I put a red diaper cover on Luke this afternoon and apparently, he can now correctly identify the color red, as evidenced by the following conversation:
Luke: Red diaper!
Me: Yes, you have on a red diaper. Let's put on your pants.
Luke: No! Guk red diaper!
Me: Yes, I know you have on a red diaper. Are you ready for pants now?
Luke: No! See Guk red diaper?
Me: Yes, I see Luke's red diaper. How about those pants?
Luke: NOOOOO! RED diaper! See Guk RED diaper! See? Seeeeee???
Me: Yes, Luke, I SEEEEEE your red diaper.
Luke: NOOOO! SEEEEEEE Guk red diaper! No pants! See!
Me: Ok. Let's break this down. You have a red diaper...
Luke: *Nodding* Hm.
Me: And you don't want to wear pants...
Luke: *Nodding* Hm.
Me: ...because...you want to be able to see your red diaper?
Luke: Yes! Good Mama.
I felt very proud of myself for figuring this out until I realized that the kid is training me like a cocker spaniel.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
17 Weeks
When I was pregnant with Luke, I worked 20 hours a week and napped on the couch the rest of the time. I was always worried that the baby would suddenly die and for 39 weeks and 2 days, I lived in the fear that I would never get to meet the child I so longed for. Every day felt like it lasted for decades and I could. not. wait. until it was over and I could finally hold that baby in my arms.
Now that I'm pregnant again, I don't work at all. Except that in reality, I work about 120 hours a week and sleep for the other 48. When I sneak in a nap, I'm sandwiched between two dozing toddlers who snore and squirm and roll closer to me in their sleep, cuddling in as close as they can and drooling on my arms in the process. My common sense tells me that it's still a good idea to expect the worst and hope for the best, but I no longer have the time to dwell on doom-and-gloom scenarios and I no longer live in fear.
And this time, as eager as I am to meet this new person and hold him or her close, I'm aware that these next few months are precious. These are (hopefully) the last months during which McMoose and I get to have an only child, the last months during which Luke gets to be an only child. The last months when our plans revolve around one child's nap schedule instead of two. So while I count the weeks with excitement, I also hold my toddler-baby a little bit closer in anticipation of the time when I'll have to ask him to wait his turn for a hug or a story while I finish changing a diaper or rocking a newborn to sleep.
Now that I'm pregnant again, I don't work at all. Except that in reality, I work about 120 hours a week and sleep for the other 48. When I sneak in a nap, I'm sandwiched between two dozing toddlers who snore and squirm and roll closer to me in their sleep, cuddling in as close as they can and drooling on my arms in the process. My common sense tells me that it's still a good idea to expect the worst and hope for the best, but I no longer have the time to dwell on doom-and-gloom scenarios and I no longer live in fear.
And this time, as eager as I am to meet this new person and hold him or her close, I'm aware that these next few months are precious. These are (hopefully) the last months during which McMoose and I get to have an only child, the last months during which Luke gets to be an only child. The last months when our plans revolve around one child's nap schedule instead of two. So while I count the weeks with excitement, I also hold my toddler-baby a little bit closer in anticipation of the time when I'll have to ask him to wait his turn for a hug or a story while I finish changing a diaper or rocking a newborn to sleep.
Friday, February 18, 2011
How We Sleep At Night
We've been helping Luke learn how to put himself to sleep. What this means is this: he now thinks bedtime is AWESOME. Since I had no interest in the close-the-door-and-let-the-kid-cry-til-he-falls-asleep method, we instead chose the completely ludicrous leave-the-door-open-and-see-how-many-times-your-kid-comes-running-out method. Yeah. (I'm pretty sure that Method 1 would have yielded faster results, but it would've provided far less humor for me and McMoose.)
We're on Day 6 of this foolishness. On Day 1, he came out 127 times. One. Hundred. And. Twenty. Seven. No joke. It took a total of 2 hours, but it was a lot less frustrating than it sounds because my kid? He's kind of hilarious. At least to me and McMoose, and since we were the ones returning him to his room 127 times, we're really the only ones who NEED to find him hilarious. So the first dozen times, he just ran out and giggled. And then, he started sloooooowly crawling out. And then, he jumped and twirled and danced and sang his way out. And then, he brought out various pillows, blankets, and books...I'm pretty sure he was trying to bribe us into letting him stay awake. And then, he tried lying down in the hallway just outside his door. Etc.
On Day 2, he came out 83 times. Still took two hours, he just spent a couple minutes by the window each time before running out. Day 3: 48 times and 1.5 hours. Day 4: 37 times and 1.5 hours. Day 5: 17 times and 25 minutes, which was only because we were out so late that by the time we got home, he was BEGGING to go to bed. And here we are. Day 6. 31 times. Less than an hour. I guess this ridiculous method is working after all, especially considering the fact that until 6 days ago, this child had never, ever fallen asleep in a room by himself before.
But McMoose and I are having our own difficulties adjusting. I'll admit, I miss the bedtime snuggles. (I don't miss sitting on a beanbag chair for an hour, patting a Small One while an Even Smaller One jumped around on my bladder, however.) Just tonight, we had this conversation:
Me: You think he's asleep yet?
McMoose: Yeah.
Me: Ok, I'll go check on him.
McMoose: Ok. *Gets up and starts walking to Luke's room.*
Me: I said that I was going to check on him.
McMoose: You just checked on him last night!
Me: So? I can check on him twice in a row.
McMoose: No. You can check on him after me.
Can I just say, if checking on our sleeping toddler is the highlight of our Friday night, we are sad, sad people who need to get a life.
We're on Day 6 of this foolishness. On Day 1, he came out 127 times. One. Hundred. And. Twenty. Seven. No joke. It took a total of 2 hours, but it was a lot less frustrating than it sounds because my kid? He's kind of hilarious. At least to me and McMoose, and since we were the ones returning him to his room 127 times, we're really the only ones who NEED to find him hilarious. So the first dozen times, he just ran out and giggled. And then, he started sloooooowly crawling out. And then, he jumped and twirled and danced and sang his way out. And then, he brought out various pillows, blankets, and books...I'm pretty sure he was trying to bribe us into letting him stay awake. And then, he tried lying down in the hallway just outside his door. Etc.
On Day 2, he came out 83 times. Still took two hours, he just spent a couple minutes by the window each time before running out. Day 3: 48 times and 1.5 hours. Day 4: 37 times and 1.5 hours. Day 5: 17 times and 25 minutes, which was only because we were out so late that by the time we got home, he was BEGGING to go to bed. And here we are. Day 6. 31 times. Less than an hour. I guess this ridiculous method is working after all, especially considering the fact that until 6 days ago, this child had never, ever fallen asleep in a room by himself before.
But McMoose and I are having our own difficulties adjusting. I'll admit, I miss the bedtime snuggles. (I don't miss sitting on a beanbag chair for an hour, patting a Small One while an Even Smaller One jumped around on my bladder, however.) Just tonight, we had this conversation:
Me: You think he's asleep yet?
McMoose: Yeah.
Me: Ok, I'll go check on him.
McMoose: Ok. *Gets up and starts walking to Luke's room.*
Me: I said that I was going to check on him.
McMoose: You just checked on him last night!
Me: So? I can check on him twice in a row.
McMoose: No. You can check on him after me.
Can I just say, if checking on our sleeping toddler is the highlight of our Friday night, we are sad, sad people who need to get a life.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Green
My pain has a color and it is green.
I thought I knew what pregnancy would bring, but this one brings with it headaches, which the last one did not. Headaches almost every afternoon, which last until I go to bed at night. Headaches that, most of the time, are just annoying, but which sometimes, like today, alter my world just a little bit.
I watched the sky turn from a calm blue to a frothy, restless green as I drove the boys to the playground. The sand in the sandbox felt like lime jello, soft and squishy instead of crunchy. I ask McMoose if he could be done with work closer to 5 than 6 and when he walks out of the office at 5:15, I think that this is the best present I've ever gotten.
I close my eyes and see waves of pain in shades of green colliding and bleeding into each other. I open my eyes and look into Other Baby's eyes, eyes that I know are blue but that look olive green. The effect is unsettling. I listen to the toddlers banging on the wall with their play hammers and the sound is sharp and neon green.
If my pain has to have a color, I wish it were blue.
I thought I knew what pregnancy would bring, but this one brings with it headaches, which the last one did not. Headaches almost every afternoon, which last until I go to bed at night. Headaches that, most of the time, are just annoying, but which sometimes, like today, alter my world just a little bit.
I watched the sky turn from a calm blue to a frothy, restless green as I drove the boys to the playground. The sand in the sandbox felt like lime jello, soft and squishy instead of crunchy. I ask McMoose if he could be done with work closer to 5 than 6 and when he walks out of the office at 5:15, I think that this is the best present I've ever gotten.
I close my eyes and see waves of pain in shades of green colliding and bleeding into each other. I open my eyes and look into Other Baby's eyes, eyes that I know are blue but that look olive green. The effect is unsettling. I listen to the toddlers banging on the wall with their play hammers and the sound is sharp and neon green.
If my pain has to have a color, I wish it were blue.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Uncommon Sense
I figured that when you became a parent, you suddenly got some kind of Knowledge that you didn't previously have. I mean, parents know things that the rest of us don't, right? They know when a cough is just a cough and when it warrants a trip to the doctor. They know when it's cold enough for their kids to need a hat, even if they haven't been outside yet that morning. They know the nutritional value of every food on the planet AND know how to get their kids to eat their veggies. Right?
Turns out, not so much. Luke happily asks for extra veggies and then spends the next ten minutes feeding them not to the dog, but to ME. I never, EVER know when to take him to the doctor, so the end result is that usually, I don't. And then, when I finally do call them, they say something along the lines of, "Yeah, you should've brought him in two days ago." Oops.
But the worst one of all, the one that I really can't get a handle on is the weather one. My kid is CONSTANTLY the only one on the playground without a hat. Granted, this is partially because he only owns one hat that actually fits his head and we lost it sometime around November, but even back when it used to sit right beside his coat, he never wore it because...who wears hats? (Toddlers, apparently.)
A couple of days ago, it was sunny and wonderful looking outside, so instead of going to story time, we decided to go to the park. All I saw was the sun and the wonderful-ness and it just didn't even occur to me that it had rained the night before. When we got there and there were no other cars around, I should've been suspicious. I should've turned around and headed to story time. Instead, it took me until we actually walked onto a playground full of soggy, soaked equipment to realize that, huh--maybe not such a great day to be outside after all.
Of course, by that time, Luke and Other Baby had decided that playground + rain water = water park. So we went down slides and spun the merry-go-round and played on the swings and splashed in puddles and by the time we left, we all resembled drowned rats. That's when it occurred to me that the knowledge parents are supposed to have? Yeah, that's called COMMON SENSE. In which I am sadly lacking. But then again, if I'd had a healthier dose of common sense, we would have missed out on a lot of joy that morning.
(Plus, I was kind of scared we'd run into the crazy woman if we went to the bookstore for story time.)
Turns out, not so much. Luke happily asks for extra veggies and then spends the next ten minutes feeding them not to the dog, but to ME. I never, EVER know when to take him to the doctor, so the end result is that usually, I don't. And then, when I finally do call them, they say something along the lines of, "Yeah, you should've brought him in two days ago." Oops.
But the worst one of all, the one that I really can't get a handle on is the weather one. My kid is CONSTANTLY the only one on the playground without a hat. Granted, this is partially because he only owns one hat that actually fits his head and we lost it sometime around November, but even back when it used to sit right beside his coat, he never wore it because...who wears hats? (Toddlers, apparently.)
A couple of days ago, it was sunny and wonderful looking outside, so instead of going to story time, we decided to go to the park. All I saw was the sun and the wonderful-ness and it just didn't even occur to me that it had rained the night before. When we got there and there were no other cars around, I should've been suspicious. I should've turned around and headed to story time. Instead, it took me until we actually walked onto a playground full of soggy, soaked equipment to realize that, huh--maybe not such a great day to be outside after all.
Of course, by that time, Luke and Other Baby had decided that playground + rain water = water park. So we went down slides and spun the merry-go-round and played on the swings and splashed in puddles and by the time we left, we all resembled drowned rats. That's when it occurred to me that the knowledge parents are supposed to have? Yeah, that's called COMMON SENSE. In which I am sadly lacking. But then again, if I'd had a healthier dose of common sense, we would have missed out on a lot of joy that morning.
(Plus, I was kind of scared we'd run into the crazy woman if we went to the bookstore for story time.)
Monday, February 7, 2011
Twenty-One!
Luke is twenty-one months old today. I am not excited about this because twenty-one months? Is THREE SHORT MONTHS away from being two and really, I'm just not ready for that. I mean, he was born like three days ago...HOW is he already twenty-one months?
And of course, he thinks he's grown. He's entering the "I can do it myself" phase, so he wants to feed himself and groom himself and climb into the highchair by himself. That last one, by the way, the climbing into the highchair by himself? That one nearly gives me a heart attack EVERY SINGLE TIME. He insists on holding his own banana, which is fine until he gets to the unpeeled part and starts eating the peel. He insists on brushing his own teeth, which would be fine except that his idea of brushing is actually just licking the toothpaste off the brush.
He's very into taking turns, particularly when it's HIS turn. When he wants Other Baby to share a toy with him, he runs after him, yelling "Guk's turn, Guk's turn!" He is a little bit compulsive when it comes to messes, so he now gets a washrag while he's eating so he can wipe every crumb off his hands and highchair tray. And he's just now starting to sing. And by "sing," I mean that he chants "The Totos on the bus, arf, arf, arf!" over and over again. In a monotone. Hey, we've all gotta start somewhere.
There's so much more to say about him, but I can't even think of it all. He's just funny and cute and a little bit mischievous and even though I feel like he should still be a tiny baby, I am so enjoying my time with my "big" toddler. (Pictures to come when I get them loaded on the computer.)
And of course, he thinks he's grown. He's entering the "I can do it myself" phase, so he wants to feed himself and groom himself and climb into the highchair by himself. That last one, by the way, the climbing into the highchair by himself? That one nearly gives me a heart attack EVERY SINGLE TIME. He insists on holding his own banana, which is fine until he gets to the unpeeled part and starts eating the peel. He insists on brushing his own teeth, which would be fine except that his idea of brushing is actually just licking the toothpaste off the brush.
He's very into taking turns, particularly when it's HIS turn. When he wants Other Baby to share a toy with him, he runs after him, yelling "Guk's turn, Guk's turn!" He is a little bit compulsive when it comes to messes, so he now gets a washrag while he's eating so he can wipe every crumb off his hands and highchair tray. And he's just now starting to sing. And by "sing," I mean that he chants "The Totos on the bus, arf, arf, arf!" over and over again. In a monotone. Hey, we've all gotta start somewhere.
There's so much more to say about him, but I can't even think of it all. He's just funny and cute and a little bit mischievous and even though I feel like he should still be a tiny baby, I am so enjoying my time with my "big" toddler. (Pictures to come when I get them loaded on the computer.)
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Soooo Biiiiiig!
I know that much of the country is buried under snow, but here in Raleigh, we have a high of nearly 70 today. But since it rained last night, everything was wet and puddley and instead of going to the playground and trying to wrestle two toddlers out of the wet sand box, I decided we'd go play with the trains at the bookstore instead.
So I drive to the bookstore, spot a car doing something that looked like it was pulling out of a parking spot, and start driving towards said spot. Now, the whole time I drove up the aisle (and it wasn't a particularly short aisle), the other car just sat there in the wrong side of the aisle, so (a) it STILL looked like the person had just pulled out and was waiting for me to get out of the aisle so he/she could go on and (b) she was BLOCKING MY PATH by sitting in my side of the aisle. No problem, I just pulled into the spot that I thought she had vacated. Got out of the car. Unbuckled Other Baby and pulled him out of the car seat. And then noticed that this car was now sitting INCHES from my back bumper, parked across the entire aisle so no one else could get by from either direction. My curiosity piqued, I watched with great interest as a short, but highly energetic woman hopped out.
Woman: I had my blinker on!
Me: Excuse me?
Woman: I had my blinker on and you pulled into my spot!
Me: Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you...(by which I meant that I didn't see her BLINKER, because obviously, I saw THE CAR and had assumed she was vacating the spot.)
Woman: I am big!
Me: Huh?
Woman: I am big for you not to see me!
Me: Oh...kay...
Woman: That was rude. A very rude thing you did! I had my blinker and I AM BIG.
Me: Um. Would you like me to pull out so you can have this spot?
Woman: I think you're too rude!
Me: Ma'am, I'm sorry, but seriously, I didn't know you were waiting for the spot. I thought you were leaving it, and if you want, I can leave the spot so you can have it.
Woman, advancing towards me: No! You are rude!
Me, quickly stuffing Other Baby back in the car and shutting & locking the door because dude, there was a crazy lady getting all up in my personal bubble: Again, I'm sorry, like I said...
Woman: I AM BIIIIIIG! I AM VERY BIIIIIG FOR YOU TO NOT SEE ME!!!!
I should probably mention at this point that one of my pet peeves is being told what I saw or heard or felt. McMoose and I have often had arguments ending with me saying "I KNOW what I said, don't TELL me what I said, it was MY MOUTH that said it, so I KNOW what I said." So I was THISCLOSE to saying something about how I KNEW what I saw and she had no business TELLING ME what I saw because they were MY EYES that saw it, when I realized that engaging crazy with more crazy was probably not the way to go. And after I stood quietly and stared at her for a minute, she got back into her car and went to one of the THREE open spots that were next to me.
I gotta say, something has been missing from my world lately and after this morning, I realized that the thing that was missing was this kind of insane interaction with perfect strangers. When you look like you've got your hands full with two kids who are constantly running in opposite directions, people tend not to engage you in crazy as much anymore. It's good to be back.
So I drive to the bookstore, spot a car doing something that looked like it was pulling out of a parking spot, and start driving towards said spot. Now, the whole time I drove up the aisle (and it wasn't a particularly short aisle), the other car just sat there in the wrong side of the aisle, so (a) it STILL looked like the person had just pulled out and was waiting for me to get out of the aisle so he/she could go on and (b) she was BLOCKING MY PATH by sitting in my side of the aisle. No problem, I just pulled into the spot that I thought she had vacated. Got out of the car. Unbuckled Other Baby and pulled him out of the car seat. And then noticed that this car was now sitting INCHES from my back bumper, parked across the entire aisle so no one else could get by from either direction. My curiosity piqued, I watched with great interest as a short, but highly energetic woman hopped out.
Woman: I had my blinker on!
Me: Excuse me?
Woman: I had my blinker on and you pulled into my spot!
Me: Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you...(by which I meant that I didn't see her BLINKER, because obviously, I saw THE CAR and had assumed she was vacating the spot.)
Woman: I am big!
Me: Huh?
Woman: I am big for you not to see me!
Me: Oh...kay...
Woman: That was rude. A very rude thing you did! I had my blinker and I AM BIG.
Me: Um. Would you like me to pull out so you can have this spot?
Woman: I think you're too rude!
Me: Ma'am, I'm sorry, but seriously, I didn't know you were waiting for the spot. I thought you were leaving it, and if you want, I can leave the spot so you can have it.
Woman, advancing towards me: No! You are rude!
Me, quickly stuffing Other Baby back in the car and shutting & locking the door because dude, there was a crazy lady getting all up in my personal bubble: Again, I'm sorry, like I said...
Woman: I AM BIIIIIIG! I AM VERY BIIIIIG FOR YOU TO NOT SEE ME!!!!
I should probably mention at this point that one of my pet peeves is being told what I saw or heard or felt. McMoose and I have often had arguments ending with me saying "I KNOW what I said, don't TELL me what I said, it was MY MOUTH that said it, so I KNOW what I said." So I was THISCLOSE to saying something about how I KNEW what I saw and she had no business TELLING ME what I saw because they were MY EYES that saw it, when I realized that engaging crazy with more crazy was probably not the way to go. And after I stood quietly and stared at her for a minute, she got back into her car and went to one of the THREE open spots that were next to me.
I gotta say, something has been missing from my world lately and after this morning, I realized that the thing that was missing was this kind of insane interaction with perfect strangers. When you look like you've got your hands full with two kids who are constantly running in opposite directions, people tend not to engage you in crazy as much anymore. It's good to be back.
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