Monster Spray

I just created this label to put on the clear bottle that I bought at Target today. While I realize that Connor can't read, he definately notices labels and can spot an M&M logo from 750 feet away. So, I thought if I was going to pull off the monster spray I'd better not half ass it.
This idea was donated by our pediatrician, who Connor informed immediately upon seeing, that there were monsters in his room. She said, that monsters are very common between ages 3 and 5 and loudly suggested that we pick up some monster spray. She went on and on about how great it was at getting rid of monsters and Connor has not forgotten it.
Tonight when we roadtripped over to Target to attempt to find a swimsuit for me, (that's a completely different post all together), he kept reminding me that we needed Monster Spray. He didn't see me get the bottle, which helps with the covincing. Now I'm going to afix the label onto said bottle with clear packing tape and fill the bottle with tap water, (only because we are completely out of holy water) a few dropps of myrhh and maybe a little sea salt, you know just for good measure. If you have a child that is afraid of monsters, feel free to download the label for your own use. And let me know how it goes for you.

Reason #477, Not to Grow Up

“I don’t want to be a grown up. I want to stay a little boy so I don’t have to wear a tie every day.”

My Fantasy Answering Machine Message

You’ve reach (phone-number). If you are calling for technical support and have not spoken to either of us in the past 8 weeks regarding a non technical issue, please hang up and call someone else. All others please leave a message. Callers offering to watch our children will have their calls promptly returned.

Wii are the Champions

Finally after many days of searching, calling and bugging the crap out of various store clerks Jorma scored a Wii, (pronounced We). He’s in the den now, trying to practice using it, an endeavor that will probably take many years of staying up until 3am on Friday nights, but it looks like it’s going to be great fun. I generally don’t play video games for no other reason than my experience with Quake I, II and then III several years ago, which left me completely addicted and staying up until all hours of the morning while I worked my way through a maze of zombies with a shotgun. Don’t fool yourselves, when it comes to Quake, my skills can only be described as Bad-Ass.
At least working in the IT industry when you show up red eyed with a Big Gulp of iced coffee in hand, everyone understands when you say you’ve been up all night playing Quake. It’s easy enough to pull off an 8 hour work day, explaining to executives with six figure salaries, why they must not ever disable their virus software, when you’ve only had 4 hours of sleep. But that was then.
Since then I haven’t done much gaming. Before we had kids it was because I was busy sleeping at night to prepare for my 50+ hour work week and now that we have kids, it’s difficult to function on 4 hours of sleep.
Our children smell sleep depravation like a shark smells fear and they won’t hesitate to use it to try to drive us mad until they have their fill of cookies, or skittles, something, ANYTHING to make the whining stop. Ah, but I digress.
The Wii looks like it might actually be some fun. One, it requires movement, which I’m into since I quit smoking. At work, there is talk that our HR rep lost 15 lbs just by playing the Wii. Amazing. I’ll have to keep you all posted on whether or not I’m loving it, but prepare yourselves for the Wii jokes that will be invading the blog. Why just yesterday evening, Connor explained to Jorma, “Daddy, you are only allowed to play with your Wii. You and Mommy can play with your Wii but only after Tristan and I go to bed. Ok Daddy? Ok?” Later in the evening, he was following Jorma around yelling, “Daddy, you said you were going to share your WEED with me! Daddy, aren’t you going to share your WEED?!!!!” Look out Child Protective services, here we come.

Dear Connor(3 yrs, 8 mos) & Tristan (21 mo)

Dear Connor and Tristan,

The summer months have gotten busy, so in the spirit of multi-tasking, this month, I’ll be writing a letter to you both. I haven’t gotten our camera fixed and I’m disappointed with the other digital camera enough that I don’t bother taking pictures with it at all. Thus, I won’t have any pictures to post this month, unless I call all of the people that have taken pictures of you and request that they email me those pictures. This may seem like a simple feat, but it’s not, since I would spend anywhere from 3 – 30 minutes explaining how to zip or attach a multiple file to send to me and then spend the next 15 minutes explaining that a bmp is not a desirable file format. All of this occurs of course after I’ve spent 15 minutes fixing their internet connectivity problem.
By the time you are both reading this you will be older and Connor, I give you permission to smack your brother on the back of the head for banging our digital camera into the floor. Then the next time that you both see me, Tristan you may smack me in the back of the head for putting it four and half feet off of the ground, which is apparently accessible to one that is two feet tall if that one is ambitious enough to drag over a chair, climb up onto the desk and grab the camera from the computer monitor.
I’ll give you both this, you are ambitious. And you sure love each other. Tristan, the first thing you say in the morning is “Connor?” You repeat it every 3 minutes until he’s awake. And no, this doesn’t get on my nerves at all after an hour or so. Connor, you show your love to your brother by tackling him first thing, something that makes me a little uneasy, except for Tristan’s squeals of delight.
Connor, you translate for your little brother too. He calls his blanket his “gankie” and you always explain to me that he’s saying blanket… in Spanish. In fact, this week just about anything that your brother has said that’s intelligible you’ve explained that he is speaking in Spanish. Lucky for you this reminded me that I needed to put my learn Spanish in your car CDs into my car so that I could go ahead and start learning Spanish. This is so I can either teach it to the both of you, or learn enough that I can swear at you, venting my frustrations in another language, saving you both from years of therapy. I hope you use the money that you’ve saved to put your Dad and I in the finest nursing home available.
It’s been a busy summer so far. I was hoping on multiple beach trips this year but it hasn’t happened so far. We are working out what we can, but I’m religious about my yoga class which is one of the reasons that we are so busy. Twice a week you go to the child watch, while I get my exercise on in the morning. I’m also working one day a week which leaves us with two days to run errands during the week. One of those is grocery day. The other is OMG where did my week go, I have six loads of laundry to do day, which is also known to the two of you as, Hang Out in the Shower for a Bit and Then Run Around the Upstairs Naked for a While, Day. You wouldn’t think that this is an exciting time for the two of you, but you are both quite fond of it. Once you are finally dressed, (Connor sometimes with three shirts on) you play in Tristan’s closet for a while, closing the door and making a club house, giggling in the dark with your flashlights or finding new and exciting things to climb on together.
Tristan, sometimes you run around with a pair of Connor’s underwear on your head. You think this is hysterical, which amuses me because it actually IS. You’ve seen your brother do it a number of times when a hat wasn’t available to play dress up with and you are happy to follow his example. There is nothing that makes me happier than watching the two of you playing together smiling and giggling and occasionally stopping to hug and kiss each other.
There may be times in both of your lives where you feel like no one loves you. Of course, Mommy and Daddy always love you both more than you would ever know, but never forget how much you love each other. You may fight, you may walk separate paths in life but the kind of love that I see you have for each other, never goes away. No matter, who took who’s, Hot Wheels Car.
I love you both.
Mama

 

Ohm Diggity

Tonight I will attend my 6^th Yoga class and I would like to point out, that I’m still alive. Admittedly, I thought that it would be easier by now, but since then have determined that it’s never easy because you are always trying to reach farther and balance longer and because the extent of my exercise for the past few years has been walks around the block pushing a stroller. That definitely does a body good, but it’s no competition for the core strength that’s needed for some of the Yoga poses.
Some of the poses are getting a little bit easier for me and I like the way it’s making my body feel. I like that when I’m hit in the back of the knees with 30 lbs of running Tristan that I don’t feel like I’m about to go down. Or when my heel lands on a matchbox car at the bottom of the stairs, I don’t strain any muscles trying to right myself. And. For the first time, since high school I can do (modified) push ups. I could probably manage one or two regular push ups, in proper form, but I’m sticking with the modified for now.
I’m still doing Zumba once a week and due to the additional sweating my skin is clearing up. I keep checking the scales because with this much work, something’s got to be happening and it is… I’m gaining weight. I just keep repeating my mantra… muscle weighs more than fat, muscle weighs more than fat.
I’ll be thrilled to get rid of my “lunch lady” arms and would be even more thrilled if the pain that’s resided in my neck for many years goes away. The best thing about it all is that the church where I attend the classes offers child care for a moderate fee. And as you can imagine, I’ll endure any amount of pain just to get a little child free time.

 

Dear Connor - 3 Years, 7 Months

Dear Connor,
Your caterpillars are curled up in their chrysalis, (OMG there is nothing cuter than you saying that word) working hard on turning into moths. We’ve had one moth emerge already and although I tried to explain it to you, better and better each time so that you would get it, you still just look at me, smiling and nodding, waiting for me to stop talking about metamorphosis so that you can ask if you can go play in the hose. Or you talk over me completely, because nothing is more important than playing in the water.

You’ve become timid all of a sudden at swim lessons and I wonder how a child that is so much like a Labrador retriever puppy can be timid around water. Give you 12 ounces of water in a cup and you’ll find some way to entertain yourself for the next 20 minutes, returning into the house beaming and tracking mud onto my clean floors. A bath is a ritual of enjoyment with much negotiation as to when we are getting out of the tub, or shower and when the next time we’ll be getting in will be. You’ll have to pardon me if I don’t take you seriously when you say you are afraid to go to swim lessons.

School is out for the Summer and I’m glad to not have to rush out the door each morning for school and to have you all to myself. This will be the best Summer yet, mostly because you might actually remember some of it, but also because you are old enough to do things that are a little more fun, like Carowinds or the Zoo. We went to the Zoo last weekend, taking a trip to the Columbia Zoo because we’ve heard it’s a better children’s zoo because the animals are easier to see because the habitats are smaller. You did enjoy looking at the animals, but the highlight of the trip for you was most definitely the carousel that you got to ride several times and your first cotton candy experience. Your Dad and I determined that the last time we actually tasted cotton candy was a several decades ago, for us it was a little taste of history.

You are starting to slow down a little. I can now trust you to stand next to me for a minute in the grocery store without pulling everything off of the shelf. Sometimes when I tell you to do something, or ask you to stop doing something else, you actually listen the first time. Un-FREAKING-believable! You can climb a tree and ride a bike. You can hit a ball with a bat and do a front roll. You can go potty by yourself and get your own water from the fridge. You are starting to get the idea of what funny is and sometimes you crack yourself up. Sometimes you crack us up too and I’d like to say that I’m sorry if we don’t laugh at all of your jokes. If you discover that it amuses us to see you running down the upstairs hallway with nothing but a roman soldier helmet on, there’s no telling where it could lead to.
You are learning to manipulate a little more subtly... or what you think it being subtle. I notice that you call me Mama instead of Mommy when you are trying to prove how sweet you are. As in, “Mama, can I have something from the candy box, pppllleeeaaassseee?” You call me Mom nonchalantly as you watch from the corner of your eye when you are bored and trying to push my buttons. I actually don’t like to be called Mom, figuring it won’t be long before you’ll be saying it and you’re brother will be chattering it right behind you. At least let me enjoy the time that I have being Mommy now.

We are planning a beach trip this Summer and I can’t wait to test our your new listening skills. It might even be enjoyable to spend some time with you and your brother in a public place without being stressed out about chasing you both down and keeping you both safe. At least I know that one of you will stay close to me and your brother… well, we can always put him on a leash.

I love you,
Mama

Did it work?

By Golly I think it did. The hypnotism that is. I’ll admit that I smoked a cigarette on the way home from my session because I wanted to see if I was broken. But since then I’ve not smoked and have had much less cravings than usual when I’ve tried to quit.
I’d actually wondered if I could be hypnotized. Supposedly hypnotism is a deeper state than the alpha brain-wave that one achieves during meditation, although it didn’t feel that way to me at all. I have some experience with meditation and it felt like I was at the alpha brainwave with someone speaking to me. I remember everything that was said and feel like I could have sat up and opened my eyes at any moment. There is no way that someone in that state could be talked into doing something that they didn’t want to do… (sorry Hollywood!)
Of course there is the argument that it’s all in my head. That I believe that it worked, or that because I spent the money on it I want to believe that it worked, but the thing is… I didn’t believe it was going to work. I was totally skeptical. I mean, I believe that people can be hypnotized; I just didn’t think that I was one of those people. And now that you know what the process feels like, let me tell you what it feels like now.
It feels like I’ve completely forgotten that I smoke. Like I keep thinking that there is something that I should be going to do, but I can’t remember what it is and then I think, “oh that’s right… I don’t smoke anymore” and I move on. Now, if you were sitting on my porch right now smoking a cigarette, I’d stop typing this immediately and go out and bum one from you, if I could remember long enough that was my intention.
I still have the craving. I still want to eat. I still have bouts of irritability. But for the most part I think I’m done with it. I might have to go again next month to stop eating… but I really feel like I’ll be smoke free.

 

Bock Bock BACOCK!

Most of you know, although some of you don’t, that after quitting smoking for 2 and a half months I started again. I keep procrastinating quitting, but each time I look at the kids, I know I have to. I started taking Yoga last week, hoping that when I do quit it will help me stay focused on healthy habits and keep some of the weight off. I’ve also started Zumba which is a dance step type aerobics, in an effort to get the hell off of the sofa. Now if I could just stop eating.
I was going take the new anti-smoking drug, Chantix but keep reading about possible side effects. I could handle a little bit of nausea but it’s the psychotic episode side effect that has me leery. I’m not prone to depression, (except during pregnancy) so I’m not a likely candidate for that type of side effect, but it’s not something that I really want to risk. Especially with small children in the house.

So, that being said, on Saturday I have an appointment to get hypnotized. It actually costs less than a three month supply of Chantix and truly any amount of money to quit smoking is a savings when you consider the cost of smoking. Two sessions of hypnotism cost roughly about the same as 6 cartons of cigarettes. A bargain!
The hypnotist has a 92% success rate and I’m hoping like hell I’m in that percentage. I believe in hypnotism, I’ve never even once considered that it might be the “devil’s work” and I have no idea why I never thought of it before. Truthfully, I’ve thought about doing past life regression, but never smoking cessation, even though I have friends that have successfully quit long term using the method. I guess I thought it would cost a full year’s salary or something. I really hope that it works for me and I’m looking forward to it. Even if I occasionally cluck like a chicken.

Dear Tristan - 20 Months

Dear Tristan,

This month you are starting to get a grasp on how to win friends and influence people and it goes like this, "hi." You say it to everyone you see and you aren't going to be discriminate about it either. You are so certain those words will bend someone to your will that sometimes when I start to raise my voice to your brother you intervene, leaning in towards me, softly saying "Hi." over and over again. Certainly that will make everyone happy again! Some nights when we put you to bed, I hear you in your crib, saying, "hi" in between fits of screaming. "This screamings not working for me right now... maybe a little bit of cuteness will do the trick".

Little man, you are getting chatty. You constantly amaze us with your ability to remember even the vaguest words. By the time you are two, I expect you'll be speaking in entire paragraphs. Today, when I came home from work, you grabbed my necklace and said, "prettt-tteee" and proceded to put it into your mouth. And no, we're not sick of hearing, " I want dat!" over and over again.

You are still on hunger strike. You've no problem eating a granola bar or anything else with sugar in it, but sneak a vegtable into your mouth and you act like you've been burned, spitting it out and making a ICK noise while you look at us with utter shock and disapproval. How could we betray you so?! I keep putting fruits and veggies on the plate anyway because I know that one day you will shock us all and develop a love for vegetables. In the meantime, each night after dinner I scrape your plate wishing there was some way I could send those scraps to the children around the world that would think the taste of a Mandrin Orange to be a little piece of heaven. Always remember your good fortune.

You've learned to tattle. Now it's hard to tell if your brother really is beating on your or not, because sometimes he'll just brush past you and you'll crouch down and starting crying, "MA-MA!MA-MA!" over and over again like he just kicked you in the head. Or more likely than that, you'll come running, crying and yelling, "MINE! I WANT DAT! MINE!" pointing to the toy that your brother has taken from you. Because you both have this disease that your Dad calls, "You have that I want it". Apparently it's a phenomana that never goes away either. If you're twenty and reading this and don't believe me, pick up some random piece of plastic or some other oddity. Something that looks interesting but should probably be in the trash. Have a conversation with someone while you fiddle with this plastic. Gaze at it with interest while you talk. I bet within the first 30 seconds they say, "What is that?" and in the next five minutes they ask to see it. You have that, I want it.

As much as you and your brother fight though, the two of you LOVE each other. You can't wait to pick him up at preschool and in the mornings if he sleeps in, you stand at the bottom of the stairs, yelling, "CAA_NNAA!" You run around in circles when he first comes downstairs in the morning. You love to wake brother up in the morning also, climbing into his bed and raining kisses all over his face while you whisper over and over, "hi". This morning when you woke him up this way, you laid you head down on his stomach as sort of a hug. He was half asleep and said, "Thank you for the kisses, Tristan. I love you too" And he actually meant it.

I love you,

Mama

Here I am!

I haven’t had much posting time, trying to work and keep up with the kids seems to take up most of the time that I do have. I’ve got a to-do list a mile long and it seems like everyday something else is added. I’ve succumbed to doing things that I wouldn’t normally do, like take both of the kids to the grocery store with me, so that I can manage the time that I do have. Right now, little brother is sleeping and big brother is trashing his own room, (his daily quiet time routine)… but trashing it quietly. I have two loads of laundry to fold, a kitchen to clean and 300 pages of East of Eden to finish reading for book club next week. There are in addition to that 30 other things I could be doing, but today I’m taking a minute to post because I miss writing.

Because when I don’t post to the blog, it makes me feel exactly like I’m putting off calling that far away friend, which just adds another day to the distance.

Dear Connor - 3 Years, 6 Months

Dear Connor,
They say that the age of 3 is harder than the age of 2, but it doesn’t seem that way to me. I think the age of 3 is more frustrating than the age of 2, but at least you are a little more lucid and can be reasoned with.

Except when caterpillars are involved. A couple of days ago, we discovered caterpillars in the back yard. Well, in the yard, on the deck, on the porch and last night in the upstairs bathroom. I picked up one for you to hold and in no time at all, you were attached. Shortly after this, I decided that you were occupied enough for me to go to into the house for a moment, but I left the back door open so I could still hear you on the porch. A minute later I heard a blood curdling scream followed by hysterical crying and ran to the porch to fight the wild jackals that must have snuck onto the porch causing you to scream this way. Instead I found you pointing to the caterpillar that had fallen from your hand to the porch floor, as you sobbed, “MOMMY IT’S GETTING AAAWWWWAAYYY!” I was a little bit confused by this drama, as the caterpillar was about a foot away and moving at a rapid rate of 4 feet an hour, but we picked him up and put him back into the cup that you were carrying around.

This drama happened again and again, each time the caterpillar attempted to climb up the side of his container. You snuck it into the house behind me when I went in to make you a drink. I saw the empty cup in your hand and asked where your caterpillar was. “He’s climbing now.” You said. “Where?” I asked, cringing. You pointed to the kitchen table where the caterpillar was just trucking along the side.
Soon you were begging to be able to keep it in your room and sleep with it. We negotiated hard on this one and ended up making a house from an old aquarium that no longer holds water. After additions of rocks, dirt, moss and sticks I was able to talk you into putting your caterpillar into his new home.

Yesterday, Daddy was outside with you as you collected every caterpillar that you could find. The terrarium that we built now has 21 caterpillars that you feed and mist daily. You tell them goodnight and want to go and visit them first thing in the morning. It’s all so sweet that if I thought I could handle cleaning a cage once a week, I’d get you a hamster or another equally amusing rodent. But it would have to sleep in your room… and those things are nocturnal, you know.

You’ve been going to swim lessons for over a month now and you’re doing great! Daddy takes you to your lessons so I haven’t actually seen you in lesson mode yet, but the reports are that you can hold your breath under water and swim 10 feet. The first time I heard this, I’m not sure if I was more proud that you could do it or relieved that you had learned a skill that could one day save your life. Daddy says that you are an independent swimmer, wary but not afraid of the water. You love the waterslide and the other two boys in your class. Now, if I could just get you to stop asking me every second of the day, “Are swimming lessons tonight?”
I love you,
Mommy

Dear Tristan - 19 Months

Dear Tristan,

Last Sunday, you had your first major injury. I was in your brother’s room looking for pajamas while you and your brother were both running, naked and wild in Mommy and Daddy’s room. Your brother came running into his room, (where I was on the pj search) with a ceramic plate he had removed from the bottom drawer of the sideboard that’s in our room. I told him he wasn’t supposed to be in THAT drawer and fearing immediate time out, he went running off down the hallway, naked, back to Mommy’s room. Following him, I was halfway down the hallway when I heard you scream. I knew before I saw you what had happened. Your brother accidentally smashed your fingers in the drawer in his haste to put the dish back.

It scraped off the top layer of skin and had some bruising, but you pulled your hand out before major damage could be done. And oh how you cried.
After a few minutes of sitting in my lap sobbing, your brother went into hysterics, because he was afraid. At first, he was afraid that he was going to get into trouble, but quickly it was replaced by his fear that you were really hurt, because as he said, “I can’t get Tristan to stop crying!” You were both hysterical. So much so that I had to call in the reinforcement, who was downstairs cooking dinner.
I’ve never seen you really get hurt and although I knew that the injury was minor comparatively speaking, it still freaked me out a little bit. I think it’s true that the second child is tougher than the first, just because of the sheer stamina it takes to keep up with an older sibling.
Usually when you are crying, it’s because a toy was taken away from you or you think I don’t understand that it’s the word, “candy” that you are saying yelling while pointing to the pantry at 8 o’clock in the morning.
You get so frustrated that you can’t verbally communicate with us. Generally you assume that we don’t understand you and repeat the word over and over hoping that we’ll get it. This doesn’t work out so well for you, because after I’ve heard, iwannacookie, fifteen times in a row, I’m definitely not giving up a cookie.
You are slowly starting to try new foods. Very. Very slowly. The other day, you accidentally put a bite of green bean casserole into your mouth and ended up eating all that was on your plate. And the night after that, I think I might have seen you eat a carrot, although you may have thought you were about to ingest a cheese doodle. You’ve discovered peanut butter but still aren’t a fan of milk. If there is something on your plate that you don’t want to eat, you subtlety let us know by holding it out at arms length, waiting until we are looking and then purposefully dropping it onto the floor.

You like dropping things on the floor. You are like a seagull, dropping clams high from the air onto the rocks to retrieve the treasure inside. The treasure in this case, however, are the inner workings of whatever thing you’ve just sacrificed. We had to tape up the back of the remote control because you couldn’t get enough of tossing it on the tile, popping off the back, so that you could play with the AA batteries inside of it. Give you a new toy and the first thing you’ll do after inspecting it thoroughly and tasting every inch is to drop it on the tile.

You are becoming quiet the social butterfly, saying “Hi” to everyone… your family, people at the grocery store… even Papaw and Nana’s cats. When you say “Hi”, your sure to beam and await a response. How could anyone not smile at your cuteness?! I’m not sure if it’s because I’m your mother, but some days you are cuter than a wagon full of baby ducks being pulled by a puppy.

Love,

Mama

 

What a Bad Guy Really Is

Connor and I are watching the end of the Jungle Book before he goes to bed. Shere Khan is on screen slinking through the jungle. “That tiger is a bad guy “, I whisper to Connor. A few minutes later, Connor replies, his eyes glued to the tiger on screen, “Mommy, does he not share?”

 

Dear Connor - 3 Years, 5 Months

Dear Connor,

I’m late in writing your entry this month because we’ve had a lot going on. You wouldn’t think that writing a blog entry has any bearing at all in the realm of parenting guilt, but a Mother’s guilt runs almost as deep as her love. You’ve been pretty grumpy the last month, a fault of mine because I’ve been tending to other things, like working and recovering from each and every virus that you bring to me from preschool.
You’ve decided that you don’t want to go to school, each time arguing with me that you won’t put your shoes on and that you won’t eat your breakfast because you do not under any circumstances want to go to school. I make you go anyway, because we all have to do things in life that we don’t want to do and the sooner you learn that the easier your life will be. There’s something that I want you to know and it’s this… life isn’t fair. In fact, it’s far from fair but facing it head on and making the best of it makes things a whole lot easier.
Part of the reason that you are so grumpy is because you’ve decided that you absolutely will not nap and although the books all say you should have grown out of naps a year ago, you are a kid that still needs mid-day sleep. I’ve succumbed to allowing you to hang in your room for quiet time, which usually isn’t as quiet as it should be, but gives you us some much needed time to rest. Today I went in to check on you, because your brother’s marathon screaming fit involving his refusal to nap was surely making you a little restless and found you laying on your back next to your bed on the floor. You were wearing 7 shirts and two pair of pants and lay with your arms thrown up over your head, sound asleep. At first my heart stopped because you so hate the nap that I thought some tragedy had befallen you, but then you snorted and started snoring softly and I knew it was safe to move you to the bed. I think probably because you had on 7 shirts that it made moving a little more awkward, thus proving my theory that if you’d just freaking be still, you’d pass out and get some rest. I know that you don’t want to miss any of the excitement that happens when you are in your room for quiet time, thus your constant insistence that you have quiet time downstairs, but personally if I had the choice between watching someone mop the kitchen floor and reorganize the pantry or napping, well I’d take the nap every time. Of course, given the choice between a whole lot of things and a nap, I’d probably take the nap, but that’s just me.
You’ll notice that there aren’t any pictures in this entry, but like your brother’s entry there are things that we will never see in a picture.
A picture will never be able to remind me how soft your baby skin or how you can still fit neatly in my lap when you curl up with your head on my shoulder. It won’t remind me of the little boy smell that you are starting to develop. When I walk into your room, it smells like you... a combination of baby lotion, baby skin and old socks. I’ll never hear from a picture how you say softly to me, “I love you, Mommy” and while that’s something that I could record and listen to over and over again, the recording wouldn’t capture the look in your eyes. The one that says you really mean it. That I am of the suns that you revolve around and that you don’t love me less because I haven’t showered in two days or worn make up in five.
A camera could never capture the wide fascination your eyes hold when you see something exciting and new for the first time. How you look at me with amazement and without speaking say, “Are YOU seeing this too Mommy?” And I am, but only because I’m looking through you. Thank you for making sure I remember that everything is amazing, even when it’s something as simple as a bar of glycerin soap with a plastic goldfish embedded inside. My love for you runs deep.
Love,
Mommy

Dear Tristan - 18 Months

Dear Tristan,

There would be pictures of you in this entry, except you climbed up onto the desk, got the digital camera and took it into the kitchen where a few slams against the ceramic tile rendered it useless. But there are things that we can’t see from pictures.
A camera would never be able to capture the way you give kisses, coming in at full speed, pecking with your mouth at whatever is closest saying, “MUH!” each time. It wouldn’t capture that you can’t just give one kiss. Once you are in full motion there are several kisses all in a row. If you decide to climb down from my lap, you are giving kisses the whole way, gracing my wrist, knee and foot as you go.
A camera could never fully show how your baby hair glows golden when the sun streams through the windows of the living room and you sit quietly on the sofa watching Blue’s Clues. You have no idea how beautiful you are.
No one would ever see from a picture, how you run like there is a string pulling you forward by your belly, your arms flapping, a smile on your face, because it feels so good to move. I’ll never see from a picture how when someone else is holding you, you point to me and say, “MaMa!” in a definitive tone, like you are so proud of me.
A picture would never capture your vigorous knee-hugs. The ones where you come barreling across the kitchen throwing yourself onto my legs and if I’m not prepared for you, almost knocking me down. You are little, but getting hit in the back of the knees with 26lbs of hurling toddler is enough to make anyone wobble. Especially one, who is focused with intense concentration, on the pantry trying to determine what can be made for dinner that involves a can of Cream of Mushroom Soup, raisins and bottom of a bag of tortilla chips.
In the mornings you wake up precisely at 7:15. I pick you up, blankie and all and take you back to our bed, curling up around and pretending that you might actually go back to sleep if you see me close my eyes. You try to go back to sleep, because you know that’s what’s intended, but you got your Dad’s wake up gene instead of mine and once you are up, there’s no going back to sleep. I’ll crack one eye, because I have that unmistakable feeling that I’m being watched and find you gazing adoringly at me. It’s usually then that you decide to start unleashing kisses on my face, or exploring my nostrils with your index finger. What? Mommy doesn’t like that? How about the ear? No? Maybe the nostril again.
And that’s how I fully come awake each morning.
On rare occasions you do fall back asleep, snuggling into me with your sweet baby snore. These are the days that your brother wakes up ten minutes later yelling, “MOMMY! I NEED TO GO POTTY! RIGHT NOW!” Because why should he bother getting out of bed when he has a personal chauffer to carry him? I get up and take him to the potty and then pull him into bed with us. Sometimes you and he snuggle up together, tangled in a mess of blankets and the four hundred pillows we keep on the bed. It’s on these days that we lay there like a pile of puppies and I hope that warmth stays with me through the rest of my winters.

I love you,

MaMa!

Just Another Day in Paradise

I’d be posting some really funny pictures. Like the one of Connor today with 11 shirts on at once. He had so much bulk that he couldn’t take any of the shirts off without assistance. I’m not sure how he managed to get them all on. Or lovely pictures, like Tristan today, his blonde hair shining in the sunlight, while he explored the backyard. But last week Tristan got our camera and banged it into the ceramic tile. He managed to give it a few good whacks before I could get to him and now… it’s broken.
This is the point where usually, I would be like, DAMMIT! Now I HAVE to buy a Digital SLR! But since we are still recovering from the past year and I feel like we HAVE to have some sort of something to take pictures of the kids with, or before we know it we’ll have a year with no footage at all. So I guess, although it pains me, we might have to suck it up and have our camera repaired, which bums me out, because it’s a piece of crap anyway and definitely isn’t worth the $200.00 that it will take to fix it. And well, just buying a new one, isn’t much of an option.

Hunger Strike

I guess I just chalked up the fact that Connor will eat anything that you put in front of him, to our stellar parenting skills. I’m proud of it. You child may be able to play Mozart at 2 years old, but I bet he won’t eat, olives dipped in hummus or request hot sauce on her French fries. But now my bubble is burst.

Because as a general rule of thumb, if it’s not fried or filled with sugar, Tristan won’t eat it, unless it’s white. Fruits? Bananas, Apples. Cheese – Mozzarella, Saltine Crackers, or plain pasta. And so we’ve done the same thing with him that we did with Connor when he started to get picky. For the most part, if it’s what we are eating for dinner and you’ve eaten it previously with no complaining, you are eating it, or you will be hungry. But with Tristan… it’s not working.
Because Tristan will starve himself before he deigns to eat anything that’s not white. So you can imagine what a good mood he’s been in for the past three days, living on a diet of Bananas, Saltine Crackers and the noodles from Chicken Soup. Today, he wandered around the house crying and waddling over to the pantry, sobbing the word cookie over and over again. But I’m not giving in. Because this is where the parents get in trouble. In a desperate attempt to feed your child, something! Anything! To fill their little belly, you give them a cookie. I mean, it’s an oatmeal cookie after all. Well, oatmeal-chocolate chip. But when you are faced with such a tiny little soul, that you love with your heart and soul, screaming in hunger, you give in. And it begins.
I’m not sure if it makes me a good parent for standing my ground, or a bad parent for letting the baby be hungry. But it’s been a rough day with the kids and whether he eats cookies for dinner, or nothing at all because I’m holding my ground, it makes me feel like the worst parent in the world.

 

Timbeeeeeerrrrr

A tree fell from the back corner of our lot last week, snapping the swing set in half and missing the deck by about 2 feet. I wasn’t the slightest bit concerned that the tree could have hit and/or damaged the house. I had some sort of post traumatic – what could have happened, stress going on. If the kids would have been outside playing, they would have been by the swing set which is their usual haunt in the yard.
We borrowed a chain saw from my friend Amy and with the chain saw came the exceptional bonus of her husband Mike, who helped Jorma chop up the tree. They made short work of it, (easy for me to say, since I was in the house, minding children and cooking dinner), and the tree is all cleaned up. I guess there are some advantages to living in one of the neighborhoods where they chop down all of the trees in the subdivision.

Dear Connor - 3 Years, 4 Months

Dear Connor,

In your world it's always Halloween... but with less candy. Dress up is the most fun of all, second only to playing any game involving monsters, pirates or dragons. I've been a little concerned about the obsession with monsters and things that go bump in the night. Each morning you wake to tell us about the monsters that you saw or played with while you were sleeping.
At your pre-school parent teacher conference, your teacher even mentioned that you are quite obsessed with monsters. She said that she always tells you that there is no such thing as monsters, which is something that we also tell you. At some point along the way, your Dad and I decided that who cares if you are into monsters? What if you grow up to get your PhD in Roman Mythology? Who are we to decide what creatures you invent to play with?

And oh the dressing up. How many clothes can you put on at once? Well, that depends on how many clothes you have access to. In the picture below, you are wearing 7 shirts, a sweater vest, sweater, 5 pair of pants and 6 pair of socks. Oh, and those are pants on your head. You so love the pants on your head that the other day, Tristan toddled over to me with a pair of Diego underwear that he found in your dresser and insisted that I put it on his head... because that's what brother does.

You are maintaining the 3 year old stereotype by making sure that you talk back to Mommy or Daddy at least twice a day. You never know what to say, or how to express yourself so you end up pointing at us and yelling, "I'm going to lock you up in a high tower!" or some other such nonsense, which only proves, it's not actually what is said, but how it's said. Usually there is a time out involved with these infractions, although usually they've occurred because you are angry that you were put into time out for something else to begin with. It's still amusing to see 40 inches of red faced madness, pointing at me while yelling, "I'm going to smash you out of the house!"

You are taking more of an interest in other children. Some of them you like, some of them you don't, but you are proud to announce that this or that child is your best friend. You don't like that child because she always takes toys from your or this child because he whispers when he talks. It's amazing to watch the playgroup politics unfold as you learn to make up games and engage other children in activity running together like a pack of dogs at the park. It's so refreshing for me to watch you play without unfolding drama. The hitting and crying is replaced by, sharing and smiling and when you approach a new child to play, the expression on your face is one of expectation and hope. You look so fragile as you wait for some sign or signal that it's ok to join in play. It's fascinating to watch the buds of social evolution begin to emerge but I want you to know that I'll always be your friend. Even when you are embarrassed to be seen with me in public.
Love,
Mommy