Armageddon Days Are Here Again

Oh god.  My two year old is climbing out his crib.  A lot.  I can't keep him in it.  Oh god, oh god, oh god.

This is the end.  My only friend, the end.
There will be no more sleep in my house.  Naps might be done.  And they still need naps!  I STILL NEED NAPS.  It's going to be all exhaustion and crankiness and edge all the time up in this joint.  Oh, god.

For the past couple of days, we have spent every naptime and every bedtime putting the Little One back in his bed every 2 minutes.  Last night, we did this for 3 HOURS.  And then I woke up at 3:45am to a tiny person standing next to my bed staring at me.  It was terrifying.  I put him back in his crib with strict "NO CLIMB!" instructions.  At 7:15am, he was back.  With trains.

Then, at naptime the next day I put the child back in his bed 25 times- TWENTY FIVE TIMES- before I finally gave up because around put-back 23 I'd switched him from his pack n'play to his crib and he fell and cried the 25th time he climbed out.

This sucks.

If I can convince the Little One to stay in his crib (and I'm pretty sure I won't be able to convince him to stay in his crib), there may be a couple months of hope remaining.  Hopefully just long enough for us to move out of our current place and into one with separate rooms for each kid.

But if I can't (and it really seems like I can't... I've already counted his actual crib out what with the falling and all)... I'm going to have to switch him to a toddler bed.  Which means I'll have to switch the Big One to a toddler bed.  Because they share a room and the Big One will not have that kind of injustice.  Which means that the magical cages... I mean CRIBS, I've managed to keep my boys in will be no longer.

(And to those of you saying, "OMG!  You still have your 4 year old in a crib?!?!"  I say, YES.  YES, I DO.  AND IT HAS BEEN AWESOME.)

What will happen when I switch a 4 year old and a 2 year old to toddler beds simultaneously?

I can only assume the Apocalypse will begin.

So... start gathering canned goods, people.  This shit is going down soon, and it is not going to be pleasant.

Try Walking In My Shoes

The Little One has a shoe obsession.

He has always been obsessed with shoes- it was one of his first words in fact- and has long been stealing shoes out of the boys' shoe basket to wear around the house.  More recently, he's slipped on Daddy's sneakers or Mama's red Kanga's.

But lately, he has taken a particular shine to my fancier shoes.  He sneaks into the closet and comes out looking much snazzier than before.  Yesterday, he clomped by in my black studded flats.  Today, my red patent leather wedges, accessorized with a multicolored maraca.

This kid has style.

Letters to the Boys

Dear Squishies,

Oh, my boys.  As I write this, you are both fighting sleep, exhausted, and filled so completely with the desire to play and learn and absorb that you CAN. NOT. STOP.  My babies, my two little squish-boys, are growing up before me, and I am astounded at how quickly it has happened.

I feel the need to record something.  To try to capture this brief moment in time and tuck it way so my brain won't loose it.  I want you to know that I think of you constantly, and that I see you.  I know you, Squishies.  And I love you so much I can hardly breathe sometimes.  You boys make me happy every day.  You make me smile and laugh in a way I never knew I could.  You make life make sense.  You also make me crazy sometimes, but that's the sign of true love.  

Thank you for completing our family, boys.  Thank you for being such loving, amazing, hilarious little people.  Thank you for allowing us to love you and play with you and laugh with you.

* * *

Dear Big One, 

We measured you the other day, and in just over a month, you had grown a full inch.  You are sprouting right in front of us, and some days when you wake up, I think I can actually tell that you're bigger.  You're changing.  You are 110% 3 year old.  It's your way, or the screaming, yelling highway.  You're pulling away, but still holding on so tight.  

You've had a hard time with my return to work, and I'm so sorry for that.  It was sudden and it was confusing and suddenly the mommy you had had by your side 24 hours a day, 7 days a week... was gone.  A lot.  And you were frightened and sad and angry.  So was I.  You have been fighting me and arguing with me and yelling at me.  You've been like a different kid.  And I'm sorry.  I'm sorry you lost your mama for a little while.  I'm sorry you lost your family time.  I'm sorry it didn't make sense to you and I'm sorry we had to put you through all of it.  That first job, "that store," wasn't worth it.  It was not worth the stress I put you through.  But tutoring is different and it's astounding how you seem to understand that it's important to me and important for our family.  You still miss me when I'm gone, but it doesn't seem to break your heart in the same way.  So now, I'm okay with it.  Happy even.  And you seem to be coming around, too.  You hug me and kiss me again, instead of clinging to me with fear in your little eyes.  I'm so happy to see you happy.  

You've started to work on your relationship with your little brother, and it is amazing to see.  You still have an incomprehensible desire to sit on his head, but you also want to play with him now (instead of on him... yeesh).  You've been voluntarily giving up toys when you see that your brother wants them.  You've been excited to show him things and you protect him fiercely.  And sweet boy, I am so proud of you.  

You have also started drawing like crazy- your daddy's talent is leaking out of your every pore.  You create recognizable people with features now, and I cannot get enough of them.  And you still have a very serious interest in music.  You want to listen to songs over and over- get the words right- so that you can sing them and play along on your instruments.  You assign each family member a job, "Daddy, you play drums.  Mommy, you're piano.  Wren, here's a tambourine," and then you lead our little family band.  You want to listen to music all the time, and you have clear opinions on what is and is not good music.  And frankly, you have awesome taste.

You are all kinds of things, my big boy.  You are headstrong, timid, silly, frightfully observant, beautiful, and kind and loving beyond your capacity.  I have been told that you have an old soul, and I think that's the perfect explanation for the way you approach the world.  It's as if you already know what's coming sometimes.  You are a perceptive little man.  People tell me that you look just like me, and it pleases me to the core.  But I hope you won't be exactly like me.  I hope you will be braver than me, more independent than me.  I hope you will learn from my mistakes and be happier for it.  Most of all, I hope that you will always be proud of the person you are and will always feel how incredibly loved you are. You are my original Squishy.  I love you, Monkey Moo.

All my love,

Mommy

* * *

Dear Little One,

Holy spitfire, Batman.  You are all black and white, my friend.  No grey area.  You are either jolly, or incensed.  Laughing, or screaming.  Dancing, or throwing yourself on the floor.  You are a balls to the wall, full-throttle, no-holds-bar kind of kid.  And it is both thrilling and terrifying to behold.

Your entry into toddlerhood is everything I expected.  You do everything big.  (Except pooping... you are a silent, ninja pooper.  It's astounding.)  You are a climber, a thrower, a chortler, a kid who is into EVERYTHING.  I literally cannot blink in your presence lest you climb on top of a table or rip something off of one.  

But then, you are a lover.  You adore your lovies with every fiber of your little being.  You hug regularly of your own accord and grip your Daddy and I with such passion that it is hard to let you go.  Despite the fact that he sometimes takes your toys and often sits on your head, you love your big brother so completely, it oozes out of you.  You light up when you hear him wake up and call for me in the morning and you run, RUN, to him as fast as your chubby little legs will take you.  You greet your Daddy and me with such joy, such unbridled happiness, when we return from an absence and it is literally impossible not return the glee that ebbs from your little soul.

You recently started to dance and, MAN do you take that business seriously.  You bob your head and shimmy your little shoulders as though it is necessary- vital!- to get your groove on.  Now.  Shhh... I am jamming.  You feel music down to your little bones and you smile whenever we turn on a song you know, just before the serious face and the bobbing begins.

You are a man of opinions, and usually those opinions are some version of, "NO!!!!"  Whether we're trying to help you eat, or change your diaper, or show you how to use a new toy, if it was not your idea, you are NOT. HAVING. IT.  Fits ensue, screaming starts, and you now bang your head on the nearest hard surface.  Because that will show us.  (By the way?  It doesn't show us.  It just hurts your noggin.)  Luckily, you are also pretty easily distracted and usually can be brought around from enraged to delighted in seconds flat.  Seriously, no grey area.

Little Squish, you are a sweet, goofy, wildly stubborn, daring, fearless and awesome little dude.  You look exactly like your Daddy and you are cute as the dickens.  You have the most hilariously low voice for a baby.  You are walking trouble, but you are absolutely irresistible.  You were the perfect addition to our family- the perfect combination to shake us up in all the right ways- and we cannot imagine life without you.  You, my Squish-face, are a love.  Thank you for the laughter you bring us and the love that emanates from your core.  I hope you will always love with such wild abandon and that it doesn't get you in too much trouble.  I hope you feel the love that is returned to you and I hope you will always know how incredible you are.  I love you, Monkey Two.

All my love,

Mama

Little Heartbreakers

So, I just started a new part-time job (and am about to start another), and the babes are already starting in on the guilt tripping.  Oh, man... this part sucks.

Today as I was preparing to put the Big One (who turns 3 tomorrow... how the hell did that happen?!?) down for nap, he looked at me, grabbed my face between his soft little hands and said, "Mommy?  I miss you."  And then I died.  Time of death: 12:47pm.  Cause of death: guilt overdose.

Me: "Sweetie, why do you miss me?  I'm right here."
Him: "Because you go to that store and I miss you."

I have gone to "that store" (for my new job) twice.  Two times.  For four hours each time.  And already with the guilt.

I know I am garnering no sympathy WHATSOEVER from the working mamas who read this.  I know.  I know I've been spoiled.  I know you've been dealing with this and struggling through this since shortly after your babies were born.  I know I really have nothing to complain about since I got to stay home with the Big One for 3 years and the Little One for 15 months.  I know.  I KNOW.

But if I've established anything here, I think I've made it clear that I am a good-for-nothin' whiner.  And so... here I am.  Whining.  Like a punk.  Because all of a sudden I'm having to struggle with the very thing that 80% of parents out there have to struggle with.  Ridiculous, right?

We've worked it out (because we can't afford childcare) so that my husband is home with the kids while I'm at work, and I am home while my husband is at school.  This is great because our kids are with us.  This is terrible because not only am I not seeing my kids nearly enough, but now I'm not seeing my husband either.  And it is hard.

Walking away from a crying 15 month old is tough.  But I know that more than likely, he's going to see something shiny in a few a minutes and be distracted and happy again.  Having a 3 year old remind you repeatedly that leaving him makes him sad... well... that just plain sucks balls.

And I know.  I know this is good for them.  They're used to me being around ALL the time and it's good for them to get used to more time with Daddy.  It's good for them to see their parents taking care of business.  And it's good for them when we can pay our bills(ish).  It's good.  I know.

But it still sucks.  I knew being a working mom had its ups and downs.  I'm just waiting to discover the ups.  I know they're there.  I know I will find them.  But for now... oof.  This is hard, man.

(I'm preparing to receive hate mail from all the working mamas out there.  I understand.  Go ahead.)

Hello. Welcome to the Winter of My Discontent.

When the goin' gets tough... you still have to take care of your kids.  So you go out and get a job at the mall.  Like you did 10 years ago.  Because every other option is exhausted and you have to suck up your pride, stop acting like Winona Ryder in Reality Bites and STOP WHINING ALREADY.  Gah.

Sometimes it really sucks to be the grown-up.

I'm realizing just how- righteous?  Proud?  Insistent?  Hopeful?- I've become, and taking a job at the mall is stupidly humbling to say the least.  It feels like a step backward.  It's literally something I was doing 10 years ago.  It's a 60% pay cut from my previous career as a teacher.  And it's probably ultimately good for me.  But I can't say I love the idea of it.  Not yet.

The truth is, it's probably going to be awesome once I adjust to the idea of working with former students. (No literally, I am WORKING WITH A FORMER STUDENT.)  But the thing is, there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with getting a job at the mall.  Or working with a former student.  And retail can be totally bomb, yo.  I'm only pissed off because I feel like I was forced into a corner and I didn't get the jobs that I really wanted.  You know, the jobs that I'm actually completely unqualified for.  But I'm going to be working at a store that I actually really like.  I get a kick-ass discount.  I'll get to talk to other adults (!!!) about things other than poop or sleep (!!!) AND I'll get something that is all mine.  Something separate from "Mommy"... and that is something I've been craving.  And I'll probably get some new clothes out of the deal... once I get a few paychecks.

But.  But.  I can't get over the fact that I'm doing was I doing 10 years ago.  It feels... stagnant.  It feels out of place.  It feels anti-progressive.  But it's also necessary.  We're struggling.  My husband is a student at a private college and financial aid is getting harder and harder to come by.  I believe in what he's doing- what we're doing- and I believe in my choice to stay home rather than work exclusively to pay for day care.  Even if I'd never stopped teaching, we'd still be in the same position.  My salary wouldn't even have covered daycare for two little ones.  And I've always valued time with my children and my husband above money.  But.  But.  I'm tired of people telling me to deliver pizzas.  I'm tired of people thinking I'm slacking.  And I'm tired of being scared all the time.

So.  A job at the mall.

And also, as of yesterday, a job tutoring.  Which feels a little more my speed.  I'm attempting to do both for a while.  Which means I won't actually see my husband.  Ever.  We'll be communicating entirely through post-its.  Which sucks.  But... when the going gets tough... you still have to take care of your kids.  So, here goes.

Mr. Independence

It is insane to me how quickly these little creatures grow.  One second, they're catapulting around in your belly, and the next second they're marching off into preschool without a single backward glance.  Blink, and years have gone by.  Holy cliche, Batman.

Last week, my son started preschool.  He had his first drop-off day on Tuesday and I was sure, sure that the second I turned to leave, his sad little pouty lip would pop out and tears would spring up in his eyes.  I knew he'd be scared.  Except that he wasn't.  I'd been telling him I'd be dropping him off and trying to prepare him for what I was sure would be a totally traumatic event.  We don't leave him very often because... well, we don't ever have the money to go anywhere, so we definitely don't have the money for a babysitter.  And you can only ask friends to be so generous (although I'm pretty sure we've stretched it to the limit and sucked them all dry... our friends are about the kindest on the planet).  Sooo... I figured that being dropped off at a place he'd only ever been once with kids he'd only met once and adults he'd never met (apart from the teacher) would be a little scary.  I assumed he'd be nervous.

Nope.  He half-hugged me goodbye and waltzed off into preschool without so much as second glance back at me.  I was aghast.  My boy is pulling away from me already... and he's not even three yet.

It's surprising how difficult it is to loosen my vice-like grip on the cord.  I never saw myself as the uber-attached parent, but now that he's trying with all of his might to pry himself away from me... I see that I am.  He's my first baby, and now I understand that saying about having your heart walking around outside of your body.  Oof.  It's terrifying.

But it's also completely exhilarating.  I'm watching him experience all of these new things and watching as he tries all the things I was scared to try when I was little.  He's still timid, but he's stepping out there.  The other day, a friend and I went to a playground with our babies and my big boy, and off he went to the big play structure.  I watched from across the playground as he climbed the parts of the play structure he'd never dared to try.  He tried this one and that one, and I found myself completely transfixed, excited and terrified, whispering to myself, "Careful, baby.  Careful.  Good!  Good boy, you did it!"  He worked around the difficulties and figured it out, all on his own.  And I thought, well... that's it.  He doesn't really need me anymore.

And I know he does, of course.  We all need our parents- for longer than some of us would like to admit.  But he's separating himself from me.  And even though I'm so proud of these steps he's taking, I'm a little sad to know that they're taking him further away from me.  It's a strange thing, being a parent.  You want them to grow and learn, but you know that with all the growing and learning comes pain and heartache that you can't protect them from.  And that part is torture.

I'm so excited to be there and watch as my oldest boy grows up and becomes his own little person.  But I hate to think about all the tough parts of growing up.  I hope I can help him weather the storms.  I hope I can be there to comfort and reassure him, without overpowering him.  I hope I can help him to feel proud and confident.  I hope I can be a part of it all, without taking any of it away from him.

My heart really is walking around without me.  It's a strange sensation.  And part of me really likes it.

Premature Teenaging

My toddler appears to be experiencing what I can only describe as premature teenaging.  It's weird and unpleasant.  And also a tiny bit funny.

He now regularly asks me to stop singing, stop dancing, or stop doing anything else that might be, like, TOTALLY embarrassing.  OMG, Mom.  He's getting smelly.  I constantly think about a friend telling me about a house she visited inhabited by two teenage boys.  Her one comment: "It smelled like balls and feet."  (Oh my god.  MY house is going to smell like balls and feet!)  Recently, when I ask him what he wants to eat, he says, "I don't know.  Just get me somefin."  Um, really?  And he's started trying to call me Mom instead of Mommy.  As in, "Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  MOM!"  "Mom" wears pleated khakis and has that weird, frizzy, mid-length, triangle bob.  I AM NOT MOM.  It feels bossy and premature and I hate it.

How did this happen?  He's not even three yet.  Do all toddlers go through this?

Or wait... does this mean he's getting it out of his system before junior high?  Cause that would be AWESOME.