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.

 


  



 

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.

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.

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.

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.

K is for Koler-roosk

The kid is 2 and talks like (and thinks) he is 28.  He looks like Ken but acts like me.  His favorite things to say right now are:

1.  You're a bossy Mom.
2.  Uhhh... let me think about that one sec.
3.  Check it out.
4.  I'm a sad snake.
5.  I need something.
6.  Hmmm. It's hard to say.  (uses this when I give two choice for breakfast/clothes/trains/games)
7.  I gotcha.  IIIIIIII gotcha.
8.  It's such a beautiful day out.  I should play in the dirt today.
9.  I'll be very careful.
10.  I could use a little treat.
and...my favorite.
11.  Let's put Joey down for a nap and chit chat.

Worth pointing out:  Kole doesn't know what bossy means.  At first I thought he knew what it meant because he used it in context.  I'd ask him to eat his cereal- "You're being bossy."  Put your shoes on.  "You're a bossy Mom."  Picture gotten.  Then he'd be playing and say, "Hold on, I gotta get my bossy engine."  ???  Or "Joey is crying because he is bossy. ???  And "I don't want to take a nap, I'm too bossy."  Yeah.  He's in left field kicking the grass on "bossy."
Also: He thinks "something" is an object.  Like a pen is a pen.  Something is a thing he can hold.  Not a pronoun.  So, a few times a day I russle with Koley saying, "I need something."  And I ask, "What thing?" "Something!"  "Yeah- but what?"  "SOMETHING MOM!"  Tears.  Crumbling to the floor.  Becomes a sad snake. <-- Origin unknown.

He's a happy boy with a happy heart.

   Last year's A to Z:  K is for Knockout.  All about pretty Andi Girl.  Spreading some sisterly love.

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.

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

Toddler OCD

I think Koley has Toddler OCD which could be made up but is probably valid.
He is way too into routine.  Some people (Ken) might blame me for that because I love a good schedule.  But Kole takes it to a different level.
For instance, I've been wedging a baby blanket into his door at night.  This way he can pull and pull on the door but he can't get it open.  (Ha HA!  I didn't even have to spend a buck on those handle covers!  HA!) I don't think Kole ever really knew it's purpose was to seal him into his room at night but now, after all the bed time things have been done (bath with the yellow soap not the blue soap, dry off with the dragon towel not the stripe towel, fresh diaper before we brush his teeth with the blue toothbrush not the yellow one, Thomas the Tank Engine pants on along with the Lightning McQueen shirt, say a prayer... DAD says it, Special Talk, smooch this stuffed monkey, then Kole, THEN that monkey!)...When all that is done and I'm thinking "I nailed it.  No tears tonight."  Kole goes into hysterics.  I scream in my head and then calmly, with a smile, ask Kole, "What is it man?" 
"Put the blanket in the door."
Gladly.
And maybe it is just his age but he asks me ten stinking bazillion questions a day.  Most of them are repeated over and over no matter how many times I give the right answer.
Where's Dad going, Mom?  Dad's going to work.
Where's Dad going, Mom?  To work.
Where's Dad going, Mom?  He's headed to work.  He'll be back tonight.
Where's Dad going, Mom?  Oh, he's going to work.
Where's Dad going, Mom?  To work.
Where's Dad going, Mom?  To work.

I've realized if I give the wrong answer Kole snaps back.
Where's Dad going, Mom?  Dad is going to ShhhBooms.
No.  Dad's going to work?  Yeah, Kole.  Dad's going to work.

Where you going Mom?  To the bathroom.
Where you going Mom?  To the bathroom. 
Where you going Mom?  To the bathroom, Kole.
Where you going Mom?  I'm going to the bathroom. 
Where you going Mom?  Right over here.  To the bathroom.

You're going to the bathroom?  Uh huh.  I'm shutting the door now. Bye.

Once he gets bored of asking where me and Ken are or are going he starts asking about relatives.  But he normally gives me what he thinks the answer will be in question form.

Where's Granny?  Granny at her house? Yup!  Granny's at her house.(Repeat.)
Where's Big Grandpa? Big Grandpa in the hot tub? He might be in the hot tub, yeah. (Repeat several hundred times.)
Where's Greta?  Greta in the hospital? She was only there one day.  She's at her house now.(Repeat until you lose your voice.)
Where's PopPop?  On a hike? He's probably at work today.  (Repeat until your head explodes.)
Where's Gramma Ginger?  With Big Grandpa? No, she's teaching school today. (Repeat x Infinity)

Perhaps he just really loves his family and this is how he expresses that.
I'd rather he drew cards for them.

Once we've climbed the family tree Kole picks anything in the house, even things he already knows the name of and starts in.
What's this called, Mom? A pineapple.
A Pineapple?  Yeah.
What's this called, Mom? A pineapple, silly.
A Pineapple?  Yeah.
What's this called, Mom? That's a pineapple.
A Pineapple?  Yeah.
What's this called, Mom? A pineapple.
A Pineapple?  Yeah.

When I get sick of answering again I say, "I don't know, Kole, what IS that called?"
Sometimes his answers are right and sometimes.... I don't know.
Like the pineapple one.  I had just told him 300 times that it was called a pineapple.  Then,  I asked him what it was and he smiled really big and said, "CORNAPPLE!"

I don't even know what that is.

Kole's Bad Habit.

Kole loves to eavesdrop.
Maybe it's part of the "learning process."
But I've had it up to here with the learning process.  Kole is learning more than a boy his age should learn.
Like, most mornings after breakfast Kole asks, "Gonna pump a bottle, Mom?"
Um. Awkward.
Or, if we're planning on not going anywhere Kole will say, "Put your bra on, Mom?"
.....is it funny?  Or crossing a line?  Or learning?  I don't think a 2-year old needs to learn about the lactation process or anything boobie related.  But my 2 year old knows way too much about it.
Back to eavesdropping.
First, I always thought it was ease-dropping.  As in, "Look at the ease with which I am overhearing this conversation."  Hmm!  Live you learn.
Kole has always been really quiet if I am on the phone.  I always just thought he was brimming with good manners and chivalrous conduct.  Turns out the little bugger was just eavesdropping.
I've learned this because after I get off the phone Koley gives me his re-cap.  Always in question form.  I hope that's a phase.

Joey drives Mommy nuts?  Sometimes?  At night?
Ken is at work?  Coming home?  Take out meat?
Gweta get better?
Anni more happy?
Gwamma's house Friday?

At first I was just impressed.  He can pick up so much so quickly.  But things have taken a mischievous turn.  For instance.  If I am on the phone with Ken and I call him "Ken" instead of "Dad" (saying Ken just comes naturally.) Kole will call him "Ken"  for the rest of the day.  "Ken coming home soon?"  "Ken cookin' dinner?"  "Ken changing his clothes?"  "Ken give me bath?"  He says it all with bright eyes and a big smile... like I know I'm supposed to call him "Dad" but come on.  We're all grown ups here.
Yesterday he had been calling Ken... "Ken" for about an hour and just giggling every time. I told him he needs to call him Dad.  More giggling.
I said, "You need to call him Dad or I'll take your trucks away."
It got real quiet.
Then a smile ten miles wide....and he said:
"Okay, Patty."

A Note For My Joey

Little Joey....
There are so many things I love about you.  Starting with your name.  Joseph.  You were named after PapPap and your name suits you so well.  I like that there are lots of variations.  Joey, Joe Joe, Joe Schmoe, Jozeppi, Joseph B. Smurflin, Joe Cool.  We like calling you different versions of your beautifully stable name.
Next, I love your fuzzy ears.  You have black hair all along the outside (and a little on the inside) of your over sized ears.  Another reminder of PapPap.  Your hair is gorgeous by the way.  Thick.  Black.  So so soft.  Your brother was bald until he was one.  I've never been a "Bald is Beautiful" type of girl so your locks have completely entranced me.  I want to give you a faux hawk.  I think it would suit you.
I love that your legs are all bow-legged and bent funny.  You like to tuck your knees into your armpits when you snuggle.  You look like a little boulder when you do that.  Perfectly rock-shaped. 
I like that you are becoming musical when you are nursing.  Every gulp carries it's own little tune.  And when you finish you let out one long sigh.  Like you are saying, "Ahhhhhhhh.  That was good." And you wiggle your little butt in real tight.  You seem so happy.  And I know all those smiles you give me are supposedly gas... but I don't believe that.  I think you're truly happy.  It's a big smile too.  Complete with dimples. 
Something about your face is very cartoon-y to me.  You have big big eyes and a pouty nose and luscious lips (especially for a boy) and it's all squished onto your little head.  Just looking at you makes me smile.
I even love your super buttery poops.  And I don't mind the fact that I have to change your diaper 12-15 times a day.  If you could work on only peeing on me half of those times... that would be great. 
You are a beautiful baby.  I just sit and look at you all the time.  I've come to the conclusion that you're perfect.  In every way.
If you could just do me one favor:

QUIT ALL THE BLOODY CRYING!

Dog Day Morning

Kole says one word really well. 
"Dog."
As a result of his proficiency, everything is a dog.  I'm "dog."  Ken's "dog."  Kole sees a plane, points up and says "dog."  There are some longhorns out back... "dog."  He wants more food and says "dog" while pointing to the cabinet.  I know a good mother would correct him and teach him the right word for all the objects surrounding him.  But I am a ultra-cool-super-fun-amazingly-talented-awesome mom.
I went to the Dollar Store and bought a dog calendar.
I cut the pictures out and taped them to his wall across the room from his crib at his eye level.
Kole was in hog dog heaven! 
He stood at the wall and walked himself along it, pointing, and talking really high saying "Dog!  Dog!  Dog!  Dog!"  He'd look back at me with his eyebrows up so high.  He'd grab my hand and have me point to the pictures.  "Dog!"
I figure this really can be a learning experience.  He'll recognize dogs as dogs from the picture and maybe quit calling his pants, fork, water, chair, diaper, and truck "dog."
While we were admiring the canine specimens taped to his wall I told Kole that dogs say, "Arf! Arf!" and I pointed to the picture. "Arf! Arf!"  Kole had it down in no time.
I was so proud of myself.  And him of course.  What a smart little stinkmo he is.

However.
I laid him down in his crib about 25 minutes ago for a nap.
There has been non stop chattering ever since.
He is in a habit of talking himself to sleep but it was really dragging on.
When I went by Kole's door to listen I heard, "Dog! Arf! Arf! Dog!  Dog! Arf! Arf! Arf!"
Maybe the placement of the dog pictures wasn't the best.





I LOVE DOGS!



Sans Naps

I put Kole down for nap number two Sunday afternoon.  He did his normal squawking that turned to chattering that turned to singing that turned to humming that turned quiet.  He was quiet for about three minutes.Then the humming started up and turned into singing that turned into chattering that turned into squawking that turned into full blown sca-reaming.  Ken, bless his timid heart, would look at me with these big worried eyes and ask, "Do you think something is wrong?"
"No.  I don't.  He was fine in there.  It was quiet and then he started it all up again.  I'm not going in there."
Half hour later the crying was really getting to me.  Maybe something was wrong?  Plus it was getting close to 5 anyway and there's no point in taking a nap at that hour.  Might as well wait until bed time.
So I marched my butt up the stairs and into Kole's room.
Now, normally, when he is crying and I go in there he is in his sleep position (flat on back, hands over his head, eyes shut) singing/screaming in all his sleep-time glory.  He hears me come in, opens his eyes, starts laughing, and scrambles to get up and rub it in my face how wrong I was to come in.  This is what I expected when I went in.
What I saw?
Koley standing in his crib totally naked.
"Where's your diaper, chauncho?"
Kole started smiling and then laughing and pointing at the ground directly at his diaper.
"Ohhhh... you're funny, huh?  Taking your diaper off, are we? Sleeping in the nude, are we?  You little turkey butt."
I bent over to pick up his diaper and he started crying and jumping.  I looked at him.  He was pointing in his crib.
I followed his little pointer finger and saw why he couldn't sleep in there.

There was a plum sized turd in his crib.

And I think Koley was afraid of it.
I just started laughing, picked Kole up, and called for Ken.
I couldn't blame the boy for crying.  I wouldn't want to sleep in an old poop bed either.
Kole started kicking and laughing and bouncing in my arms.  Apparently feeling safe from "it"  and seeing the humor in the situation.  Or maybe he just really likes being naked.

Monday was really hot.  I decided (foolishly) to let Koley sleep in his diaper for one of his naps.  He slept fine and when I went in to get him- Kole was a little naked Indian boy jumping around his crib laughing and making coyote calls.

Time to scratch the diaper naps, the Master Mind has figured out how to take them off and sleeping all nakey is his prefence.

Uno

All day today I have been looking at the clock going:
"It's ten to 10.  We were getting ready to head over to the hospital."
"It's 10:05.  We were driving to the hospital. I was telling Ken,'Don't speed, don't speed, don't speed.  I don't want to get pulled over."
"It's 1:00.  They wheeled in that tray of baby delivering stuff.  They broke my water."
"It's 5:46.  I was pushing."

My mom told me I would do this today.  I think it's just natural.  She also said that on the baby's first birthday it's really the mom that deserves the cake and the presents.  I would have to agree.  But I'm a big cake lover.  And who doesn't love presents.

I have felt a current of emotions today.
Starting with proud.
I am proud my little man can do all that he can.  He really impresses me.  He is sharp as a tack.  Loves to point at dogs, planes, me, Dad, food (especially oaties), and books.  I am proud that he is a lovey baby who wants to snuggle all the time.  I am proud that he is determined to reach his goals.  I know they are only little baby goals... like get the blue ball and push it into the kitchen but he tries really hard to reach them and never gives up.  That makes me proud of him.  I'm proud that he is a good sleeper and a good eater.  I am proud that he is not a complainer and I like to think I taught him that.  Though, truth be told I'm pretty sure he inherited that from his Dad.  I am also proud of myself.  For doing this.  For becoming a mom.  I consider myself one now.  I'm proud of how I raise Kole.

I've been a little teary today.
I feel like I am losing my little baby.  He has no idea that he is one now and a "toddler" but he is.  I miss holding him all day and taking naps together in the big bed.  I miss all his little teeny tiny soft cries and his little fold up bath tub.  I miss his tiny clothes (even though they were never that small).  I miss setting him on the bed and knowing he will be there no matter what.  I miss having Koley as my baby.  I remember Day 1.  It seems like Day 1 was yesterday I remember it so well.

Finally, I have felt extremely confident today.
I did it.  I made it through a whole year.  All the crying (on both of our parts), and worry, and learning, and growing, and adapting, and change... I did it.  I feel like "Bring It On July 19th!  I already did your day once and I can do it again."  I am confident that I am doing the right thing in the right way and no one knows better than I do when it comes to Koley Moley Stromboli.  He is my son.

And he is one today.
It has been a very good year.

 

352 Days

Kole is going to turn one on the 18th.
I know I should be over "it" but I'm just not. I can't even name what "it" is.  But, I still cry about it and dwell on it and try to name it.
The delivery?
11 pounds?
The pain?
The healing?
The hurt?
The emptiness?
The loss?
The longing?
The difference?
The change?
The let-down?
The blues?
The ________?
I am still me but not. I think there was a Patty before Kole and she died July 18, 2010.  And then there has been this Patty.  Who looks like me.  But doesn't think or act like me. She smiles less. Is tired more.  Always agitated and on edge. Hardly ever laughs. She's not spontaneous and won't take risks but complains about never doing anything anymore.  She's not anywhere near as funny as the old Patty.  And she's quiet.  A lot. 
I was reading the journal I have kept for Kole last night and before he came the entries are witty and upbeat and you can feel the radiance and excitement.  And after- it's more of a record.  Facts sprinkled with a few niceties. 
I struggle with this because I love my son, I do.  And I teach him and play with him and make him laugh.  He has a beautiful life. But, something feels gone in mine. 
I've been hopeful that I'll wake up one day and feel my heart beating like hers.  I keep waiting to go back to her.
But I don't think I'll ever be able to.

Being Maternal

Life is remarkable.  Yes?  Yes.

Last year on Mother’s Day I was gestating a miracle baby.

I always feel funny when people call Kole a miracle baby.  Sure he came against all medical odds after we were told to try not to think about it.  Or dwell on it.

Or hope for it. 

But even in my saddest hours- I was happy with Ken as my family. 

Then our family grew.

Well I grew first- by about 70 pounds.  I knew that it had never happened before and my doctor assured me it wouldn’t….but I was certain I would be the first pregnant woman to explode. 

My skin hurt from being so tight.  And was it ever shiny!  And itchy.

Kole came one day late.

Like his Grandpa Poulsen.  (as we tease.)

Delivering a baby earned me my Stripes.

After that-  I was lost.

Confused.

Afraid.

I felt empty.

Besieged.

Out of it.

Wasn’t this supposed to come more naturally?  I am a woman.  A strong, capable, nurturing woman.  Why can’t I do this?  I needed to call my mom.

She came.

And rescued.

And saved the message I left on her machine crying.

She came every day at 11 o’clock for 2 weeks.

I watched my mom (when I was awake).

Studied her to pick up tips.

That’s how you hold him.

This will make him burp.

Support him.

Just hold him.

It’s okay- he can’t smile yet.

You’ve got it.

Then she turned him over to me.

I didn’t feel that “overwhelming love” every mother in the world told me about.

As soon as you hold your baby you will feel an overwhelming love.

Wasn’t there for me.

Every time I held my baby I cried.

I cried when I changed his diaper.

I cried when I got peed on.

I cried when I bathed him.

I cried when I nursed him.

I cried when I read to him.

I cried when I cuddled him.

I cried.

I felt like he didn’t want me for his mother.

I wasn’t a mother anyway.

My mom was a mother.

Not me.

I couldn’t do anything right.

He wouldn’t even look at me.

Weeks passed- I learned.

Learned to turn down the hot water on his bath.

Learned to cover that pee pee before it would shoot me.

Learned crying is okay.... for both of us.

Learned to say no.

Learned to stand up for myself and my babying techniques.

(even though I wasn’t sure about them myself)

Learned to love my family as the three of us…. Not the two of us.

I promised myself that the day I felt like a mom- I would write it down.

Journal what happened.

Record the remarkable change or epiphany or transformation.

I have no recollection of the day.

But it happened.

Koley is mine all mine.

He’s the happiest boy on Planet Earth.

He is tender hearted and a goof ball.

We love and understand one another.

There is a mutual respect between me and my cub.

I think we speak through telepathy.

I feel whole.

Satisfied.

Accomplished.

Strong.

Full of love.

I feel like a mom.

I am one.