Summer and Weird Stuff Parents Say

Hi! I keep disappearing! I apologize!

Things have been busy with work and submissions and a summer filled with swimming lessons and trying to keep my kids entertained and slightly less whiny (I'm failing spectacularly on that one, by the way), and so I haven't had much time to write here. But I will! I swear! I WILL MAKE IT HAPPEN. For you, my Squishies. For you.

Turbo updates:
- The Big One has decided to no longer eat meat. Unless it's bacon. Or deep-fried. Otherwise, he has a real problem with it. So now with the Little One's sensitivity to dairy, things have gotten really interesting when it comes to meal planning. Suddenly, I'm accidentally vegan quite often.

-We went on a family vacation with my husband's parents on the Oregon coast! It was beautiful and chilly and the boys got to build sandcastles and run in a HOUSE and play and be kids and that was fantastic. Also, this happened:

-Swimming lessons! They're taking them. And while I was thoroughly terrified that they'd drown (or the secondary drowning, good god, and if you don't know what I'm talking about DON'T LOOK IT UP or you will never stop worrying ever), they haven't. And they love it. And I get to watch them love it for 30 minutes every day while sitting in the sun wearing 900 liters of sunscreen.

-Summer! So much free time! SO MUCH FREE TIME. For them, of course, not for me. I'm trying to keep them busy enough so we don't all lose our minds, and I'm trying to work. Which really means keep them busy, still losing our minds, and I don't start working until 8:30pm. ppffffttth.

-I don't know what else! Both kids will be in school (Little One in preschool, Big One in kindergarten OHMYGOD) in the fall, and I don't quite know what to do with that. We'll discuss it later.

Anyhoo. In the midst of all this busy, I've been writing down weird things that keep coming out of my and my husband's mouths, so here. I offer these nuggets of odd as a peace offering. YOU'RE WELCOME.

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Weird Things Parents Say

After finding that my kids had ripped the bottom of a shopping bag, just to check it out, I said:  "Much like the cardboard at the bottom of the xfinity bag, the children are destroying me so they can find out what I'm made of." And it's true. They totally are. (And like the xfinity bag, they're finding I'm sort of shoddily held together.)

"Everyone leave everyone's butt alone."

"Please be nice to your penis."

"When's the last time you changed your underwear?"

"I'm sorry I made you mad when I asked you not to call me dead."

"And that's a marble.  Don't eat that."

"No.  We don't shoot anyone with our butts."

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And, of course, the kids out-weird us sometimes, so here's some stuff they say, too. Both weird and adorable.

Little One

After the Big One got up from the table for the zillionth time to go blow his nose: "Brudder!  He pit-peered!  He witch!  I fwared of him." (Translation: Brother! He disappeared! He's a witch! I'm scared of him.)

cerebra = zebra

callcano- volcano

Toefood = tofu

You-me = we; as in, "You-me played soccer!" or "You-me going to da park?"

Little One [while eating waffles]:"Mommy!!  Der sugar in dere?"
Me: [Nodding] Mm-hmm.
Little One: "I wuv sugar!  I wuv it!"

While I was singing an improvised song during dessert, the Little One said, "Mommy?  Dat song not good for eating."  Always a critic.

Big One

"Mommy?  I love a little artist like me.  Do you?"

amblee-ance = ambulance

apple critter = apple fritter

"These blueberries are so organic that I love them." I love my tiny hippy.

"Daddy? I am so compacted with laughs."

Growing Up & A Great Article

So much is changing with my little people every day.  They are artists and musicians, actors and detectives, scientists and mathematicians.  They want to see and learn and hear everything.  They bounce all over, soaking it all up.  And they are becoming the slightest bit more trustworthy and independent.  They are finally (FINALLY!!!) starting to play together for short periods without screeching, so from time to time, I get a moment to myself.  Sometimes I can pee without an audience, you guys!  It's a miracle!

And I can talk to them.  I can talk with them, and it is such a pleasure it catches me off guard sometimes.

The Little One's speech is growing by the day and he's able to tell me so much more about what he thinks about and observes around him.  He can tell me what "fwaired" him in the shadows behind the door.  He can explain his nightmares to me (in simple terms, but still).  He can tell me when and where he's hurt.  And he tell me when he's excited about something.  He can tell me me loves me, or wants a kiss, or wants to "cwimb on yap and wead a book."  He surprises me on a daily basis with his new tricks, and though he also surprises me with the depth of his stubbornness and willingness to test me, I adore that little boy to pieces.

The Big One.  So big!  He is so expressive now.  He's picking up words left and right and- to my delight- is using them.  Correctly!  His context is spot on, and he gets it.  My English teacher heart soars with every new word.  He's picked up gorgeous, humongous, enormous, and glum.  And he's used them all.  I cannot tell you how much I love it when he asks what a word means, and I watch him absorb the meaning as I explain.  My wonderful little word sponge.

They are so big already.  It happens so quickly.  I've found myself drawn to pictures of them both as babies, as though I can preserve that tiny part of them if I just remember.  If I only remember.  But they're no different.  They are bigger, more capable, naughtier... but they are still the same babies that I held and cuddled back then.  I look at the pictures and I see the same expressions, the same mischievous grins, the same goofiness, the same heart-breaking quiver when they'd begin to cry.  They are the same.  My babies.  Always my babies.

Here's a bit of their latest adorableness.  Enjoy and swoon with me at their preciousness, won't you?

Little One:
Thomas = hummus (this may tell you where his loyalties lie...)
Frinkle far = Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star (That one took a while to figure out.  I kept thinking about Farkles the Unicorn.)
Fwaired = scared
Fweep = either sleep or sweep, depending on context

Big One:
After seeing a picture of me at my wedding, the Big One said, "Mommy, why are you wearing a blanket on your head?"  Touche, little dude.

"Mommy, you're a real superhero."  Damn skippy.

"I feel glum."  Well, then.


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Also, in case you don't follow me on Facebook (HEY!  YOU SHOULD FOLLOW ME ON FACEBOOK!!!), here is an article that is in beautiful opposition to all the "lean in" and "opt out" articles popping up all over the place.  It rings true for me, and likely rings true for many of you, too.

"For the average married mother of small children, it is often cheaper to stay home - even if she would prefer to be in the workforce. It is hard to "lean in" when you are priced out."

Love Letter

Dear Sweet Boys,

I love you.  I really do.  Sometimes I can hardly contain the amount of love I have for the two of you.  I want to swoop you up and cover you with kisses.  I want to hug you until the sun goes down.  I want to sing to you and smooth your hair and play with your little fingers and toes.

But I can't.  Because you keep making that awful hooting sound.  You know the one.  The one can shakes the bones of my skull.  The one that makes my eye twitch and my blood pressure go through the roof.  The one that I ask you- over and over, every single day- to STOP MAKING.  That hoot.

Quit it, please.  It's horrible.  It makes me crazy.  It gets in the way of my adoring you.  Nothing you do will ever make me stop loving you, but when the two of you start hooting together, I'm afraid my head will explode.

So remember: I love you, and no hooting.  Ever.

Thank you, my darlings.
Mama

Night Terrors, Nursemaid's Elbow, Barf and Fireworks... OH MY.

Well.  That was a week.

Last week was tricky.  Last week was tricky enough that I couldn't really write about it until this week.

Hi Last Week!  I'm looking at you with some distance!  I have perspective!  And you still suck!

First up: Our first foray into night terrors.
I had heard of night terrors and know a few people whose kids have had them, but I didn't know any real details.  I was hoping we might have passed that window.

We did not pass that window.  Apparently, that window is open.

I was watching T.V. one day last week while my husband was out running errands, and I heard this strange gaspy noise over the monitor.  It was quick, and I wasn't sure what I'd heard, so I turned down the sound on the T.V. and listened closely.  I heard it again- a strange, sudden gasping- followed by a sudden cry.  I jumped off the couch and ran to the Big One's room, where I found him gasping and panting, looking panicked on his bed.  I asked him if he was okay, if he'd had a bad dream, and he started to sob.  He started to cry so hard that he began to hyperventilate- something he's done since he was a tiny baby- and then started to cough and gag and choke on the coughs.  I pulled him into my lap and he pushed me away; trying to calm him only seemed to make it worse.  I couldn't figure out what was wrong.  I wasn't sure if he was terrified from some awful dream, or if he was having his first asthma attack (his father has asthma and I'm constantly terrified that he'll get it as well), or if something was seriously, frighteningly wrong.

In the middle of this, my husband walked in the door and saw what was going on.  He was equally confused and also tried to comfort our son, but got the same reaction.  It only seemed to upset the Big One more.  We asked if he wanted to lie down and sleep, and he said yes, and then hiccuped and gasped himself to sleep.  We must have checked on him eight times before going to bed that night, but he seemed fine.  His breathing normalized fairly quickly and he slept fine the rest of the night.

In the morning, I asked him about this episode, asked him if he'd had a bad dream.  He had no idea what I was talking about.  This child has a freaky memory.  He can literally remember things from when he was two years old.  He ALWAYS remembers his dreams.  Of this most horrifying experience, he had no recollection.  Nothing.  Nada.  It was at that point that I realized it might be night terrors.  I asked some friends and Dr. Google and realized that was likely the case.  Night terrors.

The next night the exact same thing happened.  Identical.  Except this time, we'd read a couple articles and listened to some advice.  We tried not to touch him much or talk to him too much.  We tried to just sit with him and quietly coo at him until he calmed on his own and went back to sleep.  Again, he remembered nothing in the morning.

I supposed it's good that they don't remember these things in the morning.  I think it's better that they don't recall the look of terror and helplessness on their parents' faces.  Night terrors are scary, but I'm relieved that it isn't my son that's terrorized by them.

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Hi.  Feeling upbeat?  Cheery?  FILLED WITH UNICORNS AND GLITTER?!?  No?  Okay. That'll happen later.

SO.  Last week the kids also caught a lovely summer bug, which resulted in high fevers and the Little One's first barf.  After eating strawberries.  And taking cherry Tylenol.  Can you picture it?  YOU'RE WELCOME.  The poor kid puked bright pink vomit all over himself, the couch, and the bathroom and scared the bejeezus out of himself.  Did I mention it was also the hottest week we've had this summer- mid-90s- and we have no air-conditioning and no cross-breeze?  Mmm hmmm.  Nothing quite like the smell of fresh vomit on a hot day.

This bug went from one kid to the next, and we were down for the count for a full week.  Stuck in a house that smelled like barf on the hottest days of the year with fevers.  And half the couch out of commission.  It was swell.  But they got better!!  And Nature's Miracle really is a miracle and took the vomit right out of our couch.  Seriously, it's amazing stuff.

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SO, also.  Ever heard of nursemaid's elbow?  It's super common, and it's super fucked up.  It's a partial dislocation of the elbow that you can find out more about here, but all you really need to know is: #1. It can happen when you swing young kids around by their arms, lift them quickly by the hands, wrists, or arms, or if they go boneless while holding your hand (and you try to hang on to their hand OR lift them by the hand).  #2. It really hurts the kiddo and makes you feel like shit if you're the one holding the kid when it happens..  #3. Once it happens, it WILL happen again.

The Little One has now partially dislocated his elbow FOUR times.  FOUR.  And it sucks, you guys.  There is screaming and crying and pathetic whimpering.  There is cradling of the arm and looking at me like, "Why won't you make this stop?!?!"  IT SUCKS.

This time- the FOURTH time- the Big One did it.  It was totally an accident, they were just playing and the Little One reached out and the Big One grabbed his arms and pulled and I yelled for him to stop and it was already done.  I knew before he even cried.  It happens so quickly and easily now.

Last time, the third time it happened, we were at the Big One's birthday party and friend was there who happens to be a doctor.  He did a little research on the spot and fixed it right then and there.  And he showed us how.  It was quick and seemed easy and once it's fixed it's all better.

So, this time, the Little One was whimpering on my lap while the Big One was intermittently hiding in his room and bringing apology offerings of blankies and stuffed animals, and there I was on the internet refreshing my memory for how to do this.  And wondering whether I could do this.  Can I reset my own child's elbow?  Can I?  NO.  Yes?  No?  Yes.

I went back and forth wondering which was worse: Was it worse to drag my two and half year old hurting son downstairs, torque his dislocated elbow into a car seat, drive him (crying) to Urgent Care, and wait for who knows how long for them to snap it right back into place?  OR was it worse for me to try and do this when, really, I have no idea what I'm doing.

I decided the former would suck more.  I don't know if it was the responsible choice, but it was the choice I needed to make.

I'd watched two doctors fix his elbow one semi-complicated way in Urgent Care, and I'd watched my friend (and his research video) do it another, easier looking way.  I decided to go the easier looking route.  I looked up a million different tutorials on how to do this and finally found one with very clear pictures that made sense to me.

The hard part was trying to hold my poor boy still enough to get a proper hold on his hurt arm.  It was awful right up until I did it.  But it was quick.  And I did it.  I popped my son's elbow back into place and I watched the immediate relief.  And then I cried into his hair as he reached for his lovey with the arm that he had just been unwilling to move.  I did it.  We did it.  I did it.

Nursemaid's elbow sucks.  I know it will probably happen again.  And I know I'll probably have to fix it again.  And I do not look forward to that.

Be careful with your squishies.  They are small and much more fragile than they seem.

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Okay, STILL not filled with unicorns and kittens and rainbows and poufy clouds and sunshine?  No?  BUT THIS HAS BEEN SUCH A HAPPY, UPBEAT POST!!!   Eh em.  Okay.  It's coming.  Really.  Here.


SO, also, also.  Fourth of July happened in there.  While the kids were sick.  And everyone was exhausted.  And our house still smelled like puke.  And no one was sleeping.  BUT.  Because no one was sleeping, we got to watch the fireworks with the Big One.  And that.  That, my friends, was amazing.  Watching his little eyes grow wide in the dark while he listened to these strange sounds- sounds that scared him- and watched the lights bursting in the sky....  Well... that made us forget about all of the crappy stuff.  We bundled together on the balcony and drank hot cocoa and stayed up way past our bedtimes and talked and talked and talked.  And we watched the fireworks.  Together.  And we hugged the whole time.

So there.  Warm and squishy, after all.

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Once again, this post has NOT been sponsored in any way by Nature's Miracle.  I'm just really, really glad it took the puke out of my couch.  Like, REALLY glad.

Nap Avoidance

The Big One takes on nap avoidance like a job.  A career.  A mission.  A mission to drive me insane.  AND IT IS WORKING.

The Big One has always been an expert nap avoider.  As a little guy, he would attempt to cute his way past The Window, cooing and gurgling like a tiny cherub.  As he got older, he would ask for one more book, one more song or one more snuggle.  Still cute.  As he entered toddlerhood, he became trickier, begging for a drink of water, claiming he had to go potty, assuring me he JUST. WASN'T. TIRED.  But usually, with enough patience on my part, he would fall asleep and take the nap we both desperately needed.

But now.  Oh, now.  Now, he's spiteful.  Now he's calculated, conniving, and... a genius, really.  Because now, he does everything he can think of to wake the Little One up.  His sweet little brother who is happily snoozing away in the closet just a few feet from him.  And it makes me completely, thoroughly, murderously angry.

(Have I mentioned the Little One naps and sometimes sleeps part of the night in our master closet?  He does.  I'm sure that won't cause any issues down the road.  Bygones.)

The Big One has developed this terrible, horrible, AWFUL sound- a godawful hoot- that carries from here to Shanghai (hello friends in China!!  You've heard it, haven't you).  It is possibly the most irritating sound known to human kind and he can keep it up for hours.  HOURS, oh my hell on earth.  And he has figured out that, apart from making me insane, the sound will likely wake his peacefully sleeping brother... thereby ending nap-time.

You guys, he is brilliant.  Or evil.  An evil genius, perhaps?  Shit.  My kid is an evil genius.  What do I do about that, exactly?  Channel it?  Redirect it?  Shave his head, get him some dark glasses, and prepare to be proud of his intelligence... however it rears it's (potentially ugly) head?

Ugh.  I miss nap.  I NEED nap.  He needs nap.  Sonofabitch.

Parenting Siblings as an Only Child

My husband and I are only children.  We have no concept of what it's like to have brothers or sisters.  We don't understand the dynamics between siblings and we have no idea what is normal and what's not.  As far as we're concerned, it's a constant party with your very best friend right! next! door!

And so, having two boys 20 months apart is... interesting.

We are constantly astounded at the vim and vigor with which siblings would, apparently, like to kill each other.  It appears that the Big One's greatest desire is to beat up the Little One and take his toys.  Except that it isn't.  It's like a switch.  They'll be happily playing together (or across the room from each other) when the Big One turns around and must think something like, "Hey!  He looks happy.  I should fuck that up tout suite."  What in the hell.  He jumps on the Little One, sits on his head, runs over to take his toys, whacks him out of nowhere and tackles him about 65 bazillion times a day.  It is CONSTANT.  We tell people about it- how aghast we are at what appears to be his random, focused rage and violence.  And those people invariably raise their eyebrows and laugh at us.  "Yup," they say.  "They're brothers."

Meanwhile, the Little One could not adore the Big One any more.  He runs to him when he wakes up in the morning or from nap.  He attempts to share and bestow gifts upon the Big One.  He absolutely lights up when he thinks he's done something that may impress or tickle his big brother.  He is a hardcore groupie, yo.

The Little One's only recently started to fight back when the Big One harasses him, but it is something to behold (as we knew it would be... this kid does EVERYTHING big.  No middle ground).  He hits back, hard, and usually in the face.  He's mighty proud of his abilities- probably because he thinks it makes him more like the Big One- but I'm just envisioning the hundreds of ER visits we'll have in the future.  I'm terrified.

On top of all this hitting and screeching, it is exhausting trying to keep them from killing each other.  I know I'm not supposed to intervene too much; they're supposed to learn to work things out.  But I'm having a hard time figuring out when that's supposed to happen.

I've heard, "Only intervene if someone's going to get hurt."  And, well, that's super duper helpful except that I have two homicidal toddlers here and SOMEONE IS ALWAYS GOING TO GET HURT.

I've also heard, "Give them space to play together alone so that they learn to compromise and share."  This would be all well and good if I lived in a house where I could kick them out into the backyard to, quoth my father, "Let the wind blow the stink off 'em" (aka: run around in circles until they were too exhausted to scream and beat each other anymore).  But I can't.  I live in an apartment.  We have neighbors that- I'm virtually positive- we terrify on a regular basis.  If I leave the two of them alone in a room together for more than two minutes, I'm going to come back to shattered glass, broken plumbing, and hummus smeared on every surface.  And that's best case scenario.

And then finally I've heard, "Don't worry about it.  It'll all work itself out and they'll love each other later."  Except, I CANNOT HELP BUT WORRY ABOUT IT.  This very issue fills every second of every day with yelling and throwing and hitting and crashing and Oh. My. God. Make. It. Stop.  I can't just "not worry about it."  I have 17 years to get through before they like each other enough to stop trying to kill each other.  And even that's a gamble.

And so, Dear Siblinged Ones, I ask you.  What do I do?  How do I ensure the survival of both children and minimize the gaping wounds?  And how do I remain somewhat sane for the next 17 years.  BECAUSE I AM FINDING IT DIFFICULT HERE, PEOPLE.

P.S. If you tell me not to worry about it, I will find you and leave you with my kids for a full 24 hours and then YOU can not worry about it.  K?  K.