A few weeks ago I found a baby hummingbird in our yard.
He was the size of a quarter.
But couldn't have been as heavy.
Small. Fuzzy.
I thought he was a big bug at first.
But when me and Kole went out to see what was hopping around and making all that fuss...
It was a baby hummingbird.
I didn't touch him.
I watched him try to fly.
He was stuck under a blade of grass.
I wanted his Mom to be able to find him.
So I moved the grass.
Me and Kole went back inside and watched him flitter from the window.
I worried about that little hummingbird.
How did he end up in our lawn?
Did he fall and get hurt?
How will he eat anything?
Should I feed him something?
Like what?
Can he fly?
Is he old enough to take care of himself?
Does his Mom know where he is?
Does he know where his home is?
Is he scared?
Is he making a noise his Mom can hear that I can't?
His Mom flew down and hovered over him.
And I quit worrying as much.
I watched the Mom fly down and hover around him.
She'd wait until he looked up at her, and saw her.
She'd feed him.
She'd hover.
She'd feed him.
She'd hover.
Then.
She stopped flying.
And she rested next to him.
With her head on his body it was like she was saying Don't worry, little guy. I'm gonna get you home.
Then.
She'd fly away.
In 10 minutes or so she'd be back.
Feeding, hovering, feeding, hovering, and resting.
She reassured her little hummingbird that he would be okay.
After the visits the baby would beat his wings.
Trying tremendously to follow her.
But he couldn't get lifted off the ground.
He'd beat himself into a tired tizzy.
And the Mom would come back and rest by him.
When Ken got home I showed him our little baby hummingbird.
I told him how the Mom had been coming to take care of him all day.
I told him I worried that it was getting dark.
Our yard has a lot of animals. Something is going to get him.
Ken showed me the baby hummingbird had a bent wing.
Ken built a nest out of a blueberry box and nailed it to the tree.
We placed the baby hummingbird into his new safe home.
I smiled.
He was safe.
But.
After dinner, I was watching out the window.
And..
that Mom came back.
She fluttered right down to the spot in the grass where she left her little baby.
He wasn't there anymore.
We put him in a nest.
I told her.
He's safe!
Fly higher.
You'll find him.
Fly higher.
He's safe.
But that Mom just kept flying down to the same spot.
Right where she had last cared for him.
At first she flew down.
Circled.
And flew off.
Within 10 minutes she was back.
But she landed on the ground.
Then, she flew off.
Her visits became more frequent.
She'd fly in and float.
Then fly off.
On one visit, she flew in and
She just hovered in one spot.
The spot where she left him.
Panicky.
Frantic.
Searching.
She couldn't see him.
5 feet away.
She couldn't see him.
Where is he?
He needs food.
It's getting dark.
It'll get cold.
He's hurt.
Where is he?
This is where he has been all afternoon.
Maybe he is flying.
Maybe he is ok.
Where is he?
He needs food.
It's getting dark.
It'll get cold.
He's hurt.
Where is he?
Up until dark (when I couldn't see anymore), every time I looked out the window, that Mom was drifting in the spot where she left her baby bird.
And.
And.
That little baby hummingbird in the dumb new safe nest I made for him.
Was probably terrified.
Where am I?
Where is my Mom?
Why isn't she here anymore?
I'm getting hungry.
And tired.
Everything hurts.
Where is my Mom?
She was coming to take me home...
Where did she go?
She'll come back.
I need her.
She'll come back.
I'm hungry.
I'm tired.
I hurt.
Where is she?
She was 5 feet away and he couldn't see her.
He didn't know how hard she was trying to find him.
How she wasn't giving up.
How she flew and hovered with urgency.
And soon, with desperation.
He didn't know that she quit flying away.
And that she just stayed there.
Floating.
Hoping to see him again.
And take care of him.
He just...
...didn't know.
It's been nearly a month.
I haven't seen any hummingbirds in my yard since that day.
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Night Swimming
Night swims are the coolest.
Even when "night" is 7:00.
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?
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?
Monday, August 19, 2013
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....
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.
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.
.
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.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Patty Pity Party
I'm floating through life right now.
Not because everything is so grand and easy and sunny.
Because I'm too tired to swim.
Or tread water.
There are no spectacular problems in my life.
Just regular ol' dreary problems.
My birdfeeder is empty. (Literally... that's not a metaphor)
I ran out of the feed I normally put in (for the songbird hoppers) about a week ago. I put in some big seedy mix I found in the garage. There was a few days without birds and then there were really rough looking birds that came and ate all the food. They were like mutt birds. Not a robin, not a dove. But like an oriole wren mix. Or a robin cardinal mix. Weird. Big. A little scary looking. I'm sure they need the food as much as the little guys- but they're lingering. Even with the food gone. Like this is their new route or something. I don't want a bunch of bird bullies back there.
I've had my sneakers leaned up against my back step for like 3 weeks. I keep walking past them and saying, "Put those away, Patty." But I don't. And I bet there's mice and bugs living in them. So I can't pick them up now.
I planted some wildflower seeds outside my back deck door. They were supposed to grow in partial shade. But I think it must have been a mislabeled packet. They sprouted. And now... they're kinda sickly, spindly, pale stems. Most of them are just lying in the dirt.
There are little toy trucks and lego pieces and plastic farm animals and kid books ev-err-ee-where. And instead of helping Kole pick it all up and put it where it goes, I want to get a garbage back. And toss it all.
I spent three days last week doing all the laundry, organizing all our closets, and packing away the winter coats and clothes. It was a monstrous project. And now, the hamper is full. Again! And I had to put an extra laundry basket by the hamper because it was overflowing so bad. I wish I was out of laundry soap so I had an excuse not to do it.
I bought three hanging baskets from Costco in an effort to spruce up my yard. One is thriving. The other two I over-watered (maybe?) and then under-watered (perhaps?) and now I'm trying to resurrect them. Sadly, the only place to put them in order to ensure they receive proper drainage is on the hooks on the front porch. In full view of all passer-by-ers and visitors. And they look incredibly sad and trashy. I'm embarrassed.... but refusing to say they are dead. Ken tells me everyday though... "Those flowers are dead. Take them down."
I have a toothache. But just got a crown put on... so nows not a great time.
Our super fun pool doesn't have a draining plug on the bottom. So I have to step on the sides every other day and have all these gross bug parts and wings and leaves touch my legs.
I just opened my second pack of contacts and they aren't labeled. And I can't tell if I have them in the right eye or the wrong eye and it's hurting.
Church with little little kids... is awful. And sticky. And not spiritually uplifting.
My Subaru's been smelling weird and I found an old moldy bottle spilled under the passenger seat.
I can't beat Level 65 on Candy Crush Saga. And I'm starting to feel dumb for trying. (Just starting to though.)
Potty-training takes so long and there's so much whining. I just want to put him in a diaper and say, "There! Happy?"
I didn't get any mail on Friday or Saturday. Not even bills.
There's a hole in my screen door smaller then a pencil eraser and, like, 8 or 9 bees get in a day. Tape won't stick to it.
I just feel off. I'm doing what I should. I'm the above your above average mom. I take the family fun places...we do fun things...
There's nothing really wrong...
... it just feels like...
...a lot.
Not because everything is so grand and easy and sunny.
Because I'm too tired to swim.
Or tread water.
There are no spectacular problems in my life.
Just regular ol' dreary problems.
My birdfeeder is empty. (Literally... that's not a metaphor)
I ran out of the feed I normally put in (for the songbird hoppers) about a week ago. I put in some big seedy mix I found in the garage. There was a few days without birds and then there were really rough looking birds that came and ate all the food. They were like mutt birds. Not a robin, not a dove. But like an oriole wren mix. Or a robin cardinal mix. Weird. Big. A little scary looking. I'm sure they need the food as much as the little guys- but they're lingering. Even with the food gone. Like this is their new route or something. I don't want a bunch of bird bullies back there.
I've had my sneakers leaned up against my back step for like 3 weeks. I keep walking past them and saying, "Put those away, Patty." But I don't. And I bet there's mice and bugs living in them. So I can't pick them up now.
I planted some wildflower seeds outside my back deck door. They were supposed to grow in partial shade. But I think it must have been a mislabeled packet. They sprouted. And now... they're kinda sickly, spindly, pale stems. Most of them are just lying in the dirt.
There are little toy trucks and lego pieces and plastic farm animals and kid books ev-err-ee-where. And instead of helping Kole pick it all up and put it where it goes, I want to get a garbage back. And toss it all.
I spent three days last week doing all the laundry, organizing all our closets, and packing away the winter coats and clothes. It was a monstrous project. And now, the hamper is full. Again! And I had to put an extra laundry basket by the hamper because it was overflowing so bad. I wish I was out of laundry soap so I had an excuse not to do it.
I bought three hanging baskets from Costco in an effort to spruce up my yard. One is thriving. The other two I over-watered (maybe?) and then under-watered (perhaps?) and now I'm trying to resurrect them. Sadly, the only place to put them in order to ensure they receive proper drainage is on the hooks on the front porch. In full view of all passer-by-ers and visitors. And they look incredibly sad and trashy. I'm embarrassed.... but refusing to say they are dead. Ken tells me everyday though... "Those flowers are dead. Take them down."
I have a toothache. But just got a crown put on... so nows not a great time.
Our super fun pool doesn't have a draining plug on the bottom. So I have to step on the sides every other day and have all these gross bug parts and wings and leaves touch my legs.
I just opened my second pack of contacts and they aren't labeled. And I can't tell if I have them in the right eye or the wrong eye and it's hurting.
Church with little little kids... is awful. And sticky. And not spiritually uplifting.
My Subaru's been smelling weird and I found an old moldy bottle spilled under the passenger seat.
I can't beat Level 65 on Candy Crush Saga. And I'm starting to feel dumb for trying. (Just starting to though.)
Potty-training takes so long and there's so much whining. I just want to put him in a diaper and say, "There! Happy?"
I didn't get any mail on Friday or Saturday. Not even bills.
There's a hole in my screen door smaller then a pencil eraser and, like, 8 or 9 bees get in a day. Tape won't stick to it.
I just feel off. I'm doing what I should. I'm the above your above average mom. I take the family fun places...we do fun things...
There's nothing really wrong...
... it just feels like...
...a lot.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
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 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 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.
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!" |
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
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.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
T is for Taking Charge
This is how bed time used to be with Kole:
Bath.
Lotion and dress.
Prayer.
Kiss.
Lights off.
Sleep.
Total time elapsed? Ehhhh.... 15 minutes?
This is how bed time is now (<---- since he moved to a big bed 10 months ago.)
Bath.
Stalling in the tub.
I want to push the button. This water was a little too warm let's start over. Wrong towel!
Wrestle into clothes. Well... at least the pants amid complaints of:
This is too small. Wah. Too tight. Wah. Wrong jammies! Wah. I don't like those! Wah.
Kole runs out of the room without a shirt on.
I get him.
Happy screaming from Koley.
Angry screaming in my head.
Get shirt on Kole.
Do burrito swing.
Prayer time. I don't think I should really be able to call it prayer time. Because I am saying a prayer. Ken is watching Kole and Kole is doing whatever the "H" he feels like.
Normally rolling on the floor squeaking about Thomas the Tank Engine.
Lights off.
Lights back on because Kole wants to do it.
Lights off.
Kiss.
Chompy Dovey.
Snuggle.
Special Talk.
Kiss from Daddy.
Chompy Dovey from Daddy.
Chuggy Chuggy from Daddy.
Special Talk from Daddy.
We leave.
Quiet for 35 seconds.
Knocking on the door.
Mom?
Mom?
Mom?
Mom? Mom? Mom?
Mawwwwww-meeeeeeeee!
Mawwwwww-meeeeeeeee.
Books start getting slid under the door.
Dad?
Daddy?
Daddy?
Goes for 5 minutes.
Crying starts.
Door kicking.
Crying.
I go in there.
"I need something, Mom?"
It's terrible. And all my fault.
It's been 10 months in forming the worst habit ever. A habit that's there every night. For 2 and a half hours. And I'm sick-of-it!I get so fuming mad at him for not going to bed and really.... he's 2. So, it's my fault he doesn't do it right. It's my fault for going in there over and over and over. Me and Super Nanny give me a lot of crap after I've given into 768 requests from what should be a sleeping Koley.
The Bad Sloppy Unable to Discipline Mom groupies came over and asked me to be their President.
That's when I knew it was way worse than I thought. AND! I start looking forward to bedtime at like 3:30 in the afternoon. So when it's supposed to be at 7 and it happens at 9:30... I'm not saying anything nice in my head. And I'm normally not talking at all. I am walking silently and rigidly around the house with my jaw clenched and one eyebrow up. It's my angry stance.
So, to end the humiliation and bad feelings towards a genuinely sweet kid, I'm taking charge! I am 14 times his age... and way more times smarter than him. Although my sentence structure and grammar proves otherwise. I've created a chart with Sleep Rules. And we are going to have a lesson about going to bed the right way. And there's a reward system. And if he gets up and pounds on the door- I'll walk in and not talk and put him right back in bed. No sympathies. No coddling. The buck stops here, Koler-roosk.
And so does the bowls of crackers, refills on water, extra snuggles, late night readings from Who Put The Pepper In The Pot, checking under the bed, looking out the window for train engines, and getting your stuffed animals dressed for bed.
Last year's A to Z: T is for T is for Thirty-Two. A little post to commemorate 32 weeks of pregnancy.
Bath.
Lotion and dress.
Prayer.
Kiss.
Lights off.
Sleep.
Total time elapsed? Ehhhh.... 15 minutes?
This is how bed time is now (<---- since he moved to a big bed 10 months ago.)
Bath.
Stalling in the tub.
I want to push the button. This water was a little too warm let's start over. Wrong towel!
Wrestle into clothes. Well... at least the pants amid complaints of:
This is too small. Wah. Too tight. Wah. Wrong jammies! Wah. I don't like those! Wah.
Kole runs out of the room without a shirt on.
I get him.
Happy screaming from Koley.
Angry screaming in my head.
Get shirt on Kole.
Do burrito swing.
Prayer time. I don't think I should really be able to call it prayer time. Because I am saying a prayer. Ken is watching Kole and Kole is doing whatever the "H" he feels like.
Normally rolling on the floor squeaking about Thomas the Tank Engine.
Lights off.
Lights back on because Kole wants to do it.
Lights off.
Kiss.
Chompy Dovey.
Snuggle.
Special Talk.
Kiss from Daddy.
Chompy Dovey from Daddy.
Chuggy Chuggy from Daddy.
Special Talk from Daddy.
We leave.
Quiet for 35 seconds.
Knocking on the door.
Mom?
Mom?
Mom?
Mom? Mom? Mom?
Mawwwwww-meeeeeeeee!
Mawwwwww-meeeeeeeee.
Books start getting slid under the door.
Dad?
Daddy?
Daddy?
Goes for 5 minutes.
Crying starts.
Door kicking.
Crying.
I go in there.
"I need something, Mom?"
It's terrible. And all my fault.
It's been 10 months in forming the worst habit ever. A habit that's there every night. For 2 and a half hours. And I'm sick-of-it!I get so fuming mad at him for not going to bed and really.... he's 2. So, it's my fault he doesn't do it right. It's my fault for going in there over and over and over. Me and Super Nanny give me a lot of crap after I've given into 768 requests from what should be a sleeping Koley.
The Bad Sloppy Unable to Discipline Mom groupies came over and asked me to be their President.
That's when I knew it was way worse than I thought. AND! I start looking forward to bedtime at like 3:30 in the afternoon. So when it's supposed to be at 7 and it happens at 9:30... I'm not saying anything nice in my head. And I'm normally not talking at all. I am walking silently and rigidly around the house with my jaw clenched and one eyebrow up. It's my angry stance.
And so does the bowls of crackers, refills on water, extra snuggles, late night readings from Who Put The Pepper In The Pot, checking under the bed, looking out the window for train engines, and getting your stuffed animals dressed for bed.
Last year's A to Z: T is for T is for Thirty-Two. A little post to commemorate 32 weeks of pregnancy.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
P is for Pushy Parenting
Kole's friend, Triston, spent the afternoon with us on Monday and I was shocked by how bossy and authoritative Kole became around his friend. It was... out of Kole's character.
They'd be pushing their trains on the little wooden track and Kole would stop Triston and say:
Actually, THIS is how you push your train. And then give a demonstration.
I'd tell Kole there were lots of ways to push a train and let Triston push his however he wants.
We were cuddling up to read a book under the blankets and Kole stops the group.
"Actually, THIS is how you get under the blankets." Demonstration followed. "See? You try."
I explained there is no right or wrong way to be cozy. People just do what feels good.
It continued all day.
Snack time.
Actually, THIS is how you eat a Oreo.
Actually, THIS is how you act like a puppy.
Actually, THIS is how you color your page.
Actually, THIS is how you look out the window.
Actually, THIS is how you drive a truck backwards.
Actually, THIS is how a cow sounds.
He was getting under my skin, I can't imagine how poor Triston felt. When his mom came to get him I relayed the story and told her my fear that Kole would never make friends... because who wants to be with someone who constantly corrects you? Ugh. Annoying. When I told Ken I added, "Where does he get that?" Ken shrugged. Kids have lots of unsolved mysteries.
That night I was giving Joey his bath and Kole came in and said, "Look Mom! I got some pepperoni from the bakery!"
To which I responded:
"Actually, you get pepperoni from the deli."
My mouth went dry. My face burned.
Mystery solved.
Whoops.
Last year's A to Z: P is for Perm. I got my hair permed right before I entered 4th grade. And I was a hottie!
They'd be pushing their trains on the little wooden track and Kole would stop Triston and say:
Actually, THIS is how you push your train. And then give a demonstration.
I'd tell Kole there were lots of ways to push a train and let Triston push his however he wants.
We were cuddling up to read a book under the blankets and Kole stops the group.
"Actually, THIS is how you get under the blankets." Demonstration followed. "See? You try."
I explained there is no right or wrong way to be cozy. People just do what feels good.
It continued all day.
Snack time.
Actually, THIS is how you eat a Oreo.
Actually, THIS is how you act like a puppy.
Actually, THIS is how you color your page.
Actually, THIS is how you look out the window.
Actually, THIS is how you drive a truck backwards.
Actually, THIS is how a cow sounds.
He was getting under my skin, I can't imagine how poor Triston felt. When his mom came to get him I relayed the story and told her my fear that Kole would never make friends... because who wants to be with someone who constantly corrects you? Ugh. Annoying. When I told Ken I added, "Where does he get that?" Ken shrugged. Kids have lots of unsolved mysteries.
That night I was giving Joey his bath and Kole came in and said, "Look Mom! I got some pepperoni from the bakery!"
To which I responded:
"Actually, you get pepperoni from the deli."
My mouth went dry. My face burned.
Mystery solved.
Whoops.
Last year's A to Z: P is for Perm. I got my hair permed right before I entered 4th grade. And I was a hottie!
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
O is for Obviously
Very obviously blessed these days.
Strong boys.
Strong willed, bodied, and spirited.
Strong singing voices too.
They are happy.
Happy hearts, minds, and faces.
Super happy at cookie time.
They love to cuddle.
Cuddle me, Ken, or one another.
Really love blanket cuddle time with all stuffed animals in attendance.
I'm blessed.
And it's obvious.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
J Is For Joey. Poor Second-hand Joey.
Because Joey was not only my second child but my second son he's got a lot second hand. Typical mom move. Joey doesn't know anyway.
But as the last nine months have passed, I think Joey has gotten about 9 new outfits. All the rest have been Koley hand me downs. He's using Koley's old crib, drinking from Koley's old bottles, and bathing in Koley's old baby tub. Joey bounces in Koley's old blue horse, get his diaper changed on Koley's old changing table, and takes walks with me in Koley's old stroller.
Sometimes I think Joey even gets second-hand parenting. First class... but second hand. Like with Kole I was so strict about bed time and naps and the duration thereof. There was a strict schedule and there was no wavering. When it was time for Koley to sleep through the night.... I quit going in there. Kole never had anything sweet or sugary until he tasted cake on his first birthday... and then there was that 12 months in between his 1st and 2nd birthday that was pretty void of sweets also. Wert.
With Joey... eh! I nibble off a piece of my Oreo for him here and there. I'll let him take a bite of cheese even though he's not one. I'll take him out of his crib and let him watch The Wonder Years with me if he's gonna cry about. It's a looser ship. And when Ken gives me a sideways look that says Abnormal Patty Parenting Happening, I raise my fake glass and say with a smile, "It's 5:00 somewhere!" Cheers!
With the parenting Joey has kinda lucked out with the second-hand stuff... but in all other ways... he seriously gets the shaft. For instance:
If Kole takes something from Joe he has to replace it with something else. If Kole takes a train from Joey he should give him another one. I thought this was working pretty well. I'd always hear Joey cry and then Kole chirp, "Here you go!" and the crying would stop. So I figured all was well. But Monday I heard Joey cry, looked in on the situation, saw Koley had taken a light up toy that played music from Joey. I said, "Hey. What do you need to do now?" Koley, ne'er missing a beat, chirped, "Here you go, Joe!" and threw a sock in Joey's general direction. A sock. Not a comparable toy. Not a toy at all! A sock that Ken took off after work and tucked under the couch. Here you go Joey! Sorry you were born second. Sucks for you!
Yesterday, I saw Joey's tide had the opportunity to change. He had outgrown Koley's old carrier car seat and it was time for his very own new one. Mint condition. Never before used. Complete with leather trim and cup holder. All his own to carry him through 3 levels of automobile safety. During nap time I hauled it out to the Subaru and started reading through the Installation directions. In case you've never had a modern day car seat... there's a reason it's called Installation. It's a process. And a bear.
As I read the new manual I found out Joey's seat can not be used as a rear-facing. Only forward. And all children under one have to be rear-facing. Sad turn of events. My arms dropped, my heart dropped, and my head dropped... to see Koley's old stained car seat strapped into the car. It was covered with Goldfish crumbs and mud from Kole's shoes. It was wet from where he spilled his water that morning on the way to the store. It just looked beat up. But- it could face backwards. It took an hour and a half but I got both car seats in, attached, and facing the right way.
Koley, us usual, got something new and shiny and never before used.
And Joey got a worn out piece of Koley memorabelia.
But on the positive side, I kept Joey's streak of second-hand hand me downs in tact.
Go Joey!
Last Year's A to Z: J Is For Justified. I was entering my third trimester of pregnancy and had some happy and unhappy things to say about it.
But as the last nine months have passed, I think Joey has gotten about 9 new outfits. All the rest have been Koley hand me downs. He's using Koley's old crib, drinking from Koley's old bottles, and bathing in Koley's old baby tub. Joey bounces in Koley's old blue horse, get his diaper changed on Koley's old changing table, and takes walks with me in Koley's old stroller.
Sometimes I think Joey even gets second-hand parenting. First class... but second hand. Like with Kole I was so strict about bed time and naps and the duration thereof. There was a strict schedule and there was no wavering. When it was time for Koley to sleep through the night.... I quit going in there. Kole never had anything sweet or sugary until he tasted cake on his first birthday... and then there was that 12 months in between his 1st and 2nd birthday that was pretty void of sweets also. Wert.
With Joey... eh! I nibble off a piece of my Oreo for him here and there. I'll let him take a bite of cheese even though he's not one. I'll take him out of his crib and let him watch The Wonder Years with me if he's gonna cry about. It's a looser ship. And when Ken gives me a sideways look that says Abnormal Patty Parenting Happening, I raise my fake glass and say with a smile, "It's 5:00 somewhere!" Cheers!
With the parenting Joey has kinda lucked out with the second-hand stuff... but in all other ways... he seriously gets the shaft. For instance:
If Kole takes something from Joe he has to replace it with something else. If Kole takes a train from Joey he should give him another one. I thought this was working pretty well. I'd always hear Joey cry and then Kole chirp, "Here you go!" and the crying would stop. So I figured all was well. But Monday I heard Joey cry, looked in on the situation, saw Koley had taken a light up toy that played music from Joey. I said, "Hey. What do you need to do now?" Koley, ne'er missing a beat, chirped, "Here you go, Joe!" and threw a sock in Joey's general direction. A sock. Not a comparable toy. Not a toy at all! A sock that Ken took off after work and tucked under the couch. Here you go Joey! Sorry you were born second. Sucks for you!
Yesterday, I saw Joey's tide had the opportunity to change. He had outgrown Koley's old carrier car seat and it was time for his very own new one. Mint condition. Never before used. Complete with leather trim and cup holder. All his own to carry him through 3 levels of automobile safety. During nap time I hauled it out to the Subaru and started reading through the Installation directions. In case you've never had a modern day car seat... there's a reason it's called Installation. It's a process. And a bear.
As I read the new manual I found out Joey's seat can not be used as a rear-facing. Only forward. And all children under one have to be rear-facing. Sad turn of events. My arms dropped, my heart dropped, and my head dropped... to see Koley's old stained car seat strapped into the car. It was covered with Goldfish crumbs and mud from Kole's shoes. It was wet from where he spilled his water that morning on the way to the store. It just looked beat up. But- it could face backwards. It took an hour and a half but I got both car seats in, attached, and facing the right way.
Koley, us usual, got something new and shiny and never before used.
And Joey got a worn out piece of Koley memorabelia.
But on the positive side, I kept Joey's streak of second-hand hand me downs in tact.
Go Joey!
 |
| Here's Joseph sporting Kole's old Boise State sleeper. |
Last Year's A to Z: J Is For Justified. I was entering my third trimester of pregnancy and had some happy and unhappy things to say about it.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
I is for I Said....
Six months ago we moved into our little house and I felt so happy. So happy that I felt like celebrating every day. With a pop and a cookie. Or a pop and some ice cream. Or a candy bar and some pop.
I kept saying, Isn't this the greatest day? Nom nom nom.
Then the holidays came and after they passed I got a leetle depressed. It's annual and recoverable.
But I'd get up and think, Nothing fun is ever going to happen again.
And I'd drink a pop to try to remember the good old days.
Then one morning I woke up and just stayed as I was. In faded pajamas and messy hair.
I said, Give yourself a break. You don't have anywhere to go today. Just relax. One day felt so good, I gave it a whirl for a couple days after that. And the following week- it wasn't uncommon for Kole to be in his footy-jammies when Ken got home at 6:30.
I'd smile and say, It's cold out. He wanted to stay cozy. Don't worry we didn't go anywhere.
Should have been a sign right there. Ken should have interfered... though I probably would have bit his head off and put it on a shush-kabob.
Weeks passed and I stayed just like that. Not dressed. Not going anywhere. Not all that inspired.
One day I was trying to get Kole dressed so we could take Joey in for a check up. Kole was fighting it with all his 2-year old might.
"Kole, You have to get dressed."
"No, I don't stinky Mom!"
(Stinky is his worst insult. Doesn't really leave a dent.)
"Yes you do."
"Why? You don't get dressed."
And the youngling had a point.
First knife entered my heart.
I got Kole dressed and went to put my jeans on with his unintentionally hurtful words in my head. I pulled my jean up and uh... they didn't zip. And I don't mean the whole way- I mean like none of the zipper teeth were touching.
I put on some black leggings and a drape-y shirt and said, It's winter. Happens to everyone.
(See how good I am at justifying? Pro. Fessional. Besides that... does it happen to everyone? I know there could be a little winter pudge... but so much pudge your jeans no longer zip? Excessive, no?)
That day I sulked over some pop and said, That's it. I'm changing. I can do this. I can fit into my size 12 jeans again.
So I went to the gym. Once. And was pissed when my pants didn't fit me when I got home. True story.
So, since the gym didn't work, I decided to at least get dressed in elastic waisted pants everyday. Show little impressionable Kole the importance of changing out of your pajamas. Even if it be into some VS Love, or black yoga pants, or some heather gray leggings, I Would still look presentable. Well- apparently that's a slippery slope.
Yesterday, I was home in my pajamas all day. After only a few weeks of my "lofty goal." And it was just sad.
So, last night I said, Get up and get ready. You'll feel good.
And I did.
I squeezed into some jeans. Put on my Rolling Stones t-shirt. I blew out my hair and used my Chi. I put a little makeup on and fed Koley his breakfast.
Over our bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios Kole looked uneasy.
He kept staring at me.
Then he'd tilt his head.
"What?," I asked.
"Are we going to church today?"
"Nope. Today is Wednesday. We go to church on Sunday."
"Well your hair looks pretty. I thought we were going to church."
Zinger.
"Hm!," I said, "That makes sense. But you can look pretty and just stay home too."
Continue eating.
More staring.
More head tilting.
"What are you looking at Kole?"
"You."
"Oh, and?"
"You look different. Like we're going to church or something."
I smiled.
"Maybe you think I look different because I put some makeup on and fixed my hair today."
"Yeah. That looks beautiful."
"Why Thank You Koley-roosk."
"You're welcome. And you put your clothes on today."
"That's right! I did! I'm all ready for the day."
"You should do that everyday. It feels good."
Second knife to the heart. I don't know if he meant HE feels good when I am dressed- or if it just feels good to be dressed- or if he's just repeating something he heard me say once. Either way- ouchie. And shame on you, Patty! You are setting an example for your children. Is that example, "Look at me! This is how to be a bum!" Currently, (except for today) Yes!
And the buck needs to stop here.
Or... I need some money to buy some bigger jeans.
Last year's A to Z: I is for Intellectual, Inventor, I Thought of That
I kept saying, Isn't this the greatest day? Nom nom nom.
Then the holidays came and after they passed I got a leetle depressed. It's annual and recoverable.
But I'd get up and think, Nothing fun is ever going to happen again.
And I'd drink a pop to try to remember the good old days.
Then one morning I woke up and just stayed as I was. In faded pajamas and messy hair.
I said, Give yourself a break. You don't have anywhere to go today. Just relax. One day felt so good, I gave it a whirl for a couple days after that. And the following week- it wasn't uncommon for Kole to be in his footy-jammies when Ken got home at 6:30.
I'd smile and say, It's cold out. He wanted to stay cozy. Don't worry we didn't go anywhere.
Should have been a sign right there. Ken should have interfered... though I probably would have bit his head off and put it on a shush-kabob.
Weeks passed and I stayed just like that. Not dressed. Not going anywhere. Not all that inspired.
One day I was trying to get Kole dressed so we could take Joey in for a check up. Kole was fighting it with all his 2-year old might.
"Kole, You have to get dressed."
"No, I don't stinky Mom!"
(Stinky is his worst insult. Doesn't really leave a dent.)
"Yes you do."
"Why? You don't get dressed."
And the youngling had a point.
First knife entered my heart.
I got Kole dressed and went to put my jeans on with his unintentionally hurtful words in my head. I pulled my jean up and uh... they didn't zip. And I don't mean the whole way- I mean like none of the zipper teeth were touching.
I put on some black leggings and a drape-y shirt and said, It's winter. Happens to everyone.
(See how good I am at justifying? Pro. Fessional. Besides that... does it happen to everyone? I know there could be a little winter pudge... but so much pudge your jeans no longer zip? Excessive, no?)
That day I sulked over some pop and said, That's it. I'm changing. I can do this. I can fit into my size 12 jeans again.
So I went to the gym. Once. And was pissed when my pants didn't fit me when I got home. True story.
So, since the gym didn't work, I decided to at least get dressed in elastic waisted pants everyday. Show little impressionable Kole the importance of changing out of your pajamas. Even if it be into some VS Love, or black yoga pants, or some heather gray leggings, I Would still look presentable. Well- apparently that's a slippery slope.
Yesterday, I was home in my pajamas all day. After only a few weeks of my "lofty goal." And it was just sad.
So, last night I said, Get up and get ready. You'll feel good.
And I did.
I squeezed into some jeans. Put on my Rolling Stones t-shirt. I blew out my hair and used my Chi. I put a little makeup on and fed Koley his breakfast.
Over our bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios Kole looked uneasy.
He kept staring at me.
Then he'd tilt his head.
"What?," I asked.
"Are we going to church today?"
"Nope. Today is Wednesday. We go to church on Sunday."
"Well your hair looks pretty. I thought we were going to church."
Zinger.
"Hm!," I said, "That makes sense. But you can look pretty and just stay home too."
Continue eating.
More staring.
More head tilting.
"What are you looking at Kole?"
"You."
"Oh, and?"
"You look different. Like we're going to church or something."
I smiled.
"Maybe you think I look different because I put some makeup on and fixed my hair today."
"Yeah. That looks beautiful."
"Why Thank You Koley-roosk."
"You're welcome. And you put your clothes on today."
"That's right! I did! I'm all ready for the day."
"You should do that everyday. It feels good."
Second knife to the heart. I don't know if he meant HE feels good when I am dressed- or if it just feels good to be dressed- or if he's just repeating something he heard me say once. Either way- ouchie. And shame on you, Patty! You are setting an example for your children. Is that example, "Look at me! This is how to be a bum!" Currently, (except for today) Yes!
And the buck needs to stop here.
Or... I need some money to buy some bigger jeans.
 |
| When the pooch was just getting started. Can you see it? Hanging there over my waistband? |
Last year's A to Z: I is for Intellectual, Inventor, I Thought of That
Friday, April 5, 2013
E is for Every Time
Today. Well recently. The last 2 years and 9 months it has seemed like every time I have something planned or something I need to do... the kids interfere or find a way to meddle. Every thing. Every time.
Say we have to get to church at 9:00 AM. I purposely set the clock for a half hour before they get up so I can shower and start getting ready before they are up and at 'em. But, wouldn't you know it, they both wake up early that day. So it's all the regular frenetics just an extra half hour of it.
Say one of them has a doctor appointment. We're all set to leave on time, everyone is strapped into their car seat, and.... hmm. Suddenly it's very smelly. And Kole is smiling. I change him in the trunk so we don't have to go back inside and as soon as he's strapped in again- Joey is giggling. And smelly. Every time.
Say I get a Redbox and plan for an evening in with a special snack and a horrible romantic comedy (because really the worse those are... the better they seem). I get dinner and baths done a little early, put them into bed, take a long shower, slip into my Soma jammas, set up the movie, turn off the lights... and as soon as the previews are over... Kole is knocking on his door needing something. Anything! Anything he can think of. Fresh water, another train engine in bed, different pajamas. After settling him (and myself) down I head back to the movie. Push play and....Joey is crying. Every time.
Say I have plans to meet a friend... one of them will be sick. Every time.
Say I finished cleaning the kitchen... there will be an unexpected spill/sticky mess/mud exhibit. Every time.
Say I am making an important phone call... someone will get hurt and scream. Every time.
Say I get dressed and do my hair and get everyone's shoes on to go to the store... Joey will puke on me. Right on my head. Gross and smelly and warm in my hair. Every time.
Say I want to go to the bathroom... there will be little attendees in there with questions and questions and questions. Every time.
Say I buy a Coke... it gets spilled... or shaken. And then spilled. Every time.
Say I want to _________. The kids will interfere, spoil, or wreck.
I know they're cute.
But you can save all your "You're gonna miss this" and "they are blessings" and "have patience" comments today. I'm mopey and frustrated and deprived of personal time. I'd rather just have a commiseration party.
Last year's A to Z: E is for Everything As It Should Be. I was apparently also in a grouchy mood this day one year ago. Yoiks.
Say we have to get to church at 9:00 AM. I purposely set the clock for a half hour before they get up so I can shower and start getting ready before they are up and at 'em. But, wouldn't you know it, they both wake up early that day. So it's all the regular frenetics just an extra half hour of it.
Say one of them has a doctor appointment. We're all set to leave on time, everyone is strapped into their car seat, and.... hmm. Suddenly it's very smelly. And Kole is smiling. I change him in the trunk so we don't have to go back inside and as soon as he's strapped in again- Joey is giggling. And smelly. Every time.
Say I get a Redbox and plan for an evening in with a special snack and a horrible romantic comedy (because really the worse those are... the better they seem). I get dinner and baths done a little early, put them into bed, take a long shower, slip into my Soma jammas, set up the movie, turn off the lights... and as soon as the previews are over... Kole is knocking on his door needing something. Anything! Anything he can think of. Fresh water, another train engine in bed, different pajamas. After settling him (and myself) down I head back to the movie. Push play and....Joey is crying. Every time.
Say I have plans to meet a friend... one of them will be sick. Every time.
Say I finished cleaning the kitchen... there will be an unexpected spill/sticky mess/mud exhibit. Every time.
Say I am making an important phone call... someone will get hurt and scream. Every time.
Say I get dressed and do my hair and get everyone's shoes on to go to the store... Joey will puke on me. Right on my head. Gross and smelly and warm in my hair. Every time.
Say I want to go to the bathroom... there will be little attendees in there with questions and questions and questions. Every time.
Say I buy a Coke... it gets spilled... or shaken. And then spilled. Every time.
Say I want to _________. The kids will interfere, spoil, or wreck.
I know they're cute.
But you can save all your "You're gonna miss this" and "they are blessings" and "have patience" comments today. I'm mopey and frustrated and deprived of personal time. I'd rather just have a commiseration party.
Last year's A to Z: E is for Everything As It Should Be. I was apparently also in a grouchy mood this day one year ago. Yoiks.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Holiday Expectations
Let's see, Easter is, tsu tsu tsu tsu.... Five days away. When I looked at the calendar and realized this this morning I thought, "Man. Sure doesn't look very Easter-y around here."
Where's the dyed eggs?
Where's the bunny cutouts on the windows?
Where's the Easter Lillies?
Where's all the pastels?
Where's the Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs? Where's the little bowl of Robin Eggs?
Where's the Peeps for crying out loud!
And that is when, yet another, harsh parenting reality hit me.
I'm the one that is responsible for doing all that stuff.
It's up to me to make holidays... special.
I'm the one that has to hang up the decorations and set everything out to make the eggs and get the kiddos all riled up.
If there's gonna be an Easter Egg Hunt.. uh.. I've gotta buy the eggs and put candy in them and hide them. On top of all the regular mom stuff I do! Jim-in-nee!
I've done really bad at celebrating holidays with Koley and Joe.
Kole's first Christmas he got one present from us. One.
And it was pajamas.
That he needed.
His first Halloween I borrowed a costume on Halloween from my friend.
All the other holidays? Nothing happened.
Ken has helped tremendously to get the holiday ball rolling... but if he's not involved it's just a flop.
Like, this past Valentine's Day I hung up some window clings and a heart... on Valentine's day. We made some construction paper cutouts... but I just kept thinking "I'm glad you're young... because this is sad." I celebrated St. Patrick's Day by wearing green. And Kole was in a shirt that had like "A" speck of green on it. He didn't even know. For his birthday last year... Ken made the cake. And bought the presents. And I was like... "Hey man, Happy Birthday!" I did have a two week old baby... but still. I'm the mother. Shouldn't there have been a birthday countdown? And balloons? And a big birthday sign? And special birthday privileges? Oh the shame burns hot within me. I will give myself props for Christmas. Christmas was good. I nailed it. Except for the part where I didn't tell Kole Santa left after dropping off presents. Kole was fully expecting to see the Jolly Old Soul there on Christmas morning and was slightly deflated upon finding he wasn't. Bummer.
Other than that... nailed it.
Strange thing is. I love holidays. I love all of them. And I love parties for them. I just like being invited to the party. Not hosting the party.
But, with 5 days to Easter, I've seen that I need to host the party for every holiday. Or it will just be another day.
I gotta give these boys something to look forward to and something to remember.
So, while the energy was still up I told Kole about Easter... how Jesus died and then rose on the 3rd day. I showed him some pictures in his little kid Bible. And then I made an attempt at a segway for the Easter Bunny. Really struggled there. Luckily, Kole is two and heard "candy" and all was well.
I told Kole we were going to dye Easter Eggs and put up fun bunny pictures and eat special treats. And on Sunday the Easter Bunny was going to come and hide a basket full of treats and/or toys. (Depending on what I pick up at the store.)
To which Kole added, "Yeah! And we'll put up the tree! With lights! And presents! And candy canes!"
Really nailed Christmas with this kid.
It's a start.
I've got some work to do on the rest of these holidays. But, I can be a good mom. I promise.
This place is going to be Easter CENTRAL! After Ken comes home, and we eat, and put the kids to bed, and I go to the store and get decorations, and candy, and eggs, and dye, and matching outfits for Sunday.
Easter Central.
Where's the dyed eggs?
Where's the bunny cutouts on the windows?
Where's the Easter Lillies?
Where's all the pastels?
Where's the Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs? Where's the little bowl of Robin Eggs?
Where's the Peeps for crying out loud!
And that is when, yet another, harsh parenting reality hit me.
I'm the one that is responsible for doing all that stuff.
It's up to me to make holidays... special.
I'm the one that has to hang up the decorations and set everything out to make the eggs and get the kiddos all riled up.
If there's gonna be an Easter Egg Hunt.. uh.. I've gotta buy the eggs and put candy in them and hide them. On top of all the regular mom stuff I do! Jim-in-nee!
I've done really bad at celebrating holidays with Koley and Joe.
Kole's first Christmas he got one present from us. One.
And it was pajamas.
That he needed.
His first Halloween I borrowed a costume on Halloween from my friend.
All the other holidays? Nothing happened.
Ken has helped tremendously to get the holiday ball rolling... but if he's not involved it's just a flop.
Like, this past Valentine's Day I hung up some window clings and a heart... on Valentine's day. We made some construction paper cutouts... but I just kept thinking "I'm glad you're young... because this is sad." I celebrated St. Patrick's Day by wearing green. And Kole was in a shirt that had like "A" speck of green on it. He didn't even know. For his birthday last year... Ken made the cake. And bought the presents. And I was like... "Hey man, Happy Birthday!" I did have a two week old baby... but still. I'm the mother. Shouldn't there have been a birthday countdown? And balloons? And a big birthday sign? And special birthday privileges? Oh the shame burns hot within me. I will give myself props for Christmas. Christmas was good. I nailed it. Except for the part where I didn't tell Kole Santa left after dropping off presents. Kole was fully expecting to see the Jolly Old Soul there on Christmas morning and was slightly deflated upon finding he wasn't. Bummer.
Other than that... nailed it.
Strange thing is. I love holidays. I love all of them. And I love parties for them. I just like being invited to the party. Not hosting the party.
But, with 5 days to Easter, I've seen that I need to host the party for every holiday. Or it will just be another day.
I gotta give these boys something to look forward to and something to remember.
So, while the energy was still up I told Kole about Easter... how Jesus died and then rose on the 3rd day. I showed him some pictures in his little kid Bible. And then I made an attempt at a segway for the Easter Bunny. Really struggled there. Luckily, Kole is two and heard "candy" and all was well.
I told Kole we were going to dye Easter Eggs and put up fun bunny pictures and eat special treats. And on Sunday the Easter Bunny was going to come and hide a basket full of treats and/or toys. (Depending on what I pick up at the store.)
To which Kole added, "Yeah! And we'll put up the tree! With lights! And presents! And candy canes!"
Really nailed Christmas with this kid.
It's a start.
I've got some work to do on the rest of these holidays. But, I can be a good mom. I promise.
This place is going to be Easter CENTRAL! After Ken comes home, and we eat, and put the kids to bed, and I go to the store and get decorations, and candy, and eggs, and dye, and matching outfits for Sunday.
Easter Central.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Captured.
The whole idea of taking pictures with your phone has been dumb to me since day one. Maybe because I never had a camera on my phone. And I live by a rule similar to "If you can't beat 'em join them." My rule is, "If you can't join 'em, despise 'em and call what they are doing dumb."
But a month ago, I had to say goodbye to my dearly beloved flip phone. When they gave us our free upgrades they were iPhone 4s! And while I am still learning the basics like checking my voice mail, not hanging up on people, what all the rings and beeps and dings mean, I have mastered the camera.
Somewhat addictive.
Addictive in a way that in the one month I've had my phone... minus let's say 3 days to figure out the camera.... I've taken 547 pictures. FIVE HUNDRED FORTY-SEVEN! Scary. Scary because five hundred forty-seven exciting things have not happened in the last 30 days. Which means I ambecoming that person who takes pictures of my kids doing nothing. Or doing ordinary things. And then because I took a picture it should be extraordinary. Only it's not. It's still just Kole eating breakfast. Or Joey sucking on a toy car. So glad I captured that. How else would I ever remember breakfast on March 6?
547 is excessive. And you're welcome, since I didn't post them all to Instagram.
But going through those 547... there were some real gems.
Good scrolling. And, yeah, you counted right. 25 pictures on this here post. But consider my starting point. I did pretty good narrowing down. And! The picture of Greta's crack-elly birthday cake was the only food picture on there. So I haven't lost complete control yet.
But a month ago, I had to say goodbye to my dearly beloved flip phone. When they gave us our free upgrades they were iPhone 4s! And while I am still learning the basics like checking my voice mail, not hanging up on people, what all the rings and beeps and dings mean, I have mastered the camera.
Somewhat addictive.
Addictive in a way that in the one month I've had my phone... minus let's say 3 days to figure out the camera.... I've taken 547 pictures. FIVE HUNDRED FORTY-SEVEN! Scary. Scary because five hundred forty-seven exciting things have not happened in the last 30 days. Which means I am
547 is excessive. And you're welcome, since I didn't post them all to Instagram.
But going through those 547... there were some real gems.
 |
| We were blowing on Joey's face to make him smile... we blew too hard and scared Aunt Julie. |
 |
| Julie's attempt at a Gluten-free cake. Looked terrible. Tasted awesome. |
 |
| Kole went "shopping" and bought me all stuff that I bought him once! |
 |
| Rollercoaster cart! |
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