- but I did loosen the leash quite a bit.)
Kole asked if he had "a bleed."  I checked.  He did.  I told him.  He cried harder.  After a few seconds he wailed, "This is what happened to Jesus!  They hurt his back and hung him on the cross!"
While I admire his biblical knowledge.... that's a tad dramatic there, Koler.  Your little brother bit your back.  No one is crucifying you.

Bid Thine Heart All Strife To Cease

Vanetta was one of the things I was most looking forward to about coming back.
She was the woman I so wanted to be.


She was good at literally everything.

Her and I went to a shotgun shooting class.
I had never seen a gun in real life before that day.
On the way over I shared that with her and she assured me:
We're both going to learn.
We got there and Vanetta opened her trunk and took out two guns.
Her own- that her Dad made for her.
And one for me.
Through our lessons that day we each shot 50 clay pigeons.
I hit 6 that day.
Vanetta hit 48.

The summer I was 25 we went fishing every Saturday.
We just did.
I went with her and Paul and Kent.
Even when Ken was working.
We had taught ourselves to fly fish.
And were so proud to be "purists."
Like Kent.
Kent and Paul had waded out to their chests and were casting and casting and casting.
It was so hot.
Especially in waders.
I looked over and saw Vanetta heading towards shallower waters.
I followed her and we set our rods in the boat and then
We sat in the water.
And cooled ourselves.
We looked at the rocks.
And the snails.
And ran our fingers through the water.
And she said:
Isn't it amazing that God made this for us today?

We were Visiting Teaching partners.
Our deal was she would call and set up the appointments and I would give the lesson.
She was such a natural talking to people.
Relating to people.
Once we were supposed to meet with a lady who wasn't active in the church.
When we got there the lady wasn't home so Vanetta asked her husband if we could meet with him!
We stayed for an hour and a half.
Just chatting.
Then she had me give my lesson.
After we'd leave each house she would tell me what a natural teacher I was.
She'd tell me how good I was at talking to people.
How I could relate to them in ways she couldn't.
I never saw that in me.

When I found out I had a brain tumor and told Vanetta about it she was dead set on zoning it out of me.
She gave me foot zones three times a week.
She brought oils over.
And gave me gross drinks to drink.
Like Living Thyme.  And Kombucha.
She'd rub my feet and speak so optimistically about my future.
She'd tell me how smart she thought I was.
And how strong she thought I was.
She'd tell me what beautiful babies she'd thought I would have one day.
She never believed my tumor would cause infertility.
Like my doctors said it would.
Like I believed it was.
She'd smile and her cheeks would go clear up.
And her eyes would sparkle like a thousand Christmas stars.
And she'd say:
You're gonna be a great Mom some day.

And I got pregnant.
And, I think, Vanetta always kinda' counted Kole as hers a little bit.
She was responsible for that baby getting to me.
She gave me teas for morning sickness.
She brought different oils.
And kept on zoning.
She brought clothes for the baby and slippers and books.
And a few weeks before the baby came... she threw me an outrageous baby shower.
She cleared all the furniture out of her house to accommodate. 
I remember she put peas in her chicken salad that day.
That day she always had her hand on my back or around my shoulders.
A few times she held my hand.  And patted it.
When the clean up was done and I was still eating cake she said:
We did it.
And something then, and now, made me think she was talking about more than putting chairs away.
And I wish I still had one of those little bottles of oil to smell.
I'd just sit.
And smell it.


When I went to the hospital at 4 in the morning...we called our parents.
And then called Vanetta.
She was the first person to hold him.
I can't believe I don't have a picture of that.
Maybe Kent does.
I'd like one.


Vanetta was gracious and lovely.
She had a naivete that I longed to possess.
She never said anything mean.  Ever.
She never even said, "I really shouldn't say this but,"...
She had class.
The old kind.

She thought Kent looked like Nicholas Cage.
She snorted when she laughed.
She sang alto.
I was always her partner in Pinochle.
I never led the round.
I'd tease myself that at least I was a good supporter.
She'd say:
You're good at everything.

I love how she smelled.
Earthy and natural with something... extra.  Something spicy.
I loved her hair.
Especially when her gray was coming in.
Because mine is the same way.
I loved all the bright colors she'd wear to church.
And how she'd tuck her shirts in even when she was dressed casually.
I love that she thought I was tall.
And pretty.
And smart.
And good at things.

She came and saw me the first day we moved to Farmington.
And I just...
...
thought she'd come see me on our first days back in Idaho Falls.

Vanetta was calm.
And calming.
She had things figured out.
She helped everyone.
This effect she had on me... making me feel like her own...
Everyone feels this same way about her.
How did she do that?

For nearly a week I've been thinking:
Now there is this void.
And no one can fill it.
No one is like her.

No one is.
And, at first, that made me mad.

And then today I thought:
I can still try to be.
That was my unspoken goal anyhow.
I can still give.
Give love.

And hope.
Just give.
Everything.
With all my heart.

I think maybe that was her secret.

 


  



 

A Mom Smell

If there's one thing I pride myself on as a mother...
Hold up yo.

There's a list 10 miles long of things I pride myself on as a mother.  Let's put a few in the display case 'ere:

1. Killer dance parties.  I teach them all the right moves. (They're as excited for a little Blurred Lines or Daft Punk as they are for Bob the Builder.)
2. I do Mommy Snuggle Time RIGHT!  Blankets.  Cookies.  Dim Lighting.  Stack of books.  BOOM.
3.  They know who Frank Sinatra is.
4.  I know how to naturally drug them to sleep: Play outside (when it's chilly), Big Hot Lunch, Bubble Bath
5.  I do voices for everyone in their books.
6.  We talk about Christmas everyday.
7.  We've had Family Home Evening every Monday the last 5 weeks.  Holla! And they've improved from our first shot at it.
8.  Kole is officially potty trained.  Even at night.  Take THAT last 6 months of cleaning poop!
9.  I know the characters from Thomas the Tank Engine.  Like know know them.
10.  I taught Joey how to growl like a bear.
11. I taught Joey how to say "Beep!  Beep!"  (He can't say Mom or Dad but he can say 'Beep! Beep!' when we are in his way.)
12.  I've rigged a contraption so Kole can ride his tractor and pull Joey along on his own tractor.
13.  I can build train tracks like you've never seen.  (I want to start photographing them and make a coffee table book.  Yeah.  That good.)
14.  I get in the pool with them.
15.  I know what all of Joey's cries mean and I know that making a sound like that of passing gas will make him stop crying.
16.  I'm a Love and Logic Master.  (and so is Koley.)


But if I had to choose one above allllll the others it would be my ability to not yell when I am mad.

Having a 3 year old and a 1 year old is frustrating.  And to all you mudders who are past this phase- who will tell me that they're precious and lovely and they'll grow up too fast and savor every second and they're God's children... let me say...

Yeah.
Thanks.
I got that.

But they also scream a lot.  And cry when there's too much sauce on their noodles. Or because the book ended.  Or because it stopped snowing.  And they hit each other.  And throw things (<-- socks, food, toys, drinks, trains, clothes, books, rocks, dirt, stuffed animals).  And they cry like 8 or 9 times an hour. Each.  So it's pretty constant since they switch off. And everything in life takes 40 times longer.  And they're sticky and hate getting cleaned up.  And...deep short sigh... enough.  It's a lot.

So- things are Ker-AAAA-zee with little guys this age and I do get frustrated des temps en temps.

Things That Frustrate Me The Most:
 1.  Being bad and laughing about it.
2.  Not understanding the give-take of Mom played outside all morning and came up with all these fun ideas and gave 100% of her attention to you, little cubbies, and now its nap time. And they don't take a stinking nap.
3.  When I get head bonked or bit.
4.  Fighting a diaper change.
5.  Crying because they're so hungry and then crying because they don't like what I cooked and then crying because someone got more and then not eating anything and having a messy kitchen.
6.  "No, You're not listening to ME! You're a dumb Mom!"
7.  When Kole asks a question (Why is it snowing?) and I give a truthful informative answer (Insert Full Water Cycle here.) and he says, "Actually, you're wrong.  It's snowing because Christmas is here."  Sure it's cute.  But I'm wrong. All. Thetime.  Even when I'm right.
8.  Getting punched and kicked and getting my hair pulled when I'm hauling Kole to his room for time-out.

But during these times of trouble I hone in on Cora from Downton and breathe deeply and nod slowly.  I call them "Darling" and "My Dear" and stroke their little hands and calm them down.  We quietly and peacefully work through the day.

Inside, or course, I'm Carmela from The Sopranos.  I'm swearing.  I'm throwing things through the window.  My forehead and neck are all vein-y.  My chest is tight.  I'm my head I'm making fists.  I'm throwing back a scotch. I'm filled with rage.

But I keep it in.  I grit my teeth and grind them until my jaw hurts.  I purse my lips white tight. My eyebrows are up and my neck is long.  And I am fuming mad.  But I take that angry ball of Carmela Anger and push it inside of me.  As far down as I need to so it doesn't come out.

 +

 =

 Now.  My psychology courses (and Life) have taught me that this isn't healthy.  One day, inevitably, it will all come out- on the wrong person.  Or the little people.  Supposedly.

But I have a different theory.

You see, at the end of the day, especially those "trying" days- I have a weird smell about me. It's way worse than B.O.  It smells funky and wild.  Kinda animal-ly  And I'm a clean person! I wear deodorant.  I brush my teeth. But nothing masks this wretched smell at the end of my day.
I've taken notice of this smell for the past month.  And I've noticed that sometimes its just a normal, bad, stink smell.  When the day was just a normal, problem-here-and-there day.  But when the day was monstrous... the stink on me is also monstrous.  My hair is extra greasy.  And I have those radiation stink waves coming off of me.  I can't breathe it's that strong and horrendous.  I reek. And the angrier I was during the day- the stinkier I am.

I think The Stink is how The Anger gets out. 

It's unbearable right after the kids fall asleep.  It's just..blech.  Icky.  And gross.  But, I shower, go to bed, and wake up fresh and new in the morning.  No anger is left.  It's not pent up.  It's gone.

I believe my anger is coming out through the pores in my skin in the form of The Stink.

I really put some time and thought into this and when I shared it with Ken he said:
You smell worse because you sweat more wrestling the kids.

*blushing*

I mean... logically... that makes sense.
But...

Preschool Problems

In September Kole started preschool.  His classroom is idyllic.  Little chairs, little tables, little computers.  Well.  I guess the computers are normal sized just on little desks.  He likes preschool and he likes that he gets to go by himself.  Without Joey.  As much as he has taken to Joey lately- it still seems like Joey is the pebble in the shoe of Kole.  Joe Joe sure is a happy pebble though! 

Most days Kole is so happy when he comes home.
Mom!  We sang about Scat the Cat!  She's blue!
Mom!  We had GRAHAM CRACKERS! (He was so happy about this.  I was like, "What?!  CHILD!  I be giving you graham crackers every day!)
Mom!  I can button my shirt! Look! Peek-a-boooo, Pull It Through!
Mom!  They have a new turntable for the trains!
Mom!  I like Rockwell.  He's my friend now!

But a couple times Kole comes home all weighed down by the Preschool World.
His shoulders are drooped and he says he is "just very tired." 
(But he can't say "j" so it's "I'm woost very tired.")

One day he was especially low.  When I asked what was wrong he just sighed and looked away.

What is it little cub?
Today, I really wanted to sit by Bridger.  But somebody else sat in the seat by him and the teacher told me to pick a different chair.

And then Kole sobbed.  He sobbed until his face was blotchy and his body was limp.

The most practical part inside of me said: This kid. Poor guy thinks he's got it rough because he couldn't sit by Bridger.  PREschool problems.  Itty bitty preschool problems.  Life is so easy for him if all that's wrong is he can't sit by Bridger.  He has no idea.

And then I realized...
Preschool problems happen our whole life.
There will be more times he won't get to sit by the person he wants to sit by.
And more than once it'll probably be someone telling him that he can't sit by them instead of him just not getting there fast enough.  There will be friends that aren't really his friends.  There will be people to call him names and call him out and not call when they say they will.  He won't make every team he tries out for.  There will be times he'll only get 2nd place.  And times he won't place at all. He'll have break-ups.  And college rejection letters.  There will be jobs he won't get.  There will be unfair consequences to unfair rules. He will fail even when he works hard.  He will be hurt.  A lot.  And there will be many days when he'll want to sob until he is limp.
He will have preschool problems for the rest of his life.

Because Preschool Problems are real-life problems that start too young.

And when I realized that...
I put his head up on my shoulder and told him,
"Today was just a bad day, Cub.  But, don't worry.  Its probably your last one."

And I broke out the Double Stuffed Oreos* and we went out to watch the tractors.






*Gotta start eating through emotions at an early age.

Me and the Kids..and Strangers

I feel constant pressure, constant gazes, constant spoken and unspoken opinions about what I'm doing as a mother.  There's news articles, entire magazines, blogs, and forums all about how to be the best mom.  How to throw the best party.  How to "do it all."  How to cook gourmet with toddlers.  How to paint murals with the help of your kids.
They'll tell you what to put it your diaper bag.  What NOT to put in your diaper bag.  The optimum speed to drive for kids to sleep in the car.  The perfect age for potty training.  The best time to start play dates.  The minimum and maximum time limits for sleep, reading, TV, and learning.
How long meals should last.  How to effectively use time-out. How to decorate dinner to make it look like a clown face.  How to make your own Halloween costume and host a neighborhood costume party for 300+ people.  
Then there are humans with their advices. "You're so smart for bringing toys to the sandbox."  "Oooo, you should have brought more water."  "Oh, you let your kids pick their own outfits?"  "If he were my kid I wouldn't let him use markers yet."  "Trust me, counting to 3 never works."  "Your kids are so well behaved."  "Church is really hard with little ones, you are so brave."  "You can let him play with your iPhone, you know."  "You need to read more to them."  "They should be outside more."  "You need to spend more time teaching." "Take more time for yourself."  "You're playing with them too much.  Make them play alone." "You should put his shoes on him if he's going to play outside."


I don't know if it's because I'm young.  (Not that young peeps.)  Or because I look like I need advice on rearing children minute by minute.  Or if people just know I'm polite and am good at making them feel good about themselves at the cost of my own feelings being hurt.  But this is alllllll the time.  And I just want to say, "It's my OWN backyard!  I know where all the broken glass and used needles are!  He doesn't need shoes!  Lee-me-alone!"


Ugh.
*sigh*
I've had enough of it.

My kids are well-loved.  They feel love all day and all night.  They like being close to me.  They like being held and snuggled.  Kole will pick 15 books, snuggle on my lap, and not move until all 15 are read.  Joey smiles every time we make eye contact.  He rubs his head against my leg like a little puppy when he wants picked up.  I know when their cries means hungry, tired, there's been an injustice, or finger stuck in drawer, respond quickly.  I know that Koley needs physical touch, lots of hugs and smooches, and chuggy chuggies and cuddles to feel loved.  I know Joey needs one on one play time to feel loved.  Well, ha, that and applause.  He's such a lime-light lover. 

And you know what I just figured out?

Kole and Joey love me.  That's why they are always smiling at me and laughing at me when I fall off of my chair on purpose.  That's why they want to be as close to me as they can be.  That's why they are always handing me things... trains, trucks, things they broke, garbage they found, crusty old food pieces.  They are sharing with me because they love me.  They copy my dance moves out of love.  Kole corrects me when I call a backhoe an excavator because he loves me. 

That's what matters.

I don't care what your opinion is of how I raise my children.  I'll listen to it because you'll say it loudly and to my face (and because I am a moral giant).  But it's not going to sink in.

My boys love me. 
They think I am the best Mom ever.
And they are what matters to me.

Night Swimming

Night swims are the coolest.
Even when "night" is 7:00.

 

Joey loves to Belly Flop.

 

The splashed as big as they could,  laughed  as hard as they could, and swam until they were purple.
They acted like it was their last 30 minutes of life.
Last night I was the coolest mom.

Julie and Andi- night swims?  Eh? Eh?

Bad Moms at the Fair

This was Kole's first time riding rides.  He wanted to ride the cars.  No surprise.  At all.  He was really excited to give the man his tickets.  Really excited to pick his own car.  Really excited to get buckled in.  Really excited to honk the horn.  Really excited when the ride started moving.

Then some bratty girl started crying.
The ride went three-quarters of a time around before the girl was screaming so badly she had nearly slid off her seat.  The ride got stopped.  Her dad pulled her off.  The crowd gave some nods and shrugs and courtesy smiles.
The ride went the last quarter of a turn before...

...the girl's mom was climbing over the fence to put her BACK on the ride.

I raise my hands to Ken (who is across the ride ready to wave to Koley), gently shake my head, and mouth, What the heck?

This girl was still screaming.  Red in the face.  Real tears.  Not wanting on.  And her mom was screaming.  Red in the face.  Thong doing the whale tail thing as she wrestled her daughter back onto the ride.  Over the screams of her tot the mom says, "Just keep going!  I know she'll like it!  Just keep it going!  I wanna get a picture!"


So the ride goes.
The crying and screaming really amp up.

Soon, none of the kids are smiling.
They aren't sure if they are having fun or not.
We're on a ride... that's fun.
It's sunny and warm... that's fun.
Our moms and dads are here... that's fun.
We just ate funnel cake... that's fun.
Yet, there is this crazy girl.  And she is screaming that this is not fun....Hmm. That's puzzling.

The man stops the ride and tells the mom to get her daughter.
Kole yells, "Come on!  I want to ride, man!"

My thoughts exactly, kiddo.
I'm so glad I have a three year old to say the tactless things I am thinking.
The girl's mom straddles the fence yet again (use the gate, lady),scoops down (really letting that white-trash cleavage get a good jiggle),yanks her daughter off the ride, and storms off.  Like it's her daughter's fault.

In my head I was saying:
 Finally!  Geez! Put your kid first!  Gosh.  Forget about the picture already.  She obviously was hating it.  Some mom YOU are!  Ugh.  I hate moms like you.  Anything for that picture.  This is real life.  Not Instagram-ville or -town.  Quit thinking of yourself, put your camera away, and care for your child!  I sure hope you buy her a cotton candy and say sorry.  GOSH!  And pull your pants up for crying out loud.  You're not 19 anymore.  No one wants to see your thong.  "Keep it going?"  Pa-lease.

I really let her have it.  In my head.  For the record:  I apologized in my head shortly after.  Guilt just eats me up.  Even when it's imaginary.

The ride started up again... things were looking good.

 Then he started getting a little worried...

 and then a little more....

.

and then... it was that little crying girl all over. 
Except it was my kid begging to get off.  Screaming that he didn't like it.  And yelling for me to come save him.

Kole was red in the face.  Real tears.  Not wanting on.  At all.

And I was screaming.  Red in the face. Swinging one hand at the ride operator, "Keep it going!  I know he'll like it! Keep it going!  Keep it going!" while my other hand was trying to snap the perfect picture.

This stinks.

I don't think what I am doing with Kole should be called Potty Training.  It should be called Poop-Whereever-The-Hell-You-Want-And-Mom-Will-Clean-It-Up.  Or use can use the acronym: PWTHYWAMWCIU.
I'm on Day 3.  So for three full days I've been scraping poop out of underwear and scrubbing pee out of clothes and telling myself, "He's not ready."  And then giving myself a little boost and saying, "Ohhh.  Hang in there, babe.  He'll get it.  You're a good Mom.  And you're smart.  You got this."   And then the stench of a low funded nursing home takes over my house.

Kole's loving it.  I think he loves the prospect of receiving an M&M.  I filled a jar with them and set it where he can see it and I've told him over and over, "If you go in the toilet you get an M&M!"  Oh the sparkles in his eyes.  The jar should still be full (instead of mostly empty) because Kole has yet to earn an M&M....but...I've been helping myself.  What?  Quit judging.  After the 30th time walking to the bathroom at 15 minute intervals I think I deserve one peanut M&M when Kole's not looking. Wert.

I thought we were so set up.  Fancy underwear.  (Lightning McQueen)  Special cushy toilet seat. Sturdy step stool.  I was told to have them drink lots of liquid so they remember what to do and get the hang of it.  We're an anti-juice anti-pop family.  (Well... for the tots.) So I put food coloring in Kole's water and told him it was juice.  The gullible chap believed me and wanted me to taste how good it was.

He's drinking a ton of "juice," sitting there every 15 minutes, we're singing songs about pee and poop and all kinds of words that make me uncomfortable, I have been bribing him with the promise of treats, we put fizzy pellets in the toilet water, when those ran out, I put food coloring in the toilet water.  You know- Wow!  Fun!  The water's blue!  Not buying it.  It kinda upset him.  (Mom Bomb #7584)
He seemed a little tense... so we did some breathing exercises.
I let him watch a video on my phone.
And we sit there and sit there and sit there.

 Joey remains helpful, toodling around doing his thing.  Which is climbing in the tub, opening cabinets, getting into my makeup, spreading vaseline on things, trying to put his hand in the toilet water behind Kole's bum, eating all the toilet paper he's spun off the roll.  You'd think that in a bathroom that's like 10 square feet... there wouldn't be that much to get into.  Wrong, Patty-Mom, wrong.

What's killing me is, Kole knows how to do use the bathroom.  He's so proud that he can pull his own pants down and then pull his underwear down and sit on the toilet and be "big." He seems to be stubborn about it.  Because, he'd not go on the toilet and instead wait until he was in the warmth and protection of his new undies and then release. It's been an emotional roller-coaster for the Koley.  Long days of interrupted play-time and sitting on the toilet with no success...

After 15 or so loads of itty bitty McQueen underpants being washed I told Kole he just has to be naked from the belly button down.  The child was humiliated.  "But my pants," he cried to me, "I have to wear them.  They cover me where it's private."
A proud Mom moment there.
I assured him his argument was sound and meaningful and we wouldn't go anywhere.  We would just stay home while his pants were off.  No one was going to see him naked. To this, he agreed.

(Aaaaaand... as a P.S. .... he's totally comfortable in our yard sans pants so- yeah that was Koley pushing his lawnmower this morning wearing just a shirt and sandals.)

This is where I had success.  Normally when the urge hits him he runs and hides and does his thing and then tells me he peed his pants.  Without pants he was at a loss.  He ran up to me and said, "I have to pee but where will it go?"
"In the toilet, m' good boy!," I announced as I grabbed his shoulder!
And so we ran in the house, got all situated on the toilet, and sat there while nothing happened.  I knew it was in there.  So we waited.... over 5 minutes...close to 10 minutes.  And then a little drop hit the water.  And then another.  And then, finally.... a steady stream. 

"I'm doing it, Mom!"

Mom Bomb Part 2

Before Joey was able to eat grown-up food, Kole wanted to eat just like me and Ken.  He sat calmly at the table, used his silverware, and politely asked for seconds.  It was just a few young adults having dinner at home discussing their days.
And then... Joey got into eating what we're eating.
And, bless Joey's heart for doing that because feeding a baby spoonful by spoonful takes so long.

With Joey now scooching his highchair up to the table and giving eating his best shot- Kole's eating efforts have doubled!
In the wrong direction.
Instead of wanting to show Joey a fine example of courteous and correct eating- they both act like heathen piggies.

When Joey throws his food on the floor because he's uncoordinated, Koley joins the throngs!  Laughing as he litters the floor with spaghetti noodles or rice or mashed potatoes.

If Joey, unknowingly, rubs his little noggin chuck full of marinara- Kole laughs and does the same.  "Look at me!," he chirps.

Hahahaha.

That'snotcute.

So, I've started putting forth an enormous effort to pull Koley back to propriety.  
We've been reading books on manners.
Acting British.  You know, they're prim and things 
Sometimes at lunch or dinner I tell Kole he can be the Mommy and he has to sit like Mommy and act like Mommy and talk like Mommy.
That one sometimes works... sometimes backfires... and I hear him say things like, "You absolutely can NOT do that right now" or "Are you kidding me?"  or "We need some moooooooore MUSIC!"

A couple nights ago we were having meatloaf, mashed potatoes, peas, and brown gravy.  I love love love brown gravy.  I had gravy for dinner with the other stuff as sides.  Anyway- Kole was screwing off.  Not eating anything.  Being a goof. Mimicking Joey. 
And then, I had a brilliant idea.  Peas and mashed potatoes.  How could I have missed it?

Me:  Hey!  Koley!
Kole:  What.
Me:  Try your peas.
Kole:  No Jose. (smirking)
Me:  Try your mashed potatoes.
Kole:  No Jose!  (starting to giggle.  He so knows when he's being bad.)
Me:  I know a fun way to eat them that you'll reallllllllly  like.
Kole: What.
Me: I don't know.  It might be too fun for you.
Kole:  What?  What is it?
Me:  Are you sure you want to know?
Kole:  Yeah, Mom!  Yeah!
Me: Like this!  You get your fork (picking fork up and talking in really sugary syrupy voice) and you get a big old glob of mashed potatoes (scooping up tremendous forkful) and then you flip them up-slide-down and dunk 'em in your peas!  (flipped potatoes upside down into peas.)  And then see?  The peas!  Stick!  To the mashed potatoes! Isn't that crazy!  And so cool, huh?
Kole:  Just stares.  Says nothing.  No smile.  No happiness is his eyes.
Me:  See?  (talking through a mouthful of potatoes and peas)  It's so much fun!  You get some potatoes!  You get some peas. And just chomp 'em up. Cray Cray!
Kole: Still staring.  Now looking a little disgusted.
Ken:  You're bombing here, Mom.
Me:  I am not!  Kole you've got to try it.  It's so much fun and you get to eat!  I love it!

I was really going overboard with the deliciousness of this combination and the fun one could have making it.  Rubbing my belly, looking at the ceiling and saying some Mmm!  Mmmm!  MMMMMM!s  I think I did like 4 demonstrations.  All equally over the top.
Kole just sat.  Pan faced.  Until finally he let me off the hook and said:

That's a bad idea, Mom.  You shouldn't talk about it anymore.

PsszzzzzzzuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuBCHU!!!

^
That's the Mom Bomb going off.

The Mom Bomb Part 1

I've been a total bomb with my kids lately.  I wish I was a "bomb" in that ultra-cool way where, you know, you have donuts for breakfast or you let them watch back to back Thomas the Tank Engine episodes.  And you're kids clap and cheer and say, "You're the bomb, Mom!"  I think "the bomb" ran parallel to being "a bag of chips."


But I'm not the bomb in that way.

Because, we're not in the 90s anymore. 

Bomb #1

I've taken it upon myself as the matriarch to induce a little spirituality via Family Home Evening into my home.  Growing up Bradley... puts an enormously high standard on FHE.  The meetings are meetings of The Church.  With a program, a podium, and assignments to be taken very seriously.  So I wasn't about to shirk my mantle and say "We'll just spend 15 minutes together chatting on the couch."  Eh-uh.  I would conduct the meeting, there would be a review of the calendar for the week, singing time, a lesson, and refreshments.  While the kiddos were napping I went online and got a lesson out of the Nursery manual.  On Prayer.  I made visual aids, highlighted main points, tabbed my scriptures, and typed out a rough... oh who am I kidding... extremely detailed outline. I was pumped.  I was ready.  And so so excited to start this.

I made dinner that night too so there would be no dilly dallying when Ken got home.  Dinner.  FHE.  That whip was getting cracked.  By me. To me.

Interjection:  My children are 2 and 11 months.

Dinner went well and I corralled everyone into the living room.  Where they sat... on the floor.  Bad move boys.

Patty:  Hey!  This is a meeting.  Get on the couch.  Sit up, you lazies.
Ken: Patty.  They're kids.  This is good.

I felt uneasy.  But talked myself out of it.  Come on, babe.  It's their first time.  They don't know.  They can sit on the floor.  No biggie.

The night continued.  I stood at the front of the room and with a big smile on my face said:

I'd like to welcome everyone out to Family Home Evening.  I'm Mom, and I'll be conducting.  We're going to start with an opening prayer.  (kicking myself for not assigning someone) Can I get a volunteer for the opening prayer?

No hands.  Not one.  Not.  Even.  Ken.
He was just trying not to laugh at me.

I will not be defeated!
"I'll say it," I said as I thought of maybe turning around or something to make it seem like a different person.  But just awkwardly stumbled around and then shook my head and started the prayer.  Which Kole talked through. 

After the prayer I moved onto calendar review.  I expected it to take a little longer.  In the Bradley Home it was at least 20 minutes.  House rule was:  "If it's not on the calendar it's not happening."  So!  I took out my calendar and started in:

"Okaaaay.  This week... tss tsss tsss.... I have... Story time at 10: 30 at the library.  Ken?"
"I'm going to work everyday."
"Nothing else?"
"Nope.  Nothing else."
"Because if it's not on the calendar now, it's not happening."
He kinda stared me down after that.

Calendar wrapped up in 30 seconds.  I was starting to sweat a little.  I sweat more than other humans naturally but I was getting like beady around my face.  This meeting was really zooming.  And not in a "It is so good you don't even realize time is passing" way.  In the other... way.

Singing time was such an embarrassment.  I planned 3 songs.  All ones that Kole (and presumably Ken) knew.  "Popcorn Popping," "Once There Was a Snowman," and "I Am a Child of God."  No one volunteered to conduct the music so I suggested they just try following the natural rhythm of the music as I made my way over to the piano.
I sat down.  Got to the pre-tabbed page.  Played the intro.  Paused to cue the song beginning and played my heart out for one whole line before realizing I was putting on a real one man show.
A comedy act, apparently.
I kept my spirits up through "Popcorn Popping" but they fizzled significantly when "Once There Was a Snowman" turned into a dance party.  I tried taking the room down a level with "I Am A  Child of God" but Kole was just running around the couch as many times as he could by then and Ken was throwing Joey up in the air trying to make him laugh.

Welcome, Holy Spirit.  To my home.

My well-planned lesson got cut from 10-15 minutes to 2.
No one (again... not even Ken) answered my questions.  And they were eeeeeeasy.
Like what do you say at the beginning of a prayer?

Blank.  Stares.

I answered all my own questions with a big, cheery grin on my face.  I took out my visual aids at the appropriate time, but Joey snagged them and started chewing on them.  I planned to do some prayer role playing but when I knelt down in demonstration Kole jumped on my back and yelled, "Piggyback!"
Here's the real kicker (in case you thought it was way back at the calendar planning):  The lesson suggested ending with a song "Pray in Faith." Aaaaand, you know me.

I begin by saying Dear Heav-en-ly Father
Ken started smiling.  Joey starts crying.  Koley stares at me.
I thank him for blessings he seeeeeends
Ken's eyebrows are way way up.  My voice is getting the pre-cry shakes.  Joey is full on crying now.
Then humbly I ask him.... Kole tells me this song is a bad one.  Ken starts laughing.  Joey is red in the face crying.
for things that I need.  InthenameofJesusChristAw-men.

I thanked everyone for coming.  Said the closing prayer.  And made sure I blessed the stinkin' refreshments.

Andi, Me, Julie.  The reaction I was hoping for.

Pretty close to the reaction I got.  Certainly felt if not expressed.

Mom Bomb.

There's more instances like this one.  I'm finding I kinda excel at this.  Mom Bomb Part #2 tomorrow.

Turning the Tables

When Kole acts out I have some pat answers from Love and Logic I give.  ("pat" can be interchanged for "Patty" given the circumstance.)
So my patty answers are:
"Bummer.  ______ is over now."  (Usually dinner.  When food starts a-flyin.)
"Uh-oh.  I feel sad when I break my things." 

Or for when he gets hurt or is in trouble or time out:
"Oh rats. Something like this never feels good." 
"I love you.  This must be hard." 


Now.  Koley-Pie, like all 2 year olds, needs something every time I'm on the phone, or feeding the baby, or going to the bathroom, or doing my makeup, or trying to be on time, or carrying groceries, or making lunch.  Basically anytime my attention is even slightly shifted, there's an emergency.  So, I started implementing Love and Logic.

Kole:  Mom!  I need you to fix this tire on my truck.
Me:  (arms full of grocery bags):  Oh bummer!  I'm carrying these bags right now.  I can help when I put them down.  Maybe you can try to fix it while you wait.  You're smart.  I know you can figure it out.

And, yeah.  I do talk like that. 

Kole:  Mom!  I need this monkey next to that bear.  Can you move it for me?
Me:  (giving Joey a bottle):  Bummer, man.  I want to help you!  But, I have to give Joey this bottle.  Maybe you can show me how to do it.  You're really good at solving problems.

Kole: Throws truck at Joey.  Nails him.
Me:  Bummer.  No more trucks.  I love you.  This must be hard.

It's been working for a few months.  I was so pleased with my success I put the Love and Logic book on the shelf for the first time in 2 years.  Thinking... I've so got this.

And then...this occurred:

Me:  Hey, bud!  Will you grab your sippy cup and put it in the sink?
Kole:  Bummer, Mom.  I'm playing right now.  I can't do that.  But you're smart.  You can do it, Mom!

The first time I laughed and thought, That little squirt is so smart. Then second time it happened I just shook my head and thought, Too smart.  Not good.  We're on like the 50 or 60th time it's happened and I'm furious.  I want to smack those little chipmunk cheek-ers and tell him he can't talk to me that way!  because he can't!  I'M the mom! Not him.

Without referring to The Book, I sat Kole down for a talk.  A heart to heart about who exactly is in charge around here.  He sat on my lap and we talked about everyone in our family and what they do.  I put a special emphasis on what Mom does and what Koley does.  After we were done, I summed it up.
I said, "So, I'm the mom.  And I make the rules."
He sat there for a minute not smiling.  Just nodding.
And then that little stink-butt Koley put his arms around my neck and put his forehead against mine and said, "Bummer, Mom.  You didn't figure it out yet.  I love you.  This must be hard."

I take it he's not conceding.

The Boys Flourished!

Right before we left.  Kole was running around telling us to "Get Out of Here!"
GLADLY.

Koley:  Hey!  We made cookies last night, Grandma.
Grandma Ginger:  Um...no we didn't.
Koley:  Oh!  Then we better make some now!

And then they made peanut butter oatmeal cookies.  The kid can play a card.

Grandma Ginger was explaining to Kole that she is my mom.  "Patty is my daughter.  I'm her Mom.  And now she's your Mom.  But first she was my daughter."  Apparently, Kole took at her with disbelief and then said:
"Yeah.  I had a daughter, too.  But she died."

So many shockers in that sentence. 

Joey wouldn't drink a bottle the whole time we were away.  But he didn't go hungry....

And Kole didn't cry the whole time we were gone.  But he got a little "defensive" on Thursday.  Telling my mom that this is his house and she should leave so Mom and Daddy can come home again.  Mom said he kept giving her a hard time and telling her to leave so she suggested they all go to the store and get a treat!  Good move, Grandma!  Kole of course loved this idea and yelled, "Yeah!  Let's go the gas station and get Cow Tales!" 

He gives away all my secrets. 

I loved that every time I called (twice a day) no one was crying.  No one was screaming.  Every one was giggling!  That made vacation more vacation-y. And my Mom kept telling me, "It's a vacation for them too."

Kole got a lesson in pic-a-nic-ing.  Aaaaand wants to have one everyday now.
Me too. I guess.

Popsicle WHILE riding his horse.  Talk about a perfect day.

Aside from absolutely no worrying, the best part was coming home and my house was super clean.  The dishwasher was empty and there were no dishes in the sink.  That... has not happened in my married life.  Then I kept finding little surprises around the house.  Our bed was fixed really well and the covers were tucked in so tight...  I love that.   A couple cans of fruit cocktail (which I la-HOVE) were in the cupboard.  I'd open a drawer in the kitchen and it would be all organized.  There were plug protectors where they hadn't been before.  Where they needed to be.  My shower drained super fast because mom took the drain off and cleared all my hair out of it.  Anytime I opened something up I was like, "Oh!  Mom did that!  Wow!"

And!  Best part.  There was a candy bar in my nightstand drawer.

V and W...Very Wrong

As a parent... I do some things... very wrong.

It started last Christmas.  At my mom's.  We were eating these chocolates and Kole came up all dewey eyed and asked, "What are those?"  I didn't want him to eat one and didn't want to fight him about it.  So I said...

"Dog treats."

Psht.  No argument there!  That was easy! *smacks hands up and down*  I told myself- that was your freebie because it's Christmas.  But- I've fallen into a bit of a habit here.

Kole catches me sneaking some jelly beans.
"What's that?"
"Medicine."

"Can I sleep with an engine tonight?"
"Ohh.... they are all sleeping in Tidmouth Shed already.  Sorry bro.  No engines."

"Can we watch that Wonder Pets again?"
"Sure! Oh!  Dang it!  Netflix isn't working anymore.  Rats."

"I can't find my truck!  You find it!"
"I think it got towed away for illegal parking. Bummer dude."

It's for everything. And it comes so so easily.
Bad Mom Certification is in the mail.
And- I'm trying to think of a lie to keep him in bed at night and make him go to sleep without terrifying him.

Could you lie to this face?
Uh.  Yeah.  ALL THE TIME!

Last Year's A to Z:  V is for Vices.  If you thought I didn't have any faults, you were right.
W is for Wasted Time.  One of my favorite posts ever.