The Rules

A while back I had a scare at the zoo, and unfortunately I all too frequently am left chasing after the boys in stores. To combat this, I try to remind them they need to behave before the bad behavior starts. I figure I have a better shot at sanity if I lay the groundwork before I start using that really scary and exasperated shrieky voice or that extra creepy calm but ominous good-mommy-reprimanding-her-child-in-public-voice. So they get reminded of my expectations. I usually do this before we leave the car, I review the rules. Instead of me just talking at the boys, I have them tell me the rules. It's my attempt at proactive parenting, and yes, I do want a gold star.
This weekend I took the boys to the zoo with my good friend Erin and her son. As we walked from the parking lot to the entrance, I asked the boys, as I always do, "So boys, what are the rules when we go to the zoo?"
And they started their list.
"No hitting strangers!" exclaims Little Dog.
"That's a good one," I agree
"And no talking to strangers!" adds Big Dog.
"True. What else?" I ask.
"No running off?" answers Big Dog with a bit less certainty.
"Absolutely! That's important, if you can't see me, I can't see you, so stay close. Any others?"
"No taking things out of strangers' pockets," says Little Dog.
"Yes, because that would be illegal. Let's not do that."
"Because if you do that, they'll call the police," offers Liam with authority.
"They sure could," I agreed. "Anything else?"
"Hold hands in the parking lot!" says Big Dog.
"Yes. That's a good one. How about our ears? What should they do?"
"Listen! Listen to mommy!" says Big Dog, finally catching the most important point.
"Yep! Always listen to mommy. Good job boys."
"And no kicking strangers," says Little Dog.
"That's right. Let's just not touch strangers at all, ok?" I say.
And that's when I notice Erin laughing. She sees me looking and says, "This needs to go on your blog. No hitting strangers, that's hilarious."
What? Don't we all have that rule? Maybe you just don't spell it out. Well, I may have more need to. See as we were standing and watching the emu, Little Dog tells me, "I just smacked that guy's butt!" And he had. I was mortified. So I apologized, took Little Dog aside and reminded him of the rules and asked him to "go say sorry to that man for hitting his bottom."
His reply? "I said I smacked his butt!"
Great. So fantastic. And the dad seemed to think the rather terrible behavior was funny. But Little Dog did say sorry. That's worth something, right?

Just like me

Today was one of those days. The bad ones. The ones that rattle me. The ones that make me wonder if I am really cut out for this motherhood gig.
As much as I love these kids, I sometimes wonder if I'm not doing them more harm than good with my parenting approach. I mean, I try, but I may not be any good at this. I may be letting them get away with the wrong stuff, and making a big deal of the little things. I'm not sure that I'm prepared to help young impressionable boys develop into functional adults. Hell, in many ways I'm probably not such a functional adult.
I see some of my own worst traits in these kids. I want to protect them from those traits, but how can I when I am still trying how to protect myself? And this panics me. I don't really want them to end up like me. Then sometimes I'm worried that in my quest to keep them from suffering the same faults I have, that maybe I push them too far the other direction. Maybe I don't respect their own natures enough because that nature is a bit too much like mine. I don't know.
All I know is that today was one of those day. The ones in which back to back tantrums bring me to tears and all I can manage to do is to keep it together long enough to get home and fall apart in the comfort an privacy of my own home.
It started with karate. The boys have been taking classes on Saturday mornings, but the last class before Thanksgiving Little Dog refused to join, then had a tantrum when class ended and he "missed it". Today was much the same. After much thought, I'd already decided that maybe he's too young. Maybe as much as I'd like him to participate in the class, and as much as he says he wants to, it might just be too much to ask of him. I talked to the guy who runs the school and told him I wanted to suspend Little Dog's enrollment until he was ready to come to class. The stress of coaxing him to join in the class is too much for me and if he isn't excited and ready to do it, then it might just be better to back off and let him lead. The Sensei agreed but also encouraged me to keep bringing Little Dog to class with Big Dog so he'd continue to acclimate to the class and environment and hopefully decide to participate sooner than later. After this discussion, the Sensei told me that Big Dog was doing so great in the class that he was ready to receive his karate gi. I agreed, even though I knew that this was likely to cause a problem for Little Dog because he really wants his gi too. But what could I do, hold Big Dog back because his little brother refused to take the class? And maybe, as much as I hate the idea of the sibling competition, just maybe seeing his brother get his gi would push Little Dog to do the classwork if he really wants the gi. Or if he doesn't care, then we could just move on. Unfortunately I underestimated the ferocity of the tantrum. It was one of those fits that could cause the world to tilt off its axis if allowed to continue too long. It certainly wasn't helped by Big Dog refusing to allow his brother to touch his new uniform or his taunting, "I got my karate clothes already. You need to work harder, I guess," comments. But I managed. I pulled my shit together and redirected, encouraged and empathised. After what felt like an eternity, we all calmed down and were able to get on with our day.
This was followed by a trip to the library at the request of the boys. I'm always up for encouraging reading, and I thought the soothing act of reading together would help right our day. And it did, for a while. But then Little Dog decided to run off, and Big Dog got kind of bossy with his little brother and before you know it, I have the kid on the floor at the reference desk yelling that he wanted to find his brother, not me and that I shouldn't have told him where Big Dog was. The librarian tried to intercede with an offer of a free sticker, which Big Dog warmed to immediately, but Little Dog rebuked completely. In the end I asked Big Dog to choose one for his brother as well and carried the still wailing Little Dog to the car. Unfortunately this was the wrong thing to do, again. Little Dog wanted to choose his own sticker, the one his brother chose was wrong. He'd be good, he pleaded and sobbed. I decided to negotiate. I figured that sometimes after a big disappointment, you need to feel like you won. I wanted Little Dog to feel like he was able to recover from the meltdown and that recovering made a difference. If he could calm down and use his words, we could go back and he could ask to choose his own sticker. He'd need to stay calm, and this would be all that we did when we went back. He agreed, and his mood lifted. He was fantastic at the do-over. I felt like one of those super moms who have their shit down. Though, I guess if I was one of them the initial meltdown would have been avoided altogether...nevermind.
Our last outing of the day was a few hours later. The boys got to decompress at home and I gave Little Dog all kinds of prepping for the playdate with a friend of his from school. As we left the house, he excitedly declared "This is going to be awesome!" with all the sincerest three-year-old enthusiasm I've ever seen. We were going to a local nursery that has an amazing Christmas display, including live reindeer and this year a camel! It started off well, and I got a few adorable photos of the kids, then Little Dog was done. He decided to start running off. He tore into the Christmas decoration display and knocked a glass ornament to the ground after I warned him not to play with it because it was breakable. I scooped up the breakage and marched to the cashier with him in tow to watch me pay for, then throw away the wreckage. Later, after running off several more times, and a tantrum that made the karate gi incident look minor, I told our friends we were going to have to go home. And all hell broke loose. I had to carry him to the car, he kept trying to twist and throw himself out of my arms and then screamed the entire way home. He once again begged to go back and be good, but I was spent. Unfortunately this was also our first playdate with this family, and I will probably never muster the courage to call them again after they witnessed the tornado that is Little Dog in full speed freak out mode. I'm too mortified to even consider it right now. He can be a great kid, but sometimes, on days like this, he is such a challenge. And even now, as I recount this, I remember what it was like to be a younger sibling, living in the shadow of an older sister who in my mind at least, walked on water. I work hard to give them each what they need, and help them communicate their frustrations and desires. Yet even now I remember thinking my mom loved my sister more when I was a kid. I can list times when I accused her of giving my sister preferential treatment, even in ways that would be spectacularly absurd, yet I sincerely believed it.
I guess it is only fitting that I'm now dealing with this same sibling competition in my own boys. It probably has to do with that worst possible curse of having a child that pays you back for your own childhood misdeeds by being exactly like you. I guess I should probably just say, Mom, Dad, I'm sorry and I'm surprised you never left me on the curb with the recycling (well apart from way back when, there was no curbside recycling. That may well have been my saving grace.)

This could explain why I'm so tired all the time

We're still at grandma's house and the I think we may be exhausting our hosts. They are fantastic grandparents, but two high energy boys sure do turn your routine upside down when they invade your home. Especially if you are the kind of awesome grandparents who get right down on the floor and play with the kids. My mom, who has long had a history of sitting down in a comfortable chair then drifting off to sleep, has been in fine form.

The other night, grandma fell asleep in the recliner while we were watching Teen Titans (no, it's not porn. Sounds like it could be, but it isn't.) You know she has fallen asleep by the snoring. So she slept for a bit then woke up. After a bit longer, she fell asleep again. And the snoring started again.

When she started snoring, Big Dog sighed, and says "Oh no. Not again!" He hopped up from his chair and walked over to stand next to her chair. He paused a moment then did his best kung fu karate chop "HiiiiiYA!" stopping just short of Grandma's head. And yes, she woke up.

My child as a stereotype

So I'm sitting next to Big Dog in the living room. I'm watching TV, he's being a bit too quiet. Finally he turns to me and says "My hair grew shorter!" And lo and behold it had. Or rather he'd cut giant chunks of hair out of his bangs and over his ears. Safe they may be, but safety scissors can still cut hair apparently.

Luckily I have recently become the family barber. I got my gear and gave him a very short haircut to try to blend the tiny bangs and missing chunks in. Sure it broke my heart a bit because I had been trying to grow his hair into a hip surfer/skater kind of shag, but what's done is done.

I guess when he starts telling me his hair is too long I need to act fast or he'll take matters into his own hands. I was just a little surprised to have this childhood rite of passage take place when I was no more than 12 inches from his side. I'm going to blame my lung rot for distracting me. Or at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The coughs

Everyone in my family is coughing. No, coughing is too nice a word. Hacking. Yeah, it's more like hacking, I'd say. Miserable miserable hacking. For the past 4 days I've been coughing so much my abs ache. My back aches too. Hell, my whole body aches.

For the boys it seems the simple solution is a spoonful of honey. Really, it helps quiet their coughs. It works so well they have started calling it "Helping Honey." Cute, I have my own little future marketing executives.

So today I'm feeling kind of desperate. I cannot quit coughing. If this keeps up I'll probably re-enter that "when I cough, I pee my pants a little bit" stage that new moms have right after giving birth. Well, if by right after you mean for months even a year after...but I digress. I was desperate. I decided to give it a try. I big spoon of honey to kick the cough down a notch.

Guess what, it works. Granted I find "Helping Honey" a lot more helpful if I stir it into a cup of boiling water with a big squeeze of lemon and some cloves. Oh yeah, and a couple of shots of whiskey. Yep, that helps mommy in more ways than I can count. Come on, it's for medicinal purposes. slurp.

Oh boy.

Something is going on. I'm not sure what, but something is up. Big Dog is having problems at school. He's not listening, he's pushing, he's generally being a bully. Have I mentioned that next to him turning into a completely anti-social outcast, this is my biggest fear? I don't want him to be a problem child. I don't want him to be the one the other kids are afraid of, and yet, here we are, hearing from his teachers that he was making other kids cry.

I'm not really sure what to do from here. I have talked to him again, and we'll see if it makes a difference. I've told him that I don't want him to lose his friends or be the kid the other boys won't play with. He seems to get it, but to be honest, we've had this talk before.

So here I am nearly in tears over the latest developments. Really he isn't the one I expected to have this problem. He's a really sweet and loving kid. His biggest problems usually arise when he hasn't had enough snuggles. Sure, he has a bit of the big brother "obey me" syndrome with his little brother, but that's pretty normal from what I hear.

Anyhow, I'm wiped out. I'm not sure what to do, how to get him to understand it isn't ok to make people cry. I'm exhausted and stressed and ultimately feel like I'm letting this kid down. I try really hard to be a great mom, but here we are dealing with the bully issue. I'm stumped, no idea what my next move is. I don't want to screw this kid up, because in all honesty, he kind of rocks. Well, at least when he's not pushing people around at school.

And then there are days like today.

I love being a mom. Really I do. These two little men who rule my life have added so much depth and dimension to everything I do. Their discoveries as they grow and learn are constantly amazing me. My capacity for loving them astonishes me. They truly seem to shine with some kind of internal light I had never witnessed before becoming a mom.

And then there are days like today.

Let's just say that "today" started late last night. Big Dog suffering from the flu, had spent most of the day sleeping. When a reasonable bedtime rolled around, he was feeling better, bolstered by pedialite and tylenol and lo and behold he was no longer sleepy. Little Dog, worn out by his own precociousness, fell asleep at an unheard of 6:30 pm. Mr. Dog opted to put him in bed and he slept soundly. Soundly until 11:30 pm, at which point he was up and raring to go. Unfortunately for me, Mr. Dog was also suffering from the flu, so he was in bed. And though I was feeling some, um, digestive upset to put in gently, I was well enough to watch the boys. So I did. I watched them until 3 am when exhaustion won out and I exerted my maternal authority and forced them to bed. We struggled and argued, but finally managed to all fall asleep.

We slept until I was awaken by the sound of the nanny banging on the door. Seems that I slept past a normal waking hour and ended up running very late to work. Mr. Dog was still dragging from his night of vomiting so I made breakfast, washed dishes (remember my bastard dishwasher is still refusing to be modern or convenient) and rolled in to work very very late. Luckily the first day back after a two week shut down, this kind of thing goes largely unnoticed.

When I got home this evening, things seemed quiet. Mr. Dog was home, still feeling slightly sick, but watching football while the boys played on the SuperWhy website. I praised Little Dog on his potty training efforts of the day, which he disputed (Me: "Hey, I hear you went pee pee on the potty!" Him: "No I didn't" Me: "Really, NE says you did. That's great!" Him: "Nooo!") at which point he proceeds to pee on the floor. So within minutes of getting home I'm sopping urine off the playroom floor.

I cleaned up the mess, got him settled in clean underpants, reminded him that we pee in the potty then headed off to make dinner. I bring dinner to the family, Mr. Dog refuses because he's still queasy, the boys take the food but neither of them eat it. As I go to start my meal, the dogs get antsy. "They might want to go out," says Mr. Dog, with no explanation of why he hadn't let them out earlier, but since he's sick I decide to let it slide. So I head back downstairs to let the dogs out, wait a reasonable interval then call for them to come in. Dashiell comes right back, but Nikita, our stubborn little girl decides to hold out. Upstairs my dinner is getting cold as I call and call to no avail. I slip on some flip flops on the porch and go out to force her inside and step right into a big pile of steaming dog shit. In flip flops.

When I get back inside, I clean up, eat my dinner and try to read my book. Since there is a break in the football, Mr. Dog decides now is the time that I need to talk to him. Instead of initiating a conversation like a normal person, he starts making absurd statements to see if I'm listening. And I'm not, because I'm reading. So he keeps it up. Finally I look up thinking he is telling me something important. "What?" I ask. "I have a giant clown inside my head!" he says. WTF? "I was just testing to see if you were listening, but you were ignoring me." Um, yeah. I'm reading. And if football was on, and I tried to ask him anything he'd have been ignoring me too.

Anyhow, with Little Dog in underpants, it's time for him to go potty again. I suggest it. He jumps up and runs toward the bathroom, then decides to turn it into a chase. I'm not up for it. "Little Dog, I'm not going to chase you. You need to go sit on the potty," and he responds by jumping on the guest bed chanting "You gotta make me!" So instead of arguing, which never gets me anywhere, I decide I'll go do the dinner dishes and head to the kitchen. A few minutes later the boys come down with Mr. Dog. Little Dog had gone pee pee on the potty and wanted to tell me. Fantastic! "Want some raisins?" I ask as a method of positive reinforcement (yeah, he still thinks raisins are a treat) and he gets positively giddy. I give him a small bowl of raisins and one for Big Dog as well. Which Big Dog promptly spills all over the kitchen floor.

"It was an accident," he explains. I say that's fine and he seems to take that to mean "No, by all means leave the mess. Mommy just LOVES picking up after you," and goes back upstairs. Great. But then Little Dog decided to start picking them up. Cool! That's really helpful. Well it is until he starts putting them in the dog bowl, or eating them and spitting rejected raisins into the tupperware drawer.

At this point I make pudding. I need something chocolately to cope. Mr. Dog comes down to retrieve the errant child and I finish making our little dessert. When I get upstairs, both boys have eaten dinner, and are playing together so I sit down to enjoy my pudding solo. And in walks Big Dog, he has his Leapster and is swinging it around by the stylus. I ask him to stop because he is getting dangerously close to hitting Nikita with it. Does he stop? No. And in two more swings he whacks her right in the head. I scream. (Yeah, not cool, but I'm losing it.) He cries, I lecture, he apologises to the dog, I relent, we make up...all very emotional and exhausting. In the midst of this, Little Dog asks for pudding. I tell him if he pees in the potty, he can have some. He runs off and pees in the potty! Score. So he gets pudding and Big Dog and I celebrate our reconciliation with pudding too. And as I sit and enjoy my much needed chocolate rush, Little Dog say "Sorry! I spilled some on my pants." But he isn't wearing pants. When I look over his legs are smeared with chocolate pudding.

They are both in the bath now. And I'm blogging about this shit. It's almost funny when I read it. Almost.

How many men does it take to watch a toddler?

Two grown men should be fully capable of watching two little boys for less than a half hour, right? I thought so. So when I came into the near silent room to find one full-grown adult man watching the news and the other full-grown adult man in charge of two small boys surfing the web, I thought things were under control. I saw one boy crashed out sleeping and but sign of my little one. I glanced around and asked "Where's Little Dog?"
"In there, " my father said, pointing toward the guest bedroom.
"Aw, is he sleeping too?" I asked, already envisioning my sleeping angel curled up on the guest bed.
"No, he's playing," he replied.
Keep in mind it was quiet. Very quiet. No sounds of a two-year-old playing. And as those of us with small children know, that always means trouble.
Inwardly groaning with anticipation of just what my tiny troublemaker had started, I went to the guest room and found him creating a new piece of art....all over himself. Little Dog had discovered my makeup bag, the make up bag I keep on a shelf. A shelf I thought was out of reach of little hands. So he was playing, but playing with my cosmetics.
"But he was so quiet," protests my father.
"And that should have been the first sign of trouble!"

What's in a Name

"You're a boomhead!" says Big Dog.
Uh, ok, whatever the hell that is. It sounds like it is meant to be mean, and the fact I am being called a boomhead after telling him "no" kind of reinforces my initial reaction. Turns out he learned it at school. We've been bringing home a lot of choice names from school lately. I guess name calling is in with the under 5 set. At least boomhead isn't that bad.

Unfortunately it isn't the only name we've picked up. Poopyhead has also been going around. And worse than boomhead, Little Dog decided poopyhead was just about the best name he's ever heard. Now, whenever he is frustrated, grouchy or just plain feisty, he will tell you "You like a poopyhead!" and you have to try hard not to laugh 'cause once you do, it is all downhill.

I managed to circumvent this for a while, I got him calling me a "mama-head" instead, and for a short while we all became "our name+ head" which wasn't so bad. He got over that quickly and is now back to poopyhead. And this poopyhead/mama-head is not pleased.

I guess name calling just comes with the territory and I'll be fighting this battle for years to come. They seem to have a knack for it. The latest name is a new one. NE told me that Big Dog called Little Dog a "penis head". When asked where he learned it, he looked at with wide eyes and said "I didn't learn it, I just said it!" Great, just great.