Stomach-ggedon

*Warning--this post is a little disgusting. If you really want to read it, maybe finish those chili nachos before reading.*

I spent the better part of July 4th weekend hunched over in nausea and pain. Noah gave me his stomach bug Thursday night and it's been...not pretty since then.

There's nothing that makes you hate life more than going diarrhea and then quickly realizing you need to vomit and not really having time to flush before you turn around and projectile vomit into that same befouled bowl. Splash.

I spent the better part of Thursday night not sleeping a wink due to my crampy bowels, and then took care of both kids by myself all Friday. It was a blur of pain, nausea, fatigue and a lot of "Mommy needs to lie down, Mommy's not feeling well, wipe your own butts today."

At one point in the afternoon I remember feeling so fatigued I felt myself magnetically drawn to the couch despite my best efforts. It just felt soooooo good to lie down.

Unfortunately, both kids were buzzing around me in fine form and kept trying to interact with me. I vaguely remembered saying things like "Go play by yourself. Mommy's going to take a little nap..."

And then periodically, I would feel the rude slap of different objects hitting my face.

WHAP! Judah! Don't hit me with your sword, Mommy's sleeping!

Whap! Noah, you want to read that book? Judah, go read your brother that book! I don't care if it's boring, your brother needs you!

Whap! Noah, don't play with that, that's Mommy's prescription pills. What are you doing with that? Ugh, thank God for child-proof lids.

Whap! Noah, you want that bottle of gummy-vites? Okay, you can have one. Just one! Judah, give your brother a gummy-vite.

Whap! Don't hit me with those saltine crackers! Yes, you can eat them. As many as you like. That's your snack for today.

30 minutes later I wake up to a small-scale tornado aftermath in the family room. Paper, bottles, saltine cracker crumbs, and the entire contents of my purse were strewn across the floor. But what really bothered me was waking up to see Noah's little face come into focus, crammed full of gummy fish candy.

Instantly I registered that Judah had gotten into the drawer where I hid that ancient Halloween stash and he had given all the contraband to his brother.

Spit those out! I ordered Noah, who, to my utter amazement, complied. He loves gummy candy. How many did he already eat such that he was so tired of them he was willing to spit out an entire mouthful?!

The rest of the day dragged on until the Spouse was finally done with his workday. I thought, ahhh, relief at last! Maybe I can just sit down for a second, somewhere far, far away from the kids.

But of course not. Hahahaha. Why should anything be that easy? Of course.

Turns out the Spouse had been fighting the same bug all day and finally collapsed at the end of his workday, completely debilitated and unable to be vertical.

All of us passed out before the fireworks even began.

Which is not to say it ended badly. It ended the way every night ends--with huggles, snuggles, and lots of kissies.

So I suppose, despite everything...all's well.

Super

I've been sitting on this post for a very long time. I just don't know how to blog about such a ginormous part of my life...our lives. It seems too big for words and even too big for my feeble mind to grasp in its many-splendored metaphorical potential.

It is meta. Profound. Universal. SUPER.

On one hand, it's Judah's obsession with all-things super-hero. But on the other hand, it's really about mankind's obsession with all-things ubermensch, isn't it?

Judah, like any kid his age, is in the full swing of super-hero enthrallment now. A year ago he didn't know anything about super-heroes and now he knows everything about every member of the Justice League AND the Avengers (and it's been quite the learning curve for his completely oblivious mother too).

Now our house is littered with preschooler comic books (who knew that market even existed?!) and swords and capes. Judah loves dressing up like a super-hero and forces me to pretend that I don't know his secret identity (spoiler alert: it's really Judah). If I don't play along or accidentally call him "Judah" there are many hot angry tears.

Judah used to just stick with dressing up as Batman (thanks to an amazing costume he got for Christmas) but now he's invented so many other characters, I never know who I'm dealing with. He usually just stands in front of me with his "badass" face on and I have to say Whoah...uh, who are you?! How did you get here?

Meet some of the cast favorites: Night Ninja

Mere mortals have no idea who he really is because he's always wearing sunglasses.

Super Pirate, always appears fresh out of a bath.

And has a side-kick, Paunchy Pirate

Noah loves to copy his brother but fails to understand how teddy bears detract from the message.

And here's, regular ol' Super Judah (not to be confused with Judah in a hoodie).

If no capes or towels are readily available, a hoodie always saves the day.

Noah now honestly believes this is how you wear a hoodie jacket properly.

Then after telling me the name of his newly invented super-hero character, Judah then says something like, Where's Judah? I want to play with him.

We chat back and forth about Judah in the third person and how disappointed Judah is going to be because he missed this visit from Night Ninja / Super Pirate / Super Bat Ninja / Super Pirate Batman / [Insert newest dude here]. And the whole time Judah is calling me, Mom, uh, I mean, Ms. Christina because of course he's not Judah and I'm not his mother.

This kid can stay "in character" so long it starts to freak me out a little...like, is this the beginning of me realizing that you're schizophrenic?

Anyway, all the super-hero impersonation has started to bleed into "real life" Judah. A couple weeks ago Judah's grandma visited and Judah had his "super-hero mean muggin" face on in almost every picture.

I can't explain Noah's face...I guess he's just really excited about his milk.

Apparently Judah feels like he no longer needs a costume to activate the badass within.

Don't mind the drool on my belly!

I still drool. You gotta problem with that punk?

All this obsession with being "tough" can get pretty ridiculous. We were at a birthday party last weekend and Judah got into a "tough-off" (my made up term) with another preschooler--each one picking up foam swords and guns trying to show the other that they were tougher.

At one point, Judah turns to me and says, Mommy, do I look tough?, striking his baddest, meanest tough-guy pose.
And I dutifully replied, Of course, Judah!
Which Judah proudly reported to his "tough-off" competitor--Mommy said I look tough!--as if that settled the matter.

Yeah, not so tough after that sentence...

Anyway, I wonder how long this phase will last. Probably his whole life. Heck, I see the exact same super-hero t-shirts and underwear in the men's clothing section as in the kid's section. It never ends, I suppose--the need to feel strong, powerful, competent.

And of course, as Judah gets older he will realize that he is not that strong, powerful, or competent. He is just a man. That's all.

But I hope he will always know that he is loved. Even more so for being just...human.

The Uncommon Cold

Last night I felt so horrible I did something I haven't done my entire life--I googled around for a doctor so I could make an appointment with him/her the next day.

Just writing that makes me realize how lucky I am to have been in such good health that I've never, not once, felt the urge to see a doctor for a pressing issue. (Oh, wait, there was this one time in law school I hurt my ankle playing bocce ball and went to urgent care begging for some vicodin and the doc mercilessly turned me away with no meds, no sympathy, and a totally unveiled suspicion that I was a junkie).

But anyway, last night was another matter entirely. It was my fourth full day of battling the worst cold I've ever had in as far back as I could remember. Each day I expected to feel better but only felt worse. Last night was the climax--still feverish, still horribly congested, still dripping like a leaky faucet, still bone-achy, but more than that, my throat hurt like I had just gargled with shards of glass. Every cough made me want to die. Although, to be fair, every moment of consciousness made me want to die anyway--everything hurt so dang much.

I started to panic. What if it takes many more days for me to get better? The weekend is ending, the Spouse isn't going to be able to help me with the kids tomorrow. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE CARE OF TWO YOUNG KIDS WHEN IT HURTS JUST TO SIT DOWN AND DO NOTHING?!

I always joke that moms don't get sick days. But it's not really a joke, it's gallows humor. Because there really is no such thing as resting when you need to rest. Your kids do not give you a free pass if you're sick as a dog. Or if you've only slept 3 hours the night before. Or if you've thrown your back out. Your toddler is not going to be like, No worries mom. I can totally change my own diaper today and entertain myself for 3 hours with this wooden puzzle. You go lie down!

Sick moms are screwed. Just totally, and royally screwed. Good for you if you have a relative nearby that you can call in a pinch. The rest of us hate you. (Relax, we don't really hate you...probably).

Anyway, as Will Farell's character would say in Taladega Nights, thank the Lord Baby Jesus, the fever broke sometime in the middle of the night. I woke up feeling much better than I had in days. Hey, what's that weird feeling? Oh, yeah, the absence of horrible pain.

In fact, the difference was so stark I was euphoric for a couple hours. I even felt super-human. It's amazing how good you feel when you stop feeling so bad.

But now I'm a little paranoid about getting sick again. Time to start up the ol' juicer and start pulverizing that kale! Who wants some green smoothies with probiotic powder? Mmmmmmmmmm, immunity.

Learning: A Hate Story

Today I bravely plucked my over-grown Shrek eyebrows, slapped on some make-up and trudged down the street to a new playgroup.

I hate meeting new moms and their kids. You never know how awkward it's going to be (and it can get pretty awkward). So, how old is your child? Oh, yay, 2! *silence......................*

But despite the potential awkwardness AND being sick as a dog, I forced myself to go with the kids in tow. And before I get into the 'why', can we just talk about how totally sick and horrible I've been feeling?

I caught some ungodly germ and have been sick for about 4 days now, but I only seem to be getting worse. Last night I wanted someone to mercifully cut my over-congested head off. It felt like every single possible cavity in my head was pregnant with octopulets (ah, I miss octo mom, wonder how she's doing, can you imagine having octopulets!...sorry, I digress)...what was I saying? Oh yeah, I was congested like a mother up in there and when my nasal drip finally traveled down to one nostril, thereby clearing the other, I could breathe well for about 2 seconds before my one clear nostril felt like the hot-smelting furnaces of Mordor resided there.

It hurt to nose-breathe. But it also hurt to mouth-breathe (as my throat was also on fire and totally sore). But breathe I must...musted? So I lay in bed, in agony, and slept maybe a good 2-3 hours last night.

But why didn't I take Nyquil or Sudafed or any of the other modern miracles of medicine that would've made my congestion much more bearable? Because none of them are FDA approved for nursing mothers. Yes, I'm still nursing. Longish story, we can talk about it another time. Maybe. Kinda boring story really. So maybe not. But this is a mommy-ish kinda blog so maybe yes. Whatever, let's get off the subject of my breasts.

So where was I? Oh yes, this morning, totally sleep-deprived, feeling like road-kill, trudging off to an awkward new playgroup.

Why?

Because a few weeks ago I found out that one of my neighbors is a native Mandarin speaker and early childhood educator. And basically, to this Chinese-American mom who is trying so hard to teach her (completely resistant and non-cooperative) preschooler Mandarin, my neighbor was my savior.

She was, to me, the answer to all my Mandarin-language based prayers. A miracle that dropped right in my backyard--close to literally!

I asked her to please, please, please host a Mandarin-language play group in which she would lead the kids in Chinese songs and stories and to my extreme delight, she said YES! YESSSS!!!!! So I invited some other moms to come and, fast forward to today, we finally met and did it!

It was everything I envisioned it would be. A song, a story, some flashcards, some finger-puppets, and a very basic lesson using 4 key vocabulary words. Perfection. Except...(and of course there's an "except." You know by now this blog isn't filled with success tales)...except...I learned that Judah transforms into a total monster when someone is trying to teach him Chinese.

I already knew that about him with respect to myself as his teacher, but I thought it would be different if someone else taught him. He's such a social guy and he's so great at paying attention to his teachers in preschool, but turns out, nope. He just hates learning Chinese.

I really can't explain this picture. Maybe Judah heard a Chinese word.

I just don't get it. He's happy to learn about dinosaurs and outer-space and every superhero that ever lived, but when it comes to a new language he completely melts down. Does he feel threatened? Does he feel too challenged? Does he feel too much implied pressure from me?

Of course I asked him all these questions, just like that, and got a very intelligible response--I DON'T WANT TO LEARN CHINESE!!!!!!!

Sigh.

It made me recall my own childhood experiences with learning Mandarin, and another dreaded subject, playing the piano. I hated both. Absolutely hated them.

Why? Because it's boring? Because it's hard? Because I didn't have a natural interest in either? Probably yes to all the above.

But kids have to learn a lot of things they don't naturally want to learn. Heck, if learning was fun and painless, we'd all be Rhode scholars by now. So my parents did what any other Asian immigrant parent did back then. They forced it on us.

I remember sitting at the piano at an early age--maybe 5 or 6, tears running down my face as I was being forced to practice my pieces. My vision was so blurred by my tears I could barely make out the notes in front of me. Which made me feel so sorry for my poor, young, privileged self. I vowed, like many kids I'm sure, that I would never be so cruel as to force my kids to learn something they hated.

And...fast-forward to today. I was about ready to strangle Judah and threaten him with certain death if he didn't stop whining and crying at the Mandarin playgroup and causing The Biggest Scene Ever.

But I didn't. Because I wonder if there's a better way. How do you get a child to learn something they really don't want to? How do you do it gently? Humanely? Even, gasp, enjoyably? Certainly this kind of resistance is not going to stop at "peripheral" subjects like a second-language or musical instruments. Kids hate math. Kids hate science. Kids hate reading. Kids hate school!

They have a lot to learn.

I have a lot to learn.

Sigh.

Time to consult Dr. Child Expert--Google.

A Bad Dream

Today Judah recounted some dreams he had. One of them was just...weird.

In his own words (as well as I can remember):

Mommy, I remember the bad dream now.
I dreamed that Satan was actually more powerful than God and he could control God's mind. And he made God command us to do bad things, like fight and kill and hurt people.

Weird right? I mean who dreams about this kind of stuff? I guess it comes with being a pastor's kid.

Listen...

I try to be thoughtful on this blog.

I try to be coherent.

I try to not let it descend into word-barf followed by a chaser of emotional vomit.

But you know what? Sometimes I just can't.

Sometimes I just have to word-barf and emotional vomit somewhere to someone. And although you poor readers are not exactly flesh and blood people sitting in front of me, this will just have to do because I am currently all alone.

And the problem is I am almost always all alone. Because being with your kids who are all under age 4 does not really count as real company. As much fun as they are (and they really are) you can imagine how limited the conversation gets. Judah doesn't even get the concept of time. How long is five minutes Mommy? Yeah, we're not going to be discussing world events anytime soon.

But even if I'm at the park or having a playdate, if the kids are around, I'm in "soundbite" mode. That means I try not to say anything or respond in a way that would cause the other person to say anything that requires more than 3 seconds time. Because someone somewhere is trying to talk to me (Mommy, MOMMY, MOOOOMMMMMYYYYYY! I'M TRYING TO TALK TO YOU AND YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!!!!!), or about to eat a discarded cigarette butt, or needing his butt wiped, or simply wandering off.

So you can imagine how shallow the conversation gets.

After the kids go to bed is the only time I can actually finish 3 consecutive sentences without interruption. But sadly for me the Spouse is an introvert. And frankly, I'm a very sucky conversationalist after spending 14+ hours with the kids and cooking, serving, and cleaning up 16 meals, plus dealing with countless episodes of meltdowns, irritating behavior, and general all-day non-cooperation.

Maybe, gentle blog reader, you ARE the ideal conversationalist for this beleaguered and weary shell of a woman. You can not talk back. And I can go on forever about me, me, me without a second's thought about you. How was your day? Uh-huh, and how did that make you feel?

Anyway, I suppose it's only right to say, at the end of all this, thank you. Thank you for "listening". Thank you for "being there". Thank you for letting this tired, lonely woman prattle on into the wee night. Now, can you also please just HOLD ME?

The barbarians arrive at the gate in zero minus 6 hours.

Turns out kids do say the darndest things...

Overheard this conversation Judah had with my friend:

Judah: How old are you?

Me: Oh [friend] you don't have to answer that!

Friend: No, it's okay. I'm 34!

Judah: That's old.

Friend: How old are you?

Judah: Three and a half. I have a whole big life to live still.

Friend: That's right! You sure do.

Judah: But you're going to die soon.

Ba dum chhhhh

The 'What if' Game

Sometimes I like to play a twisted little game called "What if I didn't have kids?"

I would still be working. But I wouldn't just be working, I would be KILLING it at the office. High heels, pencil skirt, lipstick...okay, maybe I just mean my outfit would be killer. But seriously, I really loved the attorney job I left. It was hard, challenging, totally noodle-cooking stuff, but my boss was reasonable and it was really rewarding to feel like a lean mean drafting machine.

I wouldn't miss my friends so darn much. It took until my 30's to realize how much I LOVE my girlfriends. I think I prob love them more than the Spouse (sorry honey!). But seriously, they are so so so awesome. Girls are just better than guys. There I said it. It's true. Sorry guys, I love you too but my idea of quality "hanging out" consists of something deeper than watching sports games or playing video games. It ranges from talking smack about celebrities to drooling over the new Michael Kors collection to ruminating over deep life sh*t in a way that makes you feel like the spirit of Oprah has descended upon you.

But alas, ever since kids entered the picture, it's been so hard to find time to just hang with the gals. And it's absolutely impossible to have a conversation with the kids around. Especially now that Noah has entered his IS THAT YOUR CELL PHONE? OMG I HAVE TO HAVE IT NOW!!!!! phase. Btw, if you get a random text from me that says 39fd8i389hunr893892he89hf, you can be sure it's from Noah.

And then there's all those little things.

Like, if I didn't have kids, this weekend I would definitely be watching Maleficent in theaters. And eating out before or after it.

And I would get a proper haircut. Instead of letting this mop grow haphazardly on my head cuz I need something low-maintenance.

And as cliche as it sounds, I would definitely be having brunch in the city with my fabulous gay and childless friends.

Oh, and I would have an immaculately clean house. No crumbs. No random foam swords in the kitchen. No pee-soaked diapers in open containers. And no disgusting car full of snack debris and smelling of old crusty milk.

And speaking of house, I would not live in a house. I'd live in a tiny little apartment in a cute little urban spot where I could walk to farmer's markets and feast on ghetto gourmet. And of course the school district there would be horrible.

What an amazing, awesome, fun, and sanitary life I would have. I guess I'm supposed to end this post by saying something like--but I wouldn't trade my precious angel miracles of life for any of it.

But you prob know by now, I'm not that kind of blogger or that kind of parent.

All I can say is...it is what it is.

I love my kids of course.

They've made me a much better person than I otherwise would be. But you know, that's also what people with cancer say about their illness. I'm just sayin'...

Why oh why oh why, because because because because, good bye good bye good bye

Sometimes as a special "treat" I allow Judah to ask me 3 questions. This is my very clever way of preventing him from asking me to do something much harder--make up a story about superheros. My superhero stories are completely lame--Batman goes to school for the first time, Batman goes to the grocery store, Batman has a birthday, you get the idea.

Today Judah warned me that his 3 questions were going to be "really, really, really hard." I told him to bring it.

First--Why did all the dinosaurs die?
Easy, we don't really know. Told him about the theory of the giant asteroid and something about them freezing to death. I should read up more on this dinosaur stuff, hmmm. Next.

Second--Why do scientists look for dinosaur bones?
Easy, they like to explore. Next.

Third--Why did God create people?
What?! Where did this come from? Mumbled something about God having a lot of love and joy that He wanted to share with people, but I didn't want to tread on the notion of God's self-sufficiency--the idea that God was perfectly content in Himself before all of creation.

Fourth--Because Judah wouldn't be Judah if he actually limited himself to the pre-arranged number--Why do people need food to grow?
I deflected and said what a great question it was since plants don't need to "eat" food to grow. Why is it that people need to eat? Hmmm...

Fifth--Why don't plants need food to grow? How come they can just grow with water?
Okay, that deflection backfired. I guess maybe now is a good time to go into cellular biology...mumbled something about cells and microscopes, at which point Judah wanted to know if Superman could see cells without the aid of a microscope. And when I came down on the side of "no" Judah protested and debated me for a very long time.

And then, because Judah is an equal-opportunity pre-schooler he said it was my turn to ask him questions.

Judah, what is your favorite thing to do with Noah?
Laugh!
Not exactly what I was looking for, but okay, valid.

What is your favorite thing to do with Daddy?
Watch new videos.
Not exactly quality-time bonding...we need to work on that...

If you could have one super-power what would it be?
I want to be smart like Batman...the power to read lots of books.
Wow, the Spouse has truly created another being after his own image. Domination complete.

This also reminds me of the time when Judah said, out of the blue--We are like robots because God controls us.

Hmmm....I guess three is not too young to start grappling with the age-old Calvinist paradox of God's sovereignty and man's free will.

All that to say, I actually enjoy conversing with my kid now...sometimes.

Hangin' With Mah Nomies

I feel bad for Noah.

His brother gets the spotlight 90% of the time by way of Judah's loud and persistent temperament versus Noah's relatively mellow nature. And it's just so much more interesting for me to interact with a 3.5 year old than a 16 month old.

But that doesn't mean Judah has 90% of my heart. Noah steals it every day.

So in honor of the oft-forgotten brother, here is a monster rundown of all things Noah.

Starting a couple months ago he's become very verbal and learns new "words" daily. Common "words" he says are:

"sh, sh, sh" for shoes
"bow" for bowl
"sss, sss" for cereal
"chuh, chuh" for Judah (apparently pronouncing the 'juh' sound is too hard at this stage)
"goh, goh" for dog in Chinese (this is prob the first word he learned back at 12 months)
"hi" for hi!
"bah, bah" for bye
"mama" for his doting mother
"dada" for his dad
"ball" for ball of course (also one of his first words)
"kuh, kuh" for kai-kai, Chinese for open (like opening a container)
"nah, nah" for Noah and for the word no
"nai, nai" Chinese for milk (another very early word)
"fff, fff" for fen, Chinese for rice
"huh, huh" for hat (another early word cuz we ALWAYS wear hats in this family)

And one of the sweetest words, "buhbuh" for baby. Noah's going through his nurturing phase and loves cuddling with his "buhbuhs", basically any stuffed animal around the house.

Can I get an "awwwww"?

He likes to plop them in his mini-stroller and push them around. And he especially likes swaddling them in burp cloths (which is weird cuz he hasn't been swaddled for over a year now!)

Another word Noah loves is "ruh ruh" which means roly-poly. That is the number one activity that engages the boys when they go outside. I feel like God had toddlers and preschoolers in mind when he designed roly-polies. Finding and collecting them is The Perfect outdoor activity for little kids. They are so slow and defenseless even Noah can spot one and pick it up with his clumsy fingers all on his own. And then, just like Lenny in Of Mice and Men, Noah squishes them dead.

Brother bonding: looking for 'ruh ruh's. Judah likes to set them free. Noah loves on them a little too much.

Noah's also been really into self-feeding the last couple months. He now feeds himself pretty much his entire meal. This makes giant plastic pocket-bibs absolutely essential as 50% of the food on his spoon ends up never reaching his mouth.

Mr. Independent. Ironically Judah still asks me to spoon-feed him!

Every morning Noah wakes up 2 hours before his brother (TWO HOURS! my life is no bueno in that regard people. No bueno indeed) and we have breakfast together. It's always "sss, sss" (cereal) in his "bow, bow" (bowl) with "nai nai" (milk).

During the day Noah is usually very happy to trail his older brother and attempts to copy everything he does. Even when Judah trips and falls, Noah will immediately enact the fall. Funny guy. Noah loves markers because Judah draws a lot but I rarely let Noah touch them because, well, see for yourself:

This is why I never allow myself to pee. 90 seconds away is all it takes...

They play together pretty well at this point (but I do fear for the future). Noah actually acquiesces to Judah's demands pretty readily. If Judah is building a fancy stack-a-doo creation and tells Noah to stay the heck away from it if he knows what's good for him, Noah actually steps aside and doesn't even try to mess with it.

Judah's mean big brother days are numbered now that Noah has actually learned how to tattle on him! Call it little guy survival instinct, but Noah learned to do this pretty quickly. A few weeks back little Noah came up to me and pointed to his head saying "unh, unh, unh" and then pointed to Judah and said "chhh, chhh."

What Noah? Judah hit your head?
Judah, did you hit Noah in the head?
He was in my way! It was an accident!

Judah was so busted.

Noah's day usually ends like this:

Isn't this how everyone likes to end their day? Naked, moisturized, enjoying a video of themselves?

Buck naked, toothbrush at hand, ready to watch a video of himself so I can slather eczema creams all over his dry skin. This is the only way I can get this writhing wiggly worm to sit still for his creaming.

The first time this brilliant idea popped into my head a couple months ago, I said "Noah, let's go watch a video!" Up until then, he had never watched anything but had seen his brother get up on this same chair + booster stool and enjoy plenty of Go Diego Go. Without any further prompts from me, Noah ran to this room, set the booster stool up himself and sat patiently waiting for his video.

He is always doing stuff like this. Showing me that he knows so much more than I think he does. That he is always watching, observing, and filing things away. And that he is growing up way faster than mommy can ever keep up with or admit to herself.

Whatever will I do when my baby is no longer a baby? However will my poor heart recover?

The suburbs aren't all that safe...

If you were to drive by my house last week on a random Thursday at precisely 7:26 pm, you would have seen my naked preschooler urinating on my driveway.

We had just gotten back from a walk in the neighborhood and Judah announced I HAVE TO PEE! Before I knew what was happening he had already taken off his pants and undies and just, well, peed. I have no idea why his t-shirt was off though. Hmmmmm.

I have no deep or witty insights into this episode. But it definitely made my day. Or rather it definitely made my day...more interesting. Life with a 3 year old--a gift that never stops giving.

Let's gather around and watch our little seeds grow

Ack, I'm so behind on blogging! Well, there's no time like the present to catch up...

Let's see...I'm a little late, but happy belated Mother's Day!

In honor of Mother's Day Judah's preschool had a special presentation for moms. I got to sit in and watch them do a dog and pony show (sing lots of songs, do a little skit, etc.) for about half an hour.

And then, the kids "prepared" a snack for their moms. It was hilarious hearing their teacher explain each component of the snack:

First, put a cookie on your mom's plate. This cookie is for your mom, not for you. Don't take a bite. Don't lick it. Just put it on her plate.

Then, take a knife and spread some cream cheese on the bagel and put it on the plate for your mom. Remember, this is for your mom, not for you. Don't eat the bagel. And don't lick the knife and cream cheese. You will have your own snack later.

Then, take a banana piece, peel it, and put it on your mom's plate. Don't eat the banana. It's for your mom!

Judah and classmates begin to plate their food, kinda like in Iron Chef, no?

This was followed by similar instructions on how to put cantaloupe and strawberry chunks on a skewer, and so forth. I was really curious to see if Judah could perform each of these tasks because at home I do everything for him. Was he really capable of spreading cream cheese on a bagel?!

What an amazing demonstration of fine motor skills! I'm never buttering his toast for him again.

Yes, yes he was! He did a fantastic job and I was a very proud mama.

Nothing like a tour de force show of culinary presentation skillz to underscore how much your sweet baby peanut has grown and grown and grown.

Child labor snack service? I could get used to this...

What a way to make a mom cry into her skewered fruit.

Everything In An Instant

I just had to record this memory before it got lost in the dark chasm of my mommy brain...

A couple days ago Judah came home from playing outside and the Spouse made him strip down naked and wash his hands. Our house is kind of like a prison--you need to strip and scrub before entering. The Spouse is a little (and by little I mean A LOT) OCD about dirt.

Judah was really unhappy, as he usually is, to be stripped and scrubbed, and whimpered and whined about how cold he was. My heart leapt with compassion for him (it was a really cold day) and I ran downstairs and unzipped my fleece jacket and put it around him. Then I scooped him up and carried him upstairs to his room to get some new clothes.

The look on Judah's face when he saw me drape my jacket on him is a look I wish I could replay forever. It was like the warmest sunlight had been flicked on. In that instant I knew I had made him feel loved, comforted, and best of all, understood.

And that is all I could ever want for him, and for myself as his parent.

Or So I've Heard

Today the Spouse relayed to me this incident:

While flossing Judah...

Judah: Daddy I love you this much. [Judah holds his fingers very close together, a sign of miserly affections.]

Judah: But I love Miss Lydia (Judah's dour pre-school teacher) this much. [Judah flings his arms wide open. This is pretty damning because Judah often says he hates Miss Lydia.]

Spouse: Why do you love me so little Judah?

Judah: Because you floss me! I hate flossing!

In conclusion the Spouse realized he was "flossing Judah's love away" and so from now on it will be my task to floss the child.

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

In other news, Judah's babysitter told me that Judah punched a first-grader in the nose today. They were playing at a local elementary school playground and a boy was apparently "getting in Judah's face and really annoying him" and Judah finally just straight-up punched him.

The babysitter was shocked, as was I, since Judah has never punched anyone before and he's not really a physical person anyway.

Maybe his obsession with super-heroes has gone a little too far...

My Double Rainbow

More and more it's looking like this is the future for Noah and Judah:

Everyone we meet (whether at the grocery store or the doctor's office) never fails to proclaim that Judah and Noah look like twins. Yet at Noah's visit to the pediatrician last week it was revealed that he is now only 30th percentile in height, a precipitous drop from how he started in life, at 90th or so. But at Noah's age, Judah was still a very tall 75th percentile, I think.

Gotta love Judah's fake obligatory smile.

If we continue on this trajectory Judah will probably end up being at least 6 feet and Noah will be a nice, compact 5'6'' maybe?

Just one of the many delightful differences I'm noting in these brothers. I have to say, when it comes to having 2 kids, I'm realizing that (to borrow a phrase from the queen of teen-pop--I love you Taytay!) two is better than one.

There is no greater joy or entertainment for me than watching my 2 kids interact. Even if they're being nasty to each other it's just straight up hilarious.

Noah experiences the fine line between affection and annoyance...all the time.

Their interactions usually fall into one of 3 categories: (1) intense jealousy/covetousness, (2) Noah copying Judah, and (3) benign neglect.

In the first category, it never fails to amaze me how intensely Judah will want something that Noah has simply because Noah has it and likes it. Even an object that Judah has scorned mere SECONDS ago, becomes like the Ring of Power to Golum when Noah starts to treasure it.

Judah has no interest in being in this toy...until Noah is enjoying it.

A few weeks ago they were fighting over a stupid tiny pink guitar that plays horribly off-key tunes when you press it's buttons. It was a secret Santa present from Judah's preschool and he didn't care for it that much. But when Noah grabbed a hold of it all hell broke loose.

Future school bus bully--parents beware.

Thankfully Judah's not a physically aggressive guy or else he could just easily pummel Noah and grab things from him. But Judah is quite the physical pacifist. Instead he screamed and cried in anguish for his toy back, yet never lifted a finger against him.

Noah on the other hand knew exactly what was going on and proceeded to goad Judah on by offering him the guitar and then jerking it away as Judah got closer. The little bugger can definitely dish it out. He would also run away on his short stubby legs and hide in plain sight, like in the corner of the room. So freaking cute right?

Of course I let this go on way too long as I haven't laughed this hard since I can remember.

The second category of interaction, Noah copying Judah, is probably the cutest darn thing I've ever seen. Noah doesn't smile much but he beams with pride and joy whenever he is successfully copying Judah--like when he wears Judah's superhero cape and/or sunglasses.

This is the look on Noah's face when he's about to attempt a 'big boy' activity--sheer determination and joy.

Last week I turned around to find my sweet little guy poking Judah's foam sword into my leg and giving me a look like "I gotcha Mommy!" Of course my heart melted and I pretended to die the same way I do when I'm playing with Judah. That little Noah just slays me, in every sense of the word.

And just yesterday Judah was roaring ferociously in the back of the car, when I suddenly hear this tiny high-pitched vocalization. At first I couldn't figure out what Noah was doing, but when that little noise was emitted consistently each time after Judah's roar I realized Noah was "roaring" too. At the stoplight I turned around and said "Good roars Noah!" and he beamed like the sun.

But most often, Judah and Noah are in category three, benign neglect. They enjoy being in each other's presence, each doing their own thing. Judah will build a spaceship from stackadoos or read his comic books and Noah will just putz around, picking up a ball, fingering a car, flipping through a book, what have you. Noah is so good at entertaining himself around the house that way I call him my putz-er. Just putz, putz, putzing around.

The Don and his pet pool boy.

But once in a great while, there will be a fourth category of interaction--a shining moment of great and incomparable joy when my two kids are actually making each other smile and laugh, on purpose. Recently it's in the form of Judah chasing Noah, Noah squealing in delight at being chased, Judah tickling Noah when he's caught him, and then Judah letting Noah go so he can get chased again.

So cute it makes me want to force them into matching outfits every day.

Sometimes it's Judah handing Noah a toy that he knows Noah would like or entertaining Noah when he knows Noah is prone to fuss (like on the changing table or in his car seat).

And often it's when I tell them "Kiss your brother!" and each kisses the other because the command could've been intended for either one.

And they always love each other just enough to comply.

All Joy and No Fun

After I started reading Jennifer Senior's recent book about modern parenting, All Joy and No Fun, I figured I would never need to blog about parenting ever again.

She wrote it all.

It's all been said and done now. Her thoughts were a thousand times more articulate and illuminating than my own and I found myself nodding, chortling, and grunting in agreement pretty much non-stop throughout.

For example, her section on "flow" and the parent. Part of why parenting infants/toddlers is such a miserable experience is because there is no sense of "flow"--defined as that sensation of being totally absorbed and "in the zone", where an hour can feel like 5 minutes. Flow requires the perfect balance of stress and boredom--just challenging enough to keep you engaged and not too challenging that you're feeling high anxiety.

But parenting is like the opposite of experiencing flow. You are either bored out of your mind or stressed out of your mind.

First, the boredom--because babies can't talk, because reading Hop on Pop for the 50th time blows, because helping someone stumble around the park and not get to their destination for 30 minutes is mind-numbing, because tossing a ball back and forth, shaking rattles, playing peek-a-boo, labeling objects, and all the other stuff you're supposed to be doing for your baby's early development is, let's face it, completely boring after the first 90 seconds.

Second, the stress, which for me (and most parents I would imagine) comes from a very simple source--crying. Some people can tolerate a lot more crying than others, but we are all hard-wired by Nature to have a true physical stress response to our children crying. Heart rates are elevated, cortisol levels rise, blood pressure goes up, everything in you feels horrible.

So there you have it--the yin and yang of parenting small people--extreme boredom or extreme stress. No wonder in large national surveys mothers rank spending time with their kids less desirable than doing the dishes or other house chores. Hard to believe if you've never spent more than 8 hours with a small child, but I'm here to testify--that shizz is fo realz people. Fo realz.

Don't let the cuteness fool you!

Because the author was so dead on in capturing life with the 0-3 set, I was really excited to read on as she laid out life with school-age kids and then life with teenagers. Maybe this would give me a little road map toward what awaits and for once in my parenting life, I could get ahead of the curve!

Although I did find it somewhat helpful, alas, it didn't prove half as insightful sounding as the first part, maybe because she herself has only experienced motherhood up until age 5 (the age of her only son). All I gleaned is that kids between ages 4 and 12 are intensely over-scheduled and the parent basically morphs into a taxi driver. I'm thinking this might become irrelevant for me as Google develops the driver-less car any day now.

But aside from these little peaks into the horror and hells of parenting, I have to say my favorite part of the book was the last section in which the author explores the Joy of parenting. After all, the title does promise that it's "All Joy..."

Her descriptions of the deep and abiding joy in the midst of the pain of parenting were so poignant I teared up, a lot. In particular, she noted that single moms are by far the most stressed out people on the planet, BUT they are the least depressed. This seems counter-intuitive since you assume intense stress causes mental breakdown and depression.

But the author notes that depression is essentially a function of disassociation. When you feel like you have little or no attachments to the world around you, that is the key to depression. And parenting is the ultimate antidote. For the first time in your life, most likely, you feel the ultimate attachment. Never have you committed to someone to the degree that you commit to your child. And infinitely more so if you are his/her only, single parent.

To be on the hook, to be forever committed, to inextricably link yourself to another such that it is simply impossible to feel happy if that person is sad, is a monstrous burden--but also the gateway to paradise. As I've quoted before in reference to parenting--To love another person is to see the face of God.

And to that also, I can testify. That shizz is def fo realz too.

Learning to Read at Age 25

This is the story of how I learned to read.

Growing up, I don't remember a single instance in which someone read something to me. I struggled to find age appropriate books and I largely failed because no one helped me find age appropriate books.

When I was 7 I overheard that the Chronicles of Narnia were "really good". So I checked it out at the library and was stymied at the very beginning. It kept referring to a wardrobe. What the heck was a wardrobe those crazy British people? Did it have something to do with war? Or robes?

Reading was confusing, bewildering, frustrating and fruitless. If I were more patient, I supposed I could've made use of a dictionary. But my experiences with dictionaries were equally frustrating. Often the definition included words I didn't know so it was an endless hunt down farther and farther rabbit trails until I forgot what word I was even looking up in the first place.

But once in a great while, I was so drawn to a topic that I actually made the effort to read. In particular, princess fairy tales. I couldn't get enough of them. The enchantingly beautiful protagonist. The cruel and unjust things that she suffered. Magic. And of course, The Prince.

But eventually I got tired of the formulaic genre and haven't read another fairy tale since 5th grade.

I also loved Roald Dahl. He is the only author to ever make the child-me feel like I wasn't actually reading. I was just...living in his world.

And then in college I met a reader. My then-boyfriend, now-Spouse, had (and still has) an unholy love of all things books. For a miserably poor college student he had an unusually gigantic collection of books spilling over every surface of his tiny living space.

Somehow we got along. It didn't bother him that I didn't read. And it didn't bother me that he had way too many books. He read his books and then we talked about them and it worked out very well that way.

But one day, I don't even remember why, he suggested that I read a book. Not in a mean or condescending way. But more like, hey, do you want to try to do this thing that's actually really enjoyable once you learn to enjoy it?

And I resisted. Books are boring. I'm too busy. I don't know where to start. What should I read? Nah, like I said, books are boring.

Why don't you just pick one book from my bookshelf? he said. Here, this is a thin one. How about this one? Why don't we just start with reading one page. Together.

And so we cracked open Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse and read one page. And the next day we read another. And the next day more pages. And soon I was hooked. I got lost in the story.

The apartment in which I learned to love to read.

It took at least another few years for me to finally say that I love to read. But now, 10 years after first flipping through Siddhartha, I realize I've completely transformed into one of those people I thought I'd never be--a reader.

How dim and dark my world would be if he hadn't taught me to read.

It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times

Last Saturday the day started off pretty well. I took the kids to an Easter Egg Hunt sponsored by a huge local park and it was everything you could ask for in a kiddie event.

The Spouse wasn't able to come but thank goodness a dear friend came along so I didn't have to schlep everything by myself and try to run after 2 kids at once going in the opposite direction--and bonus, she took some great pics for us!

I was more excited than the kids, this being MY first egg hunt too.

There were booths full of free swag, including law enforcement booths. Judah has been obsessed with policemen since age 1.5 but when he met actual officers he hid behind my back. Pity.

Brave enough to stand next to the car, but too shy to stand next to actual officers.

There was a free bounce house and face/hand painting. Judah was very insistent that glitter be applied to his artwork.

Judah proudly shows off his abiding love of law enforcement.

There was some creepy mute giant bunny, which Noah wisely wanted to get the hell away from.

Noah says "That's okay Mom, I'll just stand over here."

Noah would not have it. Not even for a second.

There was some arts and crafts and sidewalk chalk.

Pastel graffiti--lovely little signs of joy.

And of course, the piece de resistance, an egg hunt by age cohort. Noah got to go first in the 0-2 category which included adult accompaniment. I thought it would be cool to let Noah mosey around, leisurely picking up eggs, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

Noah, on the now empty field. Egg hunt fail.

 All the parents steam-rolled through the lawn like locusts in a wheat field and cleaned that puppy out in 20 seconds flat! One parent had pity on Noah's empty basket and dropped him a couple so he wouldn't end up empty-handed.

Look mom! One pity egg!

Judah got to go next in the 3-5 age group and managed to grab 3 eggs before they were all gone. Not a huge loot, but all the better since they were filled with candy.

Of course my kid is the one who doesn't know how to use a basket.

Preschoolers, preschoolers everywhere!

"I don't know who ate all of Noah's candy."

Noah, however, does know who ate all his candy.

The kids had fun and zonked out in the car trip home. But apparently one big adventure was not enough for that day.

In the evening Judah was climbing up a tall step stool to wash his hands and stepped where there was no step and crashed his chin down onto our granite counter top. Although there were no sharp edges involved, apparently the impact was so great it split his chin open about an inch and a half.

We took one look at it and instantly agreed that stitches would be needed--Judah's first stitches! At the ER Judah was actually in pretty good spirits as we waited for the doctor. He was a chatty Cathy and enjoyed being read his Justice League comic book.

Thank goodness for comic books.

The doctor came in and told us he'd have to get a numbing shot and get stitched up, which required him to get pappused (too lazy to spell check)--basically a straight jacket for kids--while 2 nurses held him down.

Judah gets pappused!

I will forever feel guilty that I mistakenly informed him about the numbing shot. I thought, and I told him, that they would shoot him near the wound but not actually in the wound and it would just be one quick shot. I could not have been more wrong.

The doctor stuck him right in his wound--SIX TIMES! Wow, that must've hurt! Of course that started Judah on a scream-a-thon that didn't end until he was released from his pappuse 10 long minutes later. Judah was also really offended that a bright light was being shone right in his eyes and a surgical paper was covering his face the whole time. Poor terrified kid.

You are all lucky there is no audio accompaniment for this pic.

The whole time I tried distracting him with made-up stories about Batman, much to the amusement of the medical staff. Alas, Judah was screaming to loudly to hear much of my story.

All stitched up! But still a little traumatized.

Happily Judah bounced back really easily and quickly. He went right to bed and woke up as if nothing ever happened.

I'm dreading when we get his (eight!) stitches out this Friday, but until then, we're doing great, all things considered.

Every Day

Every day Noah wakes me up at 6:30 am, screaming as if someone is choking the lifeblood out of him. His wake up times have risen steadily over the last month and I'm afraid he'll start waking at 6:00 am soon if I go to him immediately when he cries. And so I wait until 7:00 am to relieve him, the whole time, my bones aching with stress and sadness at the sound of my wailing child. "Good" morning.

The bane and boon of my existence--all joy and no fun.

Every day I face a mountain of dishes. And I heroically tackle that mountain, only to find another, even higher mountain materialize after lunch. I tackle that one with all the spare time I can muster. And then I tackle the Mount Everest of them all after dinner. I've learned that emptying the dish drying rack is just as crucial as washing dirty dishes. And surprisingly, it takes just as long.

Every day I look at piles of laundry in various stages of unwash and feel defeated.

Every day I rack my brain trying to figure out what to feed Judah, The Pickiest Eater on Earth. Noah is not a great eater either. Whenever meal time rolls around I have a mini-panic attack.

Every day Noah naps for 40 minutes and then cries indefinitely until I hold him for the rest of his 2-hour nap time. Of course I can't be holding him for an hour and 20 minutes each day so I let him cry. And again I feel like dying a thousand miserable deaths.

Every day I look around the house and frown at all the things that are not in their rightful place. Why is my toothbrush on the couch? How did Noah's shoe get under the kitchen table? All the upstairs things are downstairs and the downstairs things are upstairs. And I ask myself The Question--is it worth the effort to set it right only to have the kids mess it up again in an hour or so?

Every day I look at the dry rough patches and open sores on Noah's body--where his lower ears connect to his face, his chin area, his knees and calves, his feet and hands, the back of his neck--due to his eczema and I feel like a failure. Each rough patch whispers silent condemnation--you've failed. You've failed to cream him as much as you should. You've failed to figure out the right combo of creams to use. You've failed to adequately care for your baby. But the worst feelings of failure by far is when I open up his diaper to find that a huge, slightly acidic dump has started to eat away at his skin because I didn't know he had a dirty diaper for God knows how long. You'd think I would smell those suckers from a mile away, but I have honestly lost my sense of smell.

Every day I am doing house chores, washing, cleaning, picking up, setting right, activities up until my 10:30 pm bedtime.

Every day I feel like an over-educated domestic servant.

Every day I pray for sleep. And I thank God for mercy. I thank God I got through another day in which I did not too badly emotionally scar my kids (I think, I hope) by yelling my head off and shaking with rage at the end of what always feels like a looooooooong day.

Every day my will is thwarted. My desires are frustrated. My ability to have any meaningful control over my day is mocked. I have mini-tantrums and seethe that I never get my way.

And I feel like a stone being pummeled and worn down by the massive, unrelenting, magnificent ocean waves. And I am changing...into what, I do not yet know.

On Life and Death

Recently Judah's been asking me a lot about death and dying. I guess it was inevitable given all the killing that goes on between superheros and villains, his current obsession for the last 6 months.

He asks things like
Mommy, are you going to die?
Am I going to die?
Yes, Judah, everyone dies someday.
When are you going to die?
I don't know, nobody knows.

Apparently he's talked to the Spouse about it as well because he comforts himself (and me) by saying: Daddy says after we die, we will become alive again and then we will never get sick or die anymore. So it's okay if I die.

I told him that it is okay, but I hope he has a long life.
Why Mommy? What's a long life?
I hope you get to grow up and become a big boy like Evan (who is 8), and then a teenager, and then a grown up like daddy, and have your own kids, and then a grandpa.

And then Judah became distraught when I had to explain that he might not have a long life because no one is guaranteed that. He teared up as I explained in concrete terms that we could die any day. That Mommy could die tomorrow and I wouldn't see him again for a long time after that.
Mommy, my eyes are almost crying, he said.

The next day he asked how he could have a long life. I told him that was out of our control but we could pray about it, so he did.

And today, a week later he said
Mommy, I already have a long life.
You mean 3 years?
Yeah, 3 years is a long time.
When I told him his dad has already lived 37 years his eyes bulged in disbelief.

Judah, just 3 hours old, a "long" time ago.

But of course, he is right. Even 3 days is a long time if you count up every second of grace.