Growin' like a weed

Our son is talking. He is having lengthy conversations with us. He is expressing his feelings and commenting on our feelings.

I knew it would happen. I just didn't know when. One day I was growing a baby inside me and then next thing I know (after a few unbearably painful days) I have a baby in my house that I am in charge of. I keep it alive. Its my job. I stumble to its nursery at 3AM to feed it actual milk from my body. Then I clean it when gross stuff comes out of either end. Then I watch it grow and change until suddenly one day....its not a baby anymore.

Pretty basic life stuff but until you experience it, there really is no way to fully grasp or appreciate it. My son casually mentioned today that "combines are the best farm trucks." When the word "combine" first popped up in his vocabulary a few weeks ago, this city girl had to GOOGLE what the heck a combine was. As far as I knew, combine was some sort of football he-man sports spectacular, college aged men participate in to try and entice coaches to draft them. After the Google search I found out that combines are indeed some sort of farm machinery. Where did my kid learn that word? Better yet, where the heck was I when he learned that word? Regardless...today "combines are the best farm trucks." As in: "Mommy, I can put on my own shoes, use the potty, ask for a napkin when I eat my dinner, identify every known animal on the planet and distinguish types of machinery you've never even heard of."

Ouch.

Really. It hurts more than a little.

I am very very proud of my little squirt. But man, that really hurt.

The good news is that we are currently experiencing on onslaught of adorable new behaviors. Do I miss the baby inner-thigh fatty love chunkiness? God help me, I always will. But I love hearing him say, "Mama I need a hug. I love you so much!"

I spent an hour in the sweltering sun today, working on my poor neglected garden. Faithful hubby working his cute butt off by my side. The summer rain and sun aided our lovely garden in becoming its own worst enemy, a giant amazonian monster of overgrown brush, weeds and flowers. A puffy, sweaty, pregnant mess, I stood up and looked across the yard halfway through the job and thought, how did this happen? These weeds grew so fast that all this growth came out of nowhere.

Its the same thing with my whippersnappers. I just keep feeding them and watering them and the moment I settle into a routine they shoot up behind my back and start talking about the advanced mechanics of farm machinery.

Exercise

Sesame Street on Instant Demand. What bliss this setting is when I go over to my mom's for a visit and I need my boys occupied. Our decision to not own a TV makes Bella's house all the more magnificent thanks to their enormous flat screen television that is longer than both boys put together. We walked into Bello & Bella's house yesterday for a little Sunday R&R after a quick visit to the beach. The boys were sandy and over heated. I set up an episode of Sesame Street for them and noticed out of the corner of my eye that the episode featured Elmo and exercise. Their eyes were glued to the screen and I could hear the wheels turning in their brains.

Lately, I feel as though I am no longer raising two little boys but rather two small sponges that have an uncanny resemblance to my husband. They soak everything up. Yesterday, they watched Elmo running everywhere, around his house, around the block, around other muppets. They loved it. They soaked it all in. SLUUUURRRRPPP.

They also spent the entire day today running around my kitchen, or as it is now apparently titled, "the race track."

Damn you, Elmo.

Before you rush to Elmo's defense, let me explain my hostility.

I hate exercising---especially running. I'd rather burn calories practicing yoga or gardening. Yes, yes, yes, I know what "they" all say. Those are forms of exercise too! Well, usually people who say things like the above are very interested in exercise, they enjoy promoting it and are likely good at it, so in my present state of pregnancy crankiness I am completely discounting their opinion. Now...where was I? Oh yes. Running.

As I have previously stated: I don't run unless something large/scary/or both is chasing me. I don't jog or even "speed walk." I find the sensation of my heart hammering against my chest as if it were trying to escape quite distasteful. My legs are also shorter than everyone else's and after seven miserable years of physical education during my middle and high school years in which forced group running was always a requirement, I quickly realized that sucking wind and always coming in last place are also things I find distasteful. Our PE teacher had the annoying habit of labeling any girl with her menstrual period "A STAR." These girls were excused from running and allowed to walk around the track at any pace they chose. If anyone had paid attention they would have noticed that I bled three weeks a month for seven years.

My husband, on the other hand, loves running, jogging, and naturally walks fast everywhere. He likes going to the gym to work up a good sweat and even loves to swim laps in our pool. Way to go J. Here's a cookie.

No really, I am happy he finds joy in exercise. Ahem.

Now, here is the reason I damned Elmo a few paragraphs ago. I hate exercise but recognize that it is necessary and very good for you. <----(silent grrrrr overheard). As a mother I need to promote this healthy habit by demonstrating it in my own lifestyle for my children's benefit. The fact that this realization came in the package of a chirpy happy furry red monster that is on some sort of crack mixed with speed made my pregnancy hormones churn in a violent direction.

Thankfully, both boys seem to take after their father in this fascination and love of running and exercising----very good news for their bodies and should make enforcing the lifestyle skill much easier on me. But this is still very bad news for me and my lazy side.

Its easy to parent the kids in areas that I am particularly passionate about. The Bear is very curious about the fact that Mommy reads her Bible every day and takes notes on paper about what she reads. Sometimes he even imitates me, grabbing his children's bible and breezing through it with a thoughtful expression on his face. Both kids have worked alongside me in the garden and they now point out every flower they see throughout the day to me. The Bear even believes that I give flowers their yummy smell. (Slight pause to accommodate "ooo's" and "awww's" from all women reading this. I love it too! He makes me feel like sweaty puffy pregnant version of Snow White every time he holds out a flower and says, "My Mama make it smell beautiful!")

Bottom line: the boys notice what I love and they imitate things that I like to do. Eating veggies, cleaning and organizing, nice manners, bring it on! Unfortunately, my children watch everything I do and not just things I like to do. They soak up the good with the naughty.

Like I said, sponges that look like my husband.

While I love taking the boys out to work in the garden or play in the backyard, I never run unless one of them is running towards something sharp or poisonous. But Elmo told them to love exercise and Daddy loves to exercise and so they are now watching and waiting to see if Mommy also likes to exercise.

A similar situation happened months ago. I tried getting Cubs to eat, enjoy and love fortified oatmeal. He quickly noticed that he was the only one eating oatmeal. He is no fool. He realized that his brother knows better and his mommy hates that slimy icky congealed mass of breakfast food (I am gagging just thinking about it and not just because I am pregnant). So he threw the bowl on the floor and continued to do so every day until I gave up and quit making healthy oatmeal. He now prefers to eat cereal like his Daddy or strawberry yogurt with fruit like his Mama.

Running is the oatmeal of my current life.

Don't get me wrong. I am not about to go buy a pair of running shoes and start jogging every morning, heaven forbid. The day you read that I purchased a bengal tiger or grizzly bear you may be assured that I plan on setting it loose behind me for the purpose of training myself to run. But this is not the case, I have enough people to feed without tigers and bears living in my backyard and I have not owned a pair of running shoes since my freshman year of college. I own flip flops, high heels I don't get to wear anymore and hiking boots. But I digress.... I was talking about exercise. <-----silent grrrrr.

I am serving up a mini helping of oatmeal (blech!) and "running" with my kids. If I need to take a pause from the blissful domestic activities of my life like gardening, quilting, baking or scraping macaroni off of a high chair to go run around the backyard with my sons, so be it. I will do it. I love them and I want them to love running and love exercise. They won't have "STAR" cycles later on in life to excuse them, so even if they inherit my legs I need to make sure they stay running.

You know I am in love with my children, right? The proof is in this post.

Animals

I had my first "fist fight" at the ripe old age of six. There was a boy in my class who already had a vicious cruel streak running through him despite the fact that we were all in the wonderous innocent world of first grade. He liked to bully other kids. He stole toys, told lies and worst of all, he abused animals. He threw our class pet on the floor once and laughed afterwards. Every time it rained he would run outside to eagerly stomp on all the earthworms. He dissected live lizards in the playground with sharp pieces of mulch. He was that kid. That hideous Scott Farkus and Sid from Toy Story blend of maniacal evil. I hated him.

During that third week he had taken to calling me "poop girl." This was because my skin was apparently "too brown" and to him, I looked like poop. We had been at recess all of five minutes before I saw him standing behind the large tree that grew in the school yard, ripping the legs off a cricket very s l o w l y. I walked over and demanded that he stop. My heart was racing and I felt like a super hero. I loved animals and I really did hate this kid and his stupid face and goofy smile with all those missing teeth. He looked up and said, "Shut your face, poop girl."

So I belted him.

Hard.

He cried.

It was awesome.

Best of all, I didn't get in trouble. The teacher assumed that we had a verbal fight. She made me sit out for the rest of recess. I basically got off scot free!

I've never forgotten this kid. Not just because we were forced to attend school together for the majority of our childhood, but because he was such a jack ass, even from an early age, and I always wondered why. Then the older I grew, I noticed the fundamental connection between pets (particularly dogs) and men. If a guy comes over and your normally happy dog growls at him, something ain't right with that guy. Any man that takes enjoyment from torturing or being cruel to animals is not a man, he is a coward. The Lord gave us dominion over animals and how we treat them, matters. It matters very much.

Now that I have boys of my own, I try my hardest to make sure they understand how important it is to love and respect animals. I was a weird kid growing up. Like most kids, I loved animals and unlike most girls, I was obsessed with bugs. I used to save earthworms from sidewalks-stompers at recess by scooping them up and saving them in my pockets for later. I loved lizards, spiders and crickets. I even picked up the occasional roach.

Now I don't expect my kids to go that far in their love of animal life, but if I ever catch them doing anything even remotely inhumane to animals or insects for the enjoyment of watching a lesser thing suffer, boy will they be in trouble.

Today we ran a few errands, one of which included a stop at Petsmart. The diva dog needed more food and I know the kids love going to this particular shop and so we all went in together. It just so happened that Adopt a Pet was also there this morning. They had set up a small gated area packed with wriggling squirmy little pups. Surprisingly, Cubs was a little freaked out by all the intense yapping, so J took him to see the kittens. The Bear was glued to the puppy bin. Here are a few phrases he said while we visited.

"Too cute!"

"Puppies are so fun, they are very nice Mama"

"Look Mama, Puppy is eating cheerios. He has a baby football!"

"Mama, Puppy drinking agua!"

"Ohh poor baby puppy, he lost his mommy!"

That last phrase tugged at my heart. I love how sensitive he was to the fact that a mommy dog was nowhere to be found. I explained that the shelter took care of the puppy the way I take care of him. They hold the puppies, feed them, give them water and play with them. He was serious for a few minutes as he contemplated the fact that the puppy did not have a mommy. I tried again, and told him that our dog Frankie doesn't have a mommy either, but that we are his family and always take good care of him. The Bear smiled at this and told me he was ready to go see the "Winnies."

For those out of touch with preschool television, there is a show called "The Wonder Pets!" that the boys love. Its about a group of classroom pets that save other animals from perilous situations. Last week, they saved a baby skunk from a thorny rose bush. It was viewed by all people under 35 inches in height at our home with quiet intensity, only the crunching of cookies could be heard as the Wonder Pets rescued the illusive skunk. One of the main characters is a guinea pig named Winnie. Hence, "the winnies" refer to any and all guinea pigs.

As we stooped down to peer into the glass, the Bear noted that the Winnies all had water, food and dry bedding, but again, no mommy. He peered up at me from under his baseball cap and asked, "Winnie home?"

"Sorry buddy, but we already have Frankie."

"Mama, Frankie and Winnie Mommy."

He wanted me to be Frankie and Winnie's mommy in the same way that I am his mommy. He had listened and understood everything I said. I'm proud of him for understanding the concept, I love that he has such a tender heart for animals and I ----- I stuck my foot in my big mouth today. When my eldest hears a concept or idea that I enforce as good, it sticks...it sticks hard. Something tells me that in a few years, our house will be overrun with pets who will have me as their predominant caregiver. Dang it.

But then again, I'd rather have my sweet boys and a house full of bugs and caged vermin then a petless home over run with Sid/Scott Farkus minions.

Responsibility

In the fall of 2007 I was very busy growing the Bear in my huge belly and simultaneously putting in long days as a preschool teacher to seventeen very rowdy three year olds. The head count was technically eighteen, but I still believe one of them was not actually a toddler but a minion from the underworld sent to torment mankind. Ahem.

Anyways, I spent my days in a veritable extreme parenting crash course of horror and joy. These little guys taught me a lot, things like:

1) Little people need hugs too!

2) A cartoon band aid goes a long way...even if there is no visible ouchie.

3) Toddlers watch their parents more than they listen.

4) Always explain that play doh should never be stored in a nasal cavity. Even if you've explained the principle a thousand times before, it bears repeating.

5) Emergency rooms don't use stitches on small children anymore, they use a very strong glue.

6) Kids learn and behave the way they are expected to learn and behave.

7) You can never read too many books about bugs, snakes, lizards, bears or lions.

8) Even the prettiest princess will defend her lunchtime dessert with physical force if necessary. Therefore, never turn your back when there are oreos present, not even for a second!

9) If adults at home are cruel, oppressive, rude, condescending, cursing, vulgar, and dismissive of rules and those who enforce them---then surprise, surprise, their kids will be just that way too. (Disclaimer: Absolutely true, unless their child happens to be Matilda Wormwood).

10) If it looks like a booger and its anywhere near a three year old, then it is definitely a booger.

Those are just a few tiny nuggets gleaned from my first two weeks at the school. Now, I knew even then not to knock on other people's parenting decisions, I tried my hardest to separate the child's immediate needs from whatever lunacy some parent's where teaching at home. We really had a wide range of behavioral patterns and tendencies and it didn't take long to figure out that all of them stemmed from their home life.

Some children had no schedule at home, they were exhausted from staying up until midnight each evening and rising at six for school. Some children came to school without eating breakfast and were weeping by ten in the morning. Some children had great boundaries at home with bedtimes and breakfast included and they did pretty well.

I watched the parents and their children like a hawk. Not only because it was my job and because I loved those little brats with every fiber of my being, but because it was my turn next! I knew in the future I would make mistakes in parenting, but I witnessed a few things that impacted the way I would one day parent and I took all I could away from those instances. This led me to make some firm decisions that fall about what I wanted to do, and after all the necessary "tender love and care" stuff I resolved to give my kids the fundamental principle, a gift really, of responsibility.

I don't just mean my own promise of responsibility in caring enough to give them bedtimes, breakfast, baths, etc. I meant giving them the responsibility. Yes, even now at this tender tiny age.

I bought two nice white boards yesterday. They are in fact, responsibility charts, for my two rascals. They have chores/responsibilities that correspond with what they are capable of doing at their own age. For example:

Cubby's Responsibilities

1) Brush teeth

2) Comb hair

3) Wash hands

4) Clean up small toys and place them in bins

Bear's responsibilities

1) Put on own clothing/shoes (can ask for help)

2) Brush teeth and hair

3) Help Mommy with one house chore

4) Wash hands

5) Help clean up toys

6) Make bed

I expect these things of them because I believe they can do it. I know they can handle it. I trust them. I affirm them. Its a small list of things that I could obviously do for them, faster and better then they can, but letting them do these things says quite clearly "Mommy knows you can do it."

They take care of themselves, take pride in what they do and learn that they have a measure of control in their own life too.

My boys have polar opposite personality types that are easily stereotyped. People expect wild crazy behavior from Cubs. People expect controlled quiet behavior from the Bear.

They are neither absolute despite their pronounced personality traits. I expect good behavior from both. I expect them to be polite. I expect them to show kindness and respect.

I wasn't sure it would work when I first made that decision three years ago. But now I see that it does. When I am patient enough to turn the reigns over to them and allow them the freedom of a few choices, even if the outcome is what I wanted all along (i.e. Do you want to wash your hands with soap first or water first?) it means so much to them. I see it!! They twinkle with pride over their tasks.

Tomorrow we start putting check marks next to their responsibilities each day so they can visualize their progress. We are also building a pirate ship out of the dining room table and planning a vigorous sword fight with the foam sabers I purchased yesterday. My pirates will finish off their checklist and then battle it out in the dining room with the fearsome, wicked, peg-legged, Captain Mommy. The reward isn't always at the end of the checklist, it can happen along the way as well, after all, even pirates make their own beds.

Caddy Remedy

I am cursed with photographic memory. I say cursed because at times I have so much information rolling around my brain that I feel more than s l i g h t l y crazy. For example, something at home requires a solution and I instantly have magazine pages floating behind my eyes. Not indexed or in any kind of order, just a visual assault of possibilities. If I happen to be pregnant when this happens, it only serves to overwhelm and frustrate me. This week was that week of sheer over the top, unnecessary frustration. I decided to start my way from the bottom up. Beginning with organizational needs. I figured I could handle that. I love to organize and while its very useful, if I don't finish its not the end of the world. <----denial.

Because really, does it matter if the one large closet in our small bungalow is a topple down, Monica Gellar secret closet, MESS?

Shoulder Devil: Yes! You sloppy poor excuse for a woman!

Shoulder Angel: You're pregnant and you have two toddlers, give it a break!

(while they debate, a once well organized wicker basket full of light bulbs can be heard falling from top shelf of said hideous closet, crashing to the floor in a foreshadowing of my life next week)

I took a small time out involving two five oreos and decided to evaluate the main organizational needs in my life at the moment. The fact that I have "organizational needs" at all and am not homeless, covered in gulf oil or living in a pile of earthquake rubble already makes me feel grateful and gives me a much needed kick in the reality pants. I celebrate with an additional oreo.

Really, the "needs" boiled down are:

1) The bog of eternal mess closet sometimes called a linen closet.

2) The disaster zone each evening in the back corner of the bungalow. Peaceful, well organized living room as the sun comes up, absolute chaos as the sun sets. Its a pain in the butt to clean up 900 puzzle pieces and 50 matchbox cars every night before I go to bed. Sometimes my pregnant body really can't handle anymore and I need to just give into my humanity and go to bed with a messy back room!

3) Nancy Drew and the Case of the Missing Toddler Shoes.

4) Home school corner. School starts in August, am I ready? Lord, no!

Ahem.

I tackled the closet today. Rearranged the linens, restocked and organized the cleaning supplies, etc. It really wasn't that bad. I have a few things I need to give away and a few things I need to reorganize, but all in all...not bad. If I had time/money I would wallpaper the inside of that closet in a fun lemon yellow print. But really, I have no time or money for that kind of Real Simple Cover delight, so why bother? For now, its clean and it works! Moving on...

The boys and the missing shoe/everything problem. We are ready to go out the door, where are the shoes? Where are the clean shirts? I invested in two plastic cleaning totes (basically, a shower caddy) today while at Target. I like that they have handles and stack together nicely. I like that I can store the boys shoes as well as a few decent changes of clothing to help Daddy out when he is confused on what matches and what does not. I like that I can move it all together from one room to another with minimal fuss. It works. This is not my idea, it came to me in the psychedelic blur that is my photographic memory.

Ahhh....smell the organization

Homeschool corner is under construction. I am currently trying to find a shelving unit that can work for our needs. I bought the boys their basic supplies today: slates, chalk, notebooks, construction paper, glue etc. I went ahead and invested in a GIANT industrial size box of non toxic washable crayons online and a few other essentials. I am having the curriculum books bound at Kinkos sometime this week so the boys can lay their books flat on the table.

sidenote: When I say "curriculum books" I don't mean that I am drilling my 1 1/2 and 2 1/2 year old in Geometry this fall. I found great preschool curriculum books for 3-4 year olds and am supplementing those accordingly. This fall, the Bear is technically in school and Cubs is technically invited so that he won't feel left out. Cubs will mostly be working with coloring books :)

I'll post some pictures once Homeschool corner is up and running.

Lastly, the back room of no return after sundown.

I've done a lot to make that back room functional. Baskets, bins, puzzle racks, amazing play table with built in storage unit, etc. Most of the time, it looks really great. Lately, I don't want to put in the mass amount of effort needed to clean up every last miniscule toy or puzzle piece and then return it to its rightful Type A place.

So I bought one more caddy at Target. I decorated it with cute stickers. I am making my kids clean up their own Tazmanian Devil messes. Meet the clutter caddy. Its for all the little pieces that I don't the have energy to clean up late at night. I love the clutter caddy. Great Solution!!

Particularly Peculiar

I've been watching the Bear closely over the past few months. At first I was concerned that he was about to plummet off the deep end of the ridge into perfection/compulsive disorder world, but I have since learned that he is quite safe from falling. The Bear is not a perfectionist. Perhaps to a stranger he would appear so. He is always tidy. He lines his cars and trains according to type---as in steam engines in one place, diesel trains and freights in another. Construction trucks on one end; farming vehicles and maintenance trucks on the other. Then, further broken down within the categories are other categories. Well, you can understand my initial concern.

We walked into the Doctor's office last month for a physical. The Bear weighed 33 lbs and was 33 inches tall. My son is very very precise. He even grows, precisely. He is very particular about his routine and how he likes to do things. He hates getting dirty while indoors. For example, the boys were sick this past week and one day the Bear found a booger in his hand. HE FREAKED OUT! He ran to me, tears running down his face, yelling "disgusting! disgusting! disgusting!" I wiped his hands clean and still he continued yelling "disgusting!!" It took several minutes for the trauma of the event to subside. Whenever we sit down for a meal or even a snack, the Bear usually politely makes a request for a napkin or two. If his hands get dirty while painting or coloring he will draw my attention to it by saying, "dirty fingers, mama!"

And yet, once we are outside...all the rules change. He can't splash in puddles hard enough. He loves playing in the dirt and in the mud. He loves our pool. He loves working in my garden with me. He still has all sorts of little methods for getting messy, but its a relief that he loves to get messy when outside. I love how particular he is about his life. His character is charming and he is so very much like his father at times, delightfully peculiar with a spectacular amount of genuine, bone deep, heart felt kindness.

Now on to the other small person consuming the other half of my time and energy...Cubby! Who loves getting dirty all the time and is rarely still or quiet. In his mind, napkins, baby wipes and cleaning cloths of any kind are all space invaders to be thwarted, usually with amazingly fast karate chops accompanied by ear piercing carnal screams. He is almost always, a head to toe mess. The one exception being 6:30-7:30PM, daily. :) Or as we call it in our house, "Monster Bath Time!"

I love bathing him at night and kissing his pink, sweet smelling skin. His hair is feather soft when I tuck him in, his cheeks are clean and those blue eyes sparkle up at me as if to say, " Mommy, I am delicious and squeezable." I enjoy this time of night. Its the only time he is ever clean enough to kiss without getting some sort of aftertaste in your mouth once you are done. :) When Cubs wakes up in the morning he is somehow, already a bit dirty. After breakfast he is definitely very dirty. By the end of the day he is sticky, his hair crunchy with some sort of food mixed in with sweat and dirt, his body appears to be coated in several layers of watermelon juice and cheerio dust, while his hands are...indescribable. This happens because Cubby is a hands on, full body contact, bulldozer of energy. He is my little Taz. He is always destroying something with a huge smile on his face as he does it. J and I love to describe him as a sweet angel with a big blue shiner and a slightly crooked halo.

He helped me bake a cheesecake today. I sat him up on the counter as I worked. He watched as I cracked eggs, poured sugar and tossed in some cream cheese. I revved up the hand mixer and gave it over to him. He smiled that beautiful toothy grin of his and started mixing. We carefully poured the batter into our springform pan and then I helped him down from the counter. He watched as I carefully slid the cheesecake into the oven. I always turn the light on for him because Cubby loves to watch food cooking in the oven. He stands at the door, his eyes at level with the window in the door and he gazes at the food for a while. Its precious. Sometimes, like today, he will pull up his chair and sit in front of the oven for awhile, patiently waiting for the treats to come out. On other days, he gets fed up with the tediousness of baby life, pulls out his plastic wiffle bat and beats on the door while he screeches for the food to be brought out immediately.

Cubby is a particular person too. He likes people and food in particular. If he is going to play, he wants to play loudly. If he is going to throw a ball, he wants to throw it hard! If he is going to hug me, then he wants to be held and cuddled for many minutes.

What fun to have such different personalities under one roof. I am quite quite in love with them and their sweet particulars. As I type this I can feel another little boy squirming around, trying to get comfortable by leaning up against my bladder. Hmm... what will you be like, I wonder?