Department of Redundancy Department

I spend all day every day saying the same things over and over and over.

"Stop running."
"Quiet feet."
"No jumping off of the furniture."
"No screaming."
"No bashing."
"No hitting."
"Stop taking your brother's toys."
"No pushing."
"No kicking."
"No bonking."
"No screaming."
"Flush the toilet."
"Use your words."
"STOP RUNNING."

I am losing my mind, people.  We are living in an apartment with a cranky downstairs neighbor, and my kids just have to alter their behavior.  It's not fair, but they have to.  They just do.  But they will not.  AND I AM GOING FUCKING CRAZY.  I am repeating myself so often that I'm annoying even myself, and I'm starting to feel like the teacher in Charlie Brown cartoons.  Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.

I can't.  I cannot repeat myself anymore.  They're not listening and I've said everything so many times that it's beyond redundant.  It's too much.  It's too much for them to listen to, it's too much for me, it's too much for everyone.  We're all gonna end up in the loony bin if this continues.

So.  We're trying something new.  We're going to try a book that a number of people have recommended and hope like hell that it does the trick.  And if it does work, I will sing the name of said book loud and clear for all to hear.  

It's time.  We all need to shut the hell up and get along.  Or else... they're coming to take me away, ha ha!

Fly Away Jack, Fly Away Jill

And so we begin preparations to get on a plane (again) and fly to the midwest for Christmas.  Tomorrow.  This trip should be easier than the last because: a. We don't have to get up at the crack, thereby minimizing the likelihood of pissy neighbor encounters and raging children.  b. My dear, beloved, wonderful friend of a million and one years heard that we were planning to fly without any sort of screen device whatsoever.... and sent us a portable DVD player for xmas.  It's a Christmas miracle!!!  c. We just did this.  We should be SUPER good at it now!

Except.  Life has a crappy sense of humor.  And so... we are instead flying with two sick children.  We haven't had a chance to prep until today because of said sick children.  Oh, and an incident involving Urgent Care which took place after a fabulous evening of Holiday Merry-Making 'til after bedtime downtown on Wednesday.  (Everyone is A-OK; fret not.) After which, everyone woke up exhausted and the Big One was hacking and leaking massive amounts of snot and sneezing every 5 seconds.  Rad.

So the past two days have consisted of trying to keep the Little One away from the Big One (impossible), trying to keep the hacking and the snot river contained (impossible), trying to get both children to get the adequate amount of rest so we can all be as healthy as possible for this trip (huge, gigantic failure), and laundry, dishes, baking, and more laundry.   WHEEEEEEE!!!!!!

It's really put a damper on my yule, you guys.  I'm hoping we can kick the sick ASAP and that we can all have a great, snowy time in the midwest for Christmas.  It's going to be crazy busy, but I'm hoping.  I'm really hoping for some rest and relaxation.  Really a lot.  Please tell me it's possible.

*  *  *

FYI: our Holiday Merry-Making included riding the Holiday Duck downtown.  It was slightly terrifying.  The Little One was wildly confused by the entire thing.  But the Big One loved it.  I mean LOVED. IT.  I haven't seen him that elated in... well... possibly ever.  He said it was his best Christmas ever and exclaimed his love for all of us multiple times.  So... worth the raging cold afterward?  Maybe?

Perspective

So, lately I've been losing perspective.  In the sea of bills we can't pay and jobs I can't find and things we can't do and and and and and, I've forgotten to step back.  I've forgotten how to stop and breathe and remember that this too shall pass.

It's been a tough couple of years, but we've been living with purpose- with an end goal in mind- and that has made everything more bearable.  We have made the choice to struggle briefly so that we won't have to struggle in the long run.  And I think it's a good choice.  A choice that our families have mercifully supported.  I know it's a good choice for our family.  But in the day-to-day, I've forgotten about that purpose.  I've forgotten about the end goal.  I've been so concerned with making it through the day, that I haven't stopped to celebrate all we've already made it through.  Together.

And then there are the babes.  My two boys who are growing so fast and learning so much.  These two boys who, more often than not these days, drive me completely bonkers.  They are nearly two and three and half, and they are testing all the boundaries and pushing all the limits.  And instead of realizing that they are nearly two and three and a half- and therefore DESTINED to be naughty- I think, "Where did my sweet little boys go?  WHY ARE THEY ACTING LIKE THIS?!?"

Because, let's be honest here people, both of these ages are trying.  Two is legendary in its challenges and three should be- I find it to be WAY harder than two.  So, as my two boys are bouncing off the walls and each other and ignoring my every request/suggestion/order, I find myself standing in the middle of the room (OR hiding in the bathroom) wondering- WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!?

Well, first of all, nothing happened, really.  I mean, my kids are at challenging ages, and there are two of them plotting against me working together, so there's that.  They are go-go-go and no-no-no all the livelong day.  Doo-dah.

And then there's our asshole neighbor who continually shows up at our door at weird times (like 4:30 a.m when we're trying to get out the door with two exhausted/cracked out children for a funeral) whining about how my children move and make noise and it's just so hard can't we make them be quiet.  Which, um, NO WE CANNOT, but we live in fear of his icky visits because he's an annoying, mousy little asshat.  This keeps my husband and I on edge and perpetually begging our nearly two year old and three and half year old to please be quiet and stop running which IS. NOT. POSSIBLE.  (Nor is it reasonable to ask of them.)  I think this may be making my children high strung.  It's certainly making me and my husband high strung.

And then there's life, which has been a challenge, and our stress is (unfortunately) reflected in our children and their behavior.  As much as we try to avoid it, our stress comes out in our actions, in our tones of voice, in our general demeanor.  And our kids react to it- usually in highly unpleasant ways.  Which makes us more stressed out.  And repeat cycle.  It sucks.  We did a damn fine job of keeping our kids in blissful ignorance for a long, long time, but you can only live in a constant state of worry for so long before it starts to leak out of you.

And the thing is, as I've said before, I'm a worrier.  I've ALWAYS been a worrier.  And even the smallest things can cause me to worry incessantly.  I think I've done damn well with all of this, considering my clear and present psychosis, but it still escapes sometimes.  And it freaks my kids out.  Which SUCKS.  I try to model healthy coping skills- I try to name my feelings and show my kids how to handle intense emotions- but I am human.  Sometimes I just get pissy.  And then my kids get pissy.  And then I wonder what's going on with them.  Geez, MOM.

Anyway, all this to say that I'm working on it.  I'm working on remembering how much we've accomplished, how much we're continuing to accomplish, and what a positive decision this has been- and will be- for our family.  I'm working on remembering how much I love my family and how blessed I feel to be able to spend so much time with them.  I'm working on stepping back and realizing that my kids are just kids.  That they're not really doing anything wrong- that they're just being little people who are trying to figure out their place in this world.  They're pushing boundaries so they can figure out where they are.  They're just growing up.  And it's all going to be okay.

Maybe I can remember that.  Maybe.


* * *
P.S. If you have a three and half year old and you're constantly wondering why they are so psychotic... this article at Planning with Kids helped me feel a lot less crazy.  http://planningwithkids.com/2009/11/17/characteristics-of-three-and-a-half-year-old-behavior/

The Goblin King.. er, Queen?

You know those days when your two kids feel like 64 goblins?

Yeah.  That.

We have been awake for all of two hours and the Little One has already tried to chop his fingers off with the box fan, electrocute himself by removing an outlet cover, cover the house (and himself) in both my Rosebud Salve and cream blush, and has participated in a 20 minute cry-a-thon.

This combined with the fact that my children have decided to listen to me never has made me feel a lot like David Bowie's character in Labyrinth.  (Oh, I'm sorry, is my nerd showing?)

Perhaps this should be my solution:

Well... laugh.

Fun.

So there are days when things are great, awesome even, and life is moving along swimmingly.  Mornings at the beach filled with sun breaks and laughter.  But then,  it's time to leave the beach.  And your 3 year old won't get in the car.  And you have to manhandle him because he tries to run away from you in the middle of a parking lot and then he starts screaming.  And then all of the other parents and children look at you.  And then you have to smile like this: "HI!!!  I'm torturing my child for sport!  It's super awesome fun!  Wanna join me?  I have hot pokers in the trunk!!"

Can you picture my maniacal waving and open-mouthed smile?

Why?  Why must the fit follow the awesome?  Why must the perfect morning of fun be ruined by the perfect storm of evil whilst trying to move on to lunch and nap?  Why?

Today, we had our final day of pre-3s preschool.  We met at a beach on the sound and played in the sand and enjoyed some final time together.  The kids played together, ran together, snacked together, sang their final songs of the year, and received handmade "yearbooks" from their teacher.  It was dream day for a 3 year old.  And yet.

As we went to leave, all was well.  He said he did not want to go.  I said that it was time to go because he was shivering ("I'm not cold!!") and the Little One needed a nap.  He sulked briefly, tried again ("Can we go over to the swings?  The other kids got to go!!"), but finally gave in somewhat gracefully.  We gathered our things and walked to the car.  Where he refused to get inside.  And then ran around the car away from me every time I got near.  And then I had to grab him and stuff him inside the car while he hollered.

Me smiling at the staring people: "Hi!!!  Everything's fine here!  Just a happy family preparing to leave!!  No torture taking place whatsoever!  PLEASE IGNORE THE SCREAMING."

And then he continued to cry and scream (and empty his shoes full of sand into his carseat) for the next hour.  Through the garage.  In the elevator.  Through the halls of our building ("Hi Neighbors Who Already Hate Us For Having Children!!!  Does this help?  LIKE US NOW?!?!").  Into the house.  Throughout being stripped of sandy clothes ("AAAHHHH!!!!  TORTURE!!!!  DON'T TAKE MY CLOTHES OFF!!!!  OOOOWWWW!!!!").  Throughout attempts at nose-blowing ("I HAVE BOOOOOGGERSSS!!!").  Throughout attempts at going potty ("I CAN'T PEEEE!!!!  I HAVE BOOOOOGGERSSSS!!!").  And into the beginning of lunch ("BUT I DON'T WANT THAT!!!"  "That's what we're having."  "BUT I DON'T WANT THAT!!!"  "Then I'll give it to your brother."  I WAAANT THAAAAAAT!!!!!").

And then I forgot all about the nice time we had this morning and wished I could get on an airplane and fly to Japan to see cherry blossoms.  That seems quiet.

Fun with Toddlers and Neighbors!!!

Subtitle: The post wherein I rant endlessly and show that I may well have anger issues.  My apologies.


Quoth Daddy while speaking to my toddler: "We're going to take a shower because your balls smell, and Mama needs a break."

So true, Daddy.  So true.

2011 ended with a bang.  November and December were doozies.  El Toddler is on fire lately and is testing every last nerve remaining in my body.  I hear a lot of, "NOOOOO!!!!" and there is a lot of smacking and laying atop the baby by said toddler.  I don't know if this is just your standard "terrible twos" or if it's a special brand of awesomeness that my boy has concocted in response to the obvious stress around these parts, but it sure is swell.  I can't tell you the joy I reap from having my oldest son tell me he doesn't like me and then watching him throw his cup right at his baby brother's head.  It's just pure delight.  The screams my toddler now produces on a stupidly regular basis have also taught my baby how to scream.  He now thinks that is how to communicate.  So it's a bit of a scream-off around here.  It is awesomefuckingtasticness.

In addition to kid fun, I have the downstairs neighbor from hell.  Living in an apartment with children is not ideal by any standards, but it many cases, it is simply a necessity.  We have to live here right now because we can't afford to live anywhere else.  We have to make it work.  When we were first moving in (as in, the FIRST TIME WE SET FOOT IN THE APARTMENT), we were measuring for cribs and, out the window, saw a little man looking up into the room from the 2nd floor hallway, shaking his first.  That's right folks, shaking his fist.  Is he ninety years old?  Nope.  Just a dick.  We decided to be the bigger people and went downstairs to greet him and apologize for the noise we were apparently making.  (Actually, I wanted to go down and yell at him for being an asshole, but my husband rightly pointed out that this would not be the way to begin a friendly, neighborly relationship.  Whatever.)  So, knowing we would be living in a building with a persnickety downstairs neighbor, we taught our toddler how to do "sneaky feet" and "walk like a bird."  We have also taught him that he is not to jump, run, throw, or bounce in our home.  Is this reasonable to expect from a two and half year old?  Not at all.  Is it likely that it will be at all successful?  Nope, but we're trying like hell anyway because it's the nice thing to do.  We spend all day every day reminding our poor toddler to use quiet feet and walk gently.  Nonetheless, he sometimes runs for 5 seconds, or falls, or pounds a toy 4 times before we can stop him.  Obviously, my son is clearly trying to ruin this man's life.

After living here a little over a month, Mr. Persnickety came up to pound on our door 10 minutes after we got home from the grocery store.  My toddler had banged a toy on the floor a couple times, so he came up to complain and request -I kid you not- that we teach our child to be quiet.  Um... seriously?!?  First off, we have been falling all over ourselves trying to teach a TODDLER to be as quiet as humanly possible already.  It's unbelievably unfair to expect him to completely alter himself, his nature as a child, and his playing in order to please a pissy little neighbor man, but we are asking him to do so all the same.  Secondly, we had been home for TEN MINUTES.  Ten.  Really?  Dude, you live in a building and in buildings, you share walls.  Not sure you're aware of this concept.  Shockingly, when you share walls with people, you hear them.  Whaa?!?  Yup, that's right folks, you're gonna hear your neighbors when you live in a building.  GROUND-BREAKING INFORMATION.  Meanwhile, we hear this same persnickety motherfucker playing his electric guitar EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.  Sometimes we can hear what he's playing along to.  (In-a-Godda-Davita, anyone?)  We hear our upstairs neighbor pumping house music at 6a.m. every single morning.  We also hear her penchant for moving furniture around.  At our last place, we heard our neighbors hammering in an inexplicable number of nails for pictures and doing what I can only guess was carpentry indoors at the weirdest hours.  Have we ever gone to yell at any of them?  No.  Why?  Because we CHOSE to live in a building where we shared walls.  Because we are somewhat reasonable human beings.  Because we are aware of reality.

Thankfully, my husband answered the door when Mr. Persnickety came a-callin', or he would have gotten an earful of the above from me.  IN ALL CAPS.  My husband told him that he was sorry for the pounding and that we had already been working on being quiet with our TWO AND A HALF YEAR OLD CHILD and that we would continue to do so.  My husband was kind.  I would have bitch-slapped that sonofabitch.  Actually, I probably would have burst into tears, because that's what I do when I'm mad, but then I would have yelled at him... while crying.  Which is not particularly effective, FYI, but I can't help it.

Anyhoo

All of this happened about a month ago and in the meantime, we have been attempting to live our lives normally.  We are still reminding our toddler not to stomp across the floors and trying to keep him from doing the laps that all toddlers do from time to time, but sometimes it's a losing battle.  During those times, we're trying to remember that we are not doing anything wrong.  We have fallen all over ourselves trying to keep our neighbor happy and be as quiet as possible and he still complains.  So, fine.  We won't trouble ourselves anymore.

He called again a few nights ago because- god forbid- it was 3 days after Christmas and our kids were still filled with yule.  We had a friend over and our toddler was having a blast.  He wanted to dance for a moment and (gasp!) I didn't stop him.  It was 7:15pm.  Within minutes of said dancing, our phone rang.  At first we didn't answer because we had a friend over and weren't sure we wanted to pursue the inevitable drama, but my husband decided to call him back and have at it.  Persnickety claimed that there was a ton of stomping going on for an extended period of time and it "felt like living in a bass drum."  This, apparently, was getting in the way of his nap.  A nap.  At 7:15pm.  Not even joking.  I would like to make his head into a bass drum.  My husband proceeded (very kindly) to tell him that we are constantly, constantly, CONSTANTLY trying to be quiet and bend our lives to fit his ridiculous requirements (i.e. total fucking silence at all times), but that we cannot actually physically strap the children (or ourselves) down 24 hours a day.  He responded by saying that "perhaps this isn't the right building for children."  Wow. Really?  First of all, restricting children from living here would actually be totally illegal, you douche-bag, so that's kind of a moot point, don'tcha think?  Secondly, is he seriously attempting to bully us out of our home?  As though we would actually turn around and say, "OMG!  You're totally right!  We should move immediately!"  What was that comment supposed to accomplish?  Am I aware that half of the building is full of older couples with grown (or no) children?  Yes.  Are there play structures scattered across the grounds?  No.  Does that mean that we have no right to live here?  NO, it does not.  Trust me, we will fly out of here like 4 little jet planes as soon as humanly possible, but that little fact is due to YOU ALONE, SIR.  Ugh.

Anyway, my husband told him in all kinds of ways and all kinds of tones that he was being ridiculous and that we needed to behave in a neighborly fashion.  That we hear our neighbors (including him and his goddamn guitar) all the time, but that we don't run whining to their doors.  He backed down, but I know we'll hear from him again.  We always do.

I cannot wait to live in a house where my children and I can run and jump and have dance parties and generally enjoy our lives without wincing every time the phone rings.  And I cannot wait to see who moves in here next.  I hope they have triplet toddlers.  And mastiffs.

May 2012 be a shinier, happier year and may it bring all of you the love and laughter you deserve.  With less bitching from that persnickety fucker downstairs.  (And less whining from me.)  Yeesh.