At least he's not smearing sh*t on the walls

Things Milo could be doing with his stubborn, high-spirited nature during these times of intense life changes:

1) breaking things

2) punching people

3) making himself throw up

4) launching food and overturning dinner plates

5) marking his territory with urine

6) stashing, storing, smearing, or otherwise playing with his own excrement

7) sneaking out and getting drunk with the guys... 

8) hooking up with the loose girls at day care

9) making fake IDs with my iPhone

10) having nightmares, really falling apart...

I guess an occasional 2 hour bedtime show-down is small potatoes. 

At first, I thought it was standard stalling and tried to be firm. But 30 mins in (20 mins after his older brother had started snoring), I stopped focusing on getting what I wanted and just started rummaging through drawers for a white flag to wave...

When he sat on the top stair, twinkled his non-tired eyes, rested his full, puffy cheeks in his not-so-tiny hands and answered my, "You are going to bed right now" with:

"No.  I'm not."  Then he got quieter:  "I. Am. Not...   Not going to bed...   Not tonight."
Then he looked at me, with pity and exhaled: "no. I'm not."

Serious as a heart attack.

People, I know when I'm beat.  My mama did NOT raise a fool.  I'm all about being the adult - "the parent" and setting limits.  But it was the calm in his eyes- like the sea in a glossy travel brochure; it was his non agitated, purposeful stare...

And as Yoda- oops, I mean - JAKE told me earlier today, "Mommy, do you know the secret to beating your enemies?  Make them your friends."

"Okay," I told my curly haired challenger, "If you're not going to bed, come down here and and help me clean up.  You can start by cleaning up your cars."

Trying to get them to bed early on transition day, I had planned to return the 17 die cast metal cars (we counted them aloud 4 times as he parked then in the shape of letters (and one time in the shape of a "mark" that I when I tilted my head a little I realized was a pretty perfect "question mark") away.

When the cars were away, I had him put the couch cushions back and fluff the throw pillows.  Then I told him to go get two books and we read them each - twice.  Then we headed upstairs and drank a small dixie cup of water and as I laid him down, we talked about his day:  The hole he dug in the sand (It was huge)... The sand he put on the slide (even though his teachers told him not to put sand on the slide)... We talked about kindergarten coming up in the fall.

He didn't know that I had already decided I wouldn't even be trying to leave his lower bunk bed until I was dismissed.

Back when I worked in the ICU, I had this little rule, if a patient/or family rang his/her call bell 3 times within 20 minutes, I would pack up my charts and go in there and sit.  I would first see what they needed, and answer their question or request; BUT then I would pull up a chair or desk and sit there yammering and/or charting until the patient and/or family would say something like, "You must have other work you have to do."

When I stopped peppering Milo with questions and the conversation started to lull, I didn't make a move to leave.  I didn't even shift my weight, but still he grabbed my face and whined: "I NEED you." I held my hands over his hands, tight on my cheeks.

"I need you and love you too,"  I replied

"I WANT you."  He pulled me tighter.

"I'm right here."  I kissed both his palms and offered him mine. 

"I ALWAYS need and want you."

"Me too."  More kisses on his hands and arms

"You always... yell at me."  

I laugh.  "I SOME-times yell at you when you don't listen, but I am not yelling right now."

I snuggled in closer. "I'm staying right here until you tell me I should go."

Literally 10 seconds pass.

"When you hear the 'DING' you go.... DING!"  He high-pitched the last word into a flawless, one-toned bell.

"Okay, when I hear that noise, I should go?"

"No.  It ding'd.  You should go now... it already ding'd."

 Now I'm laughing, hard: "Wait... Now? go now???"

"Yes.  You have to. It already Ding'd.  Sorry.  I love you.  Now go."

Bahahahahahahaha!

Seriously, this kid is ridiculous.

Crazy talk and non-sensical rage

Milo's language skills have exploded.
Finally the kid can practically get his point across.  He has so many thoughts and ideas but they are generally not recognizable by English speakers.  Lately though, he is spilling over with impressive vocab and compound sentences.  Today at a red light he told me:

"Red means 'stop' and yellow means 'slow' and green means 'go'."
He has known this for a long time, but could only get out a word at a time. 
"YELLOW!" He'd scream as I blew through an intersection.

At some point in July, the kid was in the back seat of the car and he was stammering and stuttering trying to tell me something very important (perhaps that a tow truck had passed us) and finally he slapped his hands on his knees and shouted, "I'm tryin' TALK-TELL YOU SOMETHING-CAN'T!!!" I felt so bad and fed him a few lines to repeat: "Say, 'There's a red truck.'" He repeated it perfectly. "Say, 'There's a blue car'."  Again, flawless. He nodded at me in what I perceived to be a "Thank you" and calmed down.
 
As I've mentioned, he is somewhat strong-headed and wickedly intelligent, but he can be lazy with pronunciation.  He tends to eliminate "s"s completely.  So when he's asking for one of his favorite songs "Stuck like glue" and he insistently implores, "I WANT UCKLIKEGLUE!!!" I spend the next 45 seconds making him repeat, 'cause I still have nofah king idea what he's saying. 

When i finally figure it out, I"m like, "Milo,  stay 'SSSSssssssstuck'..."
"SSSSssssstuck."
So okay, he can say it.  He just frequently opts out.

Last week he asked Katy, "Did you get that out of the cabinet?" As clear as can be- like that was the most normal thing in the world for a 2 year old to say. 

She looked at me and asked, "Did he just say 'cabinet'?"
"Yes.  Yes he did."

In addition to improving his speech, Milo's been teething for what seems like forever, and drooling and sticking fingers and whatever he can find into his mouth.  "Get your fingers out of your mouth," is my most frequently uttered directive.  In our house (despite two Master's prepared nurses running the show) there is astounding ignorance related to germ theory.  No matter how many times I explain about all of the various nastiness that can be on the bottom of our shoes, I can count on both of my boys to absent-mindedly scan their digits over every square milometer of their sneakers and Crocs, just to pass the time.  Then everyone acts shocked when I'm screaming "GET YER DISGUSTINGLY DIRTY FINGERS OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!!!"

Today, I guess Milo was a little sick of my badgering, but he showed me- just skipped the middleman entirely and went right to the source:

Mommy: (unsuccessfully trying to hide her disgust) GET YOUR SHOE OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!!!
Milo: NOOOOOOooooooo!!!
Mommy: RIGHT NOW!
Milo: (growling) I'm gonna bite you in the baby room!
Mommy: WHAT?!?
Milo: (mumbling) I'm gonna bite you in the baby room...
Mommy: (softer and in a more serious tone) Milo, we don't threaten to bite people when we are angry...
Milo: YOU ARE DANGEROUS!
Mommy: You have no idea...

The kid is nuts.  But there is nothing I don't love about him.






Comparing how these two watch TV says a lot...

Keeping time

Work has been horrific in these last few weeks.
Hyperbole is the word you are searching for to describe the tactic used in the previous sentence.
Let's try again... Work has been exhausting in the last few weeks: In that, "i feel blessed to be employed and have a job where I am valued, challenged, growing, and well compensated" kind of way.  I'm just spent, and not getting all that I want to do done- neither at work nor at home... and I'm staying up too late to compensate for the lack of sufficient hours in the day; but that is contributing to the extreme fatigue.

Last weekend, I tried to ignore my professional side completely.  It worked pretty well.  After spending the day on Saturday with the boys- enjoying life, hiking, laughing, eating ice cream, soaking in the warmth and comfort of the sun, I spent Sunday trying not to batter my kids.

I'm not saying that lightly.  I have wonderful, amazing children that I adore; that I would move heaven and earth to keep from harm's way...  But I have to admit, nearly 5 years into this parenting gig, I understand child abuse in a way I never did before.  Sometimes it takes all of your intellect and powers of reasoning, all of your coping skills, all of your spirituality and fear of hell and law enforcement officials to help keep you from inflicting corporal punishment.  Sometimes you have to hide the belts and the wooden spoons from yourself, and keep your hands busy...

Sunday was that kind of day.  The kids were just incorrigible.  They were obstinate and whiny and ruthlessly disobedient.  Jake got 5 time outs before 11 am.  Milo was spitting and hitting and picked up a terra-cotta flower pot over his head in the most intentional and menacing way.  I moved quickly towards him trying to sternly but calmly talk him out of.  He gave me a little grin and threw it to the ground with all his might.

The day ended with the version of our bedtime ritual that does not involve a bit of TV (that had long since been punitively removed from the menu of options): PJs, brush teeth, read book, say prayers, sing a song... We got to the part where they each get a small sip of water (the final step, the part that lets them know, "day is done") and the brothers began fighting about who would take the first sip.

I am careful to alternate this ritual, but I couldn't remember whose turn it was, and the whining and protesting was instantaneous.

Jake: (bursting into sudden, over-dramatic hysterics) I WANT THE FIRST SIP OF WATER... I WANT TO GO FIRST!!!
Milo: (in full blown imitation mode) I WANT THE FIRST SIP OF WATER... I WANT TO GO FIRST!!!
me: (so tired of this silly shit and the fake crying) Work it out boys.  You tell me who is getting the first sip... If you can't agree, then no one gets any water.

They each stood their ground, repeating their identical request/demand to be first.  I counted to 3 and offered one more chance.

"I GO FIRST" they wailed in unison.

I appealed to Jake one last time:  "Should your brother get the first sip? or should no one get any water?"

10 or 20 seconds passed while he considered his move: "No one!" He replied in what would be the day's final triumphant stand of quiet (possibly) stoic assholery.  Milo seemed confused, but did not have the debate skills to negotiate anything further with either of us...

I walked away silently wishing them well, "Enjoy the cotton-mouth, suckers!" I would have said if my sense of humor was not also dehydrated.

"WTF was that?" I thought over and over in my review of the day.  Where did we go wrong?!?

Today, we had friends over for dinner.  The boys were really well-behaved and sweet.  At bedtime (48 hours from the close of one of my top-10 least favorite days I've ever had as a parent) I had this conversation:

Milo: I wear your watch, Mommy?
Me: okay.  (I put the too big watch on him and start singing) Good night my angel, now it's time to sleep and save these questions for another day
Milo (checking the watch and then whispering) 8 O'clock!
Me: (singing) I think I know what you've been asking me... I think you know what I've been trying to say...
Milo: (checking the watch, another whisper) 6 O'clock
Me: (singing and suppressing giggles) And like a boat out on the ocean... I'm rocking you to sleep
Milo: (checking, another little whisper) 9 O'clock

-----------
Then, in between songs I sang while tucking in Jake...

Jake: Mom, when onions make you cry, do you think that's just their way of protecting themselves?
Me: Hmm...(trying not to laugh, lest he thinks I'm laughing AT him) It makes sense that that might be part of it, huh?
Jake: Yeah... a lot of plants and animals have all kinds of ways to protect themselves...
Me: (clutching my proud and overworked heart) Yup

I guess they do really listen. 

This guy wants to be your next president...

Even though it sounds as if there are only about 13 people in the crowd, this guy has a lot of nerve...



Got that? OUR marriage (Katy's and mine) "Turns religious liberty on it's head... turns the education system on it's head... and undermines every basic traditional value... for no legitimate purpose".

[Um, excuse me, sir (tap-tap on the shoulder)... the psycho-social and economic safety of our family and especially our children is a legitimate purpose.]

In allowing us to marry, apparently our state passed a law that is "in-amicable to a just and fair society" and to the "basic values" that are "necessary to the survival of the United States."

[Exaggerate much, Dick?!? Excuse me, Rick?!?]

"What NY did was wrong, I will oppose it. I will go to NY and if necessary help overturn it."

[Good luck with that, buddy and good luck with your political career, Mr. Santorum]

Seething...

I'm at the library.
Seething.
Katy sent me out of the house to write.
Tonight I had a crazy thing happen on the way home from day care.
... Some kind of bullshit...
I'm so upset, I can barely make sense of it.
I am still tachycardic and breathing heavy.
I barely understand what is going on in my body...

I picked up the boys from day care. I was in a pretty good mood. It started pouring when I was about 2 miles away from them, but no big deal. Then JB decided that he didn't want to hold his lunch bag and somewhere in between, "I don't want to hold it," and "I WANNA HOLD IT RIGHT NOW!!!" (He has some "normal" 3-year old mental block(s) when it comes to decision-making) He lost his shit.

I found myself saying, "That's not how we get things, by crying and screaming..." This is our mantra some days and Katy and I try hard to not cave in. Like, these kids have to learn that they can have whatever they want (pretty much) but not if they are screaming and shouting and crying to get it... He wanted to HOLD HIS BAG... Not a big deal, but I didn't want to let him because "screaming and crying is not a way to get what you want". But then I got a "get out of jail free card" because he wanted to "HOLD HIS BAG- THE FIRST TIME".
(That's JB speak for "I changed my mind, and even though I said no when you offered that option, I want to do it. But I don't want to do it NOW, I want to do it THEN, as in- Can you please re-wind the tape and send us back in time so I can do it 'right' the first time?!?")

No, son. I cannot.

Cue hysteria.

These little fuckers don't know anything about quantum physics or the lack of advances in time travel.

So.

Pouring rain. Driving in traffic- headed to the grocery store. JB just screaming and crying in the back seat. I pull over and try to reassure him and reason with him. I try to wait it out a bit- sometimes a change of plan like sitting in a parking lot instead of just driving on, snaps him out of it. While we pulled over, i washed his face with a pre-moistened towelette. I tried to get him to take a sip of water. I am really really frustrated, but I am actually doing the right things, not screaming, not outwardly over-reacting, trying to find some way to distract him.

I start driving again... I'm a little raw and jittery... I almost have him calm- we are at a stop light and I am flipping though iTunes on my phone trying to get the Disney play list on for little mister "losing-my-mind" in the back seat.

This guy in the right lane next to me (but diagonally in front of me) in a big red pick up is trying to say something. I don't know what he is saying, but he is animated. I roll down the window and hear "light". I'm thinking It's something about my tail light... I panic a little in reaction to how he is gesticulating, like maybe my taillight is on fire or something. Then he's like shouting at me about how I have two kids in the car and I'm on my phone....

I'm not on my phone.

He's still shouting.
My blood pressure is rising.
JB who has stopped crying is like, "Why that guy is yelling, Mommy?"

I'm about to flip out on this guy- I don't know what he is talking about, but HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT HE IS TALKING ABOUT. He has no idea what has just been going on in this car, and he is giving me some "I'm-a-white man-in-a-pick-up-and-you're-a-female-driver" kind of reprimand. The light turns green. I lock eyes with him when i finally realize what is going on and curse him out to the tune of "YOU fucking ASSHOLE!!!"

Oops.
Kids in car.
I have never done that before.
I'm shaking. Trying not to cry. At wit's end. So mad I could spit. He pulls out in front of me and goes straight, even though he's in the right turn only lane. I stall the car. Restart the car. Try to stay focused through the rage. I expressly concern myself with not tailgating him or smashing into him. I am as mad as I can remember being.

Mistake #1: What kind of truck is it? Didn't notice- red, shiny, new-ish looking... that's all i know
Mistake #2: What is the plate number? Fuming... Didn't notice- there are some chains hanging near the plate.

He turns right, into the grocery store parking lot.
That is where I'm going too. I had briefly considered following him where ever he was going- to give him a piece of my unstable mind, but then discarded the notion. I take the right turn as a sign from God that I am suppose to follow this guy and tell him exactly how much or an !$#% *%^&@# he really is...

I park 4 cars away.

I leave my kids in the car and approach him. It is still pouring:
"You are some kind of !$#% &@#!!!"
I don't even know what I said, but he blew up at that point.

Me: You have no idea what was going on in that car!
Him: You ran a red light!!!

(I did not run a red light but I seriously would never say that b/c maybe i did... I have no idea what this guy is talking about. If I ran a red light, when was it? Where was it? Whoa! that's pretty scary... an Hour later I realize he is talking about the stale yellow light that I took a little liberty with when JB was freaking out)

Me: Who do you think you are?!?!?!
(I start to back up away from him, I want this conversation over)

Him: What would your husband think?!? You driving like that!!!

Pause for my brain to explode.

The world goes quiet for a minute. I see plastic bags blowing in the breeze, but hear nothing. There's an echoing whooshing sound in the distance, that i realize is the sound of air moving in and out of my lungs. Somewhere, on the other side of the parking lot, I hear a Qtip fall onto the pavement, and then sound rushes back into the world. My pulse is pounding in my neck. My mouth is dry. I am shaking.

Pause again to consider whether or not something in my brain might have actually exploded...

This guy looks to be about 40 to me (give or take 5 years.) He's got chiseled features, and looks fit. He's wearing hunting pants or army fatigues and either has 2 day's growth of stubble, on his face, or is one of those wolf-men that needs to shave twice a day. Though he gives the general impression of a redneck "fisherman", he does not give off a "psycho" vibe, just a self-congratulatory "asshole" vibe. This is not a grouchy, old man. This is not a plucky, young punk. This is the worst kind of arrogant adult male- who thinks he is in charge of personally reprimanding a total stranger in traffic. Who thinks he's somehow in the right when he decides to berate a women who is carting her two kids to the store in the middle of a rain storm after a 9 hour work day.

So, in my head I'm like, "YOU'RE going to determine some safety violation and create a situation AT A STOP LIGHT that is truly UNSAFE!?! YOU think I was the person that created an UNSAFE SITUATION back there?!? Oh, and this is the best part... YOU THINK THE BEST WAY TO "MAKE ME FEEL BAD" about something that I might have done wrong is to bring up my HUSBAND?!? The supposed man in my life that is in charge of me and makes sure I'm taking good enough care of HIS CHILDREN?!?

Oh Buddy, you are so barking up the wrong tree...

I wished I had said so many things. I wished I had just been calmer and more "ON" my game, I could have been all like:

• My husband died tragically when I threw him from the car while texting in a pizza order and running a red light.
• My husband doesn't care at all about these kids- they look too much like his brother, he encourages me to drive recklessly all the time; just hearing about how upset you are will please him very much!
• My WIFE... (If there is any karmic justice) is in a parking lot somewhere on the other side of town, doing EXACTLY what you are doing: verbally assaulting your gay lover with a barrage of loud, self-righteous, misogynistic, uninvited commentary dripping with contempt and condescension.
  

INSTEAD... I go with the truth:

Me: Yeah, I don't have a husband. I'm married to a woman.
Him: (silence)
Me: You've got a lot of nerve and no right to speak to me about this.

He's close enough for me to smell the smoke on his breath and he doesn't back down a bit. He is completely unapologetic and he suddenly shouts that he is a town police officer.
HA! (that almost sends me into orbit). I swear if this guy is a cop, i might have to move.
Also, if he's an asshole cop, he wouldn't have waited this long to bring his occupation up.
And, if he's a good cop, he wouldn't be doing this in the parking lot.
So he's either in between an asshole cop and a good cop OR, he's NOT a cop at all.

Me: You're a cop?!? Great. What's your name?

Mistake #3: He TELLS me his name (supposedly) and once I hear the name, I immediately forget it. Like, I don't have any clue... Maybe it was Mark... Maybe it was Dan... Maybe it was Janet Jackson... It could have been anything...

I don't even remember the rest of the conversation. But I know when he starts going overboard with the "hand quotes" gesturing, saying something homophobic-sounding about "your partner", I better walk away before I end up in jail.

The rest of the shopping spree is a blur
The rest of the dinner hour is a bust. I am wiped out. Scared. Feel threatened and unsafe. I get home and send the kids in the play room, and cry as I tell Katy the story. She tells me I did not do anything wrong. I seriously consider calling the Police Department in town to report the incident and to tell them that either they have a very inappropriate cop on the force, OR they have a guy IMPERSONATING a town cop... Katy advises against it (see Mistakes 1-3).

I spend the time up until now trying to figure out why this has caused such an emotional reaction from me... It is hard to put my finger on. There are a lot of things- the assholes always seem to win; justice is rarely a possibility; I feel shamed (even though any mistake I made was unintentional); I feel "in trouble"; I feel the weigh of the absolute plausibility that the people that are supposed to be "the good guys" are more than occasionally not actually all that "good"; I feel I was put in a position where my safety and the safety of my children was tampered with; My parenting and intention to keep my kids safe was called into question...

But mostly I realize, I am angry because I am very disappointed in myself.

I consider this whole scenario an epic FAIL:

1. I lost complete control of my emotions
2. I lost my sense of humor completely
3. With my sense of humor gone, my ability to come up with snappy one liners disappeared also; if you are going to lose your cool, at least win the debate...
   
4. I totally forgot to remember the important stuff - as a nurse... as a women who has always been taught how to stay safe and how to report breaches of this safety, I don't remember what he looked like, what his name was, his license plate#, etc, his height, hair or eye color... I"m not sure if i would recognize him if I saw him...
   
5. I forgot the number one rule about being a woman: No matter how much of an asshole another person is being (especially another man), you should just walk away/ turn the other cheek. You should assume he's armed and dangerous; Even going up to this guy in the parking lot was "my mistake". If you are a woman and a man, a stranger, is acting like he owns you (or has a right to berate you), your job is to just quietly let it go, be non-confrontational, and let him go on believing he does
   
6. I was unable to disprove #5
7. This blew my day apart
8. I'm sure this wasn't even a blip on his discomfort radar; his sense of entitlement and certainty in the notion that he was right is just too high.
   

I am seething still. I am actively working on letting it go...

But the audacity and hubris of this guy. The general lack of compassion and the blatant aggression. The pretend concern for my offspring when really you are putting them in danger...
These are just a lot of really sensitive buttons to push on a Tuesday...

The last 3 hours of your day

Sometimes I think I write a highly idealized version of what life with little kids is like. I mean, all the cute conversations, all the "Life is good" tags, all sweet photos and some of the other bullshit...
I think we are hitting a rough patch with JB- he is talking back, rolling his eyes, and acting like he just learned the word "no" and we just took the keys to his car away all at the same time.

Tonight was a night that I'd like to erase from the books. It went something like this:

5:23pm - Arrive home from work. Kate is at the stove. ML is running around, JB sees me when I open the door. He stops cutting construction paper and looks at me with a 1/2 crooked smile. I have no idea what is coming, and I assume he is going to break into a grin, run up to me, and throw his arms around me (like he does on most nights). Instead, he holds his dull, kid-scissors up in front of his eyes and says, "If you come any closer, I'll cut you." When I get over my shock, give him a low-key reprimand, and convinced him to give me a hug, he brings his knees up high and kicks me in the chest a couple of times.
5:25 - JB is in time out.
5:26 - With the sweet sounds of JB SCREAMING in the background, I attempt to wrangle ML into a greeting, but he's marching around like that kid from parenthood (the movie) without the bucket on his head


"He likes to bonk things with his head"


5:28 - Time out is over, but JB is still SCREAMING AND SOBBING, "GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!RIGHT NOW!!!" So we have to determine if we are going to give the kid another 3 minutes. I try a different tactic and I go to him and lay down on the floor next to JB so that we are face to face. I stroke his face to dry his tears...
Me: Did you have a bad day?
Him: no
Me: Do you need any help?
Him: no
Me: Can you stop crying so that you can come out of time out--OUFFFFF



(ML has jumped on my back making the same noise with his body that you hear in a Mission Impossible movie, when a short Scientologist throws his body from the top of a tractor trailer onto the roof of another moving vehicle)

5:32 - ML marches over to the stove and attempts to stir the pots that are simmering over his head up there. To get closer to the danger, he tries to pull the oven door open. It doesn't matter that Katy and I are standing right there, we can barely stop him. He starts WAILING.

5:34 - Strapped into his high chair, ML is finally quieted when an appetizer of raw avocado is placed in front of him. JB takes a butter knife and starts to stab at the pages of a book that is on the table. I tell him to stop.

5:35 - JB has picked the knife up again and is stabbing at the pages of a book again. I raise my voice and then take the knife away

5:40 - Dinner is served. We all sit down "Taco dinner"

5: 42 - ML throws his plate of taco meat onto the floor. While we are down picking it up, he showers pieces of taco shell on us. Katy reminds him, "Only six more months before I get to put you into time out."

5:45 - We have been offering ML other food: cheese stick? JB wants one too. Applesauce? JB wants one too... ML shoves 1/2 a cheese stick into his mouth and laughs when Katy tries to get him to spit out the too-big piece. He finally spits it out and while never breaking eye contact with his mama, he dangles it over the side of his high chair tray. We bark, threaten, and scold... He smiles and let's it fly...

5:48 - ML gets put into the corner for "Baby time out".

5:52 - After gagging his way through 2 sugarsnap peas, JB had "earned" the applesauce he requested. ML's tray has been cleared of food.
6:16 - ML is crying because Katy is washing his face with a soft, soft wash cloth. Mommy and the boys roll around of the floor for a while. Until ML drops a load in his diaper.
6:52 - After chasing him around for all this time, ML finally consents to a diaper change. JB demands a "SHOWER, NOT A BATH" (Even though he shouldn't get his way based on how he is acting and how he is speaking to us, both parents agree: "whatever... It's not worth making a federal case") We act like we intended to make him take a shower all along.
7:07 - the bath was fun and pleasant, and a clean ML, acts as if the world's softest sleeper contains some type of chemical that will kill him if he allows himself to be clothed in it...

7:15 - Baby ML is only half dressed
7:22 - Both kids are dressed for bed. Humidifier is filled.
7:25 - Teeth are brushed, hair is combed, baby is finally calm and happy; ML wiggles out of a mom's arms and bangs his head on the floor (Cue screaming).

7:40 - ML is calmed, has been soothed, watched a little TV with his brother, and accepts that it is bedtime

7:45 - our hero, Handy Manny is there for us in "The big race"

8:15 - JB goes to bed

(sigh)

W.
T.
F.

Newletter: Month 34

JB,

Today you are 34 and some-odd-fraction months old.

Holy smmokes. We talk a lot about you in these here web-pages, but if these were supposed to be "monthly" newsletters, we (and by "we" I mean "I") have failed you.

You and I had a big fight at dinner tonight.
It started with Sit down and ended with you crying in time out and me red-faced, muttering, and pacing a few yards away.

The new thing from you is NO.
I mean all kinds and versions of "no".

There's the little, "do you want more milk?"
No.

And then there's the, "Please SIT in your chair."
NO.

And then there's the, "You are in time out."
NO, I am not going to time out... no.

The defiance comes with a touch too much whining for my taste...
"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa! NOOOoooooo!!!"
And hysteria... at least it did tonight.

Since you have generally earned the nickname, Mr. Mellow, you can sometimes be like living with Dr. Jackle and Mr. Whine. Honestly, it IS hard to hear "no" to the simplest request, query, imperative (from a not-yet-3-year old) when your safety or comfort is at stake... I am sure this will be as hard or harder when you are 7, 10, 13, 16, 21 years old, but i guess my thought is that at least you will have the vocabulary for a fair debate and enough of a grasp of the concept of cause-and-effect for me to not have to be the only one "choosing my battles".

But these events are not without my own emotional response. And our similarities are already emerging as reasons we will butt heads: stubborn, watery, sensitive, brave, wishy-washy-not-sure-what-i-want-and-that-is-hard-enough-to-deal-with-inside-of-me-let-alone-having-to-try-to-convey-it-to-you, DON'T BE DISAPPOINTED IN ME, and LET ME FIGURE IT OUT ON MY OWN! heads. Sweet, sweet boy, you and I are a lot alike.

But, you are also like your Mama- she won't go into the Ocean unless I beg or trick her either. You and she notice things I miss every day. Things I would miss completely if you weren't pointing them out: "Hear the crickets, Mama and Mommy?"

It's been several months now that we are blown away by the way you are calculating and figuring out the world, grouping ideas and things together correctly, extrapolating out notions that seem impossibly wiser than your age.

You know all four components of your given name; you know your address including city and state. You know what we need to do in different weather- what to wear if it rains or snows or is hot, why we put the windows up or down, when we use the windshield wipers, why lights go on at night; You look for stars and the moon when the sun starts to go down. If you see a digger, you ask how he can do his work without a dump truck. When you see a telephone pole, you tell us about the wires attached and what they do, what they are for. When you see our neighbors leaving, you ask where they are going... and we have to think up 5 or 6 "maybes"... "Maybe they are going to work... Maybe they are going to visit their kids... Maybe they are going to the store..." we joke that "everything comes down to safety": hard hats, lights on cars, reflectors, lines on the road, seat belts, windows that don't go all the way down, treads on shoes... When answering the incessantly asked question, "why", I would estimate, 80% of the time the answer is ultimately safety. But that's not satisfying to you:

JB: Why that truck have a step there?

Random Mom: because it is too high without a step.

JB: Why?

RM: so that the driver/worker can get to the top without getting hurt.

JB: Why?

RM: to keep him safe

JB: Why?

RM: It is probably an OSHA violation; his employer needs to prevent repetitive motion injuries and calculate what step size is ergonomically proper to avoid undue stress on his joints.

JB: Oh.

It sometimes seems as if you will only accept the answer that is above your pay-grade, and then your reaction is a very mellow, "oh." As if, "Why didn't you just say that in the first place?"

You are getting good at pretending and telling stories. Your cousins have helped you learn about pretending. The three of you are constantly "taking our orders" in your pretend restaurants and you alternate between having every imaginable food we can conjure up OR telling us, "We don't have that here," to all the items we request. It is adorable but maybe makes us think we go out to eat too often.

JB loves sports: the world cup on TV, baseball, basketball, our softball games. You are starting to understand the difference between the games and the rules, the positions, and the teams. You take turns being the batter and the pitcher, the kicker and the goalie. One day, you used 4 sippy cups to tell me which were the on the soccer team that "had the ball" and which were on the team that "didn't have the ball" (this was based on the color of their tops). You also have followed Mama's lead in your affinity for dance as a spectator sport. There's this show called, "So you think you can dance" on TV which I hope (by the time you are able to or interested in reading these newsletters) is a faded memory. You and she sit and watch and rewind and cue up your favorites for me to see. There was one where boys were dressed at ball players and "danced it out"... it was like all of your favorite things rolled into on 3 minute segment.

We bought you a pair of "tap shoes" which are really a pair of plastic, purple girls shoes that make noise as you clip-clop across the floor. We set out to buy you some flip-flops but when you wandered over to the girl's section of the store and used your most politely hesitant voice to ask, "Can I have these?" We just couldn't leave them behind in the store. You couldn't nap for the entire weekend after we bought them b/c they were on the floor near your bed and it was too exciting to sleep with those shoes just sitting there. We are sufficiently convinced that you want to try to dance and in the fall there's an "all sports" class at the Y at 9am and a tap class down the street at 10 am... I think if we buy you real, authentic, ACTUAL tap shoes, you will soil yourself in excitement, so... I mean... CLEAN UP IN AISLE SIX... bring it on...

Your vocabulary is impressive. Your conversational skills are ever-improving. See this post for a few of my favorite, recent items. Despite your obvious smarty-pants status, you have developed this somewhat annoying habit of asking, "What?" when really you know exactly what we said and what is going on. You've had trouble hearing in the past due to the difficulty with your ears being full of fluid, but if we just spoke louder every time you asked, "Whattt?" (you like to really enunciate the hard "t" at the end) it would be like a school for the deaf around here. Then too, we've noticed that if we just don't respond to the "Whattt?" you tell us what we said. Your Mama complains that I have a Premature and exasperating "What" that is part of my vernacular, and I have also heard you say my "which one?" That is one of mine too. You had an ENT appointment last week which revealed that both of your ear tubes (Placed in January) are out, so now we will have even a harder time determining if your "Whattt" is related to water-logged hearing or absent-minded distractedness.

Speaking of trips to the hospital... In June, you got your first stitches. Briefly, here's the tale. ML was sent home from school with a fever. He puked all over me and then when I handed him off to Mama, he puked all over her. in our brilliance, we were carting him all over the house, trying to calculate how best to get him comfortable and cleaned off, so he puked in about 4 or 5 rooms of the house. I took you to come mow the lawn with me so you would be outside, and I was worried about your safety in the backpack carrier, so I buckled you in with your sunglasses on and took 5 steps away to get the batting helmet that you love to wear (safety first.) You kicked yourself over and the sunglasses cut your forehead when your noggin' hit the pavement. We called your TT. she came over in less than 300 seconds. It was the dinner hour and Mac was in nothing but a tutu. Dried blood caked all over your face, you asked your cousin, "Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" She deadpanned, "Why is there blood all over your face?" When I said, "I'm sorry buddy, I think we have to go to the hospital." You started sobbing a staccato alternative: "We'll... stay... here.. you mow the lawn... I'll sit ... and ... watch... I fe...el bet...ter." You got 4 stitches. The trip to the ER took 5 hours. You are stuck all summer wearing a bandaid over your forehead to try and prevent the sun from making the scar more noticeable. I felt terrible for at least a week, but then I made up some story about how it would have been much worse if I hadn't buckled you in the carrier- that's the story that I'm sticking to kid.

You've started using expletives like, "Awesome!" and "Cool!" to describe things. You use the words, "actually" and "also" and "holy guacamole"... you are clear on what drink is an "adult beverage" and what is a "kid beverage". The "Actually" kills me... I just love it. We say it all the time, but when it come out a kid's mouth, it is just so funny.
This exchange typifies the adorableness of it:
Me: JB, what's your favorite letter?
JB: um... 'A'
Me: That's a good letter.
JB: Ummm, actually, it's 'B'

You also hear words and they make you think of other similar sounding words. When you overheard your grandpa use the word, "mediocrity," you looked at him and said, "And also, I have crocks on."

You finally started treating ML like he is occasionally intruding on your perfect world. When he comes crawling towards you and the toys you are playing with, you have started say, "NO," to him. (surprise, surprise) You do this when he starts to crawl away or toward the stairs too, "NO" as if you need him to stay still for you to be comfortable. This makes sense. Your brother is very different from you- he is all "go now, ask questions later" and you seem to have always been a "Let me take it slow and think about things before I move" kind of kid. We are pretty stern with you about saying "NO" to ML. We try to tell you that you don't have to protect him or your toys that you can tell us and we will steer ML to safety... that you can just explain to him how to do things, but this is coming out as instinct "NO, ML," and to be honest, your mommy and mama are surprised at how long it has taken for any territorial behavior to show up.

Then too, I would be remiss if I did not point out how often you reach toward him with a soft touch to say 'HI' and how you don't react hardly at all if ML swats at you or climbs on you. You continue to be an absolutely amazing big brother. All we could have hoped for and more.

You are doing great at school. The teachers say you are one of the best kids there: polite, friendly, happy, smart. You have made it clear that you remember your old school, but you prefer the new one and that is a relief for us- we would have been very heartbroken if this transition seemed to have hurt you somehow.

Your favorites right now:

Food: spaghetti and meatballs (still)

Color: Orange (still) but at least 1/2 the time you will tell us your favorite is orange AND red

Favorite toys: trucks, "soft things" (puppy, barry white, polar bear, teddybear), glove-balls-tee-helmet, puzzles,
TV show: Handy Manny
Potty training status: Mostly dry, most nights... sometimes not, but otherwise completely potty trained. (as it's been for nearly 6 months now)

Patented "JB kisses": 'two handed' - one hand on each cheek of the person you are kissing.

We can't believe that you are going to be 3 years old in less than 2 months. You are getting so big and despite all of the "NO's" you are lobbing at us on a daily basis, you are as sweet as honey from the hive. We are astounded at how cute you are and smart and beautiful... It sure makes it hard to be stern with you and consistent when you misbehave. But we will figure that all out...

We love you very much!!!

Mommy and Mama

Tiny piles of pebbles

We have some seriously cute kids.

Since I posted last about the snotty noses, I took the ruggies to the doctor. We just didn't feel comfortable with how long the kids have been coughing and the low grade fever that JB seemed to have (even in 80 degree pre-summer weather).

Long story short: JB's left ear tube (that was just placed in jan) is definitely OUT of the ear drum, resting uselessly in the Eustachian tube. And that ear is infected. Furthermore, ML's ears (BOTH OF THEM) are infected... didn't really see that coming.

Just to put it in perspective for you, ML had a double ear infection brewing the week he learned to crawl, pull himself to standing, wave, clap, and eat egg yolk for the first time. This kid is the happiest baby on the planet. His smile just lights up the joint. And man is he on the move. We don't ever remember JB going this fast at things...

For JB's part, he has been exceedingly whiny, crying at the drop of a hat and a little on the pissed off side. He yelled at the chair yesterday because he ran into it:

JB: NO, CHAIR! BAD! YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!

KT: We do not yell at things. And when we make a mistake, we do not blame or take it out on someone or something else. And we do not call anyone 'Bad'.

JB: (throws himself on the floor in a sweaty, snotty puddle)

The thing is, he is so transparent. They rave about him at the new school. How good he is, how polite he is; how well-mannered and helpful... I ask them about the amount of whining, they look at me like I am crazy. I get that he does this at home with us b/c he is safe here and because he needs to try to feel in control of something, but it is amazing how different he is with us compared to other people. It is likely that this is just what we need to put up with for right now (and don't forget, he is on antibiotics AND has an ear infection) but it does make me wonder if we are doing something wrong- are being too hard on him somehow, or too lenient...

But when the little animal inside him settles, he is just so wonderful in his questioning of the world, his sensitivity, his intellect.

He has a teddy bear that he traded in "Teddybear" for... Remember? "Teddybear" was a soft brown bear that he was addicted to... then he found the soft white bear that was given to ML by the same friends that gave JB Teddybear. Since ML can't have a sleeping partner for a while, we let JB adopt the white bear. "What do you want to call him, JB?" I asked

"Bear-y." He replied. "White... Bear-y White."

(You can see the imagination this kid has for names)

Katy and I laughed. So now, we have Teddybear and Barry White. And it's true, JB cannot get enough of this bear's love. He falls asleep dragging these soft paws all over his face and belly and arms. If he's feeling particularly cuddly with you, he will turn your hand over and rub Barry's paw on yours. It is as generous an offering as the last spoonful of an ice cream cake. This week he told me, "i have a secret i wanna tell you." and when I lent him my ear he whispered,

"I love my Barry White."

This is just one example of his sweet, quirky ways. Some others:

If I seem a little quiet, he might look over at me and say, "Mommy, wanna tic tac?"

He'll remind us on the way out of the house not to forget our sunglasses or to put on sunscreen.

When ML is crying he touches brother's head and says, "It's okay, ML" or the other day he told us, "I'll get my guitar and my pick and play him a song."

He likes to collect little things. I keep finding piles of tiny rocks around: There's one in the garage, one on the front porch, one in the cup holder of his new car seat- 5 or 6 rocks in a line or in an imperfect circle. I just went to wash his coat and found these in one of the pockets:

God help me if throwing shit you think is interesting or cute into your pockets is hereditary.

I am home today, getting ready for our trip, and when I went to put this load of laundry in, I was picking up towels- lots of towels... Before we had kids, katy and I would use like 2 or 3 towels a week, total. But now, I use a new one more frequently instead of reusing- either because one of the boys has needed mine that was hanging up OR b/c they are showering with me or because we had to wipe snot with one and don't want to cross-contaminate us or them... or whatever the reason...

As I'm picking up all these barely used towels to launder, I'm struck by how clean and lotioned and towel dried and buffed and fluffed our kids are. They get cream and sunscreen in the morning. They get a bath every night. They get liquid soap and shampoo and conditioner and a combination of 4 different types of moisturizing ointments. They get their noses wiped with puffs plus and diaper wipes and soft cloths. They get toothpaste and lip balm and they stay soft and gorgeous. Sometimes I want to be all like,

These beautiful children are brought to you by the makers of:

and

and

and

With all the whining and crying and griping, sometimes it is hard not to stare straight ahead from 5-9 pm in an exhausted state and wait for this "period of our lives" to be over... But I don't want to forget what is going on right now. We are pouring all the love we have out onto these little ones.

Even when they kick us and cry and scream, and take their frustrations out on us (and the furniture); even when as mommies, we aren't always evolved enough to avoid taking our frustrations out on each other, I don't want to forget the way we are rubbing our love and intentions onto them. And the way we are washing tears away with soft cotton and kisses and hugs. When you use your hands to do this, it soaks into your flesh too.

Katy and I do it instinctively, but purposefully- we care for them in this very physical way every day (wipe and clean their faces and bodies and work to keep their skin healthy and intact). We do this sometimes in a sleepwalking state, sometimes out of habit, but often as if it is the most important thing we will ever do.

Because it kind of is.

And it comes back to us in totally random ways- like piles of rocks carefully selected and left as if a work of art. In the report from the teachers that every day at school, JB asks for a napkin at lunch time and then other kids follow in his footsteps and do the same. In the way ML spends his first double ear infection jungle-gym climbing the furniture and laughing at his brother...

We are lucky lucky mommies!

A new day

Last night when I put JB to bed, I had a conversation with him that would have made my Grandpa Weber shit his pants. (My grandpa wasn't so much into the New Age way of communicating with children as he was into the if you must communicate, do it with a belt way of thinking...)

But I was literally out of ideas related to JB and I decided that what he needed more than anything else was, information...

I talked to him about why today was so bad for him. I talked to him about basic psychology... I told him that one of the reasons he is having a hard time is because of the change to a new school; and he doesn't know it, but changes are hard and this school change is one of the hardest he might have in a long time. And it is difficult and confusing to have fun at the new school but at the same time miss the old school... But that is all okay and normal.

I know what you are thinking: "T, he's 2, not 12..." but hang in there with me... I did feel like a crazy person talking to a 2 year old like he was a teenager, but it occurred to me that he understands a lot more than he has the vocabulary to query us about and "senses" a lot more than he has the coping skills to contend with. And we have a LOT of information that we are not sharing with him, including but not limited to our understanding of the world, info about stress and change management; psychology, reverse psychology, coping mechanisms, planning, scheduling, communication strategies, long term benefits vs short term gains, basic principles of economics as they relate to pyscho-social interactions such as lost-opportunity-cost, etc.

Though i didn't get into all of those things, he listened to me ramble about his day for at least 5 minutes during which time I reviewed tomorrow's planned schedule, emphasizing that tomorrow will be different and better. I told him what tomorrow morning would be like. I laid out the schedule and plan in as much simplified detail as I could: wake up, go potty, cuddle for a few minutes, get dressed, go have breakfast - waffles, etc. When I was done with the list of how tomorrow would go, I repeated it- TWICE.

It was a crazy thing to do, but (as I said above) I started to think the kid really would be reassured by more information than we've been giving him.

Katy will probably hit me with a large heavy object when she reads this b/c this is the type of conversation she is always hounding me to have with her: "Can we make a plan for the week? Can we make a plan for the morning? for the weekend?"

I'm not that great with planning, but it seems that this really helps humans function better. Hmmph. Go figure...

Perhaps it is the biggest coincidence of all time, but today was a completely different day with JB. Not one screaming fit. Nothing more than a modicum of whining this morning. Some of you might be jumping to the logical conclusion that we have an awesome kid- wise beyond his years, amazingly well-adjusted, and sophisticated in his ability to adapt. While I agree with this assessment, I also walk away from this experience bolstered by another thought:

I am awesome.

Sometimes things work out so much like how you wished that they would, that you can't help but take the credit!!!

:)

i-i-i-i am h-h-h-having a-a-a-a-a- badddd d-d-d-day

That's the last thing JB said before he finally started to settle down and cease production on his 6th major melt down of the day. (For those of you just tuning in, "the day" is defined by the 3 hours he is awake before day care and the 3-4 hours he is awake after day care; and our boys are on day 3 of their new day care.) It has been a very stressful, tense, and LOUD day for our family.

ML is doing great, it should be said. Except for some sad faces when his brother is crying, he seems very content and happy.

The (verbal and written) reports from the new day care are that both kids are doing "great". Well behaved. Happy, playful... No problems. Then he got home (JB) and fought, screamed and cried for 40 minutes 3 separate times.

This morning, it was the same deal- screaming and fighting and crying from the minute he woke up. We didn't have waffles in the house and no time to make waffle batter and you woulda' thought we told him, "There will never be any food in this house to eat ever again" when we laid a plate of pancakes in front of him; with all of the despair and protesting.

He is so sensitive.

(I don't know where he gets it... but let's just say when I was a kid, I cried nearly every day at school, and whenever possible, I put myself to bed before the arrival of the occasional babysitter b/c it was easier for me if I "just didn't see her/him".)

Katy and I tag-teamed him the best we could because no matter how much empathy we have for him (and trust me when I tell you, my heart is full of empathy for him) when you try all your "nice cards" and you pull out your singing sweet songs tactic, and you do your intellectual "reassuring and rationalizing" and you throw in a little cajoling for good measure... and he is still kicking, screaming, snotting, lashing out and throwing himself on the floor...
At that point, a parent's inner asshole really wants to get in this game.

In the adult world, it is acceptable to pretty much turn the other cheek, 1,2,3,4-ish times, but after that, most folks agree, it's okay to put your dukes up: an asshole needs to be treated like an asshole. In an adult interaction, you'd be an asshole not to act like an asshole to an asshat that was treating you with pure assholery.

Am I right, playas'?

But with 2 year olds, If you let your inner asshat battle it out with a barely-formed "asslet" who is attempting professional asshole-ism without a license or any formal training, you only end up looking, feeling, and sometimes smelling like a bigger asshole. (and usually a bully too.)

Essentially, adult rules don't apply. But you have to keep reminding your brain of that because you've worked really hard and waited a long time to be on level playing field and get into the world of adult rules... And until these kids got here, you were very successful navigating, negotiating, and fighting in this adult world.

Katy finally got him into the tub- her nerves are as shot as mine with all of the "not-unexpected-but-still-hard-to-take" civil disobedience in this house. Then we let him watch "the big race" on Cars the movie... then I laid with him in the bed for a few minutes to talk to him about why today was so hard.

He listened, and then went to bed, asking me sweetly to cover him up... expertly disguised as a little angel in his "digger and dump truck" pajamas...

JB at 2 years+ and ML at almost 2 months

We went to the pediatrician for JB's 2 year old visit last Wednesday.

In the days leading up to his appointment, the kid was just a wreck. He was a drippy mess, sneezing, coughing, acting like a brat, crying at the drop of a hat... From what I've heard, this is the exact behavior that causes parents and peeps of parents to add the prefix "terrible" to the word "twos". There was this one moment when we were in the hospital and my sister was taking care of JB and every kid at her house and at day care started to get colds that caused that wet, bronchial-spastic cough that I wondered to myself if his doctor would tell us his ear tubes had fallen out at this upcoming visit. Since he had the surgery in December, JB has literally not been sick. The year before it was ear infections every six weeks, but after he got tubes, all was cool.

So, Dr. L looks into his left ear and in micro-seconds pulls away, "He's got an ear infection. The tube is out." The tube in the right ear is in his Eustachian tube and not the ear drum, and instantly we realize that all the signs were there. He doesn't get fevers when he gets an ear infection, he just gets sensitive and whiny, and stubborn, and prone to frequent breakdowns. Perhaps even more so if everything in his world was changing: home, schedule, family structure, stress level of parents, household members, etc.

At the 2 year "well child visit", the kid was a wreck. Really, he was all over the place. Cried when they wanted to undress him, then he pulled his diaper off and wanted to be naked-refused to get dressed again. He cried and shouted when they wanted to weigh him and when they wanted to measure the circumference of his head. Yes, he's been difficult, but this was hard to take, because for the most part we have the most mellow little boy on our hands. It is weird, but you really do want them to show off a little for their healthcare provider and barking, "NO! STOPPIT!" at the staff wasn't what I considered to be a shining example of his emotional or linguistic accomplishments.

Then at the end, they have to take a tiny tube of blood for lead and Hemoglobin; as well as give him 3 IM injections: H1N1 vaccine, HIB, and seasonal flu vaccine. During the finger stick, he observes the blood leaving his body with such intensity and curiosity that he could have been filming a commercial for summer science camp for toddlers. I'm dumbfounded that this didn't upset him AT ALL! The shots were a different story. He cried that heartbreaking cry that causes lesser moms to refuse to vaccinate their kids as part of the herd.

It didn't help that the appt was at 11am (lunch time at day care); and we weren't done in there before noon (30 minutes after the regular starting time of his daily nap). We wrestled him into his car seat and he screamed and cried a snot-fest of mucus onto the front of his shirt. He fell asleep about 3 highway miles into the trip home and Kt stopped at the pharmacy to fill his antibiotic Rx. When we got him home, he woke up, growled at me, and "declined" tylenol or his prescription dose. Then he slept for FOUR hours!!!! It was bizarre and unexpected and apparently just what the doctor ordered.

He woke up such a different person that Katy wondered aloud if the vaccinations might have acted a bit like shock therapy treatment. Upon waking, he looked at me and asked, "Mommy, I have a hug?" We cuddled for a bit and I picked up the spoons of tylenol and Cefdinir that he all but spit out at me immediately before the nap. I said, "Can you please take your medicine now?" He did without a word and then after swallowing it right down he looked at me, put a hand on my cheeks (as if he was about to say, "I love you,") and said, "Mommy. That's yummy."

(hee hee hee).

After the first 5 days of the drug treatment, JB is back to his sweet old self. He has a follow up ENT appointment in Dec and then we'll know what his ears look like. With any luck, this is a fluke and he will not need more tubes.

In the mean time, ML has picked up a wet cough and a sneeze that had his moms shitting a brick a few days back. Thursday and Friday we were desperate and frantic that he might spike a temp and we'd have to take him back to the hospital. He seems to be stable now (still has the cough, though) and he turns 8 weeks tomorrow. So that is good. He has enough to worry about with the health problems that might actually be real without being admitted as "R/O sepsis" and being exposed all over again to all those hospital germs.

We had a birth to 3 assessment done on ML on Friday. Generally they said our almost 8 week old is socially "right on track" but more like a 5 week old in terms of motor function. Not surprising after having spend 7 days of your 53 day old life in the hospital and also having had a fever and seizures and anti-seizure medication... but it was still a little sobering for his moms.

It has been a wild ride these last 2 months. I feel steady and charmed in terms of my good fortune. Still, I was in a department store during my lunch last week and I heard a child crying. It was a serious and desperate cry and it seemed to me misplaced at a department store. It was similar to the cry I heard from ML when they had to sick him 3 times to get an LP. And something deep inside me wavered. For a moment, I thought I might have to get down on the floor and lay there for a 10 count, right there in Ikea. It was like a wave of nausea and was gone as quickly as it rolled in. But it make me realize there's some stuff going on deep down inside me that I should probably pay attention to...

We moved into our new house last night. It is not really organized nor are all thing things done that I wanted to be done before we moved in. But I finally figured out what everyone else pretty much knew: we are never going to be able to move forward without staying here- there's no incentive to succeed and march forward on the TO DO LISTS unless our family is living here and not-yet-completed projects are affecting our daily life.

So here are a few of my favorite JB-isms and stories of the moment.

New negotiating tactic:
Me: Okay, let's go, put this shirt on...
JB: Umm, hmm, HOW'BOUT... this one over here, Mommy.

New stalling tactic or getting himself out of trouble tactic:
"I gotta go potty"
I swear this kid can squeeze out 4 drops of urine any time he wants to!

He's really great with ML and often says, "Look at ML, he's laughing at me... You're funny ML. Good boy, ML."

Just plan super cute at dinner: After eating a spoonful of peanut butter and wordlessly and unintentionally contorting his face (genuine "yummy", "sticky" and "peanut butter is hard-to-swallow" faces) JB lunges for his glass of water and gulps a bunch down. Then he looks up at his amused parents who have also said nothing this entire time and says, "I'm better now."

Priceless.

Dinner showdown: What he says and what I hear

Tonight, it took me a while to get dinner ready.
And, I was a little late picking JB up from day care...
And... I made a quick stop with my sister to her house to check on the kitchen remodeling project.

So, there were 2 meltdowns and 1 self-imposed "time out" before we got him to eat some goldfish. By the time i served the meal, it was 7:15 (dangerously close to bath time) and JB was whimpering, "Eating time now... eating time now... eating time now?!?" Then the minute he starting eating, he transformed from bratty to sweet with a lot of "Thank you, mommy" and "here" offering us some of his food, etc. This made me feel guilty for not being more on top of my game, and grateful that soon this long commuting (that he really does take in stride) would soon be over. He ate better than most night in terms of diving right in and not complaining about the parts of the meal that were unappealing to him.

Toward the end of meal, he was becoming more tired (read: dictatorial). At one point, a piece of skin from the pear he was eating got into his mouth and JB spit it out onto his hand and threw it on the table, "Ewww". I asked him to put it on his plate and not on the table. Then he started screaming at me like a tiny man who has reached the end of his rope. A lot of the words I couldn't make out, but i heard, "NO, MOMMY." and "STOP IT." As if I was manhandling him with this simple request.

I froze and gave him my mother's famous, "No you did not just shout at me" cocked head, narrowed-eyed, raised eye-brow, piercing stare. His tone simmered down a little and he said something that I honestly did not understand. My goal at this point was to not back down, but somehow get out of this without a huge, unnecessary battle of wits. Having no clue what he had said, I chose to act like he said, "Sorry." I put the pear skin on his plate as if I was willing to do the manual labor since he had offered the apology. I waited... He measured my expression and decided against moving the skin back onto the table as he had a few seconds earlier.

Battle avoided.

Katy: (to our son) JB, that was a good job saying, 'No thank you'
Me: (Quietly to katy) Is that what he said? I couldn't understand him.
Katy: Yeah, that's what he said.
Me: Good, because I thought he said, 'fuck you' but I was going to ignore it
Katy: (laughing) I think he meant 'fuck you' but what he said was 'no thank you'.

Bubbles

---

Pete: I wish I liked anything as much as my kids like bubbles.
Ben: That's sad.
Pete: Totally sad. Their smiling faces just point out your inability to enjoy anything.

Now that JB is very much into bubbles, (and I'm dabbling in generalized anxiety) I think of this line from Knocked up often. The scene made me laugh when we saw it 2 months before he was born (though as I recall, we cried a lot during this movie- more a comment on our collective emotional state than on the movie's ability to "move" us, but I digress...) The line about the bubbles has hung with me and I can't calculate how often I've mentally recited it because it's silly but it's also kind'a poignant.

In college, whenever a certain bunch of my good friends and I would see little kids running around, laughing, and having fun, we would mockingly chastise them from an inaudible distance, "Oh, you are riding high on life now, kid... but just wait until life starts riding you." Then we would use the quote on each other sarcastically when one of us fell on hard times.

Thing about both of these lines is they cheaply use the kids as props to try and hint at an unpopular truth. It gets harder and harder to experience joy, pure joy, the more you know and the longer you live.

Bubbles. Go ahead, wherever you are, go buy a plastic bottle of those bubbles and play with them. Help an almost-2 year old blow bubbles. I dare you to find the fun in it. We're talking about soap here, people. But in my experience, it is so annoyingly sticky and messy that from the minute I stick my finger in to bring up the "wand" I cannot wait to sink the tool and re-cap the container. Also, it's not that easy. Unless I'm buying a brand with defunct wands, the physics of bubble making are very precise. If you blow too hard, nothing. If you blow too soft, no bubbles. If you blow at the wrong angle, nada. If the wind is blowing, you-get-the-point...

For his part, JB
1) Wants to do it himself
2) Doesn't seem to be bothered by the bubble-juice spilling every where and/or dripping all over everything and his clothes
3) Can barely create any bubbles (as above, he either blows to hard, too soft, at the wrong angle, etc.)
4) Does not want any assistance...
5) Sometimes feels compelled to taste the bubble soap.

When 1 or 2 tiny bubbles -of his own making- float out of the wand, he shouts, "I DID IT!" perfectly thrilled with himself. If nothing is born of his efforts on the next 5, 10, or 50 attempts, he will say out loud to no one in particular, "Almost." It's adorable at first, but if it happens too many times in a row, I have the irresistible urge to grab the device out of his hands and CREATE SOME MOTHER-LOVING BUBBLES!!!

My kid loves bubbles.
It seems (much to my dismay) that I hate bubbles.
I am alarmed at the degree to which I am annoyed by something that brings him this much joy.
How long before I'm shaking a cane in a neighborhood kid's face screaming, "Don't let your messy ice cream cone drip on my sidewalk!"

Newsletter: Month 18

Bless me JB for I have sinned... It has been more than 3 months since your last newsletter.



I can't even believe how far off the train I've fallen... You can blame your baby brother or sister for this. Even though s/he isn't even fully developed yet, let alone born, s/he is already affecting the undivided attention that you've come to expect from your mommies.



Let me explain. No time to essplain... Let me sum up: Your mommy got your mama pregnant about 3 months ago. There was a lot of nausea (and some vomiting) at the beginning and you were very often barely in bed before your mama was asleep. The division of labor was upset, and there was a lot to do that didn't involve the (often pointed out to me by non-bloggers) very indulgent practice of posting snippets of our life up on the web.



Ironically (or perhaps predictably) so much has changed developmentally in these 3 months, that I'm not sure how to sum it up or break it down. You have a huge vocabulary now... you will repeat most of what we say, but you have words that you can conjure up with minimal prompting. Sometimes, you just sit and come up with words. It's like you might be flipping through a mental Rolodex and when you shout them out randomly as you consider them. Last week in the car, you kept repeating, "fire" (Fie-her) a word that you had just learned at Nana and papa's house. Then a few minutes later you kept repeating "owl". I couldn't understand what you were saying b/c you pronounced it like "How-ul" and b/c it was so out of context. When I asked you, "what are you saying? I can't understand what word you are saying." You told me, "how-el... hoo,hoo... howel." I looked at your mama and said, "holy (beep)!" Because I was so impressed at how you were able to communicate your point when you wanted to.



A non-inclusive list of words you know: hot, cold, up, down, water, stairs, bib, spoon, more, ball, hammer, truck, bus, car, please, thank you, help, sit, book, beep-beep, yuck, eww, ut-oh, milk, drink, coffee, sip, apple, pasta,waffle, bean, grape, stawberry, blueberry, melon, cereal, cheerios, potty, poop, tissue, snow, light, bright, arm, eye, nose, cheek, teeth, mouth, leg, foot, toe, knee, finger, head, hair, socks, shirt, shoes, hat, zipper, fire, mama, mommy, papa, nana, grandpa, granny, TT, mackenzie, cam cam, Bella, bill, barbara, heather, alisa, amanda (lots of other names from day care), octopus, walrus, fish, puppy, lobster, lion, monkey... When you say a word that ends in "K", you really enunciate the sound. Like in "Milk"... Think of the guttural sound made in Hebrew if someone said, "L'Chaim" and add that "k" noise.



You are singing (sort of) and counting. Singing usually involves you saying "ABC", or "e-i-ei-o", the word "happy" in a cute sing-songy way, then one of your parents or relatives sings the entire rest of the song for your amusement. If there is not a crowd of people staring at you, you will usually give me a mangled, barely recognizable version of the song's epilogue "Now la-no-na-ABCs, ney ney no new see with me." Your cousin, Cam sings the entire Happy Birthday, in tune, not even missing a word... When she's done you sing the solitary word, "Happy" and then let her cycle through it again solo...



Whenever any music is on, we can usually get a "hooray!" and some swaying out of you. You have 2 basic dance moves: the above mentioned rocking side to side, and the staccato demi-plie where you bend slightly at the knees and kind of bounce up and down for a few counts. You truly dance like a rhythm-less white man at this point, and we've thought of getting you a t-shirt that says, "cool kids rock" to mock the over exaggerated simplicity of your dance moves. It is brutally adorable to us. God knows we are mostly responsible for your repertoire, even though we have been trying to teach to you other dance moves (shoulder bounces, raise the roof, dance with your eyebrows, dance with your neck) no doubt, they will only enhance the perception of you as a mini Rick Ashley with top teeth precariously poised to take a chunk out of your lower lip should you roll an ankle if you get too excited while dancing.



You are very mobile and in control of your body, but you are cautious and only a little interested in climbing. You like ladders and step stools, but will mostly stay off on furniture that isn't meant for climbing. You are also a very good listener, and have taken to sitting at the top of the stairs waiting for us when we run down to the basement, for example.



Your grandpa gave you a plastic basketball hoop for Christmas and at first you were just too short to get the ball in slam-dunk style. Now you have grown, or changed your tactic, or both, and able to get the ball and put it through. Balls have emerged as one of your obsessions. There is no rhyme or reason to your obsessions, and for those who would automatically hear me say you are inclined to love any kind of ball and report that it is your natural inclination as a boy to dwell on balls, I would like to offer your other current obsessions: tissues, shoes, drawing utensils, and the letter "o". (To be fair to the gender police, you are also a truck, bus, and car/steering wheel addict.) Of all of these, the letter O is the most confusing to me, but if you go for a letter on the fridge 9/10 it is "o" and you can pick it off of my Uconn sweatshirt too.



The "tissues" game we play non-stop. You've never met a tissue or wipe, or paper towel you didn't love. You love pulling tissues out of their boxes; and you love wiping things up including your face and tables and chairs; and you love throwing tissues away... you love tissues.



Every day when you see me after I've gotten dressed, you look down at my feet and say, "shoes." I think if I came down wearing a prom dress, or a fire fighter's uniform, you would not even notice except when you looked down at my shoes.



Your behavior for the most part is admirable. You have started whining quite a bit. We try to discourage the whining and you are responsive. The scene is usually,
JB: eh, eh, eh (whiny trying to get something noises)
mommy or mama: That's whining, and it is not the best way to get things, you know.
JB: (without the previous whining tone) peeease.



The other times you have a melt down, it is usually some version of "I want to do it myself", or what I can only describe as a "You don't know me..." rebellion. Several times, we know exactly what is going on. For example, you are hungry and need to eat, but think you don't want to eat and refuse to get in the chair... you offer us every version of "NO" that you have learned (saying the word, shaking the head, swinging the arms, stomping the feet). We have found that if we just back off what we are trying to tell you to do, you circle round and do it. It seems to us like a hungry teenager, shouting, "YOU DON'T KNOW ME AT ALL!"



Some of the sweetest times with you recently involve watching you become a little more independent. You like to draw. As much as not leaving knives and dangerous objects around, we have to remember not to leave crayons and pens around b/c you like to draw and have no idea about why you should draw on paper and not furniture or walls.



You also like to go outside



and will sometimes grab my 15lb purse and sling it over your shoulder, head toward the door and say, "bye-bye". This usually means it is time to do some bird watching: "oooh, burd... tweet, tweet." Now that I am writing about this, I realize it is exactly what anti-gay groups are afraid of, that not having a dad will make you think you need a purse to leave the house. Ironically, i never used a purse at all until after you were born and I had gotten used to having a diaper bag to carry everything around. But I promise, we can replace that Lady's Bulsa with a socially acceptable backpack, or brief case and no matter what those social conservatives think, we know that boys who are comfortable carrying purses (either their own, or those belonging to the women in their lives) are probably more desirable and useful to society than the other segment of the male population.



JB, your bedtime ritual still blows our mind. Between 6:45 and 7:30 depending on how tired you seem, we ask, "Do you want a bath?" You almost always do and head toward the stairs. You can now be heard counting as we climb the stairs. Mama or I say, "one, two" you often hit "three" then we give you "four" and frequently you come up with "five"... For the rest, we are on our own, you can not be bothered to utter a number beyond five at this point, but it is clear that you get the concept. Once we are upstairs, you get your bath toys out of the drawer while we draw the tub and you throw them into the water one by one: boat, truck, truck, duck, walrus, fish, sea horse, lobster, octopus. At some point you usually ask to sit on the potty by pointing or saying "potty" or saying, "euwwww." Except for that one dumpage that solitary time, you haven't so much as tinkled in the pot, but you still want to sit there.



After your bath, we dry you, lotion you up (most days), use a q-tip on your ears. We diaper and dress you in your pjs. We read a book or two (these last few months you have started to become very interested in books); cuddle for a few minutes with your blanket and binki (the only time you use your binki these days is at bedtime and occasionally in the car); and then we put you in your crib. Oh first, we do a lap around your room and say goodnight to a bunch of things in there... always in the same order. Goodnight lion, hippo, monkey, elephant... goodnight choo-choo train, goodnight giraffe, g.n. tigger, g.n. dinosaur (x3), g.n. lizard, g.n. planets... then we kiss and hug you and put you down. And that's it. I mean maybe once a month there are a few tears and we give you "one more hug" and then you just put your head down, dig into a comfy position and fall asleep. The entire routine takes 15 to 30 minutes depending on how much lotion we apply, or how long we let you splash in the tub. And pretty much every single night, we marvel at how amazing you are to let us put you to bed without any drama.



You have clearly demonstrated your capacity for tantrums, but at 18 months old, guess what else you can do? You can whistle. I swear. You are like a Casablanca advertisement: You just put your lips together and blow, and music comes out. This never fails to astound any bystanders...



You are a super star.
We love you so much it hurts.



Your mommies