no, she's not sick...

Today we went to the dentist. After this incident last August, we realized that The Babe needed to be medicated prior to seeing the dentist because of her heart murmer. So, yesterday I dutifully filled the prescription and placed it in the fridge because they said it would taste better cold.

Apparently, I had neglected to talk to The Babe about this need for medicine. I am surprised at myself, and then I felt really on the spot to come up with a good explanation as to why she needed this medicine. She has seen the dentist several times before, but has never had the real cleaning with the metal tools. All those times, she never took any medicine before going to the dentist, so obviously, she was wondering what was up. Add to this that I have always told The Kiddos that "the medicine will help you feel better" or "you have to take this because you are sick", and now I have two kids wondering what's "wrong" with The Babe. Why does she need the medicine...

The necessary timing of this medicine in relation to the dentist visit was such that I was giving her the medicine as we were driving the 45 minutes to our dentist. Don't worry, my husband was driving, but it was still an awkward place to try to explain that no, she's not sick. I told The Babe that she will need the medicine now every time she sees the dentist. She asks why The Boy doesn't need it, why don't I need it, what about Daddy? No, none of us need it, just you. But you're not sick. Well then she wants to know if she's not sick, why does she need medicine. It was just so hard to explain. I don't want her to feel defective or broken or that she's somehow malfunctioned.... but the bottom line is she has a condition that requires this.

I reminded her of how we sometimes go see the special doctor who takes movies of her heart. I told her that none of us ever need that, just her. I told her that she gets to have movies made of her heart because her heart is very unique, and it's part of what makes her special. But, that it also means that she needs to take the medicine before the dentist to keep her from getting sick. I told her it was like a shield. Her heart is special and needs special care.

And then there's The Boy... "My special, too, Mommy! My special!" sigh. It was just so hard to explain, and I wish I had thought about it ahead of time. I hope she doesn't feel too different. She did say the medicine tasted good, so at least there's that. Oh, and the dentist says both kids have great teeth.

happy birthday, little man!

25 Feb is The Boy's birthday. He is three years old. Already.

When I was pregnant with The Boy, I was afraid. There was no question that we wanted to have more than one child, so getting pregnant pretty much on schedule was never even questioned. Once I was pregnant, however, I became more and more afraid. I had carved out a pretty nice family already. I had a beautiful daughter who, at 18 months, had begun to sleep and eat predictably. I had a semblance of routine and balance. Everything was working. Why, oh why did I mess with that? Why would I throw a baby into the mix and "ruin" everything? I was afraid. I was afraid that I wouldn't love The Boy as much as I loved The Babe. How could I love anything as much as I loved her?

Compounding the fear was the fact that The Boy was, well, a boy. I never had brothers growing up. I didn't know what to do with a boy. I didn't care for trucks or rough play, I knew about dolls and animals and tea parties. What would I do with a boy? I was afraid. I was very afraid right up to the moment The Boy was born, and then even still afraid a bit while I was in the hospital.

I laugh at that fear now. The Boy came home from the hospital and fit right into our family. I cannot imagine our lives without him in it. Plainly put, I love The Boy.

I love that when he needs to have his fingernails cut, he tells me "Mommy, my need toenails!". He calls my fingernails "toenails", too, and he is very disappointed if they are not painted red. I love his laugh. It's so deep down and true. I love that when he dances, he bends his knees and bends his waist from side to side, moving his arms as he goes. I also love that he turns circles with his eyes closed until he's so dizzy he can no longer stand. I love that he knows when I need a latte, and that when we are at Starbucks he wants to put his own things in the trash. "My do it myself, Mommy. Leave my alone."... and he toddles off to the trash can, looking over his shoulder now and then to make sure I am watching him. I love that he's so proud of himself when he gets back to our table, and he always gives me "five".

I love how The Boy plays. Not only does he love his cars, trains, and trucks; but he sure loves to have a good tea party. I love that he will make me sandwiches with the play food and pour me tea. He always asks if I need cream and sugar, and he always puts them in my tea no matter if I wanted them or not. I even love that he wants to jump off furniture and roll around and wrestle on the floor. I love that he's taught The Babe to let loose and play a little rough once in a while.

I love that he's so in love with his sister that he wants to try whatever she's trying, do whatever she's doing. I love that he gives her a hug and a kiss every night before bed, and that he always says "goodnight, Dizzy", even if she's not listening. He has to do this. I love that if he forgets to kiss her goodnight, he insists on getting out of bed to go to her room and give her the kiss. I love that he can't fall asleep unless he's completed the ritual.

I love that he loves his bath so much that the mere suggestion of skipping the bath sends him into a frenzy. I love that he insists he needs to watch Lazy Town before his nap, but then doesn't watch because he's too busy playing. I love that when you tell him it's nap time, he gets really upset because he "missed" the show, even though it was on the whole time.

I love that he has his baby blankets, his "babies", and that they go everywhere with us. I love that the edges are frayed and the fabric is super soft from all the washes. I love that the blue babies are his favorites, but the green ones will do in a pinch. I love that he sometimes puts his babies in time out, and tells them "Two minutes, no playing!", as he walks away.

I love that The Boy is a snuggler. I love that a day doesn't go by when he hasn't curled into my lap for a good long hug. I love that he comes down from his nap each day, all warm and rosy from sleep, and the first thing he does is curl up beside me, wherever I may be. I love that I still get to hold him and snuggle with him when he's very quiet like that.

I love that at random points throughout any given day, The Boy will call out "Mommy?? Take me to my gym class!", and I have to answer "I'll take you when it's time!", and he bursts into a fit of giggles. I think he does understand that his gym class is just once a week, but I love that he's made up this fabulous little game and he thinks it's so funny.

I love that I now have a new appreciation for trucks and interesting cars. I never dreamed I would care, but I love that I find myself genuinely oohing and aaahing over the great big semi trucks, and I love that his whole day can be made just by spotting some sort of construction vehicle, especially if it's "working". I love that I am sometimes in the car without The Boy, and am still excited when I see a cool truck go by. I love that he has changed my perspective on so many things.

I love The Boy. I love him more than I can say and for more reasons than I can list. Happy Birthday, little man, I love you very much.

bobby

The Boy refers to his penis as his 'bobby'. I am not sure how that came about, but there it is.

Recently, he's been noticing that his bobby will sometimes be, ahem... well... different than it's normal flacid self. He notices this, and he announces it, no matter where we are or what we're doing... "Mommy! My bobby is out! My bobby is out!" He doesn't really like it when his bobby is out, and he pulls his pants down to try to put his bobby back in. This has always made me giggle, and I have never really known what to do about it. I always tell him that if he would just leave his bobby alone, that it would go back in by itself, but he never believes me. He has to pull his pants down and try to put it back himself. I've always figured, C'est la vie! He's just a little guy, he'll learn. I never let it bother me too much. Until...

Have you ever been walking through Woodfield Mall with your 2-year old son proclaiming "Mommy! My bobby is out, my bobby is out!", and then you find yourself trying to convince him that now is not the time to be pulling his pants down to put it back in? Have you? Well, I have. It's actually funnier than it sounds, too.

silly

A few weeks ago, I introduced The Boy to the library. "Library, meet The Boy. The Boy, meet Library". He chose three books that time, and we read those three books every nap time and bed time for the three weeks we were allowed to have them. He was exceedingly sad when we went back to return them. "But my like those books, Mommy. My keep those books". He was somewhat cheered up by the idea that we could get different books that day, next time we came we could get even more new books, and sometimes we could bring home a favorite book, too. He picked out three new books to bring home that day.... I believe it was last Thursday.

So, one of the three new books seemed to be the stand out favorite, and the other two have not been read as much. But, the "sheep book", as he calls it, has been read before every nap and every bed time since Thursday. Today is Tuesday, in case you're keeping track. So, tonight I read the sheep book before bed. I finished the story and I leaned in to kiss The Boy goodnight, and he says "My don't like that book, Mommy". He's very serious. What do you mean you don't like this book!?? How have I been reading it twice a day for all this time? You don't like it!!!?? Plus, why would you give a pet name to a book you don't like? Why have you been acting interested in it all this time?? Still...."My don't like that book".

I've been laughing about it all night... I guess another trip to the library is in the near future.

wisdom

Do you think it's possible that we are all born knowing certain things to be true... laws of nature or what-have-you, and then we slowly un-learn some of these things as we age? I do. I also believe that it is part of the job of a child to remind the adults around them of these things. Children are wise.

If you ask The Babe what she wants to be when she grows up, she proudly answers that she wants to be "a Mommy". She says it with awe. Her tone of voice displays respect, almost reverence.... as though being a mommy is something to which you need to aspire, something special, magical, as though it is the best thing she can think of. I used to think it was cute and funny how seriously she takes it, but you know what? I really think she knows something. She's trying to remind me.... and she's right.

Somewhere, along the road, in all the "tasks" that make up the job of being a mommy, we forget that it's a priveledge. It just takes a child to remind us.

disappointed

I am so disappointed. Really. The Babe and I had a date tonight. I signed us up months ago for a class through our park district called "Mommy and Me Princess Up-do's". It was a class for the two of us, I was to learn how to do fab new hairstyles on my beautiful girl, and she was to love having said fab hairstyles.

Let me start by saying that this class ran from 6:30 pm to 8:00 pm. If it had been at 2:00 in the afternoon, we may have had an entirely different outcome.

Even though I signed us up ages ago, and have been looking forward to it ever since; my recent realization that The Babe and I don't get enough time for us caused me to *really* look forward to tonight. I've been talking it up to The Babe all week... our special date, just the two of us. She was excited to go, too.

Well, I did learn fab new hairstyles, and I eagerly await when The Babe will allow me to do them... but, some were complicated. Some took a bit of trial and error. Some didn't turn out as well, but will improve with practice. All of them required The Babe to sit still, not move, and don't touch the hair! Obviously, that's not so much fun for a 5 year old for an hour and a half. Why I thought that would be fun for her is beyond me. It's so obviously not fun that I really don't know what I was thinking... I guess it just seemed so girly and sweet; a perfect 'mommy and me' outing.

Adding insult to The Babe's injury, they chose little girls as "models" for some of the styles, to sit at the front and let the instructor do her hair as an example. The Babe really wanted to be a model. She raised her hand politely each time to volunteer, but was not chosen. Now, there were 12 girls, and only 4 times did they call for models. It's not as though everyone was a model but her, but she was very disappointed.

So, towards the end of class, sad at not being chosen as a model, tired because it was past her bedtime, ready to go home... my poor, sweet, little girl cried. It wasn't a "throwing a tantrum / not getting my way" kind of cry. That would have made me angry. It wasn't a drama kind of cry, either. She just sat there quietly with tears rolling down her face, not having any fun, crying, asking to go home. I made her wait so she could get her goody bag of hair clips and tools of the trade, I made her say a polite "thank you" to the teacher, and we drove somberly home.

I had such high hopes. I had the best of intentions... and The Babe feels robbed of her date with mommy. She told her daddy through her tears when we got home: "I sat still. I didn't do anything fun." And then I was teary, too.

She did ask if I could do one of the hairstyles on her for her ballet class tomorrow... so maybe all is not lost. *sigh*

why is it...

... that on a night when I get to bed at a reasonable time, and at least have some hope for a good night's sleep; the kids are up several times during the night? And on a night when work has been difficult, it's almost 3:00am, I've just finished, and I've no hope of a full night's sleep, the kids have been sleeping all the way through? Why is that?

I swear, it happens every time.... *sigh*

the short end versus the long end...

...of the stick, that is. There is a balance in the world, isn't there?

Both of my kids, but especially The Boy, have been very mommy-oriented lately. The Babe is still more of Daddy's little girl when it comes to lots of things, but even for her; there are some things for which only mommy will do. As flattering as you'd think that might be, the things for which I am required tend to be the really menial, frustrating, I wish 'I didn't *always* have to be the one to do them' kind of things. For example, The Boy insists that I'm the one to change his poopy diapers. I must be the one to get him into his jams before bed. It has to be me that helps them both brush their teeth. The Babe prefers that her hair washes are done by my hand, and The Boy will not allow daddy to buckle his car seat straps.

It's this last one that I find most frustrating these days, as the temps have been close to zero for some time. Daddy sits in the wind-free, warming up car as I freeze my patootie off standing by The Boy's door trying to wrestle him into the car seat. It was yesterday, as I was wrestling, that I complained out loud "Why do I always get the short end of the stick?"

My husband said to me, quite quickly "It's because you get the long end of the snuggle stick". Hmmm.... Now if you know my husband, you know that he hasn't a care in the world. He is simply not a worrier, and he lets all kinds of stuff just roll off his back... the kinds of things that would really ruffle my feathers. When he told me I get more snuggles from the kids, he said it with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. He knows not to be bothered by this, it's just the way it is. But when he said it, I felt instant guilt.

He's right. I'm the one with whom The Kiddos choose to sit on the sofa and watch TV. It's my lap they curl into for a story, and I'm the first one from whom they want a hug if they've been hurt or are sad. So, here I am complaining that they're so "mommy, mommy, mommy" all the time; forgetting about all the good that comes with that, too.

I might get the short end of the menial chores stick, but I've got the long end of the snuggle stick... I think I'll keep both.

time for the babe

The Banana Bread Incident made me realize that The Babe and I need to get out more often. We used to have our time together quite a lot, sneaking out on errands while The Boy was in his nap, stopping on the way home for a donut each time. It's been ages since we've done that. So many things are a factor in that... the school schedule, The Boy's erratic napping these days, the freezing f-ing cold, you name it. But just because there are factors doesn't mean there are excuses.

Today I took The Babe to the mall while The Boy was sleeping. We had to buy her a new foofie (that's Babe speak for a nylon shower puff). Her foofie just fell apart in the bath last night, and while it was no emergency; buying a new one was as good a reason as any for us to get out, just us girls.

First stop was picking the new foofie. Then we soldiered on to find a suitable gift for The Babe to give her daddy on Valentine's Day. She picked a nice pair of socks, which is funny, but since he actually will like them, that's what we got him. Then we went to the Starbucks kiosk. She had chocolate milk, I had a chai, we each had a cookie. We sat in front of the super cool fountain at the mall. We literally sat on the floor right in front of it, and had a picnic while we watched the super cool fountain do it's super cool tricks. Then we wandered. We looked at the shoes at Macy's. She helped me decide which ones were coolest, even though we didn't buy any. And then we went home.

We were out for maybe 60-90 minutes, but it was fun. It was special. And it was very much needed. I hope we remember to do it more often.

it's not all sweetness and light

I am an optimist. I try to look at the bright side, I try to focus on the good things. I try to be grateful for what I have. As such, I realize that my posts here on this blog tend to be about the sweet and silly moments more than it is about the frustrating and disappointing ones. Today I am so frustrated and disappointed that I have to write about it.

Today The Babe came home from school and she wanted to make banana bread. Making banana bread is one of the things that The Babe and I have been doing together for a long, long time. It has always been something that I considered special, a fun thing for me to do with my kids. Making memories as much as we are making bread. I held it close to my heart. We haven't made banana bread in a while, so even though the bananas we had on hand weren't quite ready, I agreed right away. The Babe was very excited. She rushed to wash her hands and eagerly brought me her apron with her name on it to help her tie it on. And then The Boy pipes up. He wants to help make banana bread, too.

Now, the tradition of banana bread started before The Boy was old enough to help. It used to be something that The Babe and I did, just the two of us. But, certainly The Boy has been old enough to help for a while now, and he has joined us on many a banana bread adventure before. Of course he can help. Climb on a stool, grab a spoon! But then there's The Babe. "I don't want him to help". She looks right at him and says "You're not invited. We don't want your help." The Boy cried. She made him cry, and it was so sad and heartbreaking to see his little moment of joy at the thought of banana bread melt into tears rolling out of his big blue eyes. It was just as heartbreaking for me... all my positive thoughts and feelings about this little family time I thought we had all appreciated just crumbled into bits, squashed on the floor.

I realize that what The Babe was really looking for was some special 'Mommy and me' time, and that she just didn't want The Boy to intrude. I don't think she really meant what she was saying in the sense that she was trying to hurt The Boy, more like she was just trying to protect what she wanted. But it doesn't matter. The impact was the same.

We made the banana bread. I told The Babe that I enjoy to make the bread with both my children, and they are both invited to join in - always. If they choose not to join one time or another, that's fine, but they are both always invited. I told her that The Boy wanted to help, so he certainly could. She chose not to join us. She would rather pout than help. The Boy and I got about halfway through when The Babe decided she wanted her turn to mix and stir; and I let her, because she's always invited, but it was not the same.

Perhaps it's just this one time that is tarnished... perhaps we'll make lots more banana bread in the years to come, and perhaps it will still turn out to be one of the things my kids remember fondly from their childhood. I hope it is. But for me, a little bit of the magic was taken away today, and that makes me sad.