Clarification

Dear Little One,

I feel there are a few things I need to clarify with you.  Please listen closely:

* Making something fly through the air does not make it a ball.  Please stop saying, "Ball!" and then throwing things.
         Example: That little metal truck you just hucked across the table?  Not a ball.  The bit of sandwich you called a ball and then threw at lunch?  Also not a ball.

* Screeching like a psychotic monkey will not get you what you want.
        Example: When I go to change your diaper and you twist and scream that horrid scream and throw things (which are still not balls), I still have to change your diaper.  I win.

* Calling it a button does not mean you have to push it over and over and over again.
         Example: Your bits are your bits, so... I'm not trying to be bossy and I definitely want you to enjoy... things... but we do have to get things done and... there's a time and place for....  We'll talk about this when you're older.  Nevermind.

* Trying to twist out of my arms while I'm carrying you somewhere you don't want to go isn't going to hurt anyone but you.
        Example: All of the times you do this.  Quit doing this.

* Refusing to eat will not make me suddenly decide to feed you nothing but cookies and milk.
         Example: See the part about only hurting yourself.  And the part about me winning.

* While that mischievous grin of yours is killer and makes me smile every. single. time... it does not give you free reign for naughtiness.
        Example: Flashing that smile at me before you pitch your breakfast or smash the metal car into the wooden table does not excuse it.  You're still in trouble.  So just stop.  Oh, stop.  Yeah, it's cute- stop.  Ohmygod, I totally love you.



And, actually, while we're at it....

Dear Big One,

You clearly need some clarification on a few things as well.  Listen up, big fella.

* Repeating something a quadrabillion times in a progressively more irritating voice is not likely to make it happen.
       Example: Hollering from your bed at nap time, "Mommy, I need the door a little bit closed!" (meaning open) over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over...

*Just because you say, "Excuse me," doesn't necessarily mean you're excused.  Hollering over your parents as we're attempting to talk in the five seconds we have to figure out dinner is not going to help anyone.  And yelling, "Excuse me," kinda cancels out the polite, there buddy.  See previous bullet.  And just hold on a second.

*Nap time really isn't for you.  It's for me.  So it's not optional.  You do not have to sleep, but you do have to stay in your room without yelling for a full hour at least.  (Note: that does not mean you get to start yelling after the first hour.  I merely require one hour for sanity.  More will benefit all of us.)
        Example: Today when I put you down for nap, you solemnly swore that you would lie down and stay quiet.  As soon as I left the room you bounced up and down and yelled my name for 17 different things that would mean I needed to come to the room and/or get you out of bed.  "I have to pee!"  "I have to poop!"  "I need a drink!"  "What was that sound?!?"  "I need my hippo!" (which is now across the room where I threw it so you'd have to come and retrieve it.)  "I'm hungry!"  "Can I read a book?"  "I miss you."   All of that is infuriating.  Please quit it.

*Saying you "need a break" right after you've done something that you know has earned you a time out will not get you out of time out.  Nice try though.
         Example: The other day when you pushed your brother over out of nowhere and then ran as fast as your legs would carry you to the corner of the kitchen yelling, "I need a break!!!"  Nope.  Still get a time out.

*Cracking up in the middle of your tantrum, while simultaneously amusing and exasperating, will still not get you out of whatever I'm asking you to do.
          Example: Yesterday when I asked you to go potty and get your shoes on before we had to leave to pick up Daddy, and you screamed and yelled and threw yourself to the ground... and then started laughing like a little lunatic... you still had to go potty and get your shoes on.  I believe this falls under the "I win" category.  But that transition directly into mania from fury was pretty impressive, Squishman.

*Being gentle and kind and loving with your brother will always get you 4,271 points with Daddy and me.  And your brother.  Keep it up.
         Example: Today, when we got home from dropping Daddy off at school, you very sweetly and gently helped your brother take off his jacket and shoes.  Of your own accord.  It was amazing.  I love you.

Wonder Woman

I'm gonna let you all in on a little secret.  Are you ready?  Susie Sunshine, I am not.

I know, I know.  This is shocking information.  Try to contain your astonishment.

Apparently, I'm Debbie Downer instead.  I've come to this realization, though it was probably obvious to everyone but me.  I would never have described myself as an optimist (I was once called "Bubbly" by a friend's boyfriend and I resented him for it for years), but I have always been great at cheerleading for others.  I can encourage and find the bright side and generally wax happy for anyone.  Except myself.  When it comes to my own life, I am decidedly pessimistic.  Sullen, even.  I cannot look on the bright side of my own life (although whistling this tune does help a lot:)

But life has been particularly redundant and decidedly unhelpful lately, and even whistling a Monty Python tune doesn't quite do it these days.  And, as a result, I fear I'm bringing other people down with me.  I think I'm becoming that grouchy person in the room that no one really wants to talk to, because they know it's all going to be bad news.

All of this to say (SEE!!  SO Debbie Downer.  Damn it.) that because I am in a place of blue that I can't quite squeak myself out of, I am going to write about the things I forget to focus on.  Because life gets in the way and the littles are so little that their unpredictability throws me for a loop, and I forget to focus on all the wonder of their littleness.  So today, I focus on that.  The wonder.  (Wonder Woman would totally kick Debbie Downer's ass, right?)

The Little One:
-He is now the same age his brother was when he was born.  Whoa.
-He adores all things vehicle and plays trucks and cars and trains contentedly for what seems like hours        sometimes.  His siren sounds have become increasingly realistic (read: LOUD).
-His cackle is infectious and he is jolly as all hell... until he is mad as all hell.  Then he is loud as all hell.  Regardless, it is always impressive.

The Big One:
-He is a reader extraordinaire.  He gets positively giddy when he receives a new book or one of his little magazines in the mail.  I hope this never, ever goes away.
-He has started saying, "You're the best!" to me and Daddy.  Of course, that means that neither one of us is actually the best, but I'll take it.  WAY more pleasant than the other oft heard "GO AWAY."
-After a long, long, LONG battle with constipation, we might be starting to win (maybe?) and he is finally going to the bathroom regularly.  Yesterday, he finally (FINALLY!!!) pooped on the potty of his own accord.  If you have kids, you totally get why this is so exciting.  If you don't, you are totally grossed out right now.  Sorry.

I will come up with more later.  In the meantime, it's enough to remind me that there is, absolutely, a bright side of life.  Doo doo, doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo.  The Wonder Woman in me will kick that Debbie's ass yet.


* Totally random side note: I had an incredibly awesome set of Wonder Woman underoos when I was little.  I rocked them with such frequency and verve that my mom made me wristbands, a belt, faux boots, and that little crown/headband thing out of aluminum foil.  And a little yarn lasso.  It was awesome.  Why can't we run around like that as adults?

I am reminded that ComicCon exists.  Nevermind.


** UPDATE: Right after writing this, I found a post on a popular blog called Girl's Gone Child addressing a very similar feeling.  Whoa.  Good to know we are not alone in feeling... alone.  And that the solution is sometimes as simple as time with a friend.  Noted.

http://www.girlsgonechild.net/2012/09/liner-note-910.html

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.