Target practice

As I prepared in my mind for the summer heat that has finally arrived, I had high hopes of introducing the boys to the swimming pool and helping them fall in love with the water just as I did as a kid. Long days splashing and playing and staying nice and cool-with a dry towel close by to wipe our eyes, of course. What better way could there be for a mother and her boys to endure those hot summer days!

We picked a day last week when a little cool water was just what we needed to freshen us up in the muggy heat. We cleaned out the green, turtle sandbox, filled it with water, and we were ready to dive in. At the time, neither of the boys had swim suits, but I figured since we were just out back, they could swim in their diapers. After realizing that really saturated diapers can turn your kids into weebles, the kind that do fall down, I did some scrounging in the dresser and found some training pants that I thought would be just right.

The baby refused to have any part of those potty pants, but I told Cooper that they were just like Daddy’s panties, so he jumped in them with both feet and was ready to rock and roll.

Before long, the “feeling of freedom” must have come over Cooper because as soon as he realized he was allowed to run wild in the yard-without the soggy bottom boys in tow-a smile came across his face that was a reflection of sheer joy. It was better than the discovery of a two-week old bag of gold fish under the car seat. In that very moment, my dreams of teaching the kids to love the water turned into a “ready, aim, fire” contest…one in which I was not equipped to participate.

First it was the grass, then the dirt, then the side of the house. The harder I protested, the more fun this game appeared to become. It seemed there was no place on which he was afraid to “unload”, and quite frankly, I was a little nervous about chasing him around the yard while he was carrying a loaded weapon.

I decided to sit down on the porch, taking a more casual and unconcerned approach, thinking surely he would run out of ammunition soon. But he just kept coming back with more. And after the top-of-his-lungs, blood-curdling declaration of “Mommy! I’m gonna pee in your cup!” it clearly became necessary for us to conduct our first, sit-down, serious discussion about bathroom etiquette and public decorum.

I guess if there is a bright side, it’s that this is the closest we have come to potty training him so far. I’m not sure how much he took away from our discussion that day, but it solved the problem for the moment. Of course now all he wants to know is why Daddy stands up, and Mommy sits down. I think we’ll save that one for when he’s a little older.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

"Ten things I love about you: Ode to a heathen"

I’d been having one of those weeks when it seemed nothing I tried to teach my boys would stick. When I tried to correct a behavior, it became worse. If I introduced them to a new skill or a fun game, it became a battle of wills. I had decided it was time to find them both a new place to live, complete with a more patient and competent mom, when one of those milestone moments occurred.

I was changing yet another dirty diaper, complaining to the little monster about how disgusting his bowel movements can be, when he looked up at me with his nose curled, smiled, and repeated almost as clearly as he had heard it: “discaahthing”.

I thought surely he had just gargled his own spit or was choking on the smell of his nasty diaper, so I said it again to see what would happen: “discaahthing”. That was it. The little brother had finally decided to start talking.

Amazingly enough, at that moment, and in that position, I was able to find a way to let go of the frazzled week we’d just endured. One smile and a jumbled, almost-a-word from that little heathen gave me a much needed reminder as to what this job is really all about.

It was then that I decided to take a closer look at all the wonderful things my kids do every day that make being their mother such a blessing. In the heat of throwing toys, refusing to share, and begging for food, it’s easy to forget all the little things that make my kids special to me. What I discovered is that when I take the time to appreciate the small stuff, all the rest doesn’t seem so impossible. And, when life again becomes too “disgusting” to bear…I now keep a running list to remind me of the many beauties of my boys.

“Ten things I love about you: Ode to a heathen”

I love the first few minutes of every morning when you want to snuggle in bed together and hug and smile and love each other like good brothers should.

I love to watch you read to yourself or play with your trucks when you are all alone and you think no one is watching.

I love that when you give “big hugs” you squeeze real tight around my neck with both hands and let out a little grunt.

I love that your face is puffy and your eyes are swollen when you wake up from a good night’s rest-just like mine.

I love that you haven’t forgotten about your friend, Shelby, even though she’s been gone almost four months.

I love the way your face lights up at the smallest little treat like a graham cracker or a bag of gold fish.

I love that even when you are fighting mad, you can be convinced to smile if I tickle you in just the right spot.

I love that because you are so ticklish, any spot is the right spot.

I love that when you are eating, you open your mouth wide enough for a fork lift to drive through.

I love that when you are resting your head on my shoulder, you pat my back, just as gently as I am patting yours.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

The things we do for sleep

I remember preparing the baby room for my second child. The design plan was one of persuasion: attempt to make the nursery a haven for rest, a place my tired baby will beg to be taken. The techniques: one loud, humming floor fan for background noise, and one heavy, dark curtain to block out the sun. My game plan: convince the child that regardless of the time of day, when we enter the bedroom, it is time to sleep.

For a while the baby was an excellent sleeper, but literally overnight he decided that sleep was over rated. This is the point at which I discovered that my perfect haven for rest was missing two very important ingredients: night goggles and x-ray vision.

Midst all the baby-shower frenzy, I somehow overlooked these two important devices on the shelves of all the stores. In fact it never occurred to me that I would need such items at any point in my life—until I became a mom. But I soon learned that there’s nothing a mother won’t try when it is hours past her bedtime, days since she last ate, and at least a week since she’s been to the bathroom—and the kid still isn’t asleep. Yes, night goggles and x-ray vision were just the tools I needed for this job.

Any exhausted parent who has tried to put a reluctant sleeper to bed knows the dilemma that arises and the conversations that occur when you think the baby is asleep and you are ready to put him down. But what if he’s not?

“Ok, I’m ready. I think he’s out this time. Surely he’s asleep by now. I wish I could see his eyes to make sure. If only this bedroom wasn’t so dark. If only God would give me a sign. If only I had a pair of those night goggles...yes! Night goggles! Then I could see if his eyes are closed before I try to lay him down. Night goggles. Why didn’t I think of that before? I wonder if I can get some at Wal-Mart? --Wait a minute. His head is turned away from me. I couldn’t see his eyes even if I had some of those night goggle things. How am I gonna know for sure if he’s asleep or not?

X-ray vision! That’s it! After all these middle of the night feedings when I think he’s asleep, but it’s dark and his head is turned the other way so I’m not really sure...that’s what I need! I can feel his breathing--slow and steady. I can hear the rhythm of his thumb-sucking--slurp, slurp. I think he’s asleep, but let’s face it I’m not really thinking that clearly anyway, so just to make sure…X-ray vision! That’s it! Why didn’t I think of that before?”

Unfortunately, until those much needed mommy tools arrive in the mail, I’ll have to continue to use the two methods that have proven most effective for me: Hold and Release and Duck and Cover. (By the way, all moms have tried this at least once, whether they will admit to it or not.)

Through the eyes of an exhausted mother, the difficult task of getting a child to go to sleep and stay asleep (without the aid of the aforementioned amenities) might look something like this:

All systems are go. The kid is fed and dry, and all signs point toward a sleeping baby. I know the drill: hold and release. “I think I can…I think I can…I think I can…” I attempt to lay him down without waking him up. Slowly I stretch to my toes, and lift him up over the rail of the crib, keeping him tucked close to my body so he won’t discover my plan. Ever still slowly I lower him onto the sheets that I have tried to warm with a fresh towel out of the dryer to convince him he is still snuggled against my warm body. He squirms—I pause. He stills—I hold... hold…hold…and release. Aahh. Asleep at last. But wait!

Just as I turn to make my exit, I hear him rustle. Panic starts to creep in. “What… should…I…” Then, all the training I received (playing hide and seek as a kid) begins to kick in. In the form of the old “stop, drop, and roll” routine they used to teach us in grade school, I immediately duck onto the floor. Surely he can’t see me down here. But that kid is clever, so I stay put. After several minutes of holding my breath, I finally start to realize the absurdity of my situation, so I decide to make a break for it. But when I do my ankles crack and my knees pop and I hear the baby rustling again, so I retreat—to my own private fetal position on the floor of my infant baby’s bedroom. I scrounge for a stuffed animal and a baby blanket to create a makeshift cot and decide to wait it out like a man…I mean a mom.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

"Firsts on the 4th"

After what ended up being a week of July 4th events for our family, the kids experienced a new kind of fun to which they had never before been exposed. We enjoyed visiting with both sets of grandparents and great-grandparents, and while we all had a great time, the kids definitely participated in some out of the ordinary activities from what we consider the norm.
As kids, we all grew up with our parents telling us that there are certain things that aren’t safe, aren’t smart, or that we just shouldn’t do. Now, as the parent it is my turn to pass on those enduring “don’ts” to my own children. But from the parade and the park in Sentinel to the milk barn and the farm pond in Sterling, during this July 4th week, there were a few of those ageless rules that for the first time my kids were allowed to break, or see broken by one of their loved ones.
1. Don’t play in the street.
2. Don’t throw food. (or candy)
3. Don’t eat anything you picked up off the ground.
4. Don’t talk to strangers.
5. Never ride a motorcycle without a helmet. (Aunt Dottie!)
6. It’s never safe to play with fire.
7. Never stand (or walk) behind a large animal.
8. Drink your milk from a glass not the container. (or the cow)
9. Call things by their correct names. (the cow’s “other”)
10. Don’t play in the dog bowl...or “the cow drink”. (the pond)
Yes, childhood can be a confusing time, and the holidays can make things even crazier when the rules keep changing and the days seem to go on for weeks. But from sugar coated tummy aches to cow teats and pond scum, the memories made and the time shared with family sure seem to outweigh them all.
And that’s All in a day’s work!

The Business of Birth Order

I know there is an official theory that some highly-esteemed psychologist has put forth about birth order, but I’ve never really studied it closely. Maybe because I’m relatively sure what it says, at least about kids from families with two siblings. “The oldest is the responsible, high-achieving, take-care-of-things sibling. The youngest is the somewhat less-responsible, middle-of-the-road, can’t-make-up-their-mind sibling who doesn’t quite have the same drive as the elder.” Or maybe that is what Hollywood says. Either way, the more I watch my two boys, the more I am being forced to acknowledge that maybe it is a little more than just a theory. Maybe there really is something to this business of birth order.

Being the youngest myself, I tend to have avoided anything that could confirm or deny with scientific certainty that there is such a thing as second-child syndrome (be that the name or some other). Now that I’m a mom and I have my own personal lab rats chewing away at my brain daily, I suppose my inclination has been to observe the boys and let their natural tendencies answer my questions concerning the origin and nature of the behavior of young siblings.

For the bad reputations and poor P.R that second children have a propensity to acquire, I tend to believe we were led astray by our best teachers: our siblings. No, as a baby the first child never spit food across the table or screamed at the top of his lungs for no reason, or barked and jerked toys out of someone else’s hands. But he had never witnessed these fine acts by anyone as important or influential as his two year old brother.

The ornery, grin-and-run tendencies of the second offspring, I suspect, are simply moments of bliss when he thinks maybe he might have the opportunity to taunt and tease someone the same way he is used to being harassed and tortured. It seems to bring a smile to his older brother’s face, so it must be worth trying out for himself?

The “no fear” attitude, I have concluded, is developed from a confusion of what is real and what is imaginary. For example, when a little brother sees his big brother using a chair to scale the kitchen cabinet to get to mom’s hidden candy bowl, he decides that it looks real fun and he imagines he will try it out for himself-the next time no one is looking.

The fact that one spanking produces a laugh and a harder spanking produces a harder laugh is simply a result of the tough skin he has developed thanks to the random brotherly beatings that take place in the privacy of the play room, provided by the loving first born.

No, after my own personal observations and consideration, I’m not sure if I really buy into the pre-existing condition of second-child syndrome. While it is clear there is a difference between the first and the second, I think what characterizes us best, in whatever shape or form it may manifest, is the fact that we all have been forced to react and respond to the taunts and irritations of our perceptually perfect siblings. And looking back now, of course, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

For scientific clarification: This researcher’s older sibling was completely ideal, and the one true phenomena that stood in complete juxtaposition of all other data that was collected.