happy halloween!

So, yesterday The Babe had her big Halloween party at the pre-school. She got to wear her nurse costume to school and knew they would be trick or treating after their big "parade". She was very excited and talkative about it all morning. Well, naturally, The Boy wanted to go too. It certainly did sound like fun, especially the way The Babe was talking it up. As I was leaving with The Babe to take her to school, The Boy was upset. The Babe looks right at him, gave him a hug, and says "It's OK, I'll share all my candy with you when I get back". And she did just that. As soon as she got home, without being reminded or prompted at all, The Babe called The Boy over and they went through her treat bag together and shared all the goodies. I was so proud of her.

Today, of course, is Halloween. So The Boy did get to join in today, and he was so excited! He was talking all day about his ladybug costume and he was so excited he was almost too squirmy to dress. It was cold here today. 38 degrees at trick or treat time. I layered the kids up pretty well, but we only stayed out about 30 minutes. Both The Babe and The Boy did such a nice job with their trick or treating, making sure to only take one piece when offered the whole bowl, and always saying 'thank you' before we left each house. When we got home, The Boy called The Babe over to sit by him ("Sit by me, Dizzy. Sit by me!"), and they pooled all their candy together.

I am so proud of them both.

thanks, mom

A good friend of mine and I have recently been having a conversation about motherhood. Her son just turned 9 months old, and that marker has really struck a note with her. As she put it "Now he's been outside of the womb for as long as he was in it". So, this milestone has her thinking, and through discussing it with her - now I'm thinking. OMG, watch out! I'm thinking.

Let me see if I can take you through my stream-of-conscuiosness, a-la The Jilting of Granny Weatherall. 7th grade English class anyone? No? Ok, so you don't get my obscure reference... I know I'm crazy. Here's how my mind works....

I start to think, at my friend's request, about when I first started to realize that these babies of mine were actual people. When did it hit me that they have minds, opinions, will grow to be adults? Ummm... never. It hasn't really hit me yet. Sometimes, when The Babe is expressing a particularly strong opinion, or when The Boy is being emphatically stubborn, I realize that I can't really control them. They are not dolls or toys, they don't fall for everything I say anymore, and they are not afraid to let me know that I am full of it. But, it still hasn't really struck me that they will one day grow up. Even though I watch it every day, it's like I am in denial. I see the little things that indicate how they are growing, and I choose to ignore them. Because, the bottom line is, I can't handle the truth. Jack Nicholson might as well be spitting that in my face.

I cannot bear the thought that when The Babe is a bit older, she won't want me to tag along on her trips to the mall with her girlfriends. Or, that The Boy will want me to drop him off a block from school so none of the other kids will see how I kiss and hug him good-bye. I think I might die when they go off to college and I'm not part of their daily lives anymore, even if I have just been an embarrassment to them all through high school, at least I will have gotten to be there. Oh, and when they're off having fun in college, how will I make it through the week until the Sunday night phone call? How will I not speak to them every day? How will I be when they're done with college and off having a life... When not only do they not need to talk to me every day, but now they no longer even need to play nice because I'll no longer be footing the bill for their campus apartment? They'll only call once a month, maybe. I know it. I know it will happen, and I know I will be hurt. I'll be crushed.

How do I know it? Because that's exactly what I did to my own mother.

Now, don't get me wrong. My mother and I always got along. I don't remember any big rebellion phase or arguing phase or "I hate you" phase (someone please check with my mother, she may be remembering things differently). But I do know that there was a time in my life, a good long time, where I only called her sporadically. Maybe we talked once or twice a month. Maybe I saw her 8 or 10 times in a YEAR, even though we only lived 30 minutes away. I'm sure I was behaving as any normal young person does. But, as a mother, this kills me. It absolutely eats me up inside to think how much it will hurt when my kids do this to me, and therefore, how much it hurt my mother when I did it to her.

So, thanks Mommo. Thanks for allowing me to grow, and then letting me go. And thanks most of all for still being there when I gathered my senses and came back. I hope I can do the same for my kids some day. Much Love....

apology accepted

Thursday evening The Boy asked for juice. Orange juice. Straight up, no watering down, no ice, just juice. In fact, he was so particular that he didn't even want it in the sippy cup, he just wanted a regular cup. Silly me, I let him use the cup with no lid.

The Boy takes his juice into our family room, where he proceeds to spill it all over the coffee table, and on the carpet, and on the sofa. Great. Juice. Orange juice. Straight up, now all over my family room.

"Mommy! My need help! Mommy!" The Boy was a bit panicked. Let me tell you, I was not pleased, but accidents happen. I grabbed the paper towels and began the clean up process. The Boy was so sweet, helping me clean. He blotted the carpet, just as he saw me doing. He wiped the coffee table, and blotted the sofa. He even helped with the last rub down with the Lysol wipes. An absolute doll. I forgave him rather quickly.

Friday morning, Daddy notices that one of the remotes is extra sticky. OOoops, I thought we had gotten everything clean, but I guess not. So, Daddy quite reasonably asks what happened. What's all over this icky, sticky remote? The Boy bows his head, looks at the floor, and says quietly: "My spill juice, Daddy. My big sorry."

Daddy forgave him rather quickly, too.

naked

I have naked children. Really. Ask anyone who is in my house for more than an hour or so, and they will tell you that I have naked children. My kids love running around naked no matter what they are doing. Eating? naked. Playing? naked. Watching a movie or TV? naked. The Babe goes for the naked sneak attack, I think she enjoys surprising me. She'll just appear, where one moment ago she was fully clothed, now she has no bottoms. It's as though she's trying to see if I'll notice.

Anyhow, I don't mind the naked. I imagine it's partly my fault. I'm not sure if I've encouraged it, I very well may have, but I know I certainly never discouraged it, either.

The thing is, now that the weather is turning cold, I'm not sure how keen I am on the naked. But the kids don't seem to mind, they are just as naked as ever. I guess if it doesn't bother them, it shouldn't bother me. Right?

is this wrong....?

For as long as I can remember, The Boy has always been interested in whatever it is that I am drinking. If I have a glass of water, he needs to have it. If I have a soda, he needs to have it. If I have a coffee, he needs to have it. It's not that I don't want to share (well, it's kinda that I don't want to share), but it's The Boy who really doesn't want to share. He wants to take my drink and make it his own. I'd be happy to give him a sip of this or that if that's where it would end, but that's not where it ends. It ends with me in utter frustration, wondering why I can't do anything without being harrassed. I mean, I just want a drink of water for goodness sake!

The result of this has been that I simply avoid drinking things around The Boy. I don't think I thought the issue through and came to that solution... but over time, that's what I've noticed is happening. I just don't drink around The Boy. Since I am around The Boy pretty much all day, what that means is that I hardly drink anything. As a survivor of 12 (count them, twelve) kidney stones, not drinking anything all day is not a very appealing option for me (besides the fact that not drinking anything all day is probably not a very appealing option to anyone).

Out of sheer desperation recently, I simply poured part of my drink into a small cup and gave that to The Boy. OMG, it worked! He walks away with his own cup and is happy with that. I am relieved. The result of that, however, is that now The Boy simply asks me for his own cup of whatever, whether I am drinking it currently or not. Today it was tea. So, I made The Boy a cup of tea. I used decaf. Just plain decaf Lipton tea. It felt so odd the whole time I was making it. Serving tea to my 2 year old just seemed unusual.

My question is this: Is it wrong? Is there any reason why I shouldn't be serving The Boy tea? I mean, besides the fact that he's a bit young to learn how to hold his pinky finger out as he sips?

proof that tv is good for them

Did you ever notice how your child just starts randomly talking about something, and you have no idea why or where it came from? Please tell me it's not just my child that does this....

Saturday, The Babe and I were driving home from her ballet lesson, and she tells me that there is no school in the summer time. Uh-huh, yeah... I got that, OK... where is she going with this? So, here's the rest of the conversation. Now try to tell me that TV is not good for them, LOL.

The Babe: We only go to school for three seasons of the year.
Me: Yes, that's right.
The Babe: Fall, Winter, and Spring. There's no school in the summer.
Me: You're right, honey! How did you get to be so smart?
The Babe: (hesitates while thinking this over) I think... maybe... The Simpsons.

Ha! Not just any old TV show, but The Simpsons! That's daddy's little girl!

tears

A long time ago, when The Babe was a little over 2 years old, she needed to have an echo-cardiogram done at the cardiologist. Because of her age, they believed she would need to be sedated, as the procedure requires the patient to lie very still. Well, part of the sedation process is that the patient is not allowed any food for 12 hours prior, and no liquid besides water for 4 hours prior (I think.... I can't remember exactly.... it's a long time ago now, hush). The cardiologist's office tried to give us an early appointment, so that most of The Babe's fasting would happen while she slept, but I remember it wasn't early enough.

The Babe was so distraught at her lack of food and milk that she cried. A lot. I was about 17 months pregnant with The Boy at this point, stretched to my limit both physically and emotionally, and the sight of my sweet daughter crying for food was enough to push me over the edge. She was sobbing, and over and over again all she could say was "Look at this wet face, Mommy. Look at this wet face". It broke my heart at the time, but now I remember it as one of the funniest things she's ever said to me. She was just figuring out her tears, and boy, did she have a lot of them that day. It's so sweet to watch them learn, even if the situation seems dire at the time (sidenote: they did not even end up sedating her for the procdure that day. My little angel lay perfectly still for the doctors. They were very impressed. Oh, and we took her to Toys R Us right afterwards and told her she could pick whatever bear she wanted, LOL).

So today, The Boy is coming to the same recognition of his tears. I'm surprised it has taken him so long, because The Boy cries a lot. He was crying over something silly, like whether or not I was trying to poison him with that awfully suspicious grilled cheese sandwich I placed in front of him for lunch. I left him at the table, and when I came back a minute later he was very calm, but very aware of his "wet face".

The Boy: What's that, mommy?
Me: Those are tears. You've been crying.
The Boy: My raining?
Me: (trying not to laugh) No, not raining, crying.
The Boy: Right. My raining. My rain. From eyes.

Almost adorable enough for me to forget that the whole thing started because he didn't want to eat lunch.