What He Said

Today Judah came in from the backyard soaking wet with colored chalk marks all over his hands.

He informed me that he and Noah had been taking our sidewalk chalk, grinding it down with their feet and pouring rain water on it. And when they ran out of rain water, Judah turned on the hose and let 'er rip.

I made a mess Mommy!

Yeah, I can see that Judah.

But it was a beautiful mess, Mommy.

Oh my heart. Me too. Life is messy. Relationships are messy. Parenting is messy. Figuring out how to not crash your boat between the Scylla of a mother's need for her OWN space and life and the Charybdis of a child's need for his mother's space and life is messy.

And by grace, beautiful too.

At least the pics were nice...

Some lovely photog friends took pictures of us and the kids on Easter.

Noah, as always, didn't get the memo to look at the camera. Toddlers, ugh.

Baby bow-ties = +50 cuteness points

Judah and Noah were beyond excited when they feasted their eyes on 500+ plastic eggs scattered across the church grounds just waiting to be scooped up into their baskets. I daresay they would consider this one of their happiest experiences ever.

Greedy little horders.

What these pictures don't show is how harried I felt trying to get everyone and everything ready for service. The stress culminated in a moment of weakness when I did what I would normally condemn.

As I handed the kids their Easter baskets from last year there was immediate bickering. Noah wanted Judah's bigger basket and Judah would sooner die than reliquish it. I SHOULD have told one or both kids to suck it up.

You should be thankful you get a basket at all.
I'm not going to get you new baskets because you can't learn to be content with your perfectly good old ones.

Except, I caved. I swung by the store and bought them new IDENTICAL baskets instead of teaching them to be content with their perfectly good old ones.

Terrorists - 1
Mom - 0

Sigh, happy Easter.

Order and Space

Having kids made me realize that I have a high need for order and space.

Much higher than a lot of other moms I know.

Said "other moms" seem to cruise through their day taking a lot of chaos and disruption in stride. They don't mind being touched and crowded from morning to night and are always up for some more snuggling.

Not. Me.

This is fun...for about the first 90 seconds.

I have always felt like such a mom-failure until I started to accept this. Ok, I still feel like a mom-failure but whatever. I need order. I need space. Things go very badly if I don't get enough. I start doing things like the following:

--Judah randomly put his feet on me while we were sitting on the couch. I don't understand why, but I recoiled and screamed something like - GET YOUR FEET OFF OF ME!!!! It was completely involuntary, I swear.

--I was bending over, putting something in the car and Judah stood behind me and put a roly-poly on my lower back (where my shirt had lifted above my pants). I freaking screamed and lost it again.

--Noah wants to be held and cuddled for 3 hours a day. I hate it. I try to bribe him with all kinds of toys and candy to get off of me and GO PLAY for the love of goodness.

--I hate crumbs (and spills, and stickiness, and greasiness, and randomness) with an unholy passion.

--I'm so tired of always having 'company' when I'm trying to poop. Seriously. This one has GOT to stop.

From morning to night, night to morning, little people are in my face and up in my business. Imma bout to go crazy up in here. So. I need to find some more babysitting.

End rant.

All That and a Bag of Chips

I blog a lot about the frustrations and trials of parenting little people. Because it's the truth and I want to encourage other moms out there - YOU ARE NOT ALONE! If you just want to park under the shade of a tree on your way back from Rite Aid and ugly cry because you feel exhausted and defeated, you are not alone. Been there, done that.

But I don't want my gentle (child-free) readers to get the wrong idea. Parenting little people is not all pain and suffering--ok, it is mostly pain and suffering. But there is another facet that I often completely ignore - transcendent joy. Truly.

There is nothing like parenting and the joy it brings. Just as I could never adequately describe the hell, I also can never do justice to the ecstasy.

But gosh darn it if I don't try, just a little.

To a little person, you are the world.

You are the sun, moon and stars.

You are all that and a bag of chips. A rock star. THE rock star. The one and only greatest rock star in the history of the world.

When you are there, smiling at them, you give off more light than the sun.

When you leave, they lose their mooring for a while.

And when you return, they are over-the-moon delighted.

It brings me so much joy to know that all Judah needs in order to be okay is my hugs and kisses. When he gets rejected by his friends. When he gets scrapes and bruises. When he comes down with fevers and rashes. When he loses his favorite objects. When he is sad and offers no explanation. All he needs is "some huggle snuggle time with Mommy."

And I wasn't even the one who figured that out. Judah taught me that.

I would offer candy, new toys, fun diversions, like a magician frantically pulling things out of his hat, but Judah would reject them all for just a few minutes of hugging on the couch.

Not a day goes by without my kids telling me they love me. Or picking a flower for me (sorry neighbors!). Or drawing/writing me love notes. (Even Noah scribbles on paper and says - This say, I yayu Mommy!)

Two of the gazillion love notes Judah churns out like a factory.

How many people (without kids) can say they get to drown in such bottomless oceans of love? When was the last time you got a handwritten love note, just because?

And when, if ever, did you have the power to make someone feel fully loved, unconditionally secure, and wholly sated with your mere attentive presence?

I'm sure that will slowly change as children age, but such is the gift of parenting the wee ones.

Babies, Boys and Boredom

I hate playing with my kids.

There, I said it.

Yes, I'm a horrible mother.

Possibly even a horrible human being.

But very few things make me want to stick a fork in my eye like playing with my kids.

I hate reading board books (really, they should just call them 'bored' books) and pointing out that that's a dog! There's a cat! There's a mouse! There's Elmo! *yawn*

I hate building block towers. And knocking them down again. And building it up again. And knocking them down again. And building it up again... *yawn*

I hate walking around a park slower than a snail in the direction one might take if one were extremely inebriated.

I hate chasing someone for 2 steps. And then having them chase me for 2 steps. And then chasing them again. And then having them chase me again. And chasing them again...

I hate repeating myself more than 4 times in answer to the same exact question. Constantly. All day long. Otherwise known as, toddler conversation.

All of this is what "playtime" is like with someone under age 3. And it's fine for 20 minutes. Maybe even an hour. But when it drags into the 3 hour range, each and every day, for YEARS, you start to want to cry. And I KNOW I'm not alone.

Checking out any kiddie park or museum, you'll see nannies, babysitters, and parents alike all on their smart phones, trying like heck not to die of boredom. No judgment from me. Or Louis CK. He has a hilarious sketch about being bored to death by playing with his kids, with the great punch line - Sorry, I'm bored more than I love you.

But just as kids start to become more interesting at age 3 and up, I'm discovering a new kind of boredom: Boy play.

Boy play typically involves everything that I (as a classic and lifelong girly-girl) have always avoided out of sheer disinterest.

Superheros and villains *yawn*, construction vehicles *yawn*, fighting and swordplay *ugh*, and, most recently for Judah - hotwheels.

Just a tiny fraction of Judah's beloved car collection.

It's all he wants to do now. Every time we go to Target he spends every single hard-earned dollar of his on hotwheel cars. He literally has over 50 that he hordes in his backpack and all he wants to do all day every day is "play cars."

I have no idea what I'm doing, but wheelies are always good, right?

See, that very concept is foreign to me. What does that even mean - play cars? Zoom them around? Roll them back and forth? Spin them on their backs? Pretend they are on good teams and bad teams and fight each other? I just really don't get it.

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down my desire to NOT be bored to tears.

I should know better because Judah begs me to "play cars" with him all day long and sometimes I even comply. But honestly, I just sit there with a blank look on my face and Judah eventually gets lost in a world of his own (or thankfully Noah needs a diaper change or something else "urgent" whisks me away, to my enormous relief).

But I do feel bad.

I feel bad that one of the things I dread the most is hearing Judah say - Mommy, can you play cars with me?

I dread it. I dread it with every fiber of my being. Because it presents the catch-22 choice between life-sucking boredom when I say yes or crushing mom-guilt when I say no.

Some days I'm bored more than I love him.

And some days I love him more than I'm bored.

But every day, I'm dying just a little bit either way.

Hilarity

Today I jokingly called Judah "Hilarious" and Judah jokingly acted offended.

Noah instantly jumped to his brother's defense and spurted out an amazing speech for a 25 month old.

Hey! My...big...brother...not...hilarious!
Why...you...say...he...hilarious?!

Two full sentences! Whoah!

I always feel like Noah is my "bonus" baby. With Judah, I was so caring and attentive - always trying to make sure I was "developing" him well, reading to him, labeling things, eating all my prenatal vitamins. But I let everything slide with Noah. Too busy. Too tired.

If results correlated with effort, Noah should be a mute little toadstool. But he's just as talkative if not more so than Judah was at that age.

I call him my little Grumplestilskin.

And more importantly, he's hilarious too.

A Dream Deferred

I have a dream.

That one day, my house will not have random crap on every surface.
That I will get rid of all the "baby" stuff.
That I will have a cleaning caddy with a sponge, gloves, and detergent under each sink.
That my files will make sense.
And in short, that everything will be ORGANIZED.

After 2+ years of pining and wishing, and hoping, and desperately wanting, this dream was supposed to start becoming reality this week. This was supposed to be the beginning of the 2-week period I set aside for EPIC CLEANUP 2015. I even told the Spouse that I refuse to cook for 2 weeks so I can finally get a grip on the clutter.

So OF COURSE, this is the week my car chose to break down. OF COURSE the check engine light would go on and the car would stutter like a panicked cat. And OF COURSE the mechanic would tell me he fixed it and then I would drive it home the next day, only to find the problem wasn't fixed and I'd have to drive it back and leave it there again and then drive it home again.

All my kid-free time for this entire week has now been taken up with fixing the car.

Story of my life (with kids).

No, it's not their fault the car broke down. But it's typical. The frustration. The constant, unending, frustration. The fact that it takes unbelievable will and grit and determination to move one tiny pebble of fate, only to have an avalanche crash down on you the next day.

It is impossible to get much done with little kids. Just to "maintain" feels like an uphill pipe dream. No sooner have I washed the dishes then someone's spilled and crumbed all over the floor. And no sooner have I swiffered the floors then someone's decided to dump all the crayons and bristle blocks and puzzle pieces all over the house. And no sooner have I cleaned up all that then someone's peed all over the bathroom. Et cetera. Et cetera. Ad nauseum.

But they are cute.

Everyone's favorite time of day - TV time!

 And they love each other.

Brothers

And they are growing up alarmingly fast.

Best buds

Which is how I console myself each and every day I see hundreds of things out of place and cluttered.

Breathe. Focus. Perspective. Repeat.

Mommy Pub

One day I will write about how and why being a mom of babies/young kids is SO FREAKING HARD. But until then, dear child-less readers and older readers who may have forgotten, just take my word for it.

I have never pondered and truly appreciated the therapeutic mellowing effects of a glass of wine UNTIL I had kids, but now, its like a sweet nectar of the gods - restorative, heart-rate stabilizing, courage buttressing, sweet sweet goodness.

Which kinda makes me want to open up a chain of pubs devoted solely to the beleaguered mom crowd - an after the kids' bedtime come and unwind kinda place.

And I've already thought of the perfect name - The Furrowed Brow.

And the name of a regular cover band playing live music would be - Nipple Confusion (which I totally stole from one of the best unwatched movies of the decade, Young Adult).

WHAT THE F?!

One day I will get back to blogging about my kids and motherhood, but today I have to interrupt our regular programming for a very special my-head-is-exploding-with-wonder-and-horror announcement - a little episode I like to call WTF* Gap?

I was browsing their Spring dress line up and came across this horrific little number:

Uh...WTF Gap? My 80's childhood just called - it wants its dress back.

But, the crack Gap designer didn't stop with that. He/she went on to yet another abomination - you know, for when you feel real fancy - denim "color" block!

This one made me laugh too, though it's the least offensive of the bunch. I call it, pillowcase with a waist.

And the denim piece de resistance:

It's like Snoop Dogg meets ladies' medium security prison. Meets low end budget department store.

Seriously Gap, WTF?! Seriously. Seriously?!

p.s. If you actually like any of these designs and I've just offended your tastes, sorry! (Not sorry).

*of course WTF means Why The Frumpery? This is a family friendly blog.

Two Year Olds are (precious, miraculous, angel blessing) Jerks

Noah, having just turned 2 last month, is in the prime of his "jerk" stage, better known as the Terrible Twos.

I've been through this with Judah, but I now realize I had it pretty easy with the first one. Sure Judah was oppositional and prone to meltdowns, but more often than not, counting to 3 worked like magic and Judah would stop screaming after about 90 seconds.

Noah NEVER stops.

Noah, master of death and destruction, aka, your typical strong-willed two-year old.

So when he asks for a random jelly bean right before lunch, I am fraught with indecision.

If I don't give it to him, he will scream and not stop.

If I give him just one, he will ask for another. And another. And another. But after about 4 he is usually appeased and then can go on to eat a decent lunch.

On principle, I should not give him any, but in all practicality, I acquiesce.

This is life with Noah. Full of compromise on my part and oppositional demands on his. I feel like I'm constantly negotiating with a terrorist. And losing.

I've learned one thing - motherhood is NOT good for those who don't have good firm healthy boundaries, aka, me.

I am a weak-willed sheep and my two-year old happily steamrolls right over me.

Almost everything is a battlefield from the minute he wakes to the final closing of his eyes at night.
Let's change your diaper - NOOOOOOOOO!
Let's put on a shirt - NOOOOOOOO!
Let's put on pants - NOOOOOOO!
Let's eat breakfast - NOOOOOOO! CANDY!!!!!!!
Let's put your socks and shoes on - NOOOOOOOO!
Let's get in your carseat - NOOOOOOOOOO!

This is why it's not even 9 am and I'm already worn out every day.

Sometimes I give up on fully dressing Noah. Just pants is a victory.

Noah is also getting into his super jealous phase. He won't let me hug Judah or talk to anyone but Noah. "No talk! No talk! You no talk to Daddy. Only Noah." is something I hear a lot.

Another common phrase is "I do it myself. Nobody help me." Oh independence. I hate you.

And then there's just downright b*tchy behavior. Like last weekend when we were at Cosco and Noah slowly and deliberately picked his nose and wiped his booger on my cheek - all without breaking eye contact with me.

Clearly he was teaching me an object lesson - puny slave woman, you serve at my pleasure. Do not displease me or worse things will I wrought upon your sanity and hygiene.

And to underscore just how far I've sunk, I didn't even flinch.

Grit

This is my body, broken for you.

That's the phrase I recite in my mind every time I lift Noah's bulk weight.

My back aches. My shoulders are tight. My neck is stiff.

He's a heavy toddler but demands to be held constantly like a much younger baby when he's not feeling well. And it happens often now that flu season is upon us.

Also, it doesn't count if your biceps aren't burning. Noah accepts nothing but the toughest workouts (for his mother) - none of that sitting on the couch and holding him. Woman, you are standing up! I need to feel the full weight of gravity!

Sometimes I can't hold him anymore and I just have to sit.

He wails in protest. Angry hot tears streaming down his face.

I endure his screams for as long as I can. And then I gird my loins and endure his weight again, for as long as I can. This is how we pass the hours. The days, weeks. Another season.

This is my body, broken for you.

This is my life, poured out for you.

These are my best years of productivity, set aside for you.

Go ahead and take it all my child.

Stumbling around with you, I am growing into a version of myself that I like much better than the person who was here before you.

Reverse Weaning, if there even is such a thing

I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but hey, if it helps another mom out there, all the better.

I'm not sure, but I wouldn't be surprised to learn that I am the only mom in the history of motherhood to have this "situation" happen.

About 3 months ago Noah stopped nursing after he got terrible sores all over his mouth. It was sudden and abrupt, but I was fine with it seeing as how he was already 21 months anyway. And because I love and miss wearing high-neck clothing.

But about 3 weeks ago, he started asking for "boo-boo" again. At first I thought it was just a joke and played along with it, lifting my shirt up. But his funny 5 minute joke turned into 15 minutes and then 30 minutes. And before I knew it, he was asking for it multiple times a day - especially when he needed some extra comfort - before and after waking up, when he had major meltdowns, etc.

And now we are back to square one. It's as if he never weaned in the first place!

Funny enough, Noah looked up at me once and said "There's no milk mommy." Yep, that's right son. I explained that "All mommy's milk is gone! All gone!"

And then he chuckled and kept right on nursing.

And then asked for "regular milk" from the fridge.

Obviously I feel conflicted about this. Happy to provide an easy form of comfort to Noah (it's a thousand times easier to soothe him with the boob than holding a 30 pound kid and walking him around for 30 min). Unhappy to go through the inconvenience of "nursing again". Happy to keep "bonding" with my kid. Unhappy to lose some bodily independence.

And then there's the fact that he's my last baby.

But then there's the fact that he's not really a baby anymore.

But most non-modern cultures don't wean until age 3 or 4.

But it just feels weird/wrong to be going backwards.

Ugh.

I Yayu Noah

I've tried and I've failed, again and again.

How can I possibly write a blog post about you, Noah?

To do it justice I would have to fill volumes of books and spill oceans of ink. You have only just turned 2 this week, but already you inspire in me a universe of new worlds ranging from the goofy to the glorious.

As poor and paltry as this attempt is, I must record something before the mists of time dissolve it all.

My sweet Tenders - words fail me when it comes to you.

At about 15 months you learned to say "I yayu (love you) mommy."

At about 18 months you learned to tease "I yayu this much mommy! Big!" [arms open wide] "I yayu this much mommy! Little!" [stingy fingers pinched close together]

Around that same time you liked to ask "Wha wrong mommy?" when I frowned (which was very frequently - at crums, at spills, at disobedience, etc.)

You also picked up the expression "Gotta go!" and "Ready...go!"

When I asked if you were a baby or a big boy you'd look at me coyly and say "I big boy!" and waited for me to fake cry until you said "I baby!"

You cry the hardest and loudest when I scold you for blatant and deliberate disobedience (throwing food on the floor, wiggling around to avoid diaper changes, running through the house with your shoes on, etc). In those times you rebuff any offer of comfort from me, but cry loudly for Judah.

If I tell you that a babysitter is coming, you always ask "Judah be with me?" His presence is as good as ours.

Around 19 months you learned (from Judah) how to pout. When I force you to take turns with a toy, you sit down in a huff and scowl "Oh! I get nothing!" It's pretty much the cutest thing I've ever seen.

Your most frequent phrase to me used to be "Eat me mommy! Tickle me mommy!" but recently it's been "Count to 3!" because you want to play hide-and-seek.

The first time I told you a story I made up, you loved it. And then did something your brother never did even though I've told him close to ten thousand tales by now. You said "My turn! I tell you story Mommy." And then you proceeded to tell my story back to me.

And now it's your go-to story, the only one you tell, and you tell it to me almost every day. "One day...Noah a ("and") Judah...a Mommy...a Daddy...go to park. See the goat. A feed the goat a carrot! Goodbye!" (For the record, there really is a goat at our park and we do feed it carrots).

Around 22 months you surprised me when I picked you up from daycare one day. As I buckled you in, you spontaneously said "I happy...for...you come Mommy!"

And since that day, you've been a wellspring of emotional expression.

"I sad for you not come Mommy."
"I angry at you Mommy!"
"I sad. I cry for you in my crib Mommy."

And my favorite one that I first heard the very day you turned 2 "I mad at you Mommy! I want...a other mommy! I no want you!"

Is it strange that your most hostile expressions are the ones that charm me the most? To be honest I don't know why it amuses me so much to watch you ball up in anger towards me as I deny you freedoms for your own well being. No more candy Noah. No more scissors Noah. No putting batteries in your mouth!

I guess I love that you're secure enough in my love to display all your hateful rage.

Because I love you so much Noah. And the greatest joy you can give me is to truly understand that.

Of Marbles and Men

Judah got a twenty dollar bill from his grandparents over Christmas (among other things) and I told him I would let him buy a mom-approved toy the next time we went out.

So yesterday, feeling rich (and very unaware of the relative value of goods) Judah scoured the aisles of Rite Aid looking for a toy. I would have preferred to take him to a store with splashier toys (like Target) but alas, a prescription needed to be filled.

Judah was feeling generous and said he wanted to buy a toy for Noah too. "You can pick out any toy you want Noah, and I'll buy it for you, if Mommy says it's ok!"

After perusing the entire toy section Judah settled on a bag of marbles (50 little ones + 1 big shooter). Here's where I explain that my kids love all things small and shiny. They are like tiny dragons hoarding all kinds of beads, glass pebbles, coins, etc.

Judah previously found a single marble in the dirt at the park and told me it was his most treasured possession, so you can only imagine how mind-boggling precious a bag of 50 marbles would be.

Noah, being the perfect copy-cat, immediately cried for his own bag of marbles. I got one for him too and that's when the crazy-rage started.

For the rest of the time, Judah tried everything he could think of to get Noah to choose a different toy. He could not for one minute abide the thought that Noah would have just as great and awesome a possession as he was about to own. When Noah (reading his brother's desperation correctly and thereby guaranteeing that he would not be distracted from his own bag of marbles) would not be dissuaded, Judah was beside himself with grief and rage.

How was I going to get us out of the mess without someone descending into a giant puddle of kid-scream? I'm not going to lie, I felt like King Solomon himself.

I weighed all my options and decided the least offensive would be to let Judah get 2 bags of marbles while Noah only got 1. I floated the idea to Judah and thankfully it took! Judah was pleased that he still had something "better" than Noah and Noah was still pleased that he had a bag of marbles.

Preschooler treasure chest.

Since that moment, the kids have been hoarding and caressing their marbles like a miser his gold. Judah occasionally snatches up a stray marble that Noah loses in his clumsy grasp and adds it to his already giant pile. Over the course of 2 days Noah's pile has carelessly dwindled down to about 10.

And I'm just loving it. I love watching their naked, grasping natures on display. I find it hilarious and instructional all at the same time - like watching an Aesop's Fable unfold in real life.

The Boy and His Marbles - a cautionary tale of greed and ruin.

In which I explain all day to my kids that Mommy is sad because her Grandpa died

Celebrating his 90th in great health

Today I attended my first family funeral - my maternal grandfather passed away at age 94 (or is it 95? I could never figure out the lunar calendar).

I heard he was gravely ill the day we left for Ohio and I was hoping to see him one more time upon my return to California, but I was too late.

I am, as you could guess from my first sentence, a newbie at death.

But now I know. I am now part of that horrible club - Those Who Have Lost a Loved One.

Those who wish they had spent more time with the loved one before his death.

Those who Regret.

Those who wondered why they didn't and couldn't realize how much they would miss the loved one until his death.

Those who are grateful for distracting kids and general busyness.

Those who grieve.

Those who took for granted.

Those who return to the well of profound sadness in search of solace.

Those who realize that death is still horrible, even in very old age.

It didn't sink in for me until I saw him lying there in his coffin, looking slightly off-color but well enough that I could imagine he was merely taking a nap, as he often did when I visited. He wore all his usual clothes - his one and only worn suit and second-hand sueded vest with shearling trim. And later, Judah reminded me that he also wore his glasses.

Relationships are often complicated - filled with undercurrents of hurt and resentment, disappointment and abuse. But when I consider my grandfather, I feel nothing but the holy grail of unconditional love and acceptance.

Now that I'm a parent, I realize that that is the gift of loving grandparents. A parent and child are too close - too intermingled in their egos and motivations. It is too hard to parse out what is love and what is self-preservation.

But a grandparent is distant enough to be unequivocal.

Others will likely see only the inevitable passing of a very old man, but my goodness how great the hole left in the wake of such love.

That Day

Ah Christmas.

Never is there so much anticipation and effort than for this most special of days.

We gather, we fete, we give, we receive.

And often (always?) to the backdrop of human frailty and despair.

As a child, I remember almost every Christmas was spent "together" yet alone. The gifts under the tree would remain unwrapped until the emotional aftermath of a big fight cleared, not unlike the toxic fumes of a nuclear explosion.

We usually opened our gifts well after the New Year.

But even without huge fights, there is always the insidious whiff of disconnection, the unshakable scent that deep down, all is not well. We are not the cheerfully decorated and brightly lit inner beings we so hopefully display. In fact, it's like they are mocking us.

We are beleaguered. Tired. Exhausted. Sick. And lonely. Aren't we?

Judah is pondering the cognitive dissonance he senses between holiday cheer and the reality of human brokenness. Obviously.

Maybe it's just me. I've been told I dwell on the morose. Indeed I wish it were just me.

But I know too much. I know the broader context and the personal history behind the cheerful photos shared on social media. All is not calm, all is not bright.

Are you sad this day, gentle reader? Know that you are not alone. Far from it. The entire human race and all of creation groans with you. (Well, everyone except Judah who is exceptionally happy with his Christmas gifts - a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle play hut, flashlight, camera, and binoculars).

Thank You Parents of FB

FB might be the most annoying place on earth, but the young parents on FB are freaking awesome.

I posted a plea for survival tips for a 6 hour plane trip with a 2yo and 4yo and got lots of great advice within just a few hours, including a link to my friend Leslie's awesome travel tips blog: http://tripswithtykes.com/

Her blog is destined to be a young parent's classic reference - chock full of amazing, useful, indispensable info from changing nasty diapers at 30k feet in the air to resort and hotel reviews. So proud of her!

90 minutes into our flight and Noah is delighted to find that beverage service includes milk!

Anyway, I'm happy to report our flight went well! All 4 of us sat in our own row (Noah on my lap) and Judah and Noah were happily entertained by the new toys and snacks I continually whipped out - a Leapster game console for Judah, peek-a-boo books and magnetic puzzles for Noah, and many many many bags of pretzels and goldfish.

Michael and I even got to watch a movie on our own for an hour or so. Unfortunately the movie was This is The End with James Franco, Seth Rogan, and Jonah Hill, amongst other adorable degenerates. (Why? Long story, but in a nutshell, for sermon research for the Spouse). But whatever.

We arrived at the Spouse's mom's house to the smell of amazing Korean food and feasted like kings. Seriously I don't think I've eaten so well since...ever!

And then I took a steaming hot shower and changed into fresh non-airplane clothes.

It's so great here, I might just tell everyone I visited an exclusive Korean family resort tucked away in the suburbs of Ohio this Christmas. And I may never return!

Holiday Blur

One of my pet peeves in life (and frankly, I have very few) is bloggers who don't blog.

I just realized I'm becoming guilty of this myself.

I have a TON of stuff I want to share, but alas, no time. The holiday season is owning my sorry, unorganized butt and I just can't seem to find even 30 minutes to write anything meaningful.

There are presents to wrap, cards to send out, parties to attend, people to meet up with, last minute gifts to buy, a cross-country trip to the in-laws to plan for, blah blah blah...

And when I get a little free time, I'm not going to lie, I've been using my new Netflix streaming account like a gambler uses stolen credit cards - furtively and often. My excuse is that I'm sipping my hot tea. I can't just stare into space while I'm sipping hot tea. I need to stare into the warm inviting dutch oven of The Pioneer Woman or the cold hard cells of the inmates in Orange is the New Black.

Recently the Spouse and I have been watching Amazon's best effort to compete with Game of Thrones - Marco Polo. It definitely falls short of GOT with regard to character development and story line, but I love me some history. It's like a documentary with a lot of completely gratuitous sex and nudity. Which means I roll my eyes a lot. So lame.

Well, I've done my duty for today. I've gotten off my own pet-peeve list. But I can't leave without saying something about the kids...so let's see...

This is how Judah dresses every minute of every day. Seriously.

Judah is obsessed as ever with obtaining signs of affection. One day I will have to write a giant blog entry on this rampant behavior (that has me pulling my hair, doubting my parenting, and googling constantly "emotionally needy kids") but today is not the day.

Lately he's been saying:
Raise your hands if you love me!
[I raise my hand obediently]
Now raise your hand twice if you DON'T love me!
[I keep my hands down]
No! I said raise your hand twice if you LOVE me!
[I say - you tricked me Judah! and raise my hand twice like a well-trained monkey]

Repeat 25 times.

Witness the giant pile of my hair on the floor that came from me tearing it out.

Noah, on the other hand, has becoming the most scrumptious thing since buttered bread baked right out of the oven.

There's a mutant alien growing out of my baby's chest! But still cute.

His favorite phrases are:

Tickle me mommy!
Eat me mommy!

Repeat 25 times.

Witness the pile of baby clothing on the floor because the only thing better than tickling a baby is tickling a NAKED baby. Gotta enjoy the chub before it all melts away!

Risking it All for a Morning Hug

Every morning Noah wakes up about an hour before Judah and we hang out together, just me and the baby.

And then we wait for our favorite sound - the sound of Judah thumping down the stairs accompanied by his daily proclamation: Judah coming down the stairs!

It seems counter-intuitive, but life is so much better with both kids around than just Noah. Noah is happier with Judah there. Noah doesn't need me to constantly entertain him when Judah's around. He even mercifully lets me sneak off and go to the bathroom, and refill my coffee cup, and 100 other little movements around the house.

But yesterday morning, I made a big mistake.

Brother - a buddy from morning to night.

When Judah announced his presence, Noah immediately lunged toward him for a hug and a kiss. What mother could resist such a sweet fraternal moment? So instead of allowing Judah to ignore Noah and run to the bathroom because "Mommy! I have to pee right now!!" I told Judah - Just give your brother a hug! He's so excited to see you! (Judah still wears pull-ups to bed so I figured he could just go in his pull-up if he really couldn't hold it in.)

Bad decision.

After Judah finished hugging Noah and went to the bathroom, the next sound I heard was lots of liquid slapping a hard tile floor. And then a little voice - Oopsie, Mommy...

Judah had just pulled down his pants but couldn't get to the toilet in time. He peed like a horse all over the bathroom floor (a la Crazy Eyes in Season 1 Episode 3 of Orange is the New Black).

Hot, steaming, pungent, massive amounts of morning pee.

Ah, "good" morning to me.

Why Cuddling With Kids Kinda Sucks

Look at this face.

Pure cuteness, right?

Who wouldn't want to cuddle wuddle wuddle with this little guy all day long?

And this cute playful human puppy.

You'd think it would be bliss to huggle snuggle this guy and nuzzle his little nose, right?

WRONG.

Totally wrong, oh-people-who-have-not-experienced-the-infuriating-annoyingness-of-my-kids.

To wit:

Last night I went in to say goodnight to Judah and give him a goodnight hug. While I'm trying to hug him he is poking his finger in my ear. Continually. It's like he's digging for gold in there. I get super annoyed but try not to show it because the last thing I need is for my preschooler to get so upset it delays his bedtime by a good 5 - 10 min. Because bedtime is sacred. Do. Not. Mess. With. Bedtime (aka, Freeeeeeeeedom).

I get away diplomatically and then go to put Noah to bed. My little guy likes to cuddle right before crawling in his crib for the night and I'm always more than happy to comply. He has not yet figured out how to annoy the crap out of me by messing with my bodily integrity...until that night. While I'm trying to hug him he is picking my nose. Continually. And giggling like mad.

I've decided that from now on, they can just cuddle each other.

And I will just soak in the cuteness vicariously. From a safe, non-pickable distance.

The Black Turtleneck

I have a giant to-do list, but instead of tackling it, I'm blogging.

This irrationality is driving me crazy, RIGHT NOW.

And yet, I can't stop.

It's like eating Pringles. Just. Can't. Stop. Eating.

I have so much to say and nothing at all. Nothing of any consequence what so ever.

What's with our social drive to share about our lives? Some strong "stuff" there.

So, instead of fighting it anymore. I'm going to scratch that itch. And then call my dental insurance, and then pay my property tax, and then renew my home insurance, and then [insert myriad other boring things that make me want to stick a fork in my eye].

So...things that are going on...

Today is the 3rd day in a row that Noah has refused to nurse. I feel deeply ambivalent. He LOVED nursing and it was his sole source of comfort in this whole entire world. He never took a bottle, never had a pacifier, never had a lovie toy, none of it. When he was scared or tired or sad, he went right for the boob.

For months now I've been longing to wean him, but because he's my last baby, I kept holding out. I set a limit date - his 2nd birthday, after which, the boob shop will be closed. Forever.

I was already planning to celebrate by wearing a turtleneck. I fantasized about what color turtleneck I could wear. I haven't worn one for 4+ years, ever since Judah was born. It was going to feel oh so cozy and modest. And then I was going to stop by the Gap and by a few crew-neck t-shirts.

But a few days ago, Noah told me his "teeth" were "sick" and he refused to nurse. He's also been drooling a ridiculous amount. Either he has mouth sores or he's teething badly. He won't open his mouth enough for me to inspect it. But he does tell me "Noah teeth sick" and "call doctor" and "get medicine."

And then 3 days of non-nursing went by. And today I feel sad. I think this is the end.

The end of an era.

Why do I feel so sad closing up shop now when I was already going to do it anyway in 3 months?

I might as well put on a turtleneck now.

I just didn't realize the color I'd choose is black.

Life, Death, and Love...and the Preschooler

Yesterday I was sitting on the couch with Noah and Judah was jumping around above us. I told Judah - Get down! That's dangerous!

Unexpectedly I heard Noah's little voice chime in - Might fall. Kill Noah. Die. Mommy sad.

Uh, someone's a little melodramatic.

But I think Noah's just imitating Judah's overly dramatic expressions. Judah is constantly asking me how I would feel if he died. This is Judah's latest (in a long line of many) way of seeking affection. It takes the form of the following:

Mommy, if I died, but Noah/Daddy/the whole world were still alive, how would you feel?
(Correct answer: My heart would be broken. I would be sad for the rest of my life.)

And then it's correlative:
Mommy, what if I was alive again? How would you feel?
(Correct answer - must be spoken with eyes twinkling with emotion: I would dance for joy and throw a big party to celebrate! I would be the happiest person in the whole world!)

Just another lost soul lookin' for love.

Judah is (obviously) my needy one. He is constantly asking for affection, devotion, and promises of everlasting, over-the-top, uncompromising love for the ages. It's exhausting.

And sometimes, a little humorous. Today Judah overheard me complaining to the Spouse about all the dishes I have to wash and he instantly formulated a new love-postulate.

Mommy, if I died but all the dishes were clean, how would you feel?

Oh silly child.

If you died, not only would all the dishes stay clean, the entire house would stay clean as well. In fact, it is almost certain that one day my house will be in tip-top shape because you will no longer be under my roof.

And I will most certainly be sad.

Mr. Manners' Mannerisms

Only 3 months away from turning 2, Noah has blossomed into a walking-talking-mommy-charming machine.

He ALWAYS says "thank you" whenever you oblige him and it's completely unprompted. It sounds like "ge-gu mama."

He also is really good at apologizing when he annoys others. The first time he refused a nice bubble bath I made for him, I spoke to him very harshly afterward (which I totally regret of course, ah the mom guilt never stops) saying - Noah! Why didn't you go in the bath?! You love baths! Why didn't you go in?!

And his little reply shocked me - Sorry mama.

Awwwwww.

Noah's adorable "sorry mama" face. Let's him get away with murder, every day.

Noah also is very good at peppering his speech with "oh man" whenever he's disappointed or inconvenienced. For example, he's running to put on his crocs to go outside and play and I say - Noah, it's cold, you have to wear a jacket. And he responds "oh man", just like a real kid! Amazing!

One thing Noah never does is voluntarily say "I love you." I always have to coach that out of him. I have to say - Noah, say "I love you mama!"

And then he says "Yeh-yu mama."

Close enough and it always makes my heart sing, even though I basically have to force it out of him.

Judah was never like that. He was more like a slutty highschool girl - giving it away freely and often. Sorry, is that inappropriate? But honestly, with Judah, all day long it was - I love you mommy! Hug! Kiss! More kisses!

Either way, I'm going to get my kisses before they're gone too soon.

Seriously, can I talk to HR now?

Today I quit.

As a mom friend once said to me when she had her "I quit" moment - I no longer accept this position.

I lasted 4 years as a mom and now I'm done.

Where do I turn in my badge?

I really hate vague writing, but in this case, I'm gonna keep it vague because to list every instance in which I wanted to tear my hair out and strangle little people would be (a) super self-abusive cuz I'd have to relive it all through my writing and (b) super time-consuming because there were maybe 68 instances today alone.

The only really scary thing about Halloween: how close mommy is to losing her sh*t.

Let's just sum it up like this:
--lots of whining and fussing. LOTSSSSSSS. Especially in the car when I can't do a darn thing about it. (Although, in fairness to Noah, he makes a good point when he screams, "STOOOOP CAR! OOOOOUT!!!!! BUCKLE!!!! (translation: undo my seat-belt buckle)")
--lots of clinging on to me. As in, NEVER NOT CLINGING ON TO ME.
--my own struggles with insomnia for the last 3-4 weeks. you know it's a bad day when you have to chug 3 cups of coffee just to have the feeble strength to lift your eyelids up all the way.
--shortest naps ever. Noah napped for 30 min yesterday and 20 min today. UGGGGHHHH.
--Noah's sudden and inexplicable aversion to baths. Seriously, why are you doing this to me oh toddler who used to LOVE baths?!

His cuteness is exactly inversely proportional to his annoyingness - well played God.

So today at 2:30 pm, after Noah woke up from his very offensive 20 minute nap, I snapped. Inside. In my head. I threw up my existential hands and told myself, "I quit. I no longer accept this position."

And then I carried on bathing and moisturizing and dressing and cooking for fussy, whiny kids as usual.

Because. Mom.

Other Moms

Since being a stay-at-home mom for the last 2 years, I've met a lot of other moms in my situation. A few of them stand out in my mind...

Perfect Mom

There is a woman I see only briefly 3 times a week when we are both dropping off our kids at preschool. But I can't get her off my mind.

In those short 2 minutes of contact (mostly just visual) I marvel at her perfect makeup and beautifully styled shoulder-length hair. She always looks good. Always. Her outfits are casual but very cute and complete with tasteful accessories, of course. And she definitely works out cuz that mama's bod is CUTE. Oh yeah, and she's always genuinely, truly, happy and cheerful.

I know nothing about her except (a) she always looks good and seems energetically happy and (b) she has 4 kids, with the youngest still under age 2.

Those two facts baffle me to no end such that I find myself thinking about her at odd times during the day, randomly. Like my brain is now working overtime, scrambling to resolve this seemingly unbridgeable cognitive dissonance.

My latest theory, she has a full-time housekeeper and cook.

Junkfood Mom

I know a mom who is always feeding her kid junk food for lunch. At first I thought it might be a once-in-a-while McDonald's treat, but nope. Every week her kid is chugging orange soda and munching on some kind of fast food. Somewhere Michael Pollan is weeping.

But instead of feeling superior and judgmental about this, I find myself secretly cheering her on.

You go Junkfood Mom! While the rest of us are begging and pleading our kids to eat some veggies and diluting our organic juices with water, you are feeding your kid crap. In front of all of us. Without any hint of shame.

While I'm a little concerned about this child's future health, I have to tip my hat to that kind of brazen boldness. I admire her chutzpah.

Pedicure Mom

Ok, so this mom isn't a SAHM, but I still admire the heck out of her. She works full-time outside of the home and once had a brutal 10-day work stretch.

When she finally had a day off after that long period, she didn't rush to lavish time on her child (like the guilty mom in me would have done), but she spent the day with me, getting lunch and a pedi while her daughter remained in daycare all day, yet again.

Some may question her priorities, but I envy her ability to feel so secure in her relationship with her child. She told me her spouse complains that she doesn't spend enough time with her kid.

I told her, dude, you're like my hero.

Paunchy and Punchy in the Patch

Every year I tell myself that we are not going to a pumpkin patch.

The one near us is kind of depressing (sad ponies, anyone?) and really dusty and we can just get pumpkins from our local grocery store. And at $3 PER RIDE for the rides, well...that says it all really.

But somehow we found ourselves there again this year. I don't know how. I guess deep down I love festivities, however pathetic. If someone says "party" or "fair" or "carnival", I find myself inexplicably drawn towards it like a moth to a flame, especially if the words "no entrance fee" follows.

And if you're going to go, you might as well dress up.

Judah's go-to-face when I say "smile!"

And make your kids take a million photos.

Judah's face when I tell him "Smile nicely, not like a tough guy. Smile for grandma."

Because, heck, they're all dressed up.

And in the very next frame...the superhero is back.

And then you go home and look at the photos and think...

Words can not describe how much I love Noah's pot belly. One day he will be skinny and I will be sad.

That wasn't too bad...maybe we'll go again next year...

Because I'm also a sucker for pictures of my kids in matching outfits in front of seasonal-themed backgrounds. 

That's right. You better believe these pics are going right into my annual Shutterfly photo-calendar for the month of October, 2015.

Yup, totally worth the $9 I spent on lame rides.

Pack Man

Judah has started wearing a 10 lb backpack all day long.

And when I say "all day long", I literally mean from the moment he wakes up to the moment he sleeps at night. In fact, the backpack sits right at the side of his bed, waiting to burden Judah at first light.

This is pre-backpack era, but you can already see the seeds of crazy are there.

It started when he got a simple Spiderman 'rope' sack as a birthday gift a couple months ago. He put all his most treasured possessions in there (basically all his TNMT stationary plus scissors) and carried it around everywhere. The problem was he kept adding to it. And adding to it. And adding to it. Until the rope eventually left burn marks on his shoulders.

Well, thinking it was quite serendipitous at the time, I picked up a new Spiderman backpack with nicely padded shoulder-straps at Costco last week, and Judah immediately ditched his rope-burn sack for the cushy new pack.

Problem was, the new backpack is huge. It's sized for a normal elementary school age child. Crap.

Judah already had hoarding tendencies with his tiny rope sack, but now it's become a full-fledged disease. Not only is there stationary in there (notepads, pencil cases, folders, etc.) there is now a full-on superhero costume (plus weapons), crafting materials of all kinds, books, random toys, and God knows what else.

And did I mention it weighs 10 lbs and he refuses to take it off? All. Day. Long?

Often he's running around the house with just undies and his backpack on. Because, of course, everything else is optional.

Doesn't everyone drink smoothies in their kitchen with a giant backpack on? No?

When I try to reason with Judah he just says stuff like, It's not too heavy for me. I like wearing it. It feels good, mommy!

I do not know how to argue with that kind of subjective crazy.

But seriously, how do I get him to take that stupid thing off?!

The Noah Whisperer

I really can't complain about Judah's "older sibling" skills. He's a pretty awesome big brother in the following ways:

--He rarely fights for the same toy as Noah. In the rare instance they do, Judah usually gives the toy back to Noah in about 10 seconds because, in his own words--Mommy, I really hate hearing Noah cry. It makes me sad and it gives me a headache.

--He is fantastic at "tricking Noah" (one of the reasons they rarely fight). At just the tender age of 4, Judah is already a better actor than a lot of people I see on TV. Many times a day I hear him whining--Noah, give that to me! I want it! Ugggghhhh! And then he adds, sotto voce--Don't worry Mommy, I'm just tricking him so he'll trade with me. And simple Noah falls for it. Every. Time.

--He is great at comforting his brother when Mommy and Daddy are not around. At various times we've left the 2 kids with one-off babysitters and Noah always has a hard time, as would be expected. But Judah has the "magic belly" touch. Without any training or prompting from us (we heard this first from the babysitters), Judah tells Noah to lay on his belly for comfort.

Judah comforts Noah with his "magic belly" at church nursery.

Judah applies the "magic belly" method while mom and dad go on a rare date night.

Noah hangs on for dear life while Judah watches a movie. For the entire length of the movie!

Noah in turn, like most younger siblings I imagine, adores his big brother. He has to do everything Judah does and copy him exactly, even down to the most minute details. Once Judah got hurt and I kissed his wounded knee. Noah lifted his chubby (uninjured) leg for me to do the same. The amount of mimicry and copy-catting in this house is just ridiculous. Ridiculously cute that is!

Bottom line, Judah is an extremely emotionally sensitive and empathetic guy who truly loves his little brother. Many times a day I hear him talking to Noah the way I talk to him.

Noah, come here! Gimme a kiss!
Hey Noah, do you know I love you?
I love you Noah! Gimme a hug!

The two of them are so sweet together, I daresay it's easier having 2 kids than 1!

The Checkout Guy, the Killer, and the Bad Mama

Yesterday I took the kids grocery shopping at Trader Joe's. They were acting like their normal, semi-whiny, semi-grumpy selves as we checked out.

The young cashier guy gives me a pitying look and says "So...would you do it again if you knew?", meaning, I assumed, if you knew what a pain in the butt they would be, would you still have kids?

I looked at him for a really long time, and then, because it's weird to just stand there and say nothing, I mumbled, "I...dunno...."

He looked shocked as heck. I'm sure that guy is rethinking his future as a parent now, ha!

*********************************************

I love over-hearing people's conversations at my gym. When I go, it's usually the time when every retired person in my neighborhood is also there so I hear a lot of talk about aging, mortality, and creaky joints.

The other day I heard a guy confessing to murder. He first confessed to something small, and then, because he couldn't help himself, confessed to something much larger in his past.

His first confession was that his neighbor had an annoying plant that attracted annoying pests, so he went out at night and uprooted the plant. His conversation partner said - Well, I'm glad I'm not your neighbor!

This spurred the plant-murderer to boast of his greatest crime.

Well, that's nothing. When I was a kid, our neighbor planted a huge row of bushes that blocked off a lot of our view and sun. My dad was so pissed about it. So one night I went out and poured a salt mix all around the bushes. Killed them all in about a week!

I know this guy only murdered plants, but still. It's chilling to know I was doing lat pull-downs next to a true, bonafide sociopath of sorts.

**********************************************

Today I had to go to Judah's parent-teacher night at his preschool. Noah was apparently really upset that I left the house for an hour. He looked for me, he cried a little, he clearly missed me.

When I was nursing and cuddling him to sleep he scolded me (that's a first!): Ba- mama! Ba- mama! (translation: Bad mama! Bad mama!)

And then he slapped me on my hand and said, spank spank! (which is what the Spouse does to him whenever he messes with the Spouse's book collection).

Noah did this 7 or 8 times.

What a presumptuous baby. Seriously. This kid is not afraid to speak truth to power!

Portrait of a Parent

Sometimes people see me out and about with the kids and make kind comments like - you are such a good mom! You are so patient!

It's amazing how seeing a 2-minute snapshot of a parenting situation is so different than a 12-hour time-lapse experience.

Because if you ask Judah how he feels about my parenting, he would probably present to you this very telling picture (which he in fact did present to me last week):

Mommy, this is about 'motions. So we can learn about 'motions. In this picture you are mad, I am sad, and Noah is confused.

And there you have it. The inside scoop from someone who tells it like it is.

Poisoned

This week and weekend has been pretty rough.

Judah's been dealing with a horrific all-body rash that has turned his face into a cross between a puffer-fish and Quasimodo.

Kinda looks like a pro-activ "before" pic from hell.

Oh my poor, deformed, rashy son.

It started around Tuesday and I finally took him to the doc on Friday. The doc wasn't that impressed (probably since it didn't look that bad yet) and told us it wasn't contagious. Well, that's a relief.

The prevailing theory is poison oak (or ivy or sumac), but to be honest, we have no idea when or how Judah came in contact with the offending plant. He is forever trampling through shrubbery and hiding in it so he can gleefully watch us hunt for him, so it was probably inevitable that he would get this sooner or later.

Either way, I realized I do not handle watching my child suffer very well. I went through wild swings of imagination - what if it's strep? what if it infects his blood and organs? what if he goes into shock from the allergic reaction? what if the rash leaves horrific scars for life? what if he stops breathing? Pure. Torture.

But Judah has handled it all with surprising grace and equanimity of spirit. At his most uncomfortable stage one night I was patting him with cold water compresses, and he sighed in relief each time the cool cloth was draped over his burning skin. "I have the best mommy in the world," he cooed.

He is so much like me - blessing physical discomfort if it brings emotional consolation.

This is one superhero you do not want to piss off...

I apologize in advance if this offends anyone.

There, you've been warned.

But how could I not share something that made me spit-up-my-water-and-pee-in-my-pants laugh when I turned around and saw it?

All I heard was his innocent little voice...

Mommy, look, it's Super-finger!

Uh, yeah, make that Super-MIDDLEfinger.

I am now seriously contemplating making Super Middle-finger my FB profile pic. The teen-boy in me is, like, yeah, totally, like, do it!!!!!!!

Where did my kid go?

Today Judah was not himself.

At no point in the day did I get frustrated with him. Not once.

He was kind, obedient, cheerful, helpful, sweet, good to his brother, and very cooperative. From the moment he opened his eyes to the time I left his room at night, he was nothing but sweetness and light. What is going on????

During the day he occupied himself for hours drawing, playing with his new birthday toys, and writing little notes.

Mommy, how do you spell "Noah"?

Mommy, how do you spell "Chung"?

This is for you Noah! It has your name on it! You are the master of it. If you want to destroy it, that's ok! If you want to keep it that's ok too! No one can take it away from you because you are the master.

Mommy, how do you spell "Batlady"?

Judah hands me a picture of his rendition of Batman as a woman with the words "Mom" and "Batlady" on it. And then proceeds to give me the same speech about how I'm the "master" of that paper.

At night he very sweetly "huggle snuggled" goodnight with me, and then said "Mommy, when you get close to the door I'm going to air-kiss you and air-hug."

I don't know of a better way to end the day with him.

All the development books say age 4 begins the golden era of parenting. Children become more reasonable, less impulsive, and try very hard to please their parents. And indeed I've detected that Judah was on this trajectory starting about 6 months ago, but I could never predict that we would have a day like this.

Halleljuah. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we may have just crossed the Jordan.