The Baby Slept!

So, I think this has happened a total of 9 times since his birth….. But last night it happened again! The baby slept for 8 hours straight! And after I got into bed myself, I got 7 hours of sleep. I woke up feeling pretty incredible, which makes me think I should market sleep as the hot new drug that brings euphoria, clarity, and general well being. But how to deliver this to the people??? Hmmm— a conundrum.

Here’s what I feel capable of now that I’ve slept:

supermom1.) I will become a sous chef (yes, my kid is head chef, yes, I realize that makes me either a sucker or a complete idiot) and craft delectable dinners for a dozen people . What am I making? Come over and find out! It will be extravagant, delectable, and NOT from Rachel rays 30-minute meals show. It will take time to cook and simmer with deliciousness.

2.) I will vacuum the house with speed and agility, leaping from one room to the next with a wiley dexterity unseen since the days of yore. (If they didn’t have a vacuum in the days of yore, I’ll go back in time, invent it, patent it, and become rich and famous— because that’s what rem sleep has done for me.)

3.) I will love and hug and kiss my kids more– because all that stupid, irritating, irrational crap they do is no biggie. #didthatmakemecrylastweek? I will be the warmest and fuzziest because I’m rested, and all I wanna do is have some fun…. I got a feeling I’m not the only one… #IloveSherylCrowexceptforwhenshewaswithLance

4.) I’ll offer to “bake muffins” with Hubs. Without the pans. Without the muffin batter. Without the blueberries. And without the non-stick Pam spray. But trust me, it’s going to get hot in here #disconnectthefirealarm

5.) I will plan and organize fun, creative, mind-bending, educational, age-appropriate activities for the kids, well into the new year. Because I am now super mom, and I’m about to turn my kiddies into super humans through life changing experiences that I planned and organized with all the best of intentions #shazam #isthisworking #maybeweshouldjustgetsomemoreplaydough

Reality check: I’ll probably be up at 3 a.m. again in the very near future #Loveitwhileitlasts

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Top Reasons I Didn’t Do Laundry Today

There are absolutely more than 5 reasons, but here are the most critical, life-changing distractions that kept me from boring, stupid, why-don’t-men-do-these-more-frequently chores:

1.) I had to build a fort out of bed sheets, chairs, and the side of our sofa. I then had to quickly learn and distinguish the difference between a fort and a cave. Then I needed to stock the cave with books, a small Mickey Mouse sofa, and trucks, so there would be enough supplies to entertain us for at least twelve minutes.

2.) I had to fill various pans and containers with uncooked pasta noodles and teach my children how to “cook pasta,” which really only meant moving hard noodles from one pan to another, fill cups of various sizes with the noodles, and stir things, for about seven minutes.

This book is beautiful and my little man is OBSESSED!
This book is beautiful and my little man is OBSESSED!

3.) I had to read Steam Train, Dream Train for the ga-zillionth time, which took about 14 minutes because we read slowly and softly, in an attempt to lull LM1 to sleep, and I asked questions in an attempt to distract him from the fact that it was naptime and that I would put him into his crib when the story was finished.

4.) I had to stare at my new nail polish color, which I snagged at Walmart on a trip to pick up LM1’s latest Christmas present. The polish is super cool because (1) I can’t tell what color it is, (2) I can’t believe I found a few free minutes to paint my nails and (3) I think LM2 has my nailbeds….though it may be too soon to tell…I think he shares at least one of my most desirable traits. So, I’m pretty pumped.

5.) I had to prevent LM1 from killing LM2, which means acting as a ref in various spontaneous wrestling matches now occurring in my living room. I have to learn illegal holds, dangerous moves, and hazardous positions. This took up the most of my time today. Each save only takes about 4 seconds, but watching for them, waiting for them, preparing for them…..well, let’s just say I may not do the laundry tomorrow either.

#blessed

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eBay, How I Love Thee

Being a mom of 2 means I need guilty pleasures that are cheap, accessible, satisfying, and not all too time-consuming. Anyone who knows me knows that shopping on eBay has, thus, become a serious vice for me. It’s not just about shopping. I love to see the value of things and how that value fluctuates– mostly how it diminishes once something becomes used– even if it’s just a little used or barely touched. It’s interesting to me in a way that I’m sure affects the economy in profound ways I can’t understand.

ebay-logoPerhaps ironically, I must admit that nearly as much as I love eBay, I love the store, Anthropologie.  The clothes are pretty pricey. I’ve shopped the clearance racks but have  refused to pay full price for anything in there because I picture some little kid in a factory sewing the thing for 5 cents an hour. Then, I immediately feel guilty giving $200 to the major retail outfitter (how giving them $ for the discounted clearance item, I still can’t explain, but maybe it makes me a little bit less of a bad person). I like the clothes because they’re interesting and more unique than what I find in Target or Macy’s or White House Black Market. And, I really love the way Anthropologie makes me feel. It’s a visceral experience to shop there. I love how they display clothes. I love how the decor looks. I love the silly little knick-knacks they set up around the store to make it feel cozy. It doesn’t make the store cozy at all– the stores are so big they feel like warehouses. But it’s fun to be inside them, regardless, and the knick-knacks are doing something to help– though I can’t quite describe what.

What this has to do with eBay is my super secret super vice: I always look for Anthropologie clothing on eBay. It is one of my most favorite past times. I can unwind for five minutes and disconnect by browsing. I love to see the clothes at their worst. They’re wrinkled, maybe there’s a pull somewhere, or a snag of fabric, it’s missing a button, whatever. The photos on eBay are great. The clothing models are not jazzed up with makeup or accessories. They’re just random ladies showing off their purchases. Sometimes the clothes just hang from a hanger. The clothes are displayed without fancy, glittery backdrops, and as a result, the clothes look like mostly garbage. They certainly don’t look like they’re worth $200. Or at least not $138, which is what most blouses go for (where did that arbitrary number come from? Thanks Econ 101– for explaining nothing).

My eBay searches may sound like a pointless, strange thing to do but they bring me down to earth. They remind me that clothes are just clothes. They are pieces of fabric. The searches keep my bank account in check and sometimes, I even find a treasure. Those days are rare but fun: it’s almost like shopping for vintage. Well, not quite, but for $20 and free shipping, I’ll take it!

I guess this is a goofy thing to enjoy, but it somehow brings clarity and sanity amidst the chaos in my house. It’s a stupid thing that works for now.

What is keeping you sane and satisfied?

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A Letter from Your Lovey

Dear Boy with Blonde Hair,

Over here. Right here. Look HERE. I’m not behind the couch, where you left me when we were playing with trucks. I’m not in your bed, where you forgot about me after naptime. I’m not in your backpack after our travel to and from preschool. I’m right here. In front of you, but I’m truly beginning to wonder if you see me, hear me, or get me at all. Lately, I have been mistreated, and I feel it is my unavoidable imperative to inform you of my dissatisfaction regarding your most recent conduct. Because if I won’t tell you, then who will?

Maybe I should start with some good thoughts. They say that sort of thing is productive and generally helpful. Would you like me to recount the ways in which we were once a better pair?

Remember when we used to snuggle? Remember the tenderness and the gentle love between us? Since the day you were born, I have been there, waiting to give you nothing more than comfort and solace. Your Nana brought me to the hospital, and, I’m not gunna lie, you didn’t look great. There were wires and machines and all kinds of scary lights and beeps going on. But I decided to hang tough. I knew we would get to know each other in a special way over time. Today, I am proud to be your snuggle post, your dream-buddy, your sidekick. I am your confidant. We have lived a good life with these intentions.

loveyBut lately, I’ve been pretty blue. And I’m not talking about my fabric fiber tone (which, I realize, has grown a little dull over the years). You’ve been flinging me around, throwing me at your mother and brother during tantrums (which isn’t getting us anywhere, by the way), tossing me every which way, and aside from feeling dizzy and unbalanced, I’m starting to question your devotion.

This week, you did the unthinkable: you puked all over me. You used me to rub snot and yuckies from deep within yourself. And it was disgusting. I would never treat you this way! Then, you did something worse. You left me behind the couch on one of our school days. How could you forget me and send your mother searching with no time at all before the start of our day!?

Ok, ok, I’ll calm down. I’m not yelling at you. Don’t go for one of those tantrum things again. I hate it when your face gets all red like that. I don’t know how to talk to you when you’re like that.

Ok, ok, listen to me. I didn’t mean all that other stuff. You can do with me what you will. The bottom line is that I’m yours. We belong together. Never forget that.

I think we need to rethink our needs here. I’m all in, Buddy. I love you. I want to be with you always. I can take care of you, make you feel better, and guarantee your safety at all times. But you need to keep me a little cleaner. Don’t dump your yuckies on me. Don’t leave me in the dust. Don’t forget how much we mean to each other.

Just think about it. I’ll be waiting wherever it is you left me last…

Love,

Your Devoted Lovey, Carl with a “C”

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God Winks

Sometimes God really winks at me and my family in unexpected ways. I have been feeling a little blue lately, overwhelmed by lots of little things that have been piling up. Worse than dealing with some brick walls has been dealing with my attitude. I haven’t been able to get my act together, pull up my big girl panties, and #DEAL.

Needless to say, I needed a God Wink. (Note: This term was not created by me. There are tons of books out there about what constitutes as a God Wink and what it means to different people.) In my mind, God Winks are times when God sends some kind of sign or message to let me know that (a) I need to ramp up my faith, (b) I need to take a chill pill, and (c) He’s got my back.

This week my family survived an evil vomit monster. LM1 started vomming on Friday night, then Daddy got the bug, and then I got hit last on Tuesday night. It was a crazy few days of cleaning, rubbing tummies, eating next to nothing, and general grumpiness. Wednesday night, I decided that I needed to cook some rice. It’s supposed to be one of the “safe foods” from the BRAT diet, and while Hubs was out buying the fixings for chicken noodle soup (his tummy is still too upset for anything too crazy) I put a little pot on the stove.

Well, as it goes in our house more often than not, I got distracted.

By the time I made it back to the stove, there was nasty rice splatter everywhere and charred black who-knows-what on the pan and stove. “My pan is melting!” I shouted at the baby, who wasn’t crying yet, but later became scared enough by my shrieking to chime in. “I broke the new stove!” “I am a disaster!” “WTF!” (Only I did not say W-T-F…..I said the whole thing….you get the picture.)

I should add in here that we bought a new stove a few weeks ago. We’ve had the original 30-year-old coil stove in our home since we moved in, and we have been waiting for it to break before buying a new one. Well, it broke and we bought a gorgeous glass top range stove. I have been waiting to break it or bust it, and TA-DA, mission accomplished. My neglect and an unknowing pot of rice spelled our disaster.

So I started to cry. Daddy walked into the house and in between my sad little weeping, I mustered out, “I broke the stove and ruined one of our wedding pots.”

He stared at me for a minute, put down his bags of groceries, told me to put down the steaming pot of rice, and then said,”It’s ok, Kimmie. I’ll fix it. It’s fine.”

Just like that. He didn’t really look at the stove or the pot. He just said, “It’s ok, Kimmie, I’ll fix it.”

Then my two-year-old chimed in, “It’s ok, Kimmie, Daddy fix it.”

Hubs told LM1 to hug me and he did. I stopped crying and worked to get the rest of dinner going, sans the burnt rice.

Later on, after the kids had been put down to sleep, we went into the kitchen together to clean up. Hubs took to the stove and I worked on the pot. And you’ve probably guessed it by now, but nothing was ruined. The nasty black stuff came out with a little soap, water, and heavy rubbing. The stove was clean in a cinch with a little heavy duty cleaner.

After the episode, I had to smile. I just had to look at this situation and thank God for his little reminder.

First, I have a great husband, but that was obvious a few years ago #OBVI. But then I saw, that this episode is typical me. I overreact and cry over nonsense. I’d gotten worked up and exhausted after a hairy week and lost my cool over nothing. And it was all fine. We’re all well, the kids are fine, we’re eating solids again (yay!) and nothing is broken.

chicken-littleI think I’ve always been a Chicken Little, though I don’t know why. It’s been a struggle for a long time, and I hate that this is the way I am. I freak out. I lose it. I worry. I cry. And then there’s Hubs, who was just built differently. He fixes everything or encourages me to fix it because he knows I can.

My God Wink was seeing what I’ve always known, but understanding, somehow differently, that it’s time to give up the Chicken Little Attitude. It’s time to take the high road and #chillthefout. That stupid little pot of burnt rice put me in the best mood I’ve been in all week. And I just got to thinking…I could have been in a much better mood by choice. I could have laughed more and just said, “It’s fine….we’ll fix this….we’ll figure it out.”

So next time, I’ll try better.

Have you seen any great God Winks lately?

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Accomplishing Nothing

I live a distracted life. Any mom knows that getting something done while your child is in the room feels nearly impossible. Kids are demanding. Kids need attention. Kids need all the stuff they say they need and the crap they don’t actually need but tell you they need and cry over until you hand it to them (if you hand it to them….).

Now that LM2 is more mobile, neither kid can really be left unattended. That would be similar to letting Gremlins go wild in a department store. No one in her right mind would let that happen unless she plans to pay full price for retail….which is just mind boggling.

Both kiddos are clamoring for attention, and the things that I’d like to give my attention to have become, instead, ridiculously neglected. And I’m not talking about stupid stuff like my cuticles–I started to neglect those long ago. I’m talking about more serious things. Like showering, doing dishes before they attract small wild animals, or pooping well before the “OMG” moment of necessity. Needless to say, things have gone by the wayside.
werewolfNow that LM1 is 2, he is testing boundaries like crazy and seeking attention/validation/love/energy at every turn. Jealousy has kicked into high gear, and his sense of urgency has multiplied. He needs everything NOW and shouts things at me, like, “He [LM2] is not my brother!” or “I don’t love him!” as a means to insist that he does not have to play with his brother or be kind to him. Super. My son is now a werewolf without a cute tail. (Note to self: since noting the unexpected fang drop, I should probably book a dentist appointment. That happens at age 2, right?)

It’s exhausting, to say the very least. Mostly because I have to refrain from looking at my kiddo and saying, “Listen, B,” or “Cool your jets,” or “Back up that hynee before I beatchoass,” because I know he’ll repeat that crap and then I’ll be stuck with foul-mouthed sassy-pants offspring.

I’ve learned that the boys often behave the best when I am there to spot things before they escalate. When I sit on the floor and give my full attention, they are milder and follow my modeling of calm, collected behavior. But I can’t sit around all day. I wake up the next day feeling like I did NOTHING but sit on the floor for most of the day. At the same time, some might argue that this is what “raising your kids” is all about– spending time participating in play, monitoring their interactions, learning about their needs, and anticipating behaviors.

But there has to be a balance. Because there is laundry, dishes, and my sanity to think about. I want to give my children space to learn to interact as kids, with kids, without adults. I don’t want to be a helicopter. But I also don’t want the endless string of tantrums, none of which make sense when I didn’t see what happened in the first place.

So, I try to structure activities and plan time out. I try to forgive myself for feeling so under-accomplished. I try to walk away from their playtime now and again and tell myself that sometimes I’ll have to tame the werewolf. THIS is what they (read: my parents, Hubs’ parents, friends, other relatives, books, audiobooks, podcasts, general mass media) didn’t tell me about when we got preggos. A friendly, “Oh, P.S., your kid is going to mystically transform into your least favorite Marvel Comic antagonist ever at times,” would have been nice. I could even have settled for a, “Hey, you may want to beat the crap out of your kid one day because he’s crying over the fact that you are not wearing your bra yet, (true story: I’m not sure why this happened, but I was searching through the laundry and didn’t search quickly enough for his liking and was delivered a firey: “PUT ON YOUR BRA NOW!”) but it will be ok. Stick it out and everything will be fine.”

Consider my little update on our household happenings a “welcome to parenthood” disclaimer. It’s official. I am a Mama of epic proportions and there’s no turning back. I accomplish little each day that will, prayerfully, someday amount to much much more.

#Mamasaidtheredbedayslikethese

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Convos w a Kiddo

Here’s the latest and greatest from my conversations with LM1:

While loading into the car:

  • Me: Are you ready to have some fun today?
  • LM1: Yes! Cachow!
  • Me: Can you guess where we’re going this morning?
  • LM1: Supermarket.
  • Me: No.
  • LM1: Yes. Supermarket. I’m need grapes.
  • Me: No, I bought grapes yesterday.
  • LM1: I’m need grapes now.
  • Me: Should I get them out of the fridge?
  • LM1: Prolly.

Upon returning from the playground with Grandpa:

  • Me: Did you say thank you to your grandpa?
  • LM1: Yes. Thank you for my helicopter.
  • Me: No, you need to thank him for taking you to the playground.
  • LM1: Thank you, Grampie. I’m play helicopter.
  • Me: Did you go on the swings at the playground?
  • LM1: I’m play helicopter.

While taking a shower:

  • Me: You can’t put your penis in the dump truck
  • LM1: Why?
  • Me: Because it’s not appropriate. And your penis is not a toy. It’s for peeing.
  • LM1: But dat funny.
  • Me: No, it’s not.
  • LM1: Yes. Funny.
  • Me: Well, we’ll just have to see what Daddy has to say about this…

 

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Infatuations of a Two-Year-Old

Sooooooo, in the moment, these things seem completely annoying if I need to get out the door and be somewhere. But when I take the time to think about it, I can appreciate how fascinating LM1’s infatuations are. Here are a few from recently:

This guy...what a character...
This guy…what a character…

1.) He has to stir his own chocolate milk. This takes FOREVER to accomplish…..but it’s pretty interesting to watch him work the spoon to “turn the color” of the milk from white to brown.

2.) He will only wear clothing physically given to him by someone he knows and loves. Example: He will wear the shirt Grammie gave him if he remembers when she gave it to him. He will wear the shirt his cousin second-handed him if he can remember the scenario in which he was presented the shirt by said cousin. Anything else, the boy will not wear, stating firmly, “I no like it.” We have now limited his wardrobe to two shirts from Grammie (both gifts from trips we could not attend; the shirts were souvenirs), two from Cousin Kyle, and one from his daddy, which he has lovingly name “his Dinoco shirt” because it is the color of the blue car from the Lightning McQueen movie. All this to say: getting dressed in the morning take a little more time because we have to recall and negotiate where his outfits came from, AND I need to do laundry more frequently. #whyaminegotiatingwitha2yearold

3.) He sings “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on the potty, like a million times in a row, but accomplishes nothing else on that stinkin’ seat. For this one, I have only myself to blame. I told LM1 that he needs to put his tinkles into the toilet, so now he strips down naked, sits atop the bowl, and sings to me. #nopottytraininginmyfuture

4.) Every time we drive through a shaded spot he shouts, “Oh, Mommy! We’re in the jungle!” I guess he’s been reading about jungles? I guess we talked about jungles once? Maybe someone told him about a jungle in preschool? Whatever. Now, we are always in a jungle. Then we get out of the jungle and “we’re safe.” Thank goodness.

5.) When we “read” at night, what we are really doing is trying to memorize the names of the puppies from Paw Patrol. Instead of reading, LM1 just points to the puppies and says, “‘Dis one?” … which is asking to hear their names over and over and over and over again. I get it. Repetition helps. Maybe if we read the book he could make associations to the puppies and what they’re doing, which would make it easier to remember their names. All well. #goodintentionsmommy #kiddoknowsbest #DOWHATISAYWOMAN

 

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Preschool Blues

thadschool
Photo cred: Auntie Lolo

Little man #1 started a preschool program earlier this month. It has been a soggy crap sandwich so far— with extra onion, horseradish, and pickles that are too fat to really sit properly on a sandwich in the first place. Why why why why did I decide the boy needed preschool?

The answer is simple: it was time. He’s curious and eager to play with his peers. He can handle simple art projects and use a glue stick. He loves wearing a backpack. All the time glued to Mommy’s hip is probably going to turn him into a Mama’s Boy if I don’t cut the cord and let him play and interact with kids in a place where I am not present. Oh, and Mommy can benefit, too. I will learn to sever the cord and interact in a place where my son is not present. (Do they have a name for mommies who can’t let go? Is that just every mommy?)

Let me start by saying that everything about the school we chose for him is wonderful. The teacher, the director, the facility, the curriculum, you name it. This place has all the makings of wonderful. Except that it makes us cry. All of us — except for my husband, who remains the only sane human living in our home. This fact only stands to prove to me that working full-time makes people sane– but that’s another argument for another post.

Here’s the pattern that is quickly becoming a familiar routine: two mornings a week we eat breakfast and dress for school. We talk happily about how much we love school. We approach the classrooms all smiles– almost skipping. We reach the door thresh hold and all hell breaks loose. Screaming, crying, red-faced, bleary eyed, and whimpery. I get this:

  • “I no go school.”
  • “No go away, Mommy.”
  • “I no like school.”
  • “I need Karl.” (note: Karl is his little blue elephant lovey who recently took driving lessons and learned how to operate a tow truck. LM1 was very proud of this new skill.)

(Second note: all of these phrases actually translate to, “I hate you Mommy,” “Suck it, Mommy,” “You’re torturing me with your apathy,” and “I’ll remember these feelings of abandonment until my second marriage, at which point all the therapy I’ve paid for will finally explain you didn’t abandon me.”)

I leave the classroom quickly while my wailing son sits (screaming) in the arms of another woman while I drag the baby out, who doesn’t look traumatized, but is probably traumatized thinking: “I’ve got at least two years to figure out how to avoid this preschool bullsh*t.”

I leave quickly because I’ve been told that lingering too long will allow his crying to escalate, at which point he will freak out completely and fail to enjoy ANY aspect of school. This entire scenario is completely horrifying to me, but, apparently, it is all too common. Lots of moms feel the same way after experiencing the same thing– or so they’re telling me to help my own feelings of guilt. What makes the situation worse is the grandmother response, which has been:

“He’s probably not ready for school. You should just bring him home. He should be with you.”

The best part of this situation has been that LM1 stops crying after about two minutes. Or so the teachers tell me. It lasts almost no time at all and then he has a wonderful day.  I pick him up smiling. When we get to the car by noon he is laughing and telling me how much he loves school, his teacher, and his friends.

WHAT IS A MOTHER TO DO? Well, if you’re me, you obsess over whether or not you’ve made the right decision to send your kid away for a few hours a week. You cry when you finally make it to the gym, and then immediately blast Justin Bieber while working out on the elliptical machine. (Embarrassing fact:  singing the lyrics to “Sorry” and envisioning the music video with those gals gyrating in their booty shorts and sunglasses is enough to distract me from ANYTHING during a workout. I’m not thinking about the girls in a weird way, I’m just envisioning that if I work hard enough on the elliptical, I will have a booty worth gyrating again soon. But seriously, that song is too catchy.)

At this point, I’m starting to desensitize myself to the whole thing. I tell myself that it is OK for a mom to go to the gym for an hour, food shop, take a shower, and then go hug her kid after his amazing day at school. I can’t BELIEVE I feel so guilty about all of this, but I do. I just really like my kid. I mean, really really really. We have fun. (Note: I feel lame just writing this…but it’s true.)

How are YOUR preschool experiences going?! Fill me in!

 

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Top 5 Things That Have Me Convinced My Kid is a Genius

evil_geniusEveryone’s kid is a genius. I know mine is because his athletic prowess, language skills and reasoning seem well beyond normal for his age. Note* I have no idea what “normal” for his age actually is. Here’s what LM1 has been up to lately that seems to prove my point, regardless:

1.) He knows how to anticipate and prepare for unpredictable weather.

  • LM1: I’m need hood.
  • Me: Why do you need a hood?
  • LM1: It’s rain pouring.
  • Me: No it’s not. It’s sunny. There’s no rain outside.
  • LM1: Maybe later.

2.) His negotiation tactics are stellar.

  • LM1: I’m have bagel breakfast
  • Me: We don’t have bagels today
  • LM1 reaches into bread drawer and pulls out bagels
  • Me: What I meant is that we can’t eat bagels everyday because they aren’t that good for you. We need protein and variety.
  • LM1 pulls out peanut butter and reaches up toward utensil drawer, assumedly for a knife
  • LM1: I’m put ‘dis bagel. Peanut jelly, Mommy

3.) He knows where things are and, potentially, how to get them

  • LM1: Go playground, Mommy
  • Me: We’re not going to the playground now
  • LM1: Go left, Mommy
  • I see a McDonalds play place. I’ve never taken him to one, but the bright colors are noticeable
  • Me: We’re not turning left
  • LM1:  Go left, Mommy
  • Me: Nope
  • LM1: Hungry, Mommy. Get down, have poopy.
  • Me: Are you lying to Mommy?
  • LM1 giggle in his car seat
  • LM1: Yes

4.) He can anticipate cause and effect relationships.

  • Me: Pick a shirt. We have to get dressed. (I hold up two in an attempt to limit the time it takes to get ready.) This one or this one.
  • LM1: No, I’m don’t like it.
  • Me: Choose one of these. These are the only options.
  • LM1: No.
  • Me: Grammie gave you this one. Don’t you like this one?
  • LM1: Ok, Grammie. I’m like it.
  • He puts on the shirt. I finish getting ready. Ten minutes pass. LM1 is covered in water and clearly needs his shirt changed.
  • Me: What happened?
  • LM1: I’m all wet. Need shirt. I’m pick out.

5.) He can push responsibility onto others and excuse himself entirely from situations.

  • Me: You have a poopie diaper. You need a change and then it’s time to read stories.
  • LM1: No. I don’t have poopie. Brother has poopie.
  • Me: No he doesn’t. You do.
  • LM1: No. Brother need new diaper.
  • Me: You need a new diaper and then it’s time for stories.
  • LM1: I’m not deepy (sleepy). Brother deepy. He need nap.
  • Me: We’re going to your room right now to get clean and then read some books.
  • LM1: You go updairs (upstairs). He need diaper.
  • I check, and, in fact, both boys need new diapers. #super #goplayfor5moreminutes&thenyouregettingacleandiaper

 

 

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What Makes Us Laugh Now…After Adding Babies