When Your Child Grabs a Knife

I know most parents have those stories that make jaws drop and are often followed by things like, "How is your child still alive?" 

Sure, they are not something we should take pride in... But they are fun to read, right?

My daughter has a bad habit of interrupting. No matter how many times I correct her, I can't seem to get her to understand that when two people are talking, it's rude to interject things such as:
"Mama, see this?" as she's sticking her tongue out doing a funny dance.
"Mama, mama, mama, mama... MAMA! Can I have this?" as she holds something she knows very well she can never have.
"Mama, I have a question. Mama, I have a question. Mama, I have a question. Mama, I have a question."
*brain exploding*

This is necessary to preface my son's life-threatening experience because it wouldn't have been cut (pun intended) so close if I wasn't ignoring my daughter trying to insert herself into my conversation with her grandma.

Another necessary preface is my son's constant desire to be climbing. I know this is common among young children, and I'm now convinced it's accentuated in young boys. My son has no respect for items which are not meant to be conquered and stood on. We have had to start keeping our chairs all tightly pushed in to avoid an 18-month-old centerpiece on our dining room table. Unfortunately, I don't always push my chair in when I get up to ... I don't know, get a napkin or something. Like most moms, I get up 100x per meal, so you can imagine the annoyance.

Cue lunch time. Naturally, the kids are done before the adults have even started so as Grandma and I filter about the kitchen cleaning up or getting our own food, the small ones are left "unattended" (less than 10 feet away.)

My daughter is incessantly trying to get my attention (a normal thing when I speak to another adult) and I was ignoring her to prove my point that badgering me will not get my attention when I'm speaking to someone.

Finally, she yells, "JOSIAH HAS A KNIFE!"

Grandma and I leap the short distance to the dining room to see a grinning jack-o-lantern with a good-sized knife he is repeatedly stabbing the table with.

I mean, thank God, he wasn't stabbing himself! There is perhaps nothing more terrifying than an unpredictable toddler wielding a weapon.

Lest you think I haven't learned my lesson, we have become much more vigilant about pushing our chairs in when said child is not secured in his highchair. Oh, and also, we leave less knives on the table.

But the real story here is I actually said the words, "Thank you for interrupting me, Sweetie."

Parenthood Advocate: Part Two

As promised, I have concrete evidence behind my satirical claim to make people want kids. Part one: a friend who realized that one day they may find themselves dreaming up things to do with their free evening and end up at Sams Club followed by a diaper blow out at Chick-fil-A.

Part two involves the endless stories I can't help but vent to my big bro. I don't call him seeking out listening ears for my parental woes. Often the conversation starts as it does with any other adults; small talk, pleasantries,etc. But about 30 seconds into said pleasantries, I am forced to interject something like, "Do not crawl on the table" or "Wait until you're in the bathroom to pull your pants down" or "OH MY GOSH. STOP ASKING. I ALREADY ANSWERED YOU."

The last one is really poking the mom-bear within. For real. How many times can one be asked the same question before flipping out? Question harassment should absolutely be considered a form of mental torture. To really amplify it, the person being tortured should always be trying to do something else (preferably important: like work; or dangerous: like wielding a knife.)

So back to the story. My brother and I often enter into these conversations reasonably enough, but as one does with close family, the filters fall off and I find myself divulging just how crazy these things make me - drawing him into the euphoria of parenthood.

The question of the minute was, "Mama, do you want to play chalk with me?" The answer was a consistent, roundabout "pass." And don't try to tell me that makes me a bad mom - talking to my brother and not playing chalk with my daughter. I had black jeans on. Tell me you always agree to sitting in a colored puff whilst drying your hands out.

The chalk question morphed into a conversation between her and the moon the way only a three-year-old conversation can.

"Look, Mama! The moons out! (child giggle) What's the moon doing out in the day time? Hi, Moon! It's nice to see you, Moon. How 'bout your day? I'm just playin' chalk."

I explained to my brother the conversation going on.

"Well, there you go!" He said. "Just tell her to talk to the moon when she's bugging you with questions."

I know. He's a genius, right? Just got his PhD. He's not usually so quick with the advice, I usually leave him feeling at least slightly stressed out on my behalf. (Like the time he came to visit but our family of four was living with my in-laws and I was working from "home" full-time and I had mastitis and my son stopped sleeping and... you get it.) But this time - I left him empowered.

When he has a three year old who won't stop bugging him, he can look at his sweet little angel and tell him/her... "Sorry, Sweetie, Daddy is busy. Tell it to the moon."

Parenthood Advocate: Part One

I am a great advocate for parenthood. I really make people want to step into the bliss of raising offspring to be productive and contributing members of society. Of course, I have two concrete examples to back up this satirical fact. 

Today I'll share the first.

About a year ago, probably less, I had a 2.5 year old and a not-yet-one year old. A good friend (newly pregnant) was in town visiting, and as good friends who don't have kids yet do, she was coming along on our family trip to Sam's Club. (Oh my gosh, I legitimately felt sad when I realized what I just said. These are the outings of people with kids...) So we go to Sams Club, and decide to stop at my husband's favorite restaurant on our way home. Chick-fil-A. (Again, living the life over here.)

My super good friend, who I'm appreciating more and more as I tell this story, was sitting in the backseat of our SUV wedged between two car seats. She tried to participate in the front-of-the-car conversation, but my daughter would hardly allow that. She was talking her ear off about this and that, happy to have a verbal friend in the back with her instead of just her baby bro.

On our way to Chick-fil-A, said friend says, "I think J pooped. It stinks back here." Which we acknowledged with a "haha."

She tried to drive the point home further. "Okay, I know I'm pregnant, but I'm like seriously nauseous from this smell."

"Really? I don't smell it." Nose blinders like only a parent can have.

When we arrive at our destination, we decided my husband would go inside to pick up the food. So we're sitting the car seat and she says, "No, it like really stinks. He might have pooped through his diaper." He  hadn't done that in forever.

"Nah, he probably just stinks," I say. "I'll change him when we get home."

At this point, she's leaning forward trying to escape my daughter's chatter and my son's stench. My daughter has successfully grabbed my friend's hair to attempt pulling her into the backseat again.

"No, Christen, he really stinks. Ow! Layna, that's my hair."

I get out of the car, walk around back and as soon as I open the door to the back where J is sitting I can see the poop.

"Ohhhh my...." is all I can offer.

I didn't dare get him out at that point because the seat was covered so it'd do no good to change the diaper that apparently nothing landed in. Thus, my husband returned, and we drove home. Probably the longest 10 minutes of my friends life. Her body strategically maneuvered to reach as far forward as she could while my daughter continued to pepper her questions and engage her in conversation. (The "get the hint" skill isn't reached until much later in life.)

I think I can say with confidence that she didn't exit the vehicle (sideways and with great force as she tried to bypass the car seat) wishing her pregnancy would fly by. Then again, one could argue that I prepared her well for her future. As of today, she's the proud mom of a  baby boy. And when the day comes for her, I'll tell her how to strategically remove the car seat cover and wash it in the washer despite the fact that it says "hand wash." Because as she'll learn, no mom has time to hand wash.

Love you, friend.

When Your Husband Doesn't Celebrate Valentine's Day

I imagine people who read the title of this post do one of two things: gasp in horror or nod in solidarity.

I'll address the crowd with mouths agape first:

It may seem cold-hearted, and you're right to be incredulous. But allow me to explain that my husband is an everyday kind of valentine. There are valentines out there who use the day as an opportunity to make amends for past neglect, smooth over an argument with something sparkly, or justify a few more late nights at the office with flowers and chocolate. That's not how my valentine rolls. He may not bring something home on Valentine's Day (which isn't to say he never has) but that random Tuesday in November he brought me dark chocolate covered caramels and flowers - I remember that.

To my fellow sisters nodding in recognition:

I hope your valentine showers you with love throughout the year and isn't just a love scrooge. That'd really be a bummer. If he is a love scrooge, you might consider some not-so-gentle hinting that you could use a little extra attention.

If he dotes on you on the reg, and like my husband, just doesn't like to be told by Hallmark to shower you with flowers and candy, then I say we're in a winning camp. I'd much prefer someone who does random acts of love kindness year-round, tucks random notes in my nightstand, and regularly offers support and affirmation.

To those who say, "My husband does both!" ... great! Some guys are romantics at heart. I tried to explain that to my husband yesterday. (I'm behind the whole "not indulging in the marketing of a holiday that's not real," but once you start straight bashing it I get to wonder, And what would be so bad about doing something a little extra special?!  I digress.) I tried to explain that some men love gift-giving and some women love getting gifts, and Valentine's Day is perfect for those couples.

So instead of a fancy date, flowers or candy yesterday, I crawled into bed at 8:30 p.m. and retook the love languages test in 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman. The last time I took it was probably five years ago, pre-children and early marriage. Want to know what I learned?

My physical touch score plummeted on account of I'm touched and hung on all day.
My acts of services skyrocketed... 'cause please do the dishes.
And I still like hanging out with my husband in that quality time category. It's just now tied with "clean the kitchen first."

Happy belated Valentine's Day!

To All the Mamas of Sick Kiddos

Remember when I vowed to find something good in January and February? Ha.

I know I'm not supposed to say "literally," when in fact it devalues the word if it's inaccurate. So I'll add a disclaimer: It feels like, LITERALLY everyone is sick. Everyone I talk to has a child who is sick or whom they are quarantining from getting sick.

My daughter has been toying with sickness for a couple of weeks. We had a close call a couple weekends ago when a low fever threatened to turn into something, but it came and went within hours. I've been hearing a lot of, "Mama, I'm not feelin' date (great)." But I never know if that's true or she just wants to watch a movie.

Both of my children were exposed to the flu, yet neither had come down with anything more than snot. I waited for an ear infection in my little guy that, thankfully, never came. Now, an awful sounding cough has made camp in my daughter, but a fever never lasts longer than a couple of hours.

So for now, we're grateful, calling the doctor regularly about this mystery non-illness my daughter has, and overdosing on television.

I know many of you are not in the same camp! So for all the mamas holding hands and puke buckets, giving extra kisses and cuddles, and dosing children with TV and Tylenol - I feel you. It's an honorable task caring for your dependent offspring.

My permission is meaningless, but if you need someone to say it:

• You're (likely) not doing lasting damage by indulging in too much Daniel Tiger (or whatever your kids top choice is.) In this house, Toy Story rules all.
• If all your kid wants to eat is applesauce, Sam's Club has it in stock. 
• It's okay to curl up next to them on the couch instead of doing the sink full of dishes.
• Have your husband order take out if he's not into applesauce. 
• Live as hermits until you're comfortable leaving your home... and until you're sure you won't infect those who have yet to contract this awful, terrible THING that is going around. 

The TV coma will break, as will winter. Your kid will eat a vegetable again, hopefully before they're 18. The dishes will most definitely still be there. Your husband will applaud you for your magical powers of either staying healthy, or acting it anyway, because mom's don't get sick days (especially not with sick kids.) And people will still be out there whenever you can rejoin society. 

I'm sorry you have had to see your little one suffer. I think it's amazing that you've selflessly slept on floors next to cribs, checked foreheads every 15 minutes, and felt an utter disregard for your own immune system as you come in contact with all kinds of bodily fluids. 

You are amazing. And your kiddos, sick or healthy, are super lucky to have you! 

Types of Travelers

There are all kinds of people in this world. When traveling by plane you are often able to experience an array of individuals who are different from you. Today, I am reminded of some of my favorite traveling friends.

Types of travelers:

1. The techie. This guy (or gal) has headphones that encroach on the neighboring seat. His tablet is somehow always easily accessible, along with the flip out keyboard that has appeared before the overhead bins are closed. He always accesses the in-flight WiFi faster than I realize the flight is equipped with it; and he is watching a movie (that I didn’t see on the in-flight list?) while I’m still deciding if I should approve the GoGo app as my Kindle has flagged it as dangerous.

2. The pusher. We all know the pusher, the person who looks like they need starting blocks to be at the front of their zone. Everyone wishes they would consider springing for priority boarding next time. They never seem to care that this embarrassing behavior drastically increases their time in a cramped, germ-invested place. They also break rank upon arrival by getting into the aisle and pushing to the front instead of following suit and filing out like sane people.

3. The snacker. (Ahem, my category.) This person packs what seems to be full meals in a bag you assumed was his or her work laptop. At the most random times we pull out nuts, bars and various food items you didn’t realize were TSA-approved. When the cart does come by we politely decline, above such things, while the person next to us looks sideways and says, “pretzels please.”

4. The one with the kid(s). These people have my utmost respect. Today, after I wedged into my window seat with barely any room behind my bulging laptop bag (because, hello, snacks) I thought, “What if I had my 16 month old son on my lap right now?” My deodorant kicked in at the mere thought. He would LOSE it if he were cramped up on my lap surrounded by people he didn’t know where he couldn’t run around. It is an experience I have no desire to live. Mad props to all of you fearless warriors who board with children. You deserve priority status.

5. The business man. Suit, newspaper, sophisticated way about him. You know him... just not well cause he’s usually sipping a gin and tonic in first-class as you smack him with your overstuffed carry on... which leads me to the next one.

6. The carry-on over-packer. I know the world has crumbled since we’ve had to start paying for checked bags. I get that you want to pocket the $25 to cover the cost of a Starbucks coffee on your next layover. But please don’t make us all suffer as we watch you pretend like your bag will fit in the overhead bin. Lay down your pride, and take it to the stewardess up front. She’ll pink tag you to your destination.

7. The college student. Often clad in sweats, something that passes for shoes but are typically used as inside wear, an iPhone, and headphones that appear to be one with their every move. They’re sleeping before the seatbelt demonstration regardless of what time your flight is.

8. The talker. They’re usually extra smiley in the airport waiting area, looking to acquire targets via returned smiles. Extroverts to the full, they can’t wait to meet someone new and share life stories. Theirs is often thrilling because they spend their life seeking new people, new experiences, and generally loving life. It’s not that I don’t want to be like them, I just don’t really want to sit next to them.

9. The introvert. The one who fears the talker. Should they end up next to them they will resort to hoods, headphones, and when all else fails pretends to sleep to avoid conversation (even if it means missing the beverage cart.) This person will adopt an attire and attitude not their own simply to avoid being pegged for conversation.

10. Lastly, we have the sleeper. Everyone closes their eyes once and while on the plane. After all, there’s not a lot to do. But there are those among us committed to sleep. Neck pillow, eye mask, blanket in tow, they suffer the reprimands of a reclined seat before take off and begrudgingly rise to join us for our ascension. But we know it is short lived. When elevation is reached they’ll pretend that a 2’x2’ area is the perfect place to catch some z’s.

Personally, I’m grateful for the variety. It gives me something to watch while I snack on my homemade trail mix.

Happy travels.

Take Five

Sometimes you just need a minute, ya know? Or five. Or 20. Or 120 so that you can fit in both the massage and the long overdue manicure.

I have been taking a lot of needed minutes. It's left an unwanted hiatus in my small blogosphere world, but the trade off would have been doing so out of obligation, and that's certainly not why I do this.

The good news about taking a month to regroup, enjoy the holidays, and get some extra time with family is the wealth of content that children give you in a month. I hope you had as many wonderful holiday moments as we did!

On one of our 158 (or so) Christmas celebrations - the one that was just me, my husband and the kiddos - we filled stockings for the first time. I bought roughly 30 fruit bars from Trader Joe's accompanied by some stuffed friends and other fun treats. I could not wait to see the look on my three year old's face when she dumped it all out. It did not disappoint. She took out every single thing, including the new toothbrush, with a look of awe, a huge gasp, and then proudly held it up to us with a gigantic smile and declaration of excitement. It was amazing. Our 16 month old never moved beyond the first fruit bar, which he promptly ate and then moved onto the playing with bags and the like.

The next Christmas involved a stay at Pop Pop and Gigi's where we experienced our first  "our daughter peed her pants on your couch" situation, thanks to a riveting Daniel Tiger episode. Pop Pop and Gigi were still in the Christmas spirit and everything was fine once the cushion was cleaned and put outside (where I'm pretty sure the pee just froze into the fibers.)

After our extended stay, we returned home to a cold, but welcoming house. Layna asked for some applesauce, and as she sat at the table, sighed and said to herself, "I'm home now. It's better for me." The sentiment was echoed by her brother who gratefully greeted all the toys he left behind with his four-tooth grin and got right to business dumping them out.

The holidays are a magical time, and taking a break is such an important part of it! I'm so grateful to have all the family that we do to surround us with love and dote on our babies. We hosted and were hosted, and got to see family we don't often celebrate with. Knowing that not everyone gets to celebrate the holidays with loved ones makes it all the more precious.

At the same time, returning to normal is a magic in and of itself. Getting back to the mundane makes me grateful for the day-to-day life I get to call my own. A loving husband, two spunky kids, and a season of crazy awaiting each day. And I love it. I love being home. "It's better for me."