humor, marital blissishness, mommyhood, self-discovery

Loose Change

WFAM

We are on our way out the door and Full Speed says, “I’ll hold the door for you, Mommy.” As I pass through he follows and I close the door behind us.

“Don’t forget to lock the door, Mom. We don’t want anyone to sneak in except for the Easter Bunny.” Then he proceeds to recount his glorious memories of Easter and how that magical bunny made his way into our home and left him lots of cool stuff.

I love the random things that come out of his mouth. twenty eight

When I picked up the boys from school they were wild with enthusiasm and not behaving in a calm manner (no surprise there!). We get to that door (oh, that darn, alarmed door) and Full Speed cocks back his leg and lets a swift kick go. Fortunately, his kick wasn’t strong enough to budge it open and everyone’s ears were saved from the piercing alarm sound.

I look down at him and say in my most exasperated Mommy-voice, “How many times do I need to tell you NOT to touch the door until I push the green button?”

He pauses and looks at me. “Twenty-eight.”

He says it like I’m suppose to know this number. Apparently, I was only at twenty-seven even though it feels like I have to remind him every single time NOT to touch the door. I hope we hit twenty-eight soon.

I decide to take them to Wendy’s for drive-thru cuisine (somehow it makes me feel like less of a slacker if I refer to it as cuisine) because Mad Dog is away on business and I am tired. When Mad Dog told me a few weeks back he would be gone for the four days leading up to Full Speed’s second surgery I was mostly calm. I told him that even though I was taking this bit of information calmly, that I would most likely be passively aggressive as his departure date approached. Then I said, who am I kidding? I’m going to be overtly aggressive. And true to form, I was (your welcome, my dear).

We get to the speaker-thing you order your stuff at and I tell the boys to stop fighting or Wendy’s won’t be able to hear me. This shuts T.Puzzle right up because the only thing he loves more than his Mommy are chicken nuggets.

I end up sounding like I have a screw loose. I awkwardly stumble through our order like it’s a complex math equation as opposed to a simple, fast food order. The man taking my order seems slightly perturbed as he has to ask several, qualifying questions because I’m not making a whole lot of sense. I’m frazzled. I have Full Speed asking me a million meaningless questions, I have about forty-seven more things to accomplish before bedtime and I wish my husband was home to lighten the load. The man tells me the total and I pull around to the second window to pay my $12.08. I thought to save the patient, Wendy’s employee some time that I will make exact change for him. So I hand him two tens and exactly eight cents. I’m proud of myself for doing it, too.

He returns shortly with my food and then hands me some cash and a heaping pile of change. I have no idea what the true total was but I know I had it totally wrong. This guy must think I’m an idiot to only give him eight cents towards whatever the amount was (which clearly was a whole lot more). So I’m making trouble instead of saving trouble. Now I see where my boys get it from.

health, humor, life in pictures, mommyhood, terrible twos

I Like to Move It

WFAM

Today is all about T.Puzzle. It’s his turn for some serious one-on-one time with Mommy. This special treatment is because he has been quite allergy-prone in the past. When he was eighteen months old we found out he was allergic to eggs and a couple months later learned of his severe, dog allergy (we had to remove our beloved dog, White Fluffy Dog  from our house it was so bad).

The time had come for his periodic allergy check-in at the Children’s Clinic. We arrive and Madagascar (the animated kids’ flick) is playing in the waiting room. He looks at it a nanosecond and promptly starts to sing ‘move it, move it” and shake his booty from side to side. It’s his favorite song in the whole movie. Maybe his favorite song in the whole universe the way he has committed so passionately to singing it. He also says it in two-year-old speak so it sounds more like ‘mow it, mow it’. Any way you slice it, it’s freakin’ adorable.

The nurse calls us back after a few moments and asks that T.Puzzle remove his shoes. The happy part is that Mommy had actually found his missing spidey croc so his shoes matched today. The unhappy part was that T.Puzzle was less than pleased to part with them. He was pretty miffed at the nurse for requesting such an unreasonable thing of him.

She then asks him to step up onto the scale. It’s only an inch off the floor. You would think the way T.Puzzle is teetering on it back-and-forth in fear that it was hundreds of feet from the floor. Yeah, I get that he has some depth perception issues but an inch? Really?

I can’t get him to stand still and he is fast approaching a level 7 meltdown. The nurse is not offering anything except judgment and we are getting nowhere. Eventually, there is a loud, curious noise that escapes from one of the other exam rooms. I have no idea what it was, but its sudden strangeness was enough to make T.Puzzle freeze. We were able to get his weight and cut our losses at that. The nurse didn’t feel like attempting to get his height. Five minutes with T.Puzzle in all his glory and I could tell that was more than enough for her.

We are shown to the exam room and the nurse quickly exits as if there is a fire never to return. When the doctor, who is kind and caring, arrives I warn him that T.Puzzle is two and that ‘defiance’ is his middle name. I told him that T.Puzzle’s ever changing mood might make him difficult to examine. The doctor said he could handle it (he has a three year old son who apparently puts him through the wringer, too).

I place T.Puzzle on my lap and proceed to hold my breath. I hope that whatever level tantrum he reaches at least it stays under a five.

The doctor moves in with his stethoscope and…..,

T.Puzzle let him. He let him look in his ears. He let him look in his eyes with a bright light. He even sat calm as could be when the doc tilted his head back and stuck that long, skinny looky-in-your-nose thing up of each of T.Puzzle’s tiny, tender nostrils.  T.Puzzle didn’t even bat one of his extremely long, extremely gorgeous eyelashes.

I had a realization. Not only does T.Puzzle like to play with the truth as it pertains to the details of his life, he likes to manipulate his behavior so that I am forced to do the same. He behaved like an angel because I said he was going to act like a devil. Now Mommy is the liar.

Frick, 2 – Mommy, 0

humor, life in pictures, mommyhood, parenting, potty training

Three Strikes

WFAM

Lil’ Superman came for a visit. lil superman You think I exaggerate when I reference him as a superhero but he has an outfit that clearly says otherwise (I mean he even has a cape to match!).

My boys adore when their cousin visits and there are ebbs and flows of peace and frenzy. Someone usually ends up being hurt whether it be their pride or some type of physical complaint (i.e.- he shoved me, he hit me, he pushed me – you get the idea).

In mid-play Lil’ Superman abruptly stops and shimmies quickly behind the couch. I suspect he is pooping and that he, like T.Puzzle, prefers privacy when doing the deed. I ask him if he needs to use the bathroom. The odor coming from him gives me my answer even before I cross the room. No big deal, I’ll change him and then get T.Puzzle in a clean pull-up, too.

What is it about clean drawers that make a kid poop? Is there some sort of secret, magnetic lining in a fresh pull-up that draws the poop out? Should they instead be called pull-outs? In less than five minutes after the new pull-up is on him, T.Puzzle aromatically fills it and I’m off changing diaper number two (bad pun intended).

p9133265

After the cleaning of the hineys, I am about to round-up the little men to head to Grandma and Grandpa’s. Before we head out I ask Full Speed to go potty for me. I figure at least one, fully potty-trained boy in the bunch is nothing to sneeze at. I counted my blessings (see, I do that too).

He gets indignant for some strange reason. “I don’t have to go. I already went at school.” He’s acting like I am criminally insane for suggesting that he use the bathroom.

I say, “I’m sure at some point during your day you did in fact use the facilities at school, however, I would like you to ‘try’ to go before we all get in the car.”

“No, I don’t have to,” he replies curtly.

I had to resort to the counting. “One! Two!…..,” I start. Before I come anywhere near three he darts to the bathroom in a huffy little puff. He’s afraid when Mommy hits three. Everyone is (just ask Mad Dog).

Then after a couple minutes I hear, “MOOOOOOOM! I’m done pooping (hence he needs help with the cleaning of the behind)!”

I walk in the bathroom completely baffled. I look at him and say, “Are you the same kid who just announced to me that he did not need to go potty while he actually needed to and badly at that?”

He gets kind of sheepish. “Yeah,” he admits. A slow smile begins to curl the corners of his mouth. We both look at each other and burst into laughter.

One, two, three poops I’m out.

humor, mommyhood, parenting, terrible twos

Members of the Academy…

WFAM

It’s the morning and Mad Dog and I have already done the intricate dance of ‘who will rise with the children’. It’s sort of like pulling straws and the short straw must get out of bed and get them breakfast. I lost.

I got the boys dressed and gathered a load of laundry in a basket to take downstairs with us. As we reach the top of the stairs, T.Puzzle insists on holding my hand. He has this demand daily. Normally, I can easily accommodate him and we all head peacefully downstairs to start our day. Well, since I had both hands occupied with a basket of laundry, I had no hand available. T.Puzzle could not believe that his Mommy could be so cruel. He kept crying out, “Mommy! Hand! Hand!” Now mind you, this kid is perfectly capable of walking up and downstairs unassisted. He is almost three years old. He needs to get over himself.

I give him two choices (you know I am a Mommy who believes in choices). First, stay at the top of the stairs and cry or second, be a big boy and walk down the stairs with out a ‘hand’. This sets him off to about a level seven. I ignore him and Full Speed and I leave him where he is. I suppose it doesn’t help that Full Speed keeps shouting, “I have no hands to give you, T.Puzzle. None. None what-so-ever (or something like that).” T.Puzzle continues his dramatic plea for ‘hands’ and throws himself to the floor.

I proceed with the morning routine unphased. I can hear him clearly and I hope that eventually the call of breakfast sausage will shake him from his theatrics.

I hear a door open upstairs. It’s gets quiet. Too quiet. You know that quiet before all hell breaks loose? That’s what it was like.

It lasts a couple of eerie moments and then I hear him stumble back to his perch at the top of the stairs and start all over with his wailing and crying. It is only the completed preparation of his sausage that breaks his spell and he becomes a reasonable human again. He walks quickly down the stairs (may I point out unassisted) and jumps up in his chair. He is chatty and happy and ready for some grub.
I'd like to thank the academy
Poor Mad Dog comes down shortly thereafter. My intent, although it was a little begrudgingly, was to let Mad Dog get some extra sleep. I realize that T.Puzzle’s outburst made that impossible. This is where it became humorous. Mad Dog’s first person account of what happened in those quiet moments upstairs were something along the lines of crazy cuteness. Mad Dog did not realize why T.Puzzle was causing such a ruckus. So when T.Puzzle let himself in our room and climbed up into bed with Dad, all he knew was that he had been hysterical. Then, in an instant, T.Puzzle is calm and happy proceeds to say things like, “Hi, Daddy. I a’wake. I get up. Hi.” He then tackles/snuggles Mad Dog, has a fantastic time and then leaves. No sooner did his foot hit outside the door he starts screaming again. “Hand, Mommy! Hand! I come downstairs! Hand!” And the tears turn on again in full force.

It’s apparent to me that we have a future actor on our hands. He can turn a mood in the blink of an eye. When the time comes, I just hope he remembers to thank his Mom in his Academy Award acceptance speech.

humor, life in pictures, mommyhood, parenting, terrible twos

Walk and Roll

WFAM

It’s growing later with each passing moment and I am trying to get through what I fondly refer to as the Armageddon of our day (a.k.a. – late day/early evening with small children). This is the time in our day when we are still far enough (too far!) away from bedtime that monotony and anarchy have set in. This is also the time in our day that we wait for Mad Dog to come home.

After dinner I tried to mix things up. We have this red, push car with a long blue handle that T.Puzzle likes to ride in. I asked Full Speed if he would be willing to help me push his little brother in it on a walk. I told him not to give me any nonsense (bad attitude, pouting). Full Speed is kind of difficult to keep focused on a walk. It’s because we are not moving a hundred miles an hour so he quickly loses interest. T.Puzzle on the other hand has a little more of what I like to call the-stop-and-smell-the-roses temperament but because he is currently so tantrum-prone, he is difficult on walks for other reasons.

I knew the odds were stacked against me. It was such a beautiful evening, I couldn’t justify staying indoors and since parks and the like are still out of the question as Full Speed recovers from his surgery, a walk was my best option.

We get to the garage and Full Speed climbs in and demands that T.Puzzle push him. I thought T.Puzzle would have none of it. Somehow he manages to think it’s cool to push his big brother. I, on the other hand, think it is ridiculous that a two year old has to push his four year old brother around in a babyish toy. I also think it’s fitting because Full Speed  is clearly the dominating force in their relationship (although T.Puzzle has recently begun to hold his own and he can taunt with the best of them).

We head to the sidewalk and while T.Puzzle is strong enough to push Full Speed, he isn’t strong enough to maintain control over the ‘vehicle’. Periodically I am forced to grab the handle and line it back up on the sidewalk. This makes T.Puzzle beyond angry. “No, Mommy! I do it! I do it!” He says this over and over again.

I keep thinking, no you can’t kid but don’t say anything and put up with his persistent, defiant spouting. At some point in this walk, Full Speed decides he would like a turn to push. T.Puzzle wants nothing to do with it. Eventually after two very serious threats from me topped off with time-outs and meltdowns, he acquiesces. Of course he cries almost the entire time Full Speed pushes him.

We get to the end of the sidewalk and I say it’s time to turn around. The boys switch again and T.Puzzle cries because he wants to continue on down to the main path. Since I had already had enough of a showdown with him, I am forced to negotiate with Full Speed to continue on to the main road for a bit. At this point Full Speed is beyond bored (the devil’s playground and all that) and he doesn’t care if that’s what T.Puzzle wants. Eventually, he agrees but he is angry about it. We cross the main, busy street and start on the big path and the whole time T.Puzzle is swerving the car and getting angry every time I correct. I am having a GREAT time.

We are pretty far from home at this point. I tell T.Puzzle we are going up to the next cross street and then we will turn around. He says “NO!” He sits down and refuses to move. I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to me in the past. Mid-walk someone refuses to budge, I am far from home and I am completely out of luck.
won't budge

I made Full Speed get out of the car, placed a more than unwillingly T.Puzzle in his place, grabbed Full Speed’s  hand with my free hand and began to run as fast as I could. My plan was that if I went fast enough, T.Puzzle  would be too scared to continue to defy me because he would need to hold on for dear life.

It worked. I got an extra interval of exercise in (which is always a plus) while T.Puzzle screamed and cried the whole way back. We made it home and I learned my lesson. Next time, I’m sending them out with the nanny (damn! that’s right, I am the nanny. I keep blocking that out). I am grossly underpaid.