Our First Date

A few weeks ago I had a mild panic attack as I considered how long it had been since I actually had some quality one-on-one time with Judah. A year ago? Over a year ago? Basically ever since Noah stopped napping.

At this rate, my panicked head calculated, he will become a teenager before I've had the chance to develop strong relational bonds with him, and then he'll prefer the company of his peers over mine, and I'll lose whatever influence I could've ever hoped to have had over him, and he'll fall down a pit of depression and addiction and/or video gaming and drugs! AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

So after I got my heart rate back down to normal, I told the Spouse I wanted to institute special one-on-one times with the kids. We'll each take a kid once a week or so and hang out with them for about 2 hours. No chores. No errands. Just being together.

And so that's just what we did.

We told the kids about the upcoming "dates" and Judah especially was happily anticipating it. Just to see him looking forward to it so much made me feel already that (a) this was a good thing to do and (b) long over due.  Noah was like, meh, whatever.

Judah looks so happy to not have Noah around, ha!

I decided to take Judah hiking since he loves nature and becomes much more unguarded in the woods. We talked about school and he told me how everything was going well except that it was hard for him to find play mates during recess.

He asked why nobody wanted to play with him. Why some kids were popular but he was not. He shared how bad he feels when everyone walks back to class in groups of twos and threes while he faces the long walk of shame alone.

Once he asked his classmates to wait for him so that he could go back and get his water bottle but no one waited. He described that incident with a rhetorical flourish I will always remember with pride - Mommy, today, I felt like dust. Dust!

Great simile son!

I asked Judah what things I could do to make him feel more loved. He seems so different from my familiar toddler/preschooler who loved huggle snuggles and asked incessantly for me to play with him. He asks for so little now, I don't really know what he needs anymore.

But much to my surprise he replied, Hugs and kisses!

Well, I guess somethings don't change all that quickly. I guess what I interpreted as a diminished need for physical affection was really just a big kid feeling like his mom was too busy to sit and hug for awhile. Which wouldn't be wrong. But should be fixed.

After our walk, I let him chose where to eat and he predictably chose his favorite "restaurant" - Starbucks, and ordered his favorite "meal" - cream cheese and bagel and a chocolate croissant. Our kids are on the opposite of the low-carb diet, obviously.

The entire time, he was aglow in a way that I haven't seen for a long time. He was happy. Really, really happy. Beaming, actually.

And even after our date, the after-glow continued for several days. He was much more affectionate than usual and called me his "date-buddy" frequently. It's a little weird, but also very sweet.

I was surprised when sometime in the middle of our date, he did something he hadn't done for over a year--stooped down to pick a flower for me.

I thought we were done with that phase. The phase where he showers me with love scribbles and flowering weeds and loves me to the moon and back and needs lots of assurance that I feel the same way.

But no, we're not. And I'm so glad for it...and to have found that out before it was too late.

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.

Momiversity: A Mother's Reckoning

This week my kids are enrolled in a Summer camp program for 2.5 hours each morning. Hallelujah!

It's not actually enough time for me to drive home so I decided to just camp out at a nearby Starbucks and catch up on all the parenting books I never had time to read.

My classroom for this week.

And then I thought, I should blog about what I read cuz that greatly enhances my comprehension. And so I bring you this new series of blog entries: MOMIVERSITY

Today's book review is actually not one of typical parenting advice books - it's a memoir by arguably one of the most "failingest" moms in history (no, not me, surprise!) - Sue Klebold.

Remember the Columbine shootings? Sue's son, Dylan, was one of the two shooters. Sixteen years later she revisits every detail and reveals private moments and diary entries from her and Dylan's journals, trying to put the pieces together and answer the question - HOW?

How could I not have known what my son was planning?
Indeed, how could I have absolutely no idea whatsoever, not even a tiny hint?

And how could I resist such a juicy read? Part anti-parenting manual, part mystery novel, part horror show. Total catnip to me. And I devoured it. All 280 pages of it.

And in the end, after all that sturm und drang, I really can't say I came away with anything conclusive. Any real answers.

Sue talks about her deep guilt and regret. Her genuine befuddlement and lack of foreknowledge. Her happy home life. Her total lack of any kind of concern over Dylan whatsoever because he was her "sunshine boy," her easy child that never caused her any worries at all.

Even just 3 days before the shooting, Dylan went to his senior prom and had a really happy, jovial time just being a regular teen.

Is Sue just blinded by her need for self-justification or genuinely so obtuse and unaware that she lacks the psychological capacity to see the problems surrounding Dylan's upbringing?

I don't think so. It doesn't appear that Sue is any more obtuse or oblivious than the average, reasonably loving and attentive mom. In fact she seems more loving and attentive than average and in all respects, their home life was as good as anyone can hope to provide for their kids - good suburb, happy marriage, good friends from childhood through adolescence, etc.

So then how? How did this happen?

Sue's catchall answer is not that helpful - brain illness.

Brain illness is her adopted terminology for what the rest of the world still calls "mental illness." But because there is a stigma attached to "mental illness" she prefers to use the term "brain illness."

Dylan was suffering from suicidal thoughts as early as 2 years before his eventual death, as evidenced in his journals, which Sue read posthumously. He was deeply and madly in love with a girl at school that "didn't know he existed." He felt worthless and hopeless. An "unsalvagable" and summed his life up in these words "the most miserable existence in the history of the world."

But on top of his suicidal desires, was a psychopathic friend, Eric Harris, who tried to interest at least 2 other of his friends in a mass shooting at his school. No one took the bait, except Dylan.

Layered on top of this was a culture of extreme bullying at the high school. And Eric and Dylan being frequent targets of such bullying.

And there are all the pieces: suicidal intentions + psychopath best friend + steady diet of shame and humiliation + brain illness = mass murder / suicide.

Okay, fine, but how could she NOT have even a whiff of that? How could she have no inkling what was going on with her son?

This is the question that haunts me.

My parents had no idea how I thought or felt, but I always chalked that up to the fact that they weren't interested in my inner life. As long as I brought home good grades, that was all that mattered. But Sue Klebold was not an Asian immigrant parent - she cared deeply about her sons inner life, she was an artist herself and wanted nothing more than for her son to feel cared for and loved.

She talked to Dylan about all things, big and small. She asked how he felt about them. She did everything she could to nurture his inner life.

And yet she knew nothing.

In the immediate aftermath of the shooting, Sue received many letters and a good proportion of them were from people who said essentially:

We don't blame you. My parents didn't know what I was going through as a teen. That I was raped / bullied / suicidal / etc. No one knew. I kept it a secret for years, decades.

And then I realized the chilling fact of the matter: there is a point when we as parents will no longer know what our kids don't want us to know about them. And that point probably comes sooner than we'd ever imagine.

One of Sue's journal entries was written in response to her reading about Dylan's suicidal thoughts for the first time: Dylan was so loved. But he did not feel loved...

Ultimately the question of "how" is still largely unanswered in my mind, but with the little light that has been shed, I am groping toward my own understanding of how to parent...and I'm realizing that parental love is not enough. Children need more from us than just love.

There is also the matter of Truth.

The Four Stages of Good Grief: Gingerbread Edition

Before this holiday season I had never baked cookies before, ever. Not once. It's not that I have anything against baking cookies, it just never rose to the level of something I wanted to do enough to actually do it.

But kids are magical like that.

Both Judah and Noah heard a lot about the gingerbread man at their respective schools and kept asking if we could make some. So we did.

And I found out there are 4 stages of gingerbread cookie making.

Stage 1: Rolling out the dough and cutting the cookies. It's just like play-doh!

Stage 2: Decorating the cookies. Ridiculously messy. And sprinkles are from hell.

Stage 3: Eating the cookies. Mmmm high-fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated oils. Cancer tastes delicious.

Stage 4: Recreating the experience with play-doh! Noah actually ripped up pieces of paper-gingerbread men to put on his play-doh. Adorable example of art imitating life. Except they were Judah's paper-gingerbread men. Cue wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And there you have it! A tradition is born.

What He Said

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

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

I made a mess Mommy!

Yeah, I can see that Judah.

But it was a beautiful mess, Mommy.

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

And by grace, beautiful too.

Babies, Boys and Boredom

I hate playing with my kids.

There, I said it.

Yes, I'm a horrible mother.

Possibly even a horrible human being.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I do feel bad.

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

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

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

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

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

I Yayu Noah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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?

Battling the Blues

I need a gratitude dump right now.  Stat.

I've been feeling really blah and down lately.  I don't know if it's the cold weather or recent dip in sleep (insomnia mixed with a bedtime that creeps ever later) but I'm just one big puddle of blech.

So, here we go...grateful, grateful, grateful...

--So grateful for some ladies at my church who come and babysit for us on weekends.  Last week we had a blast with this lovely lady.  Thanks to her help, I was finally able to take the kids on a fun outing (there's no way I would brave handling 2 crazy/fussy kids by myself) which we haven't done in over 3 months!

Any place with kiddie trains is tops in Judah's book!

Yay for baby-sized carousel animals!

Judah, the other white meat.

--I'm grateful we found comic books for preschoolers.  And there are at least 10 of them.  Judah loves to pore over them so it buys us a few hours of peace per book.

What, you don't act out books as you "read" them?

--I'm grateful that kids grow up.  I'm really looking forward to the time when Judah's 5 and Noah's 2.  Babies are hard.  Nursing is annoying.  Naps are really inconvenient.  But in the meantime, I try to squeeze as much consolation as I can get from Noah's intoxicating chubby cuteness.

My cuteness lets me get away with anything--even waking mommy up at 5am everyday!

Day 2 of Gratituding: The Other Bat Kid

Continuing with my attempt to become a more grateful and happy person (see previous post), here are the things I'm grateful for today:

(1) Upcycled my old 3-drawer office cart into a 'craft' station for Judah.  His art and craft supplies have been laying around in a disorganized mess and slowly driving me insane.  So, yay for sanity.

(2) The weather has finally dipped to the point where it actually feels nippy all day despite the bright sunshine.  I love cold weather because that means I can use the oven with abandon.  I love roasting meats and veggies and baking stuff.

(3) Watched Judah impersonate Batman for the better part of an hour tonight.  I mentioned the Bat Kid phenomenon to the Spouse and gushed about how awesome it was.  Judah overheard us and instantly launched into superhero mode, running around, jumping on mattresses, and the entire time shouting the Batman theme song at the top of his lungs (lucky for him the lyrics are pretty simple)--na na na na na na na na na na Batman! na na na na na na na na na na Batman!

Judah giving off his best 'tough guy' face.

Judah's go-to pose when he wants to show off his muscles.

After I praised one of his kicks, he started kicking higher and more furiously.  The recoil action on these babies was hilarious.

It was so hard stifling my laughter in the face of Judah's very earnest belief that he was indeed dishing out some very bad ass superhero moves.

If Eeyore and Debbie Downer had a love child...

It may be hard to tell from my cheery exterior, but I'm actually quite a neg-head. I gravitate toward bad news, focus on the things that went wrong, and obsess over what might go wrong in the future.

 Hardly a recipe for joy and very much against the spirit of the season--Thanksgiving.

In a famous experiment by psychologist Martin Seligman, patients were shown to drastically improve their mental well-being by doing simple things to boost their sense of gratitude. Among them, was to list 3 things they were grateful for each day.

Well, being the neg-head that I am, I very much doubt such a simple exercise could really make a dent in my strong Debbie Downer tendency, but what the heck.  It couldn't hurt.

So...three things that I'm thankful for today...(and of course instantly I'm thinking of numerous things that I'm NOT thankful for today--like how I realized I forgot my wallet as I was checking out at Target, doh!)

Okay, thankful, thankful, thankful...

(1) Didn't have to cook dinner--bought soups and sandwiches at our local grocery store.

(2) (Aside--this is taking a really long time...I've been staring at my screen for literally 5 minutes now...) Printed out some easy worksheets for Judah downloaded from a free website.  He loves doing stuff like that and it should buy me at least 30 min of peace tomorrow.

(3) Made Noah giggle like a madman for a whole 5 minutes today.  I know that sounds like a small thing, but it really was a highlight of my day!  Interpret as you will.