Tag: parenthood

children, marital blissishness, parenting

Take It Down A Notch

WFAM

T.Puzzle, Full Speed and Mad Dog are all home with me. T.Puzzle because it’s his day to be home, Full Speed because of his projectile vomiting last night and Mad Dog because he is taking a work-cation day (he’s home but has to take a couple calls).

Full Speed woke up in an excellent mood and seems to have completely recovered. He has a fantastic appetite and is playfully energetic. He told me that he does feel better but will only be able to go back to school by next Thursday. He’s quite serious. I’m quite serious that he will be back at school tomorrow and not six days from now.

We decided to run some errands and then pick up lunch (are you sensing my lack of cooking motivation in recent posts?). Blockbuster was the first stop. Mad Dog and I thought the boys could pick out something to help entertain them for the day. As we enter the doors Full Speed announces, “I’m sick!” Not great timing I must say and Mad Dog and I pretend he isn’t talking while quietly chuckling to ourselves.

smackAs with all outings, it rapidly turns into a frenzied whirlwind of ‘don’t touch that’, ‘please put that down’, and ‘where did your brother go’? The boys are touching everything at their eye-level. Finally after much calamity, they both reach a decision and walk to the front of the store with their chosen movies in hand. When we take the DVDs and place them up on the counter, T.Puzzle loses it. He can’t believe the cashier would take it from him. I try to tell him that she will hand it back as soon as we pay for it. He can’t hear me over his wailing and moaning. I sigh a deep sigh and wish I was somewhere else.

After T.Puzzle has his ‘Thomas the Train’ DVD safely returned to his clutches, we pile back in the truck and head to Wendy’s (no Chick-Fil-A for Full Speed). As we pull up to order, Full Speed declares that he is never eating a chicken nugget again for the rest of his life. That’s fine by me, especially after yesterday’s unfortunate incident. We order him a cheeseburger and then nuggets for T.Puzzle (chicken nuggets are still the bread and butter of T.Puzzle’s life).

On the drive home, Mad Dog is feeling his work-cation day. He is hyper and full of energy (you can see where my boys get it from). The boys are feeding off his crazy energy and I am on edge. I am not a happy camper when I’m hungry and I’m already at my limit after our outing to Blockbuster. I asked Mad Dog to take it down a notch hoping that will shift the whole energy in the vehicle. Instead of calming down, he starts talking in an obnoxiously low-toned voice. He keeps talking like that and I’m ready to smack him. “You are hysterical, keep it up,” I say through gritted teeth. I eventually laugh despite myself. He thinks he’s the cat’s meow because now I’m laughing. The energy never subsides. I can’t win today.

Once home and the food is spread before us, Full Speed looks at his cheeseburger and then at his little brother’s chicken nuggets. “Can I have one of T.Puzzle’s nuggets?” Is this coming from the same boy who moments prior proclaimed his lifetime ban of all things nuggets? High, low or indifferent, the tone of my voice matters little. “No,” is all I say and that says it all.

gratitude, happiness, parenting, self-discovery

Full Hands, Full Heart

WFAM

It’s that time of the year again. It’s picture day for my guys. It is becoming tradition that around the first of November, I book a sitting to document another year passed. I figure early November is a good point as it’s a couple weeks after Full Speed’s birthday and a few weeks before T.Puzzle’s. This also gives us ample time to order extra photos for holiday gifts. Mad Dog surprised me and was game to make it a family photo op as well. He made a good point that both our boys had new glasses and it would be nice to commemorate that. Full Speed’s changed because of surgery and T.Puzzle’s changed because he could finally read letters and be tested accurately (turns out he was farsighted even though under anesthesia he measured nearsighted; that’s another blog for another day).

I made an appointment at the hair salon to get my hair washed and blown out for early in the morning. Why does it look so much better to have a professional do something as simple as blow dry your hair? That means I had to have everything laid out for Mad Dog to get the boys ready for pictures. He was even going to shower them. They needed it (especially T.Puzzle!).

For any Moms out there who have ever coordinated a family portrait, enormous planning goes into it. To have everyone matching but not too matchy, and clean, pressed and smiling is nothing short of miraculous.

Overall, the boys had their smiling moments and their not-so-smiling moments. They hugged, they fought, they fell over in a big, wrestly heap. Inevitably the woman who was assisting the photographer turns to me and says, “You certainly have your hands full, don’t you?” If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard this exact sentence from the public at large I would be a gazillionaire. For years this has aggravated me to the depths of my soul. Why? That’s because it’s like stating the obvious. It’s like saying the sky is up and no matter how hard you try, my dear, you will never be Sarah Jessica Parker (I know, I know, I don’t even own a pair of Manolos or Jimmy Choos).

I’m changing my tune. My new response? A deep breath, a pause and this thought: full hands means a full heart.

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children, marital blissishness, parenting

Three Ring Circus

WFAM

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Today is a momentous day for our family. We are going to the store to buy a trundle bed for T.Puzzle’s room. Our plan is to get T.Puzzle used to sleeping in the pull-out part of the bed (as it is low to the ground in case he should fall). Once he is comfortable and it has become routine, we would allow for his brother to sleep in the regular part of the trundle bed on occasion (I guess only if I’m in the mood to torture myself).

It has taken Mad Dog and me awhile to agree on the type and style of bed we want. We had seen something on-line we both agreed on and were glad to see the same model on the store-room floor.

Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?

It’s not.

The boys decide that the assortment of beds and furniture on display are there solely for their entertainment. Soon, T.Puzzle is climbing every, single one of the bunk beds and leaning dangerously over every edge he can access. I’m running around with my hands up in what I like to call the ‘perma-catch’ formation. You have to cup your hands sort of like a basket and the object is to always keep them directly under your child. This is not easy. Two year olds are notoriously fast and they rarely stay in one place.

While I am playing “Catch the Two Year Old”, Full Speed is frustrated that he is not getting my focus of attention. He is getting pouty and every two seconds is announcing, “Look at me, I’m in the soccer chair. Look at me, I’m in the football bed. Look at me; I’m lying in the middle of the floor.”

I try to be patient but my patience is wearing thin. I try to calmly explain to Full Speed that I in fact, cannot watch him. I have to watch his little brother. T.Puzzle’s life depends on having my full concentration.

Out of the corner of my eye it appears that Mad Dog is engaged in some chit-chat with the salesman. Ladies, you’ve seen it before. When two men talk with their arms folded across their chests. It looks comfortable, relaxed and lengthy. I want to cry. (In Mad Dog’s defense, he was attempting to negotiate.)

How can Mad Dog not see that I am inches away from losing my mind? He never noticed. He didn’t even bat an eyelash that T.Puzzle almost hurled himself to serious, permanent injury 14 times.

As we exit the store (finally!), T.Puzzle trips dramatically THREE times because he is so wound up. Each time he sprawls across the floor as if he was hit by a bomb. I can’t take it.

We get to our car and T.Puzzle trips AGAIN. I pick him up and he turns his head so fast, I don’t have time to get my face out of the way. The corner of his glasses catch my nose and it hurts. I am beyond frustrated.

I yell at Mad Dog. He yells back. So much for a momentous family outing. Well, I suppose it was momentous, just for all the wrong reasons.

Now that I have some distance from the situation, I’m realizing my frustration didn’t have anything to do with Mad Dog (I am sorry). It couldn’t have happened any other way. Mad Dog had to focus on negotiation and payment and my part of the deal was to keep my children safe (easier said than done). I think why I was so upset is the knowledge that I can’t ever walk into a store setting with my boys and not have it turn into a three ring circus. The good news is circuses are highly entertaining.

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eyesight, health, life in pictures, parenting, terrible twos

Margaritaville

WFAM

walk at the mall part twoWe went back to the outdoor mall to go on the notorious train. It was actually my idea. I know it’s shocking. Since Full Speed’s surgery we are limited to what we can do for outings. We want to avoid communal play areas because they are breeding grounds for bacteria and he isn’t allowed to jump and run as it may jeopardize the stability of his retina. A train ride seemed to be a contained and calm option. Because I was choosing to do it for Full Speed’s sake, I embraced it fully. The strangest thing happened; we ended up having a fantastic time.

We arrived before the train rides began and made our way down to a Mexican restaurant with outdoor seating. The boys were well-behaved and the food was the best Mexican food I have ever ingested (I may have been slightly biased by the additional best margarita I’ve ever ingested but who knows?).

After lunch we make our way to the train (it went so much more smoothly now that we actually know its point of origin). On our way there we randomly run into the boys’ eye doctor. She spots us immediately (we are hard to miss with one kid in a taped on shield and another in glasses) and we chit-chat for a moment or two. She comments on the train (T.Puzzle at this point is jumping all over yelling, “Choo! Choo!”) and that she had never seen it before. The way she references it reminds me of a person who is at a mall to actually shop or meet with other adults for adult conversation. I vaguely remember what that used to be like (again, my memory is a bit fuzzed at the edges as I am still walking off my delicious margarita).

walk at the mall

We say our goodbyes and go our separate ways. The boys get along marvelously during the ride and Mad Dog and I are peacefully coexisting. It was virtually pain-free. The boys are doing so well they actually hold each other’s hands for a while without fighting. We reward them by going to the train table at the bookstore. We are having a perfect outing. There are a plethora of engines to choose from, no one else is utilizing the table and T.Puzzle and Full Speed have cooperatively constructed a train made of four cars. They are pushing this train in nonviolent unity. Mad Dog and I sort of forget the time and let them play at length.

We end up pushing T.Puzzle’s naptime. Even though he doesn’t always nap, some days he absolutely needs one. Today was one of those days. He does not handle the news well that it is time to leave the train table. I have to take him outside and place him in time-out. It doesn’t help that he is undeniably cute and that every passer-by stops to say ‘hi’ or comment on how sweet he is. He loves the limelight. He refuses to apologize to me which is standard procedure to get out of jail (you know the Supernanny credo and all). Mad Dog has to manhandle T.Puzzle to get him to comply and he slumps against Mad Dog’s chest in defeat.

He rallies for the ride home but it all hits the fan again when we pull in the drive-way. He refuses to enter the house. Instead, he books it as fast as he can down towards the street. Mad Dog and I collectively had to drop the hammer. Mad Dog brings him in, takes off T.Puzzle’s socks and crocs (he is steadfastly attached to both these entities) and takes away his Lightning McQueen car.

I swoop in and carry his screaming self up to his room. He wails and flails about during his diaper change. I place him in his crib and remove anything else he is attached to. He has no blankets or stuffed animals to speak of. All he has is his pillow and his thoughts as I shut the door behind me.

He tantrums on for about thirty or so minutes and finally gives into the surrender of sleep. We are thankful for the interlude of quiet. It doesn’t last long. Maybe forty or so minutes pass and we can hear him begin to whimper on the monitor. We bring him downstairs and he tries futilely to put his socks and crocs back on. We are allowing him to have them back but we are not helping him put them on. He is feeling wholly misunderstood.

His suitcase is still out by the front door from the night he spent at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s while we were getting Full Speed ready for surgery. He grabs his suitcase, leans against the door and pleads, “I go to Grandpa/Grandpa’s house (he calls Grandma, Grandpa for some reason)!”

If I had my way, he already would have been packed and gone.

I know that seems harsh but believe me, our evening with T.Puzzle did not get any easier. Does it ever get easier? Please, if you are a Mom, don’t tell me your answer. Denial and margaritas are the only things keeping me sane (slightly).

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.