Lock Mama Up!

When your daughter starts reworking the words to “London Bridges Falling Down”, to sing repeatedly “take key, lock Mama up; lock Mama up; lock Mama up”, it does something to a person.

As a mom who has been seriously questioning my ability to parent well, I'm starting to wonder if Layna is seeing the crazy I thought I hid so well. Then I looked back at the cup throwing, the grunting, the sighing, etc.and I realized maybe I wasn’t hiding anything at all, and despite my best intentions, she may be picking up on the irritation I let so easily rise to the surface.

How is it that a person roughly 1/15 of my age, with a limited vocabulary and an angelic face, can make me grind my teeth, purse my lips, and point my finger? When did I become the mean mom from the movies that everyone secretly wishes would do something publicly humiliating?

I truly thought being a mom would be easy for me. I thought it would come naturally; I would know what to say and when to say it, and if I didn’t, I would still be able to come up with something meaningful to guide and direct.

The number of times I have looked at my husband and said, “I don’t know what to do. What are we supposed to do?” is growing each week.

When bedtime takes over our entire evening, because our daughter insists (by screaming and crying and pleading) that she has to poop, even though you took her to the bathroom three times before bed, what do you do? Tell her she can’t go? What if she ends up with an incurable stomach disease because I denied her the human right of using the bathroom? Worse yet, what happens if I let her manipulate me into taking her out of bed every night after clearly stating there would be no more potty trips?

When your infant son is in clear distress, uncomforted by all the go-to fixes, what do you do? Give Tylenol for an unseen pain? Gas drops for a hurting belly? Let him cry because whatever it is, you don’t seem to be helping the situation?

The amount of decisions you are required to make on behalf of another person’s best interest is positively exhausting. And while you figure it out, you are still going. Haven’t figured out if red-dye contributes to ADHD yet? Hope not, there goes another dose of Cherry Tylenol. Wish you knew the effects of screen time before age 2? Guess we’ll find out!

In truth, any mother who cares enough to assess how she is doing, is probably doing more than fine. (Right?)  Children have lived through straight-arm car seats, walking to school, and washing dishes by hand. The problems are different, but parenting remains the same – an everyday attempt at what is best for your children, even when it feels like you have no idea what you’re doing.

Bath Time Extravaganza

"I need a minute. Please just give me a minute," I said as tried to take a deep breath. The three of us were squished onto one chair, as we often are. Josiah in my lap, hiccuping as he gulped down his formula, and Layna squeezed in on my right with her hands full of a snack cup and five books.

"Please read this, Mama?" She requested.

Another deep breath.

"Just give me a minute," I repeated.

Josiah was hiccuping because he was absolutely screaming only seconds before. He got to that point where he was gag screaming. *Gag, scream, gag, scream* But I should back up, because it started a while before that.

I was giving both of the kids a bath and decided to be generous with their tub time since we had started the evening routine a little early. They both love bath time so this seemed to be appreciated. Though, it seems Josiah had a funny way of showing it.

As I was gathering towels and preparing to get them out, I noticed Josiah was in an awkward position in the tub - sort of leaned forward with a funny expression on his face.

No. You are not. 

Yes. He was. I slowly peeked into the tub to confirm my fear; he had indeed pooped in the tub.

Remain calm! I told myself. The last thing I needed was for Layna to freak out in addition to having this mess to clean up.

"Uh oh, Josiah pooped," I said in a tone that did not match my emotions on the issue. "Time to hop out."

Layna complied easily (a saving grace in this process), and of course, Josiah was completely oblivious to the fact that this presented an issue. I whisked them both out, and released the plug on the drain while I got them into pajamas. I instructed them to remain in Josiah's room across the hall from the clogged tub. I started by removing the offended toys, and... actually, I won't take you through step-by-step, but I will say that there were rubber gloves and a good amount of Clorox involved.

Josiah and Layna ventured into the bathroom more than one time during my cleanup, so in the middle of bending over the tub I would periodically have to stop and chastise them for entering. At one point, Josiah grabbed the Clorox, I sternly told him "no", and he brought out his pouting lip and whimper. Well, the whimpers turned into full blown screams, but with Clorox-gloved hands and hot water running in multiple places, there wasn't a lot to be done about it.

When I finally finished my task, I picked up Josiah who was in his *gag, scream, gag, scream* at this point. Layna was thinking she'd been patient enough and was at my heels about reading and her raisins (her routine bedtime snack). I rushed around the kitchen for raisins and a bottle (after nine months nursing Josiah, I'm still so grateful he transitioned to a bottle without issue).

And that's how we landed in the too-small-for-three chair. I collected myself, Josiah's breathing eased and his eyes got sleepy, and Layna sat eagerly with her eyes on the Berenstain Bears. It seemed we were back on track for the evening. All was well again, and so I began... "The Berenstain Bears Count Their Blessings..." 

"Layna's Here!"

Ah, the mind of a two year old. They are figuring out so much. I cannot believe the things my daughter seems to have taken in, let alone pinpoint where or when she did so. Everything is "Layna do dat" right now, including going potty. (Unless, of course, I want her to go by herself.)

After church last Sunday, we stopped for one last potty break before heading out and she successfully did nearly everything on her own with the help of stool. I, too, used the facilities, washed my hands and grabbed a paper towel, which dispensed after I gave it a little wave.

Layna had figured out that the soap need only the presence of a hand before supplying ample pre-bubbled soap, and after five or so helpings, she finally moved on to rinse and dry. I started to help her get the paper towel and was met with a curt "I do dat!" so I stepped aside, but not before the red light recognized my hand and began to dispense. Fortunately, it was at exactly the same time as Layna stepped up to the dispenser, placed her hands deliberately under it (nowhere near the sensor) and proclaimed, "Layna's heeeeere," while watching expectantly. In her mind, the paper towels immediately complied to her announcement, and I can only hope that this is now how she believes all paper towel dispensers work, because I'm always up for a good laugh.

Hello, My Name Is...

My husband and I agree; there will be no pets in our near future. It's not that we dislike animals, but the thought of taking on more responsibility seems like a really bad idea right now.

Our neighbors, however, have two dogs, which is perfect for our animal-loving daughter and easily-entertained son. We often check to see if the dogs are out, and when they are there are shouts of excitement accompanied by jumping and laughter. I'm fairly certain the dogs are equally excited when they find Layna outside. They bark and jump and run the length of the fence, them on their side and Layna on hers. 

One afternoon Layna and I were in the middle of just such a scenario and Aaron decided to join us. Our friendly neighbors are often out with the dogs, and Layna is quite taken with them as well. I believe she was engaged with the neighbor talking about her day as Aaron approached. 

Layna, not wanting to be rude of course, said to our neighbor, "This is Mama's friend, Dada!" Which is quite possibly one of my favorite quotes yet. A small glimpse into how a two year old interprets the world. 

-Dada's Friend, Mama

A Sad Day

Every kid has their own quirky vernacular when they first start talking. It's one of the things that finally got me writing again. I knew the days that they say "ono" for orange, "feep" for sleep... and sheep, and "blana" for banana were numbered. I want to capture them so I don't forget the unashamed learning of their childhood.

In an overnight turn of events, "lovey" is suddenly pronounced "wovey" instead of by making a circle with your mouth and moving your tongue back and forth over the opening (often with various inflections in tone). Countless times we said, "Do we have that on video?" and I'm still not sure we do, but our opportunities to capture it are gone. That piece of my little girl is left to live on only in our minds, and I found this simple thing oddly heartbreaking.

In a nutshell that's what all parenting is like. You see moments slipping by, know they won't last, but can't seem to grasp them any more than you can reach out and hold the air in front of you. And so you're left with a memory of what they used to do, and the only comfort is knowing there's a whole world of "going to do". And maybe we'll have figured out how to capture those moments before they, too, slip away into memories of "used to".

"Realize deeply that the present moment is all you ever have." -Eckhart Tolle

We're Mobile, Folks!

There's no doubt that a two-year-old is going to give you more material for writing than a nine-month-old, but make no mistake, our Baby J gives us plenty of laughs, too. Unfortunately, they are just harder to describe without the gestures and noises and imitations. He is such a happy boy, and we are so blessed by his pleasant demeanor!

Until last week, we had been able to plop him down in one place and come back knowing we can expect him to be there. But our little guy has now had the first taste of independence. What started as making circles after alternating from sitting to crawling position 50+ times, has now developed into full-blown, get-after-it, crawling. He is on the go, and proud of it.

At the same time that the crawling began, he started pulling himself up on things and now when I enter his room in the morning, I'm often greeted by his round face popped up over the side of the crib, two bottom teeth gleaming in his million-dollar smile. Of course, that's because I'm one of the lucky ones. I'm Mama, which makes me numero uno to this guy. He's got a good thing going with Dada, and Grandma gets the cheesers, too. But if you're anyone else, you're likely to be greeted by a stoic, chin down, eyes up, unreadable expression. He's the friendliest skeptical guy I know.

Now that he's on the move, I'm imagining my two littles getting into all kinds of mischief together. And hesitant as I am to see them grow up too fast, I'm very much looking forward to seeing them do so together.

"It's No Not Nice!"

One of Layna's favorite phrases of late: "It's no not nice!" complete with pointing finger. Yesterday, she was standing in the kitchen in the morning and the sun was coming through the window illuminating her. She squinted at the window, looking like there was a little spotlight on her, and said, "No sun. No get in my eyes. It's no not nice!"

This happens often: when Josiah, 9 months old, "takes" her lovey or a toy she's not using; when her dad or I steal a bite of her food; when some inanimate objects gets her way; or when she's imagining things with her "a'mls" (her stuffed animal friends).

Her other favorite thing to say? "No - it's my dada!" Have I mentioned we have a complete daddy's girl? This is her go-to phrase when someone is too close to Aaron. The latest, completely awesome, story about this was over the weekend. There was some extended family in town, nine-year-old Henry and 11-year-old Lucy, both sweet as can be. Henry was teaching Aaron some form of martial arts. He was twisting his arm, etc. and Layna is sitting on my lap watching and murmuring "it's my dada" with a bottom lip stuck out, though she was otherwise tolerating their play. Until....

Aaron was on the ground, hands behind his back with his cousin leaning over him and Layna bolts from my lap with her "NO, IT'S MY DADA" warcry and jumps on his back to his rescue. She had a dress on, too. Without a doubt, it was one of my favorite moments: my two-year-old daughter, coming to her dad's rescue against a nine-year-old boy. I think we're doing a pretty good job of raising a tenacious, fearless daughter.