7/27/09 - Warning . . . the following blog post contains mostly potty talk.

Did I mention we'd started potty-training Jonah? It seems like I'd written just a little something about that . . . I think I might have blocked most of the process from my memory. The thing is? He almost seems to be getting the hang of it now!

Although . . . every time I take him to the bathroom I am required to call the pee by a different name. If I say potty, he says No, it's pee. If I say pee, he says No, it's pee pee. Never in my life have I uttered the words pee pee; even writing it seems to violate something deep inside me, and I don't intend to start now. Except that I do. I mean let's be honest, I'll say whatever he wants me to if he'll just do it.

So tonight he ran into the room yelling, My potty has to go pee pee! I jumped up too and ran him to the toilet where he did not want to stand on the stool and he did not want me to lift him up because he wanted to do it all by himself. It's only a problem because the toilet is somewhat high. And Jonah is somewhat short, still. Do you see where this is going? Don't worry, though, because as stubborn and fierce as Jonah is, he's also a smart little guy. So he stood on his very tip-tippy toes and sort of . . . propped . . .himself onto the edge of the toilet. Note to self . . . clean toilet better from now on. Because it has either 1) had little boy testicles propped all around the rim, or 2) the little boy testicles propped on the rim will end up in somebody else's pee. My stomach churns and I vow never again to let Jonah use a public bathroom.

Our house is full of do-it-yourselfers these days, it seems. Joshua took his very own shower tonight, and even washed his own hair. I watched his tiny yet big lanky body under the water, noted the fading tatoos on arm and belly, his eyes shut while the water poured over his face, and I was so fantastically proud of him. It did not occur to me even once to be nostalgic for his fleeting childhood. Which is so unlike me. I hope that I will not know that the last bath I ever give Joshua is the last one. It shouldn't be something that is so final, so permanently cancelled. I'd like to be sitting around one day watching the boys play in the sandbox and have it suddenly occur to me that, hmm, I don't remember the last time I gave Joshua a bath. And then I can have my melancholy moment, perhaps. Or perhaps not, because as I send him off to the shower I will be rejoicing in the freedom that comes only when your child can bathe himself.

I am talking about the baths . . . and secretly, I realize that I'm also talking about how it was with nursing the boys. Had I written anything about Jonah being done nursing? Egad, you gasp? Well I should hope so, you exclaim? I'm not here to make excuses; I nursed the boys until we were both ready to be done, both times. And both times they were a little over two years. I never shed tears thinking, This will be the last time he ever nurses . . . I never had to deal with the painful engorgement and the to-pump-or-not-to-pump dilemna. I found a full box of nursing pads this evening when I was cleaning out the nightstand drawer and I'll admit that I did sigh wistfully. I'm entitled, no? I will never use another nursing pad, never cradle another nursing infant. I will never take another hot shower in hopes of warding off an onslaught of mastitis, and when I hear a baby cry from another aisle in the store I will never have to panic and wonder if I'd remembered those pads that day. That was a different time . . . a wonderful time . . . and now we've moved on to different things.

--

Carbon Copy

It's been so long since I blogged, I'm almost afraid I've forgotten how. I get so caught up in the everyday tasks of life that I forget how much I need to remember.

Jonah is a walking talking social butterfly of a boy who is so fierce it makes me want to scream and hug him at the same time. We'd thought vaguely about potty training him . . . I'd like to get it done before school starts again. When I walked in to his room the smell of poop hit me in the face and before I said a word he told me, "I don't need a diaper change!" Oh my little guilty and stubborn child! I reminded him that his bottom would get burned if he didn't get a diaper change soon, to which he replied, "I want to sit in the poop. I want my bottom to get burned." What do you say? What do I say when he tells me that he's not a big boy, Joshua is the big boy. Jonah is a baby. When he really is still my baby? Only babies don't wear underwear, only big boys wear underwear. I tried that, it didn't work.

Joshua seems to be . . . well, status quo might be the right word for it. I know that he's growing since his clothes fit differently and he takes up the whole bathtub now, but his classmates and friends are all so much bigger than he is that I wonder why he hasn't grown in the last few years. When the other kids are running outside and playing tag, or climbing onto the top of the fort, why is Joshua alone in the living room reading a book? Why can't he be more like . . . well, more like me? I want so badly for him to fit in, to be the cool kid, to have the answers when the teacher asks . . . and I can't do any of it for him. And I can't stand around and coach him as to what to say or do, because it's something he has to figure it out on his own. I just never imagined that he'd come up with different answers than me. I never imagined that he'd end up being his very own little person. So I hug him tightly and whisper in his ear how wonderful and how special he is. He seems to already know this, which is good.

I've enrolled Joshua in swimming lessons this summer. It's his first summer for them . . . he'll be five. What kind of swim coach am I that my son is almost 5 years old and can't swim, right? I'm hoping for him to not be scared, to not cry, and to be the best and bravest in the class. At the same time, I don't want to set him up for failure and make my expectations so high he'll never reach them. Will my desires show? My frustrations? I hope not . . . I'm working on it. Letting him be himself and not my carbon copy.

Jonah might well be my carbon copy in some ways. I'm coming to realize that it's not all it's cracked up to be, since he's so fiercly independent and stubborn. I'm reluctantly admitting that he gets it from me. If I open his cheese stick, he has to put it back and pretend to do it himself. If I lift him out of the car he has to climb back in just to get out on his own. If Tim buckles his carseat but he wanted mama to do it . . . watch out world. If the birds fly too close to the backyard he runs out yelling his reprimands. And then after all of it he turns his chubby cheeks toward me, looks into my eyes and wraps his arms around my neck and it's all worth it. Every impossible minute.

--

It's time for the boys to go to bed, and we go through our nightly ritual . . . we read, we pray, we sing. They get into pajamas - Joshua all by himself, and Jonah by the sheer force of my will, as I wrangle his leg into the first hole. His other leg gets stuck halfway through and we're falling over because he can't stop laughing and fighting and laughing about the pajamas, and I'm laughing too, but realizing that I am so done with the nightly pajama wrestle.

And then they're both in bed with the lights turned out, Joshua lying obediently and silently on the top bunk, waiting for sleep. But Jonah just can't let go. He has such a hard time staying in bed, going to sleep. So I kneel beside him and he reaches his little hand out and grasps my neck. Mama here, he whispers, and I confirm Yes baby, mama is here. His breath is warm and thick, and he whispers again, Shhhh, sleep. His little hand softly caresses my cheek, and I want to stay there all night. To curl up with him under his quilt and nestle my face into his soft damp hair that still smells like shampoo and evening air.

I think about Joshua up there on the top bunk, all alone. I want to grab him from his solitude and take both him and Jonah into one bed where we would lie with our legs tangled together, with warm kid breath on my neck and arms thrown across me, and sleep there forever. And I think, this is life.

Except then reality knocks softly on the door and reminds me how much I hate it when their too-sharp toenails gouge my calves, and how I would actually lay there not being able to move, yet wishing that I could just move one inch to one side or the other. Reality bangs on the door and I'm trapped in a web of arms and legs and hot sticky breath and please can I just have a breath of fresh air? Reality kicks the door in as I realize the urgency with which I now have to go to the bathroom, yet if I move my little toe then both boys will be awake for an hour.

So I whisper in Jonah's ear Night, night, baby. Mama loves you. And I retreat to the stillness of the house where I plop contentedly onto the couch with a bowl of artichoke hearts to watch Ugly Betty. I think, this is life.

The mom I want to be.

It's fall now, in that strange not-winter, but not-summer sort of way that fall has. We bundle the kids up to take them out in the mornings, their noses red and cheeks bright from the biting wind. And we find ourselves shedding layer after layer in the warm afternoon sun, basking in the warmth of the rays on our bare arms. It's the time of year to start drinking cider and baking bread, the time of year to stand on the heater vents in fuzzy socks and flannel pajamas. It's the time of year that brings peace and rest, quiet in the warmth of dark rooms with fireplaces crackling.

And yet the peacefulness that I'm waiting for so expectantly continues to escape me. Our days are crazy and our nights are late, there is no rest and no quiet. There are screaming kids fighting over noisy toys, there are corn dogs for dinner instead of steaming bowls of homemade soup. Instead of cozy nights blanketed with fleece and curled on the couch reading Horton Hatches the Egg, we spend our nights in a busy frenzy filled with arguing and scolding, crying and sharp words. And when the kids are asleep and the house is at rest, there is too much to do and not enough time.

This is maybe the way these years are, I guess. For us, anyway. These clingy, tear soaked years of angst and sadness, of frustration at having to share the toys, share the attention, share the love. These are the years of corn dogs and peanut butter sandwiches, of noise and sleeplessness. And I realize I am not the mom I want to be.


I love these boys more each day, more than I ever thought possible, yet my expectations cloud the picture. I long to spend cold winter evenings listenting to Dean Martin and stringing popcorn for the Chistmas tree, the smell of cinammon surrounding us. And instead I am a referee, a judge and jury to determine the just punishment for throwing a toy train at somebody's head. I corral boys in for dinner, in for a bath, in for story and bed, and it's all such a struggle somehow. By the time I have wrestled both kids into pajamas, I am exhausted and snippy, just hoping that Joshua will pick a short book so that I can check my email and get on with the night. I am not the mom I want to be.


And these days, these corn dog days, will end at some point, probably without my even realizing it. We'll be sitting around the fireplace one cold winter evening and I will wonder where my babies went, and maybe I won't remember that I wasn't the mom I wanted to be.

9/27/08 - Word Up

What, your kids don't swim naked in the rain? And they don't insist through blue lips and chattering teeth that no, they aren't cold, and no they don't want to come in yet? Yeah, neither do ours . . .


It's official now that Joshua is going to be WordGirl for Halloween. Have you heard of WordGirl? No? It's a new show on PBS where WordGirl is kind of a superhero who flies through the air and defeats bad guys - like the Chuck the Sandwich Making Guy and other villians of equally malicious character.

I've always thought that I am a fairly easygoing (you know, in my neurotic worrying kind of way) parent. I mean, I was totally okay with Joshua's Dora the Explorer stage. Tim was the one trying to talk him out of the pink Dora scooter at Target. We came home with a Diego scooter. I don't think that Joshua will be destined to a life of femininity, or decide to wear hairbows or pink tights . . . Although he really used to like when I pretended to put makeup on him while I was doing my own, but that's a story for another time.

And so I've started gathering items needed to make the best WordGirl costume Joshua could possibly have. And at the same time? I'm thinking of ways to make it as un-girly as possible. Is that a sort of salmony pink color that WordGirl wears? Well, maybe Joshua would like it better if his was actually red. And yellow. With some, say, windpants in lieu of tights?

But I am totally okay with this. Really :-) By the time Halloween comes around I won't even have to wink at you in my oh, kids will be kids sort of way when you ask what he is and I tell you. Tim, on the other hand . . .

Of course, Joshua will need a trusty sidekick, will he not? And so Jonah's fate this year is to be Captain HuggyFace, faithful companion of WordGirl. He has no opinion on it, really, except that he would really rather not wear anything like the lion or monkey costume that we already have. In fact he might freak out if somebody simply wanted to test the costumes to see if they even fit him, howling in anguish at the torture he's being put through. I mean, he might. I'm just saying.

--

9/1/08 - A Joyful Time

"It's such a joyful time, isn't it?"

Those were Tim's exact words to me over the phone this evening, listening to me recount the ups and downs of our evening. Have you ever had one of those days where everything is just a little off-kilter? Mealtime doesn't happen at quite the right time, naps are skewed . . . Joshua doesn't take one most days, and Jonah is in that strange land of inbetween. He no longer needs two naps, but one just doesn't quite cut it. Where is the middle ground in that situation? We're not sure yet.

So our day was off-kilter. Jonah's one and only nap started when he fell asleep in the car around 11:30 this morning, and he woke about an hour after that. We ended up not eating lunch until almost 1:00, and both boys were ready for dinner by 4:30. I felt a little like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, where everything is somewhat peculiar, and doesn't quite make sense like you'd like for it to. We had biscuits for dinner, which we never do, but the boys like them so much . . . with the butter dripping down their arms, and the strawberry jelly oozing out, plopping down onto the table, and their clothes, and the floor. Jonah looked at me and asked, "Own-ee?" because he really wanted honey for his biscuits. It's so hard to tell him no to anything, but we're on honey rationing for the next week or so (in order to be able to take peanut butter and honey sandwiches to school).

Come to think of it, our conversations are a little Alice in Wonderland-ish lately too.

"Reech, reech, wat-ee, wash," (Wat-ee, of course is water. What, you didn't get that?)

"He wants to wash his hands, mama! Don't call me Joshua, I'm WORDGIRL."

"Tim, does Jonah need his hands washed? Yes, wordgirl, I hear you, and no you may not have your lightsaber back right now."

"But mama, I'm WORDGIRL and I need my light-saver to kill the bad guys. Mama, mama, mama, you be the Riddler and I'll be Spiderman!"

Jonah points the lightsaber at me, "P-shoo."

My head spins from the sheer amount of words being said at any given time in one room. Many of Jonah's words, of course, are still unintelligible. Which makes him try that much harder to be understood. Many end in "ee" . . . there's "op-ee" for open, of course the "wat-ee" that I've already mentioned. "Do-ee" is door. Are you sensing a pattern? Don't get too comfortable, because just as you think you've got it down he'll ask for Di-buh.

Play-do.

And yes, the kids are going to school. Two days a week. It's called First Learning, and it's the preschool at our church. I have definite mixed feelings about this . . . on one hand it's so good for both of them to be stretched, and challenged in so many ways. Socially, emotionally and intellectually they are really having to adapt and conform at so many levels. The hardest part for me is that I don't get to know everything that goes on throughout the day. Every sparkle of their eyes is there for somebody else to see. Every laugh or new thought. Sadness at not being included, fright at something new and unknown. I worry, as is my way, that the wonder of my children is going unseen because of the busy-ness of the day. Does Jonah laugh for his teachers like he laughs for me? And if he does, do they really see him? Do Joshua's eyes twinkle at an idea he's just had there at school? Will he be able to explore his ideas, and stretch his imaginiation to new lengths, or will he be squashed because it's not time for imagining, instead he has to stand in line to go to the bathroom?

And yet I do get to be there a little. I'm also teaching this year, in the "Kid Fit" position. It's like gym class for 3 year olds . . . so I get to have Joshua in my class for 20 minutes. I have to physically restrain myself from holding his face in my hands and looking into his eyes, searching him to see what's been going on that I've been missing. From kissing his head and holding him tight. Because, you know, he's around his friends, and that just wouldn't do.

But I don't think I'm ready yet to give my kids to somebody else. Somebody who would miss the gleaming smiles, or the mischevious side-glances. Somebody who won't know that Jonah is asking for a drink when he says, "Ngk, ngk, ngk." Somebody who has more kids in class than time in the day, and won't let Joshua be WordGirl. Yes, this First Learning experience is good for us all, and someday I will have to let go. But not quite yet, okay? Because these really are joyful times.

Winning and . . . yikes . . . losing.

At this time last year we had a two year old and a four month old and I could not imagine what the light at the end of the tunnel might look like. I know I've said it before, but the baby part of raising kids is not my favorite part, and I'm not actually that good at it. I stumble through my days in a sleep-deprived stupor and barely manage to shower and get dressed most of the time. Makeup is out of the question, as is doing anything with my hair. Which is why I've spent the last year or so with it in a ponytail every day.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still not great at the everyday things. You know, like cleaning the house. Doing the dishes. Scrubbing the toilets. In fact, if you were to come to my house on any given day you would find 1) a large number of dishes in the sink - s0 much so that they may have spilled over onto the countertops. Which leads to 2) a foul and mysterious odor coming from either the sink, or from the trash that Tim hasn't yet emptied, and 3) a toilet that you use, but kindly don't mention how badly it needs to be scrubbed. And later I lift the lid and see what you must have seen when you were in here earlier, and am flooded with embarassment. Yet surely my husband is not the only one who leaves streaks in the toilet?

When we're invited to friends' homes for playdates, I am always amazed by how clean and generally uncluttered their lives seem to be, especially in regard to the kitchen. As I wade through the clutter in our own kitchen, yelling "Joshua if I step on this speed-racer one more time, it is going in the trash, and I mean it!" I wonder how in the world these other moms manage to keep their homes so spotless, and fix meals, and play with the kids . . . it eludes me. I'd rather lay on the living room floor with both boys blowing raspberries on my belly, than sweep the fallen food from beneath the table. I'd much rather watch the birds with Jonah, or watch Joshua color, than do the laundry. How is there enough time in one day for all of these things?

Although before I get ahead of myself, I do have to mention that we've actually been cleaning up the toys before bed lately. It happens in the form of a race, usually . . . it's how I manipulate . . . uh, motivate . . . Joshua into action. You see, I have to be the announcer ("Mama, can you be the announcer, and is Chick Hicks catching up to me?") who makes the whole thing a car race. And, of course, Chick Hicks (of Cars fame) is always just one step behind him. Like this:

"And here comes Joshua, around the bend, but oh no, does he see the books that need to be put away? No ladies and gentlemen, I think that Chick Hicks might get those books put away first. Oh, who will win the race?" At which point Joshua, of course, races over and puts the books away while I gush announcer-like at how fast and good he is. And yes, if you were wondering, it does get a little tedious night after night and room after room. It's so worth it after they're in bed, though, walking through a living room that's toy free.

Winning is a big thing, lately, for Joshua. When Tim and I have taken separate cars somewhere, Joshua turns it into a big race each time. He pushes past Jonah so that he can enter a room first, and he often races on his little "yellow car" with the next door neighbor. It's actually a point of contention for both of us, since the neighbor girl is 7 and Joshua's just nearing 4 (but is still the size of a small 3 year old). You see, somewhere along the way, kids learn to cheat. They learn to cut corners to get ahead. So as I'm watching Joshua and Kayla race down the sidewalk, I see that Joshua's actually pretty fast at that part. Then Kayla jumps up early and turns around pushing her car back up the sidewalk. "I won, again" is the usual pronouncement. The thing is? It's so hard on him to lose every time. And the other thing? It's so hard on me for him to lose every time. So I'm working on keeping my mouth shut, and it's difficult to surpress the Well, Kayla is so fast in the 7 year old girls' division, and Joshua wins the 3 year old boys' division! type comments. And I'm trying not to moderate their races (did you ever notice that the onyourmarkgetsetgo person always starts ahead of everybody else?) by setting up touch-points, or lanes, or whatever else. And when Joshua comes over crying, and asking "Why does Kayla want to win every time?" I do my best to soothe him and send him back to the race, as noncommital yet encouraging as possible.

And I thought this parenting thing was supposed to get easier.

Jonah might end up being the large and physical one of the two, you know, since he climbs every possible surface he can wrap his little hands around. "Up, up, up . . . up dere." He's been climbing since before he walked. What a surprise it was to look over and see him on top of the kitchen table. At the top of the bunk bed ladder. On the upper level of the backyard playfort. We've had more than our share of scares with Jonah, and I can't imagine what is yet to come. What happens when he gets really brave? We've never been in that territory before; we're entirely familiar with the quiet carefulness of Joshua. But this exuberance for walking and climbing, and this general feistiness, is something new.

And the yelling. The yelling is new, also. Anytime I leave the room, he's yelling with everything in him "MAAAMAAA!" He and Joshua have yelling wars at the dinner table that they think are the most hilarious thing in their lives. It's all gibberish, and I guess it's actually a little funny . . . they just yell gibberish back and forth, with a little giggling mixed in. I guess by not stopping it, I might be encouraging it? But honestly, I think, whatever keeps them entertained is worth it. I think that until we're in a restaurant, that is. Jonah has no internal censor . . . he's only 16 months . . . what else should I expect? But I've grown complacent with my nice and neat, peaceful and quiet eldest child so I hardly know what to do with the food throwing, spoon banging, banshee child seated next to me. Just when we think we have things under control these little ones surprise us with something new to handle, something different to deal with. It's exciting and fun, but sometimes I'd just like a little lull in the roller coaster ride of raising them. Just to catch my breath before the next thing comes along.

--