Fooling Around on a Pedal-Boat

Last week I took my kids pedal-boating at a local lake and it was as near perfection as we can get on this side of eternity.

Leaving the dock, all smiles...for now.

The grand beauty of nature - just like a Bob Ross painting! - say my Netflix saturated kids.

This sweet face...belies so much naughtiness.

Until 20 minutes in...and the boys do what boys do - fool around.

The oompa-loompa in the back starts getting restless. Uh-oh.

I can't tell you how much I hate when they "fool around." And because I'm overly analytical, here's some bullet points to explain why such an innocuous sounding thing makes me want to spit out hellfire.

--It violates logic. Fooling around, by its very nature, is extreme silliness. It hurts my very ordered brain. I have to listen to stupid nonsensical phrases repeated ad nauseum ("booba-lay-lay!" "hairy!" "hairy boob!") and field totally stupid questions that only get shouted at me louder if I try to ignore them ("Why I can't I fly right now?!" "What if I poop in the water?!")

--It literally rocks the boat. All their wild fidgeting made my stress-levels sky high as I imagined our boat capsizing and my kids completely soaked (and the loud and prolonged whining and crying that would ensue).

--It causes general harm and mayhem. When the kids fool around at home it is generally punctuated by cries of bodily injury (that would've been worse if I weren't there to grab someone or cushion someone mid-fall) and bits of destruction to the house and furniture. Again, very stressful to witness.

--It causes food mess. What I hate the most is when the kids fool around at the dinner table. Crumbs spew out of mouths. Milk gets snorted and sprayed out within a 3 feet radius. People fall out of chairs and cry. I seriously loose my appetite whilst eating so often and have to excuse myself from the table just 2 minutes into our meals. I. Can't. I. Just. Can't. It's like having dinner with warthogs.

And the number one thing I hate the MOST about fooling around:

There's no reasonable way to limit it.

What can I say to my kids except "Stop fooling around!!!!"

And as every parent knows, discipline only works if it's specific and targeted. Do you know how vague "fooling around" is? What does that even mean in terms of actual behavior?

Stop laughing?
Stop saying silly things?
Stop moving erratically?
Stop flailing your appendages so as to increase the odds of knocking something off the table by more than 50%?

I either end up sounding ridiculously harsh ("stop having such a good time!!!!") or way too strict ("stop moving your hands!" "and feet!" "and body!!!!!")

Oh kids.

Always ruining perfect moments and good times.

But there are some shining seconds where all is right and our world seems shot through with grace. And I think to myself, maybe it wasn't a huge mistake to have kids after all. Maybe, nay, most certainly, they are the best things to ever have happen to me.

We took a normal looking a picture! It's a half-second miracle!

My greatest gifts.

Even if it kills me. Or maybe, more precisely, because it kills me.

How do you solve a problem like Noah?

Noah is my problem child.

Okay, so this photo is totally staged, but it gets my point across pretty effectively.

In absolute terms, I guess Noah is just your average naughty kid, but in comparison with his older brother, Noah is like the devil.

Sure Judah was a colicky fussy baby, but ever since he turned 3.5 he magically morphed into an angel child. All the opposition and annoying whining truly was just a toddler phase that he grew out of. And even when he was in the midst of the terrible two's his meltdowns were pretty minor.

I would have never appreciated how easy-going and truly eager to please Judah is without the foil of his devil brother. Judah, in his heart of hearts, in the very core of who he is, truly just wants to be a good person and for everyone to be happy. He is goodness personified, people-pleasing to a fault, and the epitome of cooperation. Which is not to say he doesn't have his own moral flaws - he absolutely does - but none of them make me tense up in stress and pull my hair out in frustration by 9:30 AM.

Noah on the other hand...

Noah will turn 4 in January and it is abundantly clear that his annoying whining and opposition is not going away. This isn't a phase, it's just him.

He behaves so disobediently it even makes Judah suck in his breath with disbelief and awe. Almost as soon as I issue a command - Noah don't stand up on your chair - he has to do the exact opposite.

To gently correct him - Noah, don't color on your brother's homework - is to invite him to hurl verbal and emotional abuse upon you - You're so mean mommy! You make me sad! I'm going to be sad forever! You can't come in my room anymore! You can't come to my birthday party! You're the meanest mom ever! And the comment he thinks will hurt me the most - No more hugs and kisses for you!!!

Once I told him that we were out of the granola bars he wanted and he had these colorful remarks to say - I'm so mad at you mommy! I'm going to cut your head off! I'm going to get the big scissors, the one you keep in the special drawer that we're not supposed to play with - the big scissors - not the little ones that you let us use. And I'm going to hold them the safe way, by the handle, not by the sharp part, the safe way like daddy showed us. And cut your head off with the sharp part!

It was not unlike how a serial murderer might meticulously plot to skin his victims and sew a coat with them...

But on a brighter note, I'm so glad he listens when we talk to him about safely handling sharp objects!

But beyond his hair trigger anger, he also delights in dirty jokes. Judah never cared for 'potty-mouth' language but Noah lets it rip all the time and soon the two of them descend into the most annoying silliness. It's literally just them repeating to each other words like:

Poopy-lon hahahahahahahaha
Buttcheek hahahahahahahahaha
Poopy baby hahahahahahaha
Boobs hahahahahahaha
literally, ad nauseum (my nauseum)

Noah begged me to take a picture of this in RiteAid

Noah even goes as far as drawing boobs and butts all over the place. They both look like two tangential circles, but you know it's a butt if it has a dribble of poop coming out of the middle. He once painted some giant ones on his art easel and told me to hang it up in the house. I politely declined.

So last night, as we were snuggling before bedtime, I decided to have a heart-to-heart talk with him about his rampant disobedience.

Noah, you make Mommy so sad when you disobey me. You need to work on obeying your parents.

Noah burst into tears and instantly accused us of not loving him and rejecting him and even said that we think his name is stupid (we've often said that it's a common name, unlike his brother's more rare name). All his insecurities gushed out in a flood of angry fear.

I tried to reassure him that we love him unconditionally and that we all have areas that need work. And again it amazed me how non-intuitive grace and unconditional acceptance really is.

This morning on our drive to preschool, Noah told me how he really does want to obey us more. He wanted it so much that he prayed about it on the spot:

Dear God, Please help me obey my parents. And when they tell me 'no' help me to accept it. In Jesus name, Amen.

If ever there was a prayer that was heard, I hope it was that.

Indeed, it is the very baby-step, tiny seed evidence of it.

The Stuff of Nightmares

Today I realized I am literally my child's worst nightmare.

When Judah awoke this morning, I asked him, as I usually do, how his sleep was and if he had any dreams.

I had a nightmare mommy. You were really mad and yelling at me.

Uh, maybe that's because I AM always yelling at him. But not really because I'm mad at him. It's mostly because Noah is causing great disruption and WE ARE LATE!!!! And I'm flustered and annoyed at Noah, but everyone gets a taste of my scattershot wrath.

Judah endures yet another unpleasant trip - you and me, both kid.

But Judah's nightmare recounting really sobered me up.

I realize I yell at the kids all day, every day.

PUT YOUR SOCKS AND SHOES ON! WE'RE LATE FOR SCHOOL!

STOP PLAYING! DROP THAT TOY! WE'RE LATE FOR SCHOOL!

STOP FOOLING AROUND YOU'RE GOING TO SPILL YOUR CEREAL BOWL AND WE'LL BE LATE FOR SCHOOL!

Actually, you can substitute any variety time-sensitive events for "school" - church, Chinese lessons, doctor appointments, etc.

If we need to be somewhere at a definite time, there's one thing the kids can count on - Mom will be yelling.

I really really REALLY need to plan more margin into our departure times. But as someone who loves efficiency, it totally offends me that I have to allot 10 minutes to the mere putting on of socks and shoes and a jacket. I'm not even exaggerating just a little bit!

Ten minutes! For what normal people can do in 30 seconds!!!! But the alternative is, apparently, a nightmare.

The Reign of King Noah

Recently, Noah's been obsessed with being a king.

It started a few weeks ago when I mentioned that kings have a lot of treasure and instantly something clicked inside him. Now he often tells me he wants to be a king when he grows up and will elaborate in great detail:

When I'm king, I'll sleep in a...giant king bed.
And in the day time I'll sit in a...king chair.
Everything will be soft and cushiony, my king bed, my king chair, and even the floor and ceiling of my palace.

You can bring me green jewels.
And Judah can bring me silver jewels.
And daddy can bring me gold jewels.

And I'm going to be a good king.
I'll keep some money for myself.
And I'll give a little bit to the children.
And I'll give a little bit to the poor - small jewels, not my silver and gold ones.

And there you have, the benevolent reign of Noah.

But in reality, being with Noah is more like being under a reign of terror.

Noah on his king bed - well, actually my king bed - contemplating a cushy life

Noah has entered a very inflexible and grumpy phase of his life. Everything displeases him and his displeasure lasts for hours.

Just yesterday he dropped a sticker in the toilet while he was pooping and insisted that I get it back for him. When I explained that it was soiled and that I would absolutely not get it back for him, he exploded in rage.

A few days before that, he asked me to hand him his breakfast bar. I opened the wrapper and handed it to him and he immediately melted down in rage. No! No! No! I didn't want you to open the wrapper!!!!! he screamed while I stood there annoyed and perplexed.

But don't you want to eat it? I asked.

No! I wanted to just hold it! And NOW I want to eat.

Okay, well just eat it now.

No! You opened the wrapper too soon!!!!!!

Somehow that extra 30 seconds of exposure to the elements rendered that bar unfit to eat for King Noah. Noah promptly asked me for a new one. In horror, I realized that that was the last bar in the box and told him so.

For the next 5 hours, I kid you not, Noah repeatedly demanded that I go to the store and buy him a new box of the exact same kind of breakfast bar, refusing any substitute food. The kid would NOT let it go.

When Noah kvetches about something, which he does many times a day, he has a standard script that goes something like this:

I'm sad Mommy. I'm going to be sad forever. Even in God's new world, I'll still be sad. My whole day is sad. (repeat on endless loop).

And so, when I found myself near a drugstore later that day, I popped in with Noah to buy him his stupid breakfast bar. Of course the little 'good parenting' voice inside my head was telling me - don't do this! You're giving into bad behavior! You're reinforcing that whining works! You're creating a monster!

But all the other parts of my brain were saying - oh good grief! LET IT JUST END!!!!!

And so I bought him his bar. He asked for me to hand it to him. I gingerly handed it over like a live grenade - WITH the wrapper still intact.

He asked me to open the wrapper for him.

I double-checked and confirmed that indeed - you want me to open the wrapper for you? Right now? Or later?

Right now, he said.

And even then, I tensed my shoulders and sucked in my breath post-traumatically as I tore open the wrapper.

He smiled and reached for the bar and ate a few bites.

And I lived to serve another day.

Stick a Fork in Me

We are at the tail end of Summer and I'm feeling the burn.

Seriously, I think my skin is actually crawling and itching every time I look around my chaotic house where nothing is in the right place and no cabinets are in order (just crammed to the gills with junk). And the garage. Oh, don't even get me started on that sinkhole.

Although Judah has started 1st grade last week, Noah has yet to begin. I have one more week doing childcare duties 24-7 and honestly, that may just be one week too long. It may just break me.

After being a mom for 6 long years, I finally know where I stand when it comes to time with the kids. Some moms thrive on being with kids all day every day. And I used to think something was really wrong with me for not feeling the same way. But now I get it. I'm a "less is more," "good things in moderate doses," "I can't be with the kids more than 6 hours a day and still feel sane" kind of person.

Unfortunately, I've learned this too late to do much about it and so things like a loooooooong Summer with the kids are just about killing me. Kill. Ing. Me.

But one more week. One week more! I am counting down the days until I get more than 10 minutes of uninterrupted time. Oh the bliss of that glorious thought!

Meanwhile, Judah's had a good start to first grade. At first he was really nervous about being in school a "full" day instead of just the 3.5 hours of kindergarten, but he now realizes the time goes by pleasantly enough. He was also worried about bullies and having to do work that was too hard for him.

I now fully realize that Judah is an anxious child and that he confronts all new situations in his life with worry and fear. He's a classic Nervous Nelly. Exactly like his mom.

Poor little guy. You got a long road of fear and dread ahead of you, my friend. I know all too well.

The Assassin and the Wierdo

Between the last post and this one I've actually written 100 blog entries...in my head.

Unfortunately, I don't really remember any of them, but here are some crumbs...which is kind of a perfect analogy of my life in a way.

My future celibate assassin - don't laugh, he could kill you.

Judah. Judah has talked about which girls he would like to marry since he was 2 year old. But now, at the ripe old age of 5 and a half, he has announced that he will be a lifelong celibate. In his own words:

Mommy, I'm not going to marry anyone. Because I'm going to be an assassin when I grow up. That job is too dangerous for me to get married.

Well, it's nice to know he doesn't want to leave anyone widowed and bereaved.

Noah. Noah is becoming a really OCD kind of guy and it's driving me crazy. One of his worst pet peeves is getting wet, even if it's just a tiny droplet of water.

Future crazy homeless guy - emphasis on the crazy.

This is going to SUCK during the Summer when water play will be everywhere. Any accidental splash of water anywhere on his body or even just his clothes results in giant tears and a demand to change out of his wet gear. Even if the sun would literally dry it up before I can run upstairs and get a new shirt for him.

Recently, whenever he washes his hands, he has to dry them on a towel. And then dry them again on a paper towel. AND THEN dry them again on another paper towel. I'm so sorry rainforest trees - but I promise - I do collect and reuse these paper towels again!

This insanity reached an all new level of ridiculosity last week when Noah decided he couldn't even stand the feeling of wetness on his cheeks that were a result from his own tears.

He would cry about something and then cry about having wet cheeks.

And then cry about having more wet cheeks.

And then cry about having even more wet cheeks...

Ad nauseum

And now you know about the infinite loop of toddlerdom hell.

Oh yes, it's REAL.

Tilting at Lego Windmills

Oh Legos.

I can't decide if I love you or hate you.

One minute I'm ready to buy a bunch more. The very next I'm ready to throw them all out and declare our lives lego-free forever.

My boys, like any other boys on the planet, love legos. I don't know what it is about those little bricks and the young male psyche, but it is a match made in biological determinism. Fated. Sealed.

When Judah first got addicted a couple months ago, I was in hog heaven. I blessed the lego gods for all their technicolor glory as I watched Judah consumed with quietly building for hours upon hours. It's like I just got a free babysitter FO LYFE y'all.

But then, but then...oh my goodness, then...

There was Noah.

Little 2.5 year old Noah. Little chubby-handed, clumsy, fine-motor skill impaired Noah.

Oh yeah, and did I mention he has anger issues? Because toddler.

You add to that molotov cocktail an undying love of building architecturally unsound structures, and there you have it - the bane of my existence.

Noah puts a lego piece on, another piece falls off. He puts that piece back on, and a different one falls off. He makes impossible "staircase" structures that are prone to break if a strong breeze passes through and then tries to stand it up without any support. (Surprise, it breaks). He needs help but refuses any because "I do myself! Nobody help me!" He sometimes finally makes something completely and then runs to show me only to have it break off during his un-careful transit...

Taken 0.23 seconds before his creation broke apart.

Let's just say Noah melts down in wailing frustration every 3-5 minutes. All. Day. Long.

My nerves are very, very frayed.

So I packed up all the legos today and took out much more age-appropriate mega-blocks and bristle-blocks. Noah melted down in fury - Lego! I want Lego!!!!!

Judah, ironically, accepted it and started building with the bristle-blocks.

But Noah, chubby-handed, uncoordinated, easily-angered Noah.

Just. Shoot. Me. Now.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?!

A Particularly Bad Day

Sometimes, after a long day of unsuccessfully "parenting" the kids, I want to read about another mom that's struggled as much as I have.

I've been googling for a while and I can't find any.

But YOU'RE in luck if you're looking for a mom fail. Of course, by now, you know that this is THE place to go for tales of utter frustration and disturbing ambivalence in parenting. And you can hear someone confess (and amply demonstrate) that she doesn't know what the heck she's doing and has no qualifications whatsoever to have little people's lives and impressionable young hearts and minds placed in her hands.

Honestly, every day is a rough day.

But today was a REALLY rough day. I don't even know why. But you know it's going to be a bad day when you completely lose your sh*t at 10 am in the morning. Usually I can last a good 7+ hours before completely losing it with the kids, but today was some kind of special.

Noah wields the sword like a pro, but his real power is clinging to mommy. All. Day. Long.

Noah copies Judah's power stance. And his ability to make messes everywhere and at all times.

It's not like the kids were especially annoying or anything. It's just...kind of like a boiling pot that finally blows its lid. Like a volcano that suddenly erupts. The constant whining, fussing, crying, negotiating, line-crossing, grumpiness, quick-to-anger, quick-to-complain attitude, pouting, outright defiance and disobedience, and even innocent spills, messes, repetitive questions and non-stop interruptions, etc. just built up to the point of tipping me into raging b*tch mommy-land.

And, after some more processing, I realize I've been impatient lately. I've been itching to get stuff done. We moved into our house over 18 months ago and it's STILL not settled. I would say our lives move at a snail's pace, but that's just way too insulting to those lightening-quick snails. For example, we bought a tiny half-window curtain to hang up in our bathroom and it just sat there in a corner for FIVE MONTHS collecting dust. Five. Months. We FINALLY hung it up last week.

The garage is stacked with yet-to-be-opened boxes. And pictures that need hanging. And files to be sorted. And goodness knows what else.

Every time I step into the garage my skin crawls with an aching desire to sort and organize. Heck, every time I look around the house I can instantly spot 10 things I'd like to do or undo in any given room. And I know each thing will take FIVE MONTHS to finally happen. Okay, that's probably an exaggeration. OR IS IT?!?!

Anyway, I've rambled on too long and now it's bedtime...so how do I end this...?

Patience, patience, my friend.

Patience is a virtue.

Especially when you have little people.

This was meant to be light, oh well

Dear Diary,

I should be going to bed now but...I feel like talking to someone, so, yeah.

Unfortunately, you're not a real diary and this is a sorta public forum so I can't really spill all my uncensored guts, but I can tell you this.

I'm still not used to taking care of my kids all day. Being a stay-at-home mom is still hard. Noah still has times when he screams and cries the entire car trip home (for no apparent *good* reason). Judah has all kinds of ridiculous phobias that defy logic and strip me of sanity. And I still can barely hear myself think when the kids are around.

I fantasize about the day when Noah is 2.5. No more stranger anxiety. He can watch a video like his brother. They might even play together. And definitely no more nursing.

In fact I'm holding on to that bright and shining day like a beacon in the night. In a stormy night with pounding waves that toss me under like a rag doll before I can catch a breath.

Oh, and what else...

I've started drinking a giant mug of coffee in the middle of the day. It helps.

My kind and thoughtful friend lent me her double-jogging stroller this week. I jogged with it once. It was awesome.

My reward at the end of a long, hard day is listening to Chris Rice albums as I wash dishes and tidy the playroom. Not exactly putting my feet up but I'm starting to accept my role as a 16 hour a day menial house slave. I don't glower as much as I used to.

If ever there was a time I needed to practice being positive and grateful, it is now. Giving thanks is no longer something 'nice to do' for me. It is the difference between life and death. Between despair and hope. Between sinking and staying afloat. Because my goodness how the storms rage on.

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.

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.