Demons OUT!

I’ve really never been much for wild parties…at least not since I was 19 and living in the dorms at college. Now that I'm in my thirties I tend to like things to be calm, in control, and predictable. Just typing those words...calm...in control...predictible...is like a salve to my jagged soul and I find myself pausing to meditate on them.

However, current reality is nothing like that. The current norm at our house is the appearance that we’ve had some kind of wild party that lasted for days. Only instead of empty beer cans and pizza crusts littering the floor we’ve got half-empty sippy cups and Cheerios everywhere--along with laundry that is lucky to have made it all the way to the washing machine but has never quite made it back into the dresser drawers and closets. Who knows which mound is clean or dirty anymore. There’s a sink overflowing with dirty dishes. I still can’t figure out how feeding two young children a single meal always results in two dozen small dirty bowls and half a dozen dirty eating utensils. And I think we could feed all the starving children on the planet with the crumbs and food pieces that lay to rest on the floor all around the kitchen table (Dear Son is learning how to “self-feed,” if you want to call it that).

Furthermore, Son is getting quite proficient at finding all the drawers and cupboard doors, and they ALL have to be open and any contents inside must be pulled out and explored…and then left at random while he goes off to take apart and explore the next thing. Simultaneously, Daughter is in this interesting phase where she likes to tuck her dollies and stuffed animals into any type of container she can find that resembles a bed and cover them up with clean dishrags and dish towels that had actually succeeded in making their way back to the drawer in the kitchen before she pulled them out again. She actually does have REAL baby blankets and a toy cradle for her babies, so I think she does this just to add to my insanity. There's an endless foray of random misplaced objects throughout the house in general, such as the spoon I found upstairs in the pocket of the rocking chair in Son’s room last night and the socks that Daughter doesn't want to keep on her feet so she leaves them on the couch, in the middle of the kitchen floor, and under the furniture.

Usually I can handle all of this with minimal exasperation. However, I’m having hormone problems. Really, I am. Apparently my thyroid gland has decided it doesn’t want to work as hard after assisting my body with the process of birthing two live beings into this world. This means, among lots of other problematic symptoms, that I am fat and irritable, my hair is frizzy and falling out, and I’m tired all the time. Since my metabolism is malfunctioning, the 60 minutes of running 4-5 times per week and 30 minutes of strength training 3 times per week and following the advice of my nutritionist to the letter only helps minimally. I ordered Husband to put the scale somewhere where I will never find it before I lose my mind and commit harry carry. Yes, I have lost 35 pounds since Son’s birth, but I managed to gain 50 pounds during the pregnancy, and I am still at least 15 pounds too fat to fit in my clothes and apparently still at least 15 pounds too fat for my wedding ring to fit (swollen fingers are another hypothyroid symptom). I summarize this paragraph by stating that I am simply not at my best these days and it doesn’t seem to matter how hard I work to make it better, it’s all for naught.

Because I am not at my best these days, Dear Son’s teething trauma is especially stressful. My typical easy going little boy has taken to banging his face into the floor and engaging in screaming fits as if he’s demon possessed. Hours and days and weeks of this (combined with the hormone fatalities) has left me with my own personality alterations. I’ve been holding daily exorcisms for us both. So far the demons are just laughing at me.

Juggling my career responsibilities in addition to hosting these wild parties is an interesting experience, too. It’s not unusual for me to need to have telephone conversations or teleconferences with other professionals from my home. This is tough to do with Son’s crazy fits, and lately I’ve had to explain that I’ve invited some demons over for a wild party so please just ignore all the noise in the background.

In the midst of all this we have managed to have a couple recent outings…to the zoo a couple weeks ago and to a fall festival last weekend. Here is a picture of Daughter after getting her face painted like a kitty and a picture of her in the inflatable jumping house (her favorite activity).

...And a picture of Daughter and Grandpa H at the zoo...



...And just for cute value, a couple pictures of Dear Son pushing down his crib bumper to see what he was missing during his nap...

Learning Some "F-Words"

I've been working with Daughter on an alphabet and phonics activity that consists of designating a page of construction paper for each alphabet letter and then cutting and pasting pictures out of magazines that start with the given letter. Then they are put into plastic sleeves and into a three-ring binder. We completed several letters one day before I left for work and Husband managed the kids for the evening. The next day, while Daughter was sitting at the table waiting for her lunch, she casually stated, "I learned some F-words with Daddy yesterday." Husband is not one to swear, so I paused on that for a moment before I remembered that Daughter and I had ended with the letter "E" the previous afternoon. I didn't know Husband worked on the letter "F" with her after I went to work. *Whew!*

It's a Boy Thing!

I definitely have a boy on my hands. At not quite 10 months old, my wee-est one is boy, boy, BOY! I really hate to stereotype on any issue, but I just can't deny this one. Dear Son gravitates to any toy or object he finds that resembles a "tool" of some sort. This includes sliverware, pens, a xylophone mallet, the remote control, screwdrivers, any kitchen utensil, etc. He wraps his pudgy little fist around the object of his affection and GI Joes himself about the house clutching his prized possession. He finds any opportunity to bang said object on cupboards, pots and pans, the floor, his sister, his head. He also loves any type of sports ball second only to "tools." He plays catch with himself by dropping them on the floor, letting them roll, and then scooting to retrieve them. Dear Son is also attracted to anything with a mechanical function. Remote controls, computers, even things as simple as drawer pulls, cupboard doors, buttons, knobs, switches, levers. If he can manipulate it to perform some sort of function, he will repeat it over and over and over and over again as he disappears for an extended period of time into the trance of some sort of pre-testosterone nirvana.

...and fearless. This kid is fearless. He will scoot his way about the house without regard as to where his Mommy or Daddy are. He will turn to look over his shoulder and offer a grin as he heads out a doorway and off into the sunset. He pulls himself up on the side of the bathtub (yikes!), tries to look into the toilets, pulls large electic appliances out of the kitchen cupboards, takes off up the stairs....Childproofing our house is taking on a whole new meaning and dimension than it ever did with Daughter.

And so I will go against the grain of my usual and customary practices to confront something I just can't deny: What we currently have on our hands is MOST DEFINITELY a boy thing!

Shall We "Mosh"?

I realized this morning that I go around in circles a lot these days. It goes along with parenting two young children and managing a marriage. This morning Husband caught me in an embrace as we did our usual morning bumping-into-each-other dance, spinning in circles around each other in the kitchen pulling together breakfast for the three-year-old and nine-month-old who sat expectantly (and not very patiently) in their places at the table. In that moment of pause with my husband’s arms around me, I caught the curious and slightly amused look on Dear Daughter’s face. “What are you guys doing?” she asked. “Indeed,” I thought to myself, “What ARE we doing?” Only mine was a much more loaded question than Daughter’s was. Apparently the dance has become splintered and frenzied enough that Dear Daughter is unaccustomed to seeing intentional body contact between her parents.

During the first several years of our marriage (6 ½ years, to be exact), I remember looking forward to the weekends when Husband and I would spend a great deal of time together hiking, biking, taking drives to the Oregon coast to hold hands at the ocean’s edge, going out for dinner or a movie, or just meandering about together doing chores like grocery shopping or yard work. We did pretty much everything together. But that was before the metamorphosis.

Now, two rug rats later and nearing the 10^th year of our marriage, the only hiking we do is to Daughter’s britches when they need adjusting, the bikes are buried under huge piles of dust and debris somewhere in the garage, and there aren’t enough hands to juggle wee ones and all the necessary “gear” let alone have a free hand for each other. We no longer know the meaning of the word, “meander.” Meandering requires TIME. To be sure, the dance looks much different after 10 years. Husband and I tend to spend the weekends running in opposite directions—running in circles—running into each other in the mess of it all—“You manage that one, and I’ll manage this one.” I am thoroughly thankful for those 6 ½ childless years in which we enjoyed the comfort of a quiet waltz for two, and I occasionally draw on the memories of those years when I find myself pummeled about in the “mosh pit” of chaos that we currently call “family.”

More Nine Month Tricks

Dear Son figured out how to stick out his tongue last week. I honestly can't remember
if he started it or if I started it, but when he did it to me, I was supposed to do it back at him, and when I did it to him, he would do it back to me. It was great fun for both of us, and I'm still not sure who had the most fun.












Just being a happy-go-lucky nine-month-old boy is fun, too. Always lots of charming grins. And yes, his eyes really are THAT blue!

Smarter Part II

Last Tuesday Grandma H recounted a conversation she had with Dear Daughter while I was at work. They were enjoying a walk when they found a fuzzy caterpillar. Grandma, thinking she was teaching things to Dear Daughter, commented that the caterpillar would eventually become a butterfly. Dear Daughter (having the butterfly turning into a caterpillar thing already covered) replied that indeed it would, "but first it will be a "chrysalis." Grandma was a bit stunned. I told her I knew how she felt, and that often when I try to teach Dear Daughter something, she ends up "teaching me back" about an even more complex issue.

After the "new moon" thing I was thinking about how much we have always read to Dear Daughter, from the time she was only weeks old. Then I considered her love for books, how many she owns, and our weekly trips to the library. A bit of quick math (weekly trips to the library for the past 13 months, multiplied by an average of 10 books per trip, added to the number of books in her "personal library") gave me an estimate of at least 600 books that we've read to Dear Daughter. Of course, we have probably read those 600 books an average of 10-15 times each, so counting all the repeats, we have quite easily read her 6,000 books.

But I still have one troubling question: I wonder why I don't seem to be getting any smarter?

Nine Month Tricks

Dear Son no longer likes to spend much time in his exersaucer. At 9 months, he is beginning to sit up on his knees and pull up to his feet sometimes. He is much too mobile and too busy exploring his environment to sit in one place and bounce up and down. This morning he was not satisfied with my decision to corral him in the saucer while I cleaned up breakfast. He's figured out how to throw himself back in the saucer to give it enough oomph to inch it forward. In this way he can still "go places." He oomphed himself over to the refrigerator first and began grabbing at the magnets and Dear Daughter's artwork.






When I took away his prizes from off the refrigerator, he did a 180 in the saucer and decided to head to the dishwasher where he spied more treasures.






This photo is actually an action shot.
Look at the angle of the bottom of the saucer and you will see he is pulling back with all his might...getting some oomph going...

...hands raised in concentration and anticipation...










...and, SCORE! He captures the new object of his affection!