Oh Halloween.
This is the trial of our "No Noggin" costume. This is the only thing the Personal Assistant has talked about all month-being No Noggin for Halloween. Our neighbor made him promise not to fall again asleep this year so he could see the spooky No Noggin costume.
"Parenthood is magical."
"A new baby changes your life in such unexpected ways."
"Everything is different after you have a baby."
If you are having your first, precious, lovely, perfect child these words will likely be repeated to you over and over by well meaning adults.
If you are having your second child, the conversations get much more fun. So to all my Mommy friends about to have second babies, this one is for you.
Adventure awaits.
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| Protein. |
I have been looking for a large, crushable, (you know, to reduce the toddler minor head injury screams) moderately good looking toy bin for ages. Then I saw it on Boo and the Boy...
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| Adorable boy's room. Adorable Blog. You should totally check it out...but later. |
It was perfect for Camp Bed Room! Or the playroom, or maybe even the livingroom! Clear floors here I come!
It was $27. For a brown paper bag. I kid you not.
You know I can do better right?
It's hard to find activities that challenge my 4 year old and engage, but are not hazardous the Mr. Baby (he will eat ANYTHING). This easy peasy no mess craft was great for both of them.
You know those home tours and makeover reveals where everything is pretty and nice. Well, this ain't one of them.
I recently posted a kitchen update, mostly because it was clean. But today I am going to give you the "Average Weekday" house tour. Let's start in the kitchen.
I am aware that the American Association of Pediatrics has some rather prudent guidelines about TV, media, and screen time. Apparently, two hours a day is too much. Kids should be playing, reading, engaging with their environment. I'm cool with the first two, but I could do with a lot less engagement with the environment.
My Personal Assistant's behavior yesterday was so horrible that he has lost TV privileges for an indeterminate period of time. Basically, he can't watch tv or have tech time until he stops asking for it-constantly-at a screaming volume-using phraseology he has not been exposed to under this roof. I am so upset. I really do not know how I will cope.
The following is a true story of what happens when we loose TV privileges. It is not for the faint of heart. You have been warned.
We had a conflict of interests this morning. Kiddo wanted to play in the first snow of the year (sans pants), Baby wanted to sleep in, Mommy wanted to take a shower (solo) and curl up with some tea on the couch.
So we got out my daytime parenting partner: the activity tray.
We haven't dropped off the face of the earth-I swear! I'm stuck in renovation/unpacking hell, and Daisy is in the throes of fall semester academia. For a peek at what I've been working on...here's what happened today in Kiddo's room.
Kiddo wants to potty train in theory, but not so much in practice. It has been a struggle. His CSID has not helped. Because I respect my readers (somewhat) I will not elaborate. Let's just go with "It's been a rough year, " and leave it at that. But he's old enough that if I don't do something, he's gonna have issues. So when a member of the CSID support group suggested we needed a potty fairy, I was all over that like white on rice.
This looks like a sweet picture of a boy and his dog. It is not. This is a picture of a boy who has run a dog around in circles until she's too tired to move. The poor creature is just relieved that all he wants at the moment is a pillow.
Kiddo is filled with LOVE. Big, big, love. Rough and tumble, flying leap to hug your head when you aren't expecting it kind of love. Climb on your back until it gives out just to be near you love. Big, BIG love. My body doesn't like it, but I get it. Softie, our dog, well, she deserves a medal.
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| Playing with butter |
"You LET him do WHAT?"
The thing that people question the most about my parenting is The Mess. It is always about the mess. Not the experience, not the fun, not the learning, the mess. As if one should care about the mess. As if the mess is the most awful thing one could imagine.
If I had a quarter for every incredulous question, raised eyebrow, or disapproving look I would be a rich woman rocking a designer diaper bag.
The Personal Assistant wanted to make his boat float, so for the first time ever, he took my hand and marched me up to the bath. Then he needed to use all of the colors of bath bombs-blue, red and yellow, so the water was a lovely shade of ick. To make bath time complete, I gave him a few big squirts of Crayola finger paint bath soap and dared him to "paint" his penis blue. So it was also the first time since the he could talk that I didn't have to negotiate to "clean his under carriage".
At 4am Himself woke up screaming, I ran to his room to find him in the chair, no pants. He calmly explained the problem: "I need help getting my shirt off so I can sleep in my streakers". He ended up "in his streakers" in our bed at 4:30, and was nearly asleep when Mr. Baby woke up with a full diaper and teething pain. Mr. Baby then proceeded to pee on me during the diaper change, and thus came back to bed to nurse in his streakers, much to Himself's exuberant delight.
Not wanting to have anything to do with his rather hirsute Daddy, Himself snuggled into my back because, as he explained: "Mommy is one of my favorite characters, not Daddy, just Mommy. Let me see your face. No. Turn your head my way. (Backwards) To my cheek. No! Don't put your head that way! (Not backwards) I need your face! Softie! BE QUIET MOMMY IS TRYING TO SLEEP! Now look of me Mommy, look of me." And so passed the wee hours and my last chance to sleep until bedtime tonight.
Laugh all you want. This ain't over kid.
-Jen
Back when Hubster and I were dating long distance, a client asked me to show her step son around town. Ok. Fine. He, knowing absolutely nothing about me or my relationship, spent the evening trying to convince me that the love of my life was cheating on me, and promised to show me 'The Ultimate Evening.' So of course I told the bartender to hold the alcohol on any and every drink I ordered, no matter what I said, and to charge him top shelf prices. Then I went home and called my future Hubster and we laughed and laughed. Fast forward twelve years (!?) later and we still laugh about 'The Ultimate Evening.'
This Easter was our first Holiday post-diagnosis, and I was really nervous that it would put a focus on the fact that Kiddo is different. At the risk of repeating myself, it did occur to me that being the Easter Bunny, while allergic to eggs, to a kid who can't eat sugar or starch, was pretty hard! I probably should not have dyed the eggs (but I did, while breast feeding), and I really should not have made meringue cookies (but I did, between breastfeeding and bed time) and that didn't go too well.
I need a shower. It is how I wake up. It is my five minutes of not touching anyone. It is warm and therapeutic on my aching back that is not used to carrying around these giant milky boobies. I am routinely covered in someone else's pee, or vomit. I sweat profusely at random times cause I have post partum hot flashes. I likely do not smell very nice. I NEED a shower.
The boys don't give a crap. Or actually they do...often, so when everyone is finally fed, and cleanish and happyish. I run to the shower. Only to be called back, naked, to deal with...something. So I made a puzzle. Something new and novel to occupy my 3year old so he would not ask for something for a minute or two, maybe.
Everyone is fussing about the polar vortex. They have no idea. The real trouble is what happens to kids and therefore stay at home parents, when everyone is stuck inside for days...it gets WEIRD.
I call it "The Toddler Vortex." It is much more frightening than a little bit of cold weather.
If I could, I would totally put on my long johns and happily go to some office somewhere, rather than stay home to weather the storm my toddler has been brewing.
Here's a sample of our morning, before I was able to so much as drink my tea.
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