I just became a soccer mommy

I recently commenced a first foray into soccer mom-hood. So far, so good. So far, he loves it. Especially the scoring 2 goals in his first game ever part. So far, I like it. Especially the watching him play with wild abandon and a grin glued to his face part.

I know I am a good mommy because...

Lots of hugs and kisses all day, every day. They are happy to see me when I've been away--even just during their naps.  They are clean. They are well fed with wholesome, colorful options every day. And sometimes sweets.  Piglet knows his abc's & their accompanying sounds, and his 123's. We read together every day. They see me reading by myself often. We sing together, all sorts of songs, any old time. Early bedtime with rare exception or resistance. Nanuk gets plenty of nap time every day. They are energetic and healthy. Piglet has good manners: please, thank you very much, you're welcome, no thank you, I'm so happy to see you, I'm so glad you came, Mommy may I please __________. Piglet and Nanuk show adoration for each other. Which tells me they see love in their home. They are often naughty and stubborn, which tells me I'm not raising door-mats, and generally very good about apologies, "Mommy, I'm very very sorry _________."  We laugh together every day. Piglet says his prayers. Their clothes are oft laundered, their home oft cleaned.  We play together: cars, puzzles, stories, animals, tumbling, football, hokey pokey, memory. candyland, and so forth. Buckled up in car seats at all times. We do art projects together. Even the messy kind. And I know that sometimes the best remedy for a bad day full of scolding is a root beer. Piglet knows how to clean up after himself: toys, clothes, bathroom, etc. I give them all the love I know how to give. And still I goof. And still I am entitled to believe that I am a good mom that doesn't have all the answers. It's not about being perfect, right?

Filling my own bucket, as it were. A little self-validation never hurt anyone.

patience = love

this is a poignant little film. just a couple of minutes.

everybody cries, nobody sleeps.

The past 4 months (has it really been that long?) have been a whirlwind roller-coaster of adjusting and changing. Not always pretty. In fact, often downright ugly. Until just a few weeks ago, it came down to these four words:

everybody cries. nobody sleeps.

This was all too frequent:

frequent, though usually brief:

But, things are improving day by day; the heavens have seen to it that these 2 boys have a sane mommy. At least to some degree. Piglet likes Mommy again. Nanuk sleeps through the night and Piglet's meltdowns. The two wee ones are crazy about each other. Mommy is in the swing of life with two. Her two boys. And she's crazy about both of them.

money well spent

A churro at Sam's club. 

Best 53 cents I'll spend there. 

Made for a meltdown free shopping trip with both kiddos. My first outing with both of them. 

Mommy confessions

Don't call the mommy-police but I permit the Piglet to watch cartoons in the morning. Mickey Mouse and Little Einsteins, they are air back to back on the same channel. I do so because it occupies him for 50 minutes while I tend to Nanuk or the dishes or my hair. Also Because he likes to solve problems with the Mouseketools and he's learned terms like adagio and forte and recognizes Beethoven's 5th by ear.  Secretly I also permit it because I love the 5 minute short cartoon that airs in between his 2 shows. Maybe my geek gene is manifesting itself but every episode makes me laugh. Those naughty sheep!

There is an hour of peace and rest...

I've had my doubts, but there really is an hour of peace and rest every once in awhile...

...when both boys are napping. simultaneously. 

Piglet's quiet time miraculously became naptime when he crawled under his covers. his cowboy blankie sealed the deal. a very rare occurrence these past months. Nanuk's nap was wondroulsy extended because Piglet was asleep instead of having a meltdown.

amazing what a mommy can accomplish with 2 free hands and a good 90 minutes. 

I'm pretty sure we have to move

The meltdowns persist. One even happened in a neighbor's front yard. for 30 minutes. People stared. I'm sure some people laughed. I played all my parenting cards (bribes, threats, begging) in futility. I'm sure I looked more than a bit foolish. Humiliating. Our neighbors may have permanent hearing damage as a result of said meltdown. We should probably just move out of the neighborhood.

Survival

Pooped

Big Brother-ing can be so exhausting...

so exhausting, in fact, that this dinner scene repeated itself the next night. 

It's OK, kiddo. Mommy knows exactly how you feel. 

Flying Solo

Today is the day. The reality of life with 2 little ones is going to sink in today. No more grandmas, nor more days off for Daddy. It's all on Mommy.  I have two children. Two. Twice as many as I had before. One that won't stop moving, another that won't stop eating.  I'm suddenly aware, (terrified) that I don't have a clue what I'm doing. Or how I'm going to do it. Better fasten my seatbelt. 

***update: We all survived. Little ones napped.  I even managed a shower and makeup. I cheated a little and got take-out for dinner. We might just be OK. It would be really great, though, to have elastic limbs like Mrs. Incredible. 

You know it's time

...to give birth when:

--laughing, coughing, and sneezing become occupational hazards, of sorts.

--you don't leave the house for days at a time because that would require putting on shoes, which would require far more bending, straining, grunting and contorting than might be possible.

--you grabbed size 2 Normal jeans from your closet instead of Maternity. Tears follow. 

--you've laundered and organized baby clothes, drawers & closets several times over.

--your 2 year old darts away from you in Target and makes it to the opposite end of the store long before you can catch up, huffing and puffing (and nearly in tears) to an embarrassing degree. 

--you really really need a nap but realize you'll likely only get one in the hospital after delivery, which makes  you actually look forward to staying in the hospital. 

--you count the minutes to evening bath-time for your toddler, because it means you can finally justify putting on pajamas, your hubby's pajamas.

--you crave "new baby smell" as much and as often as you crave chocolate. 

-you look like this:

Evolution of Vocabulary

M is becoming quite a conversationalist. It's highly entertaining, as the ideas, comments, phrases that spill out of his little mouth are often surprising and creative. He usually recognizes when a word has come out not-quite-right and corrects it on his own. There are some words I was hoping he'd never master because of the cuteness factor, but master them he did. It makes me a little sad.

"oodlohs"     has become noodles

"huffle" has become  shovel

"papercots"   has become apricots

And suddenly, "mommy" has all to frequently become "mom" as in "Sure, Mom. OK, Mom."  No, it is not ok.

Other recent quotables:

"Race cars don't have headlights! The track is always lit! Ha. Ha. Ha."

(stated with utmost urgency. guess his favorite movie)

"Holy Crap! Are you kidding me?"

(thanks to his daddy)

B recently tuned in briefly to the Miss America pageant, checking up on the status of our local girl. He managed to tune in just as the swimsuit competition was taking place, Naturally.  M started to giggle. This exchange followed:

B:  "M, what's funny?"

M: [giggle] "They're naked!"  [giggle] "They're naked!"

And I'm sure they practically were. He found it very amusing and odd indeed. Though he doesn't find it odd when he himself is scampering about the house at warp speed in his own birthday suit.

I never imagined

warning: graphic content below. tame stuff if you have toddlers. not so tame otherwise. 

A sentence I never imagined uttering, and certainly never imagined uttering without so much as blinking an eye:

"B, could you pick up that nugget of poop by the door while I scrub over here?"

The circumstances behind this sentence (I'll spare you) prompted B to support my desire to potty train M, which led to doing something I never (never ever) imagined doing:

Sitting outside a bathroom door with B, listening for the sounds of, er, success from within where M sat on his throne because he said he needed to, well, you know. There he sat, and there we sat with bated breath, for 15 minutes, hoping against hope to hear a tell-tale ker-plop. 

And hear it we did. B knocked on the door (M demands privacy in this matter) to which M answered: "Cleaning!"   Wrong answer, kiddo. 

What did we discover upon opening the door? M had wrangled one leg inside the toilet bowl  and was "cleaning" said toilet with his foot. Proudly. Luckily, in this instance, there had not been any kind of, um, success prior to the foot entering the toilet. I suppose I should be proud that he's seen me clean toilets enough (with a scrubber, NOT my feet) to imagine doing it with his tootsies? 

Quoteable

while dining on the sophisticated offerings of the Sam's Club Deli for lunch recently, M reached over to my face and patted it with his little fingers, saying, out of the blue:

"Angel. Mommy's an angel."

...in his sweet, sincere little voice. I'll never forget it. 

Jeffrey R. Holland also once told me I was an angel. Hey B, maybe they are on to something? 

speaking of gratitude

I'm glad it's Friday. It's been a week of trials for this mommy, and her floors. So far this week has seen a canister of oats, a canister of pasta, a tube of desitin (on carpet!), a bowl of Cheerios and assorted contents of my spice drawer. All. Over. My floors. Did you know that diaper cream is stubborn? 

Oh the drama of our (what a relief) textbook case of the terrible twos. Something I once considered an exaggeration. Really, it's like all the "experts" have been secretly videotaping our child and documenting his behavior because M fits every description of this stage. Every one, precisely. Defiance. Sweetness. Aggressiveness. Snuggling. Curiosity. Fear. Joy. Trauma. Screaming. Whining. Sobbing. Giggling. Conversing. Singing. It's a roller coaster of a learning curve for parent and child, amplified by visits to the doctor's office with mommy or spending 2 1/2 hours at Sam's Club waiting for the tire shop to repair 1 tire. (Fun for both of us). His efforts at being good are very apparent, and I love to praise him generously for those efforts--especially in trying circumstances: "I'm a good boy, Mommy!" he proudly exclaims. He really can be so charming and irresistible. 

With the flip of a switch, though. he turns into an absolute terror.  It's like he's a wild animal that can sense my weakened condition and uses it to his advantage. Yesterday, I was on the verge of tears by 2pm as nothing could pacify, entertain, please or comfort my little guy.  So I express gratitude for mellow weekends and happy mornings like today, which was 80% better than yesterday.  And I will weather this little storm of willfulness (that's a good thing, right?) I will marvel at the elasticity of my patience and the overwhelming delights (honestly) of toddler-rearing. 

Bad Dreams and chocolate turkeys

Before I crawl under my covers at night, I stop in M's room to check on him and make sure he's cozy. Minutes after doing so late Monday night, I heard hysterical sobs coming from his room. Unmistakable "bad dream" sobs. Holding, snuggling, or talking made the crying worse; nothing could settle him. We went to the kitchen. A drink? A snack? And then words came..."punkin bag! punkin bag!" (his trick or treat bag full of candy I'd tucked away on the top shelf of the pantry) I gave it to him, he wouldn't take it. Eventually he made clear to us what he wanted: the turkey-shaped chocolates in bright turkey-printed foil I'd hidden on the top shelf of the pantry. He spied a corner of the wrapper peeking from behind the dish and knew instantly what it was. "That! That! Birdie! In there!" As he continued to cry, I put the chocolate turkey in the "punkin bag" and handed it over. Like I turned off a faucet, his crying ceased and he reached into the bag. Good grief. Of all the things...I still don't know if that's what he wanted all along or if he was making it up by the minute.

Quote: "Oooooh! Birdie! What d'you find? Ooooooh! Choc'at!" Then silence and smiles as he nibbled away, with an occasional "Choc'at, I wike it!" Why I had to first get the bag, then put the turkey in it is a mystery. I'm fairly certain I was manipulated beyond measure, but B and I both giggled as we observed the transformation, and giggled some more as M fell fast asleep between us. He just couldn't be our child if a wee bit o' chocolate couldn't cure the bad dream blues.

For Mommy

After a particularly long and tiring day, B took little M on a much anticipated outing to the park. I stayed home and made dinner without interruption. Upon their return, B carried a beaming, rosy-cheeked M into the house. M stretched his hands out to me and stated with pride, "Fwowers, Mommy!" 

He gave me these:

I think I'll keep them forever.

According to B, all damaged "flowers" were tossed aside as M perused and inspected the fallen pine cones beneath a large tree at the park. With each toss he announced "It's bwoken." He chose only the most perfect 2 for taking to Mommy. They are now nestled among the pumpkins displayed in my living room. Later I'll attach ribbon and hang them on my Christmas tree. 

Proud to be a pushover...

Some friends recently referred to me as a "pushover mommy", mainly on the point that M still has a chupa (pacifier) at bedtime. OK, fine, yeah, it's been hard for me to take it away from him and easy to find reasons to let him keep it. I'm getting there. In  other areas though, I feel I'm a toughie: Balanced meals, whatever is prepared. Please and Thank You. Baths nightly. No video games.  The Naughty Corner--until the timer dings and he apologizes with hugs. Bedtime and naps are observed with great regularity.

I am, however, a sucker for one thing that's certain: snuggles. I welcome each and every opportunity for snuggles and cuddles from my little M. Like when he wakes up in the night crying "Afraid! Afraid!"  Like when he wants to read stories and plants himself firmly in my lap and rests his head against my chin for story after story. And like tonight.

Our bedtime routine has been challenged lately, with the introduction of the "big boy bed." Going to bed is not the problem, but staying in bed is. We finally put a lock on the outside of his door.  After 25 minutes of sobbing and pounding last night, he fell asleep on the floor up against the door. Tonight it took only 20 minutes. A couple of hours later we moved him to his bed and he asked for a song in his half sleeping state. A verse of  "Jesus Once Was a Little Child" then B left the room. I laid down next to M and stroked his forehead as he began to drift. A few minutes later, he turned his face close into mine, smiled and softly whispered "More. Jesus."   

Who could resist? 

I obliged and continued to stroke his forehead until his breathing deepened and his limbs relaxed. As I rose from the bed he bolted upright, asking me to lay down. I willingly obliged again. As he began to drift off to la-la-land, he rested his feet upon my side, and, eyes closed, took my hand in his, placed it on his chest, and squeezed. With one soft little hand he clutched my thumb, with the other he stroked my fingers.

Again, who could resist? 

There I stayed until his hands fell to his side in deep slumber. Reluctantly I made my exit. I will snuggle him as long as he needs. Or, rather, as long as I need. Because I do need, as I need oxygen to breathe.  I know these sweet tender moments are bound to disappear all too soon.  I haven't the desire nor the will to resist them now, despite his frequent 2-year-old-naughtiness. If it makes me a pushover, well, I'm OK with that. 

Come on, could you resist this?

Survival

I could not survive motherhood with sanity intact without it

Anybody use anything that might work better?