Laxidaisy!

Silent Sunday

Why it takes two

We were asked once in a letter, by a well-meaning relative, why it takes 'two perfectly healthy adults to put one toddler to bed'. After his face changed expression five times, Laxidude read that out loud to me and we both were clutching each other, laughing, while the baby just stared at his parents as they lost their minds. The baby who was currently using peas as hair product.

I used to think people who said, "He's SUCH a boy" about their children needed to be smacked. It bothered me, as a somewhat tomboyish girl growing up, that people put their children into these containers. Kids just are kids, right? It's the parents labeling their behavior.

I get it now. Sorry. Enough said.

He's an active child. An exhausting child. He's already made it up the stairs when the gate wasn't shut. ("I thought YOU shut the gate!" "But I thought YOU shut the gate!"), and most of his morning before heading to daycare's tender care is spent stomping around his room, playing. Loudly. It makes me very thankful we thought to strap any furniture taller than 3 feet to the wall. With long, long, thick screws. Everything is "OOOOH!" and "TRUCK!" and this... odd sound he makes while doing a red-faced jazz-hands. No, he's not pooping at the time. Usually.

The three most common phrases heard in our house are, in no particular order:

Sit on your BOTTOM!
Bennett! Stop hitting the dog!
No climbing on the table!

Our night-time routine as two working parents has gone through a few changes as he's gotten older, but currently we're both usually in the house by 5:30. One of us wrangles him while the other does a quick bout of dishes and food prep for him the next day, as well as prepping a 6pm dinner. The other continues the kitchen work while he's fed, and then there's playing, bathtime, Yo Gabba Gabba time (help me) and bed. Our dinner comes afterwards.

Our bedtime ritual hasn't changed much in the past year. There's the giggling, the chasing, the whining, the crying. The bath every other night. Then there's the pj-ing, the sleep sacking (most useful baby thing ever), and then the best time of night of all - story time. He lays on my lap on the boppy as he drinks his bottle and dad reads him a story. Then it's toothbrushing, the giggling, the face washing, the screaming, and then bed.

It's our ritual, and we're glad of it. It's our time to stop checking the email, turn off the TV, shut out the outside world and just be a family. It certainly takes two to put him to bed when all three of us enjoy it so much.

However.

During this story period, Laxidude occasionally forgets he's not on Broadway, and his reading of ""Marvin K. Mooney, Will You Please Go Now" gets a bit... dramatic. It's so traumatic, in fact, it summons, "The Lip."

The Lip is our barometer of how he's feeling. If he's unhappy, or insecure, or frightened, out comes The Lip. The worse it is, the bigger The Lip is, until it's of comical proportions. The Lip has made many apperances before, but most notably during an evening rendition of "Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus".

A few nights ago, in his booming voice, Laxidude had gotten to a critical plot point:

"I don't care.
You can go by bike.
You can go on a Zike-Bike if you like.
If you like you can go in an old blue shoe.
Just go, go, GO!
Please do, do, DO!"

And out came The Lip. It was slight at first, as he pulled the bottle away from his mouth, looking from me to Laxidude in confusion and fear. I tried to smile reassuringly, but I'm sure my expression wasn't the most helpful, as I was trying desperately not to laugh. Laxidude was no better, lips pressed together.

"This isn't Shakespeare!" I said, laughing helplessly as Ben wailed. "You don't have to be so dramatic! Shhh. Ben. It's okay! Daddy was just being silly!" He eventually settled down to the rest of his bottle, toothbrushing and bed, as Laxidude and I giggled our way down the stairs.

This is why it takes two perfectly healthy adults to put a baby to bed, my dear helpful relative.

So suck it.

Go the f*ck to sleep!

Have you seen this, Go the F*ck to Sleep by Adam Mansbach?

 

I don't know if I should be horrifed or laugh. My reaction is honestly a little bit of both.

We're taught to be so reverent towards children. Motherhood should be butterflies in a meadow and love and tenderness and sleeping children nestled in your arms. And some days, SOME days, it is that. It's giggles and new words and sloppy baby kisses, and your first real hug from them.

Other days? There's puke in your underwear, gum in hair, one parent is scrubbing the rug while the other stands in the shower, fully dressed with a sick baby. There's screaming and snot and pouty lower lips and tantrums and a tiny little terrorist that refuses to let you sit in the rocking chair NO MATTER that this is the fifth time you've been up with them and they are asleep in your arms. The second your butt hits the chair cushion, the're rarin' to go again for another lap of the upstairs.

Another book that had me giggling is this one, by Alice Bradley and Eden M. Kennedy.

This is one of the few actual physically books I've purchased in ages, and it's totally worth it. I even made it past the end of the title the first night, but it was a close thing.

 

Temper Tantrums

We  KNEW he was advanced. We just knew it!

Evidently the terrible twos have come to our household. In force.

Everything is a struggle. every arm in a sleeve, foot in a sock, hair brush, and tooth brushing is an all-out fight. Things are thrown, hitting is attempted, sobs rend the air, teeth are gnashed.  He wants to do it all. Climb things taller than he is, play with inappropriate items, feed himself entirely, brush his own teeth, brush his own hair, brush MY hair.

I suppose I should be thankful for such an independent child - but does he have to be this way at 16 months old? I'm not ready for it, even if he is. It seems that every picture I take of him these days, he's turning and running away from me to do some new thing. I should be proud. It should make me happy that I'm doing my job with him. But it's... hard.

We've reached the stage of the dreaded Online Research in answer to our questions. HOW do I deal with this tiny terrorist? Someone who isn't at all against wailing, dropping to his knees, dropping face first to the carpet, and kicking his feet isn't going to answer to just anything.

We need to Research!

Things I've found during Research:

• Put him in timeout.
• Do NOT put him in time out, whatever you do.
• Leave the room during his tantrum.
• OMG NEVER EVER EVER leave the room during a trantrum. He'll feel abandoned.
• React calmly.
• Don't react at all. Are you crazy? Fuel for the file.
• When he hits, swat him on the butt.
• When he hits, ignore it and NEVER EVER hit him on the behind or he'll become a serial killer (like Mr. Noodle).
• Redirect him.
• Talk to him. Reason with him.
• (I can't stop giggling at that last one.)
• Give him what he wants, if it's in reason.
• NEVER give him what he wants, because you'll spoil him.

Who's kid is this again? Certainly not MY child acting this way. Thankfully he seems to keep these at home.

In public? Still an angel.

Oh, you whacky Australians

You Australians do search for some really... interesting things. You have an Augustus Gloop fetish. Or at least one REALLY persistent person does.

We're on our second ear infection after tubes were put in place on February 10th. Should I try to get my money back? Maybe just return the baby for a working model?

In our ever increasing attepts to save/make some cash, I sent in my old frankenmac laptop to Eztradein.com.  I've been told they've received it, but my account seems eerily empty of activity on their site. I'm hoping I wasn't stupid. Well, any more than usual.

A post about disease

So.. yeah. There's a lot of sickness in this house these days. A 14 month old in daycare can bring down your number of available sickdays in a hurry, and not just to care for them when daycare kicks them out.

The Sunday before he got his eartubes put in, he was sick. His first real throwing up sick. He woke up from a nap in the afternoon and he just didn't sound right. I had been napping in our room and was out of the bed like a shot. It was a harsh, awful sounding cry that got me moving. I picked him up, trying to soothe him as we walked towards his changing table, and he began crying again and then just... threw up. All over. All over ME. All over my shirt. All over my hair. All over the floor carpet tiles. Just allll over.

I hollered for Jeff (are you sending a pattern?) and we immediately just walked directly into the shower, him fully dressed in pajamas, me in my own around-the-house clothes. I turned it on and rinsed us off, then undressed us both. I finally got him calm, and got us relatively clean, though it's difficult to wash anything with soap when wrestling with a wet, crying seal. 

I grabbed a towl to keep him warm, and I'm inches from getting out of the shower when.... again. All over. All over ME. All over my hair. All over the floor of the bathroom and the side of the tub.

BACK in we go, this time just piling the clothing in the sink in disgust while trying to make soothing sounds. Another towel is brought into action, and this time I manage to get him dry and wrapped into more clothing before handing him off to Jeff who had been cleaning up what made it to the carpet tiles.

We still don't know what it was. He didn't do it again and he was fine the rest of the day. No fever, no diaper issues, nothing.

Kids. 

Where to start?

It's been a rather long week and change.

To sum up:

• Getting sicked up on.
• Another epic cold.
• Ear tubes for my Ben.
• Stomach virus that kept me in the bathroom overnight.
• Bleeding from the ears.
• Walking Backwards.
• Gin Wigmore
• Alone at work.
• The King's Speech

And here I thought I hadn't done anything in the past week! Longer post soon.

So... yeah. More poop.

It's really been an interesting week.

And by interesting, I mean filled with bodily secretions.

We had our first tub poop. Which was amusing, and not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Ben... yes, it was Ben, and not my husband. That would have been Much Less Amusing. Ben seemed rather proud of himself, and we managed to whisk him out of the tub and to the changing table while Dealing with things without a huge mess.

We became very Prussian about the whole thing and it was cleaned up in no time.

The things they don't tell you in the, "From Birth to Five Years" book.

My energy has been somewhat low the past few days, and I'm preoccupied with the new layout for Jezebel.com, as well as the commenter stars.

Ben goes in for his ear tubes tomorrow - I'm waiting on a scheduler to call me with the time. Using my time productively to try not to worry. At least we don't have to worry about explaining to him what's going on. And they allow one of us to be in the room when they put him under, and when he wakes up.

That's good, right? I'll do my best to keep my shit together.

Going for the brownie points

So next Friday Ben has to bring a heart to class. Personally, I thought he was bringing one to class every day, as it's somewhat unavoidable if he wants to be alive, but I guess we have to bring a different one. I'm not going to start him down the road of being the difficult, pain in the ass child early. He can do that himself later on.

So, Friday is bring a heart to school day. Now, I'm cheap. I'm not going out and buying something for him to take in. (I probably will. Shut up. My child has to be validictorian of bringing-things-in!) And since that's Friday, and Monday is Valentine's Day*, I had an Idea!

He's bringing in a heart-shaped box of chocolates for his teachers. I get the 'bring-a-heart-to-school' thing out of the way AND Valentine's Day present for his teacher! I win at being a mother!

 

*See, I thought that with Valentine's Day, and him being one, not much would go on. OH no. He needs to bring in Valentine's Day cards** to exchange with the other children*** who have no idea what's going on.

** Yeah. Cards. I thought I'd just go to Target, pick up a small box, and be done with it.  Not so much. There are cards with magnets! (No, he's one. He'll eat them.) Cards with Silly Bandzzzzzz enclosed with them. (No, he's one. He'll eat them.) Cards with temporary tattoos. (No, he's one. He'll eat them.) Cards with stickers! (No, he's one. He'll eat them.) So I'll just get somethng cute and keep the other dangerous things at home, and send him to school with just the cards. (He's one. He'll eat them.)

*** I need to have the husband run a recon mission to daycare. He needs to get me the names of all the children PLUS the actual teachers names. Until recently I've been referring to them as "The young one" and "The one with the spiky hair and too much makeup that Ben oddly loves".

Going tubing

It's a little cold for that, I realize, but I'd much prefer the lazily floating on the river kind of tubing to getting tubes put in Ben's ears. I realize it's a quick procedure, but I'd rather not have him under anesthesia at all if I can help it. Preferably, I'd like him to never have to set foot in a hospital  until the birth of his own child (at least 25 years down the road). But as far as problems are concerned, these are small, and they'll pass.

They say that some fluid buildup has caused some minor hearing loss, but that will be fixed once the tubes go in. He may be sensitive to sounds for a little while, since everything will seem louder and crisp and sharp to his un-muffled ears. He'll learn words faster (which is a little frightening), and will be able to respond better.

Supposedly ear infections will be less as well, since the fluid will drain and won't be held up against the ear drum. He hasn't had an infection since 11/9, thankfully, and I'm just hoping this keeps up. Perhaps the combination of him growing, and the tubes will keep him infection free.

All of this is very well and good, but none of this may happen Thursday if the Snowpocalypse continues, or if his cold continues.

I can't win.